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halcyone-of-the-sea · 1 year

Text

Between Dreams and Sugar

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

Synopsis: Your screams will haunt his dreams until the day he dies.

Word Count: 5.1k

Warnings: Torture, gore, angst, violence & death, suggestive joke, fluff, happy ending, rescue fic but who rescues who...>:)

A/N: Guys, I have a confession - I don't think I can write Ghost properly lmfao. This is horrifically mid.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

There was so much blood coating your body that you had forgotten where the wounds were and weren’t. It flowed from you like viscus water—a homogeneous mixture of congealed shades of red like rubies except for the simple fact that this was not beautiful; it was not desired or sought after.

On the ground, soaking in indistinguishable pools of crimson, ripples are sent out when your limp foot twitches mutely in its clutch. That was all you could do now. Twitch. Writhe. They didn’t even bother tying you to the chair anymore—just let you slouch half out of it like a school kid who had gotten too drunk the night before.

Hell, you wished you were drunk.

“Sergeant.”

You wished you could feel your fingers. You wished you could move your neck up from its bend position as if it was a wilting flower; hair stuck to your skin. Blood dribbles out of your mouth. Drip…drop…drip…drop.

You’d bitten your tongue open in a vain attempt to stop yourself from screaming, hadn’t you? You…you can’t quite remember.

“Sergeant!” Groaning long and low, the violent chills that wrack your form only serve to make yourself bleed out faster, tension forcing precious life fluid out from burst veins and slashed ankles.

Cuts far span your legs and shoulders. Your back is nothing more than a painting of burns coated with sweat and infection; puss sticking you to the backrest of the chair like yellow-colored adhesive. Your clothes are the opposite idea of modesty. Tattered, torn by blades to create harm. Fuck, could you even breathe properly anymore?

Lungs only create a wheeze—you’re not getting enough oxygen to function.

A dark growl bounces off the walls.

Ghost struggles against his binds, uniform also in a state of disarray with very obviously broken ribs and bruised chest. Splotches of yellow-white mounds signal blunt trauma over the pale skin that’s already laced with old scars.

They’d all but anchored him to his chair—and even then the red marks that blister are a signal of the brutality of the large man as he peels back his skin to try and struggle himself out.

You whine, the loftiness stuck in your brain addictive; to pull back that curtain was as much of a struggle as staying awake. That harsh Manchester accent was something to draw closer to, though, professionalism a key to the lock on your failing consciousness. The reminder of companionship.

“G…” Your vocal cords fizzle, “Ghost…”

“Open your eyes.” Every word was enunciated, deep and guttural.

Parting your lips, more blood drowns your lap in thick globs, and soon your battered throat vibrates with coughs that make you see stars, mild panic the moment you realize that you can’t breathe.

Jerking forward, you gasp, eyes snapping open as your neck bends ahead in desperation. Mucus and other bodily fluids spray over your lap, tinged scarlet, but the blockage in your throat is dispelled as your broken ribs quiver in agony.

Whimpering like a kicked dog, you wonder how long it’ll take for Ghost to realize getting you to focus on him was pointless. If this all continued, you’d be dead within the day.

But you entertain him.

Head slowly balking back as your jaw hangs loose, you rest it on the wooden frame behind you as softly as you’re able with a most likely concussed brain and a fractured skull. Only one eye opens, and even then it’s half-glued to your cheek with dried blood.

Ghost’s balaclava had been ripped off. It felt wrong to see him in the open like this. Exposed. It was quite obvious he disliked it just as much as you did.

Blue eyes blazed at you; blonde hair going this way and that as crimson fell down the swell of his Adam’s Apple from a very broken nose. That gaze was unrelenting, and even with your blurry vision, you knew it would be unwise to look away.

His stubbled jaw sets as a heart can be seen skipping beats in his breast. You were totally out of it, enough so that you missed the way his lungs slightly released when you had pulled yourself back to the present.

The gulping sigh.

“That’s it, Sergeant.” You cough once more, wet and haggard, and your head falls back to your chest before you have to force it back up on shaking muscles. It was getting harder. “Easy does it, then…Thought I lost you.”

“C–can’t,” the useless feet flicker over the ground, sloshing through fluid in unstable jumps as you slur out, “Hurts, Ghost.”

A slow and dark inhalation meets your ears before a sudden grunt of a struggling body; jerking arms as the chair squeals with old nails being torn out.

“I know, Birdie, I know.” His tone is lesser now as he bites back a curse as the blisters on his arms pop, the rope burns turning a vile color as his muscles strain, “But you keep those pretty little eyes on me, yeah?”

It wasn’t supposed to go like this.

Black Operations were dangerous, yeah, but never had the Lieutenant been so down in the gutter as he was right now. Mainly because of you, no, entirely because of you. He could withstand months of torture—mental and physical—with no problem. He’d done it countless times before.

But never had he been forced to watch someone hurt you instead of him.

They would come in every day, these pitiful excuses for German drug runners, and would make him watch as they ripped open your skin with blunt knives and other tools coated in rust. Questions would be asked—questions that Ghost knew he could not answer even if it was you who would get punished.

Every time you would flinch when the door to this concrete basement opened, it was harder to keep his tongue from wagging. He was watching you die; letting it happen.

Fuck, it made him sick.

Ghost violently reems a shoulder up and down, not caring about the long stripes of now oozing blood on his forearms or the pain that the action brings bone-deep. There was so much scarlet flowing from you. Too much.

What he knows for certain is that he can’t let you die here. He’d never forgive himself for that.

How is she still conscious? The question was utterly genuine as Ghost’s dead eyes narrowed dangerously, sparking with urgency at the uneven risings and fallings from your chest.

“Fucking hell,” the Lieutenant growls, each word punctuated by a desperate attempt to free himself. He had to get you out of this. You were his responsibility; his team.

His…Ghost pants, sweat dripping down his arms.

You didn’t abandon him, how could he do the same to you? When questioned you hadn't given up his true name, hadn’t blabbered to save your own skin so you could avoid a horrible amount of pain. Pain that Ghost knew well.

Pain that was never supposed to be known to you.

Your screams would haunt his nightmares until the day he died.

“Ghost,” blue eyes freeze, snapping away from the sight of the bone around his wrists becoming visible through a thin coverage of remaining flesh. He pauses like a guard dog. Your optic was glinting, flicking with failing consciousness. The movement of your chest sputtered as the man clenched his teeth together. “You’re hurtin’ yourself.”

“‘Bout to do even more damage, yeah?” he gets back to it, working enough blood into the rope to make it slick; dripping. “If it’ll get me out of these bastard things.”

The weak smirk on your face gives his brows a deep furrow, sweat glistening on his forehead.

A part of him hated you. Hated you for the way you had this effect on him. He shouldn’t care if you lived or died—that wasn’t his cross to carry.

But you’d made him soft these last few months. Soft, and weak, and disgustingly concerned for your safety. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t Ghost.

“Gonna b…bleed out, y’know.” Your tongue slips, mind so loose that anything that comes to the front slips out like water from a slip-and-slide. Fingers twitching, your limp body grows so cold that you shiver.

“Negative.” Ghost barks, slipping one hand partially under the restraint and his flesh, acting as a zipper, starts to go with it. He hisses under his breath, body hot and spilling. Mutilating himself. “Shut your damn gob.” Blood splatters to the floor, “I’m gettin’ us out of ‘ere.”

“Tell me a joke.” Blue eyes flicker, blonde lashes slipping over pale cheeks.

You feel another wave of pain shutter through you—one that makes you whimper as quietly as a soft breeze on a summer day.

“Joke?” Ghost hisses, glaring over at you without heat. “The fuck are you on about?” A wobbling eyebrow raise is all he gets.

He grunts feral-like, evocative of a bear that hadn’t gotten his supper. Your lid droops and panic spikes.

“How long can a fish breakdance for?” Ghost slips a hand free, snarling in the back of his mouth as the entirety of his left hand is left ripped open, the fissures itchy and welling. Wasting no time, the limb goes to assist the other, pulling with ripped-off fingernails at the tight knot. A side-eye is sent your way.

Only you weren't moving. Lips snap in a moment of obvious concern, not only by the tone but by the way the man jerks forward in the chair—no matter if one arm and both of his legs were still restrained.

“Love!” The door handle rattles with screeching chains, but Ghost is occupied with raging at you. Ordering you to stay awake with terrifying eyes. It was as though for the first time in a long time there was true fear in his throat. True hatred.

Chucking voices heat veins that he had long since thought were cold, and the Lieutenant composes himself with a sharp pause. He leans back slowly into the chair; jaw so tight his molars almost crack in the back of his mouth like candy. Your face is tilted downward, and Ghost memorizes the make of it, trails his gaze slowly over every slash and cut that mars you. Feet slap off the concrete as multiple people enter the room, but it was like a switch had flipped internally, walls going up.

The mask was still there, even if all that physically remained of it was the black paint in his sockets.

He’d return every mark, from a bruise to an open wound, tenfold. But you needed to wake up first. You…you needed to.

You had to be okay.

Three men encircle the two of you, faces hidden and obviously enjoying a bit of their own product.

“Look at this, Lutz, the man got a hand out of the binding.” Blue eyes travel to stare dead-on into a pair of blown pupils; mind gone.

The second man goes to grip your hair, forcing your head up in inspection. Ghost’s vision immediately travels over, biceps going tense like a dog with its hackles raised and vision going red.

“Don’t worry about that. It’s one hand, what can the Bastard do?”

“Oh,” another laughs, though his body is wound tight, “careful with the woman, Alric—the beast looks like he’s about to snap at you.”

The three share sly looks. Alric, the one with your hair in his grip, shakes your head back and forth, blood flying around in the air as your limp body jerks. Ghost lunges, but he only makes it as far as the chair allows him before he’s shoved back by a hand on his chest.

Moving quicker than an animal, bone snaps, and an agony-laced scream echoes off the walls not a millisecond later.

Ghost had gripped that hand and twisted, making the wrist joint completely flip on itself. Blank blue eyes watch with glints of sadistic glee as the man wails, grabbing onto himself and falling back onto his ass.

The one holding you instantly releases your hair and rushes to his friend.

“Holy fuck!” Everyone divulges into frantic German curses, Ghost making out a command to leave and go see a doctor.

“Cheers. Good luck with that, ya’ Bastard.” Grumbling under his breath, the Lieutenant realized he was probably enjoying this more than he should, but always his attention shifts back to you. How you hang limb, battered face covered by your hair, and loss of blood steadily leaving your hands curling into the palms—

Ghost’s eyes widen slightly as the two still try and calm down their companion. Your hand. It wasn’t curled because of onset rigor mortis. You were holding a blade.

The Brit’s large chest swells with pride; jaw going somewhat slackened as he stares at you. So you were faking it….Fucking hell, Sweetheart.

Slowly, his vision peels to the empty sheath on Lutz’s belt. It wasn’t a big knife—nothing more than a three-inch blade on the end. But you were still conscious enough to hear these goons show up before he had; had used sleight of hand that anyone else in your situation would have just given up on.

It was hard to hold back a low chuckle, but he managed. Fuck, you were something else.

The two unmaimed men shove the third out the door, shouting down the hallway as his sobs and sniffling nose reverberate even as he’s out of sight.

Grunting, the Brit shifts his hips, lips pulling in a snarl at the bouncing electrical wire that goes up his ribs. Many were broken; along with his nose and a dislocated shoulder, but he knows he can deal with it. Getting you out and to the Evac point was his top priority—his wounds weren’t over-the-top life-threatening unless they went too long without treatment.

You on the other hand.

Lids narrow on the way the knife-holding hand shakes with exertion when simply applying pressure. If this was going to happen, it had to happen now.

“That was a nice little show,” Alric growls, standing in the middle of the two in the chairs and keeping a considerable distance farther from Ghost than you. Blue eyes blink blankly, emotions swiftly wiped away. “One-handed? I’m impressed.”

Ghost raises a single blonde eyebrow, “More where that came from.”

Alric smiles.

“Emil—get the gun.” Legs slowly tense, but other than that there’s no outward display of nervousness.

Seconds later a barrel is level with Ghost’s forehead, the chilled metal pressing deep into his blood-coated skin. He doesn’t balk back, he doesn’t even flinch, just watches with a dim flicker in his optics that remains even after he blinks. Like a cat’s slitted pupils.

It would be no use shoving the gun out of this man’s hands—he would fire before the Lieutenant was able to steal the weapon for himself.

“I’m getting sick of this game, Soldier. We’ve been through this day after day.” Alric swipes at his nose, white powder stuck under his nostrils. Ghost can’t stop the small tick of his mouth. “Tell me who you are,” the gun swivels, and the Brit’s heart seizes up. It points at your abdomen. “Or the girl gets a nice new stomach.”

Lips thin into a small line as hidden fury swells.

“Alric…” Emil seems nervous, his feet shifting and hands twitching. The aura Ghost was emitting was like a dark cloud around the room; sheer size and indistinguishable emotions rose to drown out all else when a threat to the beast’s bird was brought into the picture. There had been multiple times throughout the days when the men had been scared to touch you at all for fear of the look that had been leveled their way. Those eyes…fuck it was like a demon was stuck in flesh. In blue so close to gray the color was more like the concrete of a prison cell. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Tell me.” Alric growls as Emil gets closer to you. Ghost stays silent, unblinking as his fingers curl into fists. His knuckles crack from the force. “Tell me!”

Emil bushes your shoulder and you lunge. Bringing the blade into his chest, your form brings the both of you to the floor in a splash of scarlet and twin screams of pain.

The Blonde’s heart seizes at the sound in an aggressive bounce.

Alric whips around, eyes widened and gun loose in his grip. Ghost wastes no time, trusting your judgment, and shoves himself forward. A shot goes off as the Lieutenant rams his shoulder into the man, but the bullet bites into the far wall instead of your back as you dig your knife into Emil’s throat; wrestling for life.

The chair still attached to Ghost was a problem, but his body weight was used to his advantage. Sinew bunched as a growl exits his lips, Alric and him slamming to the floor in a flurry of rabid intentions and the likeness of wolves caught in a trap. Ghost’s eyesight goes red, remembering every cut and beating you went through for him in the reflection of Alric’s eyes. That pathetic drug runner had made you bleed.

His bird doesn’t bleed.

Teeth and nails are tools kept for animals, and now that the gun was too far from grip and you were limp beside the gargling body of Emil, Ghost decided that being a bit insane might do him well at the moment.

He had to get you out of here. And in no world was this man going to get away to live one day more.

“Please, don’t,” Alric begs, clawing at his behemoth build, “I’m not—I wasn’t—!”

Blood-stained teeth snap into the thin flesh of a visible neck as dead blue eyes keep you in sight like a dog does the moon.

—

You don’t recall anything after slashing one man’s neck and even that is a blur of flashing colors; instances of one waxing expression waning into another. Trapped between bouts of failing consciousness and pain that could rival someone getting their bones snapped one by one.

But you know the feeling of moss on your cheek. The shadow that sits above you and the fingers that prod at your back, pressing cooling salves of Silverweed into the burns and cuts. Your eyes weakly flicker, a low moan stuck in your throat.

Every limb is a cinder block.

“Stop your moving.” The command was stiff but quiet, and the pressure on your spine increased. Flinching, the sensation of tight bindings all along your body became apparent to you, slowly but surely.

“That…hell?” You cough, throat bare and dry. Sweat drips down your temple.

Blinking rapidly, you try to focus on the cold wind whipping past your bare skin, the trees in the distance of what appeared to be a glade. The sound of a running stream makes your ears perk.

A canteen was suddenly shoved to your lips and you grunt in surprise, water slicking your closed lips.

“Drink.” You don’t argue, peeling back your lips and letting the liquid drip into your mouth, most falling to the moss under you and getting re-adsorbed into the earth. “...There’s a girl.”

The metal container disappears just as quickly as it showed up, and you lick at the corner of your lips, cheeks burning at the comment.

Ghost kneels above you, bar a shirt, and you narrow your lids to focus on the black and blue splotches completely covering him. He still doesn’t have a mask, and you glance over the blonde stubble; the scars, and the aggressive set of his eyebrows. The blood had been washed away, and you wondered if the stream in the background of this place was still stained with crimson and the telltale black of eye paint.

“Simon,” whispering seemed appropriate, though you don’t know why. Your voice was better now but still, your body refused to listen to your instructions. Every plea to move your arms or legs was denied, sharp needles poking into your flesh that made you shake. “What…?”

Blue eyes blink down at you, something hidden in the depths. A finger curls to flick a stray hair from your face slowly. Skin brushes skin.

“Snagged what I could before I ran off. Wasn’t much.” That harsh voice, the gravel in it. You frown weakly, your lids heavy. “Bandages. Extra shirt. Blanket I used to stop the bleeding.”

He won’t tell you he was begging you to wake up when he’d been stuffing old fabric into your open wounds.

Coughs wrack your frame, whole body jerks that overtake what little peace there was to be found. A hand tilts your head back to the ground, patient as the other grabs your hair, peeling the strands away as a flood of vomit escapes your mouth.

Eyes burning and face hot, you sputter as a thumb runs deep circles over your scalp.

“Easy…” Ghost whispers, tattoos like obsidian in the darkness of the world around the two. Late afternoon and this was the first time you’d woken up since he’d been carrying you. A nail was taken out of his heart.

Seeing your eyes flicker, even filled with the tears as they were, was a blessing he’d thank whatever God that was out there for. “Easy, Sweetheart. Breathe for me.”

“Fuck,” you gasp, shaking more than a leaf. “Fuck it hurts, Simon.”

He shifts you slightly away from the bile, the familiar words burning his lungs.

“Evac point is four miles.” It felt like a death sentence to you, your eyes going buggy at the thought. “I’m carrying you there.”

“Bullshit,” you pant, wheezing. “Your arms are destroyed.”

Ghost blinks before scowling, sending a glance to his limbs. They’re both raw and skinned, just like his fingers; red with burst blisters the size of rocks. One hurts far more than the other.

“They’re nothing.”

“Nothing pretty to look at,” blue eyes narrow on you in annoyance, but the dry-humored Brit doesn't miss a beat.

“Seems you’re in good spirits, Sergeant. Fancy walking on your own?” Your lips flick, delirious and high off of whatever pain meds that Ghost had found when he had been carrying you out of the basement of that house.

Try as he might, the feeling of your dead weight was worse than he ever could have imagined. So, outwardly, he stayed numb but knew that every little look from you was as beautiful as a sunrise.

“Want me to try?” Palms begin to shift, a hand pressing deep into the moss that bends and yields to your form.

Ghost snaps forward.

