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sweetiecutie · 2 months

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Warnings: none, König is afraid of women lol, pure fluff, König being all over you <3

Loser!Metalhead!König whom you met through a shared friend at the small party. It’s not even a party as such - about ten young people gathered with food and drinks, light music playing softly on the background as everyone chatted and laughed. Your eyes fell upon tall dark figure in the corner - a giant of a man was sitting silently, listening to a conversation his other two friends were having, adding to it time to time.

Loser!Metalhead!König who is silent, aloof and even intimidating, with his long hair and black band t-shirts with skulls and chains and scary looking letters. You think he doesn’t like you first time you approach him, just nodding curtly at whatever you have to say, occasionally giving the shortest, driest responses. But, strangely, you don’t feel any hostility coming from him, his presence open and welcoming, even despite his detached and even awkward demeanour.

Loser!Metalhead!König who actually freaks the fuck out when a pretty little thing like yourself comes up to talk to him. He’s struck, not knowing what to do or what to say, his fear of women, especially as gorgeous and beautiful as you, showing up on its fullest. Being more of a listener naturally he just lets you ramble his ear off, taking in your every word even if it looks like he doesn’t care much about what you have to say.

Loser!Metalhead!König who is drastically different from you. You, with your pretty pink crop top and baby blue jeans, white ribbons adorning your hair and glossed plump lips curving so gorgeously in a smile, are a complete opposite to König - huge burly body clad in all black and heavy chains, thick forearms and bulging biceps, thick eyebrows knitted together, a frown that seems to be permanent is tainting his sharp features.

Loser!Metalhead!König who can’t get you out of his head, memories of you flooding his brain for the next few weeks. You just struck him like lightning - your syrupy voice, gentle eyes gazing up at him as you told him some silly story from your childhood - in the dead of night König’s mind unmistakably wandered back to them, getting lost in your orbs all over again, broad chest filling with warm buzz.

Loser!Metalhead!König whom you meet weeks later in a city centre, accidentally running into him on your way back home from running errands. Your eyes light up upon recognising your new acquaintance, lips stretching in a wide smile and König feels as if all the air is being punched out of his chest. You greet him heartily, asking how he’s been and what he’s up to currently. And König, shocking himself even, grasps the possibility, asking if you’d like to go grab some coffee because he’s dying for one right now (read as: I’m so painfully into you I’ll use any excuse to be around you). And you happily agree, leading him to that one coffee shop you love, which serves the most delicious chocolate cake he’ll ever have.

Loser!Metalhead!König who spends the rest of the day with you, first in the coffee shop and then going for a walk around the centre of Vienna, just talking about everything. Your bubbly and easygoing personality eases him out of his shell, making him talk more freely about his interests and hobbies, his chest tightening proudly upon seeing your amazed expression as he told you of his passion for playing guitars and drums, promising to teach you how to play a few chords in a future.

Loser!Metalhead!König who happily exchanges instas with you (his pictureless profile with 4 followers and name like kng69 lmao) scrolling in awe through all the photos you have there, littering your phone with repeated notifications of new like on your post. He’s sad when he notices the time, you telling him that you have to go home now, his ears perking up at your upset tone, meaning that you don’t want this day to end just as much as König does. He waits for your taxi to arrive, making sure you get in the right car, wishing you a safe ride home.

Loser!Metalhead!König who texts you on ig an hour later, asking if you got home safe. That message makes you smile stupidly at your phone as you reassure him that you’re all safe and sound at your place, adding that you enjoyed today and would like to meet up with König again someday. Now he’s the one grinning at his phone, pale blush dusting his high cheekbones as he lays sleepless in his bed, head full of buzzing thoughts and every single one of them is painfully full of you<3

A/n: might write part 2 of that, lmk if you’d like it🤭

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rip-quizilla · 3 months

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Polyjamourous

Eddie x GN!Reader

Description: You get a job at the record store, where you terrorize Eddie with so many different genres of music that he gets whiplash, but your energy is adorable so he's instantly soft for you.

Tags: big grumpy/sunshine trope here, fluff, workplace relationship (kind of), outgoing!reader, Hannah putting her liked songs on shuffle and using them here shamelessly, no physical description of reader other than hinting that they have a glorious gyatt that Eddie can't help but stare at.

Word Count: 2.4K

A/N: I didn't coin the term "polyjamourous"! I saw it in a TikTok by Viktor Fellbrink. Does it describe me perfectly though? Absolutely.

🎧🎧🎧

When Eddie had interviewed you for a job at the record store downtown, one of the first questions he’d asked was about your taste in music. Your response had caught him so off guard that he couldn’t hold back a laugh.

“I’m polyjamourous.” you’d said.

Eddie had blinked a couple of times, a snorted laugh jumping from his throat. “Polyjamorous…” he’d repeated, an amused grin ticking up the corner of his mouth. “That’s one I have not heard before.”

You had shrugged, smiling the same way you’d been smiling throughout the entire interview. “I listen to a little bit of everything, I like pretty much all music.”

What Eddie had expected from that was mostly pop, maybe a classic rock hit here and there. Judging by the ripped jeans and Doc Martens you were wearing the day of your interview, he suspected there may have been an emo/alt rock phase in your history so maybe some Paramore or MCR.

What he hadn’t been expecting was the fact that when you said you liked all music, you meant all music.

A month into working with you, and he already dreaded the days that you’d signed your name on the list entitled “Aux Cord Dibs” that sat on a tattered clipboard under the counter. The first hour of your shuffled liked songs on Spotify, and Eddie already had whiplash.

The songs that played (in order) were:

Satisfied- The Broadway Cast of Hamilton

Raise Hell- Brandi Carlile

The Offering- Sleep Token

Magical- Ed Sheeran

Dream a Little Dream of Me- Ella Fitzgerald & Louis Armstrong

Just to name a few.

Not only were you completely unashamed that the first song to pop up under your aux cord time was a fucking show tune, but you knew every word. You sang, rapped- acted- every word.

Eddie was now absolutely sure that you had had an emo phase, because this meant you were also a theater kid (same as him, but he wasn’t about to admit that to you) and in Eddie’s experience, most theater kids were also emo kids in some way, shape, or form.

“How much coffee did you drink this morning?” he’d muttered once you’d finished your one-woman show whilst shelving new records.

“No coffee, this is all natural.” You’d said that with a grin so wide, it was obvious to him that you knew how obnoxious that sounded and you were taking it in stride.

“You’re just the Energizer bunny… naturally?”

Somehow, you grinned wider. “Yes!”

You can imagine how terrified Eddie was when you pulled a Celcius out of your bag an hour later. What happens when you give an energy drink to a person with natural energy?

You get impromptu dance breaks.

Eddie had been boxing up an online order when out of the corner of his eye, he saw your oversized sweatered form bouncing around between aisles to the beat of whatever K-Pop bullshit was currently assaulting his speakers.

Wordlessly, his eyes drifted to the monitor displaying the security camera feed where he found a full view of your hopping, stepping, and jumping to the bouncy rhythm of a Korean song with random English words sprinkled in. The grainy feed from the camera even picked up the subtle motion of your lips moving, and Eddie’s lips couldn’t help but twist into an amused little smile when he realized that must mean you were even trying to lip sync to the words, and he might be wrong but he was pretty sure you didn’t speak Korean.

His shoulders shook, silently chuckling at your antics until the music slowed down in tempo. Your hips began to move in slow, pronounced circles, sending the rest of your body rolling with the momentum. Eddie knew you didn’t mean to turn him on with the way your hips were moving… but you had an ass that shook when you walked, much less when you were actually wiggling your hips around. It wasn’t a you problem that was making Eddie’s eyes bug out of his skull and glue themselves to the screen; it was definitely an Eddie problem.

He had to keep it professional; Eddie was a shift manager, and while he wasn’t technically your boss, that was a gray area delicate enough that he didn’t plan on rushing into anything risky. The last thing he should be doing was ogling you on the security camera like a fucking creep. So, he made a point to pay attention to literally anything else whenever you started dancing around the store like some sort of coked-up cheerleader.

After a few shifts with Eddie, you started to notice that he was pointedly ignoring your antics- which made forcing him to pay attention all the more entertaining. The job could be boring on slow days, so this was how you entertained yourself- annoying the shit out of Eddie Munson.

Eddie: “If I hear one more show tune, I’m commandeering the aux cord.”

You: Proceeds to belt all three parts of Sincerely Me from Dear Evan Hansen, complete with choreography.

Eddie: “Is there any metal on this playlist? Just one song? I need a breather…”

You: Introduces Eddie to Babymetal.

One day, you even forced Eddie to suffer through Lizzo. That was funny as all hell, if you’d ever seen it.

“I feel like I’m walking through a Forever 21.” He’d grumbled as you cheekily shimmied your shoulders at him and mimed a toss of your hair for good measure.

“First of all,” you laughed, “I’m impressed you know what Forever 21 is.”

“I have been to a mall, you know.”

“Second,” you continued, “You’re starting to come off as a bit of a music elitist.”

Eddie shook his head, shelving new records from the stack of crates on the floor. “It isn’t a crime to know what I like and don’t like, kid.”

You smirked, reaching wordlessly over to the media center behind the counter and turning up the music. It was empty in the store save for you and Eddie, so the change in volume wouldn’t hurt anyone. Lizzo’s Like a Girl rang out through the speakers, and you made a show of losing yourself to the beat just to spite the metalhead before you.

Eddie sighed, looking up to the ceiling as if God himself could save him from this torment; he couldn’t stop the whisper of a smile from creeping into the corners of his lips. “What did I do to deserve this shit?” he groaned.

Your grin was blazing, infectious in the way you wore it with reckless abandon as you danced from shelf to shelf with one of the crates of records. When the crate was empty, each album carefully nestled in its appropriate place, you set the crate down on the floor right as the chorus started and your hips shook in time with the drop of the beat.

Eddie had been looking out the corner of his eye the whole time, but averted his gaze immediately once you were shaking your ass in the air. Unbeknownst to you, he was doing everything in his power not to stare.

Bouncing as you perked back up, you flashed him a sadistic grin and shrugged. “You just make it so much fun to torture you, sorry.”

Eddie rolled his eyes, “That was the emptiest apology I’ve ever heard.” To which you laughed and heartily agreed, launching your whole self into shaking all you had to the beat, even going so far as to plant your foot on the edge of the counter.

You looked more silly than sexy, even Eddie could admit that, but it was your reckless abandon and giant fucking smile that made him break in that moment. You were shaking your ass- was that twerking? Eddie didn’t think it was twerking, but then again, he wasn’t an expert- and singing along to the music with so much energy that Eddie’s smile finally won his face over. He nodded his head to the beat, even shimmied his shoulders a little, and watched you make an adorable fool of yourself.

That was when the door opened, sending a chime through the shop as a very confused Steve and Robin walked through the door just in time to see you shaking your ass in their direction.

As far as you knew, these two were customers, so you swiftly tore your foot from the counter and started to apologize before Steve cut you off with a lopsided grin and a midair brush of his hand.

“Please don’t apologize, because that might be the best first impression you could’ve made on me.” He confidently strode forward, already extending a hand which you happily accepted. Steve had a way of putting people at ease, Eddie had noticed, even if they had been the opposite of “at ease” before he’d entered the scene.

He watched straight-faced as Steve struck up a conversation with you about being friends with Eddie and stopping by to say hello, then proceeded to introduce himself and ask you about yourself with the confidence and coolness that came so easily to people like Steve Harrington. Eddie chewed his lip and felt an unwelcome flare of jealousy in his stomach when you gave Steve the same smile that- up until now- you’d been giving him.

“So that’s the new hire you told us about?” Robin asked, voice low enough that only Eddie could hear.

He nodded, eyes trained on Steve as he said some joke that made you laugh. “Yeeeeeuup.” Eddie drew out the word, lacing passive aggression into every extra syllable.

“I see.” Robin looked at Eddie, arching an eyebrow as she wordlessly assessed him, then slowly looked at you and smiled knowingly. “Well, if you’re gonna make a move, better beat Steve to it.”

Eddie sighed and shook his head, murmuring out the corner of his mouth “Stay. Out of it.” before picking up his crate of records and moving to a different shelf. You were out of sight, but your and Steve’s voices still carried to where he worked.

“...a little bit of everything.” Eddie heard you say, picking up on your conversation as he silently shelved new inventory. “What kind of music do you listen to?”

“Nothing in particular, I just jam to whatever’s on the radio.” Already inwardly cringing at how Steve must be shrugging or tossing his hair or some shit, Eddie eavesdropped inconspicuously. “Compared to a seasoned listener like yourself, I must sound like an idiot. You should make a playlist for me, so I can know what an expert would recommend.”

“Expert?” you snorted, “Oh I’m hardly an expert. Half of what I listen to is garbage, but it’s fun garbage so I’m not ashamed. Eddie’s the expert.”

Eddie’s eyes widened. He wasn’t sure if you knew he was nearby enough to hear you, but he wasn’t about to miss out on whatever you were about to say about him, so he remained silent and out of sight.

Harrington scoffed. “Expert on metal, sure, but unless you’re into headbanging and screaming, I think he’d be pretty lost-”

“Not true.” you interjected. “He likes some classic rock, a bit of old school jazz- you know I played a song by Bob Dylan one day, and he started rattling off all these facts about the guy?”

Eddie remembered that day. He’d almost told you that he knew all those facts because his mom had loved Bob Dylan, but he thought talking about his dead mom might be a little more personal than you were prepared to get with him so early into knowing him.

“When Eddie hears music he thinks is good, it doesn’t matter what genre it is- he respects it whether it’s his taste or not.” Eddie had long since stopped shelving; he stood stock still, listening with wide eyes as you spoke with more admiration in your voice than Eddie had ever expected to belong to him. “I play a crazy wide range of music when I work with him, and every time a song I really love comes on it’s hard for me to not focus on how he’s reacting to it. It’s like every time, I’m in my head like- will he like this one?”

Steve was quiet for a moment before Eddie heard him reply, “Sounds like you’re hoping you’ll impress him.”

Eddie felt his heart start beating a little faster. Were you?

You giggled a little, and for a moment Eddie’s heart fell when he thought you were laughing at the very insinuation that you might want to impress him.

“Yeah, I guess I am.” he heard you say. “I haven’t known Eddie long, but I’ve always thought he’s an impressive person. It’s hard not to want to impress him back.”

Eddie couldn’t suppress his smile even if he’d wanted to. Sneaking around the shelves where you couldn’t see him, he turned a corner to continue his work as he hummed to himself.

After you’d locked the doors at 8, the two of you were closing down the shop alone as your playlist quietly painted the quiet evening air. You were walking through the store doing your final check while Eddie took inventory, and Eddie had been silently nodding his head to the beat of the music as you came into view of the checkout counter.

“What song is this?”

Your eyes widened, and the eagerness in your gaze made Eddie’s heart just about burst.

“Uh, it’s Chicken by Your Neighbors.” you stuttered, “You like it?”

“Yeah,” he smiled, softly, “it’s good.”

There was that blinding grin again, contagious in how it fed his until it doubled in size. “Yeah, it is.”

A pause settled between the two of you, song lyrics potent in the evening’s silence.

You ain’t got no time to wait

You don’t get what you don’t ask for

“Hey, uhh…” Eddie was quick to grab your attention, and you watched him wide-eyed and expectant. “...feel like getting pizza after this? Surfer Boy doesn’t close ‘til midnight, and I was gonna stop by to see my buddy Argyle after closing anyway, so-”

“Yes!” you agreed, a little more eagerly than you had originally intended to come across. You cleared your throat, “I mean, if it’s no trouble-”

“No trouble at all, it's just down the street, I’ll walk with you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You were both grinning like idiots, but neither of you seemed to care. You continued your closing duties, both of you nodding your heads to the beat of the music and enjoying the feelings that, though unspoken and undefined, were currently nestling comfortably into your chest and his.

Taglist: (really just people I have been talking about this to, I hope you like it❤️) @the-unforgivenn, @vintagehellfire, @munson-blurbs, @hellfire--cult, @word-wytch

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x you #eddie stranger things #eddie x reader #stranger things #eddie munson x gn!reader #grumpy sunshine trope #eddie munson blurb

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weareapackofstrays · 3 months

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A New Kind of Love: Chapter I

Genre: Non-Idol college au, slight enemies to lovers (more like they annoy e/o at the start), angst, romance, drama

Pairing: Minho x F!Reader

Warnings: Drinking, Cigarette Smoking, Mention of Weed, Cussing, Spanking, Rough Sex, Reader is a bit of a brat. Let me know if I forgot anything! MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

Word Count: 1,958

Summary: You didn't grow up with great examples of love. Your parents were always at each other's throats. As a result, you have struggled with expressing your true feelings and can come off cold or defensive. After your boyfriend of 2 years cheats on you during freshman year with your childhood best friend, you decide to swear off love for good. Now in your second year of college, you move into the basement apartment of a house full of college boys. Inevitably crossing paths with one of them, Minho quickly gets under your skin in more ways than one. Despite your differences, you can't stay away from him.

A/N: This is my first fic ever to be posted and will likely not be great, but gotta start somewhere, right? I would love any feedback or thoughts (but please be nice or I might cry).

Song that was on repeat while I wrote this and thus became the title

Chapter I: Introduction Next

“Fuck, right there!” you shout as your nails dig into the hand gripping your waist.

“Like that?” Kyle, your usual drunken mistake, confirms.

“Yes! Ahhh,” you can feel your high fast-approaching.

“God, you look so filthy like this, sweetheart! Gonna fill you up.” Your dress is pushed up to your waist while your breasts spill over the top exposing them to the cool air. Kyle admires your bare ass jiggling with each of his thrusts.

You roll your eyes at your partner’s words and do your best to focus on your orgasm. It’s not that you hate the guy, you just couldn’t really stand him either. He was a frat boy and far from your type, but you were both drunk, horny, and he always happened to be conveniently around when you needed some attention. So fast forward to now, where you are currently shoved against the door of the upstairs bathroom of whoever’s house this was getting your guts rearranged.

“I’m gonna come!” you announce.

“Yeah, come for me, baby! Come all over my big fat cock,” he preens as he slams into you.

“Kyle, respectfully, shut the fuck up.” He laughs while his tip kisses your sweet spot perfectly. You moan at the blissful sensation. His free hand grabs hold of your hair and yanks your head back suddenly. The unexpected force causes a groan to escape from your throat. Kyle begins to pick up the pace and gives your right ass cheek a loud smack. Just as the searing pain registers, you finally come with a gasp. He shoves your face further into the door as he works towards his own high. After a few more ruts, he empties himself into the condom and finally pulls out.

“We gotta stop meeting like this, sweetheart.” Kyle smirks as he buttons his jeans and adjusts his belt.

You pull up your panties and face him, “This is the last time, Kyle.”

“Sure it is, babe.” He gives you a wink and an air kiss as he turns to the sink to wash his hands. Even you could hear the lack of confidence in your voice. Ignoring his comment, you fix your makeup and hair, tug at the base of your dress one last time, and exit the bathroom. The two of you descend the stairs back into the chaos of the party. The music is thumping in your skull and the five hunch punches you threw back earlier are starting to get to you. You want to leave.

Kyle leans, more like stumbles, into your side and shouts, “Hey, I’m gonna get another drink. You want one?” You instinctually cringe away from his close proximity and loud voice.

“Sure,” you say with a nod. After Kyle disappears into the crowd, you push your way through the partygoers and find the front door.

Finally outside, your ears take a moment to adjust to the silence. It was dead quiet outside with scarcely anyone around, save for a few people huddled together enjoying a smoke. You take a deep breath and let the cold air sting your lungs. A breeze cuts through you and you immediately regret your choice in outfit tonight. Luckily, your house was a short walk away. You step onto the paved sidewalk and can feel your legs wobble slightly. Your heels were also not the best choice for a walk. Okay, Y/n, focus, you think to yourself. Taking a few more tentative steps, you find your stride and head home.

You moved into the basement apartment of an old brick house from the 30’s at the start of the semester. The main floors above belonged to some guys who you rarely ever saw and, honestly, probably couldn’t pick them out of a crowd if your life depended on it. You had only had a few conversations with one of the guys, Jisung was his name…you think. He introduced himself a few days after you moved in while you were checking the mail on the front porch.

