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textmel8r · 13 days

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[ SMAU + DRABBLE ] 𝐎𝐅𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒 ! ( sixth installment ) in which you are forced to plan a corporate event with your office enemy .

୨୧˚ part; one. two. three. four. five. six. seven. eight.

୨୧˚ incl; kento nanami

୨୧˚ cw; profanity , mentions of sex

୨୧˚ an; so sorry if anyone asked to be tagged recently and you didn’t get tagged!! tumblr is being screwy again and i can’t see any of my comments😭😭 also apology time from nanami woo hoo!!!

Nanami stole yet another glance at the expensive watch wrapping around his wrist. Your promptness was certainly an issue; how does she show up nearly thirty minutes late to a meeting she called?

And then he scoffs at himself, giving a little shake of the head. Meeting? There he goes again, speaking in corporate tongue.

But finally, you do show up. Bursting through the entrance of the quiet café, making an embarrassing show of noisiness with your heaving breaths and wheezes. Not that it had been much of a disturbance to anyone else—only two other patrons resided in the small establishment; one too engrossed in her book to care, and the other scrolling mindlessly through his cellphone with a pastry in his free hand. Even so, you bashfully clapped two hands together as you peeked around the room. “Sorry!”

The older woman behind the counter nods in appreciation. Nanami can’t help but exhale roughly through his nose in sort of an almost-chuckle. God, you were a mess, weren’t you?

“Sorry, I’m so late!” You approached the table he resumed, one near the front window like you’d asked for. Your heels clopping against the grainy tile, knee-length dress flowing like water around your legs. He stands, walking to the opposite side of the tiny, rectangular table and pulling out the chair for you.

“Impressively late,” Nanami derides, but it’s not full of any malice. Truth be told, he did have the patience of a saint when situations like these were called to question. He didn’t mind waiting, because despite your utter tardiness, he trusted that you'd show up eventually, rather than ditching him altogether and leaving him to sulk in the humiliation of being stood up over a cup of black coffee. You were scatterbrained at times, yes, but dependable? Always.

Nanami returns to his side of the table after pushing your seat in. It wasn't meant to come across as a romantic gesture; Nanami had made it a habit of serving the women in his life nothing but a respectful demeanor. Whether it be lovers, colleagues, friends, and anyone in between. Though admittedly, his behavior towards you these past couple of months has been anything but respectful. It’s too late to start making amends to things, but the least Nanami can do now is try.

You shudder. Flustered, maybe? “Y’didn’t have to do that,” you tell him, placing your phone and clutch bag onto the table.

Nonsense. “My mother would have my head if she knew I let a lady pull out her own seat.” While true—his mother, bless her heart, raised him to be the gentleman his is today—he also just… wanted to do it. It felt right to serve you a seat.

Your elbow slams rudely on the table, finger reaching across to wag in his face. “Sounds like a good woman!” You laugh, and Nanami gingerly swats your hand away. He’s about to say something, but you beat him to the next sentence. “Hey, what gives? I thought this was supposed to be a day of relaxation?”

He worms under the scrutinized glare you wave up and down from his face to neck to chest to abdomen, finally peeking under the table to gawk at his shoes. Nanami curls his toes, a feeble attempt to shrink away from the judgement casted in your eyes. “What? Stop looking at me like that.”

“You’re dressed in fancy-man clothes.” At that, he takes it upon himself to look down at his wear; an ironed dress shirt clung to his chest, tie resting flat and perfectly centered between his pectorals. His slacks were ashy grey and devoid of any wrinkles, cut and hemmed around his ankles just above those stiff, leather shoes snug on his feet. The matching suit jacket was slung neatly over the backrest of Nanami’s chair, sleeves tucked away into its pockets.

His least expensive suit, sure, but still far too pristine and tidy for a little coffee shop outing. "Is it so bad that I like to remain presentable?" Nanami offers the question while he busies his hands, plucking open the pearlescent buttons at his wrists and rolling back the sleeves off the off-white button down.

"Presentability and discomfort don't always go hand in hand, you know. I mean, look at me," your voice echoes the mocking tone of cockiness, clearly a joke but also not at the same time. With a gesture towards yourself, you beam and shimmy in the simple, breezy dress. It had a floral pattern, Nanami notices. "Cute, stylish, and comfortable."

He isn't jumping to disagree with that. "Sorry, all my sun dresses were in the wash." He surprises himself with the jest, but it has you splitting an unladylike snort, so he doesn't come to regret it.

The toe of a thick, wedged heel jabs into his sock-clad ankle. "You business men are all so sassy." Nanami glowers at the adjective chosen to describe him, but doesn't refute. You sigh. "It's fine, I guess. Nothing we can do about it now. Wear some sweats next time though, would you?"

Next time. There’d be a repeat of this?

“Sure.”

“Great.” Your toothy grin beams over your clutch purse, of which is now wrangled in your grabby hands. Rifling through its unorganized contents, dumping out tubes of chapstick, loose change, and sticks of gum onto the table before fishing out a wallet. “Right, I’m starved. Did you look over the menu any?”

Nanami looked it over five times during the wait, if not for anything other than something to pass time. “Not really. Tell me what you recommend.”

You bite. Rambling about the array of pastries and baked goods that have been worthy enough to be placed in the category of y/n’s favorites. Nanami soaks in your excited, leaning in ever so slightly with open ears a you passionately ramble about cake.

“I take it you come here often?”

The question has you nodding. “Like, all the time man. This is my spot, you should be so grateful that I’m not a gatekeeper.” You look back at the menu once more before verbally deciding: “I want pistachio cheesecake and peppermint tea.”

The man poorly stifles his chuckle, rising from his seat. "Alright then, stay here. I'll go order."

"Oh, okay thanks." You shove your wallet into the wall of Nanami's chest, "take my card with you."

He is bewildered that you would even think he'd let you pay for your own meal. "I've got it," Nanami tells you, gently pushing the leather thing back to you.

"Nanami, stop."

"Stop what?"

"Take my fucking wallet," you gnarr, and he thinks you look much like a soaked kitten in this state of agitation. "Don't make me slap you."

It's an unserious threat, but Nanami plays a long. He raises two thick, blonde eyebrows. "Jesus, okay, you win. Just please keep your hands to yourself.” He revels in your little smirk of satisfaction, snatching your wallet back before making his way to the front counter.

Nanami kindly asked for two slices of pistachio cheese cake and two drinks; for you, peppermint tea, and him a coffee, black. Of course, everything was charged to his card. You didn’t need to know that, though.

You scarfed your portion down with swiftness, slinging spoonfuls of chartreuse custard into your mouth with such savagery that Nanami feared you might choke. He was a much more serene sight, preferring to savor each bite between slow swigs of piping coffee. The dark roast complimented the nutty pistachio flavor stunningly. For such a nameless little eatery, the food was exquisite. He takes another calculated bite of cake.

“You like?” The question was garbled behind a mouthful, cheesecake clinging to your milky teeth as you smiled brightly. A childlike excitement radiated warmly off you, clouding across the table to heat him up, too. It was sweet how wired you were, hopeful that he’d, too, enjoy your choice of confection.

Nanami huffs, amused. “Swallow before you choke.” You make a show of swallowing, a big hearty gulp with your eyes squeezed shut. “And yes, I like it a lot. Your tastes are surprisingly refined.”

“Surprisingly?” You gape, offended.

Nanami wants to crack a quip, something referring to your sub-par taste in men, but this little get together was nice. Yeah, it was really nice, actually. So he refrained from ruining it like the asshole he’d been lately, and drowned the snide remark with another toss of coffee. “Sorry, sorry.”

The remainder of the evening was cushy; you both fell into easy conversation about the randomest of topics. Discussions that never breached corporate subject matter, and he was eternally grateful for that. You spoke in tangents, whistling appreciation for a new movie you caught recently, to describing a long list of bands you enjoy, to lamenting about the headache that your minty iced tea sprang upon you: “Ah, brainfreeze!” Nanami doesn’t add much to the conversation, but he is content to listen and provide little hums of encouragement to urge you to keep talking. His eyes, inquisitive honey-colored things, found your lips and stayed there. Despite the uncouth display in which you carry yourself ( Nanami had been itching to tell you to close your legs, what with the way you sit spread-thighed in your seat donning that dress. So careless and unabashed. If the cafe had been a little more crowded, had a little more men around, and he might’ve slipped his foot over the imaginary boundary line to your side underneath the table and nudged them shut himself ) there was an elegance in the way you spoke about topics of interest. Passion flourished from the little curve of your lips, teeth bared in a great smile because you really were just that happy. Nanami feels envious when he watches you.

“I’m shocked at how well this is going.” You grin cheekily, licking cream from the pad of your thumb. “Kind of makes me sad that we didn’t get off on the right foot, you know? I think we could've been good friends.”

“Is it too late for atonement?” Nanami bites back a frown. “I understand if you can never see me as anything other than an asshole. But I never got to formally apologize for my behavior these past few months, Y/n. And I’d like to, if you’ll let me.” Why was this humiliating? It was a seldom occurrence when Nanami was in the wrong, but he was never one to let his faults drift by unaddressed. You deserve an apology—a proper one, not over measly text messages. Still, he miscalculated how awkward this would be.

You flail. “A formal apology? Nanami please, a simple ‘I’m sorry’ will work. It doesn’t have to be a whole thing, I’m mostly over it anyway.” But that was a lie and an obvious one, at that. You weren’t over it, he could see it in your eyes.

The blonde clears his throat and rubs his hands together mindlessly. “No, please. It’s long overdue, and if we’re going to be working in alliance, then you deserve to feel secure with me.” Though Nanami’s hands wrench restlessly, his gaze never detracts from yours. He bares his sincerity in the intense eye contact, offering a peek into his soul. Vulnerability. “I’ve been nothing but rude and ignorant and vulgar towards you, ever since…”

“That night.” You finish for him. “It really upset you, huh?”

“Yeah, I guess it did.”

“Why? Do you have a revulsion to sex or something?”

“What? Wh—I—No, t-that’s not…” Nanami sputtered, his ears growing warm from your accusation. “I don’t… mind sex?”

You play with the dainty straw flouncing around your drink, seemingly oblivious to Nanami’s flummoxed reaction. “You seem to have a strong opinion of whores, though.”

He groans, embarrassed with himself, and drags a palm down his pallor face. “Who you choose to sleep with does not make you a whore. It never did, I was just being petty and grasping at straws for anything that would get a reaction out of you.” Nanami runs his tongue over the roof of his mouth, inwardly wishing that the mug of coffee before him would turn to water so he could cure the dryness that ached in his throat.

“Why go through the trouble?”

Nanami opens his mouth, then closes it. Then opens again, “I don’t know.”

A piss poor attempt at playing the fool. Surely there was a reason for his unabashed cruelty towards you, but what the fuck was it? “Well, when you figure it out, let me know?” To his utter surprise, your expression doesn’t hold an ounce of animosity; you’re smiling at him. Finding humor in any situation had to be your special talent. Nanami nods dumbly. “In the meantime, you’ll just have to start making it up to me. You were a dick, big time.”

“I know,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

“Hmmm,” you make a comical show of humming, touching your index to the point of your chin, and now Nanami knows you’re fucking with him. “Hmmm, hmmm, hmmm. I guess I can start the forgiving process if…” A pause for dramatic effect? The man raises his brows expectantly. “You and I make this,” you gesture between both bodies at the table, “a weekly thing.”

Nanami was expecting a punishment, but this suggestion was anything but. “I’ll need to take a look at my schedule first.”

“Listen, man, do what you gotta do. But I’m telling you, we are getting together at least once a weekend.” You scrub the corners of your lips with a napkin before crumpling it into a tight ball and discarding it on your empty plate. Nanami looks down at his own to see a healthy portion of his cake left. Wordlessly, he slides his plate across the table, and you accept the offering with open arms. “Oh shit, thanks! Like I was saying, this is fun, what we’re doing here. You’re having a good time, right?”

Sitting in a desolate coffee shop and listening to you prattle on has been the most fun he’s had in a devastatingly long time. “Yes, I am.”

“Good. You look fun-deprived.”

Fuck, I am. “I’m not.”

“Keep lying, I see through them all.” You scoop the last bite of Nanami’s cheesecake into your mouth, sighing with satisfaction and rubbing over your full tummy. “Anyway, I think hanging out would be good for us. Healthy, you know? Besides, I’ve been dying to know what off-duty Nanami looks like.”

He cracks a chuckle. “He’s nothing special.”

Your finger snaps in his face, invading his bubble of personal space, but this time he doesn’t shoo you off. “Another lie!”

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tags . • @justbelljust @amnmich @ti-mame @silkija @maddietries @vyntagei @ebrysteria @aesukuni @lololooolleonnaaa @nanamiswife22 @r0ckst4rjk @mizzfizz @saiki-enthusiast @taelattecookie @enchantingkitty @kindadolly @reinam00n @hqtoge @syamamas @numblytemporary @xxravenxstarxx-blog @bloomedintome @guacam011y @jameinfrau @luvvmae @kazisupreme @nowhoremones @https-tank @venjrnjrbhrr19 @ya9amicide @darkstarlight82

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ddejavvu · 11 months

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I’d love to see a jake seresin x secret wife au. The dagger squad doesn’t realize he’s married until Phoenix invites reader out to the bar with them! Thanks you’re the best!!

You're reminded just how little you know Natasha when she invites you out for drinks, and you end up at the bar adjacent to the naval base. You've been inside only once with Jake before, when you were still dating and he was going through training at top gun. Now he's a graduate, and the place brings back fond memories. You've chatted, of course, when she stops by for breakfast at the bakery you work for, but you've never discussed her career before.

"Hope you don't mind we're close to base," She grins, "My friends wanted to meet here, and I get free drinks 'cause the bartender likes me. They have this bell system to embarrass all the assholes here, and I think I ring it more than she does."

"I've been here before," You admit, tentatively grabbing her arm as she weaves through the crowd, "My husband and I came here once, a long time ago. I don't think the bartender was a woman, though."

"She just bought the place a few years ago," Natasha nods, sliding onto a stool at the bar, "Careful, don't put your phone on the bar."

You tuck the device safely away in your pocket as a brunette woman turns to you, a sweet smile on her face as she recognizes Natasha.

"Hey, Phe," She hums, and you don't have time to ask what the nickname means, "Brought a friend?"

"I'm Y/N," You introduce yourself, noting that they seem like close friends, "It's nice to meet you. I'm Penny."

You nod and beam at her when she offers you an identical bottle of beer to the one Natasha takes. You decline, though, ordering your usual instead. Jake's out with his friends tonight, but he's pledged to be a responsible drinker in case you need to be picked up from your girls' night.

"Can I get, uh," Natasha peers through the crowd, turning back when you assume she's found her target, "Five more?"

"Fanboy's got one already," Penny hums, taking four chilled bottles from beneath the counter, "You want help carrying them?"

"We're good!" You wrap one hand around two bottles, trusting Natasha to lead you towards her friends in the hectic crowd. You don't remember it being this busy when you'd come with Jake, maybe the new management really helped.

She treks you all the way over to a pool table along the wall, where a few men in jeans and t-shirts are huddled. You're taken by surprise, though you're not sure why. You'd automatically assumed her friends would be women, and you wonder if that's concerning. Possible internal bias aside, you smile at the men who stand to greet you.

"Hello," You wave, handing off beers to the two that meet you first,"I'm Y/N, you're Natasha's friends?"

"We are," A tall man grins, holding a hand out for you to shake now that it's not wrangling beers, "I'm Reuben. But you can call me Payback, if you want."

Natasha still has one of the beers in her hands, and you hear the man beside her, who she greets as Fanboy, mention something about the bathroom. Apparently you still have someone to meet.

You refocus on Reuben, "Payback," You tilt your head slightly to the side, "Is that a callsign? Are you a pilot?"

"We all are," The man who'd taken the other beer from you nods along with Payback, a burnt red mustache on his lip, "Natasha's is Phoenix. And I'm Rooster."

Your stomach drops.

"Wait, uh- Rooster? And- and Phoenix, and Payback," Your head spins slightly with recollections of Jake's crazy work stories, and you take a step back, "Are you- you're all stationed to this base?"

"Temporarily," Rooster frowns, "Hey, are you okay?"

"My husband-" You don't get the words out before he emerges from the bathroom, stopping dead in his tracks with a furrow in his brow that wrinkles his forehead.

"Darlin'?" He calls, just loud enough to be heard over the music.

"Jake?" You're equally incredulous, "I- these are the friends you're going out with?"

"Yeah, I-" He wanders closer, still at a general loss for words, "You know Phoenix?"

"Natasha gets breakfast at the bakery," You breathe, now that he's close enough to hear your dumbfounded murmur. You have an audience, but you don't care, not as Jake's confused expression melts into a sheepish smile.

"Well, small world. You look stunning tonight, honey."

"Thanks," You grin bashfully, keeping one hand on your drink and using the other to cup his cheek, tugging him down into a quick kiss. No matter how chaste it is, it gets a reaction.

"Oh," Fanboy gawps, "You're- her husband? You- Hangman, dude, you're married?"

"I am," Jake hums, ringing an arm around your waist and taking the beer from Natasha that she's too shock-stricken to hand to him. He pops the cap off on the edge of the pool table, bringing the fizzing mouth to his lips for a swig. He swallows, "Six years and counting."