“Fucking Bastard!” He puts weight on the back of your shoulder as you hiccup dull chuckles, “Quit it! Else I’ll leave you here to annoy the damn plants.”

The threat was empty, and your eyes softened as they spread their fatigued gaze over the span of the Brit’s visible skin, glee leaking out. Ghost sighs, shaking his head sharply at you, agitation stuck in his skull as it always was.

So beastly, this man, but his hold on you was about as gentle as you could imagine.

Your attraction to him was anything but one-sided. You knew his emotions as well as your own; it was quite obvious to everyone but him. The long looks, the concerned glances. His touch freely given.

He had given you his name and, to you, that was about as close to a proposal as a ring was. You’d kissed; you’d shared beds and shared skin. You knew when he was being horrible to himself deep in the confines of his head.

“Simon,” you whisper, and a blue gaze stays stubbornly away, glaring at your burns with venom. A tired smile peels your lips. “Simon.”

A huff is all you get, a bush of skin as breath wafts over your bare back. Your hand goes to touch his knee, brushing softly over the torn fabric. The flinch would not be noticeable to anyone but you. Brows pull slightly tighter.

“I had a dream about you, y’know.” Speaking hurt, but the attention that is finally brought your way was worth it. Birds chirp in the distance.

“What’s that?”

“Hm,” you lightly nod, cheek ruffling moss as you take down slow inhalations. Staring into each other’s eyes you for a moment forget the agony under your skin. “You were trapped by a giant fish underwater.”

A Blonde eyebrow raises, slow smirk unable to be hidden. It was impossible not to be entirely taken by you. How you speak, how you breathe. Even like this, you had placed a spell of black magic over him, binding the darkness that made up Simon Riley—Ghost—to your every action and whim.

“That right, Sweetheart? What happened, then?”

Chuckling, Ghost’s hold goes to your neck, massaging the skin so delicately that you lose your train of thought for a moment as shivers erupt, “I had to save you.”

Lips press to your scalp, a bent nose digging despite the shifting cartilage as lion limbs shake with a want to drag you to him. Such a rabid beast that devotes himself to your life.

“You tend to do a lot of the savin’, Love.” It’s muttered into your hair, softly, lowly. Compliments are rare—Ghost prefers actions above all else—but they’re treasured.

You know what he means.

“Yeah, I love you, too, you brute.” Deep chuckles dance in your ear, and you both stay there for a while, simply breathing in each other as the sky bleeds into the earth. So content, your heart had slowed, the salve in your wounds and the bandages compressing the areas with the most problems and forcing them to be numb.

When you had nearly fallen asleep, Ghost had peeled back to look down at you; eyes malleable as they slipped over your battered body.

“Hm,” he hums, reaching to his side and grabbing for the shirt he had stolen. After a few minutes of quiet curses and apologetic kisses, the large piece of fabric was over your top. The Lieutenant had begrudgingly admitted that the scraps of pants you had on now would have to do until you got proper attention.

“Giving the squirrels a show, then, Simon?” The man rolls his eyes deeply at the sarcastic comment, rubbing up and down your legs to keep circulation going as he readies to move you.

“They better keep quiet ‘bout it,” Ghost grumbles, running a hand through his hair, “Else I’ll have to rip a few tails.”

“So violent,” You wince when your shoulder is gripped, neck limp as your upper half was rotated. Gnashing your teeth, the Lieutenant shushes you comfortably, raising your body to rest in the crook of his large arm. Muscles tense and loosen, your cheek now resting on your Lover’s pec. You hear him hiss silently at the pressure on his broken ribs as guilt hits you. “Not the squirrels’ fault.”

“It is if they keep looking at ya. Only I get to see you like that.” Your pain-laced laugh is cut off when you’re lifted, large hands under your knees helping equalize your body.

A strained whine exits your lips, straining to get air as you pant and clench your eyes shut. Ghost wasn’t doing much better—gritting his teeth and tilting his head back.

Feet stumble before righting themselves, lids opening as lashes flutter over bloodless cheeks to stare down at you.

The word seems to stop.

“...Tell me you’re alright.” You heard that for what it was—Tell me to keep going, because if you don’t then I won’t be able to.

Blinking up at him, your nose slots under his chin as you feel him shake with exertion, lips pressing deep into his raging pulse. You swallow down saliva as his grip on you tightens, pressing you closer; giving you his body heat.

“I’m okay, Simon. Not…not lost yet.”

“Good.” He lets his eyes close for a moment, taking you in as he lets his nose be coated in your scent, the flesh under his fingertips. Ghost knows some of your wounds reopen, and, thus, his bare feet start off into the woods. His men would still be at the Evac point waiting for them. Price would have given the order. “...I’ll be needing you ‘round. Might lose my head otherwise, eh?”

“You do seem to have a few loose screws when I’m not near.”

“That was an exaggeration,” Simon grumbles.

You scoff, trying not to puke at his limping steps. The word swirls, but the man carrying you stays ever clear. “No,” you whisper, “No, it wasn’t.”

Scared lips pull up, but the birds respond for him.

Less than ten percent out from the Evac point is when you drop a tidbit of a thought to the man.

“Y’know what I want, Ghost?” The large Brit side-steps a downed tree, sweat dripping down his chin to splatter to your skin.

“What is it?” He pants, sparing you a glance as his eyebrows are constantly furrowed in concentration. Your talking made it easier to push on.

“A fucking cake. A big one.” Blue eyes blink and his feet nearly stumble to a stop before he forces on. A gasp of a chuckle makes your heart skip a beat as voices start up from the next tree line.

“Keep talking to me, Love, and I’ll buy you the whole bloody bakery.” Soldiers burst from the bushes, and Ghost calls out identification as everyone gapes. Guns immediately lower.

Medics rush forward, but still on high alert, the Lieutenant snaps at them, bringing you closer into his hold as he pushes onward.

“Where’s the fucking heli?!” Everyone stops and points. Huffing, Ghost shoves forward.

“The whole bakery?” You slur, giggling and feeling the kiss on your head.

“Every bastard pastry’ll be yours. Count on it.”

—

“Simon, you promised.” Your wheel-chair bound form pouts as the man in question deadpans from behind you, leaning on the handles. His balaclava can only hide so much.

The air is sweet with the scent of desserts and bread.

“Birdie, you can’t eat all ‘O that, you’ll explode like you took a .308 round to the head.” The woman behind the counter pales, pulling at the collar of her shirt with her smile becoming strained.

“Is that a challenge?” You glance over your shoulder, smirking wide.

“No,” Simon blanky states, the skin over his nose bridge and under-eye completely black and blue.

“I think that was a challenge.”

“It wasn’t.”

The customers grind their palms into their eye sockets, some tuning around in line and leaving entirely.

“Simon,” you intertwine your hands and lean to show him, eyes wide and pleading. “Please.” Drawing out the word, you smile with everything you can.

The both of you connect in a battle of wills—you with that infectious innocent and sly nature, and Simon with a tight glare and tired eyes. A blatant will to please you in every aspect and a need to see you happy at all times. This goes on for a full minute before a loud sigh echoes off the walls, shoulders deflating. A hidden kiss is pressed firmly to your head.

You giggle loudly at the authoritative order.

“One of everything.”

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assembletheimagines · 2 years

Text

Video

Warnings: Bucky is a little shit. 18+, dirty talking, masturbation, just smut be advised

Summary: Bucky sends you a video while away on a mission

You don’t think much on it when you hear your phone vibrate on your bed-side table. Reaching for it to see a notification with Bucky’s name attached to it.

You press, playing the video he had sent you; your eyes widening as Bucky’s camera moves down. Your pupils dilate, mouth dropping as his large hand comes into view, pumping his thick cock. The tip of his dick already red and glistening with his pre cum as his thumb strokes over his slit. You hear his breathy moan in the back ground.

A noise of alarm leaves you as your eyes stay glued to the video. You can’t stop watching. Bucky’s moans are quiet against the speaker and the sounds he makes are enough to get your thighs rubbing to get any type of friction as your clit throbs in need. “Miss you so bad,” Bucky’s voice reach your ears and you feel embarrassed by the pathetic whine that escapes past your lips, “wish you were here.”

Bucky was supposed to be on a mission across the world, and had been gone with Sam for over a week.

His groans bring you back from your thoughts as his fist drags over his cock slowly, his breathy gasps and panting not helping the need that begins to grow inside of you. Your pussy clenches around nothing as Bucky murmurs your name likes it’s you who's stroking his cock.

His hand moves faster, you can see his fingers tightening around his length as his moans grow a bit louder. “Wish I could have you on your knees for me, baby.” He grunts and you feel a new pool of slick form between your thighs at the thought. “Fuck your mouth, it always look so pretty choking on my cock.” He curses and you gasp like he could hear you.

You can see Bucky’s hips buck into his enclosed fist as he pants. “But you know what I want more than anything?” Bucky squeezes and twists. “Wanna fuck you, baby.” He answers his own question for you. “Wanna make you cum on my dick, feel you squeeze me so tightly as you cream on me,” you're at a loss for words, feeling absolutely drenched in your panties now. “Mm, wanna fuck you dumb on my cock until you’re begging me to fill you up.”

And then a flow of curses mixed with your name come choking out of his lips as he cums.

You watch with wide eyes as his cock twitches with each ribbon of cum that shoot from his tip. His hand not stopping his strokes, painting his abdomen and hand in white. “See what you did? Made me make a mess because I miss your pretty pussy,” he practically growls, thighs shaking slightly from the force of his orgasm.

That’s how the video ends. And before you could replay the video while you sink a finger down your panties and into your dripping pussy, his name flashes over your screen.

His name comes out as a whine when you answer him. You can still hear his pants; he was still trying to regulate his breathing from his orgasm. But as you added a second finger, curling to try and reach the gummy spot inside you, you could practically hear his smirk as he spoke, “talk to me, baby, are your fingers not as good as mine.”

#assembletheimagines #bucky smut #bucky barnes smut #smut #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky fic #bucky barnes fic #its up to you to decide if Sam's asleep in the same room when Bucky sends the video

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littlewitchthatwrites · 1 year

Text

Cauldron Part 4

“I was just trying to get closer to them. If we don't get closer we’ll never be able to get the job done.” Asher groaned.

The three hunters walked out of their school building where a sleek black car was waiting for them at the back of the parking lot. "Well, you were taking too long. And why do you get to have all the fun?" Bianca crossed her arms and slid into the car right next to Asher. Asher said nothing as they drove. They passed shops and houses, cute little neighborhoods where people lived completely unaware of the danger they were in. Living in blissful ignorance to what monsters were creeping around their lovely town. They drove until they pulled up to an open metal gate that towered into the misty autumn sky. The house that towered behind it was beautiful but old. It was completely over grown, covered by weeds and vines. The locals called it La Casa de Brujas. The house had an alarmingly strange history and it showed. People usually stayed away from this house. It was a hunting ground for beings of the supernatural. Teenagers go there to see if the legends are true and if they come back at all, they never want to go back to that house again. It stood tall just under the tall red and gold trees. The white chipped paint was spooky enough but that didn't stop the three of them from going inside. It wasn't just a house though, it was a mansion. Ash could imagine the parties that would take place in the large hall. Large, full of life and light (he hoped). He could imagine all the women in beautiful gowns, being held close by their dance partners, spinning gracefully to elegant music. But now it was just an old, dusty tomb of history and memories.

The cracked marble floor was no longer glossy, covered in leaves and dust, but soon enough it would be restored to its former glory. In exactly a week, from midnight to midnight, the ghouls and ghosts would gather in the large hall. At that moment the line between the living and dead would break, all the monsters would stop hiding, and their family name would be known as more than just fiction. Heros, they would call them. What is myth will become real and all other hunters would bow under the name Van Helsing.

“Well, I couldn't have a party here but that’s just my opinion.” Ash’s little brother said.

“Damien, will you stop messing around and come help us scout?” Bianca’s voice was just above a whisper but the annoyance still rattled in her voice. Damien let out a scoff and crossed his arms. “What are we even supposed to be looking for? This place is a dump. No one has been in here for centuries.” Asher rolled his eyes at his little brother and continued walking into the large ballroom. The windows were blown in resulting in a glass-covered floor. Chandeliers hung low, leaves and debris littered the ground, and there wasn't a single clean spot. It was all dark, dead, and empty. Just when they were about to quit and head back empty-handed, Bianca was gone.

Asher’s call almost echoed up stairs to the second story internal balcony that lined the room and had pictures and bookshelves covering every inch of the walls. Asher and Damien ran up the stairs to find her eyes glued to a thick page of a heavy book. It was about the width of Asher’s leg but she could hold it just fine. She was completely enamored by the picture of a crown on the top of a woman’s head. She was pale and boney but had eyes the color of rubies.

Her hair was delicately braided and placed over her shoulder, her lips parted just the slightest bit with the corners turned up into a smirk. On her head was a beautiful crown made of white crystals and small purple flowers. They were held together by a silver circlet and little black beads about the size of berries. “Ash, doesn't this look like the portrait that your dad has in his study?” Asher took the book and shoved it into her bag. “We need to get back to town, it's getting dark.” His warm fingers laced with hers sending a shock up her arm and behind her cheeks. The hairs on her arms stood straight up at the feeling. They ran back outside and the second they got to the porch the heavy doors slowly closed themselves with a large, booming, slam. “Let’s get this book back to your dad.” Bianca tried not to run away from the house. She walked fast, maintaining her tall confident image. Asher smirked at the small quiver in her voice.

#vampire oc #vampires #vampire hunters #supernatural #witch aesthetic #witchcore #witch #witch story #witch stuff #original story #hunters #romance #romantic #vampirecore #vampirism #spooky #ghosts #haunted house #haunting

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yeouls · 3 years

Text

SYNOPSIS | having your virgin cunt slutted out on an examination chair by a hot ass doctor is something straight out of a porno—expect it’s way better.

CONTENT | medical kink, corruption, innocence, virginity loss, dubcon, blood kink, degradation, squirting, praise, humiliation, virginity test, unethical as humanly possible.

FEATURING | eren jaeger

WORD COUNT | 2.8k

growing up in a religiously conservative household with parents that rebuked the concept of sex meant that one thing was routine; a yearly check up to ensure that you weren't going against their wishes.

this year things were different. you were sent off on your own to a new clinic. although you turned eighteen months ago and could easily say no, you felt the compelling need to obey your parents. after all, you still lived under their roof.

the fact that you were growing older and independent made them more desperate to keep you as ‘pure’ as possible. they were eager to banish the filth of sex and sin that could potentially manifest within you.

a part of you hated it but the other part of you understood because you were their only daughter. their obsession went as far as homeschooling you during your high school years.

unlike all past visits, this time you were greeted by a male doctor—a rather handsome and young one at that. his emerald eyes glistened a certain darkness but his gleaming smile eluded nothing but brightness. you could feel the sweat eagerly itch in your palms when the man first entered the room.

you impatiently pat your damp hands gently onto the patient gown you had changed into minutes ago.

“no need to be so nervous, i don’t bite,” he lightheartedly chuckles while settling down onto the rolling chair. his smooth words were quick to snap you from your frantic state as he rolls closer to you on his chair. “our female doctor is out on emergency, i hope you don’t mind.”

you didn’t mind but him being an arm length away sent your heart pulsating in your chest. you could smell the faint, musky aroma of his cologne dangling in the air around him. the small whispers of his earthy shampoo filled your nostrils. even the drabbles of his scent rushes a heat of nervousness through your body.

you hadn’t been like this with past doctors. was it because he was young? or attractive? or a man? the only men you grew up around was your father and older brother so interactions with other males were quite limited and overwhelming.

you can’t control the nervousness that roots in your stomach—the tension filling your abdomen with a foreign feeling.

your eyes can’t help but stay glued to the floor as you play with the hem of your gown. the room blankets in a still silence. you can feel your heart rapidly beating in your ears and pounding against your ribs as you anticipate his next words.

“i see that you’re here for a virginity test,” he murmurs while writing on the clipboard that he grips in his hand. you trace your eyes from the floor to his eyes and you’re taken aback by how intensely he is staring at you. you slightly turn your head away from him and nod in confirmation.

“i’m gonna need you to use your words.”

the tone in his sentence was extremely variant from the kind voice he was speaking in seconds ago. his words were now coated in a husky, dark tone that brought a chill to your spine. it was the same looming darkness that made your heart race when you first saw him. it was enticing and enchanting. an unfamiliar sensation swells in your core as you slightly squirm on the chair.

“yes, my parents are a bit…hysteric,” you whisper in an attempt to explain your situation to him. you were afraid he would judge you for being a virgin when kids your age were out indulging in sex.

“there’s no need to explain yourself to me,” he reassures in a smile as he settles the clipboard on the side of the table and rests a hand on your bare thigh. your breath is caught in your lungs by his sudden touch. the touch was filled with anything but innocence. but how could you be aware of his dark intentions? “i’ll take good care of you, hm?”

you softly nibble on your bottom lip before nodding your head. his blazing touch is soon gone as the rushing of water echos through the room. you intently watch as he washes his hands and snaps on a fresh pair of latex gloves. the thumping of your heart increases by each step he takes closer to you.

maybe the leering darkness in his eyes and tone was a mistake on your behalf. he was nice enough to tell you that he’d take good care of you.

“lay back on the chair for me,” he requests as he rolls closer on his seat. your heart feels like exploding out of your chest as you cave into his request. you’re once again meet with the ceiling of the examination room that you were accustomed to for the past two years.

your eyes tightly screw shut as he props your legs up on the leg rests. your feel yourself flinch at the sensation of cool air coating your cunt as your gown rises. a heat burns in your face as you become aware that you were on display to him. you had done this before but something about this time just feels so different.

eren himself couldn’t hold himself back when granted the sight of your wetness. something about an innocent virgin opening her legs to him had his mind running in circles. the persistent urge to corrupt you and drag you into his darkness rushes through his veins. the need to tease you and use you until you begged crying for mercy was slowly overpowering him.

“i see something has excited you,” he leers as a single gloved digit runs up your folds—familiarizing himself with your cunt. he nearly chuckled at how erect your clit had gotten in that short time amount of time. the atmosphere of the room goes heavy—this was anything but a normal examination.

his eyes grow darker as he parts your puffy lips and observes how your virgin holes twitches at the sudden rush of cold air. a small whimper falls from your lips at the cool feeling of his latex gloves. “i doubt you’re a virgin seeing how wet you are.”

it felt different, it didn’t feel like a conversation that should be taking place between a doctor and his patient. but the thing is, you never saw him as a doctor to begin with—you saw him as an attractive male. and he for sure didn’t see you as a patient but more as a little hole to experiment with.