“You must be our new neighbor,” you jump, taken aback by the sudden announcement. Turning to face the source of the voice, you see a brunette boy with round cheeks looking at you with doe eyes. He reaches his hand out to greet you.

“Yeah…hi,” you say shyly as you take hold of his hand.

“I’m Jisung.” He flashes you a gummy smile.

“Y/n.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Y/n,” he says as he releases your hand.

“You too.”

“If you ever need a cup of sugar or a good weed guy-” Jisung waggles his eyebrows mischievously. “We’re just a few steps and a knock away.” He gives you a salute before going back inside the house. Well, he was adorable, you thought. You only ever saw his roommates in passing and had only exchanged a few words with Jisung since, but he was always kind to you.

As you finally approach the house, you reach inside your pocketbook to grab a cigarette and lighter. Hands shaking, you repeatedly click the lighter, but it refuses to work.

“Shit,” you quietly say to yourself. You were about to give up when a figure steps out from the shadows and alights a bright flame before your eyes. After a moment of adjusting to the darkness you see a man standing beside you, an unlit cigarette hanging from his lips. You look at him bewildered, before you dip your head down. He holds his hand in front of you to protect the flame from the breeze. You take a drag of the cigarette and slowly exhale the smoke from the side of your mouth to avoid blowing in his face.

“Thanks.” He simply nods in response. You take a moment to look him over while he tries to light his own cigarette. He was broad, but lean with dark brown hair. He was also handsome, like super handsome. What the hell? Have you seen him around before? Surely you wouldn’t forget a face like his, right? He furrows his brows as he leans in closer to his flame. His sleeves are pushed up his forearms revealing a few large tattoos. You take note of his protruding veins and involuntarily gulp at the sight. He finally lights the cigarette and takes a puff before facing you. You peel your eyes from his toned arms to meet his. The man quietly smirks as he catches your roaming eyes.

“I’m Lee Minho, by the way. I don’t think we ever officially met.” He gives you a lazy wave rather than a handshake.

“Y/n,” you wave back and internally cringe at yourself. “You’re a roommate of Jisung’s?”

“Yeah, I live,” he turns around and points to the top window on the right. “Right there.”

“Nice,” was all you could think to say. You look away and take another puff of your cigarette while rubbing your temple. The consequences of tonight’s actions were swiftly starting to catch up.

Minho stirs you from your thoughts. “I didn’t know you smoked.” You’re taken aback by his assumption. He notices your confusion and clears his throat. “I just mean I never see you out here,” he says awkwardly. “And I assume you wouldn’t in that tiny basement.”

You consider momentarily whether or not he was insulting your apartment before speaking. “I..I don’t usually. Honestly, just socially or when I’m drunk.”

He slowly raises his eyebrows as he exhales some smoke. “Are you drunk right now?” His face furrows again. You wonder if that is his natural state.

“Maybe just a smidge,” you make a pinching gesture with your fingers and lightly giggle.

His face turns serious. “You shouldn’t be walking around this late at night by yourself, especially if you’re intoxicated. Something could happen to you.” You’re amused by his interest in your safety.

“Yes, daddy,” you say back a little too sarcastically.

Something shifts in his eyes though you can’t quite make out his expression. You feel his eyes bore into you despite part of his face being hidden by shadow. You, on the other hand, are at a disadvantage as the beams from the street lamp illuminate your face. Minho can see the pink rapidly forming on your cheeks. Trying not to cower at his intense stare, you hold his gaze for a minute before he finally breaks the tension.

“Do you normally dress like this in the middle of November?” He gestures to your tight, short black dress.

“I was coming from a party.”

“I gathered.” You scoff at his attitude. “Still, seems a bit reckless walking around without a coat.”

“What are you? The weather police?” You stand up a bit straighter and cross your arms.

“No-” You cut him off before he can continue.

“Does the way I dress bother you?” Officially annoyed, you can feel yourself getting worked up. Maybe you are more drunk than you originally realized.

“No.” Minho’s expression remains emotionless as he can see the anger rise in you. Taking a few wobbly steps towards him, you point your finger into his chest and ignore how solid he feels beneath to continue your beration.

“I can dress however I want regardless of the weather. I can also casually smoke a cigarette or drink a few drinks whenever I want and I don’t need anyone judging my actions, let alone a man I just met 5 minutes ago.” You slightly sway as you retreat from him. Minho gently places a hand on your right shoulder to steady you. The warmth from his touch sends a shiver down your spine through to your core.

“Okay, princess. Whatever you say.” You wrinkle your nose at the pet name and he notices your disapproval.

“Okay, princess,” you say back in a mimicking tone.

“Do I need to help you get to your apartment?”

“I’m fine,” you brush his hand off your shoulder with your own and feel your stomach flutter at the touch. You curse yourself internally for being so affected by this annoying handsome man.

“There are stairs and you’re in,” he looks down at your 4 inch heels and points. “Those.”

The audacity of this man right now. “Now he judges my choice in shoes!” You tsk and throw your hands in the air. “I can see myself all of 10 feet to my front door just fine without you. Thank you very much.” You take one last drag of your cigarette before throwing it to the ground. Your front heel presses firmly into the bud to snuff out the embers. Once out, you bend down to pick up the extinguished bud. Minho takes a moment to admire your bent figure in front of him before you stand up again.

“Wow, a feminist and she doesn’t litter.” You walk past him ignoring his comment. “Good night, Y/n. It was nice meeting you,” he says with sarcastic cheer.

Still walking away, you lift your hand up and flip him off as you head to your door. He shakes his head laughing as he watches you arrive safely. He takes one more drag from his cigarette before turning in for the night.

Holding the knob you pause before entering. You listen for his steps as he walks up the porch to his door. You try to clandestinely peek around the corner to get one last look at him. Minho is about to twist the handle when he feels your gaze. He looks over and catches your eye. Before you can see his reaction, you quickly look away and open your door. Slamming it shut you lean against the cold metal and exhale. Your heart starts fluttering in your chest.

Fuck.

MASTERLIST

Let me know what you think!

I will try to post Chapter II tomorrow.

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mypoisonedvine · 1 year

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Idk if you’re requests are still open, but if they are I’d love an professor!Fem reader X Eddie. Maybe she’s his college professor in her late 20s/early 30s and he has a crush on her. I was listening to the song Let me love you down by Ready for the world and maybe something inspired by that, where he’s trying to prove that he can make her feel good and do what guys her age can do. I feel like all fics with age gaps are always Eddie being older and not the other way around!

warnings: smut (semi-public, rough, drunken sex lol), age gap (reader is older, doesn't say how much, and eddie is 20), hair pulling, spanking, degradation (but like, friendly playful degradation), alcohol consumption, reader is iconic ngl and eddie is a total beast in the best way

He was down so bad. Embarrassingly bad. Like, Hot for Teacher on repeat, imagining you every night, can’t focus in class, dreams of pencil skirts and button downs bad.

Seriously, Eddie was already struggling enough to keep his grades up; how a super-super senior ever got into college was beyond him, but it’s not like this was the finest establishment of higher education or anything… but you, you were the finest thing he’d ever seen.

Those tight skirts, the heels, the reading glasses, the slight sternness to your lecturing— it was all really doing it for him for some reason. Maybe it was some desire to reclaim all his issues with authority, take some of the power back, you know. Or, alternatively, give up all the power and let you do whatever you wanted to him… he wasn’t particularly picky in that regard.

Either way, he never learned anything in class; he was too busy staring, drooling, dreaming. You dropped the chalkboard eraser and bent over to pick it up, thank god this room had desks or someone might’ve seen him getting hard.

He wondered if you noticed him at all. Unfortunately, you probably did, but for all the wrong reasons: he was totally flunking. And whenever you asked him what part of the material was challenging for him, he couldn’t even answer— because blaming your hotness for his failure wasn’t exactly going to cut it.

Actually, he was thinking of you— of his total ineptitude in your class, of his massive crush on you, all of it— when he saw you that night. Maybe it was an amazing coincidence, or maybe it was sort of bound to happen when he spent as much time thinking about you as he did. Either way, he never expected to see you here, dressed like that.

This bar was the only metalhead spot in town, and the local talent wasn’t quite as good as Eddie remembered Corroded Coffin to be, but they were alright. Tonight was a band he’d never seen before called Gore Whore. With a name like that, they had to be pretty good.

So, yeah, he was expecting some decent music and a few drinks, not to see his professor rocking a very new vibe— black leather, messy eyeliner, but thankfully still with the same sexy glasses. Honestly, he had to fight off a semi just seeing you dressed like that…

Now he had to figure out if he should talk to you or not. He had to, right? But also, like, how?

Well, his first step was to chug down his current drink and then throw back another as quickly as he could: liquid courage, right?

His second step was to rub his clammy palms on his jeans until he decided it was the right time to approach you. He didn't want to wait until the band was playing because, if they were any good, they'd be way too loud to hold a conversation during their set. He kept putting it off out of nervousness until he saw musicians starting to plug instruments in and tune, and realized he would probably be too late if he waited any longer.

He finally convinced himself to saunter over to where you were standing, linger behind you creepily when you didn't see him, and clear his throat before breaking the silence.

“Hey, teach,” he greeted, hoping it wasn’t a terribly stupid opening line. You turned over your shoulder and took a second to recognize him before you smiled.

“Hey, Edward M…un—" you hesitated.

“Munson, yeah,” he grinned, “or just Eddie.”

“Munson!” you repeated. “For some reason I kept thinking ‘Munster’, I guess I’m showing my age a bit with that one…”

You don’t look your age at all, he wanted to say, but then he wasn’t sure if that was actually a compliment or just some backwards way of calling you old— which you weren’t! But you were just a bit too old for him, from a societal acceptance standpoint, which was exactly what made it so tempting. “I, uh, didn’t expect to see you here,” he pointed out, motioning to the club.

“Well, I don’t come here a lot,” you admitted, “but I used to. You know, when I was a bit more young and rebellious like you.”

“You act like you’re a grandma or something,” he laughed, “you’re young, you know.”

“Whatever,” you rolled your eyes. “I don’t come here a lot, is the point.”

“Why’d you come out tonight?” He wondered. “Is your, uh, boyfriend in the band or something?”

The way you raised your eyebrow at him made it clear his subtle probe wasn’t so subtle after all. “Gore Whore? It’s an all-female band…”

“O-oh, right…” he trailed off. “I mean, maybe your girlfriend’s in the band, I dunno, that’s cool too.”

You snorted a laugh and shook your head. “I don’t have time for any of that, Munson. Boyfriends or girlfriends.”

“What do you have time for?” he asked.

“I mean, I’ve got nowhere to be tonight,” you shrugged. “What did you have in mind?”

His heart raced. “I— I dunno, maybe you can’t do, like, dating or whatever, but maybe you’re into, perhaps… some ill-advised fooling around with your charming, boyish, young and rebellious student?”

You laughed again, but the look in your eye was promising. “Really swinging for the fences, huh?” you noticed.

“I’m, uh, pretty drunk, actually,” he admitted.

“Yeah? Me too,” you grinned. “My place or yours?”

He choked on his own throat. Did that actually just work? Or was he hallucinating somehow? "Uh, I mean, if you wanna be really ill-advised, my van's parked out back..."

The smile you gave him then was enough to make him weak in the knees. It was the same smile you were giving him as he laid back in the van and you kept going down, down, to the bulge under his belt.

"Fuck," he gasped as you got his jeans open, yanking them down his thighs enough to free his throbbing cock; your fingers were so soft on his silky, sensitive skin, and he admired the way you licked your lips as you stroked him. "You're so fuckin' hot. Fuck."

You looked at his face again, looking quite proud of yourself. "You thought about this, didn't you?" you noticed.

"This? No," he denied. "Fucking you in the classroom, or your office, in my dorm? I thought about that a lot."

You giggled slightly as you spit down onto his dick, slicking the movements of your hand which made him flex against it.

"But I never thought we'd end up in the back of my van behind the ba— oh, fuck!"

Your lips were around the head of his cock, and you'd already started bobbing your head and stroking the rest in rhythm. No teasing, no build-up, just getting right to it: it was so sexy to him, he could've melted right there. He nearly did; he tilted his head back with a groan, reaching up to hold the back of your head though he didn't push you down 'cause, you know, he's respectful and all that.

"Damn," he laughed thinly, though he knitted his eyebrows together and bit his lip a second later. "You— fuck, that's good, you're so— god, babydoll..."

You smiled slightly around him, pulling off with a gasp and stroking his spit-soaked cock in the meantime. "Better than the girls your age do it, huh?"

He nodded quickly, swallowing even though his mouth was suddenly dry. You bent back down and licked a long stripe up his cock, even lathing his balls with your tongue for a moment, before speaking again.

"What about you? Do you know how to fuck like a grown-up?" you taunted. "Or are you just an overgrown teenager like most twenty-year-old guys?"

He smiled a little, finally feeling like he knew how to handle you. "Oh, sweetheart— I can rock you better than anything you would've heard in there tonight. Promise."

"Promise?" you repeated teasingly. "Talk is cheap, big boy."

That it is; and he had a plan to shut you up. Shoving your head back down, he groaned as he slid his cock all the way to the back of your throat. "Fuck," he said again, louder, "there you go— I'll fuck you right, babydoll, but you gotta earn it first. Maybe it's my turn to teach you a few things, hm?"

When he gave you another break, you were still playing cocky with him. "Considering your grade in my class, Munson, I'm not sure I've been teaching you anything."

"Why don't you teach me what that shirt of yours looks like inside out?" he encouraged. Smiling proudly as you stripped yourself of the leather jacket and t-shirt, he palmed his own cock— slowly, careful not to get himself too worked up yet— and admired you. "Wanna show me that pussy, too? Been imagining it for a little too long, I think..."

You peeled your jeans off and he bared his teeth at the sight of your panties— black, lacy, everything he'd dreamt of since he first saw you.

"What are you wearing those for, babydoll?" he cooed, reaching out to run his fingers over the lace on your hip. "What did you come out here for tonight?"

"You know what I came here for," you challenged, "so are you gonna gimme it or not?"

Well, he was gonna do his best.

Only a little while later, he had you bent over the console with those panties around your knees, a fistful of your hair in his fingers, your ass bouncing on him with every thrust; he was fucking you hard and fast and mean, doing his best to make you regret questioning if he was old enough to do this right.

"S'that how you like it?" he taunted. "You just need to get treated like a dirty whore, don't you? Tired of all the authority, just wanna keep your legs open for somebody, be their little slut for the night?"

"Yes," you sobbed, clinging tighter onto the console with a whimper. "Yes, Eddie, fuck... fuck me like that, just like that."

He gave your ass a hard spank with his free hand, loving the way you tightened up on him and moaned so loud from the pain. "Beg me to hit you more," he instructed.

"Spank me again, please, Eddie," you whined, getting another few hits on your stinging ass as your reward. "Fuck! Fuck, so good..."

He gripped your hips to keep you still and drive himself deeper than he thought possible, and you yelped as your toes curled and your legs kicked. One of your hands reached back instinctively and tried to grab at his hip, keep him from going too far into you, but you were a little too weak to have any real impact on him. "No no," he scolded, "I'm just giving you what you wanted, babydoll. Giving you all this dick— fuck, take all this dick, whore."

Whining and hiding your face under your arms, you tried to arch your back up before he shoved it back down with his hand to keep your ass nice and on display for him, groaning with pride. "Fuck, Eddie!"

"Isn't this what you came here for?" he smirked, grinding his cock deep inside you as you squirmed. "Got all dressed up in your little black panties, took yourself out to the club so some stranger could treat you like this?"

Though your face was still hidden, you nodded.

"Guess I really do need to teach you a few things, sweetheart," he announced proudly. "Like what happens when you tell a guy to fuck you like a grown-up. Now hold on tight, babydoll, m'gonna make sure you don't forget me too quick— you're gonna feel this tomorrow when you're teaching my class."

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n

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eviesaurusrex · 2 years

Note

Can you do a meet cute blurb with Harry and a totally normal not famous girlie, I’m dying for a cute mushy blurb 🥰

Can you read minds? Because I have wanted to do something like that for the longest time 👀 and because I’m in the mood, here we go. This is set at the beginning of his NYC shows this year!

warnings: none, only fluff, one short mention of Olivia, that’s it

word counter: 2.5k

Harry Styles x University!Reader

;

It had been a busy and more than stressful day back at Parsons; her brain still smoked after hours of theoretical lectures and even more hours in one of the many photo shooting studios the private art and design school owned in their buildings. Her back hurt from the crouching position she had held since their lunch break because the current lecture slot was themed around still lives, and she hated to take photos from a chair. YN needed the constant movement of her body to really focus on her work. But now, everything the photography student wanted was to grab something halfway decent for dinner on her way home instead of ordering another round of sushi and pizza for her two roommates and herself. Well, YN would already be happy if she found something with a lot of salad and veggies without having to spend the entirety of her remaining weekly allowance on the ingredients for a self-made salad. But on the other hand, she wouldn’t have time to spend more money if she hid in her favorite photo studio right opposite the Hudson River or if she grabbed her camera to stroll around New York City in order to fill her portfolio.

The argument inside her head was on fire while her thumbs rapidly typed away on her phone to ask her two roomies if they needed dinner as well. Her feet carried YN safely around the corners and streets of Greenwich, heading straight to the perfectly stocked Target down the street because she knew how things would go if she talked herself into trying her luck at the supermarket only a block away from her home. She would be furious because the best stuff would already be gone, and YN really couldn’t allow another night with take-out.

It was as if her mother’s mouth was attached to her ear to keep the warnings on repeat.

Softly shaking her head to free herself from the sticking thoughts, YN entered Target and hummed under her breath. The young woman fixed the strap of her camera bag on her shoulder, strolling through the first few aisles, eyes wandering over the shelves in deep concentration. Her arm stretched out to reach and grab a box of cereals without hesitation, which found its way into the soft embrace of her other arm before she continued her path through the supermarket; hummed tunes still leaving her lips. It helped that the store’s radio started to play the first seconds of Late Night Talking before a cashier’s announcement interrupted the melody already. But YN knew the song by heart, so it was easy to continue the text in her mind.

With her left arm filled with the box of cereals and a pack of her favorite granola bars, the woman rounded the next corner to finally move forward to her desired section, distracted by her own thoughts and the vibration of her phone in the back pocket of her jeans. YN knew that this could never end good—and she always had been right about it; today didn’t mark an exception because the universe rarely smiled upon her.

A strong chest stopped her steps abruptly, and before YN could follow the cereals and granola bars closely in their journey downwards to the floor, a pair of equally strong hands grabbed her elbows in a steadying hold. Even before her brain could process the situation, her heart already pumped adrenaline through her veins, and her senses were heightened. YN felt the strap of the camera bag slid off her shoulder before she could pull the body part up, and so her left hand rushed to the rescue—just like another set of fingers. They met underneath the bag; her palm connected to the rough fabric while the other pressed against the back of her hand.

None of them had uttered a single word so far, barely even letting out a surprised huff of air at the feeling of impact, but now, a voice spoke up. “Everything’s okay?” And instantly, her head jerked up, and wide eyes stared into the most handsome face gracing this earth with its existence. Only moments ago, she had listened to his songs in her head, had hummed them, had mentally cursed the cashier for interrupting it—though YN knew that the poor soul didn’t have a choice—and now, the bearer of the voice, the creator of the songs, stood right in front of her, holding her elbow not to see her tumble to the ground.

Harry Styles is holding my arm between white bread and baking mix.

If her heart hadn’t worked overtime before, it damn sure did now.

“I… I am so sorry,” she pressed out after finally finding the ability to speak again and clinging to it like a drowning person on a piece of driftwood. “Oh gosh, I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t daydream while getting my stuff.” Speaking of which. YN’s eyes had to peel themselves off his face with a small smile playing around his lips to locate her proudest possessions so far. She didn’t even realize that their hands still touched to support her camera and save it from destruction. But Harry Styles—she still couldn’t wrap her head around it—seemingly caught up to it again because his eyes wandered between the bag and her face. “You got it?” His voice was so gentle she probably would’ve swooned if she had heard it on YouTube while watching one of his interviews in the depths of night. But now, YN only took a deep breath—she was raised to be a decent human and had grown into a decent adult, after all—and nodded softly and pushed the strap back onto her shoulder.