"You're married to Hangman," Natasha- er, Phoenix repeats, "You married him?"

"Uh, I did," You laugh, twisting the ring on your finger.

"He never wears a ring," Rooster narrows his eyes at Jake accusatorily, "What, you're keeping her hidden away or something?"

"No," Jake scoffs, "It kept getting dirty when I was doing maintenance on my jet. I keep it on my dog tags, Bradshaw."

He brandishes the chain with both his ID and wedding band on it, and Rooster takes a swig of beer in response.

"How the hell was I supposed to know that, man? I don't stare at your chest in the locker room."

"Well you're missin' out," Jake drawls, turning to grin at you, "Ain't that right, honey?"

"Jake," You hiss, "Not here!'

"Oh, don't get all fussy. Most of these guys have seen my dick," He waves a dismissive hand in the air, nearly spilling his beer. You swear you hear someone mumble, 'unfortunately', but Jake drowns them out, "They don't care if we flirt. Hey, whaddya say we sharpen up those pool skills of yours?"

"Alright," You nod, letting him lead you over to the table, "Natasha, can you hold my drink?"

She takes it like it's her duty to protect you, even though your big strong husband has just bent you over the pool table. It takes you a few tries to be able to hit the ball at all with your clumsy grip on the cue, but when it finally cascades the colorful targets around the table, Jake whoops, landing a congratulatory smack to your ass that his friends groan at.

"Nice goin', darlin'. Gonna beat Bradshaw into the ground in no time."

#jake seresin x reader #jake seresin imagine #jake seresin fanfiction #jake seresin x you #jake seresin x y/n #hangman #hangman x reader #hangman x you #hangman x y/n #hangman fanfiction #hangman imagine #jake hangman seresin #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin imagine #jake hangman seresin fanfiction #jake hangman seresin x you #jake hangman seresin x y/n #top gun x reader #top gun maverick x reader

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sundrop-writes · 4 months

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hiya! Might be a bit broad of a request but could I get headcanons with jj x autistic female reader ?

Broad in the sense if I could get hcs of her reacting to reader with autism, how she helps reader with overstimulation and struggling with social cues and noise. If you wanna throw in smut hcs (jj being the dom) i’m also fine with that!

Basically anything with jj and autistic female reader, thanks!

I love this request so much!!! If you want smut/smutty hcs with JJ and autistic reader, definitely feel free to send in a separate request - I will come back for that in another post. For now, I hope you enjoy this!!

Requests are currently - OPEN.

Jennifer Jareau x Fem!Autistic!Reader (Headcanons)

(Warnings: typical CM themes, the reader is described as touch avoidant (with some exceptions); mentions of molestation and murder (related to a case, mentioned in passing); mentions of blood, mentions of someone being shot in the reader's presence. Idk, I don't think there's anything else. Not proofread.)

JJ was raised around everything (neuro)typical, so when she meets you, she doesn't quite get you. Not at first.

You are one of the smartest people on the team - that is why you're there. Your ability to pick up on patterns and bits of detail that others don't see is incredible, and your brain holds mass amounts of obscure information that she could never even dream of knowing.

But you are quirky. More than quirky.

You have difficulty making eye contact, you freak out if someone even motions toward touching you unexpectedly, you have very odd, specific little rituals with your snacks and meals (which JJ does come to find endearing over time) - you go from talking at incredibly fast speeds, blabbering out information to being silent and stoic for long periods of time.

When she finds out that you have autism, she is a bit surprised. She is one of those people who thinks that autism is a disorder related to school aged boys - but you explain to her how it affects your life. How it makes it difficult for you to relate to people, form close friendships, how it's difficult for you to focus on larger 'important' things when smaller details are bothering you.

(It's one of the reasons you're so good at your job - but it also makes it hard to focus on people's words if their shirt is wrinkled and it's distracting you.)

You act cold toward most people on the team, and it's one random day that JJ finally starts to figure you out. A day that you finally warm up to her.

You were helping Morgan escort a suspect out of the police station, to a squad car where he would be driven to jail to be processed. He had confessed to molesting and killing eight boys after being caught with a ninth, and when the father of one of the boys heard the BAU had arrested someone, he came to the police station with a gun.

When the suspect was shot, you were covered in his blood, and in horrible shock from hearing such a loud bang right beside your ear - from feeling the sudden dead weight drop in your arms.

You ran back into the station screaming, and JJ followed her instinct - followed you into the women's washroom, wanting to see if you had been hurt. She was surprised to see you pacing back and forth in front of the sinks, muttering something under your breath.

"L/N." She called out your name, trying to get your attention. "Y/N? Y/N? Hey? Are you hurt?"

You didn't look up, not for a second. But your muttering became louder. And it became more clear what you were saying.

"My pen, my pen, I dropped my pen..."

JJ had no clue why you were so concerned about a pen when you were covered in someone else's blood, your ears likely still ringing from the gunshot - but she knew that you had a pen-clicking habit. It was something that often annoyed Reid and Morgan - but from what she had observed, you did your best work when your thumb was twiddling, clicking the end of your pen insistently. It meant your brain was whirring hard, putting the pieces of the puzzle together.

JJ reached into the breast pocket of her blazer, and took out a pen that clicked on the end.

"Here." She offered it out to you. "You - you can borrow my pen." She said shyly, hoping it would help you calm down.

You extended out a shaking hand, and took the pen, and then began to click it harshly with your thumb. You gripped it so furiously, the skin around your knuckles so tight - but after a moment, you let out a tight breath. And then, for the first time since she had known you - you looked JJ in the eye.

"Thank you." You murmured, your voice ripe with tears.

"Keep the pen." JJ told you, feeling like it was a small consolation if it helped you calm down this much.

You reached up, petting a shaking hand over your face, and pulled back in disgust when you felt the sticky blood.

"Let me help you clean up." JJ said, grabbing some paper towels out of the dispenser and wetting them in the sink.

It was the first time you had ever let her touch you - you clicked the pen the whole time, and from then on, that sound became less of an annoyance and more of a comfort to her.

That was the day she realised one incredibly important thing:

To you, small things matter on such a big scale.

Coffee in your favourite mug instead of a random one she found in the back of the cupboard - that gets a smile out of you. Scones with blueberries instead of raisins - raisins get a shrug at best, blueberries get a giggle and a big 'thank you!'. Organising your files in alphabetical order instead of by date.

You and JJ became close after that day.

She wasn't a profiler, not in training, but she learned to read you like a book.

She knew that you bouncing your knee aggressively meant that you were becoming overstimulated - things in the room too loud, the florescents too bright, the day too overwhelming.

When this happened, she would take you outside for a break - often siting that she herself needed some air and she simply wanted your company. She knew you didn't like to be outwardly babied (who does?), but she also knew that you had a hard time self regulating. You had a hard time deciding when to take yourself out for a break, and if you didn't have one, then you would become irritable, have a hard time focusing, and hardly get any work done.

She also picked up on the fact that you just plain didn't get sarcasm.

Before, she thought you were being cool, or aloof. When someone said something sarcastic and you didn't understand, she thought that you were pretending not to get it in order to snub them or make a joke out of the whole thing.

But during one of your many conversations, you told her that you absolutely didn't understand sarcasm - you didn't get when someone was using a sarcastic tone, and you often took everything people said in its most literal interpretation.

So you and JJ developed a wonderful, silent system - if someone said something and you didn't understand if it was sarcasm right off the bat, you looked to her, and she would nod at you if they were being sarcastic, or shake her head if they were being literal. It was something people on the team picked up on, but nobody said anything about it - they just enjoyed the way you bonded with her, and how your quirky habits were spreading like a delightful little plague.

JJ knew that your life wasn't easy, living with autism, but she always tried to make it a bit easier. Because you were worth it.

Criminal Minds Masterlist

#sundrop writes #criminal minds fanfiction #anonymous #requests #requested #jennifer jareau x you #jennifer jareau x reader #jennifer jareau #autistic reader #criminal minds x you #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic

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chronicowboy · 1 year

Text

Buck may not be a paramedic like Chim or a qualified doctor like Hen or a field medic like Eddie. He may not have Bobby's impressive decades of experience or Ravi's desire to take every single LAFD training course there is in his spare time. But he's picked up a lot from his six years with the fire department, so he feels pretty confident in diagnosing Verne with a serious amount of internal bleeding.

But the ambulance has been and gone, back-up hasn't arrived, and everyone else is busy with patients in more critical condition, so Buck crouches down next to Verne and gets to work on starting a line.

"How are you doing, Verne?" Buck asks with a smile. "Any major discomfort or pain I should know about?"

"My back, and my hip," Verne sighs, "but they've been uncomfortable for over a decade now, kid."

"Well, the fact that you can still feel that discomfort is very promising, at least."

"Promising," Verne hums. "Sure, let's go with that." His eyes turn a little glassy, drift, unfocused, somewhere over his shoulder.

"Hey, Verne, stay with me, yeah?" Buck smiles when their eyes meet again. "That's it. You're gonna be okay."

"This isn't the first time I've died, firefighter Buckley." Verne shakes his head with a grimace. "I know how this goes."

"Then, you know you go to the hospital and come back to life," Buck says, a little desperation creeping into his words. He keeps seeing flashes of a pale blue shirt and hearing snatches of a realisation about happiness.

"Maybe when I was your age." Verne smiles weakly. "Got into an accident after picking my best friend up from a bad date. They said I died for two minutes in the ambulance."

"Two minutes, huh?" Buck palpates his ribs to distract Verne as he checks on the rapidly growing bruise on his abdomen.

"You ever died, kid?"

"For three minutes, actually." Buck grins up at him. "Not to brag." Verne huffs a laugh. "I was that firefighter that got hit by lightning."

"No kidding," Verne chuckles. "Pretty cool way to go."

"Oh, very cool, yeah." Buck nods, biting down on his lip as he checks to see if the others are free yet. They aren't. "The trippy dream I had during my coma was pretty cool too."

"Yeah?"

"Well, unsettling more than anything, but, uh, I made it back, so that's what counts." Buck wraps a bandage around the sluggishly bleeding cut on Verne's arm. He winces, groaning, and Buck panics. "You said you were driving your best friend home from a bad date?" Verne nods. "That's exactly what I was doing last night," he snorts. "See that firefighter behind me?" Buck jerks his head at Eddie over his shoulder.

"Diaz?" Verne coughs.

"Yeah." Buck smiles. "His aunt keeps setting him up on terrible dates, I've become his get out of jail free card."

"And what does that entail?" Verne asks, curiosity piqued, more alert than he had been a moment ago.

"I pick him up when there are no Ubers nearby, I call him with an emergency when he texts me 911, I answer the phone when one of the women calls him to schedule a second date and pretend to be his husband." Buck shrugs. "Its a lot of fun."

"Is it?" Verne coughs again, a wet noise that makes Buck's stomach drop. "Is it fun when he goes on the dates?"

"I mean, not really." Buck wrinkles his nose, thinks of that swoop of nausea in his stomach every time Eddie walks out of the door. "But I get to hang out with Christopher, Eddie's son, which is much more fun than a crappy date, you know?"

"Did your best friend watch you die?" Verne asks suddenly.

"I-" Buck blinks. "Yeah, he, um..." He clears his throat. "He was actually the one to get me down from the ladder, the one that got my heart beating again." Verne laughs heartily despite the fact that Buck can see the amount of pain it causes him.

"Oh, kid," he sighs, more of a wheeze. "The best friend I picked up from her date? I felt sick every time she told me about a new man."

Well, at least that's normal then. Buck had kind of been worrying he was going insane.

"Then, I died, and I married her a year later."

Buck remembers watching himself take his first breath without the ventilator from behind a window, remembers the way time had warped and stretched on forever and frozen all at once, remembers how his whole life had narrowed down to that one moment.

This feels a lot like that.

Suddenly, five years of friendship flash through his mind. Eddie's gloved hand in his, the only anchoring sensation in a sea of agony. Eddie's thumb on his neck, warm brown eyes a life raft when Buck had been drowning. Building a skateboard and pushing a kid made of sunshine around the park. The zing of happiness an elf had brought him after the sour curdle of disappointment that had hit him on a fountain. Eddie's hands big and warm on his waist. Eddie's smiles, wide and private alike. Eddie's eyes, always so fond and intent. Quiet discussions in the Diaz kitchen, and teasing banter in the loft. Nights with Chris squished between them on the couch, and the bright lights of a video game illuminating the living room. A legal document and a first name said so carefully. A broken door and a broken man alike. Couch metaphors and lasagnes and steaks and cookies.

Oh.

"I look forward to seeing her again," Verne murmurs quietly.

"Hey, no," Buck croaks. "Its not time yet, it isn't time for that yet."

"I think its been a long time coming, kid."

Verne's eyes flutter shut, his chest spasms with a final bloodied breath, and Buck's world shatters around him.

#sami rambles #okay okay i really wanted to write this and i think it came out better than expected #death and taxes come throughhhhhhhhhhhh please #i can see this happening ngl #911 spoilers #911 show #911 fox #evan buckley #eddie diaz #buddie #buck x eddie #911 spec #911 fic #911 fanfic #buddie fic #buddie fanfic #buck x eddie fanfic #buck x eddie fic #911 spec fic

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daughterofyore · 8 months

Text

Even Days.

wc;; 1.5k approx.

a/n:: I love dominant women

summary;; another even day and you are fuelled with anger, you take charge until hi

contents;; dom woman, very light bdsm, breeding kink, degradation, praising, switch man,

!!W!!;; MINORS DNI!! No real warnings, nothing too crazy

music inspo;;

You stripped off your gown, the maids rushing to try and prevent it from being wrinkled or breaking a jewel. You were in no mood for pleasantries. Today was an even day. A day in which you had zero time to be polite, you had a job to do. A job which was demanding, time consuming, utterly stupid and yet… you secretly loved it.

The warm amber ambience of the sconces on the walls held a dim light in the room. The handmaidens hurriedly took off your undergarments, but began to approach you with lotion. “It is not necessary, just get me a nightgown.” You raised a hand to stop them, they nodded and one lady grabbed a silky blue nightgown. She slips it over your head and let’s it fall over you. It covers you yet does not leave much to the imagination. Your nipples were hard against the cold air, they pressed against the sheer fabric. A different maid rushes to take your hair out of its elaborate do, pins and jewels clattered onto a gold plate on the armoire. They sparkled, a fortune sitting right before you. What a waste. You looked out the window and towards the sky, looking at Venus. You said a silent prayer, begging, pleading that she make it right between you and George. Sure, this hate-fucking scenario was fun and oddly enough you enjoyed it, but you wanted a connection. A genuine love. You wanted your attempts at love to be reciprocated and for him not to be so… closed off.

The moment the maids finished tying the nightgown around your waist you turned and stormed out of the room. You strode down the hallways, Brimsley struggling to keep up. You felt tears prick at the corners of your eyes, why did he refuse you? Why were you diminished to appointments to fulfil your ‘womanly’ duties? Why was this how your marriage was to be, how had this become your role in life. To serve and adulterate for a King, a man you barely knew.

The guards opened the doors to the kings room, you were overcome with emotion and truly, you just wanted to fuck the ever living shit out of him. “It is an even day.” You declared as you stormed towards him. He dropped his quill at his desk and immediately stood to meet you. Before the large doors could close his hands were on your hips. Exploring your body as he pulled you to be flush at his front. He pressed his lips to yours, desperate for their touch. Your tongues mingling as you kissed feverishly. He gasped out between kisses, as he undid the robe around you, “Are you alright?” His voice heavy with lust, speaking only when your lips were not on his. “I am fine.” You say breathlessly, your fingers making short work of his loose white shirt and britches. Immediately your hands were diving to his cock, fingers wrapping around it’s length and massaging it torturously. He managed to strip you of your robe, and as you watched his cheeks flush, he bit his lip as he looked down at you. Your ministrations never ceased as you used your left hand to pull down his pants. You were in charge tonight. You were the one who was going to fuck him mercilessly like he did to you each even day. The anger you felt towards this arrangement would surely fuel you to make sure the man wouldn’t walk by morn.

Eagerly you steer George back, pressing him against the wall beside the bed. Your hand still working on his cock, only now it was free and hard, pressing flush against your stomach. George didn’t know where to look, his eyes darted down to his dick and your hand then back to your face. Sheer determination and lust filled those eyes, he knew then what was in store for him tonight. Or at least he thought he did.

As if reading his mind you wrap your fingers around his dick, holding it a little tighter as George winced above you. “Lie down on the bed, my King.” He nodded hastily, eager for you to relinquish your grip on him. It was only when he was laying across the bed did you let go, only to manoeuvre between his legs and take him in your mouth. Expertly swirling your tongue around his tip, one hand working his length while another held and squeezed his balls. His eyes were wide as he watched you from above, panting heavily. It was clear he was in shock over your sudden twist in roles, but he was enjoying it.

You’d make sure of it.

You pressed down onto his dick, taking one deep breath through your nose before taking all of him. Your nose pressed against his navel as he squirmed beneath you. You repeatedly took him deep, each time growing the intensity while playing with his balls. He was begging now, “Please, oh fuck- please.. I’m gonna cum!” His fists were gripping the sheets, arms straining. You could feel the growing tenseness and with one last suck you took him out of your mouth and aimed his dick back at him. His cum shot across his chest, making a home on his chin. He gaped at you, shivering after such a vicious orgasm. “When did you- How did-“ He could barely speak, in awe of what you had just done. You simply waved a finger at him, grabbing the panties you had worn and stuffing them in his mouth.