“i’m gonna make you a little more wet so i can slide my fingers in to check, okay?” he hums spreading your folds and enjoying the glistening secretions that coated it. he planned to tease you and arouse you to the point you couldn’t help but beg for him to touch you more.

the lustful whimpers that fall from your lips made his pants grow tighter. he couldn’t wait to stretch out your tight, little cunt. to watch the impure blood drip as he took every last bit of innocence you possessed.

your hips twitch at a foreign yet pleasurable sensation as he leads up your folds—fondling with the small and sensitive flesh. it was a sensation that made you feel like your lungs would give out. the strange feeling made something tighten in your abdomen as your body naturally stiffened. it hadn’t gone like this with other doctors.

eren enjoyed it, watching you confuse over what he was doing to your body. your innocence and neediness only compelling him more. he took pleasure in you trembling under his light touch. he knew by stimulating your clit that he’d make your hornier and in need for more of him.

“f..feels weird,” you finally manage to stutter out. your mind feels more distant than usual as you are unable to focus on anything except this new pleasure. a pleasure that you didn’t want to let go of—that you wanted to experience over and over again.

“that’s normal, i’m just prepping you a bit,” he hushes in a voice dripping in lust. his eyes had grown darker and pupils far more dilated than earlier. strands of hair splayed on his face as your pants intensified.

there was just something so concupiscent about having him between your legs. every inch of your body desired and cried for him. you wanted more. it was becoming harder by the second to suppress the embarrassing whines that fell from your lips.

a hidden, dark smirk paints his face the more wetter you grow from his touch. his fingers were gone from your source of pleasure and were now rimming around your entrance. you shiver a bit at the coldness of the glove.

this was the part of the exam you were familiar with. the part where two fingers want up your vagina to observe if any vaginal penetration had taken place. something felt different when he first entered, his fingers were more exploring than observing.

a shameless moan echos through the room when he presses against something inside you that created an equally pleasurable sensation as earlier. “you’re not the good girl i thought you were, are you?”

whatever words came from his mouth didn’t make it past your ears. your hips jolt forward wanting his fingers to press against that same spot again. formulation of words is a lost possibility as you attempt to defend yourself.

“i a…am! i am a good girl,” you finally moan out in defense of yourself. you truly were. you had no idea why your body was reacting like this now when it hadn’t during past exams. “it’s you who’s making me feel weird.”

a simple, sneerful scuff is his response as your hips involuntarily move against his fingers. your trembling under his touch comes to halt when his fingers slide out of your cunt. your mind feels dazed at what just happened. you didn’t know what it was but you needed more. the boiling sensation arising in your stomach building up to something simply vanished.

so blindly driven by pleasure, you find yourself stopping the man in his tracks by gripping onto his coat sleeve. you slightly sit up with eyes dawning thick tears. the look of ruin on your face automatically rushing blood to his nether regions. eren’s face looked the opposite of you; cool, calm, collected but little did you know that the facade was falling apart.

“m…more, please,” you practically beg as your face grows hotter than before. the innocent pleading promptly causes eren to smirk.

“i’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

the frustration of his teasing makes you nibble at your bottom lip. he knew what you wanted and he wanted you to say it—to beg for it. but you, yourself were far to embarrassed to allow the words to dare slip past your quivering lips. you pull his hand closer by the grip on his sleeve and grasp onto his wrist before guiding him to your soaking cunt.

“more of this,” you whimper as you faintly move his hands over your arousal—the touch barely causing you an pleasure. the action to him was far more convincing than words could ever be. he was further satisfied than ever having you under his clutch from just a little teasing.

his white coat falls to the floor as he inches closer to you. the dark tone and alluding smirk were back into play as he snaps his latex gloves off. his callous finger drags up your core as he places a teasing tap on your clit. “i’m gonna fuck you and turn you into my pretty, little whore.”

you feel your cunt twitch at the words dripping in lust. a gasp falls from your lips as his fingers stuff your cunt again, this time much harsher than earlier. “you’re telling me you weren’t begging me to fuck you when you were sitting here all wet and whiny, hm?”

“n…no, want you to fuck me,” you whisper as his middle and ring finger drive into your sweet spot. the word fuck felt so foreign to your tongue—so vile and dirty. filthy enough for you to forget the entire reason you came in the first place.

you can feel the familiar build up of tension accelerating in your abdomen.

“i..i want it,” you moan, mind blurred by the pleasure of his fingers plunging into your walls. your nails dig into the leather of the seat as you feel a wet sensation licking at you. your breath catches in your lungs as you look down to see the sight of his face buried between your thighs and mercilessly licking at your cunt.

“n…no, it’s dirty,” you stammer as your fingers tangle in his hair. your failed attempt barely hinders his lapping at your clit.

“if only you know how sweet you taste,” he moans into your cunt. the vibrations of his words only amplifying the pleasure. your body tenses as a heat surges through your skin. your mind goes blank and moans grow loud as a warm liquid rushes down your thighs.

tears brink in your eyes at the relentless pounding of his fingers into you even after climaxing. the overstimulation enough to leave your legs trembling.

“fuck,” he grunts at your ruined sight. he couldn’t hold himself back anymore. the tightening in his pants was unbearable at this point. he was more than eager to stretch out your tiny cunt and leave you a whining mess.

“what do you want?” he whispers as he begins to bring your legs down from the rests. your mind was still foggy from your first orgasm. all you knew was that you wanted to feel more of that burning pleasure.

“i want you to make me feel good here,” you pant as you run your fingers up your wetness. the reply flourishes a smile of pride on his face—like he had successfully accomplished something.

“c'mere, i’ll make you feel good.”

with weak knees and a slipping gown you fall into his lap—straddling him. your arms wrap around his neck as you eagerly rut yourself against him. a smirk paints his face as he watches you innocently rub against his bulge looking for some sort of satisfaction.

“you learn fast, don’t you? already a fucking whore,” he chuckles while gripping your cheeks. your face heats in embarrassment at the degrading words. his grip on your hips brings your movements to a complete halt. his hands hook under your thighs as he places you on the examination chair.

“i can’t hold myself back any more.”

his hands lead down to quickly undo the string to his scrubs. your eyes slightly widening at his size. was it even going to fit?

“it’s not gonna fit,” you murmur in concern while chewing on your bottom lip. his hand rests under your chin as your eyes meet his.

“i’ll make it fit.”

the same cunning tone of darkness persistent in his words.

a sharp breath fills your lungs as a burning sensation consumes your lower half. your whimpers of pain are silenced by his lips as his tongue slides into your mouth. his hand drags down to your clit and draw circles in an attempt to relieve you.

“shhhh, you’re doing such a good job,” he whispers against your lips as you feel him pressing against your sweet spot. fake words of comfort for him to just use you to suit his needs. a darkness glistens in his eyes as he takes in the sight of your tight cunt clenching around him dripping in blood.

the gentleness of his thrusts are soon gone and are replaced with something much harder and rougher. the hands that once caressed your cheeks earlier telling you that you were doing good were now wrapped around your throat.

“i told you to shut up, didn’t i? at this point everyones going to hear what a whore you are.”

his harsh words only turn you on more as the sweat of his skin sticks against yours. the feeling of pleasure rained over you as you came around him from overstimulation—your body daring to give out at any second.

your mind feels murky as all you can manage to do is rut your hips against his chasing another high. your body falls limb against the cool leather as the warmth of his seed fills you.

he was proud of the ruined mess he left you in. your cunt dripping the mixture of his cum and your blood. your body coated in sweat. your cheeks stained in tears and your lips puffy from all his bites.

he had completely demolished the image of innocence that bloomed from you when you first walked in. he had marked you with his darkness. he knew you were bound to come back for more. after all—they all do.

“i look forward to our next appointment.”

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aetheternity · 3 years

Text

Answer your damn phone. (NSFW)

Synopsis: Hange keeps calling while Levi's fucking his S/O so his S/O picks up and tells Hange to call back later cause Levi is, "Currently getting his cock drained." Levi responds by fucking his S/O into the mattress. "You know how much Hange's gonna annoy me later?" He grunts completely sheathing his cock. "Scream my name louder." He huffs "I don't think the neighbors can hear." He leans in closer to her ear. "You better make them think I'm killing you after the shit you just pulled."

Levi's teeth were gritted as he leaned his head forward, eyes shut tight. The prettiest tinge of pink bloomed against his cheeks. His fingers creating a permanent mark in your skin.

"Levi, Levi.." You shuddered over his cock.

His knees were bent against your sides as you roughly slammed yourself down on his cock. His hips coming up to greet you. The heat in your stomach heavy as Levi continued to hit your sweet spot on every thrust.

His hair bounced against his forehead, face covered in sweat. Beautiful grey eyes fluttering open a little when you let out a breathless gasp fingers digging into his chest as you leaned close. Your thighs squeezing together as you called out your impending orgasm.

You pleaded his name like a chorus off your lips. Fingers kneeding at your clit begging to push you over the edge. You grunted out some curse words and just as you were getting ready to burst Levi's phone illuminating the darkened room pausing your movements.

You both groaned out in unison. The rough press against your waist moving up to grip at your back. You weren't exactly counting the amount of times Levi's phone had gone off but it was definitely more than two and beyond annoying.

"Why don't you just turn it off!" You grumbled

"She'll come here if it just goes straight to voicemail. The stupid thing's on mute and she'll eventually tap herself out and stop calling." Levi replied, already moving his hips again.

"G-god.. j-just tell her to stop c-calling.." You tried over the heat reclaiming its place in your core.

"She'll come here. It'll b-eee a whole long c-onversation.."

Levi's eyes fell shut again and his lips parted over the word "shit". Breathing labored as you squeezed his thick cock inside your walls. And it was almost like nothing had stopped. Your fingers pushed their way over his forehead, brushing aside the strands of hair covering his temple.

"Almost there.." He gasped, his hands ran up your back to pull you close by your shoulders.

His hips were unrelenting and the bed creaked as your moans grew louder once again. He breathed every noise in his mouth onto your lips. Biting and sucking the already swollen flesh.

"Finish.. c-come on."

This time when Levi's phone went off he didn't even bother to pause. Still ramming his dick into your tight hole. But at this point you'd pretty much had enough. You wrenched the phone off the nightstand and only then did Levi pause in his movements.

"Yeah, Hange?" Levi stared up at you. Eyes wide, still darkened with lust. Hange's voice was elated though confused as she quickly came to the consensus that Levi wasn't the one who picked up.

"Where's Levi?" She questioned

You looked down at Levi with mild irritation. "Well, he can't come to the phone right now because he's busy getting his cock drained." Before Hange could even begin to reply you quickly hung up, turning Levi's phone off, placing it face down on the nightstand.

"Problem solved." You huffed

Levi didn't move, surprisingly enough Levi didn't say anything either. His lips slightly parted and his eyes narrowed. You felt yourself gulp as you let out a little confused murmur of his name.

He didn't say a word, quickly yanking you off his cock. A gasp falling off your lips as he slipped out. He placed your feet on the floor and at this point your actions slightly dawned on you.

"Levi.." You tried again an apologetic glint in your eyes.

He repositioned himself grabbing your hips from behind. In seconds a harsh hand was glued to your nape forcing you down onto the mattress. And in the same amount of time his dick was pressing all the way back into your taut pussy.

You let out a loud moan that honestly would've been embarrassingly loud if not for the accidentally edging over the course of about an hour.

When Levi's hips snapped into yours it made your knees buckle. Fingernails practically tearing the cotton sheets below you. It wasn't like Levi was never rough but it felt so different this time.

"You know how much Hange's gonna annoy me later?" He grunted as he spread your thighs further so he could be right in between them.

"I-I.." You let out a choked moan, head swimming with drunken pleasure.

His fingers so tight around the back of your neck probably drawing blood but you couldn't even begin to care. His dick so deep you felt like it was actually in your stomach. With his free hand he pressed down on your stomach making everything feel so much more compressed.

"Scream my name louder Y/N." He said "I don't think anyone can hear just how good you're getting it."

A tremble rode down your spine as you cried out his name over the heavily shaking furniture beneath you. That all too familiar heat pooled in your stomach and you felt your eyes shutting. You pleaded and begged, pussy tightening like a vise dangerously tight around his cock.

He was keeping it in pretty well until that point. Every noise on his lips beginning to fall like a crashing crescendo. Your toes curled against the floor and your heart was practically beating out of your chest.

"L-Levi! Levi!" You cried out

His growl so close to your ear drum it had you practically weeping. "Come on babe, make the neighbors think I'm murdering you."

It hit you in more than one way and when you came it hit hard. Your back arching up into him, legs shaking but he was still holding your neck in place. You sobbed his name out, immediately feeling sensitive after your orgasm but he kept his pace up.

The combined noises of your skin slapping together and the gasps Levi couldn't keep hidden echoed over the smooth paint of your bedroom. His cock twitched inside of you, whimpers falling off your lips as you knew what was coming.

"Fff-uck I'm cumming." The hand that had been wrapped around your nape fell next to your face and now the sheets actually did rip.

You glanced back as his hard grey eyes rolled upwards. Face awestruck at just how white his lip was between his teeth. Hair shiny where it molded to his face thanks to the sweat. Levi groaned, huffing out breaths against your head.

His hips stuttering forward as he came, abs contracting and expanding on your back. The ache in both of you finally filled.

"Fuck." You moaned as the last of his cum fed your clenching hole.

You were almost glad when he pulled out. Your body flush with so much heat you could barely breathe. His hands came up to your waist flipping you around and at first it seemed innocent until he was pulling you to the foot of the bed. Legs forcibly opened as he unabashedly slid back inside.

"L-levi?" You couldn't help how greedy your moan was.

The way he was shoving his cock into your pussy coupled with his rough fingers massaging your clit. He pulled himself up closer to your face, hips so merciless and swift you could already feel yourself cumming again.

Your head fell back and you screamed in time with the bed angrily banging against the wall.

"Pl-please Leeevvvii." Tears streamed down your face but he ignored you.

His free hand ran over your face to press a sweet kiss onto your lips as he pressed impossibly deeper. Incoherent noises wrenching from your throat. His fingertips burned and you craved something anything to cool your skin.

Your fingernails dug long grooves into his back and he hissed in delight. With one swift motion he quickly had both of your knees bent into the bed sheets.

When he leaned in again your heart practically froze. "Don't. Ever. Touch. My. Phone. Again." He grunted between every thrust.

"N-never."

"Hange'll be blowing up my phone for different reasons now." Levi groaned "It's your f-ucking fault."

You screamed an apology when his teeth sunk into your sweat soaked skin. Toes clenching as Levi's name left your lips for probably the millionth time tonight.

"Mm soooooo sorry.." You moaned breathlessly

"Not yet you aren't." He muffled his own moan by kissing your ear and it went straight to your already sopping wet pussy.

You threw your head back as he surprisingly sped up, head completely empty as you clenched and came around his cock. Quickly coupled with his own loud orgasm his thighs shaking uncontrollably.

You let out what had to be all the oxygen currently in your lungs with a loud exhale. Both of you practically jumping out of your skin as the headboard clattered to the ground behind you. Though Levi's shaky form stayed pressed tight against your body.

"Levi.. I'm sorry." You quickly apologized again.

His eyes stayed dark and his lips were tugging into a thin line. "I'm not done yet."

A couple hard knocks coming from downstairs made you both turn your head. "Please don't let it be the cops again.." You sighed your head flopping back on the mattress.

#aot x reader #aot smut #attack on titan levi #levi ackerman scenario #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman smut #levi x reader #levi x y/n #levi smut #levi aot #shingeki no kyoujin levi #levi ackerman #snk x reader

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wonderwomanfantasy · 3 years

Text

Kinktober day 3: Spreaderbar

Daichi x reader

warnings: smut, kink, spreader bar, cum eating, power play, brat taming, Daddy kink.

word count: 1,000 (about)

summary: Daichi really is going to really beat the brattiness out of you one of these days, but for now, he indulges you in it

Daichi held your body close to his. His chest pressed to your back, a thick arm slung around your waist. Slowly he rocked his hips upwards grinding against your ass. There was no urgency to his rocking, Sumawara signed against the back of your neck.

“Daddy please-” you begged, wriggling in his arms, his grip tightened.

“Stay still,” he ordered sleepily. “Let daddy play with you,” he murmured. He was still half asleep, too tired to manhandle you and fuck you stupid like you wanted. You huffed backing your hips against his crotch impatiently. Daichi sighed.

“You’re being a bad girl,” he warned. You didn’t care and again you rolled your body against his. Daichi sighed and got up out of bed, leaving you.

“On my day off too,” he yawned, stretching and popping his back. You scrambled back away from him, your eyes wide with curiosity as you tried to figure out what he was planning. what he would do to you. Daichi flung the closet door open and rooted around aimlessly until he pulled out the spreader bar.

“Now you know I don’t want to do this,” he sighed. Clapping the first cuff around your ankle then the other. He pushed the bar, forcing your legs apart he could see your panties now the damp patch on your sweet cunt. It was almost enough to tempt him. It would be so easy to lean down and stick his tongue to your sweet cunt but no, you’d been bad and now you needed to be punished Daichi flipped your legs up.

“Hold it,” he said. You hesitated. “Hold it or I’ll cuff your fucking wrists to your ankles and leave you there,” he snapped you gulped and held the bar with both your hands. Daichi leaned over you, lining his hips with yours slowly humping you

“Sawamura,” you breathed, you wanted to move roll your hips against his, but you couldn’t you were trapped.

“Shh baby you’re already in trouble,” he teased. His cock jumped god he would kill to be inside of you, but Daichi was nothing if not grateful, this was nice, this was good, it was enough. He slowly dragged his hips back and forth, then just to tease you he slid down his boxers bringing his cock out, smearing his precum over your clothed slit.

You bit your lower lip to keep yourself from begging for more. His cock looked so delicious, thick, and tan the head of his dick cherry red. A soft moan left your lips. Daichi gave you a warning look but he didn’t say anything.

He reached down with one hand and stroked your cheek, “what if I edged you?” he asked, sweetly, “would you like that?” you bit your lower lip. It was a trick, he was deliberately asking you a question before giving you permission to speak as a test.

“No,” he said answering his own question. “Baby doesn’t like to work for her orgasms,” he teased. He pushed your panties to the side parting your folds with his thumb admiring the arousal that clung to your form and dripped down the curve of your ass. He almost wished that he’d taken your underwear off before cuffing you down.

He slid his cock along your bare pussy inside of your underwear, it was mesmerizing to watch the way your panties bulge with each thrust. It was almost too much feeling your soft cunt against his cock.