She crouched down to retrieve her granola bars which had stopped right next to her sneaker-clad foot, while the man took one step to the side to grab the fallen cereal box. They both returned to their heights at the same time, and Harry grinned down at the box in his hand before showing it her. “Lucky Charms, hm?” YN wasn’t sure why, but she had to chuckle under her breath at his tone. “Thanks.” She took the box and put it back into the embrace of her arm. A basket would’ve been too easy, dumbass, mocked the voice in her head while YN still tried to grasp a hold of her current reality. “Best cereals there is if you ask me. And… well, I have to be rebellious in my freedom.” Now, the woman grinned as well, which grew in its intensity as the singer leaned his head closer to hers. “Strict parents?” YN moved her face in his direction. “A dentist as a mom,” she whispered conspiratorially, and both chuckled like teenagers after they’d shared new gossip.

“But, seriously, I’m really sorry for… this.” The student waved her hand through the air, pointing from herself to him and the surrounding environment, but Harry waved it off with a charming smile. “Would it make it better if I tell you that I would always choose this over paparazzi and unrelenting fans?” YN had to swallow dryly because suddenly, Death Valley was located in her mouth rather than back in California. But she nodded nonetheless, even though the movement held an unsure edge to it. “This is actually making me feel better about it, yeah,” she agreed, and it was true because she finally didn’t feel the urgent need to ask if he wanted her social security number—just in case. Her brain still pressed her to ask. “So… No SSN needed? No injuries and the like? I don’t want to be the reason that Harry Styles isn’t able to jump over a stage without a cast.”

His soft laugh ran through her body like a warm shiver, and his eyes, watching her face so intently, almost let her cheeks fire up in a crimson red. “No social security number needed, no. I’m fine. More than fine, actually…”

Harry’s voice lost itself somewhere after his last spoken word; his mind traveled to daydreams about bowls full of Lucky Charms during a lazy morning, and the sound of her laugh echoed in his head as he pushed himself back on track. He cleared his throat softly. “Is it okay to ask for your name, or is it too bold because we’re standing between Nature’s Own Whitewheat Enriched Bread and…—” Harry looked to his right and grabbed a baking mix out of the shelf to inspect the brand before looking back up to the most beautiful girl he had ever laid eyes on. “…—and Betty Crocker’s Red Velvet Mix?” She took a step toward him and got a hold of the package—their fingertips touched in the gentlest of ways, and his heart almost leaped out of his chest—before taking it entirely and letting it disappear between her arm and torso. “I obviously have an advantage right now, don’t I?” Her small, teasing smile drove him almost mad. “You certainly do,” Harry returned and couldn’t help but smile. “Then you certainly can ask for my name,” the woman nodded, and he raised a brow, waiting.

And when he thought her smile almost drove him mad, he wasn’t prepared for the gentle laugh escaping her now.

Damn, was all the singer could think.

“There wasn’t a question,” she teased him relentlessly, and Harry rolled his eyes playfully. “A funny one, aren’t we?” Both tried to hide their grins as he stretched out his ring-clad hand. “Harry Styles. With whom do I have the pleasure?” He watched her as she fixed the strap of her small bag—he suspected it to be a camera bag—before their hands met again; this time in full awareness of their doing. “YN LN—photography student and Lucky Charms votary.”

Both could feel the tingles running up their arms, letting goosebumps erupt on their skins, and finally, the blood was able to run into her cheeks and tint them rosy red. Harry only could think how adorable it made her look, even more so than before. But he couldn’t boast of being unaffected because the singer could feel his heart beating rapidly in his chest, and he felt nervousness rising up in his body. At least he didn’t get sweaty hands this easily anymore…

“I fear I might be too bold and daring now, but… Damn. Uhm…” YN raised both brows in anticipation and curiosity. She had never witnessed Harry Styles being overly shy or insecure, but well, everything in those interviews and articles could be full-on show, even though she didn’t think this man was a big fan of pretending to be someone else. So, it let him appear even more charming than before and the woman already dreaded the moment she would have to part from him forever.

After all, what could a world-famous singer want from or with her? Especially a singer who still was or wasn’t involved in a relationship with a certain someone, so… Yeah. YN was just curious about what Harry tried to ask of her—and she didn’t have to wait much longer.

“Okay, bloody fuck it,” he started, and the smaller woman looked up at him with a questioning expression, still unsure what this could be about. “I’m being daring. So, here is the question: Can I get your number? If you’re not taken—happily or unhappily—or already seeing someone, that is, of course. And only if you’re interested in men at all.”

Moments like these were life-defining, world-changing. They always started innocently, but in the midst of the attack, time and space seemed to slow down around one until they almost stopped spinning altogether. YN felt exactly like this, and it wouldn’t even surprise her if she looked around right now and found that everyone in this Target had stopped moving entirely; except for them. But she wasn’t even able to move her gaze from the man in front of her, too enthralled by his presence and asked question, which implied so much more than her mind could process right now.

YN wasn’t even sure how to begin, but her lips were faster than her brain. “What’s with…?” Her lips may have been faster, but they certainly weren’t ready to form a complete sentence. But Harry understood her anyway. “Olivia?” With a racing heart, YN only dared to nod her head yes and watched him sigh softly, fingers raking through his soft-looking mop of curls. “We haven’t made it public yet, but… we’re done. We’re done for a long time already,” he explained, and she could feel how her head nodded in understanding. She didn’t need to know more, so she held out a hand with a reappearing smile on her lips. Harry’s eyes jumped from the palm of her hand to her eyes in a matter of milliseconds. “Well?” Now, a grin started to tuck at the corner of her mouth before Harry slowly began to understand the meaning of it, and a lovely blush graced his cheeks while he got a hold of his phone, unlocked it, and had opened his contact list. The phone found its way into her hand, and YN started to type before handing it back to him.

Harry laughed under his breath at the sight of the newly saved contact before looking back into her face. “Cult Leader?” YN full-on grinned over her entire face. “I have to at least try to convert people to the Lucky Charms belief, don’t I?” And she never saved herself in a serious manner into other people’s phones if it wasn’t work- or study-related. She loved making people smile or laugh if they saw her name popping up on their screens. “Sounds more like a sect to me, but I can live with that very easily as long as I’m allowed to call you.” Chuckling, YN softly shook her head at him. “You really are a cheeky one, aren’t you? But yes, you have permission to call me. That’s what numbers are for,” she teased and took a quick glance at the watch on her wrist. “Okay, this sounds really shitty, but I slowly have to get going. I have an assignment until eight, which I still have to edit the hell out of, and the subway will be hell if I’m not getting in before five.” She loved living in Brooklyn, but the subway rides were always a hassle if YN missed the tiny but perfect slot between four and five and timed everything perfectly to outdo the tedious rush hour. But Harry—universe bless him—nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, sure, of course! Don’t worry. I have your number now, remember? You’re not out of this world, only blocks, a river, or a call away.”

Smiling up at him, the woman could hug the entire world, and the happiness rushing through her system still would be almost too much to bear. “‘Kay. Then… I'll probably hear from you,” she grinned, unsure of what to do now. Should she shake his hand? Hug him? Just turn around and leave this aisle of which they still were the only occupants? Harry made it easy for her: He slowly started walking backward, eyes trained unmoving on her. “You said eight?” YN nodded while watching him. “Yeah, why?” But she only got a grin as an answer before he disappeared around the next corner and left a stunned YN behind.

;

I seriously didn’t plan to write this much, but deal with it. And I’m sorry to put her name into this, but I kinda wanted the slight implication of drama because I’m thinking about using this scenario as the base for some smau :3

Hope y’all enjoyed this because I really enjoyed writing it! As usual: Comments, reblogs, and likes are much appreciated <3

#harry styles x reader #harry styles x normal!reader #harry styles x student!reader #harry styles x fem!reader #harry styles x yn #harry styles x you #harry styles request #harry styles blurb #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #harry styles fluff #harry styles oneshot #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles #harry styles au #harry styles writing

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alitheakorogane · 1 year

Text

Freedom's Protection: The Eye of the Anemo Archon's Anguish

Summary: Venti had accidentally raised a wind barrier to defend you, your friends, and himself... but it caused some people to suffer the brunt of the Swirl reaction and activated his underlying trauma, causing him to lose control of his emotions and his power. As he was getting close to a nervous breakdown, the people noticed that the skies above the city of Mondstadt are starting to change.

This is the fifth part of Mondstadt's storyline for the Reader Protection Squad SAGAU series.

Note: There are instances of grammatical errors, please bear with me. Also, the entire layout was now changed and I placed a title on them so I could not be confused while I write the next chapters. It's still the same story though.

Warning: Injury, blood, slight PTSD, nervous breakdown, and some OOC moments (I think)

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 (current), 6, 7

Aghast by the scene in front of him, Venti lowered the wind barrier and look at his hands in fear, remembering what Lord Decarabian did thousands of years ago. As people were whispering and screaming with each other, Venti then reached for his fake Anemo Vision attached to his hip and stared at it, his young face reflected in the teal glass of the fake Vision.

He had seen his friend's face on it, but the colors are all wrong. His friend doesn't have aqua-blue eyes, they were bright blue. The braids don't have Venti's teal highlights which glow whenever he uses his Anemo powers.

He had started to doubt himself, as a voice keeps repeating in Venti's head, "My friend would never do what I had done with our people, I had hurt them with my powers using his face! I had desecrated his image... I don't deserve to be an Archon..."

As he was getting close to a nervous breakdown, you noticed that the skies above are starting to change, it was a bright sunny day a while ago but it was starting to darken, with dark clouds starting to block the sun's rays. The wind suddenly picked up speed, as leaves and other light stuff started to blow around the area.

"That's strange," you pondered silently, but as you stared at Venti again, you noticed that his teal braids were starting to glow brighter than usual. You then realized why the weather suddenly changed in an instant, as you remembered Vind's words on one of Mondstadt's daily commissions, entitled 'A New Storm Is Brewing'.

"Since Lord Barbatos began protecting Mondstadt, we have not seen a single storm, and the watchtowers have slowly fallen into disrepair."

"Oh, crap."

You facepalmed mentally as you realized that since Venti is the Lord of Anemo and the Archon of Mondstadt, he may have the ability to manipulate the weather, especially in his domain, and it will be affected his current mood. Unfortunately, he was feeling distressed due to the events earlier, and the weather here in Mondstadt is currently sensing his distress and slowly forming into a storm.

You had to do something or this incoming storm would grow and will affect Mondstadt for the worse. And if the city will be destroyed by his winds, who knows what will happen, especially with Venti's implied trauma regarding the first Mondstadt rebellion where two of his beloved friends had died in the middle of the battle. He would be inconsolable.

Bennett, Razor, and Fischl also noticed the change in weather and looked at each other in worry, but it seems like there are some people who are too engrossed with recent events that they never noticed the change in weather. Amber lowered her bow, her right hand pointed at Venti's fake Vision on his hand, and exclaimed, "He uses his Anemo Vision to injure people!"

You then glared at the young Outrider, while Bennett and Fischl just stared at Amber with a deadpanned look. Wasn't her flaming arrows ignited Venti's wind barrier a while ago? Why would she blame Venti, her very own Archon, for something she did?

Acting Grand Master Jean, who was helping her comrades by using her own healing powers, just sighed and shook her head in resignation, as she knew fighting one of the Original Seven Archons was pointless, while Diluc grudgingly muttered how the Knights are inefficient in any way. Deaconess Barbara suddenly rushed down to help the injured, healing them with her Hydro Vision, with some of the nuns assisting her.

Kaeya and Lisa, on the other hand, noticed how the weather changed and noted that the bard must have done something regarding the weather. It seems that there will be an impending storm, with the skies above suddenly turning for the worse than they had ever seen in their entire life living in Mondstadt. They had to do something, or Mondstadt will be in danger if this keeps up.

"He does not only say blasphemy against our Lord, but he also abuses the blessings the bard got from Him!"

The citizens exclaimed as the uninjured Knights started to calm the people down under the orders of the Acting Grand Master, while Mother Maria and some of the nuns scrutinized the bard from head to toe then she compared the bard with the Anemo Archon statue in front of the Cathedral.

Venti was feminine-looking that you could mistake him for a girl, standing confidently with his fancy green and gold ensemble. A lone Cecilia adorned in his green beret, its petals were still as fresh as if it was plucked recently. His green cape was flowing in the breeze, and it seems to resemble wings with how the cape was designed.

In terms of appearance, Venti seems to have a resemblance with the Lord Barbatos statue, the young feminine-looking face, and the short raven hair with teal highlights on his twin braids... He really looks like the Archon. The old nuns started to have doubts about it, along with the others.

Then you noticed the young bard standing up and he had raised his fake Vision with his right hand clutching tightly to it, with tears in his eyes, making the people stop what they were currently squabbling about, and stare at the Vision he was holding. You gasped, as you had seen his tearful eyes narrow in determination and you finally realized what he was going to do.

"Venti, don't do it!" you exclaimed as you now gained the courage to run to him and reach him. You had extended your hand as you ran, wanting to hug and quell his sadness.

He then closed his eyes, breathing deeply, and do something unexpected: he broke the fake Vision with the Anemo powers he had summoned on his fist. As he did so, he unwittingly created a blast of wind that caught you and other people unaware. Those who are closest to him were knocked back to the ground, including you who was just getting closer to him. You gasped in pain, as you gained scratches and bruises over your body because you had hit the floor harder than it should.

"Your Grace!" Bennett screamed as he recovered and he rushed unto you. You stood up, with Bennett and now recovered Razor holding you up for support.

"I'm fine, but I need to get to Venti!" You told them as you started to approach Venti but Bennett had stopped you, his face full of worry.

"This is dangerous, Venti is not on his right mind right now!" He stressed out as you yelled with tears in your eyes, "If this keeps up, everyone will get hurt! The Venti I know wouldn't do that for his people!"

"We know, but hurting yourself isn't the answer!" the young adventurer replied as he held your hand to support you in standing. You winced over your bruises and cuts, and you see your golden blood on them, shining over the light of the day despite the weather.

Wait, golden blood?

Meanwhile, Venti winced over the pain he had felt due to the broken shards, remembering how he made his fake Vision transform into his current lyre, Der Frühling, but he had assured himself that he could make another lyre next time. He had never heard the commotion around him, as he was too busy with his self-pity to see what was happening.

He teared up, not because of the wounds he got from breaking his fake Vision, for the pain in his hand was incomparable to the pain in his heart.

"I'm a monster..."

Everyone, who was still on the ground because of the blast they had experienced earlier, was flabbergasted and confused, including you. They just saw him break his fake Vision, the important part of his disguise.

"He had broken his Vision!"

"Wait a moment, didn't Visions break easily? You had tried that one time when you received yours, Sucrose?" Noelle had asked the young alchemist who just arrived recently. Sucrose nodded as she answered, "It can't, not that I know of. I tried burning it out of curiosity but it was like it wasn't burned at all. It just made a dangerous Swirl reaction instead, kinda injured me that time."

The people were horrified at the harmless sweetie's remarks, causing the said person to shrink back in shyness. How would this girl still be alive with her dangerous experiments with that elusive Chief Alchemist?

"He may have a Delusion in his possession!" Someone screamed in the background, and you assumed that it was one of the Fatui members assigned in Mondstadt. You forgot about them, you facepalmed mentally.

"He does not have a Delusion on him," Jean spoke up as the eyes of every single person were looking at the woman with shock, gossiping around themselves.

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN, ACTING GRAND MASTER?!"

Jean just said nothing as she continued healing some people with her Anemo power, helping her sister and the nuns in healing the injured.

As people were whispering among themselves, the harsh wind picked up again and swirled in Venti's direction, slowly forming into a small tornado. Your hair was starting to block your eyesight because of the wind, so you held your hair back and then gasped in horror as the sight of Venti's wind surrounded him like he was an eye of an upcoming hurricane.

You and the whole city of Mondstadt then saw the young bard float up from the ground and you could hear his laugh. But it was not his usual "ehe" or his happy-go-lucky laugh, it was a crazed laugh, and the laugh he had right now had chilled the spines of everyone.

He had appeared on a burst of insanity, the distress he had been building for more than two thousand years has starting to overflow like magma on a volcano and started to show signs of eruption.

You could hear the worried chants of the citizens who had seen Venti's outburst. They were now fearing for their lives. You understood that this one is not good for the people of Mondstadt, and you had to do something useful for once.

"How does he still manipulate the wind if we had seen his Vision break in front of us?!"

"The wind... it's not like the usual winds we had in Mondstadt..."

"Barbatos have mercy on us..."

"It can't be..."

"He's..."

"Jean, Diluc!" You shouted at the Acting Grand Master, who was shocked beyond words, "I know that you are distrustful of me and my friends right now, but please evacuate the citizens of Mondstadt that are currently here today! You know who and how powerful he is!"

Diluc and Jean nodded as they acted quickly, Jean commanded her comrades to evacuate anyone who are nearby, and everyone, except a few people, followed her orders.

"How about you?" she replied with a worried look, as you were surprised that she was still concerned about your well-being after what she and her Knights had done to you and your friends.

You responded with a smile, "I'll be fine! Now go protect Mondstadt, I'll be handling your beloved Archon!"

"You will be in danger too if you try to help him in that state," Diluc spoke up, his red eyes narrowed. You just smiled as you could see the concern in the redhead's crimson eyes, even though his expression was unchanged. Typical Diluc...

"I'll catch up with you after, don't worry," you reassured him as you raised a thumbs up at the man. The two looked at each other before they eventually nodded, and ran away with some of the crying children and injured people they could carry with them, but before they did, you saw Jean silently mouth the words of apology to you.

You smiled sadly, hoping that at least all people of Mondstadt would be safe somewhere, but you then noticed the other three people who remained at your side. You widened your (eye color) eyes, still worried about the three people who were still determined to be with you.

"What are you all doing? You should be evacuating!" You stressed out as your gaze shifted from the three youngsters to the tornado-like wind above you.

"We can't leave you here! If you don't go, then we won't either!" Bennett shouted with determination as he raised his fist up. Razor nodded to his friend's statement, his claymore appearing on his hands, as he also added, "We are Lupical, we don't leave Lupical behind."

Fischl spoke in her usual fancy words, her trusted companion flying beside her, "For with my left eye, the Auge der Verurteilung, which sees the threads of fate, I will surely keep you from harm, dearest Grace from the Heavens. Even at the last, when I bring the lightning of retribution upon this world, you shall come to no harm, for thou art blessed by the Prinzessin."

Her bird companion, Oz, just translated his master's words, "Mein Fräulein just wanted to protect you because that's what friends are for."

You were touched by their dedication, making you look at them with a grateful gaze. You wanted them to stay away from here to protect them but you know that they could be stubborn as they wanted to be if their minds are set on a goal in mind.

But before you could reply to their words, a sudden blast of wind shook the entire city like a nuclear bomb, shattering the windows of some houses nearby, and those who are closest to him were knocked back to the ground once again.

Unfortunately for you and your friends, you were also knocked out of your place due to your distance from him. You groaned in pain as you hit your head on the pavement, your blood from the cut on the head suddenly gushing on the ground below. You are pretty sure that you will get a concussion or a serious head injury later on due to the impact.

You were worried by your three friends since they were also with you when the blast hits. You were hoping that they would be okay compared to yourself.

The last thing you had seen before your world fades out into darkness is an image of an angel-like boy floating in the air and looking at you in absolute horror, his teal-colored braids glowing brightly while huge snow-colored wings flapping in his back.

--------------

I'm back with Part 5. Yes, a new update for Reader Protection Squad.

I apologize if this takes me ages, I had been busy with my schoolwork and tons of fan art to finish in between. I also lost some motivation to write this part, but I managed to get my shit up due to your compliments.

Thank you for the compliments though. To be honest, I'm not a good writer, some people could notice how my old fanfic works are usually unfinished or abandoned over time. This series though was a nice change of pace.

So another cliffhanger, I suppose? It was never intended that way, but as I said, I'm not good at planning, I tend to write on a whim, whenever my imagination takes me. So if you see some...incomplete parts, let me know.

Spoiler alert, the Archon form of Venti is on the way... or the first official appearance of Lord Barbatos, I think?