“You will do what I say tonight George.”

He seemed to melt at your words, nodding, albeit reluctantly. You moved back, straddling his lap as you lined him up with your entrance. The moment you felt his tip slip in you, you let yourself fall onto his cock. He let out a muffled moan, his eyes watering while he watched you ride him with expert precision. Your hips rolled back and forth, up and down, he was a moaning mess. Saliva dripped from the corner of his mouth, mixing with the cum that still rested on his chin. Your hands came to rest on his chest, balancing yourself as you rode him. His hands reached for your hips, bucking up into you and creating a titillating rhythm. “George…” you gasped, never truly adjusting to his size and girth as it plunged into you. He took it as a sign to fuck you even harder, skin clapping throughout his chambers, his balls slapping against your ass with each thrust. Your breath mingled as the pair of you neared release. His muffled moans and your cries for him to fuck you harder echoed around the room.

The wetness formulating from between your legs doused his lower stomach and your inner thighs. The wet slap every time your skin met only fuelled your desire for each other. George grabbed your ass as you continued to roll your hips on him, his fingers kneading your flesh before landing a light slap. A moan escapes you and fuck, you want him so badly. Each time he puts his full length into you, his dick perfectly pushes against your g-spot. Your legs and knees are weak, you swore only he could fuck you like this.

You couldn’t hold it anymore, the pressure in your core building, George gripping at you, still with your underwear in between his teeth, he was feral. Without warning, he grabs your hips and literally spins you on his dick to be on all fours. He starts ramming into you from behind, pushing down on your back to make you arch. “Oh fuck yes… you beautiful woman-“ He is gasping as he pistons into you repeatedly, you can’t even think. All that comes out of your mouth is saliva and moans. He’s so fucking delicious.

“I’m going to fill you up so much my beauty… you’ll look so sweet pregnant with our heir.” That was it, you came in one shuddering gasp and Alamo’s simultaneously George fucked you one last time before a warmth filled your belly. The pair of you gasped, tired and exhausted.

George picked you up gently, staying inside you as he rested you on top of his chest, brushing your hair out of your face. He placed a tender kiss on your forehead, as you get comfy on him. “I love you, my queen.” His face sweet, a glowing, tired smile evident now that he had spit out your panties.

You chuckled, kissing his chin. “I love you too, King George.”

#bridgerton #bridgerton series #bridgerton smut #bridgerton spoilers #king george bridgerton #king george iii #king george x f!reader #king george x reader #queen charlotte #bridgerton fanfiction #Spotify

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slaymitchabernathy · 2 months

Text

Field Mouse

District Twelve is filled with rats. Vermin. Infested in fact. That's the first thing Coriolanus Snow learns when he gets off the train at the station. At night he tries to soothe himself to sleep by telling himself that by all technicality, he's sleeping in the cleanest place there is in this sad excuse for a District.

Not that the Peacekeeper base is top tier. Because it's not.

His penthouse on the Corso is top-tier. But here he was, sweating as he loaded crates and barrels onto trucks in the sweltering heat of June. "Got here right in time Gent," his bunkmate Smiley jokes.

Coriolanus has to withstand the urge to roll his eyes at his friend's playful jest. There is nothing right about him being here. There is nothing good about District Twelve. There is nothing worth visiting District Twelve for and...oh.

Well, what does he have here?

Coriolanus had almost forgotten that women inhabited this part of Panem. It doesn't mean they're pretty, but they all share that one special thing between their legs and that's good enough for him.

His other bunkmate Beanpole takes notice of the change in Coriolanus's demeanor and nudges him, "We're going down to the Hob tomorrow night. You should come, meet the locals." He wiggles his eyebrows as he says the last part and Coriolanus grins. "Sounds like a plan."

If he were in the Capitol, he would've put a lot of time and effort into his appearance. He would've made sure his shirt was free of any wrinkles, that his shoes weren't scuffed, that his curls were styled just the right way.

But he's not in the Capitol. His shirt consists of the uniform every Peacekeeper is given when they arrive at the base. His shoes are heavy-duty boots, and he gets yelled at if his laces are undone. And his golden, precious curls are gone. Shaved off before he even left the Capitol.

He runs a hand through his buzzed hair as they all step into the Hob. According to Smiley, it's some sort of black-market the locals have put together. The Peacekeepers normally turn a blind eye since it's one of the only places you can get alcohol for a decent price, along with a good time with a girl.

Coriolanus surveys the room for a moment, locating all the exits and entry points. It seems there's one way in and one way out. A major fire hazard but who cares? "Let's get some drinks," Smiley shouts into his ear. It's loud in here, and it smells a little but Coriolanus nods, everything's more tolerable when you're drunk.

They get some drinks from a vendor who's running the bar who eyes them wearily until Smiley produces some coins. Then they're welcomed customers. "Folks around here are a bit scared off by us," he explains to Coriolanus, tugging on his blue shirt, "they can spot the uniform from a mile away."

Coriolanus was always able to identify the Peacekeepers in the Capitol, but he doesn't tell Smiley that. Peacekeepers were a beacon of security and safety to Capitol citizens. Here, they're practically terrorists.

It's like a sudden silence falls over the room before a girl comes scampering out onto the makeshift stage they have set up in the Hob, and she's hollering about all sorts of things. Coriolanus doesn't really pay her any mind, or the other's that join her and strike up a tune. Live music is always appreciated so he keeps on talking to Smiley about when he thinks Hoff might stop making them carry hundreds of crates back and forth from the base.

Coriolanus has always been perceptive, and that's how he spots a small disturbance in the crowd. It's between a girl and a guy and the two are arguing about something with such passion. Well, the guy is at least. The girl won't seem to give him the time of day as she pushes her way through the crowd that seems to make way for her, but not for him.

It's hard to make out her face in the dim lighting, but she looks pretty. Well, pretty for a girl in the Districts. She's making her way towards him. Towards the bar most likely. As they get closer Coriolanus can make out more of what the guy is saying.

"...didn't mean it! You know I would never get with her, you're the one for me Soarynn."

Soarynn. What a pretty name. And the closer she gets he can see that she's very pretty. Coriolanus decides that he'd be chasing her too if she was running away from him.

She finally reaches the bar, not sparing any Peacekeepers a glance as she goes to order. She doesn't get far before the guy grabs her arm and pulls her back. Coriolanus tightens his grip on his drink. He hates District people all the same, even if they're pretty girls. But there's just something about a guy bothering a girl that he hates.

"I didn't cheat so stop walkin' away from me!" He cries, frustration written all over his grimy face. Soarynn pulls her arm from his grasp, "I don't care what you did or didn't do, we're over Billy Taupe. Go find some new girl to follow around." She tries to step back but this Billy Taupe is relentless and clearly drunk because he goes to grab her waist. Soarynn doesn't hesitate to slap him across the face and several people let out low whistles at the public fight.

Coriolanus shakes his head and focuses back on Smiley, figuring the argument is over now that she's shown him a thing or two. So when he watches from the corner of his eye as Billy Taupe grabs her by the hair and starts screaming bloody murder, he's the first to react and leap to action.

She looks so scared in his grasp, trying to get away and Coriolanus doesn't hesitate to grab the drunk by the shoulders and pull him back. Soarynn manages to get out of Billy Taupe's grasp and watches wide-eyed as Coriolanus turns him around and socks him across the face.

Now it's a fight.

There's yelling from both sides, miners and Peacekeepers alike as Coriolanus punches Billy Taupe again. He tries to fight back and manages to snag him in his lip, but he's no match for Coriolanus who's much taller and more sober. Coriolanus lands one more punch, watching as blood gushes from Billy Taupe's nose.

The Hob is buzzing with noise now, people are screaming and arguing while the two boys are now on the floor. Even though he can barely hear himself think, he grabs Billy Taupe by the collar, pulling him off the ground, "Don't ever touch her again," he spits out before letting go of that sorry excuse of a person.

It's Beanpole who's pulling him off the ground, saying how they need to leave before backup gets here. The crowd makes it hard to move in any direction but they don't seem to be too mad at him. He gets some dirty looks but that's about it. Coriolanus only glances behind him once to see Soarynn looking right at him, her eyes wide and watching as he leaves.

The boys clap him on the back as they walk back to the base, "You sure-handed his ass to him," Beanpole laughs, "thought we'd never get you off of him."

Coriolanus shrugged, his lip had a small cut on it, which meant bruise, swelling, the whole nine yards really.

"I was just doing my job."

꧁ ꧂

He's felt someone's eyes on him since they pulled into the town square. But Coriolanus can't seem to find who's watching him. They're loading crates, again. It seems that the newer Peacekeepers are tasked with all the grunt work no one wants to be bothered with.

"Take a break!" The commanding officer yells, wiping sweat off his own brow before walking into the nearest establishment for reprieve which just so happens to be the bakery. Coriolanus watches him for a moment, his eyes scanning the bakery windows and then he sees her.

Sees those eyes.

Soarynn's eyes widen momentarily before a small smile spreads across her lips and she walks away from the window. Coriolanus looks around to see if anyone else notices her but everyone's too caught up in their misery with the heat to even look at him. Beanpole and Smiley are leaning up against the truck so he decides to stray from the group, do some recon if you will.

He can't go into the bakery, not with the officer still inside. But he can peek in, try and see her. He's walking by the alley when he hears a whistle. His head snaps towards the narrow road in between the barkey and another establishment but he sees nothing. In the movies he's seen this is the part where you run in the other direction.

He goes into the alley.

He walks further and further, passing by a small gate when a hand reaches out and grabs him. Coriolanus nearly jumps out of his skin when he's pulled to the side, his hand immediately going for his gun when he looks down and sees that it's her.

It's Soarynn.

She smiles up at him, her hand still on his arm, "Hi."

Coriolanus raises his eyebrows before replying, "Hello. Is there a reason as to why you lured me into this alley?"

Soarynn laughs and it sounds so sweet, sweet like honey. "I wanted to thank you for the other night. You were real noble saving me from the likes of Billy Taupe."

"Is he your boyfriend?" Coriolanus blurts out, watching her face slightly falter as if she's deciding whether or not to tell him the truth. "He was," she says slowly, swaying back and forth on her heels, taking her hand off his arm, "then I caught him cheatin' on me."

Coriolanus can't help the look of surprise on his face, out of all the women he's seen in District Twelve, Soarynn is by far the prettiest. "Why would he cheat on you?" He asks, "Doesn't make sense to cheat on a sweet girl like you."

Soarynn grins, tilting her head, "Boys will drop a shiny coin to pick up a pebble sweetheart, just the way it is." She looks him up and down then, taking in his current state, hot and sweaty. He must look very handsome right now. "They got y'all workin' hard with those crates. Been watchin' you all morning."

Coriolanus isn't used to this, how forward this girl is with him. In the Capitol, it's all about soft giggles and practiced glances. But this girl is putting it all out there so he might as well too. "You like looking at me?" He asks her, taking a step towards her. She doesn't back up. "Mhm. I like lookin' at pretty boys like you," she purrs, her fingers coming up to touch his dog tags, "especially pretty boys who come to my rescue." She grabs his tags, yanking him down until he's at eye level with her, she turns his tags in her fingers, not even looking at him.

For some reason, he finds that attractive. How she won't give him the time of day right now even though she's the whole reason he's in this alley.

She reads his dog tags, "Coriolanus Snow," she says, finally looking him in the eye and she looks rather impressed. "Eighteen years old, six-foot-two, Capitol born," she smirks at the last part. "I've never met a Capitol boy like you before. You miss home?" He doesn't miss a beat, "Yes." Soarynn laughs and nods her head, "I would too, especially if I ended up here."

She lets go of his tags but he doesn't rise to his full height, he stays down there with her. "Do you have a job?" She shrugs, "Sometimes I do, sometimes I don't. Depends which way the wind blows I guess." Coriolanus bites his lip, his bruised lip and she notices, reaches out, and touches it without even asking, "Sorry about your lip. Billy Taupe can throw a nasty punch when he's angry."

Suddenly his stomach is in knots thinking about how she knows what it feels like to be punched by Billy Taupe. "He ever hit you?"

That seems to be the question that scares her off the most, he can almost see her putting her walls back up, "I'm not with him anymore. Don't need to worry about who he's punchin' or kissin' for that matter."

So he's hit her before. That's fine. Perfectly fine.

A sharp whistle pulls the two out of their tense little world and Coriolanus straightens back up, leaning out to see they're finally packing up and heading back to the base. "I'd like to see you again," he says, looking down at her. Her hair is parted down the middle, it's blonde and it looks so soft. Her tan skin is fairly clean and she's got these eyes he can't look away from. They're blue with a hint of gray. Freckles cover her face and her pink lips curl up into a smile, "You wanna see little old me again? After all the trouble I've caused you?" She asks, feigning surprise.

Coriolanus rolls his eyes and nods, "I'll take my chances." Soarynn hums, bouncing on her toes, "I'll be at the Hob this Friday. 'Course you can always come see me in the Seam." He furrows his brows, the Seam?

Soarynn giggles, "Oh so you're really new to District Twelve huh? I'll see you on Friday then. Coriolanus Snow." She slips something in his hand before she spins around, walking up two stairs and opening a door. He has no clue where it leads or where she's going but he's nodding and watching her leave.

It's only when he's sitting in the back of the truck that he looks to see what she gave him. It's a ribbon. Pink, silky, probably cost her a small fortune. Smiley looks over and his eyebrows raise, "Where'd you get that?" Coriolanus finds it incredibly rude of Smiley to insert himself somewhere he has no business being, but perhaps sharing this little secret will pay off in the end. After all, Smiley is much more knowledgeable about this place than he is at the moment. "That girl from the Hob," he says, his voice hushed, his fist curling around the ribbon.

Smiley grins, "Looks like she's being sweet on you if she gave you that. Must make you her hero or something since you saved her from that guy."

Coriolanus frowns because it makes perfect sense why Soarynn would like him and be so sweet to him. He protected her. He saved her. But he's a Peacekeeper. He's seen the way people look at him, at his friends, his bosses. All they see is Capitol dogs.

"But I'm a Peacekeeper," he points out, "she should hate me for what I do."

The truck jostles and Coriolanus knows they're back on base, and watches the gates close behind them. Home sweet home.

Smiley chuckles, "Sounds like she's one of those girls who has a thing for Peacekeepers. Some women love men with authority so we're the perfect fit for them, makes them feel like they're special."

Well, this was news to Coriolanus. He'd grown up hating District people and always assumed that they did the same. Which meant something must be really wrong with this girl.

The truck finally came to a stop and they hopped out, the ribbon still clutched in his hand. It was pretty, like her. And he didn't get a whole lot of pretty out here in Twelve, surrounded by sweaty, grumbling men.

Smiley bumped his shoulder with him, "They're like bees to honey with us, can't get enough.”

Everyone begins walking towards the mess hall. Cookie made something fried tonight from what he can smell and everyone wants a bite, but Coriolanus lingers behind.

Looking at that pink ribbon. It’s soft, it sure would look pretty in her hair.

“…like bees to honey…”

Those words play over and over in his head for the rest of the day, rest of the night. Surely he hasn’t misread the situation, her actions. She gave him that ribbon to remember her, so he’d think about her until they saw each other again. She even told him where she lived! Kind of. Sort of. Maybe.

“Hey Beanpole,” he says, not moving from his position on his bunk. They have an hour of free time before its lights out and Coriolanus has been using it to mull over his possibilities with Soarynn.

“Yeah, Gent?”

Coriolanus debates how much he should ask, how much he should tell. Because at the end of the day, he’s here to work, to suffer, to serve. Hoff hasn’t directly said they couldn’t be in relationships but he has a feeling that they’re rather frowned upon. Especially with new recruits. Especially with District girls.

“Where’s the Seam?”

The laugh he gets from Beanpole makes him wonder if it’s so obvious. Clearly, there aren’t big signs in town pointing in every which direction but still, it seems to be a valid question.

“The Seam is the south side of nowhere my friend. It’s rock bottom.”

Oh, so she’s poor.

Or her family is poor at least which makes her poor. If only he could take her back with him to the Capitol, show her true wealth.

“I’ll point you in the right direction when we stop by town tomorrow,” his bunkmate offers. Coriolanus thanks him before rolling over in his bunk, staring at the wall. This is a bad idea, he thinks. But what’s the worst that can happen? A little heartbreak never killed anybody.

Right?

꧁ ꧂

“Just keep walking down that road and you’ll reach the Seam,” Beanpole said, giving Coriolanus a pat on the back like he’d need it.

Coriolanus nodded and soldiered on towards the Seam, a bag of ice clutched in his hand. It took some convincing from Cookie, but he managed a decent-sized bag, figuring Soarynn might enjoy some ice. The further he walks the more he realizes why Beanpole wished him luck. The Seam is where poor, poor, poor people live.

The houses can barely hold themselves together, the roofs are sagging, the grass is dead, the fences are leaning and Coriolanus is about to start running.

But he can’t.

He needs to be a man, a better man. At least a better man than Billy Taupe which shouldn’t be hard since he hits his girlfriend.

Ex-girlfriend, Coriolanus reminds himself as he comes across a man working on his front fence. The man looks normal enough until Coriolanus asks him for directions and he realizes the man is missing his two front teeth.