“Fuck baby, you’re so fucking wet, you’re really turned on aren’t you?” he grunted, you looked up at him, tears sprouting at the corners of your eyes. Daichi continued to groan as he drew his hips back and forth against your sex. All faux tiredness gone from his movements, he moved desperately, chasing his approaching orgasm.

“Fuck baby, gonna cum, gonna paint your pretty pussy,” he grunted thrusting harshly against your cunt. With one quick motion, he ripped your panties clean off of you the load ripping of fabric making you gasp. Daichi fisted his cock milking himself dry as his milk seed covered your cunt.

His cheeks were bright red, a bead of sweat dripping down his forehead. His eyes were glued to your messy cunt, there was something hungry in his eyes as he watched you flutter with need.

Daichi pushed your knees down further, nocking against your chest, “hold it,” he snapped. You held the bar as far down as you could, the ache burning through your thighs. Maybe now that your cunt was messy and coated in his cum he’d break down and fuck you. He licked his lips running his large hands over your ass and thighs before dipping his head and going straight for your pussy.

You were right in assuming that seeing your little cunt painted in his cum did something to Daichi, but you’d just misinterpreted what kind of hungry it made him. Daichi nursed on your clit like a lollipop. He curled his tongue inside of you pushing his own cum deeper inside of you before pulling the creamy mess into his own mouth. There was something mind-numbingly good about the taste of your cum melting and mixing with his.

“AH! Daddy please-” you cried out, not even caring that you were breaking the silence he’d asked you to keep. Daichi smiled to himself as he ravished your sex with his tongue, If he was feeling mean he’d punish you later for that. Your legs couldn’t even tremble with the restraints around your ankles. The tears you had been holding back, spilled down your cheeks, you hiccuped as you begged nonsensically for Daichi to stop- or continue- or fuck you, you weren’t sure what you wanted.

Luckily, Daichi knew what he wanted he wanted to clean your pussy with his tongue until you were spotless then cover you in his cum again. He moaned and suctioned his mouth around your cunt, licking your folds, greedily fucking you with his tongue.

“Daddy please-” you whined again, “I’m going to cum- I’m going to cum-” you warned between sobs. He just smiled, sucking on your lit, licking up the last bits of his cum on your clit as you reached your climax.

His eyes were still locked on your cunt, sticky and sloppy, but not because of his seed. Good. he couldn’t wait to make a mess of you again.

#daichi x reader #imagine daichi #haikyuu #haikyuu!!#haikyuu x reader smut #haikyuu x reader #daichi x reader smut #kinktober

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bluecookies02 · 3 years

Text

Dabi x Reader, Hawks x Reader, Bakugou x Reader

NSFW hell sent scenarios

-> Dabi/Touya Todoroki (writing this brings me joy)

warnings: chains, deepthroating, creampies

He'll use chains, not ropes.

Chain your legs and arms to the bed, spread your pussy open nice and slow, make you shake as he warms up his fingers just right while he flicks his fingers at your clit.

He wants you creaming and literally soaking the sheets before he even starts fucking you. He'll tease your tits to hell and back, leave nasty hickeys all around your sensitive nubs until there's no place he didn't bite. He wants to deprive you from touching him for as long as he possibly can, knowing how fucking desperate you'll get.

Then when he decides he has spoiled you enough, he'll untie you, drag you to the edge of the bed and lower his heavy cock to your mouth. It's hot and heavy on your tongue when he slips between your lips, the ridges of his piercings sliding down your throat.

You're already drooling and coating his length in spit, but what you focus on the most are the deep groans he lets out each time he stills in your mouth. He'll then pull out and let you struggle for air before slamming back in, the gagging sounds coaxing him to release after every slam of his hips.

"Just a little while longer doll, I know you can..." he'll praise you, stroking your cheek before fucking your face. Your nails dig into his legs, tears pricking at your eyes as you pray for him to cum soon. It's almost your limit, you're almost out of breath and you feel dizzy until he's finally painting your throat white, watching you swallow around his length so you don't choke on his load.

He'll pull out carefully, letting you catch your breath all while he moves the hair out of your face, cleaning up your spit from the corners of your mouth with his thumb.

If Dabi is something, he's passionate. He'll settle back between your legs and slide in, keep you close to his body at all times, ruin your pretty cunt while he pounds it, his cock bruising your cervix with each deep thrust.

He'll want you to cum while his lips are on yours, swallowing up every breathless sound you can offer him, his eyes rolling back into his head as he fills you up as soon as your walls start to tighten.

-> Hawks/Keigo Takami

warnings:semipublic masturbation(balcony), daddy kink.

pic credit: estars_art (on insta and twitter)

Fucking you in his penthouse hits different.

He has an enormous balcony that he absolutely loves to finger you on. Sit you on his lap and spread your legs open, slipping his fingers into your warm cunt as he watches you blush.

His wings are covering you for the most part, but the thrill of your body rocking against his makes it hard to focus on anything else.

He'll kiss at your neck gently, telling you how beautiful you are and how fucking naughty you must look.

He's knuckles deep in your pussy, his palm hitting your stiff clit with each push of his fingers.

An arm is wrapped around your belly, holding you still when he feels your sex clench.

"There you go little bird, cum for me...cum for daddy"

His wings wrap around you protectively, a small chanting of "yes" being whispered in your ear.

He won't insist on it but, turn around and ride him, please. Just barely move your hips and grind your pussy on his cock. He'll melt.

it has come to my attention that i have 0 tumblr safe bakugou pics on my phone

-> Bakugou Katsuki

Angry sex is a reoccurring thing between the two of you.

Wrestling will easily give him a boner, his hips grinding against yours once he finally pins you down.

"You're so fucking hot like that" he'll rasp out, moving both of your arms above your head.

He'll kiss you passionately , humming against your lips once he feels you trying to get your body closer to his.

"Greedy little whore" he'll rasp out, undoing his belt with one hand.

He'll pull out his already stiff cock, make you hold your skirt up while he glides it over your clothed folds.

When he decides he had teased you enough or if you get particularly whiny and start begging he'll move your panties aside, lining the tip of his cock at your entrance.

Considering that he most likely won't prep you when he's riled up like this, he'll try to give you time to relax, secretly getting off on the way your breath hitches and your cheeks puff up, eyes going wide.

His strong arms slip beneath you, not letting you hit the rough surface of the floor as he starts thrusting.

"That's my dirty girl...you made me mad just to get this tight pussy filled didn't you?" He won't wait for you to answer, bearing his teeth at your shoulder and biting down.

His muscles flex with each move he makes, the floor creaking under your weight as he fucks you into it. You have to wrap your legs nice and tight around him and hold on for dear life because...

Yeah...

He'll make you cum first, fucking you through your high until it's literally borderline painful from how sensitive you are.

Then he'll pull out, his fist wrapping around his length and stroking furiously, his beautiful face adorned with a frown as he lets out shaky grunts.

He'll keep his eyes barely open, looking at your blissed out face, your gaze glued onto him as you wait for him to bust.

All it takes is for you to moan at him, look down at where his tip is ghosting over your clit and he's done, thick cum splashing onto your puffy nub and sliding between your folds and into your spread out hole.

He'll finger his cum into you. I don't make the rules.

He's really professional about his aftercare tho, going over the essentials first before asking if there's anything you need.

He'll get you into the bed and trap you in his arms, laying you on his chest and telling you to rest. He's going to stay awake for a while, mindlessly tracing his fingers over your body.

If you heard him let out a happy chuckle or if you saw his mouth twitch up in a smile, no you didn't 💕

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

requests:closed

commissions:open

Ko-Fi | Patreon

taglist(ask to be added): @fairlyathleticquailssince1988

#bnha #mha #mha fanfiction #dabi x reader #dabi x reader lemon #bakugou x reader #bakugou x reader lemon #hawks x reader #hawks x reader lemon #hawks #dabi #bakugou #villan x reader

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toosicktoocare · 3 years

Text

okay, spoilers for the most recent 911 episode below (and tagged as such as well)

i haven’t written in months- i just have a lot of feelings, and i needed to work through them

It’s weird, Buck thinks, how quickly the sound around him can fade, how fast the pain in his back and his side can grow fuzzy, almost numb even, until he’s completely disassociating, losing his touch on reality in time with Eddie’s final blink.

He’s back at Eddie’s house, head burrowed in the fridge, and he’s digging around meal prep containers for hidden beers.

“Heard you flipped out yesterday.”

“Huh?” Buck’s only half listening because he’s on a quest of the alcoholic nature, and he’s pretty sure he spots a dark neck of a beer bottle nestled between a container of rice and a jar of low fat mayonnaise.

“At the well.”

This Buck hears quite clearly, and he snags the beer and turns away from the fridge, lips curving softly downward at the edges.

“Bobby said you were frantic.”

The grooves in the beer bottle cap dig into Buck’s palm. Or maybe, Buck thinks, he’s deliberately pushing it into his skin. “You were trapped.”

“And your plan was what, Buck? Dig me out with your hands?”

“If that’s what I had to,” Buck spits back, eyes narrow, shooting Eddie a gaze he is normally on the receiving end of, and it’s just enough to have Eddie’s face go soft before him.

“Not sure if I should thank you because I know that you are genuinely serious, or if I should officially declare you as the world’s biggest idiot because I know that you are genuinely serious.”

Buck laughs lowly under his breath, yet still, his eyes are warm, determined, and he cocks his head to the side. “I said I have your back, didn’t I?”

“This again?” Eddie asks, now laughing with Buck.

“I’m a man of my damn word, Eddie. If I say I have you back, then I have your back.”

“Firefighter Buckley!”

Buck’s gotten used to pulling himself slowly out of a dissociative state, cool and calm, working through grounding techniques, so the abrupt, loud voice in his ear is a gun shot that rips through his mind.

Gun shot.

Buck blinks quickly. Eddie’s face is now in full view, and he looks unnaturally pale and cold, a contrast to his blood still warm and splattered across his face.

“Eddie.”

“Sir, we’ll get to him as soon as it’s safe. We need to focus on you first.”

Buck shoves himself up into a sitting position, ignoring the thrum of pain gnawing at his side. He’s sure he’ll look purple and blue by morning.

“No, Eddie,” he repeats, unable to form much more in terms of sentences. His mind can only collect what’s currently the most meaningful in this situation, and that one thing is only Eddie.

“Eddie,” he tries again, louder, hoping to jostle Eddie awake by his voice, hoping that, maybe, Eddie’s only passed out from the pain and that the pool of blood isn’t actually draining from a potentially severe gun shot wound.

“Firefighter Buckley—”

Buck shoves away from the firefighter beside him. He ignores the hand grabbing at his shirt, ignores the voices shouting for him to come back, and then he’s hovering over Eddie, shielding him, assessing what he can of the wound with shaking hands.

Eddie’s unresponsive below him, and Buck’s stomach twists so tightly, he could double over in pain. He’s just turning around to yell for help when he’s being jerked to his feet by a cop. His eyes stay on Eddie as Eddie’s rushed onto a backboard, and he’s so focused on Eddie’s face, so desperate for a hint of life, a crease of the brow, that he doesn’t process the hand squeezing his arm or the voice close to his ear until the cop is speaking.

“Go with him, and stay low.”

Nodding, Buck hunches over and runs to the ambulance Eddie’s being lifted into, and the second he gets a nod, he pulls himself up, and the door’s closed in front of him.

With as loud as it had been outside, it’s eerily quiet in the ambulance, even with the siren blaring overhead. The paramedics are working quickly and quietly, discussing the best course of action under their breath. Buck stares at Eddie’s sodden shirt, at the too dark stain toward his shoulder, and he reaches over, ripping the shirt open to get a clear look.

“Sir, please let us handle the patient.”

One of the paramedics swats at Buck’s hands, and he leans back, eyes glued to the small silver bullet nestled inside of Eddie’s chest. It wasn’t a clean shot, and Buck knows that poses more recovery complications. He’s sure surgery is just on the horizon for Eddie.

He only pulls his eyes away from the angry wound when Eddie groans, his brow furrowing.

“Eddie?” Buck leans forward, one hand resting just above Eddie’s forehead, his hair soft against his palm. “Can you hear me?”

Eddie’s eyes squeeze before he pries them open. Even through the small slits, Buck can see how glossy and unfocused Eddie looks.

“Buck?”

His voice is shot, weak, and thick with pain, and Buck nods, one thumb smoothing across Eddie’s forehead.

“Hey, man. Yeah, it’s me. You’re going to be okay.”

Eddie frowns, and he lifts one shaking hand to Buck’s cheek, fingers pressing to the blood on Buck’s face.

“You’re hurt?”

“What?” Buck asks, shaking his head. He goes to explain more, to reassure that he’s fine, but Eddie goes slack below him, and the paramedics push him back, shouting for the driver to pick up the pace. Eddie’s crashing, and the frantic beeping is deafening to his ears.

He won’t because he wants all focus to be on saving Eddie, but still, Buck kind of wishes he could throw up to ease the pressure in his gut.

***

“Buck!”

Bobby’s voice rings out across the waiting room, and Buck lifts his head from his hands to see Bobby running toward him with Athena hot on his heels. He can see the question written all over Bobby’s face, and he holds up a single hand, shaking his head.

“It’s not my blood.” What he leaves off is how he’d give anything for it to be his blood. For him to be the one carted off to surgery, not Eddie.

Bobby nods, and Athena sighs softly.

“You okay, Buckaroo?”

Buck’s not sure if it’s just because it’s Athena, or if it’s her motherly nature, but his composure crumbles at her words. He wants to tell them he’s fine— that Eddie is the one everyone should worry about. But, he can’t stop shaking, and his eyes have been burning with unshed tears.

Athena pulls him to his feet, and he falls against her, a sob ripping up his throat. He can feel Bobby at his back, a warm, grounding hand to his shoulder, and Athena’s arms are wrapped tightly around his back, keeping the pieces together.

“You’re okay, Buck.”

He clings to Athena until he’s sure he can stand up on his own, and then he falls into the soft question and answer process, revealing all he knows: Eddie was shot; the police who took his statement have yet to find the shooter, but they don’t think Eddie was specifically a target; he’s in surgery, but the doctors are extremely optimistic.

“Are we going to be able to pry you away from this hospital?” Athena asks, and Buck gives a shaky nod.

“Chris is with a friend, and Eddie was supposed to pick him up. I’m going to... I’ve got to tell him.”

“We can have someone else—”

“—no,” Buck interrupts, stepping back. “It has to be me.” He catches a glimpse of his reflection in the smudged glass of a vending machine: pale face smeared red with dried blood. “I should,” he notions weakly to his face, laughs awkwardly, and Bobby nods, a frown etched across his lips.

“I’ll drive you back to your jeep after you wash up.”

Nodding, Buck slips to the bathroom, thankful to find it empty. He looks at himself, but all he can see is the muted, pale shock written across Eddie’s face looking back at him, painted in the blood splattered across his face. He turns the tap on as hot as it will allow, and then he scrubs, hands moving roughly up and down his face, the hand soap slightly stinging his skin. He scrubs until his entire face burns, and then he stumbles backward with a gasp he covers with his palm.

He holds in a deep breath that quakes against his lungs, and he doesn’t release it until he’s sure he can without falling apart.

“Eddie’s going to be fine,” he says aloud, practicing now to sound as confident and as believable as he can.

***

“Did you get hurt at work, Buck?”

Buck’s not surprised that the first question out of Christopher’s mouth is about his well-being and not of his dad’s absence— typical Diaz behavior.

“Uh, no, bud.” Buck kneels down, leveling himself with Christopher. “It’s not mine.”

“Where’s my dad?”

“He...” Buck stumbles with his words, swallows thickly. “He won’t be coming home tonight, bud. He got hurt at work, but I’m going to make sure he gets better real fast.”

“Is he at the hospital? Can I see him?”

Christopher’s voice is growing more and more unsteady, adopting a waver that’s a brick smashing to Buck’s heart.

“He is, but he’s still busy getting patched up, so he can’t have visitors just yet.”

Christopher nods, and Buck wonders just when it was exactly that Chris matured without his seeing. “He’s going to be okay, bud. But you know what will make him get better faster?”

Before Buck can answer, Carla slips into the room, supplies in hand.

“Make him a really big card!”

“Yes!” Christopher’s smile turns into a giggle as Carla drops markers and glitter and poster boards onto Eddie’s kitchen table.

“Chris, Carla’s going to watch you while I go back to the hospital. As soon as I get the okay for visitors, I’ll call.”

Christopher nods and shuffles to the table, already scoping out markers to use for the card. While occupied, Buck slips toward the door with Carla hot on his heels.

“Is he okay?”

“Still in surgery,” Buck answers on auto-pilot, having muttered those words too many times already to count.

“Are you okay?”

Buck laughs weakly, rakes a hand through his hair. “Ask me again when Eddie’s awake.”

“Oh, honey—”

“It’s okay,” Buck mutters, casting his eyes to the floor. “Sign my name on the card for me?”

“Buck, why don’t you stay for a little bit? Change your clothes? Eat something?”

“I can’t,” Buck shakes his head, unsure how to explain that the only way to easy the jutting pain in his chest is to be back at the hospital. “I need to—”

“Go,” Carla rolls her eyes. “But I’m bringing you food.”

Buck smiles, small but genuine. “Thanks, Carla.”

***

Buck scans his text from Hen, gnaws at his lower lip.

[From: Hen] where’d you run off to? We’re all in the waiting room.

He pulls his gaze up to Eddie’s sleeping form, to the wires sticking out of him.

[To: Hen] I may have waited until a dr walked through the double doors and snuck into Eddie’s room...

His phone blows up shortly after with texts and calls, and he ignores all, instead typing to a 118 group text.

[To: Fire Fam] look, I know I’m not supposed to be back here, but don’t tell on me okay? I know the dr said his surgery went well, but I had to see for myself

[From Chim in Fire Fam] Hen’s rolling her eyes

[From Hen in Fire Fam] damn right I am. So is Athena

[From Bobby in Fire Fam] how is he?

He looks terrible, Buck thinks. His skin is still too pale, and there are dark purple spots coloring below his eyes. His breathing is labored, and his face is pinched as if in pain.

Terrible, Buck thinks, yet so beautifully alive. The relief is edging his nerves, hesitant to completely encompass him.

[To Fire Fam] he looks like hell, but he’s alive

Buck locks his phone and leans forward, resting his head on the edge of Eddie’s bed. He lays one hand over Eddie’s, and he drifts somewhere between awake and asleep, coming to fully when Eddie groans above him.

He jerks forward, leans in close, and squeezes Eddie’s hand. “Eddie? You with me?”