Yes, @elixirthe3rd, I also wrote for Assassination Classroom, in fact, I made some little one-shot series and an OC-centric fic on that fandom.

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Taglist: @mmajoko, @leafanonsforest, @angstylittleb1tch, @sunflowers1970, @haru-tofuu, @kiraisastay, @valeriele3, @ladyorchidia, @peter-the-pan, @i-have-a-lot-of-ocs, @yuyuzi-ling, @aludicpoet, @milly-nila, @yaesflorist, @asoulsreverie, @loafilw, @genshin-impacts-me

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slutforsilverfoxes · 8 months

Text

Eight Seconds

[Not quite an author’s note, but more so a confession: I went line dancing the other night… I wish it went like this 😮‍💨 This do be self-indulgent PWP below the cut :) ]

__________

“I feel like an absolute schmuck. I look like an absolute schmuck. Cowboy hats aren’t meant to be worn this far west, it’s just not a good look,” Danny laments aloud, then catches his girlfriend’s eyes narrowed at his comment and quickly amends, “Except you, my dear, look absolutely adorable in yours.”

“That’s because you’ve got Jersey written all over your ugly mug,” his best friend ever so kindly informs him before taking a pull from his second beer of the night. “Gimme that.”

Steve takes the felt hat off of the blonde’s head and dons it himself instead, adjusting the brim low enough to hide the way his gaze is fixed on one young woman twirling around the dancefloor.

You throw your head back with a laugh as your current partner in the circle dance spins you to the next, and you take your new partner’s hand without missing a beat. Steve is absolutely mesmerized by the way you move so effortlessly, gliding between the complicated steps without a care in the world, your ponytail swinging in the same rhythm as your tempting hips.

“Hey,” Melissa yells to be heard over the pounding bass of the country song, nudging Steve hard enough to break him out of his trance. He turns to her and she lifts the brim of the hat before challenging, “Why don’t you get in there instead of ogling her all night, Commander?”

He’s grateful the flashing lights turn red at that moment to accompany the song change and graciously hide the heat creeping across his cheeks. “Am I being that obvious?”

“I’m surprised someone hasn’t put out a restraining order yet,” Danny’s quick to jibe. “Although I guess you’re meeting the requisite fifty feet.”

“You’re a riot,” the brunette grumbles under his breath before downing the rest of his beer. He twists around to place the empty bottle on the table, then turns back to find his view of the dancefloor blocked by a pair of jean shorts and a crop top sporting the skeletal head of a bull, if he’s not mistaken.

“Forgive me if I’m wrong,” your sweet voice settles over him like the Hawaii sunshine after a cool morning swim, “but y’all came out on a line dancing night and have yet to get to dancing.” A finger tips the brim of his hat even further up, and Steve comes face to face with the vision he’s been silently pining after all evening. He opens his mouth to answer, but finds himself speechless for quite possibly the first time in his adult life.

Thankfully, you fill the silence by chatting with Melissa, letting Steve bask in the touch of warm southern drawl woven around your words, and a different kind of heat floods his face this time thinking about what that sweet accent would sound like calling out his name tonight. He zones out while you prattle on, indulging in his decidedly not-safe-for-work fantasy and appreciating the way the cuff of your shorts sits snugly on your thick thighs just below the curve of your ass. Of all the things he’s been jealous of touching you tonight, denim takes the crown for being the most absurd.

“Commander Cupid,” Danny barks, roughly swatting at Steve’s shoulder to get his attention. “She’s talking to you, you putz.”

He clears his throat before turning his focus to you with an apologetic smile. “Got lost in my thoughts there,” he says by way of an explanation, and the twinkle of mirth in your eyes tells him you have a pretty good idea of just what those thoughts entailed.

“I asked if you wanted to come dance or just sit here watching me all night,” you repeat, one eyebrow cocked playfully.

“Oh, I, uh-” He knows he’s caught, and he lets out a soft laugh while shaking his head. “Totally busted, huh?”

“Tell you what,” you declare confidently, letting your hair fall loose from its elastic confine before palming the felt hat and settling it snugly on your head with a smirk. “I’ll make the decision for you.”

You start your journey back to the dance floor, clapping along to the kick drum announcing the beginning of that one Luke Bryan song that everybody always seems to know. You throw a wink over your shoulder and Steve stands to join you, pausing mid-step when Melissa hollers his name. He turns back to find an elated grin on her face, and she calls out, “Do you know the rule?”

Steve raises one eyebrow and shakes his head, curious.

“If you wear the hat…”

__________

“...you ride the cowboy,” you exclaim breathlessly in the back of Steve’s Silverado, your thighs burning from exertion. “Never heard that one before?”

“Nu uh,” the brunette answers rather unintelligently, the second syllable morphing into a groan when you roll your hips against his, somehow slotting his length even deeper in your heat. His hands find your love handles of their own volition, kneading the soft, warm skin there while you mouth hungrily at the sharp planes of his stubbled jaw.

He plants his feet on the floor of his truck before using his bruising grip as leverage to buck up into you, your hips kissing with every thrust as his lips find yours once more. You moan into his awaiting mouth, every coherent thought in your head disappearing, replaced by a mantra of your devilish lover’s name.

“That’s it, baby,” Steve rumbles out his praise. “Take everything I give you like a good girl.”

“Fuck yes,” you cry out, your head falling back and giving him the opportunity to run his nose down your exposed throat, a light scraping of teeth following in its wake. “Bite me,” you plead, and he’s quick to obey, sinking his teeth into the dip where your neck and shoulder meet.

Your walls tighten around his cock at the pleasurable tinge of pain, forcing Steve to let out an involuntary whimper against your skin. You pull back with a gasp, cupping his cheeks between your two smaller hands and feeling his face grow hot beneath your fingertips. “Oh my god,” you manage to get out between incessant pants every time your hips meet. “Do that again.”

“You like th-” The incredulous question dies on his lips, cut off by another soft whimper when you intentionally flex your muscles around him.

“That’s the hottest thing I’ve ever heard come out of a man’s mouth,” you declare, excited by the new discovery. “Don’t you hold back on me now.”

He doesn’t.

Spurred on by your praise and just how fucking hot it is for someone else to order him around for once, Steve allows himself to be vocal, all manner of delicious sounds escaping his kiss-bitten lips while you ride him for everything he’s worth.

“That’s it, baby,” you echo his words from earlier with a positively dangerous grin. “Take everything I give you like a good boy.”

“Fuck,” he breathes out, his cock twitching in response to your overt display of dominance. This is new for him, too, and he decides at that moment that he’s going to have to explore this side of himself more often.

“What is it, Steve?” you ask, your taunt coated by your honey-sweetened accent. “You need to cum? Need to fill this little pussy up?” An unintelligible noise works its way up from low in his throat, and he stares up at you, dumbstruck. “Is that a ‘yes’?”

Steve nods desperately, not trusting his voice to form a response in a coherent manner.

“Oh, sweet boy,” you coo, carding your fingers through his hair, slowing down the torturous twisting of your hips, your other hand teasing your clit. He holds your thighs in a vice grip, his own quaking beneath your body in an attempt to stave off his impending orgasm. Then you tuck one finger under his chin and lift his gaze to yours, and the single syllable you utter shatters the last of his resolve. “Beg.”

Hot ropes of cum paint your walls as Steve lets out a debauched groan, his head falling back against the seat of the truck while you apply steady pressure to your clit, letting yourself crest over the edge moments after him.

You give Steve some time to recover, pressing gentle kisses to his sweaty skin and running your nails along his scalp until the heaving of his chest gives way to steadier breathing. “You okay, baby?”

“That-” He stops, shaking his head and opting to capture your lips in a tender kiss instead of voicing his feelings.

“I figured after the week you had, fighting with the FBI over jurisdiction on your case, you might like to give up control,” you offer by way of explanation, sinking further into his lap to rest your head in the crook of his neck.

“Yeah, you could say that,” your boyfriend laughs, in awe of your uncanny ability to read him so easily. His fingers trail up and down your spine and you settle into his warmth with a content sigh before cheekily adding, “Didn’t think you’d like it that much, though.”

A laugh rumbles out of him again and he admits, “I knew you were a switch, but I didn’t think I was, too.”

“Surprise,” you respond, and he feels your lips turn upward in a smile against his skin. “And here you and Danny were being resistant to line dancing. I told y’all it’s fun, didn’t I?”

He hums in agreement, then adds with a self-satisfied lilt to his voice, “Kind of you to save a horse tonight, sweetheart.”

You snort in response, clambering out of his lap to fix your clothes for the ride home. Finding the discarded cowboy hat in the truck’s passenger seat, you return it to its rightful spot on your boyfriend’s head. “I’ll turn you into a country boy, yet, Steve.”

__________

[A/N (for realsies): Don’t ask where this came from, tbh I blame WhimperTok for r u i n i n g me. And I just know this big, tough man is secretly a lil slut who wants to be Commander outside the bedroom but Commanded™️ in the bedroom, u feel me? I may have to explore this more 👀]

#steve mcgarrett #steve mcgarrett fanfiction #steve mcgarrett smut #steve mcgarrett imagine #steve mcgarrett x reader #steve mcgarrett x y/n #steve mcgarrett x you #steve mcgarrett x female reader #hawaii five 0 #hawaii five 0 imagine #hawaii five o #hawaii five o imagine #hawaii 5 0 #mostly pwp #smut

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ronwestbreeze · 1 year

Text

TO YOU , WORLDS AWAY : PART ONE : CHAPTER EIGHT

pairing: jake sully x human!fem!reader

summary: in which the rda strikes

warnings: probably angst.

word count: 3.4k

author’s note: welp…

AO3 | prev | next

It was almost embarrassing. Being forcefully dragged back to Hell’s Gate, pride stomped on, and to be questioned by none other than Quaritch and Parker. To say you were absolutely livid was an understatement. The last place you wanted to be was here while the Omatikaya’s home was currently about to be attacked.

After being uncuffed—though still heavily guarded and slightly manhandled—you, Grace, and Jake were forced to watch Jake in avatar form destroying a camera on one of the bulldozers. You did your best to not look smug, to not rub it in his face—and you really wanted to—because in the end it wouldn’t help much with your current situation. So, as usual, you elected to be quiet as Quaritch paced in front of the four of you, eyeing you with narrowed eyes.

Quaritch then let his gaze settle on Jake as he knelt down, “So, what, you find yourself some local tail and you just completely forget what team you’re playing for?” He glanced up at you, “She got in your head, huh?”

Grace turned to Parker who was standing on the side, “Parker, there’s still time to salvage the situation! We can—”

“Why don’t you shut your mouth!” Quaritch snapped, standing straighter to block her from getting any closer to Parker.

Grace didn’t miss a beat, “Or what, Ranger Rick? You gonna shoot me?”

“I could do that—”

“Parker.” You interrupted before the two could continue going at each other. “You really want a whole shoot out or are you gonna control him?”

Parker sighed and stepped forward, “Yeah, can we just take this down a couple of notches, please?”

“You want to keep your people alive?” Jake finally spoke, looking directly at Quaritch. He nodded toward Grace, “You start by listening to her.”

Despite your faith in Grace you also knew both Parker and Quaritch, the latter especially. You knew that no matter what she said, they will still find a way to get what they want. Which is money and to take over Pandora.

No matter what Grace said, they wouldn’t change. Because that’s the Sky People. The reason they came was for this reason, money and a place to relocate because Earth was dying. Your mother had been one of scientists that studied life on Pandora and the Earth on its last legs. Even she understood that Earth was dying because of the humans living on it and that it had been dying for years and now it was just catching up to them. They had been warned for years and it had gone ignored.

Now they’ve decided that relocating to a whole different planet, taking it over, and making it their new home was the answer.

If that wasn’t history repeating itself…

A video of Jake, must’ve been one of his video logs, came on the screen and Quaritch turned the screen toward them as it played.

“They’re not gonna give up their home. They’re not gonna make a deal. For what? A lite beer and blue jeans? There’s nothing that we have that they want. Everything they sent me out here to do is a waste of time. They’re never gonna leave Hometree.”

The video stopped. Jake was looking at the floor, Grace placed a hand on his shoulder, and you glared at Quaritch.

“So, since a deal can't be made, I guess things get real simple.” Quaritch smirked down at Jake. “Thanks, Sully. I’m getting all emotional. I might just give you a bit wet kiss.”

“You’re such an asshole.” You scowled.

Quaritch, unconcerned, turned to you with feigned curiosity, “And you. Your father would be disappointed in you, kid. Turning your back on your own kind—”

“Fuck you!” Grace placed her other hand on your shoulder, giving you a side look that told you to calm down. And you returned a look right back at her, saying “I told you so” before going back to being quiet.

Parker looked toward the soldiers that guarded the three of you, “Find them a seat somewhere.”

Just when the soldiers were beginning to lead Grace and Jake away, you began to follow only for Quaritch to add, “Actually. I want you to take Dr. L/N to a secure room.”

“What?!” Grace snapped, eyes widening.

“You can’t be serious!” Jake immediately began turning his chair around only to be stopped by a soldier’s foot.

“—She’s one I would suggest to keep an extra eye on as she is a danger to others and herself. I think it would be best to keep her locked away for now.” Quaritch told Parker without so much as glancing in yours or the others’ direction.

“Are you shitting me, Quaritch?!” You hissed as two soldiers grabbed you by the arms. One of them snapping another one of those red cuffs around your wrists. You tried fighting them off but they held a steady grip on you.

Grace tried walking forward, only to be blocked by another soldier. “Parker, you can’t seriously let him do this!”

Parker glanced from you to Grace and then to Quaritch, “She’s our best engineer, Colonel.”

Quaritch nodded, placing his hands on his belt, “Sure. But you’re always free to access her when you need an engineer’s input. Otherwise I like to keep her safe from all of this, Mr. Selfridge—”

“Damn you, Quaritch!” Grace snapped.

You glanced toward Jake and if looks could kill, the Colonel would be dead instantly with the way Jake glared at him. You’ve never seen him so fierce, so angry before. It made everything more real. And the more real things became, the more frightened and angry you became.

But Quaritch continued as if Grace hadn’t even said anything, “After all, sir, not to be too sentimental here, but I do consider her a daughter and I rather not have her in harm’s way.”

The fear was gone in seconds.

“Fuck. You!” You would’ve lunged at him if not for the strong hands keeping you held back. “Fuck you! Fuck you, Quaritch!”

Parker sighed, already tired of this, “Fine, fine, whatever. Put her somewhere please before I get a headache.”

Grace and Jake were in an immediate uproar but could do very little as they were also dragged away before they could do anything to protest it any further. You couldn’t see them anymore when you were led out of the Operations Center and down a hallway. You did your very best to fight their grip, flying out different curses toward them at every second as you were led to the second floor and into a bare room with a single table and chair.

The two soldiers led you toward the chair but you kicked it down before they could even force you down into it.

“Enough fighting you fucking brat!” The one gripping your arm tightly snapped at you.

You spat in his face in response.

The soldier that had picked up the chair spoke before his partner could do anything to you, “Careful, this is Colonel’s girl. Our orders don’t include hitting her just because she talks back, Mathews.”

Mathews grunted in reply and forced you down in the chair, connecting the red strap around your wrists to the hook in the table.

“I’d calm down if I were you.” The other soldier said as Mathews marched out of the room. “Or you’d make things worse for yourself.”

“Says the asshat working for a madman.” You sneered, tugging at the red strap.

That was when Quaritch entered the room. Your anger flared but you didn’t curse him out like you did in the Operations Center. Instead you took to glaring.

“Silent treatment now? Could’ve sworn you were talkative just a few seconds ago.” Quaritch chuckled, crossing his arms. You remained silent and continued glaring. “Believe it or not, Doc, I actually do care. Like I said before, I would hate for you to be in this war, especially on the wrong side…” He then frowned down at you, having the audacity to look disappointed. “But it seems you’ve already chosen your side, huh? Can’t say I’m not hurt.”

He was trying to get a rise out of you. You had to remember Grace’s words, you had to compose yourself, or else you’d lose it right then and there. All this anger made you lose all common sense entirely, and suddenly you were kind of glad your hands were cuffed to the table. Or else you would’ve done something insanely stupid, and right now you couldn’t afford insanity or stupidity.

So once more, you stayed silent but never wavered your gaze from his. You wanted him to know that you didn’t regret it one bit. That you wouldn’t hesitate to do it all over again. That you were never and would never be on his side.

Quaritch, after studying for a moment longer, finally uncrossed his arms and turned to leave. “You’ve made your choice, Doc. Now you’ll live with the consequences.”

You did make a choice. But those consequences had yet to come.

Just before he had the door closed, you spoke. “My dad wouldn’t be disappointed in me.” Quaritch stopped but kept his back to you. “And if you really were his friend, if you really did know him, you wouldn’t have me fucking cuffed to this table.”

He stood with his back facing you for a moment before he turned his head to say, “I did know your father. And he wouldn’t want you in this war, kiddo.”

And with that, the door closed. Leaving you in silence and isolation.

Time was hard to tell in here. All you had to rely on was sound coming from outside of the room. And from outside of the door you could hear footsteps walking by every now and then. But other than that, you were left with nothing but silence.

The fear was beginning to set in once the anger had exhausted you.

A few minutes had passed until you heard muffled voices on the other side of the door. You strained your ears to figure out what was being said but you could only hear a different mix of voices and they sounded like they were arguing.

You leaned forward in your chair when you heard the door unlock. Seconds later it opened and in came both Grace and Jake.

“What’s going on out there? What happened?” Was the first thing that came out of your mouth when they quickly entered the room. “How long has it been? Did Parker and Quaritch—”

“Y/N, we don’t have much time.” Grace glanced back at the door. Once it closed she continued, “Quaritch is going to hit the Hometree no matter what.”

Your heart dropped, “Grace—”

“Parker’s giving us time to go in and convince them to leave.” Jake added, drawing your gaze toward him as he rolled up next to your chair. “I have to tell them the truth, it’s the only way we can get them to listen.”

You shook your head. Your hands twitched to reach out to him but you remember your hands were currently tied. “They’re not going to leave—”

“We can try—”

“No, Jake, they’re not going to leave!” You whisper to him, desperately. “This is only going to lead to war, okay? And the Omatikaya? They don’t even have the force to fight back fairly, the RDA is going to wipe them out—this is what Quaritch fucking wanted!”

You turned to Grace, giving her a meaningful look. Grace shook her head. Now you were becoming impatient. “Grace, you know they’re not going to stop. You said do your way and look where that put us. I can—”

“No, kid.” Grace frowned at you. “We are not there yet. We won’t go there. There’s still more time.”

Jake furrowed his brows, “What are you talking about?” He then looked at you. “Y/N?”

You didn’t want to tell him. Funny how the tables switched between the two of you. Now you were the one hiding something from Jake. Only, you were able to listen and understand what Jake told you about Quaritch and his mission. You weren’t so sure he would like the idea of you hiding bombs and wanting to use them. Pretty sure he’d do everything to stop you just like Grace was.

That was the last thing you needed right now.

“How long do you have?” You finally asked, not looking at either of them. “To convince them?”

“An hour.” Grace crossed her arms. “We should probably go now.”

“Will they even let me come?” You tried asking.

Jake frowned and shook his head, “We tried to tell Parker you’d be able to help since the people knew you as well…”

“He wouldn’t compromise beyond that.” Grace scowled. She glanced toward the door and sighed. “We gotta go, Jake. Tinkers, sit tight, alright? We’ll find a way to get you out of here.”

You nodded and watched as Grace opened the door. Jake’s hand landed on yours, pulling your attention toward him. “We’ll figure this out, okay? I promise. Hey,” Suddenly his hand cupped your face. You hadn’t realized you’d been crying until he wiped the tears away, “I’m not gonna let him harm them, I won’t.”

Really, you didn’t know why you were crying. Whether it was for the Omatikaya, for both Jake and Grace, or for the decision that’s been weighing on you ever since Jake had revealed to you what Quaritch had asked him to do.

At this point, you didn’t try to find a reason for the tears. You just let them fall.

You didn’t really remember what you said to him or if you even responded. All you did remember was Jake pressing a kiss against your forehead before leaving with Grace. Seconds later the door was closed and you were left alone again.

This time instead of cursing at the walls you hid your sobs into your arms, allowing the silence to swallow you whole once more.