“I’m looking for a girl,” he starts and the man lets out a wheeze, slapping his knee. “Aren’t we all?” He asks, throwing his head back. Coriolanus sighs, leave it to him to ask this absolute nut job for directions. “Her name is Soarynn,” he continues, “she said she lives in the Seam.” That seems to sober the man up long enough to think, “Oh the blonde girl,” he snaps his fingers, “she lives at the end of the road.”

Of course, she does.

Coriolanus thanks the man before continuing his trek to her house. It’s positively sweltering and he’s glad he had forgone the long-sleeved part of his Peacekeeper uniform. Today it’s the pants and the white shirt. Simple. He’s hoping for handsome but his sweat isn’t helping.

When he finally reaches her house he’s passed a number of people on the street, all looking at him strangely as if he’s the odd one out. Shouldn’t these people be working? No wonder this country was such a mess.

Soarynn’s house is gray but that seems to be a recurring theme in the Seam. It looks to be about two stories although he wouldn’t try the second floor if he was smart. There’s a rickety porch and he cautiously makes his way up the steps and knocks on the door.

There’s the chance that no one’s home. With his luck, her dad will answer the door.

When the door opens he almost wishes it was her dad answering. It’s a boy. His age, brown hair, tan skin, shirtless. They’re about the same height and they immediately size each other up because what else do teenage boys do?

Finally, the brown-haired boy smirks and looks over his shoulder, “Your pretty boy is here Soarynn.”

His heart beats a little faster at the nickname. One, because it’s a nickname and Coriolanus only has two other nicknames, Gent and Coryo. Both reserved for very different people. Two, because it means she’s talked about him since they last saw each other. It’s only been two days but still.

He can hear a bit of scuffling before Soarynn pushes her way to the front door, shoving the other boy back into the house, “Don’t make me get my earplugs,” the boy says to her. Soarynn looks up and shoots him a nasty look before jabbing him in the ribs with her elbow, “Go fishin’ Jett, and don’t tell no one either.”

Jett, it seems, simply holds his hands up before shooting Coriolanus one more look and disappearing into the house.

Coriolanus can feel his bottom lip twitching. Who was that? At first he feared the worst, that she might already be with someone else, but their dynamic doesn’t seem that way.

“My cousin,” Soarynn says as if reading his mind.

Coriolanus finally looks down at her and isn’t she just something? Her hair’s been thrown up in a messy bun, a few pieces falling out here and there. She’s wearing a dress with thin straps, it’s light blue and it looks like it’s been worn to death. He isn’t even trying to notice but she’s got no bra on and she doesn’t seem to care that he’s seeing her this way, so exposed right now.

“I thought I might never find this place,” he says, not wanting to expand on her cousin anymore if he can help it. Soarynn gives him a small smile and leans against the doorframe as if the house won’t fall over from her small amount of weight. “But you found me,” she tells him, some pride in her tone.

Coriolanus swallows, “I did.” He looks into the house to see if he can find anyone else but it seems to be empty. Soarynn catches him looking because she seems to notice everything and straightens back up, “Why don’t we go to the meadow?”

The meadow? A possibly desirable place in this wasteland?

“Sounds good to me.”

꧁ ꧂

Soarynn doesn’t wear any shoes when they go to the meadow. It’s quite literally right behind her house which makes it easier, but still. What if she stepped on something or got bit? She doesn’t seem to care.

She leads him to a large oak tree where there’s a rock under it, the perfect size for the both of them to perch on. At least that’s what she tells him.

“I come bearing gifts,” he says, settling down on the rock.

Soarynn tilts her head and pulls her knees up to her chest, “You don't say.”

Even though he’s sure she already saw it he makes a big show of producing the ice. It’s not even the satisfaction of knowing he provided for her that makes him happy, it’s the big smile that spreads across her face when she sees the bag.

“Well this is a gift good as any,” she says with a laugh, grabbing the bottom of the bag to feel how cold it is. “Y’all got ice on that Peacekeeper base?”

Coriolanus nods while untying the bag, offering her a cube. Soarynn simply opens her mouth and he doesn’t falter to drop the cube into her mouth, watching her work on it for a minute. “Thank you for the ribbon by the way. You didn’t have to give me a gift.”

Soarynn raises her eyebrows and looks out into the meadow, “Wasn’t much of a gift as it was a token. A token of my affection,” she states matter of factly.

Coriolanus grins, “Does that mean you might show me some affection today?”

Soarynn shoots him a flirtatious look, “Might show you somethin’ more if you keep it up pretty boy.”

That’s what he likes most about her he thinks, how she can dish as well as she can take it.

He wonders what else she can take.

“Have you ever been with a Peacekeeper before?” He asks, curious to see if Smiley is right and if he’s her third victim of the month. He’s sure there are girls like that, finding some new boy the second their old one gets shipped off to some new District.

Soarynn bites her lip, “Been with a Peacekeeper in what way? Sexually?”

Well, he hadn’t meant that but there’s no going back now he supposes, “In any way shape, or form,” he decides, popping two ice cubes into his own mouth. He doesn’t suck on them like Soarynn does like she’s trying to savor them because she doesn’t know the next time she’ll get ice. He can get as much ice as he damn well pleases back at the base.

“Nope, y’all aren’t really my type,” she says with a smile, gigging when Coriolanus gasps as if offended. “But you’re here with me,” he points out, “and why aren’t we your type?”

Soarynn pretends to think for a second before answering, “I like boys with longer hair.”

Oh, that hurts. If only he could show her how long his curls used to be. She’d be on him in seconds if she knew.

“Well, I didn’t get much say in the matter. Have you ever cut your hair?”

Soarynn shakes her head, her nose slightly wrinkling as if the very thought of it is repulsive. “Never cut it. Some women are superstitious about cuttin’ their hair, I just never had the urge to do it. Plus if I ever did have to cut it to sell it, I’d like to get my money's worth.”

Is this what it’s come to in the Districts? Cutting hair to sell it? Who wants to buy hair?

Coriolanus takes another good look at Soarynn. It’s hard to imagine her hair chopped to her shoulders but he thinks she’d look pretty still. She’s got the right face shape for it and her jaw juts out in just the right way. His eyes wander down her small, slender frame. If she was naked he’s sure she’d be all skin and bones, you can probably see how many ribs she has.

He remembers what that was like. Being poor and hungry. The worst two feelings in the world. But she seems happy as she gazes out into the meadow. Can’t miss what you never had he decides.

“You know, if you ever need money…I could help you out. Of help with whatever you need,” he says, already feeling like more of a hero to her.

Soarynn snorts and he frowns, what’s so funny? When she sees his expression she laughs even harder and shakes her head, “You don’t need to be my hero sweetheart. I really appreciate it but I don’t want your money.”

Well, then what does she want?

Coriolanus scratches the back of his neck, “Is there anything you from me then?”

He’d sure hope so. Here he was with this girl out in the middle of nowhere when he could be back on base with cool air blowing all around him.

Soarynn peered up at him through her long eyelashes, “I can think of a few things,” she mumbles with a grin.

At least they’re somewhat on the same page now.

Coriolanus doesn’t hesitate to lean in, his hand cupping her face as his lips press against hers. Her lips taste like sweet syrup and she smells like vanilla. Soarynn’s hands rest on his biceps, slightly squeezing them. His training has given him muscles he’s never seen before and he’s not complaining.

He drops the bag of ice to grab her waist with his other hand, his palm pressing into the back of her spine through her dress. Soarynn sighs into the kiss, one of her hands coming up into his hair, carding her fingers through it. She smiles against his lips, “Might just make an exception for you and your buzzed hair,” she mumbles. He pulls her in closer, wishing he could crawl into her skin and never let her go.

Soarynn isn’t the first girl he’s kissed and he doubts she’ll be the last. But right now she’s the only one who matters, the only person that matters here in District Twelve. Besides him of course.

He gets her to lie down on the rock, propping himself over her while they explore each other’s mouths. She’s so soft and sweet, and small, he likes how much bigger he is compared to her. How he could break her in half if he really wanted to.

They’re much more handsy once she’s lying down. Her hands slip under his white shirt, her fingertips tracing over his sculpted abdomen sending shivers down his back. Coriolanus presses one more kiss to her lips before kissing down her jaw, peppering her neck with kisses while his hand slips onto her thigh. He should probably ask if she’s okay with this, if she wants more, wants less. If she’s a virgin.

Probably not.

A girl like her knows a thing or two about men and their sexual urges.

His hand slips under her dress and he can feel the fabric of her panties. They’re probably old, well-worn, maybe the only pair she owns. Who knows what they can afford out here in Twelve.

Just as his hand is slipping under the fabric of her panties, a hissing sound pulls Coriolanus from his lustful haze. He glances to the right and nearly jumps out of his skin when he sees a snake has slithered its way onto the rock.

“Shit,” he swears, getting off of her so they can both run. Soarynn’s eyes fly open, most likely confused as to why he’s stopped kissing her and she looks over to see the reptile currently threatening their lives. “Oh, hey there little fella.”

Coriolanus is on his feet within seconds, breathing heavily as he eyes the snake. Maybe he could shoot it, but he’d feel kind of bad killing an animal in front of Soarynn.

And Soarynn isn’t making any sudden moves to get off the snake rock. In fact, she grabs the snake. It slithers through her fingers and around her arms as if it’s her domesticated pet. She doesn’t even seem frightened by it. She looks up at him and gives him a small smile, “Don't need to run pretty boy, this here's a corn snake, all bark and no bite."

Coriolanus highly doubts that thing doesn't bite, nor does it bark but he relaxes slightly when he sees how calm the reptile is in her hands.

"Are there a lot of snakes out here?" He asks, suddenly feeling very exposed out here in this meadow with the tall grass, giving any other animals the perfect chance to attack him without him seeing them. Soarynn shrugs, "I guess. They're good for the rats though," she gives him a knowing look, "makes me real sad when they get the little field mice though. They don't cause no one trouble."

A field mouse he could deal with. He's dealing with one right now it seems.

Soarynn reminds him of a mouse. Small, harmless, easy to crush if need be. At the end of the day, they're still vermin no matter how cute they may seem.

Soarynn finally puts the snake back in the grass and watches it slither away before she slips off the rock and joins him, lacing her fingers with his, "Thanks for protectin' me," she jokes, standing on her tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek.

Coriolanus manages to give her a sheepish look. It's not like he intended to abandon her, but she moved so slowly and she clearly didn't seem to have a problem with the snake. "Sometimes you've gotta let your girl handle her own battles," he responds cooly, giving her hand a squeeze.

Her eyes slightly widen before creasing upwards in a smile, "So I'm your girl then? Just like that?"

Had he already called her his girl? He hadn't meant to move so fast or really attach himself to her like this but she seemed alright and it never hurt to know some of the locals, have a spot where he could relax from his Peacekeeping duties.

And Soarynn was pretty. Very pretty. He hadn't gotten a good look at her under that dress but he was planning to and that meant keeping her around for a little longer. Besides, he wouldn't be in District Twelve forever. No. He planned on getting back to the Capitol one way or another to finish what he started. He'd have some fun for now and then get the hell out of here.

"Yep," he replies, "unless you're stringing along some other guy."

Nows her chance to come clean, to tell him if Billy Taupe isn't the only person he has to worry about because he'll be damned if he's being played.

Soarynn shakes her head, "Just you and me sweetheart."

| Part 1. |

| tumblr oneshot/drabble |

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importantchaosgiver · 28 days

Text

Where Loyalties Lie:

Over The Years

Summary: What was life like after that day in Tarth? Well...

Warnings: Canon typical swearing, Daemon being Daemon, slight adult humour, canon death (Baelon)

******

(Y/N)'s POV

-18 years old-

I looked to Viserys with a smirk as Daemon challenged me to spar with him. He smirked back as Baelon stood at a balcony, ready to watch. "Come on. Is the bastard girl too scared to face a dragon?" Daemon taunted. To which I raised an eyebrow. Oh, he was asking for a broken nose. "Do make sure you don't send him to the maester. Yes, my brother is a bit of an ass, but he is still family," Viserys muttered as I took off my cloak and Red Saint. He took them from my hands as I adjusted my armour. "No promises," I uttered before walking forward. This prince was going to wish he never messed with me.

Daemon sneered as he cracked his knuckles. Then... he swung for my face. I dodged it, jabbing him in the ribs, crouching low and swiping his legs out from beneath him. He grunted as he hit the ground. I could hear Viserys snicker as I straightened up. Daemon got to his feet and looked none too happy. Thinking more on his emotions was where he went wrong next as he ran at me. Stopping him with my hands on his shoulders, pushed him down entirely, straddling his waist, one foot on his bicep, a free hand pinning his wrist down. He physically couldn't get up. Baelon let out a hearty chortle as Viserys fell in his laughter, holding his sides. Daemon's face went pink in embarrassment. "What's wrong, brother? I thought you liked it when women were on top," Viserys snorted. It made me let loose a chuckle as I got back up. But, to be polite, I held out a hand to help him up. Although, he just smacked it away with a grumble and got up himself, brushing the dirt from his shirt.

~~~

-19 years old-

I slowly walked in, feeling incredibly awkward. Should I be here? I mean, Viserys did request my presence. I could see Lady Aemma on the birthing bed, coated in a sheen of sweat, looking exhausted. But she was smiling as she held the newborn babe in her arms. The child wailed with life, making my heart warm at the sight. A mother with her child was truly a wonderful sight. Viserys grinned upon seeing me. "Ser (Y/N), thank you for arriving," he said. I gave a bow. "An honour as always. May I ask why I am here?" I queried. "We have someone we want you to meet, Ser. Here," Aemma whispered, holding out the babe. Oh. "I am not sure I-" "Katherine," Aemma interrupted. Viserys gave an encouraging nod. I gently took the crying babe. But, as soon as I cradled the newborn in my arms, the crying ceased. "It appears that she likes you. This is Rhaenyra," Viserys said with a chuckle. Ah, a girl. I'm sure she would grow up into a fine woman.

~~~

-22 years old-

Oh, how I love having to retrieve Daemon from the depths of pleasure houses. I grunted as I put one of his arms over my shoulders so I could support his weight as he was clearly intoxicated. "Y'know, I think I saw your mother in there," Daemon sneered, stumbling around. I rolled my eyes. "Why did you become a knight, eh? I bet if you were a whore, you'd be my favourite," he laughed. That made me huff in annoyance. Although, it wasn't like I haven't heard it before. Once I got him back to the Red Keep and into his chambers, I deposited him on his bed before leaving, wrinkling my nose in distain as I left. "Oh, that brother of mine," Viserys chuckled as I turned the corner to see him.