It takes an impossibly long time for Eddie to open his eyes, but when he does, his smile is weak but warm enough to bring Buck’s relief fully over him.

“Buck.”

There’s no confusion in Eddie’s voice this time— only soft certainty, and Buck squeezes Eddie’s hand once more.

“In the flesh.”

“You’re here.”

“Yep,” Buck nods, smiling. “Though when I have to duck behind a chair when a nurse comes in, pretend like you didn’t see me, yeah? Kinda breaking hospital rules right now.”

Eddie laughs, and then he coughs weakly, wincing. Still, his eyes hold Buck’s gaze, and Buck wouldn’t look away even for a second.

“Chris?” Eddie finally croaks out, and Buck nods.

“He’s okay. He’s with Carla. They are coming as soon as the doctor gives the okay for visitors.”

“Legal visitors,” Eddie clarifies, and Buck smiles. If Eddie can joke, he must be on the mend.

“Hey, a part of having your back means I simply must sneak into your hospital room to make sure you don’t croak.”

Eddie’s laugh turns into a harsher cough, and Buck smooths a hand over Eddie’s forehead. “Maybe stop laughing?”

“Stop making me then,” Eddie pouts, and Buck leans back with a smile.

“I gotta talk to Carla.”

Buck cocks a brow. “She’ll be here as soon as she can.”

“She told me to make sure I’m following my own heart.”

Frowning, Buck tilts his head. “Uh, Eddie? You okay, man?”

“She was right— I thought I was but I wasn’t.”

“Okay, maybe I’ll give myself up and grab a nurse. You are talking too weird right now. Clearly something’s not clicking right in that old head of yours.” Buck makes to stand, to leave, his concern heightening behind his poor joke, but Eddie grabs at his wrist, a weak grip that Buck frowns deeply at.

“Eddie, I—”

“Stay. Please.”

Slowly, Buck takes his seat. “As long as you stop being weird as hell.”

“I will for now.”

#911 fox #911 spoilers #buddie #evan buckley #Eddie Diaz #9 1 1 fox #9 1 1 spoilers #christopher diaz #athena grant #bobby nash #look i haven't written in months #i just have a lOT of feelings and i needed to dump them out #i may go back and write something less shitty when i can regain my composure

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chocosvt · 3 years

Text

⚬ pairing: joshua x reader ⚬ word count: 5040 ⚬ warnings: mentions of alcohol ⚬ genres: FLUFF, shallow angst, guitarist/bandmate!joshua, some annoying neighbour tropes, a little bit of pining, wintery pizzazz, joshua is a hopeless romantic :(

✧✎ synopsis: somebody new just moved into the upstairs apartment. they’re loud, irritatingly sweet, and unfortunately, very pretty. but you’re not looking for a new relationship, even if it comes in the form of joshua hong.

✧✎ a/n: oooUUooouu YES! this is a gift to my lovely secret santa, @luvshuas !! ♡ in my first ask, i learned that dani liked using paint by numbers, AND I THOUGHT THAT WAS ADORABLE so i helped use it to create this fic! dani, you are such a joy to talk to AND I HOPE YOU ENJOY THIS XOXOXO !! :D

Last week, someone new had moved into the empty apartment one floor above yours. You didn’t know who. Not their name, not their face, just that they occupied the once vacant space of room 24D. Supposedly, their next-door neighbours had already brought them some housewarming gifts. A watering can filled with flowers, a wreath of white candles, and an old sewing tin now converted into a container for oatmeal chocolate chip cookies.

All closely resembling the gifts you received during your first week at the apartment complex. It made sense though, considering most rooms were home to very elderly couples. At first, you planned a brief gap in your day to visit this stranger and welcome them to such a small complex. Find out if they were old or young, endearing or irritable, sensible or flat out crazy. But you never visited room 24D, because you were currently in a moat about your ex-partner.

An extremely deep, inescapable moat.

Not only had they broken up with you on the day you planned to introduce them to your parents, they decided it would be most efficient to do so through a stupid text message. From Monday to Friday, you’d been moping in a curled-up ball on the couch, blowing into tissues and flicking through the holiday romcoms even though they were all so cookie-cutter and dull. To make matters worse, it had been snowing all week, shutting you indoors as a draft built up outside the windowsills.

You had completely forgot about the newbie who’d just moved in upstairs. Until one day, when they decided to make their presence known in the most jarring way possible.

That particular morning, you were finally feeling stable enough to not eat dry, stale cereal straight from the box. You were feeling well enough to avoid another twelve hours moulding into the couch. While a cold wind blew against the windows and rattled the glass, you poured yourself some tea with the new teapot your mother parceled as an early present. And that’s when you heard it: an eruption of electric sound from the floor directly above yours. It sounded like a guitar, if that guitar were plugged into a massive amp and its chords were being plucked by one thousand fingers.

Coincidentally, you spilt tea, scalding and runny, all over the countertop. It started dribbling down your cupboards and creating blotches on the tiled flooring. At random, the sound stopped.

By lunchtime you were unwinding in the shower, your eyes shut as the water poured onto your face and streamed toward the drain. When you squeezed out some shampoo onto your fingers, you heard the chord progression again. This time louder, if that was even possible. The bottle flung from your wet hands and crashed against the floor, startling you half to death, a trail of wasted shampoo then painted to the wall. But the sound didn’t stop immediately. Unlike last time, the stranger railed on their guitar for half an hour at least.

Yet the last straw didn’t come until evening.

Sitting at the kitchen table with a water jar next to your elbow, you were using your new paint by numbers kit. You had been waiting all day to try it, brushing in the mesmerizing colours of a watery-purple landscape. For the last time that day, you were jolted by the riff of an electric guitar, causing you to jerk a huge, thick streak of black paint right across the paper, effectively ruining it. How horrible. How Terrible.

And you were not going to let the incident slide.

Room 24D.

The room directly above yours. After banging your fist rather inhospitably against the door, you couldn’t lie that the face which greeted you was a definite shock. A young man probably in his early twenties, with curly, brown hair styled neatly yet in disarray, and these wide, glass-like eyes that felt so penetrating you were afraid to glare him down. In fact, you were a bit nervous.

“I don’t know where you stayed at last, b-but at this complex, people don’t usually slam on their electric guitars.”

But so what if you were nervous? You had grown accustomed to sharing this complex with seniors. The thought of someone this young (and admittedly – quite beautiful) had somewhat stunted your brain. The stranger looked at you as though he had nothing to say. He started bobbing his head and shrugged.

“Yeah, well, I’m guessing it doesn’t happen ‘cause everyone here is over seventy and crochets scarves until bedtime. It’s not my fault you’re the only one who’s still got decent hearing.”

Your eyes narrowed; your brow heavily creased.

“What’s your name?” You asked.

He hesitated at first, then replied, “Joshua.”

“Okay, Joshua, I’d rather have everyone in this building crocheting scarves out the damn window if it meant not listening to a stupid electric guitar all day. You ruined my paint by numbers kit.”

Joshua laughed. “Your what?” He then flashed a grin which suggested he was holding back a satirical comment.

“My paint by numbers kit!” You repeated, feeling your nervousness dissolve into irritation. “It’s ruined, and I’m blaming it on you because it’s your fault. My whole week has been awful and you just made it even worse. So there. I hope you’re happy.”

For some reason, Joshua leaned his shoulder against the doorframe like someone who had all the time in the world. He appeared way too comfortable. Something about it irked you while simultaneously pulling this weird, fuzzy string in your chest. The boy folded his arms and raised a curious eyebrow.

“Why was your week awful?” He questioned.

There was a sweetness to his voice which hadn’t been there before, and you absolutely weren’t going to fall for it, even if it sounded like he ate a spoonful of honey and might taste just as good.

“No. Forget it,” you sighed, waving a dismissive hand, “I said what I had to say. Just be quieter, please.”

You turned around sharply, making your way toward the elevator based at the end of the corridor. Those magnetic eyes of his seemed to be glued to your backside, an almost palpable feeling.

“Okay!” He called out. “Great chat! Nice to meet you too!”

The boy was being wholly sarcastic of course. After returning to your apartment, you cleaned up the kitchen table, sweeping away your paint by numbers kit into a drawer just in case you were one day struck with the motivation to fix it up. Probably not.

“Uh—excuse me? You called me, remember? So don’t go shifting the fault like always. I just can’t believe how immature you are! And, you know what, I’m hanging up now! Don’t call back!”

Smashing your finger against the phone screen, you ended the call, silencing the aggravated voice that had pounded through the line just a second before. An unfortunate misdial resulted in your ex phoning you at the supermarket. The interaction immediately turned south, prompting you to hurry outside into the snow, wedging the brown paper bag of produce underneath your arm and against your chest, all while you barked into the phone with the other hand.

Snowflakes were brimming the edge of your wool hat; your fingertips numb and stiff. Your pacing, impatient footsteps were stamped across the white ground. Things had been difficult enough without your ex invading even the most boring parts of your life, and now a mundane stop at the market had left you intensely unsettled.

As you huffed a web of your breath into the air, you spotted something unexpected: Joshua helping Mrs. Akané load the groceries into her small silver-bullet car. She lived alone on the bottom floor of the apartment complex, one of the kindest old ladies in the whole building. Every winter she had knitted you a pink pair of mittens. When Joshua opened the car door for her, she gave him a gentle pat on his shoulder and her patented rosy-cheeked smile.

Since you scorned him for his abrasive guitar playing, it only happened less often, though it was never any quieter. You realized that he belonged in a band. From time to time they would take the stage at the downtown bar, engendering a space so packed it was nearly impossible to wriggle to the counter for a quick drink. Joshua invited you to his Friday night gig – which was tonight – and while you had contemplated the decision to attend, the disheartening encounter with your ex had officially soiled the mood.

Joshua noticed you, probably looking cold and mad.

“So,” he began, “are you coming tonight?”

Adjusting the groceries underneath your arm, you shrugged, meanwhile the hollow nature of your eyes screamed a blatant no. If anything, you wanted to be back on that living room couch, eating an entire tray of frosted shortbread cookies and dabbing at your tears.

“Seriously?” Joshua frowned. “You’re gonna pass? It is ‘cause you’re still mad about the guitar playing? I’m sorry, okay.”

“No,” you shook your head, “no, no. It’s not because of your disruptive, loud guitar playing. I’m just not having a good day.”

Bits of snow began to powder Joshua’s brown hair. His cheeks were blushed and his nose rosy.

“No offense,” the boy laughed, “but it seems like you’re never having a good day.” He then shook his head, scattering the snowflakes from between the fibres of his hair. “How about you come to our little concert shindig thing, listen to our set – which is great, I promise – then we can talk about it, back at my place.”

For a moment, you paused, and this perplexed expression briefly eclipsed your features. Did he just subtly attempt to persuade you into some sort of… Date? No, it was too soon for anything like that. He was probably joking anyways (despite his straight face).

“I don’t know… I’m tired. Maybe another time.”

You started carrying the brown bag of produce to your car, parked just down the street. Joshua chuckled and tagged along at your side, the snow crunching softly under your feet.

“When’s another time?” He asked.

Throwing open the car door and sliding the bag inside, you sighed. “Another time is another time. It’s self-explanatory.”

“So you’re not coming?” Joshua questioned in finality.

“No.” You replied, rubbing your cold fingers together, attempting to spark some warmth. “I’m not.”

It was then that Joshua took your hands in his, a gesture that completely flicked you off your axis, and started to squeeze them, kneading your skin with his thumbs until you felt the uncomfortable stiffness gradually wear off. He brought your hands close to his face, pursed his pink, very pretty lips, and started to blow on them. A sensation fizzled to life in your lower tummy. Not only were you heating up significantly, but you felt too hot. Scary hot.

“That’s a shame.” Joshua said, releasing your hands carefully, like he’d just touched gold. “But I can wait for another time.”

You couldn’t sleep that night.

Most likely because you were regretting the decision to not attend Joshua’s gig at the bar. The fact that no matter how hard you pushed, memories of your past relationship would still linger like a heavy mist, preventing you from being happy, from detaching, from forming new connections. Wet drops of snow tapped against your window. And then, at around one in the morning, you heard a knock at your apartment door.

Joshua. Evidently intoxicated. His guitar case slung over his back. A foggy sort of look disrupting his usual countenance.

“Hey there,” he mumbled, rubbing at his eye, “couldn’t get into my room. Think I could crash—” the boy stopped midsentence to yawn and hiccup, his face flushed pink, “crash here?”

“Did you walk home from the bar?” You asked, disregarding his inquiry.

“No, Jihoon drove me.” Joshua answered, bracing his hand against the threshold. “Pretty please? Can I stay?”

“Fine.”

You took the dark green guitar case from Joshua’s back, stamped with numerous luggage stickers that made it seem as though he’d flown all over the globe. After settling the case beside the couch, you helped Joshua lie down, though he flopped rather ungracefully with his face squished into a pillow.

For an awkward moment, you were just standing there, twiddling your thumbs as Joshua squirmed onto his back.

“Do you want a glass of water?” You proposed.

Joshua carded a hand through his brown locks and further dishevelled them. His face seemed to glow and the manner in which his eyes softly shut had you feeling oddly sympathetic. Like you needed to take care of him.

Rather than answering your question, Joshua sighed.

“I can’t believe you flaked on me.” He said. “I looked forward to seeing you there all week. I told my friends about you.”

Your toes dug into the carpet; teeth fastened into your bottom lip. You couldn’t tell if he was rambling drunken nonsense or being wholly truthful. Joshua titled his head to the side, nestling his cheek comfortably against the pillow.

“Like I said, there’ll be another time.”

“Can I have a blanket?” He mumbled sleepily.

Disappearing into your bedroom for a moment, you grabbed Joshua a spare blanket which often lied next to you on the bed, just in case it got a little too cold at night. Your heating was fairly shabby.

“Here you go.” You said, dropping it on him.

After pulling the fabric up to his chin and spending a minute getting comfy, Joshua started smiling, lashes long against his cheeks.

“Appreciate it.” He replied. ”Kick me out early if you want.”

When Joshua scheduled his next gig at the bar, you made sure to be there, settled near the back at the cocktail counter. As you anticipated, the space filled up quickly, and you kept tucking in your legs whenever someone scooted by to use the washroom or find a better vantage point. You didn’t mention that you were coming. It was supposed to be a surprise which had oddly excited you. Like you were someone important to him, even though you probably weren’t.

You enjoyed his band’s performance. While sipping at something syrupy and a little too cherry flavoured, you couldn’t help but smile behind the glass, shake your foot even, as Joshua strummed down on the electric guitar. There was a pink-haired drummer seated behind him, and a bassist with a dashing, heavenly smile. Eventually, the tone of their music shifted near the end of the set. Joshua exchanged his electric guitar for the acoustic one kept in that dark green, stickered case. And when he started to sing a slower, more sentimental song, you felt something cotton-like in your chest.

How could his voice be this soft? How could it turn so sweet? How could his eyes switch from a powerful ripple to calm water? And why were you heating up all over? The glass hit your knee as you continued to watch Joshua sing, as though you’d fallen into a trance, like a sailor caught by the lullaby of a siren.

But then, as your eyes scanned the crowd for a brief moment, they attached to some who looked awfully familiar.

Goddammit. Of course.

Why did your stupid ex have to be everywhere?

Why did they have to invade every aspect of your life? Especially the enjoyable parts? Once the stage ended and Joshua began thanking the crowd for an energetic reaction, they turned around and grabbed their friend excitedly. Yet, the thrill on their face disappeared the second they noticed you, glaring bitterly, angrily, still clearly hurt. That’s when you decided to leave.

You were halfway down the block when you heard your name being shouted. Pausing beneath a street lamp, you attempted to peer through the heavy flurries sweeping down from the night sky. A silhouette began to take shape. Joshua finally pressed through into the light, without his jacket, his equipment, or even a damn sweater.

“What the hell are you doing out here?” You questioned him, wondering how cold he must be feeling in that white t-shirt.

Joshua took a few more steps forward. “I saw you there,” he replied, still trying to catch his breath, “but then you just stormed out. I nearly threw myself down the back entrance trying to catch up with you, y’know. How do you walk that damn fast?”

“I just—I wanted to beat the crowd home.” You lied.

Joshua took in another big breath, then nodded his head. “So, what did you think? You like the music?”

“It’s cool… Why did you leave without a jacket? I mean, it’s snowing like crazy. You’re gonna get hypothermia or something.”

“Well, I didn’t want to let you get away.” The boy laughed, brushing off some flurries compiling on his shoulder. “It was great to see you there. But, why didn’t you tell me? Why the secrecy.”

You shrugged. “Why should I tell you?”

At that, you weren’t expecting Joshua to have a response. Maybe he’d be a little puzzled and have to think about it. Instead, he seemed to be formulating a surprise of his own.

“Because I have a song for you,” Joshua revealed, “I wrote it with Jihoon. It’s an acoustic thing. But I could turn it hard rock too.”

It felt like someone had turned the table. Ironically, you were the one struggling to reply, your brow furrowing in the dim light as you stared at this boy with his glowing cheeks and his hair disrupted by the flakes of snow. You sniffled, cold air hitting your lungs.

“Why would you write a song about me?”

No one had ever done such a gesture for you before. Not that you had been acquainted with many musicians or lyricists. You felt strange, but also warm, and heart-fluttery, and like you were possibly falling for someone harder than ever before. Joshua approached you tentatively and grabbed your hand, his eyes soft.

“Probably because I like you.” Joshua murmured. “A lot.”

Your heart started to pound, and it felt like someone was banging their fists against your chest. Even if you had denied it in the beginning, the truth was that you liked Joshua too. And yet, those reciprocating words somehow fell to the bottom of your feet. Because as much as you wanted it, you still weren’t ready for someone new.

“Joshua…” you squeezed his hand and looked into those endearing eyes of his, “I-I can’t right now. I was in a relationship not too long ago, and now that’s over, but I’m still trying to get over it. I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry.”

The boy shook his head. “You don’t have to be sorry.” Joshua answered, running his thumb between your knuckles. “You’re not ready, I get it.”

Breathing out slowly, you smiled at him.

You were yanking open all the drawers in the kitchen, trying to remember where exactly you had stuck that little metal whisk. A bowl of unmixed cupcake batter was waiting to be stirred. Each year that it was open, you signed up for the Complex Gift Exchange, and it just so happened that sixty-five-year-old Miss Dupont really liked vanilla cupcakes. You pulled out the drawer that had been hiding the ruined, stained paper courtesy of your paint by numbers kit.

Rolling your eyes, you slammed it shut, only to realize you’d left the whisk sitting behind the big bag of flour on the counter.