No one else had come to see you. Somehow it felt like hours had passed by since you last saw Grace and Jake. You wondered meekly whether they succeeded and convinced the Omatikaya to retreat Hometree. You wondered, if allowing yourself this naïve hope would make you feel better as you sat here, useless.

It did not.

And for another moment, you found yourself wondering what your parents would’ve thought of this. Their own daughter, being illegally detained for standing up for a race of aliens, betraying your race as Quaritch would say. Would they have been on his side in the end? Would they have turned against you too?

They had both died when you were still quite young, still had barely any time to truly get to know them. What would they think of you now? Your mother’s brains and skills. Your father’s ambition and unyielding determination.

You wondered. And wondered. And wondered. And wondered.

A sudden thud from outside startled you out of your dazed thoughts. For a second, you were sure you imagined it until the lock clicked and the door opened.

The last person you expected to be there was Dr. Patel.

“Max?” You gapped but he pressed a finger to his lips.

“No time! Trudy already freed Dr. Augustine, Jake, and Norm and their heading to the runway. You need to go now!”

Max cut the red strap off your wrists. You immediately stood as he rushed toward the doorway. “Wait what happened? What do you mean you freed them?”

You followed Max out of the room, finding no guards outside of the room, and started rushing down the hallway. Better to ask questions while you are moving instead of standing there and wasting time. If you were given the chance to escape, no matter the suddenness, you were going to take it, questions later.

He poked his head down a hallway to check if it was clear before continuing, “They were arrested for treason a few hours ago. We’re getting you guys out of here now before anyone finds out.”

Just as you turned a corner, you nearly collided with a soldier.

“Shit!” Max hissed.

The soldier stopped the same as you and Max. After checking to see if there were any more soldiers walking around, you took the chance and elbowed the man as hard as you could, kneed his stomach, and threw his head against the wall multiple times before his body went limp in your arms. You grabbed his gun before his body fell to the floor.

Max furrowed his brows as you continued running down the halls. “You know how to use that?”

You rolled your eyes, “I was raised around military men and a paranoid mother. What do you think?”

“Sorry, I just never seen you with a gun before.”

You smirked a little, “You’d be the first.”

After a few more turns through different halls and taking one elevator, you eventually made it toward the door leading out to the airstrip. You opened the case and grabbed a mask, placing it on as Max backed away toward the way you had just come.

“Where are you going?” You questioned, furrowing your brows at him once you got the mask on.

“Jake says he needs someone on the inside, so I’m gonna be here.” Max pointed at the door. “Your job is to get the hell out of here. Now go!”

You didn’t have to be told twice. You pulled open the door, made sure your mask was on tight, and dashed outside.

Night had come, so it was a bit difficult to figure out just which ship you should be looking for.

That was until you heard someone call out your name. You searched the airstrip, ducking behind a crate before you spotted Norm and Grace were a few jogs away, leaning out of an active helicopter, waving toward you.

“Over here!”

You started running again. And that was when the bullets started. You glanced behind you to find further up on a balcony, Quaritch was shooting at the ship. You took your own gun and aimed at him a few times, making his aim sway a bit when he dodged your shots. That gave you enough time to speed up.

The ship was lifting in the air, Norm reached out for you as you got closer. You ducked her head when the bullets came flying again and then jumped up to grab onto Norm’s hand. He caught your hand.

“I got her! Let’s go!” Norm shouted as he pulled you up.

By the time Norm got you up, the ship was high up in the air and out of reach of Quaritch’s bullets. You crawled toward one of the seats and got in.

“Were you shooting a gun?!” Norm asked after you buckled yourself into one of the seats. He was looking at you and the gun in your hand. “Since when could you shoot guns?”

“Since always?” You rolled your eyes.

Once the ship got further away from Hell’s Gate, Jake and Norm whooped out in victory. Jake turned to you with relief on his features, his smile growing. And for that moment, you allowed yourself to return his smile.

And foolishly with your happiness, you searched for Grace’s matching smile. Only you froze when you saw her across from you. Blood stained her hand.

“G-Grace?”

Seeing how your smile instantly dropped, how your eyes widened, Jake looked toward Grace.

“Aah, damn it.” She sighed, wincing. “This is gonna ruin my whole day.”

You unbuckled your seat belt and rushed toward her. “Y/N! Shit!” Jake’s voice barely registered to your ears as you managed to take the seat next to Grace. You moved her shirt aside to find more blood on the side of her waist.

“No, no, no, no.” You trembled, pressing your own hand against the wound. “Jake! Jake, she’s been hit!”

You felt an extra weight come over as another hand pressed against yours and another grip your elbow. “Get a trauma kit!” Jake shouted to Norm.

“J-Jake, Jake, Jake, Jake—” You stuttered. This was a bad hit. And she was bleeding too much. “S-She can’t—she—”

“I know, I know.” He squeezed your arm, his voice remaining confident while you were practically falling apart. “I know.”

Grace grunted, “Damn, that bastard.” She held onto your wrist with her other hand as she continued wincing.

“You’ll be okay.” You tell her Na’vi. “Everything will be okay.”

Grace chuckled softly, “Ah, Tinkers.”

It’ll be okay. It’ll be okay. It’ll be okay.

taglist: @luvvfromme @sully-stick-together @dazedshoon @jakesullylvr @s-u-t @ssc7514 @cheari@tojigirl @nyotamalfoy @perfectprofessorloverapricot @erenjaegerwifee @naityelen @dumb-fawkin-bitch @raggedyoldwitch @dorck26 @nhemmingsf @biooiuygjjgfsrb @thatsenoughformelol@tojigirl

#to you worlds away #avatar jake sully x reader #avatar jake sully #avatar jake #jake sully #jake sully x reader #sam worthington #grace augustine #trudy chacon #avatar way of water #atwow #avatar the way of water

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r4ins · 1 year

Note

could u pls make another dick grayson x male reader fic? ^^

Dick Grayson x Top Male Reader

cw. bottom dick x dom male reader

“I thought you Bats didn't approve of gun ownership,” Y/N murmurs when they step over the carpeted threshold. Dick trails him, hands slipped into the back pockets of his jeans. Y/N definitely hasn’t been looking at how they frame that cute ass.

Dick doesn’t seem to notice, his gaze trailing over the wares with aloof curiosity, waiting as Y/N approaches the nearest rack. Doesn’t bother to turn over the gaudy little price tag; he can afford any model he wants.

“I don’t have an issue with you owning guns,” Dick replies lightly, and Y/N hums. “I do have an issue with you using them on innocent civilians, though.”

“What about smart-talking vigilantes?” Y/N quips back, and looks up in time to see the man flush. Dick’s gaze slides away, nonchalant, and he clears his throat.

“I mean for your work. If you’re just looking for some toys to try out at the range, I’m not going to hold you back.”

“And there’s no ulterior motive to wanting to accompany me into a gun shop,” Y/N returns with a crooked brow.

“No,” Dick says, admirably level.

Y/N hums again, and wanders over to the handguns. He palms the nearest, pulling it off the rack to test the grip, smooth his trigger finger down the barrel. “See anything you like?”

Dick smiles. “I don’t want a gun. They’re your thing. I’ve got all I need with my escrima.”

“Sure, Grayson.”

He palms the slide, listening for the satisfying clack of polymer settling. He lifts the firearm and squints his good eye down the sights, aiming for a rack of semiautomatics across the room. Dick’s gaze follows him, but there’s nothing in his expression to give the game away. Doesn’t mean Y/N misses the minute hitch in his heart rate.

He lowers the gun, ejects the empty clip. “So you don’t have an issue with my work?”

Dick makes a complicated expression. “An issue? Maybe. Would I prefer you were putting your talents to better use? Absolutely. Am I going to try to stop you? I’m not that stupid. And you’re holding a gun.”

Y/N snaps the clip back into the well, holding Dick’s gaze as he does. Which means he sees the heat bleed into those blue orbs. “And they say you’re just the pretty one.”

Dick gives him a grin for that, trailing Y/N as he shifts down the wall, setting that gun aside and trying a higher caliber.

“Charming. I am more than just a pretty face though.” When Y/N opens his mouth, Dick cuts him off with, “Don’t tell me I’ve got a pretty ass too. I’ve heard that one before. Come up with something original.”

Y/N grunts, and weighs the new firearm in his palm. It’s heavier, the frame steel. Dick’s throat bobs when he swallows.

“Have any favourites?”

“Favourites?” Dick repeats blankly.

Y/N waggles the gun in his grip. “Any favourites?”

“Oh.” Dick flushes, then nods at the gun in Y/N’s palm. “That one’s bigger.”

Y/N gives him a wry smirk. “Ever the size queen, Grayson.”

Dick scowls. “I didn’t mean like that. You’re big, I figure a bigger gun is something you’re after. Fragile masculinity and all that.”

Y/N toys with the hammer, ratcheting it back slowly under Dick’s burning gaze. “You really don’t know the first thing about guns, do you?”

“I’ve studied guns,” Dick contradicts, hands slipping from his pockets to cross over his chest, defensive. He leans his weight into one hip, considering Y/N’s current fascination. “Bruce gave us all the rundown.”

“You haven’t studied them yourself though, have you? Haven’t gotten familiar with them, intimate.” Y/N’s grin becomes a tad more malicious when Dick shifts at that, so he smothers it back to acceptable impassivity. “You could do with an education, Grayson.”

“And you’re going to teach me, aren’t you?” Dick suggests, crooking a dark brow. He doesn’t look offput by the idea, though.

“Is there anyone who knows guns better than me?” Y/N counters, returning the handgun to its hook. Dick’s expression is just the barest bit crestfallen at the surrender.

He gathers himself rather quickly though, to quip, “Deathstroke.”

Indignation spills across Y/N’s features before he can curb it, displeasure twisting his lips down at the corners. Dick’s grin grows in response.

“Jealous, Y/N?”

“Watch your tone, Dick.”

“Oh no,” Dick purrs, and circles around behind Y/N to lean one hip against the nearest counter, where Y/N’s eyeing the rows of custom engraved bullets with intrigue. “Don’t tell me your ego is that easily bruised.”

“If you want to talk bruises, that can certainly be arranged.”

Dick’s lips tick up another notch. “Bit cliche, don’t you think? You’ve only spanked me - what - forty-five times, at least count? Losing your touch a bit, babe.”

“Or maybe,” Y/N contradicts in a low murmur, “I just know all your kinks so well by now, little bird.”

Dick flushes at the nickname, but lifts his chin an inch, challenging. “I don’t think you know all my kinks.”

Y/N scoffs, and brushes past him to retrieve another firearm, far above where Dick can reach. Doesn’t miss the younger man’s gaze appreciatively trailing the length of his arm when he stretches upward.

He flips the gun over in his palm, watching the light dance down the sleek black metal, the way it catches in Dick’s blue eyes. “You’re not as subtle as you think you are, Grayson.”

“Subtle?” Dick prompts, saccharine.

Y/N glances up, meets that gaze with his own eye.

There’s the sharp, bright chirp of a momentary alarm, and then the electricity snaps with a harsh sizzle, the store falling into immediate dimness around them. Y/N’s gaze goes to the door, to mark the reinforced steel bolt that locks into place. Dick’s gaze sweeps the counter and the unmanned racks.

“Lockdown,” Y/N murmurs, on the lazy side of alert. “Someone tripped the alarm.”

“No one else in the store,” Dick informs him, in quick report. “Unless someone’s in the back.”

They pause for a moment, to note the stillness and the distinct lack of panic.

“False alarm,” Dick entreats, and Y/N nods an agreement.

“No getting out until they reset the breaker, I’d say,” Y/N concurs, shifting around Dick to return the firearm to its shelf. Then he has an idea.

He withdraws the gun, index fingertip stroking the steel.

Waits until Dick’s gaze slowly returns back to the metal, like a moth to flame, before he offers, “I suppose I could give you that lesson while we wait.” The suggestive stroke of his finger down the barrel leaves no room for implication.

“Seriously?” Dick says with a hint of incredulity, and eyes the gun.

Y/N lets it loll in his grip, if only so he can enjoy the way Dick’s eyes fitfully track the firearm. “I need a new gun. It would be negligent of me not to test it before purchase.”

Dick’s gaze flicks to the door, and then the empty counter, skimming that sleek barrel before it jumps back up to Y/N. His pulse is rabbiting. “You’re serious.”

When Y/N just holds his gaze, steady and unwavering, Dick’s throat bobs. He bleats a short, tittering laugh, his gaze flashing to the door again as his weight shifts against the case.

“Here? Right now?”

“Can you think of somewhere better?” Y/N returns, and smirks at the scowl Dick throws him.

So the little bird needs convincing. Y/N’s a regular charmer.

He takes a step forward, ignoring the reflexive tense that halts the air in Dick’s lungs, and stops just short of crowding the boy. Ensures he’s only barely touching the front of Dick’s torso, enough to set the man’s senses to blistering.

Dick swallows again, and looks up to meet his eye.

“I think we both know how this is going to go, little bird,” Y/N murmurs, tone deep in a way that pulls a shiver from the acrobat’s arching spine. He lets his wrist lull until the muzzle of the gun in his palm nudges Dick’s thigh, just so he can enjoy the way the boy flinches at the cold touch, distracted. “The question is whether you still need convincing.”

Dick’s gaze flicks down and back up when the muzzle traces the joint of his thigh and hip, trailing higher before returning. Y/N’s lips quirk at the involuntary shudder it produces.

Then those pretty blue eyes flash across the store one more time, to each corner of the room and back over to the counter. Cataloguing surveillance cameras probably, though he arrives at the same deduction as Y/N; whatever tripped the power to the store probably cut the power to the surveillance feeds too.

All the privacy they need to get started.

Dick shifts then, hands lifting to Y/N’s hips to ease him back a step. Just far enough away from the counter that the little bird can slide down to his knees between Y/N’s boots, eyes locked on his the whole while.

It’s an intoxicating sight, having a man like Dick Grayson willingly sit on his heels at Y/N’s feet. Makes his mind race with wicked possibilities, makes him almost wish they had more than a few minutes before the electricity comes back on.

Let it not be said that Y/N can’t make the most of a time-sensitive situation.

He rolls his wrist, letting the cold metal glide up the angle of the man’s jaw. Dick tilts his head into the motion, giving him a soft little moan when those sights scrape down the ridges of his windpipe and then press in against his pulse. The little notches leave twin marks when Y/N pulls them back, but only so he can nudge Dick’s gaze back up to his own again.

“Didn’t need that much convincing after all,” he points out, and chuckles at the flash in Dick’s gaze. His fingers slip into the man’s dark locks, a hush cresting over his lips as he taps the barrel of the gun against that handsome chin. “Don’t pout, little bird. We both know how much you’ve been begging for a good throat-fucking.”

“Didn’t think I’d be getting it from your gun,” Dick admits. Y/N can tell from the tightness of the words just how affected the man is, see how much he leans into the sensation when Y/N drags the gun up to knock gently against his cheekbone. “You’re not one to share, usually.”

“If you’re going to mouth off,” he warns, “I can give you a nice pretty bruise to remember the occasion by.”

It’s a delightful sight, watching the words tumble through the boy’s skull, seeing the way he conjures and discards quips just as quickly. Weighing the merit of each against the possibility of Y/N knocking his teeth around in retribution.

He settles on, “I can find something else to do with my mouth, sir.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” Y/N praises gruffly, and reaffirms his grip on the boy’s hair, holding him steady as he aligns the barrel with those begging lips. He makes sure to stop a few inches short of penetrating the man’s mouth though, just to watch the confusion and then the realisation crest over Dick’s features.

The little bird’s been trained well though, because Y/N doesn’t even have to bleat a guiding command before that tongue dips out to lather the underside in a long, tantalising swipe. Y/N hums an approving note, offering more of the barrel as the man’s enthusiasm rises. There’s something about the sight of those soft, pliant lips caressing hard metal that has Y/N’s blood heating, has him fighting the urge to just fuck straight into the boy’s begging mouth.

“Chamber's empty, right?” Dick asks between dragging kisses down the cold metal.

Y/N gives a responding hum. “Hard to say.”

Dick stills for a beat, eyes flashing up. “Y/N-”

He takes advantage of the man’s slack jaw to press the muzzle between his teeth, ignoring the bleat of surprise in favour of enjoying the way Dick immediately opens to allow the gun entrance. It slides across his tongue, sights clacking on his teeth as it dips inside.

Y/N doesn’t push it farther than that, giving his bird a moment to adjust. Those blue eyes are heated, but from the way his cheeks hollow and those pretty lashes flutter invitingly, Y/N assumes the outrage is fleeting.

“That’s the way,” he purrs in approval, enjoying the shiver that traces down Dick’s spine, the way he tilts his throat open a few inches further. Betters the angle of Y/N’s gun when it slips over his plush lips.

The roll of the flesh beneath the unyielding metal is mesmerising, as is the way the boy takes every slow thrust so readily. He looks completely focused, on his knees, at Y/N’s mercy. Every sense and nerve attuned to the inexorable press of that gun further and further into his throat.

“Come on, little bird,” he coaxes, easing the barrel deeper. “Something tells me you’ve got a little more give in you. I’ve seen you take cock deeper than that.”

Dick whines at the tease, jaw opening farther to let him in, to beckon that gun deeper into his throat. He only gags once, when the sights press against the roof of his mouth, and then he’s drawing in a sharp breath, wresting free of Y/N’s grip in his hair to bear down on the weapon.

When he pulls back up, Y/N only lets him withdraw as far as letting the sights clack against the back of his teeth. Those blue eyes slide up to meet his, awaiting instruction, so Y/N gives it to him.

“How about you tell me how much you want it, little bird?” he suggests, and pumps the gun once, slowly, into his mouth just to watch those gorgeous eyes water. “Convince me how much you need a gun down your throat.”

To his credit, Dick doesn’t try to pull back any further. Not that he’d get far, with Y/N’s unrelenting grip holding him at just the right angle. His tongue dips out once, in an attempt to wet his lips perhaps, before he tries to speak around the barrel filling his mouth.

It’s barely coherent, but Y/N can interpret the sentiment of the, “Please, Y/N,” from the earnestness in the little bird’s eyes. He watches the man swallow, that throat flexing as that tongue withdraws briefly, before he tries again, moaning the words out around the muzzle in his mouth.

Y/N holds him there, lets the man beg and plead around the obstruction for a few seconds longer. Just until he can see the first bead of drool spill over the stretched corners of those lips, see the flush that takes over his cheeks when Dick realises, see the way he tries to angle himself to curb it and finds himself trapped beneath Y/N’s grip.

“What a pretty sight you make,” Y/N coos, tilting his head sideways until the string of drool is caught beneath what remains of the light. If it takes longer to drip down the boy’s chin too, that's just a bonus. “Making a mess of yourself.”

The droplet parts from Dick’s wavering chin, splattering on the toe of Y/N’s boot as they both watch. Y/N takes the moment of distraction to thrust the barrel deep, enjoying the sound of the man’s choke, the slick sound of saliva as he gags, before he withdraws it back to a reasonable length again.

“Just begging for it, aren’t you, slut?” he says quietly, smirking when Dick’s gaze flashes up. It’s wide and open, laid bare for him.

Y/N slides back the gun, ignoring Dick’s bitten down whine as he wipes the weapon clean on each of his cheeks. Feels a thrum of heat at the way Dick’s lashes flutter with shame, at how the spit must feel drying on his skin. Then he returns the gun to rest on the man’s lower lip as he shifts his other hand to unbuckle his belt.

“I don't think I’d even need this,” Y/N ponders aloud, rolling the flesh of Dick’s lip beneath the muzzle, “to get you to take cock like a good whore. You’re eager enough already.”

Dick moans, soft and breathless, when Y/N palms his cock, eyes flickering between the progress of his calloused hand and Y/N’s burning gaze.

“I think you’re just looking for an excuse,” Y/N continues, peeling his jeans down far enough that he can bear his cock to the cool air, and pause to sigh, “so that no one blames you for being the eager little slut you are.”

“Please,” Dick whispers, lips catching on the barrel when he speaks. It kicks Y/N’s pulse up another notch.