"I'm sure he has fathered over a dozen bastards by now. And he has the audacity to say I should've became a whore," I grumbled. Viserys frowned upon that. "You are not a whore, (Y/N)," he said, gently taking hold of my hand. "You are a loyal and true woman. You saved me when I was a child. And I will forever thank you for such," he said. I felt a jolt through my palm as he touched and held my hand. What... what was that? After he let go and walked off, I felt an emptiness... a pit in my chest. What was this? What could it possibly be?

~~~

-23 years old-

A burst belly... Baelon the Brave, the Spring Prince had died... from a burst belly. And having only been named Hand of the King for five days. I could tell how deeply this effected Viserys and Daemon. I couldn't imagine what it's like to lose a father. And Jaehaerys lost his last son to death's vile claws. But, there was a new problem. The line of succession. Between Rhaenys and Viserys. However, I had a feeling I knew who Jaehaerys would choose.

The Iron Throne hasn't ever seen a queen. And I don't think that'll change anytime soon. After what felt like eternity... the doors opened and the court began filling out, whispering and muttering. I straightened up as Viserys and a pregnant Aemma walked forward. One look from them and I knew. Viserys would be the next king, now named Prince of Dragonstone. "Katherine... if anything I need your support now more than ever," he muttered, putting a hand on my shoulder. I bowed my head, nodding humbly. I would stay by his side... until the day where my last breath is drawn...

******

So, that's just for a little bit of context/backstory. Or just to show what her life was like before the actual show of House of The Dragons. So, the next one shall be in the beginning. Enjoy!

#alicent hightower #daemon targaryen #house of the dragon #otto hightower #rhaenyra targaryen #viserys targaryen #viserys x reader #fantasy #westeros #asoiaf #baelon targaryen #king jaehaerys

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hawkins-losers · 2 years

Text

The girl from the magazine | Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: You find one of Eddie’s erotica magazines and start comparing yourself to the woman in the comics

Word count: 0.9k

Warnings: mention of nudity,

Request: hiii can you do a blurb of eddie/steve comforting you after you feel self conscious about your body/ feeling like you’re not good enough for him? feel free to ignore this lollll

When you arrived at the trailer, Eddie was still asleep. You thought he was sick because, although he liked to sleep in, he never slept past 3pm, but he just accidentally stayed up all night learning a new song on guitar. Typical Eddie thing.

He even ended up falling asleep with his guitar in his bed.

He answered the door with a sleepy face, eyes barely open and still fighting sleep. His hair was a mess and he had the print on his pillow on the right side of his face, which you couldn’t resist stroking. His shirt was wrinkled from sleep and the scabby stick and poke he had given himself last week on his thigh was peaking from his boxer shorts.

‘’I’m gonna jump in the shower quickly and we can leave in fifteen minutes, okay?’’

You wanted to laugh. Fifteen minutes? With the mess on his head - meaning he’ll have to wash and untangle the knots - and the sleepy state he was in, there was no way he’d be ready in fifteen minutes.

While you were waiting you laid on his bed - which was still warm and smelled like him -, you saw the notes he had scribbled and barred in his music notebook. You couldn't understand a thing, unable to read music, but it made you smile. Aside from D&D, music was Eddie’s passion. He had worked extra hours at the auto shop for months to afford his beautiful guitar. She was his pride and joy and he took the best care of it.

Sometimes, you even made jokes about how he loved her more than you. It was all jokes though. There was nothing he loved more than you.

To pass time, you were about to get up and clean the mess of clothes on the floor when your eyes landed on a magazine on Eddie’s nightstand. Heavy Metal summer 1986 issue, it read. You knew it wasn’t okay to snoop through your boyfriend’s stuff, but the magazine was on the nightstand, not in. Technically, you hadn’t snooped.

You picked it up and your face - along with your self-confidence - fell at the image on the cover. A man with some type of creature with tentacles peeking from inside his jacket stood with a woman by his side. The woman had her naked back facing the cover and she was only wearing a thong, baring her perfectly full ass. You know, the kind where you smack and it bounces?

You opened the magazine, falling on a page where the same woman was fully naked and baring her enormous tits. Her nipples were very dark and her body was a perfect hourglass - impossibly perfect. You shouldn't be too surprised that Eddie owned erotica magazines. After all, he was a guy, and these were totally up his alley - way more than Playboy.

You flipped through more pages and started feeling uneasy as intrusive thoughts got in your head. Although you knew it wasn't healthy to compare yourself to women in magazines, a part of you couldn't help but to. This woman was completely fictional, a drawing. No one looks like that in real life.

You didn't want your thoughts to go there, but was he jerking off to this woman? Was she the woman he was thinking about when you weren’t there? The erotica magazine was on Eddie’s nightstand and seemed to be very well loved judging by its curled edges.

‘’Sorry it took me so long. Do you think you can help me get this tangle out-’’ Eddie walked in, dressed in underwear and holding a comb and a brush in his hands, needing your assistance, but you had other plans.

‘’Do you…do you jerk off to those?’’ you asked bluntly.

His eyes followed yours, landing on the magazine on your lap. A bashful look formed on Eddie’s face. ‘’Sometimes, yeah,’’ he replied honestly.

You looked down at the woman again, your body not resembling hers - at all. You had curves. You had a full pair of breasts and enough ass to grab, but she was everything you were times ten. She even had better hair than you.

Chewing on your bottom lip, you couldn’t help but ask: ‘’Do you…do you wish I looked more like her?’’

Eddie frowned as his lips held back a laugh. ‘’What? No.’’ He shook his head. ‘’Absolutely not.’’

‘’Then why do you jerk off to her?’’ There was pain in your voice - you were hurt. How else were you supposed to feel when your boyfriend tells you he jerks off to another girl?

Eddie read the seriousness of the situation and how genuinely hurt you were by his confession, and sat on the bed before you. He put the comb and brush down, his hair could wait, and took your hands in his.

‘’Sweetheart, look at me,’’ he asked, his voice gentle and sweet. ‘’These women are bland and, most importantly, fictional. Sure, they look hot and all, but I don't wish you looked like them. These body proportions are ridiculous and exaggerated for the sake of fiction. Now, you shouldn't be surprised by my liking for a nice rack. You know I'm a tits man.’’

Your cheeks flushed, flustered by your boyfriend's words, and you hit his chest, making him laugh. Eddie had explicitly expressed his appreciation for your breasts many many times.

A mischievous grin turned at the corner of his mouth, about to say something either stupid or dirty. ‘’I'm not trying to flatter you, but I'd rather jerk off to your naked body. Alas, that option isn't always available…’’

Your flushed darker. ‘’Oh my god… Please stop.’’

Eddie pulled you toward him, taking the magazine on your lap and discarding it on the floor with the rest of his mess. ‘’I’m sorry if that magazine made you feel insecure.’’ He kissed your head, wrapping his arms around you.

Taglist: @broadway-or-noway @violetsleftfist @thelaststraw3 @cursedandromedablack @Slashersimpfor @savagejane1 @wh0reforbucknasty @eddiemunson-slut @slvdsjjk @hehehehannahthings @dreamdancers-world @grace-loux @iamharrystyleslover @matildavol6 @Original_babababoo @eddiemunsonbby @notbeforelong @lexi-2004 @violetrainbow412-blog @tatespillows @alwayslexii @lilygreennn @milkiane @imahomeslice @bunnygrl16 @cwritesforfun @marauders3rawh0re @your-mom21 @parkersmyth @voguesir @milkiane @andrewgarfields-girlfriend @lilygreennn @alexxavicry @charlie-chick @wandamaximoffs-deadchild @horrorstreet @rmeddar123 @Pastel-abyss-x @lil-tracys @lanalanabanana

Eddie Munson taglist: @nighttwingg @yourfavoriteakutagawakinnie @heizenka @eddiemvunsongf @Eddie_munsons_girlfriend @magicalchocolatecheesecake @eddiemunsonistheloveofmylife @avril-reblog-cave @Fandomfaeryreads @harrys-tittie @straycatarang @fourlokiss @eddiemattress @ghoulishlygrey @paola-carter @bubsonnobx @pauldanoswifereal @ofherscarlettwitchways @kiszkathecook @truewdw1 @bubsonnobx @ohhrexella @Dreamtiara @pastelbabygirl19 @steves-robin @eddiemunsonbby @jenlouvre @bonked-beyond-belief2 @tvserie-s-world @bootlegmothman420 @courtmr @chrisxevans-seb @satinselenite @thikkiesixx @jennilynn63 @nia-um @welcometohellfirw @strangermarvelgirl @sugar-simz @fandomloversvaries @miakatharinaa @julsss321 @m1rkw00dpr1ncess @Minksblog @soph69420world @ameliakf13 @nancewheelersworld @parasadic-blog @nluvwitheddiemunson

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x y/n #stranger things #stranger things imagine #eddie stranger things #stranger things s4

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almamadrigalfanclub · 11 months

Text

Alma Saves Pedro

Cause she too og to let him just like that

-----

Alma watched as her husband's blood flooded the river, the golden light of the candle in front of her momentarily forgotten as she watched everything happen. She felt the ground shake and she saw mountains closing in on her, her triplets, and the townsfolk behind them. She looked at Pedro, who lay in the river. But...he wasn't floating. No, no he was sinking. His chest was, albeit barely, moving and his eyes weren't glazed over.

That means he is still alive.

She can still save him.

Alma clutched her triplets close. Using the last of what little strength she had, she hobbled forward, her determination pushing her. She wadded into the river, her hand reaching out. She could hear the other townspeople behind her protesting, but she wasn't listening. She needed to save Pedro. She had to.

Her free arm shot into the water, frantically moving around, searching. "Come on, come on...!" Her hand brushed against something, clothing. A shirt. She grabbed and yanked as hard as she could--Pedro emerged, sputtering blood and water. His drooping eyes looked into Alma's and he say nothing but pure love and dedication.

"Till death do us part..." Alma heaved and looked down at Pedro. "I'm not ready to part yet, mi amor," she said. She looked up, calling out for help. Two men quickly dropped their bags and things, rushing to help Alma pull Pedro out, while a few women helped her out of the river, ensuring she and her triplets were ok. Pedro was quickly pulled aside, and Alma sat next to him, holding his hand.

Pedro looked up at Alma, smiling gently. The candle (which had still been lit and was glowing very brightly), lit up his face, and Alma had tears in her eyes as she watch one of the town doctors tend to Pedro's chest wound. He tried to speak but the doctor instructed him not to, so he didn't lose any more blood as he wrapped up his chest, holding it closed. Something about neesing to sew him up as soon as possible. But Alma wasn't listening. She knew didn't need to hear Pedro. She was just glad he was alive.

Alma watched as he was carried off on a horse, towards the giant house that had just appeared on the hill, among the other houses that had formed a small village of some kind. A kind woman, an old nurse, wrapped Alma and her triplets in a blanket, guiding them to follow behind her husband and the other medical team. "You must really love your husband don't you?" She asked, wrapping a warm hand around Alma's shoulder as the last of the mountains closed up.

"More than anything. I couldn't let him die. I couldn't let him go," Alma confessed, looking down at her babies who were now staring wide-eyed at their mother.

"I believe you. I really do. You were brave, and, well, maybe a little dumb to do that," The nurse smiled, her wrinkles creasing as she looked at Alma, and the mother laughed softly under her breath as she entered the house (which waved at her. Now she had seen it all.) "But...I believe it's a miracle you managed to save him."

Alma looked into her free hand where her and Pedro's wedding candle was. It pulsed with some kind of energy, glowing impossibly bright. Her face softened as she was guided to sit down. "Yeah. It was a miracle huh?"

-----

Y'all like it? First time posting writing over on this blog but I hope y'all enjoy it anyway (≧∇≦)/

Probably gonna post another one later, its from a different au tho <333

Also gonna put my oneshot book on AO3 (not just Alma but there are Alma stories and y'all would be able to request lol)

#alma madrigal #encanto #encanto abuela #encanto alma #alma madrigal fan club #encanto au #art #encanto pedro #pedro madrigal #pedro lives au

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jomiddlemarch · 8 months

Text

Alina and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

Alina was fairly certain that kindergarten pickup was actually a level of Hell. One of the deeper ones, though she had to admit that waiting for the divorce to be finalized and the week in February that Mal had been away at a conference in Hawaii when Eli got the stomach bug and she’d run out of orange Pedialyte, Clorox, and episodes of Elmo’s World just as she’d succumbed were both worse. She’d gotten a tee-shirt out of the conference and not herpes, so it was slightly ahead, which was the kind of thing she’d say that would make Gen tell her she really had to stay in the here and now and focus on herself and Eli; the fact that focusing in herself to Gen always meant some form of hot/stone/the feminine Divine yoga plus or minus a green smoothie was something Alina figured she just had to suck up as part of the best friend code. Especially if she wanted (needed) Gen to remain on Eli’s emergency contact list and deal with kindergarten pickup if Alina had a deadline or her car decided to call her bluff on her perpetually overdue oil changes.

She’d actually finished the article on affordable housing while sitting at the oil change place, wondering from time to time how oil change places still existed and why they still had a TV mounted on the wall when everyone was on their phone, earbuds in, podcasts and memes washing over them as digital sedatives. When she’d said anything like that at home, Mal would accuse her of being a Luddite, while continuing to shoot some monster on his gaming PC, and she’d launch into an explanation of why the Luddites got a bad rap and remembering it, she once again rejoiced in the finalization of the divorce, despite everything else it had cost her, starting with her rosy ideals about happily-ever-afters. In the timeless, nameless oil change place, happily-ever-after seemed like something that wouldn’t even appear on the TV as an infomercial. On the flip side, she wasn’t worried her car would die in kindergarten pickup.

Instead, she wished for death. Or something that would free her from her misery, besides the over-priced pistachio latte that she promptly spilled as soon as she got out of her car, half of it landing on her already dingy sneakers. She was surrounded by totally put-together, mani-pedi-ed moms in Lululemon or power suits or hand-knit sweaters and $300 jeans, with younger siblings in the latest paisley slings, Labradoodles with monogrammed collars off-leash and milling about, the same women who’d post their freshly washed and fashionably dressed kid holding a “First Day of X Grade” chalked on adorable chalkboard pics on social media. She’d waffled for a good ten minutes over the latte, since it really wasn’t in her budget and almost certainly was contributing to climate change and her chances of developing Type II diabetes, and all for what? Turning her greyish sneakers a bilious shade she associated with Dickensian misers with gout and getting her hands sticky.

“One of those days,” she heard, a man’s voice drifting down from behind her left shoulder. Before Alina could twist around or even cant her neck upward to see who was talking to her, he’d offered her an unopened pack of travel wet-wipes.

“Uh, thanks,” she said, peeling back the sticker closing the wipes and dabbing at her cuff of her cardigan.

“Sorry about your coffee,” the man said. He’d moved into view, tall and dark-haired with a neatly trimmed beard, a sporty fleece vest layered over what he had to have worn to work, suit pants and a dress shirt still wrinkle-free. “I could easily spare a juice-box—apple-carrot ended up being a bust.”

“I can’t say I’m surprised,” Alina remarked. “Plus, juice isn’t supposed to be good for kids.”

“No?”

Alina shrugged. “I mean, it’s not like you’re giving them absinthe. Or liquid plutonium. But yeah, whole fruit is better. And they can just drink water.”

“You’re the first mom to talk to me at pickup,” he said. “I’m Alex, by the way. Cosima’s dad.”

“Probably because you’re like the only dad to show up,” Alina replied. She didn’t say “and you look like you’re on the cover of Vogue except for the navy fleece” but she thought it. Loudly.

“Their loss. Cosima always has so much to say as soon as she leaves the building, I get a play-by-play,” he said. “I’m out of town enough I don’t like to ask her nanny to get her if I can do it.”

Alina knew she should not say it. It was clear as day, as a bell, as crystal. Hell, she only had to make a leading remark and he’d probably volunteer the info, if his unprompted remarks about being Cosima’s dad and having a nanny were anything to go by. She had, however, been known to make bad decisions. See: Mal, though Eli was the most silvery of silver linings.

“Her mom can’t pick her up?”

Alex, who had every right to freeze up or withdraw or otherwise let her know she had far overstepped in her latte-stained sneakers, shrugged.

“She left me to go find herself. That doesn’t make her terribly available for kindergarten pickup. Or bath-time, beginning ballet, or urgent care visits for ear infections,” he said, not as bitterly as he could have but not as Zen as he’d likely intended. There was a look in his eyes that only another divorced, custodial parent could recognize, a pain made of equal parts anger and humiliation, the need to conceal it from the child who shouldn’t see their other parent as a villain. The fatigue from being the one who was there, who couldn’t think about a weekend away or a night out without worrying about whether there’d be a call from the sitter, a fever, a crying jag over the fear of abandonment and the finite quantity of chicken nuggets allotted to a meal.

“I really thought you were going to end on bake sales,” Alina said.

“I always get a pass from the class moms on those,” Alex said. “They don’t expect a dad to bake, so if I do, I’m basically a superhero and if I can’t manage to send in homemade banana chocolate chip muffins and send her in with a box of cupcakes from Kaminsky’s, I’m still in their good graces. It’s completely unfair.”

“It is,” Alina said. She couldn’t be that annoyed because he knew it. “I wish I could get away with banana bread muffins. I sent Eli with red velvet cupcakes once and I didn’t use organic red food coloring or organic, locally sourced cream cheese for the frosting and I got the smoky cat-wing stink-eye for the next month. I should have risen above it, but honestly, it sucked.”

Alex laughed. He had a nice laugh, a nice voice, and seemed like a nice man who was a good dad. With her luck, that meant that he was either secretly an immensely powerful, evil mastermind intent on world domination or that she’d never see him again.

“You’re Eli’s mom? Cosima says he’s very smart and good at sharing and he makes the best dinosaur sounds. Somewhere between a growl and a yodel, I gathered after she gave up trying to describe it and demonstrated her impression,” Alex said. “I hope this isn’t too presumptuous, but would you consider a playdate for them? It’s been rough, these past few months, and I’m trying to make sure she still has a normal childhood, whatever that means these days. My mother thinks I spoil her, but she’s very old-fashioned. My mother, not Cosima.”

“My schedule is a little tricky,” Alina said carefully. She would have been more wary if it had been one of the exquisitely put-together mothers asking, more relaxed if one of the nannies had made the proposal. She wasn’t sure what to make of Alex’s offer, except that she’d wanted to say yes right away and that meant she needed to watch herself. The opportunity to even subtly trash-talk her ex was irresistible, however. “Eli’s father is around, but never when I need to organize anything.”

“We could meet at the park. I can bring enough snacks to last the afternoon, you could come when you’re free,” Alex suggested. He said when and not if, enough hope in his voice and those dark eyes that it sounded like an appeal and not an attempt to control her.