Even though you had turned down Joshua that one night in the snow, he didn’t act spiteful or weird about it. And somehow, you two had grown closer since. Joshua was very easy to talk to. He was a good listener. No matter how many times you ran into each other on the elevator, or at the supermarket, the letter boxes in the lobby or at the car lot, Joshua always made time to listen to whatever mishap had bothered you that day. He still railed on his electric guitar every now and then, though you were beginning to accept it. Baby steps.

Apparently, one of his bandmates was visiting today.

You knew exactly when he’d arrived too, because as soon as you pulled the cupcakes out from the oven to cool, this wave of intense sound; drumming, symbols, guitar, everything, exploded from the floor above, like someone had just thrown a clump of instruments into a hurricane. You stared up at the ceiling winsomely and sighed.

Dressed in a long, thick winter coat, you went outside the complex to visit the garden, now blanketed by snow and sparkling white. You brushed off the bench that had once sat before a fiery pink row of petunias and took a seat. It was much quieter.

“Hey!”

Or so you thought.

Turning around, you gazed up at the apartment complex, spotting two familiar faces hanging out from a fourth story window.

“What?!” You shouted back.

Joshua grinned, then cupped his hands around his mouth as an amplifier. “Were we being too loud?!” He asked.

“Yeah!” His friend yelled. “Were we too loud?!” You had learned the other face was Jihoon, the band drummer, his hair now a rusty shade of crimson. He helped write most of their music.

“No, I’m just sitting out here in the wind and snow and below zero temperatures because I want to!” You replied at the top of your lungs.

Waving at you apologetically, Joshua kept smiling. “Sorry! I’m gonna kick him out soon!” He pointed at Jihoon. “If you want, you can come up here and listen to our last rehearsal!”

Jihoon shoved Joshua’s head out of the way.

“Don’t come up here!” The drummer exclaimed. “It’s not even close to ready yet. He’s just saying that because he’s in—”

A hand clamped swiftly to the boy’s mouth, muffling the remainder of his sentence like it was top secret. Joshua then dragged him away from the open window. Quirking an eyebrow in confusion, you stared at the vacant space until Joshua reappeared a moment later, scratching the back of his head and looking sheepish.

“Sorry about that!” Joshua called. “We’re almost done!”

“I’m in no rush!” You answered, turning back around.

It was true. There weren’t too many pressing things you needed to get done today, besides making the buttercream frosting for Miss Dupont’s cupcakes. The weather wasn’t even as terrible as you made it seem. The wind was light, and the shining sun helped mitigate the usual bitterness of winter. It was quite nice out.

Until about ten minutes later, when Joshua threw a snowball at your back. You spun around quickly, glaring at the boy who was dusting his hands clean of snow, standing near the complex doorway. In that moment, you wanted to be angry at him. But, to be honest, you felt like laughing instead.

“Shouldn’t I be the one throwing snowballs at you?”

Joshua shrugged. “If you could even hit me.”

“Keep your eyes open tonight, Joshua Hong.” You comically threatened him. “Where are you going, anyways?”

“I have to get my person a gift for the exchange thing.” He said, pulling a hat over his hair. “And a new guitar pick.”

“Have fun with that.”

Then, waiting for him to turn around, you hastily packed together a snowball and threw it against the back of his coat.

Miss Dupont somehow figured out who was responsible for her gift. She asked you to give her the cupcakes early, because she swore, she was had been able to smell them baking through the air ducts. Maybe you added too much vanilla. Everyone was supposed to exchange their gifts tomorrow, leaving them by the door or delivering them in person. You didn’t have a clue as to who could be preparing your gift. As long as it wasn’t another candle wreath to collect dust in your closet, you figured you’d be fine with it.

Tonight would be your last opportunity in a long while to watch Joshua’s band perform at the downtown bar. You’d missed their last show, ruminating over the possibility of encountering your ex again; feeling those horrible emotions which were nothing more than poison in disguise. After the New Year, Joshua was planning to visit South Korea with his bandmates for a few weeks. It would be awfully strange to not hear another symphony from his electric guitar, or Jihoon’s drumkit. Jeonghan never really stopped by much.

It was at least an hour or so before Joshua was scheduled to perform. So, you decided to walk down the street to the lane of trees now wrapped and curled with lights. There were small, twinkling white lights. Large, blue lights shaped like hanging icicles. Some blinked in a specific pattern while others morphed colours. At night, it made quite the spectacle. Many people had stopped, much like yourself, to admire the aurora and pull their significant other a little bit closer. You huffed, hating this lonesomeness inside you.

But then you felt a quick pair of fingers dance up your back, and immediately recognized his eyes shining like stars.

“This is the first time I’ve seen you at the lights.” Joshua remarked, zipping up his jacket. “They’ve been up for a while now.”

“It’s always a magnet for couples.” You told him, glancing around at all the handholding and heads leaned adoringly on shoulders. “And I am—well, I was, standing here alone.” Inside your coat pocket, you played with a piece of lint, realizing that perhaps you finally felt ready and significantly healed to consider another relationship.

Looking at you from the corner of his eye, Joshua nodded.

It seemed as though the lights were a place he visited frequently, even amongst all the couples. To you, Joshua seemed like someone who was inspired by love. The not so subtle nature of awkward yet enamored eye contact which made people giggly. Holding onto the very tips of someone’s fingers because you couldn’t let go of their hand even for a second. Pressing an ear to a comfortable chest, listening for a rhythmic, thumping heartbeat. You bet he liked kisses too. Quick kisses on cheeks and gentle kisses on noses and slow, warm kisses to the mouth which could set a fire in your belly.

Out of the blue, you asked him something personal.

“How fast do you usually fall for someone?”

Joshua’s eyes traced the twinkling lights of the tree, all the way to the very top.

“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “I’ve never thought about it.”

Kicking at a lump of hard snow, you sighed. “I think I fall too quickly. Maybe that’s why my last relationship ended the way it did. I just… I don’t know, it could be that I jumped in without knowing what’s beneath me. I don’t want that to happen again.”

The boy glanced at you, snowflakes already beginning to stick in his hair. “Well, there’s nothing wrong with taking things slow. I mean, there’s always going to be some chance in a relationship. You don’t know until you’re in it.”

“I guess so.” You replied. “When I think about it, anything’s better than getting text message-dumped right before a family dinner.” Joshua wasn’t a stranger to the humiliating affairs of your past relationship. One night, after one too many beverages at the bar, you introduced him to the entire story.

“Bad luck.” The boy said.

“Bad taste, more like.” You sighed. “I mean, what was I thinking?”

Joshua shook his head, his hand rubbing your shoulder. “Don’t beat yourself up. Seriously, the right person will come along.”

Short laughter burst through your nose, and you looked at him with a knowing, lighthearted grin. “Are you supposed to be that person, Joshua Hong?”

“I’d like to think I am.” He chuckled, his cheeks getting rosier. “But I know you’re not ready. I can be patient, though.”

“So, you’re going to wait for me?” You asked, raising an eyebrow.

Joshua nodded. “For you, and you only? Of course.”

At that, something deep in your chest began to stir. The feeling robbed you of your words and left you breathless. Afraid of what you might do in the silence between you, quickly, you changed the subject.

“Am I going to hear that special song you wrote? Or have you scrapped it already?”

“You’ll hear it.” Joshua said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out an ivory guitar pick. “Save your applause for the very end, though. I know you might be tempted to start cheering, come up on stage in front of everyone and try to kiss me or something.”

Rolling your eyes, you started to laugh, your breath becoming a thin cloud in the still coldness of winter.

“You wish, Joshua Hong.”

He sighed, a faint smirk on his lips. “You’re right. I do.”

At approximately five o’clock in the morning, you were awakened by a fist banging at your front door. For a moment, you believed it was nothing more than part of a fuzzy dream, and simply tossed over in bed as your arms dug further under the pillow. However, the banging resumed almost instantly, and though it was very muffled, someone was calling your name.

Groaning, you dragged yourself from between the sheets and into the washroom, taking a quick sip of water before splashing some to your face. In a loose pair of shorts and a poorly adjusted tank-top, you stumbled to the front door, throwing it open while yawning.

“J-Joshua?” You mumbled, rubbing circles to your eye.

He stood on the opposite side of the threshold with a glimmery-red gift bag in his hand. For some reason, he was dressed in his jacket, those dark brown locks of his seeming damp or partly soaking as they were brushed back from his forehead. His cheeks and mouth were rosy, eyes glistering, and he was breathing deep.

You thought he looked gorgeous.

“Hey!” He exclaimed a little too loudly, as though he’d forgotten how early it was. “So, uh, weird news. Turns out we’re leaving for South Korea today, and we have to catch this seven-am flight. We’re kinda pressed for time. Jeonghan’s been helping me throw all my shit into these suitcases and—anyways, besides the point.” Taking in another breath, Joshua then held up the pretty red gift bag. “I got you for the Gift Exchange. Well—not really. But I made Mrs. Akané switch with me. This is for you.”

The sudden splurge of information had for feeling even more disorientated than when you first awakened. Joshua had to leave already? Had he been packing ever since you walked home together from his show? He pulled strings to get you for the Gift Exchange?

Reaching into the bag and pushing around some tissue paper, you pulled out a rectangular-shaped kit. It felt fairly heavy.

And then you realized just what he’d gotten you.

“Really?” You smiled, letting the bag drop to the floor because all you cared about was the project in your hands. “Another paint by numbers kit? I didn’t even know they sold these here!”

Joshua nodded, brushing some melted drops of snow off his cheek. “It wouldn’t have arrived on time if I ordered it online. Trust me, it was a process. I had to get Jeonghan’s grandma to make some calls because she’s friends with this craft store lady.” He half-sighed, half-laughed. “I just remembered you were so upset about it when I met you. About a lot of things. And I never stopped feeling sorry. I know I laughed at it and everything, but I thought it was cute.”

You brought the project to sit on the dinner table. Looking outside into the street light, you were shocked at how heavily it was snowing. Huge, fluffy clumps. No wonder Joshua’s hair was so damp and his skin so flushed. You couldn’t believe that just a few hours ago, you were sitting on that barstool near the back of the dim room, listening to him sing and feeling like you were starting to love all over again. Now, Joshua was being whisked away.

“I should really get going.” Joshua said, rubbing his pink nose, “Jeonghan and Jihoon are waiting for me down there.”

“W-Wait!” You exclaimed before the boy could disappear.

Joshua paused, though you could read the look of urgence coloured to his face. It was merely a few seconds you stood in that spot, fiddling anxiously with your fingers and struggling to take another step, yet it felt as though time had stretched itself out like plasticine.

And even though it was slightly terrifying, you had never felt so warm and full of thrill until you had crossed the space to kiss him. Your hands pushed against Joshua’s chest, searching for stability, as you experienced the soft sensation of your lips pressed so desperately to his. Joshua grabbed your cheek in his cold hand to tilt your head a little more left. He stared at you with a hazy, sort of dreamlike look, just for a moment, before kissing you again.

“Am I making you late?” You laughed breathily in between the heated breadth of another kiss.

Joshua shook his head, taking your face in both his hands, moulding his mouth against yours in a smile.

“They can wait just a minute longer,” he answered, “I can’t believe you’re doing this right when I have to leave. You’re really screwing me over, here.”

“Then finish it when you get back.” You smirked.

This time, you were certain of something: you hadn’t jumped too soon. You weren’t going to crash. You were falling in love.

✧✎ a/n: the end the end!! happy holidays !! <3 honestly think it’s kind of the dream to get joshua as ur apartment neighbour xoxo. HOPE U LIKED THIS DANI AND THAT IT GAVE YOU SOME SMILES heheh. i actually haven’t written for joshua in quite a while so i rly appreciated getting to experiment with this. i also love the idea of joshua in a band and being a sappy romantic who always writes abt his future muse ;_; i’m not a huge fluff person BUT I WILL GLADLY GIVE UP EVERYTHING FOR THAT!

#caratwritersclub #joshua scenarios #seventeen scenarios #svt fanfic #joshua fanfic #joshua hong #seventeen fanfic #svt fluff #joshua fluff #svt x reader #joshua x reader

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ellitx · 3 years

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Chapter 5: Reticence

𝗖𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁

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art belongs to _01ki_

word count: 3.5k

Night had fallen fast upon the ruins. The hours that had gone by that were previously painted with hues of red, orange, and pink had all but faded leaving only a matte black canvas with no stars to be looked upon.

The darkness was thick and only a small source of light had allowed you to see a limited portion of your surroundings. Other than the darkness and yourself all that seemed to exist was the cold wind that brushed against your bare skin.

Cold water soaked your whole body, almost freezing as it went. Your face is drenched, the drops coming together to run into your eyes and drip from your chin. You released a shaky sigh and lowered yourself even further at the lake to cool down your burning face.

Today was rather… eventful, so to say. You bit your lower lip remembering the time you had gotten intimate with him. It made your heart race and face go burning hot just reminiscing those scenes that happened an hour ago. You sunk yourself even more until your entire head was submerged by the cool waters.

Stop thinking about it!

You scolded yourself and shut your eyes tightly to erase the salacious thoughts breaching your head. Truth to be told, you still can’t believe if it was real or just a fragment of your imagination. If it’s the latter then you should be ashamed of yourself for having thoughts such as that.

Forgive me father and mother and to the Celestia! You cried internally and buried your face in your hands. The water did not even help you to cool down your already burning face, sinking yourself further and deeper into the lake.

But even so, you can’t help but remind yourself how much Venti had poured his love onto you. His kisses were desperate and needy, clinging and holding you close to him in fear of losing you. Your fingers lightly traced the edge of your lower lips faintly remembering how his lips brushed against yours.

The beating of your heart raced and you lifted yourself, gathering the air you needed after letting yourself doused underwater. Another sigh spilled from you as you gazed upwards and stared absently at the blank canvas of the midnight sky.

A promise to stay together…

A sudden worry about your wisp friend has entered your head. You do wonder if he has really disappeared or not. It feels odd he’s missing in the group as the three of you are always together. You pray to the Celestia that he’s fine and safe, hoping he’ll come back to the two of you.

Your mind fades into dullness and everything is a foggy illusion. The quietness of the spring calms you; taking your mind off of things. All the things you honestly are unconcerned about. It’s the water. Your mind swirls, and it’s like standing on an everlasting waterfall. Ever so beautiful, but it can never last.

You blinked and your scrutiny went towards the stream, noticing a turquoise light shimmering underneath. A brow arched from your front in curiosity, letting yourself sit properly to get a good look at it.

Like a butterfly that was tranced by the sight of nectar, you were attracted to the mesmerizing glow of the waters. Unable to turn away, you reached for it and felt your own fingers roaming on your leg.

Your leg…? Now that you take a closer look at it, with a little bit of trouble observing in the dark, there were marks circling around your thighs. A light teal jagged pattern surrounded it combined with little shapes of triangles and diamonds.

The calmness that once blanketed you was now replaced with turmoil. You can feel the uneasiness in your chest waiting to take over. Perhaps it only wants to protect you but there really isn’t any danger. It sits there like paste propelling you towards anxiety you just don’t need.

You let out a slow controlled breath and attempted to loosen your stiff shoulders. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath to calm yourself and say the marks have no effects on you— or so you think it was.

Though it was once again discarded the moment your eyes cast towards your chest and shoulder. A shape of a diamond was plastered right above your chest, with little triangles left on the edge. You were definitely sure they weren’t there before yet the marks continued appearing that almost coated half of your entire upper body.

A sense of dread washed over you at the display of these unknown symbols that appeared out of nowhere. Maybe you should go back to Venti, you’ve been staying here for who knows how long now, not to mention there are monsters lurking here that might attack you.

You’ve cleaned your body already and you don’t want to make him wait for you any longer. Standing up, you wrung your hair and let the chilling waters drip back to the stream. The fact that the marks glowed even more peeved you that it might attract attention from anything wandering nearby.

Unfortunately, the gods didn’t heed your pleas of hoping no one will see you. Your body shivered when you felt eyes piercing right through your back, watchful and almost too engrossed. You covered your chest and turned around to see any entities within your call.

Your throat bobbed in fear and anxiety, hastily grabbing your clothes in an effort to hide your bare self. It didn’t do much to cover you entirely, but it was still enough to obscure your front.

“Venti…?” You shakily asked out to the quiet ruins. You already expected only silence to greet you until a familiar chiming of a bell reached your ears. As the light drains away there is barely enough even for shadows. Whether you like it or not, the darkness comes and under it everything in this forest is hidden.

Even the stars and moon cower behind a dense layer of cloud, giving the air that tincture you associate with the world before a storm.

Your ears become sharper and your mind paranoid, every snap of a twig is a predator, even if it is a fawn. For each aroma, your brain jumps to the most fearsome thing it could be and your body prepares for flight, fright, or freeze.

For the most part, you just freeze. Running will give your position away and you’re not much of a fighter. All you can do is wait while the blackness comes and pray that the dawn is not far behind.

You settle in for a wait but it’s only minutes before a strong gust of wind charged at you. You shut your eyes and held your feet onto the ground, clutching onto the cloth as your hair fluttered against the air.

The small chiming was louder than before, almost close to you. You slowly opened an eye, taking a peek up to the time that white dotted eyes were staring at you. You shrieked in alarm and fear, startled by the small creature abruptly appearing right in front of you.

Your feet slipped in sheer panic, accidentally causing yourself to fall down and swamped yourself by the chilling waters of the lake.

—

“Th-thank you…” You muttered before taking the dry cloth offered to you by your dear wind wisp friend. It indeed surprised you to see Barbatos was here all this time. You thought he had suddenly vanished during the war against Decarabian as Venti had never really mentioned or talked about him when you were with him.

Well, it was a little bit of your fault you never asked about his whereabouts. Still, you were relieved and glad to know he was still alive and well all these years. A small smile crept to your face before patting his head in thanks.

Barbatos nuzzled on your hand then looked at you expectantly before flying over your shoulder. You blinked in confusion then giggled before carefully handling him on your palm and putting him down.

“Stay right here, okay? I’ll go change for a while.” You stood up from your kneeled form and headed behind the tree. However, your little friend followed after you making you stop in your tracks and furrowed your brows in worry.

Barbatos tinkled in delight and continued cuddling on your shoulder to erase the frown glued to your face while he rubbed himself against the diamond symbols on your skin. You awe in wonderment when a faint glow emitted from both you and him, though now was not the time to be amazed. You don’t want to get yourself cold from this breezy air, and as much as he was being cute and all, you still need to dress.