“How about you show your gratitude by sucking me and my gun off?” Y/N suggests, enjoying the breath that hitches in the man’s throat. “Then I’ll let you keep the excuse to take back to Daddy Bats when he asks why you were on your knees in broad daylight sucking off a mercenary.”

The groan is much more audible this time, the need obvious in the way his hands fist the material of Y/N’s jeans. He doesn’t keep the bird waiting, angling the gun into the corner of Dick’s lips as he feeds his cock into the vigilante’s mouth.

Dick takes him eagerly, familiarity taking over as he sets to work. Y/N lets him adjust for a few moments before he taps the gun against his cheeks, humming approval when they hollow obediently.

It’s wet and hot, those lips sinful in the way they wrap around Y/N’s cock like they were made for nothing else. The small, pleading moans that spill up the boy’s throat are a gorgeous accompaniment, betraying the need in that heated gaze.

“That’s it, little bird,” Y/N murmurs, chuckling at the whine Dick lathers around his cock. Those pretty lashes flutter when he presses the man’s face down on his cock, gun scraping across his cheekbone to dig into his temple.

He lifts a thumb to draw down the hammer, making sure every click of the mechanism reverberates into the boy’s crooked ear. Those keens rise to a fever pitch when he releases it, his motions growing sloppily desperate as he fucks down onto Y/N. Punctuating each moan with the mercenary’s cock hitting the back of his throat.

“I could blow your brains out, just like this,” Y/N coaxes, and curls his finger off the trigger guard.

Those pretty blues roll, his motions jerking to a surprisingly sudden halt as he shudders. For a moment, Y/N wonders if he’s taken it too far; then the flush spreads over the little bird’s cheeks, a sheepish edge to the gaze he won’t lift to meet Y/N’s eyes.

The realisation crawls over Y/N’s skin like a palpable heat, thundering down to his groin as he fucks tightly into Dick’s slack, recovering mouth. The thought that the man could come just from the threat of a gun has Y/N spilling down his throat, grunting as he empties.

Dick takes it all with only the mildest of chokes, Y/N guiding palm helping him to keep it all down. He settles once the brunt of it is taken, catching his breath when Y/N pulls free and tucks himself away.

“Come on, little bird,” Y/N says, offering a hand to pull Dick up to his feet. He wipes the back of a hand against his lips, still flushed with colour beneath Y/N’s wandering gaze. “There’s a range in the back where we can try this one out. I think we could even fit you beneath the counter if you aren't inclined to watch.”

#top male reader #x male reader #dc comics #gay #dc universe #dick grayson #bottom dick grayson #nightwing x you #nightwing x reader #nightwing x y/n #queer community

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traeysl · 2 years

Text

top! stoner aizawa + m! skater reader

a/n - faded while i wrote this so it’s prolly ass , but enjoy , flithy sluts . otherwise reqs open send em maneee <3

warnings . age gap ( 40 - 19 ) , drug use , marijuana use , unprotected sex , intoxicated sex , breeding k. , petnames , standing nelson position , dumbification , dubcon , implied voyeurism , weed virgin reader , reader cheats on bf , amab!reader , ass is called 'pussy' a few times , aizawa’s horse cock , pussy pounding .

you caught a glimpse from across the concrete . baggy shirt that hugged his secretly broad shoulders at the top , jeans definitely a size too big for his waist , and the gruff , stoic expression that complimented his aesthetic .

that was all it took to have your chest swelling .

the finely aged man was not your partner– and yet he sent waves of lust brewed with anxious nerves straight to the tent in your sweats .

you gaze motionless for a few more moments , frozen in time . a warm laugh , short , and charming in tone pulls you back to reality .

your beloved todoroki shoto ; current boyfriend and dick hook-up . chatting up a trio of skaters with a hint of suggestion on his lips .

your head hesitantly flows to meet the eyes of the mystery man you eye-fucked earlier . you couldn’t tell if it was the brutal heat making you hallucinate , or he was actually walking towards you . either way you mirrored his actions , drifting closer his direction .

“ i know teens have a habit of being stupid , but don’t just stand in the middle of everything . idiot . ” he half scoffed , half traced your dick-print with his pupils .

“ thanks for the concern , douche . but i’m fine . do you even know what the fuck you’re doing , old man ? ”

old man ? does he know what he’s doing ? who did you think you were addressing with that attitude . certainly not him right ?

“ come with me and i’ll teach you everything i know . the real question is , pretty boy . can you handle it ? ”

your soft , plump lips quivered in response – which aizawa translated as a yes . he knew how badly you craved the paralyzing chill of feeling full , stuffed and bred so deep your brain converts to mush . but he couldn’t front his desire so carelessly , he was calculated and patient yet you brought something much more primal to his surface .

that’s how you ended up with a rolling tray between your legs , while aizawa gently guided your fingers around the blunt . yes , he was going to be an ass and let you take puffs from a blunt your first time smoking .

” so , you’ve never smoked before ? ” he repeated slowly , as if you had just commit the most heinous crime imaginable .

the skin on your cheeks danced between a variety of shades , guilty flashes of embarrassment trail heat up your neck .

“ no , shouta , i haven’t . at least give me credit for wanting to– i’ve just never got around to it . ” you pleaded , resting the back of your head over his shoulders so your eyes could lull at his dark ones .

the surrounding area smells faintly sweet , knit with a hint of sour body musk amongst the overbearing reek of weed– it swallowed your lungs whole ; flourishing what felt like new life through every inch of pink flesh .

once you finish rolling , shouta nestles the tip between your lips and instructs you to take a few puffs while he holds the opposite end to his lighter .

you watch the flame gracefully eat away at the blunt roll , the aftermath erupting into a shade of firey orange laced with ashy grey .

the drugs bleed through your system , traveling through your lungs , coaxing a tingling sensation from your veins . your brain is heavy and numb , blanketed by a relaxing state of stupidity .

smoke begins pouring from behind your teeth . a large cloud slipping from your lips and flowing through aizawa’s , who catches the smoke and mimics your puff .

” how’d that feel , baby ? ” his eyes scanned over your face , twisted with shock , sweat rolling down your temple and dampening your skin . which , without fail tugged a shit-eating grin from the corner of the shouta’s mouth .

your body language spoke for it’s self , minuets of deafening silence clashed with heavy breathing . in an flirtatious attempt to break the silence , aizawa makes his advance .

and when you feel his grit palms smooth over your hips carefully– the aftershock from his cold flesh causes you to gasp .

chasing the opening he created , he once again seizes the opportunity .

pouncing over you without hesitation , tearing away your garments one piece at a time .

he squeezes your hand in an unspoken declaration of love and in moments you’re left droopy-eyed , folded in half , bent and breathless – ankles pushed up past your ears with your back arched blissfully against aizawa’s equally as bare chest .

” p- please i’ll be good , promise ! put it in , sho~ ” the way you speak his name while helplessly clinging to his wide shoulders . shivering , pleasure already coiling inside your stomach .

he snakes his large forearms under your knees , coming to an upright position on his feet while his hands clasp over either side of your head .

a few messy , wet kisses are placed down the crook of your neck before your sloppy hole absorbs his first thrust .

plap. his girth takes you by surprise , gummy walls immediately constricting in retaliation to his monster cock .

it’s like your hips grow a mind of their own , bouncing and bucking back against his . every rut from his pelvis fits the curve of your ass just right , sending drool twitching down your chin . jaw left slack , eyes sinking back into your skull .

plap. plap. plap.

you feel your ass stretch tremendously , accompanied by a lingering burn around your rim . in order for your hole to be able to swallow his thick cock , your insides mold around his shaft and leave an imprint of him on your walls .

he quickly finds rhythm in snapping his hips roughly , catching you by surprise . reveling in the way your eyes widen after he pulls you down to his hilt . he’s fucked you stupid– patiently sliding in and out of you while you babble and struggle to remain bouncing on his dick .

that is until your hips give out under you , breaking down from fatigue and gory bruising .

“ stretching you so good you can hardly think , hm ? you like being helpless . dumb ? ” he rolls his hips up after every other word , kissing and sucking on your neck to sweeten the deal .

when you can’t muster up a reply , he only fucks up into you even more vigorously than before .

“ come on , say it baby . you want me to make you a mommy . no condom , im already fucking your brains out– ” shouta grunts , balls deep . you’re reduced to nothing but a sniffling , whiney mess underneath him .

“ cum . . ah! please i-in me ! fuck , zawa~ ” loose strands of his lengthy , dark hair brush against your cheek ; masking the bottomed-out look you have on your face .

shouta creases his brows , letting out a breath he didn’t know was was in him . by now his balls continued to grow heavier by the second , threatening to spill their contents and paint your insides white .

which , to be real , is really what you wanted anyways .

” sweet ( y/n ) , take my kids . f-fuck ! ah.. shit !! gonna fill this cunt . ” he whispered your name like a mantra while he drained his cum in your ass .

he kept a brutal pace as he fucked you through your chemically infused orgasm . all you could do was hope he understood the plea your eyebrows acted out . irises drowning in hot tears while your silent mouth lay agape– tongue lifeless from overstimulation . you looked as though you could be pronounced brain dead .

making sure not a drop went to waste he proceeded to fuck his creamy load right back into your puffy hole . slimy cum trailing down his ballsack , all to ensure his seed reached the deepest parts of you .

with quick thinking from aizawa and the miracle that is modern technology . you didn’t have to explain a single thing to your bratty boyfriend either .

a slutty creampie picture would resolve more than your words ever could , right ?

#traeysl #aizawa x male reader #aizawa x bottom make reader #aizawa x reader smut #aizawa x bottom reader smut #aizawa shouta smut #aizawa smut #bnha x male reader #bnha x bottom male reader #smut blog #dark blog #dark bnha #bnha smut

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unholyhelbig · 10 months

Note

Yo! are you ever going to continue the Kate werewolf fic?

[A/n: Yo! It has been a while, I started a new job and I'm currently traveling a lot before I move next month. But I had some time to finish a draft!]

Summary: Reader discovers that there are werewolves in this world after a particularly strange encounter with Kate Bishop.

Read from the start | Request Prompts here

There was a reflection that stared back at you that was vaguely reminiscent of what you had been before the attack. The counter dug into your palms, the mirror fogging with each, long breath that you took. The sink was nearly filled with water now, so you flicked it off.

Just one more minute, and you’d walk back out there with your shoulders pulled back and a tense smile on your face- because you were calm, collected, and entirely okay with the whole werewolf thing. It prickled under your skin, the knowledge of it. The bite throbbed against your side.

One more breath, one more minute.

There was a soft knock at the door that startled you from your thoughts. You were sweating, and it was awkward to swallow the dryness on your tongue. When you opened the door, Kate was on the other side. She had discarded the sweatshirt, stood uncomfortably with her hands in her jean pockets and a shy smile on her face.

“Hi,” She cupped the back of her neck “have a second to talk?”

“Uh-huh”

You’d taken the first break from conversation to excuse yourself to the bathroom for the specific reason that you felt a panic attack coming on. Your mind barely had time to grasp the fact that you should be dead, but the girl who had plunged you into this situation in the first place had lured you to a creepy murder compound.

It had been forty-five minutes of tense conversation and you were still breathing. Of course, you’d also done nothing but lose the moisture in your mouth and nod along as Clint and Natasha explained the logistics.

You peered down the long hallway, lined with different black and white photos of places around the world. Places that you would never see. You were resigned to the fact that Paris was out of reach, and South Africa would rot away at the bottom of your bucket-list. How bad would it be if you turned into a werewolf on a plane instead of in an Olive Garden?

Kate seemed to sense your spiral, just like she seemed to sense a lot of things. Her tough was gentle, fingers brushing against your own. She led you down that long hallway and to a room that was saturated in her scent.

Posters were against the walls; a muddled bedspread was bunched as if someone had fitfully slept on it. There was a desk with a laptop layered in different stickers. There were books that were sloppily piled on a shelf, and once space had worn away on the wooden structure, they were stacked on the floor.

Kate closed the door, leaned against it and closed her eyes. There were towels on the back of the door. Her scent was overwhelming in here, an instant comfort that eased the prickling of your skin. It was so clearly hers, so comfortable. Light flitted through the blinds, an oscillating fan was draped with a t-shirt, hardly stirring the air.

“I’m really sorry about them.” She rushed out, finally opening her eyes.

You turned and stared at her with a cocked eyebrow. She carried the same type of embarrassment that you harbored during family holidays. There was always that one cousin, always that uncle who was overcompensating and that mother who had a cold, unforgiving gaze because she’d been in the kitchen for too long.

“I was going to ease you into it, really. But you never really know what the vibe is going to be until you’re… here.”

“It’s alright.”

“It is?” She pushed off the door. She was taller than you, and the furrow of her brow was nothing but genuine. “I know it doesn’t seem like it, but Natasha and Clint, they’re just trying to help. But they’ve been like this for a long time now. I think sometimes they forget how overwhelming it can be.”

“Uh-huh,”

You repeated yourself, suddenly overcome with exhaustion. You flopped down onto the corner of Kate’s bed, breathing in that hint of lavender and musk that she carried. Your legs were suddenly giving out. Kate was careful with her movements, tentatively sitting on the same side of the bed as you.

Her pinky was close to yours; you could feel the heat and it was overwhelming. But she didn’t’ dare touch you. The seats on the bus had pinned you closer together, but somehow, this was more intimate.

You hadn’t exactly leaned into your college experience, and maybe that had something to do with it. You’d never been in a girls room, much less someone who had dug their canine teeth deep into the flesh of your shoulder.

“I just…” You paused, trying to think of your words very carefully. “I did everything right. I had a plan. I was the first one to graduate from high school- granted, my mother got her GED, but that’s not the point. The point is- I graduated and got into college and did everything right.”

Kate clenched and unclenched her jaw. She wouldn’t look you in the eye, and you had every single right to be angry with her. But there was something deep down that ebbed through the white-hot anger and the bubbling confusion. Something that was akin to fondness. To danger.

“I screwed all of that up.”

“Yeah,” You sighed, “You did.”

There was a hurt in Kate’s eye that stung, just knowing that you caused a fraction of it. But, on the other hand, there was a quiet resolution to it as well. It had just been a flicker before it moved to understanding. Kate’s palm was like fire. She set it on your knee.

“You have every right to hate me. I hate me, y/n. I wouldn’t wish my fate on anyone, and then I had a moment of relapse and I forced it on you.” She moved her thumb, you noticed every electrifying moment. “There is nothing I can do that will ever make up for that night. If you walk out that door and never speak to me again, that’s understandable.”

You laughed, the sound watery, and choked “I don’t think Natasha would allow that.”

There was a sparkle in her eye that quickly faded, the corners of her lips turning up into the slightest bit of a smile. She frowned to cover her amusement, and you found yourself wanting to reach up and rub that little crease from between brows.

“Right. Yeah,” There was a breathy noise, “What now?”

Your question had lingered on the way home, Kate’s worried glances as she maneuvered a truck that was older than you, kept your nerves in check. This was better than the bus, you decided, even if there was no air conditioning, there was a small crack in each window that allowed the icy air to fill your lungs.

Part of you had been content to borrow Kate’s clothes and simply vanish. It would be easier that way, you figured, not having to rush out a pain-staking goodbye to America and MJ. Though, it wasn’t a goodbye, it was just a ‘see you later’ when they had lives and partners and careers.

“They’ll be resistant.” You had said as the trees began to thin out with architectural bliss. “You know that, right?”

Kate puffed out her chest comedically, “I can take them.”

“MJ, yes. America? I thought she juiced for the first two years of our friendship, and we were six.”

Kate smiled then, and nervously ran her fingers over the length of the ribbed steering wheel. You could hear her heart, and it was thundering over the inner workings of the truck, struggling against the cold weather. You counted the beats. “Tell me about her.”

“Hmm?”

“Your friend, America? It seems like she cares a lot about you. And friends since you were six? That’s a long time. A lot of memories.”

You couldn’t help the nervous smile that spread across your face. Going away to college had just been the latest chapter in a long book that you held near and dear. There was a sadness in the cab of the truck, a realization that you’d have to part, and brutally at that.

“There was this kid, Bobby Daringer, he was an absolute dick. He’d pick on anyone he could make eye-contact with and I’m pretty sure he’s a career criminal now. Anyway, one of my earliest memories was him shoving me on the playground. The taste of mulch. But, I also remember America grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and throwing him a good three feet.”

Kate was smiling, a genuine look that made your stomach twirl. The feeling lingered as a comfortable quiet filled the car. Soon, it morphed into damp palms and a pounding heart. Kate wasn’t Bobby Daringer, but she would have the same painted target, the same quiet seething that America wielded like a sword.

Kate had silenced herself, listening to the tires against the asphalt of highway. It had started to drizzle by the time she rolled into the parking lot of the off-campus apartments. You took a heavy, nervous breath. A hand was in yours, for only a moment, but the warmth was overwhelming, a blanket over your anxieties.

At least, it did, until you clocked both America’s and MJ’s car in the lot. Even more so, you could hear their muted conversations silence the second your key turned in the lock. Your hand was flat against the door, and Kate’s was on the small of your back, steadying you.

This stranger had such a pull on your heart, and part of you resented her for it. She was pulling you from your life, you were going to walk in there and pack a bag and vanish in thin air. There was still a dull ache where her teeth had broken skin, still a dull anger that you were hoping dissipated as you learned, not only to embrace what you had become, but to embrace Kate too.

Something attracted her to you that night, and it was a pull that you admittedly felt. Even as she ran through the woods, pinned you to the forest floor. There was an alluring magnetism to the animal that bit you, and the girl that stood steady by you now. You hated her, you did. But it was ebbing away into something else.

“Stay behind me,” You mumbled, cracking the door “And don’t say a word.”

Kate mimed zipping her lips but smiled dorkily at you regardless. When you pushed your way into the apartment, the scent was overwhelming, but one of comfort and design. You picked up on the candle that MJ lit, vanilla and a hint of cinnamon. There was the dinner they had just finished, pot roast that made your mouth water.

When you pushed your way into the apartment, you were relieved to find it mostly empty, and you led Kate through the small furnishings and the unlit hallway. You pressed your back against the door for only a moment before grabbing the duffel bag that you took to church camp in middle school.

It still smelled like nature, just the smallest hint clung to the fabric. You started shoving anything you could into it, quick with your movements. Kate surveyed your walls, empty and still plain brick. You didn’t feel the need to decorate, as it had never felt like home, not really.

Kate picked up the book on your nightstand, a worn copy of ‘EMMA’. You’d usually read until your eyesight was blurry and the words turned to mush. But, you knew the story by heart. Once you had filled the bag with clothes, you slugged it over your shoulder and watched her expectantly.

“You don’t want to forget this,” she folded the book close to her chest. “It’s a classic.”

“Yeah, it is.”

It was all you could think to say when you opened your bedroom door and held it open for Kate to pass through. There was a key weighing down your pocket. Kate seemed to read your mind, she slid the bag from your shoulder and onto her own effortlessly. You fished the keyring from your pocket and pushed it off until it was a lone, solitary entity.

Carefully, you moved to set it down on the coffee table, running your fingers over the cool brass.

“Y/n?” MJ’s voice was quiet, “What are you doing?”

You shot up fast enough to make you dizzy, your eyes shooting towards the looming hallway. America stood with her arms across her chest, her face hard, her eyes a fire-filled shade of green. You could hear her teeth grinding, could feel her anger just as you could feel MJ’s apprehension.

She held a bowl of half-finished mac and cheese, her fork coated in gold. MJ chewed quietly, but set the food on the counter with a movement that was slow enough to keep the sound barrier in-tact.

You could handle America’s rage. It was an immoveable object that buffered your interactions in times like these. It was almost better. If she was angry, then it would give her a reason to hate you, to keep you at a distance. It was the concern in MJ’s voice that threw you for a loop.

Your words were broken “I… I’m going to stay at Kate’s for a little while.”

“Then why are you leaving your keys?” America asked. “Do you ever plan on coming back?”

“Eventually”

Kate winced at the word and let out a small breath. That was the wrong thing to say. There was a sharp scent in the room that you could only register as rage. America uncrossed her arms and took three even steps, closing the distance between you.

“Let me get this straight, you waltz in here a few days ago, absolutely soaked in mud and… and blood, then vanish from the party that we were looking forward to for weeks. And then you sneak out of here this morning only to come back with her? Es como si ya no te conociera!”