“I wouldn’t want you to go to too much trouble,” she said. She had thought arranging playdates would be easier than actual adult dating, but thus far, she’d been wrong.

“Oh, I won’t. I’ll go to Kaminsky’s and stock up. I’m friends with the owners,” he said. “I should say, I’m friends with Theo and Ivan doesn’t outright loathe me and allows me to eat his pastry. If you are not Theo, that is about as close to friends as you can get with him.”

“Sounds like my friend Gen’s boyfriend David, except substitute updating all my devices so I don’t get hacked or locked out of my bank account for petit fours and apple turnovers,” Alina said.

“That’s what you’d like, apple turnovers?” Alex asked, looking at her with a degree of focus that started out as unnerving and then suddenly felt warmer than appraisal, too thoughtful to be mere flirtation.

“You don’t have to—” Alina began, cut off when the kids were released, much like a swarm of infuriated bees or the Charge of the Light Brigade, Eli running a credible Olympic qualifying sprint with her latte-splattered knees as the finish line, a dark-haired little girl with neatly braided hair arriving slightly more decorously in Alex’s embrace; he’d instantly dropped into an unfairly elegant crouch to receive his daughter, while Alina planted her feet to take on the onslaught of Hurricane Eli.

“Papa, you have to tell Baba not to eat snails anymore because Ms. Costas got one and it’s got a name and snails are people too,” Cosima announced, small hands planted on her father’s shoulders.

“Its name is Greg,” Eli said, as if the four of them were having a conversation, which Alina now supposed was the actual truth.

“So, a boy snail,” Alex said.

“No,” Cosima said. “Just Greg.”

“Can we go to the park, Mommy? You said we could. Can we bring meatballs?” Eli asked.

“Not today, buddy,” Alina said, bracing herself for a tantrum or a closing argument worthy of Clarence Darrow or Judge Judy.

“You said—”

“Your mom said we could have a playdate on Saturday and that is in two days,” Alex interjected. “Cosima and I are going to bring a blanket and some treats. We could include meatballs too.”

“Don’t,” Alina said. Alex’s expression went blank but Cosima and Eli’s both looked mutinous and on the verge of tears. It was amazing Ms. Costas could stand firm regarding quiet time in the face of such unified disapproval. “I just meant, don’t worry about meatballs. Meatballs is Mr. Lanstov’s cat. He’s our neighbor, we help out a little—”

“Yeah, because Mr. Lantsov is a million years old,” Eli said. “He said to call him Niko, but Mommy says that’s not polite because he’s so old.”

“We could bring apple turnovers then,” Alex said. “And maybe some catnip for Meatballs. It would be nice to make everyone happy.”

For @vesperass-anuna and @aloveforjaneausten who were wanting a modern AU for Darklina where our two unhappy characters meet at school picking up their kiddos.

#darklina #modern au #alina x aleksander #dilf!aleksander #fluff #humor #kidfic #mal bashing #prompt fill #fivan #ivan x fedyor

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sha-bae · 1 year

Text

The Knights Pet

Chapter One

Kylos POV

I scanned my surrounds as me and two of my Knights made our way inside the dimly lit club. Multiple women made there way around the room, some entertaining men others serving drinks. Red velvet booths lined the walls of the large room and the smell of sweat and desperation was stagnant in the musty air.

Patrons of all different races filled the clubs seating areas, speaking amongst them self's and enjoying the female workers. Vicrul made his way over to a booth and took a seat, resting his elbows against the hard surface that now sat in front of him. Trudgen and I joined him.

The table was strangely low, with steps that went from the floor to the edge of the surface. Lights lined the the booth, adding to the erotic mood inside the club. "I'm sure we will find what we have come for, Ren. We had the owner reserve a girl that I thought might satisfy" Vicrul said, his mask distorting his voice as he spoke.

This entire plan had originally been Vicruls.

"Not a slave, a companion" he had explained to his fellow knights. He had expected to get shut down quickly by the supreme leader but I sat there quiet, waiting to hear more. "No more whore houses, we would have access to the girl whenever we wanted." He sounded so confident in his plan. "That's the definition of a slave" Ap'Lek replied, rolling his eyes as he spoke.

"She would have freedom here. Much more freedom then they allow the girls at those places." Vicrul shot back, obviously annoyed by his fellow knights attitude. "And if she was to hate it here, what would be done with her then?" Trudgen asked, leaning back in his chair as he awaited further details. "She would be set free. As I said, she would not be a slave... Aren't you sick of the tired of the overused women we seek for service?"

I was pulled from my thoughts as i turned my mask covered head to see a line of girls, leather collars wrapped around each of there necks. The sound of the chains wrapped around there ankles erupted as they all made there way to there assigned tables. A girl, long dark hair, wearing blue lace approached our table, her head hung low as she dragged her restraints along.

She carefully bowed before lifting her head to examine us. A look of fear crept over her features as she stared at us, eyes wide with shock, we must not have been her usual type of guests.

She quickly noticed the large weapons that sat in the booth with us and averted her gaze, forcing herself to look at something else, anything else.

Slowly she made her way up the steps and onto the table. Her steps where shaky and her hands were balled into fists at her sides as she tried her best not to trip over her chain. She sank to her knees slowly on top of the table, now on full display for everyone in the booth to admire. She straightened her back and lowered her shoulders, attempting to look as confident as she could.

Despite her fear, it was clear that she was eager to please. It was hard to tell If the reason was purely her own or if she was simply following orders. Trudgen leaned back against the velvet upholstery, taking a good hard look at the girl, eating up her presence. She sat still, her hands resting on the top of her thighs as she chewed her bottom lip.

I had to admit, she was stunning. Her brown eyes wondered, curiously examining me and and my knights. "I trust everything is going well here" a man said as he approached the table. He was an older man with greying hair and a wrinkled face. His silk black dress shirt hung open just enough to expose all of the golden chains that hung around his throat, resting against his wooly chest.

Trudgen nodded still hungrily admiring her. Vicrul gave a half nod, he found the interruption from the man to be exceedingly obnoxious. "Well when I heard Kylo Ren was to be in my club I didn't believe it" the man snickered. "But here you are, in the flesh." It was obvious from his voice that he was a heavy smoker. The lingering smell of tabac that followed him around didn't help much.

"I made sure to have something special ready for you, Supreme leader." he continued stepping closer to the girl. "She is a beauty isn't she, my newest one. Just in from the wasteland. Doesn't speak Basic yet." The man smirked. "What language does she speak" Trudgen questioned, his mask never wavering from the girl.

The older man shrugged. "No idea, she hasn't said a word since she got here. But it's pretty clear she doesn't understand me. Isn't that right doll?" He chuckled. The girl didn't answer, just stared at him with her eyebrows knit together in confusion. "Ya" he continued, patting the girls head. "Well I'll get out of your hair supreme leader, let you get a look at the merchandise. Please alert me if your in need of anything." The man smirked as he walked away.

I almost felt bad having her sitting that way, on top of a table, like a show animal. Her head jerked around, her eyes fixating on Vicruls leather gloved hand on her bare leg. She looked him up and down as her heart pounded rapidly inside of her chest as she tried to catch her breath.

"Don't be afraid," he assured her as his large hand traced up to her hip, making her shiver from the contact. "It's only a mask" the girl stared at him scrunching up her face. "A Mask?" She mimicked, her voice no louder then a whisper. "Yes that's right." Vicrul praised her.

He picked up her hand from where it sat against her leg and pulled it to his face, resting her fingers against the metal of his helmet. "Only a mask" he repeated. A chill ran down her spine as she touch the cold metal. A tiny smile forming on her face as she relaxed a bit.

She's exactly what we came for.

Don't be to hasty. If you aren't satisfied we can surely find another

I don't wish to see anyone else.

Then It is decided.

#kylo ren x reader #knights of ren x reader #knights of ren smut #kylo #kylo fanfic #kylo x reader #kylo ren #star wars #Knights of ren #snoke #supreme leader snoke #ren #ben solo

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martian-garden · 12 days

Text

Probably controversial of me to post this on the reading comprehension website. But this is also the autistic trans website, so, target audience...

If you're trans and afraid of people, I have a trick for you. Try looking at them and telling yourself "it's possible they could be trans too".

I cannot explain what this has done for my confidence, in so many ways. It allows me to sidestep the immediate void between my experience and the impression I worry about giving and my perception of theirs. I immediately greet them while assuming the best, and my brain doesn't go searching for signs that they hate me. I smile bigger. And they pick up on the ease, and it tends to make them friendlier, too!

It also does so much for my own confidence as a trans person. Looking at human bodies that are all shapes, sizes, ancestries. Examining fashion senses. It's a physical reminder that trans people can look like anyone. Anyone, any body, can be trans. It really just... recalibrates how you see bodies. Even if they're most likely cis, you start seeing a whole person. The parts of them that often get washed out when your brain just ascribes "man" or "woman". You start seeing how their lines in their faces fall, how they carry their weight. You're not looking for it to try to guess their assigned sex or hormones, you're looking at them because you recognize that the person in front of you has a body, and anything could be true about it, really. The more people you think about as potentially free from the weird cis binary, the more comfortable you become with your own body. The things that make you look "masculine" or "feminine" just kind of... bleed into basic humanity. You notice things like plenty of women, statistically most of them cis, have strong and angular faces. You notice plenty of people can look androgynous, too, especially as they age. Men who have soft faces and are shorter than 5'. The way wrinkle lines turn a face into a lattice with the expression slightly obscured until you throw them a smile, and watch every muscle turn upwards and kind.

You just. You just start looking at people as *like you.* And in my experience, the harder I try to see people as similar to me instead of different from me, the better luck with interactions I've had. The less anxiety I carry. The more likely someone is to tell me, when I've complimented their beanie or their nails or their shirt, that I've made their day.

#trans #social anxiety #tips #queer #transgender

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azurelyy · 2 years

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Heyyy I hope your day is going great!!! :))

May I request a narutoxfem!reader where the reader is going through a break up and naruto comforts the reader and later on he confesses his feelings towards the reader. I hope this makes sense 😭 anyways tyyy :))

Btw I love your writing 🫶🫶🫶

Hi, lovely Anon! Thank you very much for the request. I am so sorry this took so long.

I think friends to lovers stories turn me feral, because I uh... Yeah. I went overboard. @uchihabbynic @tired-biscuit tagging you as requested! I hope this can help quench your Naruto thirst 🥵

Title: Dream Theater 🍋

Words: 5.8k

Ship: Naruto x f!reader

Warnings: NSFW, hurt/comfort, hand job, blow job, overstimulation, threesome, praise, soft dom!Naruto, fingering, very pussy drunk!Naruto, tit fucking, pearl necklace.

Mentions: Shikamaru & Hinata

Days like today humbled Naruto by reminding him that even the most powerful of Shinobi have that special something that freezes their hearts; a certain concoction that imprisons their souls by dangling hope’s dazzling light over them before snuffing it out and leaving them alone in the infinite darkness. But for Naruto, that something wasn’t a power-hungry Uchiha, or almighty gods that were up to no good; no, what Naruto feared above all else, was the fury of a beautiful woman scorned.

He was not prepared for this. Your voice was like a firecracker as you wept out profanities and self-deprecating remarks, flailing your arms wildly with no regard for your surrounds (or Naruto’s face, which you had smacked a few dozen times), your button nose redder than Rudolph’s as you continued to assault it with the paper-thin fabric, a mixture of snot and tears coating them as you tossed the tissues to the birch hardwood beneath your feet. Your hair was all askew, your cute matching pajama set was wrinkled with one leg pulled up to your calf and the other fully pulled down, as you paced back and forth along the length of your living room, the box of tissues Naruto followed you around with nearly empty, as you finally collapsed to the couch, defeated.

“Why didn’t he want to marry me?” You cried, blowing your nose harshly.

Naruto hesitated. Was this a trick question? Should he answer this? The truth was, he didn’t know the answer. Shikamaru never discussed your relationship, both he and Naruto respected you far too much to get into the dirty details - those were saved for one-night stands and short flings - but for long term partners, especially ones that were friends first, the secrets of the bedroom stayed locked away. The reality was, Shikamaru was meant to tell you the answer a year and a half ago - but it looks like he never did.

Naruto reached into the box, pulling out the last tissue and handing it to you gently as you tossed the old one, wrapping his arm around you to allow you to cry into his broad shoulder. You truly were a mess right now, as you blew into his shirt like an elephant, but he didn’t mind. He kissed the top of your head as you cloaked your arms around his waist and wailed, hot tears seeping onto his skin and sliding down his back.

“Because Shikamaru is a dumbass.” Naruto decided to answer, rubbing your upper arm.

A humorless, deflated chuckle rumbled from your chest through the hiccups. “H-He’s literally a genius.” The last word barely escaped your lips as you sobbed even harder, your grip around Naruto tightening and surprising him as you managed to force a cough from the pressure you put against his stomach.

“So?” He asked. “He’s always been an idiot when it comes to women, and he was a special kind of stupid when it came to you.”

You sniffled loudly and pulled back, shooting the saddest smile Naruto had ever seen right into his heart, the force impaling him to the couch. He reached his free hand up and smoothed out your hair, trailing his thumb against your cheek to catch the final few tears that toppled from the edge of your dazzling eyes. You wiped your nose with the last tissue and watched as it slowly fluttered to the white-cotton graveyard beneath your feet as you collapsed into the crook of Naruto’s neck once again, sighing.

Your warm breath tickled his Adam’s apple as he swallowed a cluster of lust and adoration. He was certain that you could hear his banging heartbeat as you nuzzled into his neck and crawled onto his lap. He grunted softly as he wrapped his strong arms around your waist and cradled you to him, wanting to shelter you from ever feeling this way again.

Naruto and Shikamaru had an honor code - a rule that had transcended all else in their decades of friendship - it was unbroken and unspoken, yet it hung over their heads like an ax before a beheading: No dating each other’s exes.

This code was the bane of Naruto’s very existence. When Shikamaru had first told him that you two were dating, Naruto felt his soul get sucked away into a vortex and his heart fall into the pit of his stomach. He had never admitted to Shikamaru that he had a crush on you - he didn’t know how, considering Shikamaru had told him first. It was a rare thing: Shikamaru having interest in anything, and especially anyone.

“Really?” Naruto asked, his voice muffled as he chewed his inner cheek. “You’ve never told me about your crushes before.”

“Never had one.” Shikamaru shrugged and pulled out a cigarette. “But she’s… I mean, you know her. She’s special.”

“Yeah,” Naruto agreed, clenching his fists as he looked to the starry sky as Shikamaru’s cigarette smoke swirled into the cold night air. “She is.”

So, what was Naruto to do other than smile and say how great it was, and that you two were made for each other, as each of his organs slowly withered away inside of him. He remained friends with both of you. He wasn’t the type of person to let a vendetta stew for long, and he had to admit, you two really were good together - for awhile. You played off each other like practiced musicians; inside jokes and longing looks were hard to not take notice of at every social gathering the two of you attended. Naruto remained neutral as Switzerland during the break-up, providing a shoulder to cry on for you and a soap-box for Shikamaru to stand on for him.

“I don’t know, Naruto, alright?!” Shikamaru shouted, running a hand through his pointier-than-usual ponytail. “I just… don’t.”

Naruto sucked down his rage. “I hate to say this,” he crossed his arms and stood before his best friend, bolting him to the ground with his narrowed gaze. “But that’s fucked up. You need to tell her why you won’t marry her. Poor girl’s gonna have a complex.”

“I-” Shikamaru fumbled out a cigarette, cursing as it fell to the black concrete. He lit another one with shaking hands and sucked it between his teeth. “I know, but-”

“But nothing!” Naruto angrily took the death-stick from the man’s mouth and threw it to the pavement, crushing it with his foot while ignoring Shikamaru’s protests. “You must have some reason.”

“I don’t want to talk about this.” Shikamaru aloofly slid his hands into his front pockets and looked down, watching the cigarette tumble away in the wind. “She just… deserves more than me. I want my freedom. I can’t be… locked down, right now.”

“That’s not the reason and you know it.” Naruto turned on his heel to leave, stopping a few feet away to crane his neck back towards Shikamaru. “Have a heart and be honest with her, that’s all I’m saying. She loves you.”

He walked away, loud silence trailing slowly behind. He went straight to your apartment that night and watched you crumble. You tried to tell him he could leave several times, but Naruto was stubborn and wouldn’t budge, just continued to sit next to you on the couch and watched rom-coms with you, immediately switching to the next movie whenever the credits rolled. It seemed like so long ago now, and eventually, Shikamaru had moved on. Naruto felt terrible when you’d heard the news off-handedly from Hinata, who casually mentioned that Shikamaru and Temari were getting “pretty serious.” You had politely excused yourself from the table and left the bar completely as Naruto glared at his now-ex, flabbergasted.

“Hinata, seriously?” He asked, tapping his fingers nervously on the table.

“I-I’m sorry, Naruto-kun,” she whispered. “I thought you had told her.”

Naruto rolled his eyes and grabbed for his wallet, murmuring profanities as he laid enough cash down to pay for the table. “It’s not your fault,” he assured. “I want to go home.”

Sakura returned from the bathroom and looked surprised as they left the bar. Naruto heard Sasuke mutter something to her as he guided himself and Hinata out, his eyes darting around madly in search of any sign of you, but you were long gone.

Comforting silence filled the room as Naruto traced the curve of your shoulder blades through your shirt, the silk fabric soft on his finger as he imagined how your skin would feel pushed against his bare chest as you moaned his name and he circled your cunt with his cock. Jesus, Uzumaki. He thought. Really not the time. He kissed the top of your head and inhaled your intoxicating perfume, allowing himself to be lost in every inch of you while you pulled yourself back together.

“Naruto,” you said softly, pulling away to look at him. His navy blue eyes were brewing with a storm, rough on the surface and cutting deep into your heart. His sparkling white teeth sucked on his plush pink lower lip as he hummed at you in response, giving you a quizzical look. “I’m sorry. I’m being stupid. I really am over it, it’s just-”