“I’ll be really quick! Just stay awhile for a bit.” You pleaded and this time he reluctantly abided by your words much to your relief. You made your way to the large plant as you hurriedly slipped your arms on the sleeves and tied the back of your dress, untucking your hair after that as you flipped it over your shoulder.

You placed a hand on your chest, feeling the steady beat of your heart against it. It still scares you what these designs on your skin are, though you do feel some sort of aura mizzling over you.

A pang of throbbing pain in your head struck you; it seems like you’re exhausted. The headache told you it was time to rest someplace quiet, to ride out the storm within your brain, for in time pain does ebb.

There are days tiredness comes in both forms, physical and mental. Your body really needs to rest as well as your mind, to get rid of the anxiety swarming your entire being. Without rest, your body will spiral into exhaustion.

A yawn escapes from you and you notice Barbatos from the corner of your eyes peeking behind the tree. You gave him a tired smile and motioned for him to come closer to you.

You really have to look for Venti, you don’t know how long you’ve been making him wait for you. Albeit you’re really drained and sleepy, you have to force your legs to carry you in search of the said bard.

Barbatos took notice of your fatigued state and tugged your sleeves in a struggle to make you stay awake and catch your attention. “We… We need to find Venti.” You mumbled as another yawn evaded.

He furiously shook his head and urged you to sit down on the ground, making angry jingling sounds. As if he’ll let you wander in this kind of time. It’s already late and dark, not to mention how tired you look so far.

You sink down onto the ground and rest your back against the rough trunk of the tree. The sleepy feeling must be how Teyvat feels when the summer has passed when it needs all those months to regenerate and come back in the spring.

The small creature flew over to you and settled himself on your palms. The tunes that he played to you to dreamland is a song you’ve heard and thousand times before and never enough. The chords are like a well-worn path, one your brain follows along willingly.

The mellow tinkling lulls you to sleep. In moments, your body relaxed, breathing steadily.

After making sure you were dozing off and in deep sleep, Barbatos took his chance to nestle himself on your neck. He can’t believe his powers drained out after marking you, and it’ll take a whole day for him to recover and revert himself back to his human form.

He didn’t think ahead and carelessly poured out his Anemo powers onto you just to let the symbols design your skin. He channeled himself onto you, letting the small wisps of wind gradually restore his powers.

—

The reverberation of a wistful sigh grabbed his attention, perking his head at you in silent concern.

Your eyes wandered everywhere, almost like a frantic search. Barbatos doesn’t need to ask what— or rather who you were looking for. It was already obvious to know who it was. It’s none other than him— or should he say, Venti.

You puffed your cheeks, slightly vexed your lover has left you all alone. “He even promised to stay with me… and now he’s breaking it?” Hearing your muttered words made him panicked as he swung his head, trying to defend “Venti” in his current form.

A series of continuous wailing of a bell made you look at him before giving a mirthless chuckle and fondle his hooded head to calm him. “Maybe he just went somewhere to do something…” You said cheerlessly, gazing over the waters of the lake to distract yourself.

You shouldn’t think of things like that. You know he won’t ever do that to you and he never will. You looked over at Barbatos and propped your chin on your palm, playing with his little antennas.

“Well, at least you’re here with me~ I really miss you a lot.” Your laughter was so free and pure, so childish despite the one you recently gave that sounded so empty and hollow. It came to his ears in a tickle and bounce— and it was only the moment he could do nothing but join in such generous mirth.

You leaned back and placed your hands on the ground to support your body as you looked up to admire the blue sky. The sensation of calmness and serenity wafting through you eased your mind and body, taking in the gentle breeze of the old ruins.

The tiny elemental being watched you in admiration. Your eyes blinking from time to time that allured him, allowing your lashes to flutter softly. Your eyes are simply spellbinding and captivating that he could get himself lost in there.

He unconsciously floated to you and snuggled himself on your hands. The memories of you and his friend being together made his heart wrenched in shame and guilt of what he was doing. He thought he was already sure the feeling that caged him was already absent, and yet here it was again coming back to humiliate him, one that he absolutely resented.

Your hums created a wordless melody of sweet-sounding harmonies, echoing in the winds to send it along to the other side. Until your next words that created a song had battered him with hurtful misery.

“Fly, fly away. Like a bird in the sky. See the world on my behalf, to the heavens may you fly.”

—

The sky was black tranquility married to the poetry of stars. It was the softness that called your body and brain to rest and let the heart go to its steady rhythm. Night came as a reward of sorts, a restfulness above to calm the soul.

The two of you traveled to the garden you once slept in, hoping Venti would be there. You’ve been waiting for him to come back the whole day and there was still no sign of his presence greeting you. You were nodding off as you continue and patiently await, expecting him to come back to you.

You pulled Barbatos close to your chest, absently staring off at the cecilia flowers he had come to collect for you. The petals shined brightly under the moonlit sky. Indeed it was beautiful and radiated elegance because of its pure colors and one of a kind flowery, though a feeling of sorrow ran through you the more you looked at it.

Fiddling the stem between your fingers, you brought it close to your nose, breathing in the fresh scent that reminded you of him. You were getting drowsy and drowsy as time flew by, each second felt like an hour the more you waited.

The collection of various flowers placed on the ground cushioned your fall as your petite body collapsed. Your wisp friend let out a frightened chime and summoned the winds to immediately check up on you.

A sense of relief washed away his worries that you were simply asleep and tired. It’s already time and he can feel his energy recovering— enough to alter himself back to his human form. It was all thanks to your anemo energy within you that allowed him to transmit the vitality from you to him.

He glided to the bushes, facing the small pond as it mirrored his appearance. A gentle gust of fresh air blows around him, the leaves dancing with the winds in his direction.

He has always loved the wind, for it comes to him so boldly, touching his skin. In soft breezes, it is finer than silk, smoother than water. In the gales it sings through the trees, sending loose leaves on a dancing fun air ride, hypnotic and beautiful. Almost like how the crowds have gathered around him to listen to the strumming of his lyre.

Today is almost still and he found himself in silent anticipation. His gaze went back on the rippling water, reflecting his appearance once again. Turquoise optics stared right back at him, eyes casting downwards to his chest while his fingers trailed over the same marks drawn on your body.

His pale skin allowed the symbols to gleam even more in the garden. Its teal light granted him to feel the Anemo ran through his body, the powers returning him once more in need to go in search for the true beholder of the winds.

Venti turned his head to look at your sleeping form. His eyes glued to the pattern on your thigh, faintly glowing that matched with his. Now, where were his clothes? He remembered he left it here before he was reverted to a little elemental wisp.

His hands reached for the white top that draped on the tree’s branch, slipping his arms on the sleeves and slowly buttoning up his shirt before leaving the top open to observe the marks drawn on his chest. The more he looks at the patterns inscribed on both yours and his skin, the more his heart raced in incitement and interest.

His hands hovered to his mouth to hide the wide smile and blush that clambered up on his front. This is bad, really bad. He was smiting for you all over again just like before. It reminded him that he was the one who covered you with these and how much you enjoyed it when he was creating it for you.

His throat bobbed before shaking his head to erase the thoughts, letting himself focus to get dressed. Venti had finally finished wearing his attires, leaving the cape and midsection outfit left on the ground, not bothering to wear it anymore. He carefully approached your unconscious form and knelt down to brush your hair away that had fallen from your face.

Your soft skin felt ticklish as you squirm in your sleep when his fingers brushed your cheeks. You slowly opened your eyes revealing the kindly tranquil of [eye color] orbs and met gaze with him.

Your entire body system awoke, the exhaustion was all but gone when you immediately pulled him into a tight hug. Venti wrapped his arms around you and cradled you in his arms, kissing your head as a greeting.

You buried your face on the crook of his neck and clutched onto his shirt firmly. "Where have you been?" Your voice wavered when you asked if he could faintly hear your soft sobs against him. “Sorry for the sudden disappearance. Something… came up.” His words trailed off causing his excuse not to be really effective which he already expected to happen.

There’s nothing he can do about it when he is in that situation, but he was very reassured that he can finally hold you close to him. Not being able to show his affection for you was unbearable especially how you were so worried about where he had gone off to.

The subtle kisses on his neck made his focus go back to you. Every time you place them there, he knew he’d adore you for all time. Those sweet kisses on his neck made his heart quivered as he pulled you close to him and lifted your head to meet with his gaze.

The pout on your face induced him to want to shower you with kisses and apologize for leaving you all alone. His lips pressed against your head then close to your eye, from your nose to your cheeks then down to your lips.

He was firm and gentle as he pulled you in, burning your lips with his mouth. You can hear the soft whisper of his breath as he exhaled. Venti inched closer and encircled his hand with yours, lightly pushing you down onto the ground as he penned you between him.

His mouth moved downwards leaving a trail of kisses on your skin until he stopped on your neck. You whimpered as your body shuddered when he lightly nipped on it, giving small sucks that had you released a small cry.

Even without telling a soul, it was common knowledge that both of you were lovesick and amorous. It was in the way your gaze lingered on one another, the way your voice became softer, and in coquettish smiles that he’d never worn before whenever he’s with you.

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #yandere genshin impact x reader #yandere genshin x reader #venti x reader #genshin impact venti x reader #yandere venti x reader #genshin impact venti #yandere venti #genshin impact reader insert #genshin x reader #yandere #yandere genshin impact #elliwrites #Illusory Sense

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whump-town · 3 years

Text

Ambushed

Warnings: attempt sexual assault and Emily's potty mouth

No Pairings

Summary: A bathroom break goes very, very wrong

It's whumptober so I have to at least try this month to make things awful. Also, this is for @olivinesea, who has been waiting on this fic for months... maybe longer

Hotch’s order had been for Reid to follow him, that it would be the two of them departing tomorrow morning at four a.m. for Charleston, West Virginia. The way Hotch had marched across the catwalk with his file spoke measures about his mood before his clipped tone did. The second Hotch roughly called his name Reid flinched, looking pleadingly to Emily. Knew he was the target and was pleading with her to find some way to save him. With a sigh of resignation, she leans her head into her palm, knows what she’s about to put herself through for the sake of Reid and Hotch.

If Hotch has a problem with her rather blatant insubordination, he doesn’t say anything about it. He comes in and sees her, her go-bag at her feet and two coffees in hand, and raises an eyebrow. Ultimately, he carries on his path towards their SUV. Sharing not a word just a glance that she takes to his equivalent of a motion for her to follow him. She knows his silence to be of low social battery drained by the early morning and fatigue, nothing personal.

Besides four a.m. is way too early to be talking to anyone.

It gives him time to think, to try and not sour this entire trip with his bull in a china shop mood. He’s just unsettled, has this awful feeling in his stomach that he’s grown accustomed to developing whenever they take cases in the mountains. It’s not that he is afraid of them, this isn’t a matter of ghosts or monsters, but there is so much uncertainty every time you enter them. He spent his entire childhood roaming the Appalachian Mountains, knows them by their many dimensions. Chasing squirrels, knee-deep in rotting leaves every fall. The cooling breeze sweeping through pine needles, snakes striking at ankles. The trees swaying to tunes unrecognizable to his ears. Hearing his mother’s voice calling his name, turning to find nothing but shadows. Knowing someone, something, is watching around every turn.

Quantico is about all the Virginia he can handle, the city nestled warmly where the southern Virginians rarely touch it but northern Virginians are everywhere to be seen. The accents not so thick and the city full of tourists-- people from Pennsylvania, New Jersey, New York, etc. Fewer woods to get lost in.

Charleston?

He’s going to be neck-deep in the mountains everywhere he looks.

Emily’s here so that’s bound to make this whole trip more interesting. With her annoying wit and much to be desired charm. It’s like she can feel him thinking about her. With a yawn Emily sits up in her chair, shooting a sleep-stained scowl at him. She rubs her fists into her eyes, attempting to force herself back to awareness. “That coffee went right through me,” she tells him, clearly annoyed. She’s prone to oversharing but, for some reason, with him, it’s so much worse. He assumes it’s just because she knows it exasperates him. Doesn’t anger him but he typically sighs and shakes his head.

Secretly, he likes it. The way she’ll invade his person like no one else has the courage to. Casually laying across the couch and putting her feet in his lap or leaning against him. Talking like they’re lifelong friends and not two people distantly connected for the last twenty years as enemies, tied together by their hatred for one another. Only recently having learned there’s something more, still a nice enough connection that binds them as friends.

She squirms in the seat, bladder a little too full to be comfortable. The darkness outside consumes every indicator of where they are on the road. She can hardly make out the tree lines and aside from yellow precautionary signs aligning them with the turns on the road, there are only thick, choppy clouds of fog. It’s a little after five-thirty so they still have to be in Virginia. “Where the fuck are we?”

He grunts, furrowing his eyebrows at her explosive fuck cutting so harrowingly through the peaceful silence. It’s not an unusual occurrence, he’s used to the way she effortlessly tears through the walls and caverns he builds up around himself. “Strasburg.”

She groans, “really?” She should have made Reid come on this stupid trip. She could still be in her own bed, pressing snooze and rolling back over. Instead, she’s got to pee so freaking bad and she doesn’t know if Hotch is in one of his “no stops” moods or not. He’s such an asshole about making stops when they’re on the road. “I’ve got to take a leak, boss, so… We’re looking at a bathroom stop soon or new detailing on these seats.” She looks down at the worn seats, runs her fingers over the loose seams and torn fabric. “Not that they couldn’t use it.”

He seems more agitated with her oversharing than with having to stop-- looks like a bathroom break in her future.

She stays silent for a few minutes, just watching what she can from outside her window until the next town comes into view. She shoots him a glance, wonders if he’s actually going to stop, and breathes a sigh of relief when he uses the turn signal, pulling them in that direction. There was no way she was going that long without a bathroom break.

Hotch pulls the car into park, frowning when he sees the lack of lights guiding their path to the gas station and even around the side of the building where he knows the bathrooms are bound to be. Leaving them standing in the dark facing the woods. She’s already unbuckling, moving quickly so she can go pee, but he beats her out of the car. Opens his door first and announces, “I’ll go with you.” She frowns, cuts his back a dirty, confused look but doesn’t say anything.

He’s already standing on her side of the car when she gets out, glaring ahead at the empty field and then towards the woods.

“So you do care,” she mumbles, bumping her shoulder against his. “You don’t want me to get eaten by a bear.”

He grunts, still half-distracted by the darkness and the threat it presents.

She’s imagining him fighting a bear. “You know,” she keeps his pace, curiously looking around as they go. “I think you’re a really tough guy,” she says, “but Hotch vs. A Bear just… I’m rooting for you, really, but I’m not stopping to see who wins. No offense. I think you’d put up a good fight but I think, as a general rule of thumb, watching your friends get mauled to death by Pooh does not fall into the typical bonding experiences that strengthen dynamics.” She’s rambling, not in the same way Reid would have. At least with Reid, Hotch would still likely have the semblance of not only control -- the timing to include himself in conversation -- but also a clue about what the in the world they’re even talking about.

She sees him glare at her and so she glares back, “I said no offense!”

“Go to the bathroom, Emily.”

She smiles as she makes her exit, feeling triumphant with herself. She’d seen that little smirk, not a quirk of lips detectable to the naked eye but the way his eyes had flipped up. Looking to the stars, eyes searching up and away from her. A Hotch smirk and the very best kind.

Distracted by the graffiti all over the walls she hears the faint thump of something outside and humorously wonders if it’s a bear. “Hotch v Bear”, round one, and she’s in the damn bathroom.

While she’s washing her hands her stomach growls and she wonders if he’ll end up following her into the gas station too if she goes in for a snack. The man’s a shadow when he’s worried. She’ll probably try to reach for a snack and find him right underfoot mean-mugging the cashier for no apparent reason. A snack though… She’s starving and maybe if she’s feeling feisty enough she’ll start an argument with him until he gets a snack too. It’ll entertain her for a while.

“Hey,” she frowns when she steps out of the bathroom and finds that he’s not there. Not leaning against the wall like she thought he’d be. “Jesus, did that bear really get the--”

A gun cocks in her ear, slow but unmistakable.

“Slowly put your service weapon on the ground and raise your hands.”

She’s frozen in the spot. Eyes glued to their shadows cast out far around them. Drawn out caricatures of them.

“Do it or I’ll kill your friend.”

It wasn’t a bear.

She reaches for her gun, steady and slow movements. Her fingers curl around the metal and she wonders if she’d be able to move fast enough. That there’s a good likelihood if Hotch isn’t within her line of sight that he’s already dead and if she doesn’t do something she will be too. But she can’t risk it.

“Rob!” the man grabs her gun before she’s got it on the ground. Jerks it back from her grasp. To their left, coming around the section of the building facing the woods and completely dark, another man steps out. He’s younger than she is, probably thirty-fiveish, and dressed in work gear. Jeans that have plaster and paint stains and a t-shirt that is stained to the point of no return. “Get the G-man.”

Rob nods, disappearing just as quickly as he’d appeared.

“Listen--” as soon as she can open her mouth the gun taps the back of her head. A sharp warning followed by the order to shut up. No negotiating then.

A grunt turns both their attentions to the side of the building. Hotch stumbles out before Rob. His hands bound in front of him by rope and when he looks up to find her she watches him blink blood out of his eyes. There’s an open wound across his forehead, blunt force trauma split the skin open and now the wound weeps fat crimson tears down his face. His mouth is taped shut, deep grey cutting into his pale mouth. He’s disoriented enough to fall, tripping over his legs as he’s shoved forward.

Rob keeps a gun pointed at his head the whole time but looks to the man behind her. Waiting for the next instruction and as the man gives them she watches Rob react the same she does. Whatever is happening here Rob is an accomplice but he’s not in charge.

“Walk.”

The gun nudges her forward. She bites back her anger, annoyed with this constant nudging business, but her voice is still laced with it. She can play even-tempered but it’s going to take more control than she wants. But she has to play along. Unless she wants to die tonight or, worse, watch Hotch die. “Where?” she asks “Tell me where I’m walking.”

“The woods,” her answer comes, grunted and annoyed. “Now walk.”

Rob pulls Hotch up to his feet (so he’s stronger than he looks, Emily notes) and pushes him forward again. Hotch manages to stay standing this time, bringing his bound hands to his face to swipe at the blood. The glimpse she gets of his blood-stained fingers is what brings her to motion. To be close enough to inspect the wound herself.

“Straight ahead.”

She steps forward, shivering as the wind blows and she’s reminded that despite it being the middle of June it’s likely only sixty degrees out here. Getting out of the car, she hadn’t been planning on being kidnapped. If she had maybe she would have grabbed her jacket. Her fault, she supposes lack of forethought on her part.