There was a pressure behind your eyes. You looked down at the carpet to avoid the tears from flowing over. You weren’t going to cry, not about this. Because this was too much. All of it was boiling to the surface. You swallowed the growing metallic taste in your mouth.

America’s voice lowered, shattered “You worked so hard to be here. I can’t watch and let you throw it away for some girl who I’m assuming is the cause of all of this erratic behavior.”

“She’s not,” You glanced at her, “You’re not.”

“What is it, then? Y/n, you have a full ride! And… and us. MJ and I are here for you. Whatever this is, we can work through it, but we can’t do it if you’re not here.”

A tear escaped, and you used the back of your hand to flush it away. The deep sourness of the anger had turned into something like dying flowers, something of profane sadness. You held the key between you both, not saying a word, because this seemed to be enough of a gesture to say everything that was on the tip of your tongue.

#Kate Bishop #Kate Bishop x reader #Kate Bishop x y/n #Kate Bishop x you #america chavez #mj watson #Marvel #Hawkeye #Hawkeye fanfict #ask

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lily-bluey · 21 days

Text

This is the only article I found that refers to Sara's interview in 2002 in google groups.

Sara and Noel: She Was Love

by Alison Boshoff

Sara Macdonald had dressed with particular care that September day two years ago. Her pale blonde hair was smoothed with serum, her lips painted with her favourite Kiehl's gloss, her tight Moto jeans topped with a designer T-shirt.

She completed her look with Gucci sunglasses - and her newest and most cherished accessory, a rock star on her arm.

Noel Gallagher, the driving force behind one of Britain's most talented and notorious bands, Oasis, probably didn't even notice that his new girlfriend had taken longer than usual to get ready or, if he did, pause to consider why.

But news of their romance had just broken in a gossip column and Sara expected to be blinded by the flashes of dozens of paparazzi as they emerged from the house.

Sadly for her, no one was there. And as she and Noel repeated the exercise day after day, Sara felt an unmistakable pang of disappointment.

She had to wait two weeks until he finally agreed to come with her to an awards ceremony to get the splash of publicity which she had expected.

For PR girl Sara, 31, the daughter of a well-to-do middle- class Edinburgh family of schoolteachers who was educated at the city's fee-paying Mary Erskine school, becoming a rock chick was the fulfilment of a girlish fantasy.

She loved the kudos of being famous, albeit by proxy, as 'Noel's new girl'. When he penned a ballad, She Is Love, in her honour, she was ecstatic.

But now her dream romance is over and Sara is alone, having been unceremoniously dumped a fortnight ago. At her desk in London last week, she refused to comment about the end of their relationship.

But we can reveal today that it has been an ugly parting of the ways.

Gallagher, always prone to fits of temper, was so angry and so determined to cut her out of his life when they split that he has already changed the locks of the pretty ?850,000 London mews house they decorated together.

She has told him tearfully that she 'can't see the point of living' without him. There have been long and emotional telephone calls in which she has appealed to him to give their romance another try. It was, after all, only a few weeks ago that he publicly declared how much he loved her.

But now the Oasis star is having none of it. He is turning a deaf ear to her melodramatic hints and is now entirely focused on the band's current tour of America.

'Noel is unrelenting,' said one of his friends. 'He's told her it's over and that's that. When he decides something he is incredibly stubborn, and he's so angry with Sara. No one around him even dares mention her name.'

His decision to end the relationship came after Sara gave an interview suggesting that Noel was keener to marry than she was. He also objected to her claims that she was a party animal and he a stay-at-home bore.

It was all far too reminiscent of the embarrassments his former wife Meg Mathews used to heap on his head. For Sara, a warm, intelligent woman, the interview was a terrible mistake.

Two years earlier it had all been very different when she and Noel met in Ibiza. At the time, he was still married to Meg, although there were serious problems with the relationship.

Sara was working for a London PR firm, Capitalize, one of whose clients was sponsoring some events at the island's nightclub Manumission, where DJ Fatboy Slim (aka Norman Cook) was playing.

Noel, who has a luxury home on the island, had spotted Sara backstage and demanded to be introduced to this slim and striking blonde. There was an instant mutual attraction.

'He came to hang out with us and we got on really well,' Sara said. She made sure he had her phone number and hoped he would call.

Noel and Meg returned to England and a few weeks later attended the premiere of the Guy Ritchie film Snatch. That was their last public appearance together and shortly afterwards they announced they had split up.

Noel, who had made a determined effort to clean up his lifestyle and wean himself off drink and drugs, had been tiring of Meg's rabid partying for a long time. He finally decided it wasn't worth patching up the relationship any more.

Noel left his wife soon after - meeting Sara may well have been a factor -and only a week later he and his new girl were spotted hugging and kissing at the Reading pop festival. The romance developed steadily and by the late autumn she was confident enough to talk publicly about it.

'Noel has had a hard year and it's been difficult for him, but we're getting on very well and he seems happier,' she said. 'He's a lovely man.

It's weird to think I'm going out with Noel Gallagher, but he's just a normal guy to me.'

This was not strictly true. While Sara was very careful to say she didn't care about Noel's status, she was in fact every bit as aware of it as Meg - another middle- class blonde PR girl - had been.

A publicist at a rival PR agency, who knows Sara, said: 'Sara is a pretty girl who likes to hang out with music people.

'Don't believe it when she tells you she's not interested in fame. She's like dozens of other girls who work in music PR. My view is that some of them would chew off their arm for a fling with the talent.'

At first, the romance was plain sailing. Sara was lively and fun and Noel found her effervescence captivating.

Within six months they had moved into a four-bedroom mews cottage in London's Marylebone. Where Meg had favoured marble and gold bathrooms, Sara persuaded Noel that something more low key in black and white would be nicer.

They stayed in together, played Trivial Pursuit, watched Popstars on television and drank good wine.

When Sara left her job to supervise renovations at the new house, it was an indication of the priority the romance was assuming in her life. Noel's main input, meanwhile, was to order a ?25,000 sound system with speakers in every room and the garden.

He said he was so happy that he was able to write songs more readily,including one, She Is Love, about his new woman

'She is from Scotland and she is very, very beautiful and very, very funny. That's about as much as I know,' he said at the time.

But while he was apparently content to take things as they came, enjoying her companionship and affection without thinking too far ahead, Sara seemed to see their moving in together as a prelude to marriage. Indeed, she was already visualising her big day.

'I'm quite sure Noel doesn't want to rush into anything after he's been so badly stung,' she said, but added: 'I love him so much and I would love to be the new Mrs Gallagher. It would be great if our wedding took place somewhere in Scotland.'

It was certainly a little premature, but it accurately reflected Sara's confidence in her future. The problem was that Noel, after marriage to Meg, was by then intensely wary of anyone likely to be seduced by the shallow glamour of the showbusiness set.

Looking today at the ruins of Noel's latest relationship, it seems likely it was Sara's chosen career and the emergence of behaviour mirroring that of Meg Mathews that brought it to an end. Noel has a deep suspicion of the showbusiness world - which is partly due to his downbeat temperament and partly to his experiences with Meg - and he hates meeting other famous people.

'There's too many a***holes to deal with,' he complains. 'I find it difficult dealing with other famous people to be honest because I don't really know what to say to them.'

His idea of fun is a weekend in Blackpool, taking his little girl Anais -his two-year-old daughter by Meg - on the funfair rides.

Sara, however, would drag him to celebrity spots such as the Ivy, where she was able to get a table thanks to her famous boyfriend. On one occasion Noel was observed, with a face like thunder, scraping the sauce off his steak.

A friend of Noel's observed: 'Fundamentally, he's a sexist, traditional, Northern male. Sara's a PR girl and a bit of a label luvvie about clothes. She's no Meg, but she is a girlabout-town.'

After her break to oversee the revamp of their new home, Sara resumed the showbiz PR life, albeit scaled down to three days a week with a new company outfit, Sainted - which did not please Noel. But then she made her fatal error.

Earlier this summer, London's Evening Standard asked Sara to agree to her first interview. Noel was not keen - Meg had embarrassed him with a column in a Sunday broadsheet and always went against his advice to do fashion shoots and interviews, which he hated.

He told Sara she shouldn't - but, just like Meg, she went ahead and did it anyway.

When the results were published, Noel 'went mad'. In the interview, Sara described herself as a 'dizzy bitch' with commitment issues, in contrast to Noel who owned houses and masses of possessions. She added: 'They say I'm trying to get Noel down the aisle, but I'm far too childish to think about marriage and babies just yet.'

It was exactly the kind of shallow posturing which Meg had always indulged in - in fact, it could have been Meg speaking. And as he read on Noel got angrier and angrier.

Sara claimed not to have owned an Oasis album before she met him, and said she didn't even know he'd had No 1 hits as she preferred more hip dance music herself. 'Noel hated that she was promoting herself as hip and cool on the back of making him and his music look rubbish,' the friend said.

She made him look yet more un-hip when she said: 'Noel will kill me for saying this, but my life's actually become more sedate since I met him. I don't need to go clubbing any more.'

A friend of Noel's said: 'He simply went ballistic. He just rang her up and said: "Right, you can **** off, then." It was the way she made him look like some pathetic wimp while she was the free spirit.

'She is completely devastated, but you know, she just shouldn't have done it. It was too much like Meg for comfort and he's not going down that road again. She has paid the price for coming after Meg - Noel reacted really strongly because it reminded him of her.'

It is an irony not lost on Sara that he has now cut her out just as ruthlessly as he cut out Meg. Her song, She Is Love, will no longer feature in his live sets. Like Wonderwall, his love song to Meg, he has vowed to never perform it again.

#noel gallagher #sara's interview in 2002

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captain-mj · 9 months

Note

I’ve never done this before so don’t be mean to me I’ll cry. but could we have some more of the small switch au? ✨Pretty please✨

Don’t worry friend! I got you!! Previous part here

CW: Drug use, suicidal junk

Soap should be doing dozens of things right now. Relaxing. Sleeping. Enjoying his leave.

Instead he was… watching Ghost. Definitely not stalking. Stalking made it sound creepy and this was not creepy.

He hoped.

As far as Price knew, Soap spent his leave in Glasgow and Ghost spent his leave in Manchester. The latter was true. Made evident by Ghost currently smiling at an older woman he had put together was his mom. They were at a coffeeshop and they looked… domestic.

She fussed over him. That was clear. The new scar on his arm from shrapnel was a big part of her concern. She kept going back to it and grabbing his hands like he’d disappear on her.

Ghost smiled and reassured her so she’d relax again. They were so soft. So…. Viscerally human. Soap wondered if he had ever looked like that. He couldn’t remember.

She said something. Whatever it was, it broke the atmosphere so violently Soap felt the tension across the room.

He stood up, those doe eyes filled with the frustration that came from repeat arguments.

Soap clearly saw his mouth as he said. “I don’t want to see him.”

She had the same doe eyes. Big and bright. Lovely. He couldn't read her lips as easily. Not used to watching her speak the way he watched Ghost.

Ghost shook his head and walked away from her. His soft hoodie and jeans looked nice. Black jeans and a grey hoodie. Both hugging him just right.

Soap had an opportunity to just move on. He could leave and no one would know.

But Ghost was right there and he wanted answers. So Soap followed. He trailed at a considerably distance so that Ghost wouldn't pick up on him. Ghost seemed to float. Nice and easy. Sweet and ripe for the picking.

He turned his head, beautiful blond waves moving around. His smile could've provided warmth for a small country.

Soap wondered if he ran his tongue along his skin, if he'd taste as sweet as he looked.

Maybe.

Simon went to a flat nearby and he got dressed. For some reason, despite everything Soap knew about Ghost, he left his curtains open. It meant he got a good look at Ghost's back.

That's when it hit him that maybe he went a little too far with this whole thing. He was staring at him like a fucking creep. Obsessing over answers that he'd kill anyone for trying to get out of him.

Soap rubbed his face, wearing a thin ski mask and eyeshadow. He needed to just accept defeat and go home to pretend he wasn't here harassing his team mate.

Ghost stepped out again and Soap went on high alert, quickly noticing how he was dressed.

Nevermind. He'd follow that man to the end's of the earth.

A crop top. The fucker had a black crop top on and tight fucking pants. Soap felt indecent looking at him. His blood started rushing south and he realized how long it had been since he had gotten laid.

Before Roba, so maybe 4 years? Jesus Christ.

Ghost kept walking and Soap trailed, in a trance. He imagined his mouth on those arms of his and goddamn.

Ghost went into a club and Soap waited a few minutes before going in.

There was a band playing. The lead singer had skull makeup on and the guitarist and drummer were wearing masks. Soap didn't find himself liking the music all that much, a little too angry and loud. But Ghost was here somewhere.

Soap got a Scotch and took a drink of it, reluctantly pulling his mask up to do so. He put his drink down and watched everyone, trying to pick out his tall target from the bodies pressing against each other. It started to overwhelm him.

How long had he been there? He checked the time and saw almost an hour had passed. So much time was slipping by. No matter how hard he looked, he couldn't find him.

Too many people. He leaned against the bar and started to breath as deeply as he could. Desperation for air filled his lungs.

Arms appeared on either side of him but before he could flip out and start fighting, his hands were pinned.

If Soap had leaned back, his head would've touched Simon's stomach.

Too close.

"Learned from last time." Simon said in his ear, pressed right against his back. His voice had a small slur to it. "Just focus on me."

Johnny hated being touched. He hated it so much. But Simon was so warm. His breathing was so steady that Johnny found himself copying it. Slowly, he started to calm down.

Simon's tattoos were so pretty around him. "There you are. Knew you were watching me. Almost thought you were fake."

Johnny kept breathing slowly. "You knew?"

"Yep. Didn't expect you to follow me here. You liked watching me and mom drink tea?"

Johnny felt himself flush and start to panic. Simon put his arms around him and led him outside, his height being used as an advantage. He led him outside and put Soap against the wall, hand next to his head.

"What are you doing?"

"Price couldn't reach you."

Simon pulled his phone out of his pocket. "Talked to me twenty minutes ago." He was pale. Very pale. Lips a pretty pink. Something was wrong here, but Johnny couldn't be sure.

Soap didn't have an excuse for himself. He looked away and gritted his teeth.

"Were you worried about me, Johnny?"

Soap refused to answer.

"Take the way out, sir. Otherwise, I have to assume it was a lot more dastardly, the reason you followed me out here tonight." Ghost grinned at him. "I have to assume you wanted to see me."

Soap blushed. He could feel the heat in his cheeks. Ghost realized and swallowed.

"You did want to see me."

Soap glared. "You have secrets."

"What?" Ghost looked taken back.

Soap nodded. "There's something off about you. You have a past. Something you don't want to talk about."

Ghost paused and then slowly tilted his head. Blank. Dark. He stepped forward and Soap refused to back down. "You have a blackhole in your fucking file. I've seen it. Nothing there but black fucking lines. You're a fucking asshole for expecting me to spill my guts when you won't. You want the truth, Johnny? My dad was a prick."

Oh.

Soap winced and stared up at him, guilt filling him. "I..."

"He'd bring home animals. Beat me to hell. Brought me hunting just to put a gun right here." He tapped his temple. "There you go. My mysterious scars are from a childhood I'd like to forget. Of course you bring this up fucking today."

"That's the guy you wanted your mom wanted you to see?"

Simon scoffed. "You're... God, you're an asshole." He swayed and grabbed Soap for balance, putting his head on his shoulder. "You could've just asked."

Soap winced at regained contact. "You solid?"

Simon yanked away from him and threw up in the dumpster, shaking like a leaf. "No."

"Listen, lightweight. You really need to slow down." He grabbed his hair immediately to hold it back. Soap pretended not to notice the half dissolved pills in all the bourbon. Didn't look like anything prescribed.

"Fuck you." Ghost didn't seem nearly as menacing as he did a minute ago. He was right back to wet kitten mode.

Soap sighed. "Let me take you home."

Ghost shook his head. Miserable. Hair still held by Soap's gloved hands. "I'm fine to walk home."

"No, you're not. You're gagging and shaking. I'll walk you home."

"My place is a mess." Ghost tried to fight him but it didn't work well. It was half assed and he just flopped against him after a moment, breathing in deeply. "Johnny..."

Soap smiled. "I know your address."

"Course you do."

Soap walked him home and put him in bed. The place was spotless. More than spotless. The only evidence it was lived in was a few cups in the sink.

Ghost finally seemed to throw up everything and he just collapsed into bed.

"You eaten?" Soap asked. "Haven't seen you eat all day."

Ghost shook his head.

Soap nodded and looked around the flat. He found some crackers for him to eat but Ghost looked reluctant.

"Come on. Eat up."

Simon grumbled but ate the crackers. He laid back in the bed and relaxed. Innocent. A little lamb. His eyes slowly closed, eyelashes fluttering slightly.

Soap felt even more criminal than he already did. Ghost was younger. Youngest person to join the SAS at 24. His sergeant. And here he was, being a horrible creep.

"Sleep on my couch."

"Why?"

"It's hours until Glasgow. Plus, I might die in my sleep and I would want you to find me." Ghost opened his eyes to look at him. "You came at just the right time."

Soap felt sick. He didn't sleep. Now, instead of looking at him for his own selfish needs, he watched him in case he asphyxiated or overdosed. Every twitch was possible convulsions.

What the hell did Ghost mean by he came at the right time?

Simon woke up in a semi high haze. He groaned and stretched, realizing he was still in all of his clothes. He started undressing himself to take a shower.

Soap cleared his throat. Very clearly in his doorway.

Ghost wasn't shy about his body so he kept undressing. "You're here."

"Stayed all night. Didn't want you to choke to death on your own vomit."

Ghost grunted and pulled off his pants.

"Or try to finish the job. Were you doing that shit on purpose? Hoping I'd find your dead body?"

"No. I don't know. I feel like the guy who stalked me doesn't have much of a moral high ground."

Soap scoffed and glared into him.

"I wasn't trying to kill myself. You don't have to look at me like that. I was just... trying to lose myself for a bit. Stupidly, I assumed you'd leave. Should've realized you're like a blood hound."

Soap shook his head and looked away. He wore a different mask so Ghost could see his mohawk.

"Your hair is cool."

Soap quickly turned back around. "What?"

"I said it's cool."

"Thanks."

Ghost smiled awkwardly and left the room. "help yourself to whatever."

Soap nodded. "Nothing but tea here."

"Try some. Might like it."

Soap tried making tea but it was super bitter. He almost gagged when he drank it and he set it to the side.

Ghost came out of the shower. Wearing nothing but boxers.

What the hell.

He grabbed Soap's abandoned cup of tea and looked into it.

"What did you do to it?"

"I just steeped it?"

"How hot did you make the water?"

"I just boiled it and dropped a couple of tea bags into it."

"A couple??" Ghost looked confused. "How much were you trying to make?"

"A cup?"

Ghost sighed and started to fix a kettle. How domestic. His large back on display.

Soap felt both overdressed and horribly naked. Ghost could probably see everything going on in his brain.

He gave him a mug that looked so much lighter than the one he made.

"Sip it. See if it needs sugar."

It was warm. Filled up his chest. "It's fine."

Ghost nodded and sat on his chair, spreading his legs.

Soap tried to not stare at him. He just kept drinking.

They didn't speak much.

For some reason, Soap didn't leave for the rest of their little vacation.

They didn't talk about any of this. They just started working again when they got back.

Soap made his coffee and for some reason, he made a second cup. He slid it to Ghost when he saw him.

Ghost slowly sipped it and nodded. "I like it. Way better than the other stuff."

Soap nodded. "Way better."

They shared a moment of silence.

Ghost took a deep breath. "I can't sleep because of insomnia. Get nightmares and stuff. You?"

"Nightmares. I feel things... Bugs. Stuff like that."

Ghost nodded and looked at the cup. "I'm...sorry for the leave. You shouldn't have had to babysit me."

Soap felt so stupid. He didn't know why. His skin started to crawl.

"I was being pathetic. Curling up like a fucking alcoholic."

Soap closed the gap. His mask was still up.

Ghost tasted like coffee and bergamot. His hair still felt so soft.

Ghost kissed back, pulling him in closer. "Fucking hell."

Soap expected to push back. To dominate. Ghost was so soft in his own ways. Instead, he found himself matched and kissed back. Held so tight it made his breath catch.