He reached between your bodies to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear and your mind grew hazy as his citrus shampoo danced around the air, ensnaring you in an orange orchard in early spring, the air sweet as honey.

“What?” He asked, urging you to continue. His fine mouth formed into a half smirk and you felt the need to crash your lips onto his and wipe it off his face.

Instead, you cleared your throat and moved your hands from his waist to his thighs. “He dated me for three years,” you paused to take a deep breath. “And he didn’t want to marry me. But he dates her for… what? A year, maybe? And they’re engaged?”

“Like I said,” Naruto laughed coolly, “He’s a dumbass.”

You smiled at him and leaned forward, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. It was fast, as all your kisses to Naruto typically were, and it left you hungry for his hands to roam across your body as he branded your inner-thigh with his teeth. His hand dragged down your spine, goosebumps trailing his touch like a fire does oil, as he kissed your nose.

Hinata and Naruto had broken up just a few months ago, after two years of dating. It was a bad breakup, nearly topping your own with Shikamaru, and it made you feel for the poor girl. She had never been your favorite person - she was clingy and didn’t seem to have much regard when it came to your feelings, sometimes forgetting that you and Shikamaru had ever dated - but she didn’t handle the breakup well. Naruto had come over right after with a small backpack and a sheepish grin, his hair dripping down his shoulders as the rain pelted against him. You rushed him inside and handed him a towel to dry off with as he continued apologizing to you, stating he didn’t know where else to go.

He stayed with you for a whole week before securing his own apartment, and he told you all about the breakup and his reasoning. You assured him that he wasn’t a bad person and that this was ultimately not just the best thing for him, but Hinata too, and that someday she’d come to see that. It hurt you to admit this to him, because it touched your heart deeply, reminding you of why Shikamaru had left you just a year prior.

I just think… you want things I can’t give you. That was how he’d left it, before stepping off your porch and strolling down the street, as though he hadn’t just wasted three years of his life with someone who he clearly never gave a shit about.

Living with Naruto was difficult. You woke up every day feeling like a cat was clawing at your stomach, trying to escape, as your mind screamed at you to just tell him already - to ruin your friendship and pounce on him like a predator does its kill - but instead you’d sit at the table and look at listings with him, lending out your feminine eye and telling him if a place looked unkempt. When he left, your apartment felt like a stranger’s, and you went into your room and cried until the sun had set beyond the horizon and the crickets had started chirping their song of the night, wishing for Naruto’s warm embrace as you faded away into a sad slumber.

He rested his forehead on yours, his lips brushing against your own as your heart leapt into your throat, cutting off your airway. You licked your bottom lip and hovered your mouth over his, biding your time to see what he would do. His hand rested on the small of your back, a calloused finger gingerly circling an indecipherable pattern on your skin that was exposed from your shirt being awkwardly crumbled around your body, an after effect of your chaotic meltdown from earlier.

He smiled and pressed his lips to yours, striking you down with lightning as your fingers reflexively twitched on his muscular thighs. His large hand cupped your cheek as he pulled his mouth back, his forehand still planted on yours as your breathing turned shallow. That kiss was… different. That wasn’t the stereotypical “Naruto kiss” you’d received from him countless times before; it was daring and bold; it was dark and twisted; it was soothing and welcoming.

You kissed him again, your lips melding to his like lost puzzle pieces as he lightly pushed you closer to him, waves of kisses washing against your lips as the two of you kept touching and releasing, touching and releasing. You opened your mouth as he feverishly deepened the kiss, angling his head to the side and pushing his tongue against yours. His breath was hot and cinnamony, tingling around your mouth like pop rocks as he moaned lowly and gripped his hand into your hair, tangling himself into your locks.

You dug your nails into his strong thighs as your tongues danced together, pressure bubbling beneath your skin as you grew confident and trailed your hand to his erection, lightly stroking him through his pants. He sucked on your bottom lip as you increased your pace, wrapping your small hand around his girth needily as he raked his nails against the small of your back. Was this really happening? He gripped onto your wrist, freezing you in place. There was thunder in your heart as you pulled back to look into his sinful eyes, his nose flaring and his breathing heavy.

“Not yet.” He tightened his grip around you and maneuvered his hand from your wrist to behind your knees, hoisting you up to his chest bridal style as he stood up and started walking towards your bedroom. “M’gonna play with you first, alright?”

He stood above the bed with you in his arms, his eyes twinkling with mischief and yearning, a wicked grin growing on his face. You nodded shyly and crashed your lips to his harshly, your teeth clicking together, a small burst of laughter erupting from his chest.

“Ow,” he complained teasingly as he plopped you to the bed. “No self control, huh?” He trapped your legs between his knees as he caged your face with his hands, planting them on either side of your head as he peered down at you. He kissed your forehead gingerly, working his way down your temple, avoiding your mouth and licking the shell of your ear.

“Is this okay?” He whispered, haunting over your earlobe. You listened to the cicadas chirping outside and Naruto’s shallow breathing as you wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed his temple. His heartbeat was drumming loudly in the stillness of the mutual pining, driving you slowly out of your mind.

“I-Is it okay for you?” You questioned, slightly insecure now.

He answered you with a light chuckle and a kiss to your ear as he whispered, “I’ve dreamt about this for years.”

“N-Naruto,” you whimpered as he kissed his way to your neck, sucking the skin into his mouth hungrily. “Me too.”

He pushed one hand off the bed and rolled it down your body, mapping out the curve of your breasts, the dip of your waist, the pudge of your stomach, before landing upon your throbbing pussy. He hummed into your neck, vibrating your pulse point, as he took his index finger and trailed it along your slit through your clothes, wet fabric sticking against your sopping cunt. You curved your hips upwards, catching his arousal on your entrance as a stifled moan slipped through your lips.

“So wet already?” He teased, adjusting his stance so he could push his knee between your thighs, the pressure forming black dots in your vision as you pleadingly tugged the hem of his shirt upwards. He undid the buttons of your sleep shirt one-by-one, nosing down your neck, licking your skin and leaving love bits along his path before sucking in the skin of the top of your breast into his mouth, his free hand circling across your clit through your clothes.

You sounded sexy. Naruto couldn’t believe all this noise was just for him as he continued to enrapture every inch of your body, bruising your delicate skin sinfully and blowing cool air to soothe the purple seal he left on your tit.

“Fuck, Naruto-” You gasped as your shirt fell open and he pawed at your hard nipple, his hot tongue licking around your other boob sensually, circling over your aereola like a vulture. “S-stop teasing me.”

“Are you telling me what to do?” He jerked away from you, cold air stinging your peaks and forcing them to stand at attention as you whined and clung desperately to his shirt that he refused to remove, only the faintest hint of the sun-kissed skin of his stomach peeking out at you from underneath his orange t-shirt. You flashed him a wicked grin, your fangs fully exposed, and raked your index finger over his tight stomach. Two could play at this game.

“Not telling you what to do,” you murmured quietly, pitching your volume down and forcing him to lean in and hover his face close to yours. “But-” you kissed his chin, working your way to his mouth. He whimpered lowly as he moved closer to you, your noses brushing against each other. Right where you wanted him. “Want you to do what you dreamt of all these years. Want you to show me.”

Naruto snapped as your hot mouth rolled onto his, your needy hands working at his t-shirt in a desperate attempt at disrobing him. He slid his way down your body, kissing every inch of exposed skin along the way, before the mattress sprung up slightly and he fully got off the bed. You tried to give him a snarky comment but a war-hardened hand silenced you by harshly pressing over your mouth as you were dragged down the bed by your ankles. A confused and muffled scream shot from your throat as Naruto sat on his knees on the bed and slid your head into his lap, bending over to beam down at you. His head hung above you as he moved his hand from your mouth and captured your lips onto his in an upside-down kiss. Your pajama pants were dragged down your legs and you kicked and writhed around, but Naruto kept kissing you as though this were completely normal.

“It’s me.” Naruto’s voice laughed from down the bed and you bit… Other Naruto’s? upper lip in shock. He pulled away and smiled down at you warmly, his golden hair cascading down around you like a sunlit tunnel welcoming you to heaven. “We’re, uh… Well, it’s all me.”

Oh, holy fuck. You reached upwards and traced Above Naruto’s whisker scars that adorned his cheeks, looking into his ocean eyes. He gave you a wink and played with your hair, before once again covering your mouth with his hand and twisting your taut nipple between his two fingers.

“Y-You weren’t wearing panties?” Below Naruto gulped, his knees pressing into the plush carpet as he ran his index finger along your slit, coating it with your sticky arousal. You made a strangled sound and he burst into laughter, the hot air caressing against your swollen lips. “That’s right, you can’t answer me.” He pushed his finger onto your hard nub, lightly swiping your clit side to side as you bit into Above Naruto’s hand. He stuck his middle finger into you and dragged them down to your entrance, drenching himself with you.

“So slick,” Below Naruto murmured. He slipped his fingers out of you and painted your inner-thigh in your sweet essence. You grasped onto the forest green sheets with white knuckles as you bucked your hips upwards towards his mouth. He swiped his tongue at you and you tensed your legs as a strong hand pushed your stomach down onto the bed.

“You asked for this, remember?” Above Naruto chided, earning another bite to his hand. You murmured something along the lines of this is torture - please just fuck me, whichever one - I don’t care as Below Naruto swiped his tongue up along the length of your cunt, roaming languidly across your walls before sucking your clit into his mouth.

Hot pressure built up in the air around your body as Above Naruto slid your head off his lap and laid down next to you, a firm hand still over your mouth, and nibbled onto your swollen nipple. His free arm snaked underneath your waist and arched you upwards, allowing Below Naruto a better angle as he continued lapping at your pussy, generously licking and sucking at your clit with a lyrical pace.

Above Naruto slid two fingers between your lips, his knuckles dangling from your mouth as you sucked mercilessly, gagging and writhing from the pleasure both men inflicted upon you. He chuckled, a low and dangerous thing, as you moved your hand to his pants and slowly undid his zipper. You gasped as you wrapped your hand around his cock, pulling him free as hot liquid clung between your fingers and you stroked along his length, tears welling in your eyes as his thick fingers glided up and down your throat.

“You don’t even care which of us is real, do you? You just want my dick that bad, yeah?” Your head was buzzing with pining and anticipation, your sense of direction completely inhibited. You didn’t care which Naruto was talking to you - which was fondling your breasts or which was lapping at your core - you needed him, and you didn’t care how you got it.

You increased the pace of your strokes on him, earning grunts of your name and praises from the men. You dipped the pad of your index finger into his slit as more seed dripped from him, oozing down your hand, and you both continued your dirty dancing in the dark of the bedroom. Your free hand reached above your head to grip onto Naruto’s soft hair; it was slightly wet from sweat and adrenaline; your heart palpitated and blood rushed to your cheeks and ears as a mountain of pressure brewed deep within your stomach.

Pure bliss enveloped all your senses as the two Naruto’s ravished your body. You were but a vessel for their pleasure, allowing them to claw at you like fiends as your mind went numb and your body melted into the sheets. Your toes curled as the coil in your stomach clenched tightly, pressure building up within you and boiling your blood. The sounds you were making drove Below Naruto mad with ardor, pushing him to his limit as he hastily used his free hand to spring his cock from its trapped state and stroked himself, mixing your arousal that lingered on his fingers with his own pre-cum as he continued lapping at your pretty pussy, gliding his head up and down your length while the flat of his tongue stayed planted against your clit.

Your strokes on him slowed and became sloppy as a disgraceful groan swirled around your cunt and Below Naruto fucked you with his mouth, the timber of his voice low and seductive, rumbling into your stomach and edging you over the cliffside as you orgasmed. Your entire body rippled beneath the men’s hard grasp over you as waves of pleasure and sinful liquid spilled out of you, drowning Below Naruto in a sea of sex. He kept his tongue steady as he drank you up, wetting his chin and mouth with you as Above Naruto stopped your strokes against him and brought your hand to his for a kiss, removing his fingers from your mouth.

“Holy fuck.” Naruto whispered, climbing on top of you and swirling his tongue over yours, a deliciously sweet mixture of your essence and his saliva coating your mouth as you heard a small poof and he pulled your hands up over your head and interlocked his fingers with yours.

Waves of pleasure melted over Naruto as every tantalizing touch, every shiver of your body, and every swipe of your hand against his dick slammed into him like a train as his Shadow Clone returned to him. He shivered heavily, his lips trembling against yours, as pinpricks and goosebumps enveloped over his entire body and soul. You were a perfect pixie - all needy and whiny and hazy - beneath him. He enjoyed making a mess of you. He intended to keep you as his mess forever, willing to clean you up always; to pick you up and take you where he wanted for all time - his own little locket that he could cherish everywhere and anywhere.

“You want me?” He grunted, nibbling your bottom lip. You nodded, your brain hazy, words escaping you. He hummed and rolled over, his fingers leaving yours as freezing air seeped where his hands once were and he guided you on top of him. You saw his fully erect dick, finally able to gawk at it properly. He was massive. You gulped, nervous as to how, exactly, this was going to happen.

“You want me to do what I dreamt about, cutie?” He teased, guiding your hand to his cock. Your hands rubbed down him gently as sparks flew around the air, igniting the room fully as you languidly stroked him. “Wrap that pretty mouth around me, then.”

You examined the situation, felt his cock oozing in your hand, saw his damnable orange t-shirt that still shielded his muscular body from you, and you disobeyed the command of your friend. You rolled your hips over him, your clit catching against his tip, as you moaned and removed his t-shirt aggressively. Naruto jerked upwards, catching himself onto your entrance to help you get the shirt off, sensual sounds filling the air as you both clawed at each other like animals. You sucked the skin of his neck into your mouth, biting and trailing your nails over his abs, as he jerked himself off beneath you. You licked down his pecs, his toned tummy, hummed against his adorable light blonde happy trail, before you hovered your mouth over his reddened head, furious and ready.

You delicately wrapped your mouth around his tip, gripping onto his hand and guiding it to rest on your head as he happily pushed you further down, needily begging for you the way you did him moments ago. You grabbed onto his loaded balls and rubbed them carefully as his head fell to the pillow and he breathed out your name, his white teeth shining in the faint light that shone in from the crack in the door.

He pushed your head further down as you gagged and hot tears formed in your eyes as Naruto broke beneath you. He arched his hips up lightly, forcing himself deeper, as his grip in your hair tightened and you moved your hand from his balls to your swollen clit. He pulled you up by your hair, his teeth gritted and sweat beading along his toned body, as he shook his head vigorously.

“Gotta-Gotta fuck you.” He husked. “C’mon, cutie.”

You adjusted slightly and hovered your slick cunt over his well-endowed cock, your breath hitching in the back of your throat as Naruto guided you by your hips and slowly lowered you onto him. You gripped onto his chest, his little blonde hairs tickling the pads of your fingers, as your walls stretched out and a deep moan erupted from your core as warmth flooded your stomach.

The aggression of his libido didn’t come as a surprise to you. He was the strongest shinobi in the world, so you expected for him to have the ability to demolish you for hours on end if he chose. What did surprise you was the amount of absolute control Naruto held over you. Your precious friend, the golden-hearted hero, was actually a monster in the sheets. He commanded you gently, never forcing himself, but always reminding you of who was in charge. He took hold of your heart swiftly, tossing the key to the wayside, sweet clanging against concrete, as he fucked you like it was your first time.

You were so tight around him, your walls slick with arousal, your little mewls pleading and desperate as your nails dug into the skin of his chest. You were better than his fantasies in every conceivable way - he couldn’t believe you wanted him in the same way he wanted you - as he inched himself deeper inside of you and watched as a little line formed between your eyebrows; your mouth hanging open in a tiny ‘o’ as he bottomed out inside you.

“You feel good.” His voice was pure desire, laced with temptation and a deep ruggedness that you had no idea he was capable of making. His dick was so hot inside you, warming its way up your stomach, as he thrust his hips upwards, singing his sexual song as his dick curved deep into your walls and directly hit your G-spot.

“S-shit,” you grunted, your boobs bouncing with each thrust. “Naruto, y-you…you’re so big.”

He rolled his hand from your hip to your stomach, grabbing at the plush skin, the pace of his thrusts maddening as he continued railing into you. His entire body rippled beneath you as your walls clenched around him, fire in your stomach, sweat beading down your forehead. You were like Aphrodite herself, bouncing on his dick, your expression lewd and needy. Naruto felt electricity course through his veins as he rubbed your tummy, his toes curling downwards as your pussy quivered around his girth.

“Feel me in here, yeah?” He gripped onto your lower-stomach as your breathing became ragged. “Fill you up, don’t I?”

“Naruto, I’m gonna-”

Your legs trembled as you reached another climax, your entire body quivering and your pussy clenching tightly around him as you shattered into a million fragments. Your hands twitched as you fell forward onto your arms on top of him, each muscle spasming harshly as hot liquid squirted around his dick and soaked his upper thighs, sliding its way down to the sheets. Naruto grit his teeth and slowed his pace, fucking you gently as you open-mouth kissed his stomach and continued chanting his name like a sacred soliloquy.

“Wanna fuck your tits,” he grunted. He wrapped his arms around you and rolled you over, peppering light kissing along your shoulders and chest. “M’close, just-fuck-” He caged your upper-arms with his knees as he placed his dick between your breasts and you pushed them together, enveloping them around his sopping manhood.

“Is this what you thought of when you were touching yourself to me, hm?” You teased, moving your tits up and down his length, pushing them together tightly as his head fell back and he gripped into your hair. He was so close to breaking, each movement of your sweet skin against his cock coursing ecstasy through his veins as blood rushed to his ears and white noise surrounded him. He shut his eyes tightly as the warmth in his stomach spread throughout his soul and he whispered your name towards the ceiling.

“Goddamn, g-gonna come.” He angled his tip gently towards your neck as he drained his balls over you, white-hot seed rippling out of him and coating your collarbones and seeping between your breasts. He was so warm as he crumbled above you, a delicate daffodil that had grown claws, as he slowly reverted back to normal. He praised you endlessly as his dick twitched between your breasts, his voice sexier than a saxophone.

“Holy shit,” he said, collapsing next to you and stroking your cheek. “That was-”

“Better than a dream?” You asked, leaning over to kiss him gently. He smiled against your mouth.

“Way better,” he agreed. “Stay there, I’ll help clean you up.”

He returned a moment later with a wet and dry towel, wiping away the mess on your chest and kissing each place he cleaned, praising something about you after every peck. Love your cute mouth - love your boobs - love the way you look when I fuck you - love your little moans - round and round he went, until you were completely cleaned up and he tossed the towels into the laundry bin and spooned you to his arms, sheltering your body in his strong hold and wrapping his muscular leg over yours as he kissed your shoulder.

“Do I even want to know what else we did in your dreams?” You asked, pushing your ass against his still erect length. He hummed into your skin, sending a chill from your shoulder muscles down your spine.

“Wanna know about yours next,” he trailed his hot mouth to the back of your neck and kissed the nape. “Wanna know everything about you.”

You laughed and held his hand that rested on your stomach, interlocking your fingers with his. “You already know everything about me, Naru.”

“Oh?” He asked, trailing his tongue to your earlobe and sucking the plump skin between his front teeth. “I dunno about that. I learned a lot just today.”

You felt heat rise to your cheeks as he sighed into your ear contentedly, his hips pushing against your ass as his arousal harshly poked into your skin. “I-I guess there might be a few things you don’t know…” He unwove his fingers from yours and rolled it to your breast, toying with your nipple as it started perking up. He pinched it between his thumb and forefinger as he laughed huskily, swirling the little nub around.

“Tell me what I did to you in your fantasies, cutie,” he nibbled on your shoulder gently, sharp teeth scraping against your skin. “And I’ll do it.”

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inklores · 1 year

Text

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐌𝐏𝐀𝐆𝐍𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐁𝐋𝐄𝐌𝐒.

pairing: henry!sherlock holmes x fem!oc

summary: sherlock holmes needs to find his intrepid little sister. clara bedi wants to keep his sharp nose off her trail. (word count: 3.1k)

content contains: fluff, sherlock being bad with women, slight strangers to lovers but they're both smart idiots

author's note: made originally for a class assignment but i'm too proud of it to keep it hidden away in my google docs!! enjoy

FUMES OF SMOKE lifting from the corners of his lips, he thumbed the lapis silk tie the pamphlet was bound by. The rhythmic movement was a rehearsed habit of his, charting keen thoughts that were falling into place.

Tea in the Parlor

Magazine of Modern Womanhood

25 April 1884

“A Problem With No Name. I’ve first heard that uttered so solemnly beneath the breath of a mother amid other mothers over the scent of teacakes and the English brew that her hands had surely processed the week before. Another cried. As your humble magazine writer, there have been women beyond our teatime who had answers to my questions. Those who sort matchsticks in factories, who raise children, who nurse other children. Those who live in the fine estates of Westminster, lodging houses along Greater London, and flats bordering Whitechapel, all have the same problem. The groping truths to their lamentations, brought into light when the children were away and their husbands attended to important business over a glass of sherry at their gentleman’s clubs,—”

Something more than a scoff and less than a laugh escaped Holmes.

“—were provoking. Just what was this nameless problem? A whisper that refuses to be said. The bond of pain, of womanhood, of the searing feeling that something great shall arrive to our fair England.”

— C.E. Babbington.

“Mr. Holmes, I hope you’re not mistaking me as someone with whom you are at odds with.”

Clara wore burgundy today.

Or indigo to a sharp eye, moreso if she sat in the dusky shade rather than by the window where sunlight was allowed to stream through the frosted glass tiles. The heat of the afternoon, Clara could tolerate. The brisk cold, the musk of tobacco, pomade, and fine English leather that filled her office—all mingling together to create one scent that floated around the man who stood in front of her— she virtually could not.

Well, “office” may have been a playful nudge to her ego. It was more of a closet with a pen, a hook to hang her coat when there was a chill, a canister of her favorite tea matched with her precious teapot, and a small sideboard that she used to stash her extra paper. Clara had spent enough time in that little closet to learn its quirks and commodities. The shutters would not close in blustery weather unless they were bound by a scarf. The gentleman who would take his Saturday morning coffee and eggs always found something to guffaw about in the newspaper. Clara knew because she could hear the fervor of his chortles from one story up. The fifth floorboard from the door creaked with the slightest movement and she had garnered the will to purchase a rug that softened footsteps over the parquet.

Now if only she could purchase a rug to wrap around the man filling her tiny corner with the fumes of… man.

A tall man. Haughty by the way he stood. He looked strong and sturdy, weaned on the finest food money could buy. Clara wondered if he teethed on crumpets and caviar as a baby. His clothing may have been picked to feign oneness with the people of England, but she noticed a grain on his breasted black coat. His crisp white shirt boasted no wrinkle, cinched around his neck by a silk ascot the color of charcoal. Chestnut curls spilled across his head—sharing no unified form—and fighting to be free of the pomade that gleamed in the dimness of the lamplight. She imagined an artless tumble of locks when he was nose-deep in a case. An errant strand fell over his brow, softening his countenance where his tone failed to.

“Have you anticipated me, Miss Bedi?”

It was Clara’s mistake for stopping short of her movements. Her fingers froze on the handle of her teapot and it was then she realized the incriminating ink stains that blotched her bronzed fingers.

She did not. He knew that. He likely knew what she had for breakfast as well. Hence the cloying pride that laced his query.

A tickle caught in her throat and she swallowed tightly to preserve her pride as she arched a dark brow. “No, I have not, but I applaud your effort. Nobody contemplates and makes a theater out of their face quite like you.”

Looking up from the tea she was pouring, Clara barely caught the indignant twitch in his face, even as his mountainous posture was unrelenting. For a man who was presumed to be discreet, he was quite eye-catching.

He dropped his gaze down to the lonely armchair and side table Clara would enjoy her tea in. It was the one perpetually surrounded by her basket of stained pen tips and folded newspapers— Clara had the habit of saving old prints—bits of thread, scraps of silk in cooler hues, linen from occasional embroiders, and stacks of books from Edith that never make it back to the shelf, being moved around constantly on the empty promise of being read to completion.

It was a detective’s heaven.

“The name ‘Holmes’ is beginning to mean quite a deal in this country,” her eyebrows slanted, copper eyes filled with constellations, “and do you think I would be in my position if I did not know?”

“Precisely why you flinched when I used your name and not your pen name.” His voice was rich as a fine velvet she let her hands graze over at a textile stand, but detached. “Deceit. To hide the plain truth, just as frills and elegant coifs do. Yes, it may dress you like a powder puff—” she parted her lips in protest but his eyes glimmered like opals, he was clearly not done—“but the man holding the pen is entirely different. In that…”

Her grip on her teacup could not get any tighter, for one tremor to rattle the porcelain would have him arriving quicker to the deduction he savored for last.

“He is not a man at all, is he?”

She watched in bated, almost nonexistent, breath—wondering how quickly she could get her hands on the cake spade lying unfashionably by the crumbs of a Dundee cake she had scarfed down the night before—as he fished a blue silk tie that bookmarked the yellowed book she just realized he held.

“How does a C.E. Babbington become… the elusive Clara Eashwar Bedi?”

A wave of cold took her from head to toe. If Clara wasn’t gripping the edge of her desk, knuckles quickly whitening, she was sure her knees would’ve given out. She stared down at the pretty silk tie, and then at the folded pamphlet he slid over the varnished surface, the black ink script almost snickering at her in mockery.

His words came as fluidly as water, uttered with a stone-cold expression she figured was his mask for his famous deductions.

“Four separate purchases of pens and paper from three different vendors.”

Spreading her tracks. No writer who desired anonymity would so foolishly expose herself by making a reputation with one seller.

He was studying her closet-office now. A satin kerchief protected his hand as he chose a stained pen to scrutinize. “Bills from Whitechapel. Cheaper ink—a shadowy writer such as yourself would not earn her dues to spend carelessly on finer supplies than supper for the night. Or silk ties to make her mark. To create a name.”

Cheaper ink bleeds easier. Her fingers, a blatant victim.

“Bedi.” He tasted her last name on his tongue for a moment, eyebrows pinched as if he was trying to paint a map in his acute mind. “When did your father leave India?”

Her throat was dry but she swallowed down her apprehension and managed out, “Fifteen years ago.”

“Does he work on the docks?”

“Worked.”

A flash of humanity lightened his eyes and the man of a chilly, pragmatic acumen faltered. “Apologies.”

The sound that tumbled from Clara’s lips could only be described as something between a shaking sigh and an aggravated grumble. “What is it you want, Mr. Holmes?”

“You write for the Magazine of Modern Womanhood,” he continued, making Clara bite back an exhausted groan. “Yet you affect a pseudonym. Why?”

“I don’t write for the magazine, I write alongside it,” Clara mumbled. Why was she entertaining him? “I don’t have the means to print my pieces independently— as you so cleverly deduced by my purchases of ink.”

“Your pieces… and other submissions, I’d bet.”

“Are you a betting man?” She lifted a brow curiously, daring him to stop this frivolous quadrille of tongues and get to the point.

“A cipher with the fingerprints of my sister was published in the personal advertisements column of your magazine, The Pall Mall Gazette, and The Journal of Dress Reform. It’s our mother’s interest she hopes to attract and with the choice of your publication, she has a good start.”

“God, there’s more of you?” she asked, feigning horror. “Is the world ready for that?”

(But where the name Mycroft Holmes was etched in cold stone and proud, old money, she had the sense the name Sherlock meant something else. Something whisper quiet like a dusty novel on crumpled velvet. Elegant with solitude.)

Sherlock took a step forward, his fingers still thumbing the fraying corner of the book. “Have you any idea where she might be?” He tilted his head. “I’m afraid our mutual acquaintance Edith had more to say of my “ostrich-like” nature than my sister.”

Clara couldn’t help the kick in her voice as she responded, “Appropriate.”

He smiled at her, a Private Investigator brand of Smile that Clara knew well enough from the numerous times a constable had approached the magazine for its inflammatory words, and which only deserved a Young Journalist Smile.

But what he said snagged her attention as well as a good story. Eudoria’s daughter. Little Enola.

Edith had mentioned her once or twice. Clara might have seen a glimpse of a little brown-headed girl with quick feet, dashing about Ferndell Hall when ladies of a particular ilk huddled around a table, bearing swords on their tongues and determination in their hearts. Clara typically stood behind her bolder friend, Edith, clutching a pen that barely made a scratch against her worn pocketbook. She knew little for the illustrious Sherlock Holmes to knock on her door… but little was more than enough to be cunningly dissected and deduced by him.

“Enola’s missing?” she asked slowly, hoping to stall but Sherlock Holmes was not a man for idle chatter. Her head shook in a disappointing, deceiving refusal. “I’m sorry, but I have the faintest idea as to where she’s gone and why.”

“I find that highly improbable,” said Holmes in a tone that suggested he too was done with this waltz. “You’re protective of your name, or, names —”

“And what will you do if I use your name, Mr. Holmes?” Clara countered rigidly, her heart leaping into her throat. “Loudly? With proper dictation? Letting everyone know your business more than you’d like?”

“Then you’d also find yourself and Edith in a very difficult position, one that I’ve made clear to her and will to you if I must,” Sherlock warned, dropping his voice to a decibel that made a chill rattle her spine. A hint of vague frustration was tangled within his dull humor.

Clara stilled, watching as he turned over the book and leafed through toward the back cover. Stuffed in the spine was a folded napkin and he paired it with the newspaper clipping for her viewing displeasure. Wrinkled and white and stamped with the crumbs of a pastry, her eyes were naturally drawn to the hasty scrawl in ink:

“C.E.B.

Matter of Bill —

Tea Rooms”

The same dismayed expression from when he dissected her alter ego took ahold of her face once more, even if she tried to disguise it by a clench of her jaw.

“Macaroons could do with some attention but Edith has enough to worry about,” said Holmes. “She’ll notice the missing book from her seditious collection but not the message hidden inside— a message written to Babbington, who I understand is an intrepid young woman, so I’m sure you’re aware of what the proper connections can do for a man.” The distant, icy blue of his eyes warmed. “I asked of your father— a man who likely worked too hard for too little a reward and you, his daughter, silently fighting in favor of a bill that will help the men and women like him.”

“My,” Clara gasped, “Mr. Holmes, I didn’t take you for a man of politics.”

The stray little curl swished across his brow as he shook his head. “Oh, I’m far from it.”

She hummed curiously. “Then, what do you fancy? People? Poetry? Probably not. It’s your cases that keep you warm at night, which is why you hunt your own sister in blind circles like a dog chasing his tail.” She leaned forward, lowering her voice, “If Edith tells you nothing, I will say even less. Trust your sister… and the future. Good day, Mr. Holmes.”

She made to go around him, ignoring the way her stomach fluttered as she did, until a bleak and dare she say, concerned mutter caught her ear.

“She’s a child.”

“By my understanding, you’ve abandoned her once, Mr. Holmes. In the pursuit of where your mind takes you and little of your heart,” Clara said, more sharply than was her wont.

“I beg your pardon.”

The anger in his voice flared like a bleeding heart. A man who was a fire next to gunpowder, ready to speak his mind and snatch the rug beneath a pair of unsuspecting feet. She could loathe him for being so perceptive and intelligent, yet plainly missing the changes of the world. But that tone… He was no longer a brilliant mind or a pleasantly distant man. He was a brother who wanted to know where his sister was.

And if there was ever a case that Sherlock Holmes would encounter, it would leave no secrets he could not crack.

Clara turned around, stained fingers toying with each other, teeth worrying her lower lip to a reddening bruise. Amusement danced in her eyes, quenching the frustration that twisted his sharply cut features.

“You have it,” she admitted after a pause, cheeks growing warm. “Because I’m a woman who believes in second chances… and the calling of her heart rather than her mind. And a desolate, hopeless bachelor tugs at that heart, I’m afraid.”

Sherlock’s face contorted incrementally, the corners of his lips curling up just a tad. It was not a smile. Another part of her would have thought so but not the smart part. Still, it was an odd expression that made Clara think it was gracious.

“I’m not aware of such a reputation.” Fond.

“Figures,” she sighed, eliciting a huff of laughter from him. The sound was enough to make her face crack with a smile. “Enola’s sixteen. And if she’s anything like her mother and brother, she won’t go down with a fight nor will she be drawn away from it. And the real fight is coming. I advise you to start there.”

He squinted at her. Then at the napkin. Then at the clipping signed by C.E. Babbington. The fight.

“A problem with no name,” he murmured.

“It has a name, Mr. Holmes. Whether it will be spoken is decided by men like you and your older brother,” she added, rightly hopeful. “Perhaps that will change.”

Silence settled comfortably between them until the pounding of her heart became too loud for her ears to bear. She cleared her throat and pulled the knob to her door, returning her gaze to Sherlock.

“Until next time, Mr. Holmes.” She smiled. “I hope your game finds its feet. My best to your sister.”

He tilted his chin in an understanding nod, hand pressing against the curly blue tie that still sat next to his evidence, her pamphlet. To her surprise, he waited. One hand disappeared in the flap of his jacket and came out holding a fine black pen shot with gold trimming. To a man like Holmes, it was a pen to write some very useful reckonings of the mind but to Clara, it looked more valuable than what she earned in a week. It clinked as he set it on her desk, accompanied by that slight, mysterious smile.

“Trust a bill won’t be made,” Sherlock assured, amused as he approached her. He extended the blue ribbon to her.

“And a secret will be kept,” she enforced, fixing him with a look as she curled her fingers over the forbidden silk tie, folding it into his palm.

His hand was cold, callused like the reward of cracking cases. Yet it managed to send a surge of heat swirling in her chest, akin to lightning crossing a black sky.

(And did she intend the other thing she did too? The split-second brush of her fingertips over his palm and the way the ball of his throat was disturbed by a tight swallow. Savoring the softness of the lapis silk strand against his pale flesh and her copper skin.)

He lingered by the doorframe for more than a second. Sherlock looked at her— perhaps a more bewitching case with the narrowest twists and the sharpest of turns. A shadow of a smile graced his prim lips and he let out a delectable, ruminative hum. “Is that a promise I would be foolish to break, Miss Babbington?”

“Indeed it is, Mr. Holmes.” She watched him depart, a puzzling black figure who had more to his voice than what he decided to speak.

“Oh, on the subject of hearts…”

Sherlock paused and turned around. He studied the meticulous way she swept her indigo skirt behind her and made him wait until she finally, painstakingly met his gaze. Only then she made him realize how beholden he was to her unfinished prose.

“While surely hopeless for a… perspicacious man with such a baffling pigheadedness,” Clara murmured, smiling lopsidedly, “do keep yours open.”

Before he left with another curt, reserved nod, Sherlock ruminated on her words. Her tone— he barely noticed the way he wondered how all of her other pretty, printed words would sound if they were turned from ink to… to… that voice.

No… she was not a case. She was a quandary. An unsolved riddle that he cracked with the full assumption that the winning hand was in his, only to turn over his cards and see that it was she who had the royal flush.

What fresh hell was this?

#sherlock holmes x oc #sherlock holmes #enola holmes #henry cavill #henry!sherlock #cavill!holmes #one-shots #ao3 #sherlock holmes x fem!oc

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