And then Ghost growled and Soap found himself falling into his lap, panting. He wondered if Ghost would listen to his orders in bed. If they'd be like on the field. Perfect and seamless.

Ghost pulled him back and put his face in Soap's throat, breathing. His hands curled around him defensively. "I... um..."

Soap blurted out. "I want to draw you."

"...okay."

#call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #simon ghost riley #johnny soap mactavish #call of duty modern warfare ii #cod mw2 #cod #ghostsoap #soapghost

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melanieph321 · 2 months

Text

Ruben Dias/Trent Alexander Arnold x Reader - Dark Rivarly Part 4/15

Part 5 and 6 are already out on my Patreon for FREE!

Reader is Trent Alexander Arnold's twin sister. The two have been inseparable since childbirth, more so now when Reader is fresh out of university looking for a job, crashing at her brother's place whilst doing so. One day Reader gets a job offer that she cannot refuse, however it would mean working for her brother's biggest rival in football, Ruben Dias.

Enjoy!

"You want me to be your what?"

"Stylist." Ruben repeated.

The shop was supposed to be closed as the time was currently fifteen minutes past nine. But apparently Ruben had sent for you earlier that day, however there had been some miscommunication between him and his assistant, ultimately leading to Ruben returning to Grandma's shop, looking for you personally.

"I'll pay you twice as much as you're getting here." He said. Clueless to the fact that Grandma wasn't paying you at all, working you like a slave.

"But why me? I'm not a stylist." You asked, still shook from the way he had barged into the shop, surprising you in the dark.

"Look, I'm in a bit of a crisis. My stylist just quit on me." He explained.

"She did? Why?"

"He actually. And I guess I sort of fired him."

"Oh. And why is that?"

Ruben looked to his feet, hiding his blossoming cheeks. "Well, after my appearance at the award ceremony in Portugal the other day. People..." He coughed. "My teammates to be specific, started calling me the leprechaun of Manchester City."

"Hmm. I wonder why?" You smiled.

"I'll admit that going with the green suit wasn't the best fashion choice I've ever made." He nodded. At least he was able to see the funny side of it. To you Ruben had initially come off as someone who couldn't take a joke. Like his assistant for example. "I should have listened to you when you tried to warn me. But that's why I'm here, to listen to you, as my new stylist."

"I see." You said, folding your arms. You began circling him like a shark. "Even though I have no experience?"

He shrugged. "You seem to have enough fashion sense."

"Right."

You were currently wearing blue jeans and a Levi's t-shirt, complemented with a pair of run down sneakers. Ruben must really be desperate for a new stylist. You wondered how you could use this in your favor.

"And you didn't freak out when I came into your store the other day. Most people would have begged for an autograph or a video of me giving a shout out to their business. You didn't ask me to do any of that."

"Right." You nodded. In the back of your head you were laughing. "So you need someone unafraid to tell you like it is. For example when you make horrendous fashion choices and so on?"

"Exactly." He nodded. "I need someone just like that. I've worked with so many people that call themselves professionals but just end up kissing up to me. It's money wasted on my side, since I get people kissing up to me for free every day."

"Alright big boy, enough about your complaints of being rich and famous."

Ruben frowned. "I wasn't complaining."

"No?" You looked at him skeptically.

The corner of his lips twitched. "Okay, maybe I was complaining a little."

You chuckled.

"So this job offer, what else does it include?"

"What do you mean?"

"Beyond my salary I mean. What are the other benefits?"

"Well, you get to come with me to all of my events, football games and such."

You rolled your eyes.

"What? You don't like football?

"It's not that, I've just had enough of it in my life."

"Because of your brother?"

"What?" Your heart jumped.

Ruben laughed at your startled reaction. "It's just that when you mentioned him. It just seemed like he is a very passionate Liverpool fan."

"Right, a fan." You chuckled. "I guess you can say that."

"Yeah, some people get like that. I say it's bad for the sport when people get too personal about it. At the end of the day it's just a game."

"Tell that to Grandma." You muttered.

"What?"

You perked up "Nothing! So when can I start?"

Ruben's face lit up. "I'll have my assistant send a car for you tomorrow. I need to shop for a new wardrobe after firing my former stylist. I can't trust to wear anything he's made me buy."

"Hold up." You paused. "You're shopping for a whole new wardrobe. Like entirely new clothes?"

Ruben nodded. "Even socks."

"Right. I guess I'll see you tomorrow then."

"I'll see you tomorrow..." Ruben stepped up to you, offering his hand. "I didn't get your name."

Heat rose to your face. "It's Y/N. Y/N, Arnold."

"Nice to meet you Y/N Arnold, I'm Ruben Dias. Your new boss."

A thousand thoughts roamed through your mind, firstly how handsome Ruben looked up close. However you quickly shook that thought away. It was a dangerous thought. A thought that could lead to something messy. You wondered how Grandma would take it if you quit working at the shop. Technically you wouldn't need to quit, but you couldn't tell her that you were working for Ruben Dias, a Manchester City football player. What would your family say? What would Trent say?

Trent....

He would be outrageous. Betrayed to the bone, just like he betrayed you. The thought amused you, sincerely because it would be the ultimate revenge. The perfect revenge.

********************************************

"Look at her Ruben, she's too young, too inexperienced."

"She's perfect Miranda."

Less than twenty-four hours later, a car was sent to pick you up from your grandmother's address. You were taken to some obscure boutique in Manchester that was highly praised for their men's couture. Ruben named his budget and left you to it, whilst he and his assistant sat back discussing your arrangement as if you couldn't hear them.

"It's a gamble Ruben, if something goes wrong she'll...."

"It won't." He said sternly. You were surprised how much he was pushing to keep you, even though his assistant clearly thought otherwise. "Trust me, she's the right person for the job."

"I'll believe it when I see it." His assistant muttered. Just then you came baring a mountain of clothes.

"A little help." You groaned.

Ruben stood, unhanding you the many items. You had gone all out, picking out outfits for every occasion, casual and formal.

"I guess I better try these on." He said.

"Yes, and remember, black can never go with blue, nor red with white."

"Got it." He nodded and disappeared into the only dressing room in the shop.

"Ruben might think that this is a good idea, but I don't." Miranda, Ruben's assistant said.

You sat down next to her.

"Hiring a young girl like you to be his personal stylist can only end in heartache and I'm not talking about my heart or Ruben's."

You pondered her words and thought carefully how to respond. "I'm Y/N, by the way. I don't think we were probably introduced that day, you mistook me for my colleague Jennifer."

Ruben's assistant looked down at your outstretched hand as if you were offering her a shot of poison Ivy. Either way, she was too professional not to shake it. You startled her with your firm grip, making her meet your determined gaze. "I take it the term personal assistant, doesn't really require me to have a personal relationship with whom I'm working for. I'm only here to do my job and go home, no?"

His assistant searched your face, eyes narrowed. A sly smirk then twitched the corner of her lips. "That would mean a job well done, yes."

"Good." You let go of her hand. "Then we're both on the same page."

For you this arrangement was strictly business. Strictly revenge to be exact. There were no other strings attached.

"Yeah, this is what I'm talking about."

The curtains to the dressing room flung open and Ruben stepped out wearing a leather jacket, gray turtleneck and a pair of dark jeans that fit him a little too well.

"I like this look. Good job Y/N."

"Pleasure is all mine." You smiled.

His assistant stood. "Shall we take some pictures for your Instagram?" She pulled out a small camera out of her purse. A Canon camera to be exact, with the ultra lens. What seemed odd to you was perfectly normal to Ruben, who followed his assistant out of the shop and onto the streets. He began posing in front of the camera, leaning against a brick wall, whilst Miranda snapped a couple of shots.

"Are these for Ruben's Instagram?" You questioned.

"Yes." He answered, since Miranda ignored you. "People would love to see the outfit of the day, it's also the fastest way to get a response, see if you've done your job well." He winked.

You were still frowning. "Why aren't you smiling?" You asked.

"Huh?"

"In any of the photos. Why so serious?" Your words made him chuckle just as his assistant snapped a shot. Miranda groaned as she looked at her camera, examining the image.

"What? He looks good." You said, peering over her shoulders.

"He looks unprofessional." She said, "The brands that Ruben is working with won't want him beaming at the camera like a foolish boy."

"I bet the fans would love it." You said, to which Miranda turned to you with the nastiest of glares. Luckily Ruben appeared behind the both of you, his attention drawn to the image of him beaming like a foolish boy.

"Keep it." He said. "Y/N is right, the fans will love it."

You had the sudden urge to stick your tongue out at Miranda, however you managed to contain yourself, turning to Ruben and bowing your head with courtesy. The way he was looking at you, a stupidly boyish smile on his face, told you that doing your job was going to be harder than you thought. However it was all for one cause, to make Trent pay for what he had done.

#fanfiction #football imagine #ruben dias #man city #manchester city #footballer imagine #footballer x reader #ruben dias x reader #football angst #ruben dias imagine #trent alexander arnold x reader #trent alexander arnold #liverpool fc

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clairdelunelove · 9 months

Text

A Light in the Fog Pt.II

steve x reader, james x reader, quentin x reader, vittorio x reader, dbd survivor x reader

genre: fluff/comfort, based on gameplay!

warnings: cursing, brief mentions of injury (what's expected in dbd)

synopsis: part two of various dead by daylight men and some adorable interactions you have with them during Trials!

a.n. final part of this series! I know dbd is so niche but it's nice to just write a lil of another hobby I enjoy! thank you for reading! <3

steve harrington

aka: former jock

it’s a ridiculously rough Trial

that word couldn’t even begin to describe the atrociousness that was happening

the Entity chose you to partake in it and unbeknownst to you,, paired you with relatively inexperienced teammates

being new to Realm was, of course, totally acceptable

but it proved to have multiple disadvantages

risky saves, short chases, and miscommunication about generator progress were among the most common occurrences

this resulted in an increased amount of collective hook stages for each person

chances of survival were slim

and, thankfully, you weren’t the only one to acknowledge this frightening notion

“always the babysitter–”

the shrill scream of another teammate being hooked elicits steve to repeat himself in a hiss, “always the goddamn babysitter.”

because the situation’s looking grim while the three of you are repairing a generator together

fingers tugging at the greasy wires, you glance at your third teammate and utter, “one of us has to get the save. usually the stealthiest one goes.”

your gaze naturally drifts to your third teammate known for their quiet disposition

albeit, it comes at the cost of them moving leisurely and unhurriedly,, which is definitely not a current benefit

“the stealthiest one, really?” steve echoes sarcastically, “they’re giving you a stealthy vibe?”

he offers them a shrug of indifference, his gray jacket crinkling when he shifts, and the wordless gesture serves as a response to when they’re clearly offended by what he stated

and although his words are biting (and at the expense of your third teammate) you’re familiar enough with him that it demonstrates his underlying compassion

he’s immersed in repairing the generator and only casts a glance when you skeptically stare at him, “got any smart ideas then?”

there’s a couple moments of silence

then, as he drags a gloved hand through his tousled hair, he mentions a solution you wouldn’t have ever contemplated

“how ‘bout you go for the save, sweetheart,” he pauses to peer up from behind his tinted sunglasses and grins, “you’re stealthy.”

you let out an ill-concealed scoff, “you think I’m stealthy?”

“oh yeah, totally,” he nonchalantly shrugs while adding, “stealthy like a ninja.”

dramatically rolling your eyes at his jest, you still rise to your feet to prepare for the save,, seeking to give the team a chance at turning around the outcome of the Trial

and just as you’re about to amble away, a hand shoots out to gently grasp onto your wrist

“hey,” steve’s gaze flits to the ground as his voice drops into a soft murmur, “I trust you to get the save, that’s all.”

the progression of the generator is long forgotten apparently because he’s risen from his spot beside the machine in order to stop and explain himself to you

his actions are so abrupt and quick that your eyes widen at the disclosure that tumbles out of his mouth

even he seems shocked about his behavior

catching his bottom lip between his teeth, his eyes avoid yours

his light-washed denim jeans are dirtied from his frenzied movements,, so you reach out a hand to softly brush the dust away and say, “I know.”

and you do

you know that he’s vigilant of the entire team’s wellbeing

issuing a final pat on the side of his jeans, you pull away with a quick smile

his eyes soften at the gesture before he’s placing an encouraging hand on the small of your back as a sendoff, “and be safe, alright?”

james sunderland

aka: widower of silent hill

“what’re you doing here?”

the inquiry hisses from james’ mouth as you hastily throw yourself behind a set of lockers

it’s a narrow, empty space so there weren’t any totems to cleanse or chests to rummage through

meant to discourage individuals from loitering

but, lo and behold, your blond teammate is found crouching here

a shaky exhale escapes your lips and you press a hand over your mouth to minimize the noise before you answer, “running and buying enough time for the others to open the exit gates. what’re you doing here?”

your words are snappier than you intended but he doesn’t seem to mind because he casually shrugs

“hiding.”

and the single word boils your blood

“we could’ve used your help, you know,” you manage to chastise between hollow breaths

“I know.”

and although his light eyes catch the way your brows furrow at his blunt answer, he doesn’t sense the sentiment and instead squats closer to peer out the window

there’s a small opening that’s perfectly angled toward an exit gate that features three illuminated lights

it’s powered and ready to be opened

with his back turned to you, he utters, “I have an idea.”

there’s a beat of silence and upon not receiving a response from you,, he cranes his neck around to find you already staring at him

and he’s shocked from your expression

you’re already frowning at him,, the definition of suspicion in your gaze as you fold your arms across your chest

“what? don’t worry, I’m not crazy,” his voice dips at the end of his statement, “at least, I don’t think so.”

james’ fingers reach up to graze the side of his face, twisting away from your scrutiny, and your eyes widen at an observation you haven’t noticed beforehand

his fingers are trembling

“hey,” a wave of sympathy hits and you lightly place a hand on his shoulder, “I’ll go first to open the gate. just follow behind me.”

because even if james often acted recklessly or cowardly,, he was still your teammate

and everyone has a right to secure a chance at surviving the Trial

after he stiffly nods at your suggestion, the two of you do well at stealthily advancing to the exit gate and only run into trouble when you’re pulling the lever to escape

a gloved hand grabs onto your forearm, retching you away from the only means of escaping

and as you’re tugged away, james’ hand immediately shoots out to grab onto yours

it’s an act of vengeance rather than cowardice

“stop!”

james’ vicious command echoes within the barren walls, startling both you and the killer in the process, and he shoves a hand into his jacket pocket

a distraction

aiming a flashlight to the killer’s eyes, james ushers you to escape first before he shouts, “and leave us both the hell alone!”

it’s the first time you’ve ever heard him sound so alive

he’s brimming with vigilance as his grasp on your hand tightens with newfound fervor

and as the both of you sprint out of the realm,, you’re too preoccupied from thanking him for saving you that you overlook how his gaze softens when he notices you’re safe and uninjured

surprisingly, he continues holding your hand until the two of you are situated back at the campfire

quentin smith

aka: resolute dreamwalker

“we’ve got this. relax.”

quentin’s soft voice is barely audible over the rapid beating of your heart that thwarts your ability to hear if the killer was approaching

the panic is setting in

fortunately, the match was nearing to an end,, a promising conclusion that’s typically followed by being ushered to surround the campfire once again

relief was common in these circumstances

it was, however, short-lived

the end of the match snowballed– spiraling into an uncontrollable mess that you were uneasy about

hatch, another means of escaping the Trial, was already closed

hook states were distributed amongst the team and you didn’t want to succumb to sacrifice

that was the worst outcome,, a psychological and emotional damage that was irreversible

a shaky breath leaves your lips before a gentle hand grasps your forearm

“we’re gonna be alright.”

his touch is soothing, warm, and reassuring

your wide eyes connect with his as he repeats the sentiment

without exception, quentin continually proves to you that he’s one of the most dependable teammates the Entity could’ve given you

which doesn’t help with the foolish crush you have on him

his thumb earnestly brushes against your inner wrist, the caress generating warmth to spread within you

gaze flickering to the necessary task, his other hand yanks the exit gate’s lever down

incoherent murmurs leave his lips as he counts down the seconds

time seems to slow

your heartbeat quickens and the impending sense of doom crashes upon you

“we won’t make it,” you reproachfully whisper

your voice gets carried away in a gust of wind

he’s silent,, working on opening the exit gate, the lights flashing to indicate its progress, before he speaks up, “we’re gonna make it.”

despite the odds, he’s determined

and when he feels your scrutiny on him, quentin cheekily adds, “okay, look. if we survive then I’ll take you out on a real date.”

the words spill out of his mouth before he can rationalize it and the significance forces his eyes to widen in bewilderment

“uh,” the awkward noise gets stuck in his throat, “sorry, that was uncalled for–”

his candid apology is cut off by your muffled gasp and when his eyes swivel to you,, you hurriedly turn away from him

funnily enough, the embarrassment of quentin acknowledging your feelings towards him is almost a bigger dilemma than escaping the Trial

he raises a dark brow and ventures to ask, “unless, you’d like that?”

his inquiry sounds awkward but sensitive– characteristics that are synonymous to quentin

and you’re inwardly grateful for his prowess at powering the only chance of escape because you implore, “the date thing, is that a promise?”

there’s a beat of silence and you wonder if the dreamwalker had fallen asleep,, a phenomenon that he typically fights against

but he’s awake

he blinks– once, twice, three times– not quite believing his luck before the exit gates open with a puff of ashen smoke

survival is so close

freedom is so close

and he's going to get you out of here

his hold on you gingerly tightens as he shoots you a grin and confesses, “promise.”

vittorio toscano

aka: endless wanderer

moonlit nights by the campfire were infrequent but welcomed

a tranquil hush fell over the group that was gathered there,, doing well by replacing the eeriness with serenity and giving rest to those that needed it

it’s a controlled environment– the Entity granting a grace period, if you will– to prepare for the next Trial

until you were chosen

which is exactly why you’re crouched over, whispering to vittorio and pleading to learn more about your current predicament

“you’ve been here that long?”

with an assured nod, he allows the nonverbal gesture to demonstrate the truth in his words

because although he didn’t appear to be the oldest out of all the individuals you’ve seen, the hardness in his gaze reveals otherwise

he’s seen it all and, notably, remembers it all too

his hand comes up to card through his silvery hair before he quips, “can’t you tell?”

and at your muffled giggle, the male shifts closer while lifting a knee to stretch out on the dirt ground

scarlet flames tauntingly lick the logs of wood and the blaze illuminates the lines etched on his face

allows you to openly stare

understands to remain silent to let you formulate your thoughts or questions

politely beckons you to approach him and you take advantage of his lack of attentiveness to study him

there are trinkets that hang around his neck,, chunks of sterling silver and gems are pressed into pendants that are almost blinding in the fire’s glow

“and,” your curiosity drives you to point at the symbols marking his skin, “do these have any meaning?”

the inscriptions have left you wondering about their significance after every Trial

you catch a glimpse of the symbols hidden underneath his cotton tunic whenever he sprints or jumps far distances

and of course, you’re instantly drawn to them

they’re mysterious and swirl in unknown patterns that are far from any language you’ve seen

the ink glows cerulean blue and, with a bated breath, your fingers outstretched to acquire a better look

he utters a noise of permission and explains, “helps me remember any similarities or differences that I see while searching through the Realms. I wouldn’t want to forget them.”

and although his reasoning is sound,, he isn’t

because you’re abruptly moving to kneel beside him to tug at the front of his shirt

ghosting your fingertips across the markings, he exhales shakily and you instantly pull your hand away

“sorry! I got carried away,” you sheepishly grin after apologizing, “it’s just pretty.”

and goodness, he desires to blurt out that you’re only describing yourself

his pale eyes sweep across the entirety of your face before settling on your lips and answers, “it’s fine. do not worry.”

but vittorio’s so distracted by the soft curve of your smile that it doesn’t even register that you’re waving farewell to him when you’re shortly called into a Trial

and his years of endless wandering have taught him a few certainties– that he’ll meet you again

calling out from over his shoulder, he keenly promises, “I shall look forward to our next meeting!”

#dead by daylight #dbd #james sunderland #quentin smith x reader #vittorio toscano #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #dbd x reader #dead by daylight x reader #dead by daylight x you

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