As she steps into his gait, the two of them shoulder to shoulder but not close enough that she thinks Rob or the other man will say anything she glances over at him. A look she means to use to articulate her worry and to ask if he’s forming a plan on how to get them out of this. She’s met with his blood-stained eyes. He doesn’t know how they’re getting out of this. It hits her hard, unforgivingly.

If he’d set his shoulders and sent that haggard, worn look she’d understand he thought they were up against fools not even worth the exertion of escaping from. That the bump on his head pissed him off more than hurt him. Something akin to annoyance would mean he already had his plan, she should wait for the cue. Here, in the place she’s searching for his tactile brilliance, is trauma. He’s locking it down behind walls as quickly as he can but she still sees it. Trapped, they’re trapped and he’s blanking on what to do.

Well, maybe he gets a little leeway. He did get hit in the head.

So, fine, she’ll do it herself.

Can you fight? Dave said it was creepy, the conversations they passed through glances, and now she’s hoping creepy is enough to keep them alive.

He looks back, one glance over his shoulder, and gives a sharp nod.

Good.

Next comes the part she’s not really sure how works. The part where she never actually says anything at all, they just move together. Concisely at the same time. She moves for the unknown man and Hotch knows to go for Rob. Both trusting that the other can handle their target. She can hear Hotch take Rob off his feet at the same time her body smacks into the unknown man. The air is taken from her body, leaving her to pause for a dangerous second as her body fights to get it back. His elbow swings sharply into her cheek, smacking dancing lights behind her eyelids.

She’s trained for this kind of stuff. This shouldn’t be so hard.

It’s a bit of a panic, throwing her hands down. Just punching down blindly and hoping the blows land.

There’s a gunshot-- it takes her too long to recognize the sound. Her ears ring and her body aches. The wrangling limbs, the man underneath her, stops as they all identify who it is overcoming as the largest threat.

It’s Rob, blood-flecked across his face.

Hotch’s blood splattered across his face.

Emily screams, disembodied as she throws herself towards Rob but she’s stopped, grabbed by the hair, forced back down through the leaves, and sticks. The leverage pins her to the man’s chest, both pulled upright. All she can do is stumble back. She’s immobilized by the forearm he presses against her windpipe. “I oughta kill you,” he growls, smacking the gun against her temple. Not enough to draw blood but it cracks, makes the area of her scalp throb. “Stupid fucking bitch,” he pulls her tighter, ignores her fingers scratching at his skin as he cuts off her ability to breathe. “Both of you. I should have just killed both of you in that damn bathroom. Started with the G-man and I could have had hours, until day-light, with you trapped in that bathroom.”

He eases his hold on her not out of preservation of life but in his realization that he’s angry with himself for being so reckless. He and Rob had never had problems before. One woman wasn’t all that hard to control and after seeing Hotch and Emily walking so close, bumping together they thought it could be fun. Force him to watch and see if that makes this any more fun. To see him bargain for her life or sit there lifeless in his resignation that he could do nothing.

But Hotch was stronger than he looked.

“No!” her voice is scratchy from the pressure had against her throat. Combined with her desperation it cracks, pops like roaring embers in a hearty fire. “Stop! You’re killing him! Get off of him!”

Rob has Hotch pinned to the ground, his hands around his throat.

The other man holds Emily still, prevents her from being able to pull herself away. This isn’t how he’d intended for this to go but, he has to admit, this is fairly interesting as well. He’d expected it to be G-man that was forced to break. A big strong guy like him doesn’t take losing well. Feeling Emily shiver and cry in his arms is nice. Her desperation hums in his veins, arousing him in a way he hadn’t anticipated. He doesn’t want to lose that just yet.

“Get off of him, Rob.”

Hotch’s arms are still bound, all Rob had to do was push him over. It was over in a flash, leaving Hotch face down in the dirt one second and watching the trees above him fade out as Rob pushed down harder against his windpipe, his fingers digging into his neck. He couldn’t move. Unable to do anything more than turn and twist his hips, his arms pressed into his groin where Rob had immobilized them the second he threw his hips over Hotch’s.

Rob doesn’t let go, not immediately. He pushes down a little harder, wants to feel the snap of the other man’s neck but his name is called again. This time, not the light order the first had been. Rob doesn’t release Hotch and with an annoyed huff, the other man raises a gun. Emily cries out again, stunned by the gun right by her head, and flinches falls with a crash to the floor when the trigger is pulled. Her head a roaring buzz, trying to swivel its way off her neck. No matter how hard she pressed down on her ears she feels the throbs of pain as if her head was swelling. The world pulsing.

Rob’s dead.

She looks up and she’s looking right into his eyes. Shocked and open, not expecting the betrayal of his partner.

“Hey beautiful,” the other man crouches down beside her. Takes advantage of her confusion, of her shock. Her friend dead. Knowing she’ll follow soon after. “You never told me your name, you know. I’m Mark.” He strokes her hair back from her face, pushes her down to the ground.

Fighting is futile.

She had a chance with Hotch. Their odds nearly even, two against two. Even tied up and bleeding, they’re a threat that can’t be replicated and certainly not by an Unsub. Not one who takes women from gas station bathrooms in the ugly hours of the morning. Not ones dumb enough to take federal officers.

But it’s over.

It’s over and Hotch is dead.

“Don’t cry,” Mark whispers against her throat. He wipes her tears away with the back of his finger, shaking his head and mockingly comforting her. “But,” he holds her head, tenderly cupped in his palm. “You’re so pretty when you cry.”

Emily turns her head from Mark’s hand, finds herself looking at Hotch. His still body, head turned away from her. This is how it ends. Hotch dead and she’s powerless. She’s left his turned cheek, even he can’t bear to see. So she looks to the scar under his ear from New York, the hearing he lost and never fully recovered. A scab from shaving this morning. His hairline, the greys that were popping up around his temples and ear. Still sparse enough that he doesn’t look aged by them. And the blood. The wound Rob inflicted on him in their initial meeting. It doesn’t bleed now, it hadn’t been agitated in their fight. Color had started to creep into its edges, bruising to further demonstrate its anger in having been disturbed so violently.

Now he’s just dead.

She tries not to make a sound when Mark gets her pants undone, tries to make out unaffected. His hand cups at her hip, cold fingers curled around her. There’s a certain level of invisibility she’d felt on the other side of the yellow tape. After years of having used her body to get things, to win Ian Doyle’s trust and eventually his secrets, she’d thought herself too clever for this. Got too comfortable, perhaps. Surrounded by the likes of Hotch and Dave and Spencer and Derek. How many times had she stripped down to just an undershirt, leaned in too close over one of their shoulders just because she felt comfortable? Knew they wouldn’t hurt her.

But she’s losing.

After all the ways she’d won, all the ways she’d found victories in men’s selfish desires, and now she’s laying in the woods. She’s losing.

She’s going to die too.

But she doesn’t.

She jerks, unprepared for the sudden sharp pain across her temples. Her hands coming up to protect her ringing ears and not expecting the dead weight of Mark over top her. She writhes away, feels something hot and wet landing on her breast, sliding down her ribs. Sticks and rocks push against her shoulders but she fights with a terrified panic, crying in her blinding fear. Her fist connects hard with an audible crack of bone against bone and everything stops.

She pushes herself up and back, the back of her hand swiping through blood and sweat across her face. Leaves give beneath her, too slick with dew to hold properly as she moves backward. Sticks dig into her skin. Rocks turn over as she kicks them. Until she’s got an actual picture of what’s happening. Until her brain can work over details.

Mark is on his chest. His head split open, a terrifying weeping wound. Shot.

“Hotch?” she’s removed. Only partially aware of things as she takes them in. Of Mark’s death. Of the damp ground beneath her. Of the chill in the air. Of her own pounding heart. Of Hotch laid out on his back, eyelashes fluttering but open. Gasping sounds -- from her and from Hotch. His chest rising quickly with his shallow breathes.

Her knees scream smart pain as rocks and twigs dig into her flesh, deadened leaves chilled by the night’s air seeping through the material of her pants. She doesn’t even realize she’s moving, it’s automatic. It’s uncontrolled. “Hotch?” she touches his cold skin, taps at his cheek an indistinct beat she hopes will raise him from whatever unconscious solace he’s found. He breathes, shallow but audibly as his body tries to work again.

She touches his throat, grazes her fingers against miserable, chilled skin. He’s alive. Despite all the odds. Despite what she’d seen. Alive.

She cries as she leans forward, pressing their temples together. Cheek to cheek, their cold skin warm against one another. “I thought you were dead,” she sobs, fully allowing herself now to break. To feel the terror and isolation she’d felt thinking he was gone. Killed right in front of her. “You fucking bastard,” she holds onto his clothes, feels his hand come up and his fingers fumble to grasp her. To feel her alive and well. “I thought you were dead.”

He lets out a huff of breath, as close to relived laughter as he can manage. “Me too.”

She pulls back just enough to look down at his face, his pale lips twitching up and the blood caked across the side of his face. “I’m never going on a road trip with you again,” she says.

He nods, breathlessly whispering, “fair.”

She shivers, the breeze picking up. “Can you walk?” They can’t be that far from the car. She’s already pushing her hands into his pants pockets before he can answer, in search of the keys. Distracted to the point that she misses when he shakes his head. When he admits things are a little worse than what she thinks. “What do you mean--” and she looks down, his left hand shakily lifting off his abdomen.

“Shit!” she pushes his hand back over the wound. The first thing that comes to mind is to ignore the problem but that’s not very rational. “Why couldn’t it have been a bear?” That seems like it really beats watching him bleed out in the woods. She lowers her head, turns away from him for a second. She can’t lose her cool. He just saved her and now she has to return the favor. At this point, she refuses to go home without him.

Her earlier remark about bonding has aged like milk.

Something cold nudges her hand just faintly grazes her fingers. Despite everything they’ve been through in the last hour she still flinches, tries to move her hand away from what she suspects is a spider. There are sticks poking her back and ass but she’ll be damned if she’s going to become a jungle gym for a spider to crawl all over. Except she looks down and finds fingers, Hotch’s right hand pushing at her fingers.

It’s candy. Slowly, trying to find her courage and work through her panic, she lifts her palm back up. Looks at the stark contrast of his white mint on the decaying leaves.

She laughs.

They say nothing and yet they share an entire conversation. All glances, his pain pinching at the corners of his eyes, fatigue weighing him down quickly, and her slight humor over his grandpa candy. The mint is crushed, it hadn’t survived their rough journey well. “Are you trying to tell me my breath stinks?” she asks, tilting her head and raising an eyebrow to dare him. A playful sort of smirk on her lips as she declares, “Because I swear to God, I’ll punch you in the balls, Hotch.”

He smirks and as he opens his mouth a branch cracks, a flashlight shines right into their eyes.

“Hands up!”

Emily raises her hand to cover her eyes, wincing. “We’re -- We’re federal agents!” The flashlight lowers just a bit, enough so that she can see it’s a man standing before her.

“Your buddy hurt?” he asks.

Emily looks down, Hotch is already looking back at her. He’s shivering now and she knows whatever is about to happen is all on her. “Shot,” she answers. “Some guys they… they ambushed us? Dragged us out here.”

The man nods, “can he walk?”

She looks back down, Hotch’s eyes sinking shut, fighting to stay open. “I -- I don’t know? Maybe?” No. No, but she’ll drag his ass out of here if she has to.

“Alright,” the man steps forward, and Emily tenses. “I ain’t gonna hurt you little lady but you ain’t getting that big fella up without some help.”

Hotch remembers very little of what happens next. Standing seems to pull all of the blood from his body, at least there isn’t any in his head. Everything is confusing, a strange man is on his left and Emily on his right. He wakes up in a truck bed, rocking back and forth. His head in Emily’s lap and the cold wind grabbing at the blanket pulled under his chin. “We’re almost there, Hotch. Just hold on.” But she sounds like she’s underwater. Far away.

And then everything is still.

“And that’s how I saved us.”

He follows the sound of the voice over to his right, to Emily. She’s sitting up in bed, legs curled underneath her. There’s a chunk of gauze taped to her temple but she’s not wearing a hospital gown. She looks good, nearly restored to the Emily Prentiss he’s used to seeing around the office. The others are gathered around her, Dave smirking at what must have been a rather grandiose retelling of what happened.

“Technically,” he rasps, “I saved you first.”

Emily’s face betrays the first thing she feels hearing him. He’s been laying there for four days, unresponsive. He’d been on a ventilator the first two days. Throat nearly swollen shut from Rob’s attack, bruised badly. But now his eyes are open and he’s challenging her, picking a fight having been awake a whole minute. She's weirdly thrilled to see him glaring at her, too high and too exhausted to hide it.

“Are we really going to start keeping score?” she asks.

His eyes burn, they’re too heavy to keep open. He lets them slide shut, smirking still. A moment passes, maybe longer, and he feels a hand take his. Plastic sitting uncomfortably against his palm. It takes him a moment, the drugs trying so hard to pull him back under. It’s the mint he’d given her.

She doesn’t smile now, they share no knowing glances.

He hums, closing his hand around the mint.

“Considers us even,” she whispers.

He manages to crack his eyes open just a sliver, voice is completely gone but she just barely make out what he says: “not a chance.”

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss

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thesightstoshowyou · 3 years

Note

*leggy up and against the wall* henlo there , could maybe we get a taste of tommy boy when he needs to remind you and himself that you’re his and his alone ?

*Wiggles eyebrows* Henlo! Oh, happy day! I went crazy with this one <3

AFAB Reader (NSFW), Warnings: Kind of dubious consent, blood, gore, death of a minor character, creampie

Unforgiveable Texas heat beats down on you as you make your way to the corner store. Despite the thick layer of sweat that has accumulated between your palms, you continue to hold Tommy’s hand. Your other clutches a paper bag with lunch for Luda Mae.

Reaching the store, you find a truck parked out front. Travelers. Tommy motions toward the back door. Reluctantly, you release his hand and make your way to the front as he skirts around back.

The bell above the door rings as you enter. Luda Mae gives you a small smile, one which you return. Handing off her lunch, you stand in front of the fan, letting the lukewarm air dry your dewy skin.

“Well, shit, look at that,” you whip around when an obnoxious voice sounds behind you. A young man leans up against the counter as you turn. He’s tall, good looking, and fully aware of it. He bites his lip and lets his gaze drag down your body. Wrinkling your nose, you wrap your arms around yourself.

“Thought it was just inbred hicks in this shithole, but looks like you just proved me wrong. What’s your name, cutie?” You’re shocked, jaw dropping at his words. Never in your life have you met someone so rude. Over at a table, the man’s friend snickers under his breath.

Typically, you stay far removed from what Thomas and Hoyt did to the people who came through here, but today you might just make an exception.

Your skin prickles. Glancing over the asshole’s shoulder, you find Thomas standing in the doorway to the back room. He’s seething, shoulders heaving, a murderous look in his eyes that nearly makes you stumble back. You’ve never seen him so angry. You know he has a bit of a temper, but this is something else entirely; something dark and savage.

You clear your throat and respond, “Don’t have one,” before turning back to the fan.

“Ah, c’mon sweetheart, don’t be like that.”

“Think she wants to be left alone,” Luda Mae pipes up from behind the counter, frowning at the man over the top of her glasses.

“We’re having a conversation here,” he snarks, throwing his hands up as though he’s not the one at fault. If looks could kill, this asshole would be dead three times over with how Tommy looks at him. Minutely, you shake your head at Thomas, then nod toward the door.

“You know what? Yeah, let’s go outside so we can talk…privately,” you interrupt, giving the man your sweetest smile. His own lips quirk up in a self-satisfied grin. One last glance over your shoulder shows you Tommy has vanished.

You lead him outside toward his pick-up. The man barely makes it three steps out the door before Thomas in on him. He grips the front of the man’s shirt, reels back, and whacks him in the face with a fist. You hear his nose crunch, watch the blood splatter the front of Tommy’s shirt. He crumples to the ground in a heap.

His friend, watching through the window, is out the door in a flash, screaming obscenities, but like his friend, he proves to be no match for Thomas. Tommy grabs his face and twists, snapping his neck like one would a twig. Your eyes grow wide as saucers as you watch the friend tip over and land with a heavy thud, dry dirt billowing up around his still body.

You’ve never seen Tommy kill anyone before. You’ve heard it, heard the roar of the chainsaw, listened to the screams, but you’ve never seen him unleash his raw brutality first hand. You swallow, eyes glued to the sweaty shirt stuck to his massive back.

You shouldn’t be this turned on.

Thomas doesn’t acknowledge you. Instead, he slings the man over his shoulder and strides over to the truck, dropping the tailgate and tossing the body inside. He does the same with the other man. Fishing the keys out of one of their pockets, he moves to the driver’s seat. Only then does he look at you expectantly.

You have no choice but to follow.

“Tommy wants ter see ya’,” Hoyt calls as he saunters into the dining room. You set down the stack of plates in your hands, frowning.

“Right now?” you ask, nervous butterflies tumbling around in your gut. Your eyes flick to the darkened hallway leading to the cellar.

“Did I stutter?” he snarks, making his way over to the fridge and peering inside. Why would he want you now, mid butchering? You hadn’t communicated once since the incident at the corner store.

Hands trembling, you remove your apron before making your way toward the sliding metal door. You heave it open and descend the rickety stairs, the sharp tang of copper and musty damp meeting your nostrils the further you go. You pause on the bottom step, frown deepening.

“HELP! Help me PLEASE!” You’re surprised to find the rude man from earlier still alive and strung up on a meat hook. Deep purple bruises bloom under his eyes, dried blood crusting along his nose and mouth where Thomas had hit him. He sobs, crying out in pain when the movement jars the metal piercing his flesh. His friend hangs limply next to him, both legs and an arm missing.

You give Thomas a questioning look as he sloshes toward you through the water covering the floor. He’s still irritable, brow drawn down, blue eyes dark and dangerous. He retrieves you from the step and carries you to the blood drenched meat-cutting table.

“Tommy, what are you—

You yelp when Thomas slams your upper body down on the table so your legs hang over the side. Thick, gore covered hands lift your skirt and rip your underwear down to your knees. You squeak, cheeks heating up, looking anywhere but at the man suspended from the ceiling.

“Thomas—

You try again when the clink of a belt buckle meets your ears. Tommy pretends he doesn’t hear you, and you gasp when you feel his cock at your entrance. Gripping your shoulders, he slams home, burying every girthy inch inside your quivering cunt.

You shriek, fingers scrabbling for a hold on the slippery table as Thomas pounds you into the surface. One hand slides from your shoulder to your neck, smearing blood across your skin as he tips your head back until you’re arched. At this angle, he mercilessly assaults that glorious spot deep within you.

Your cunt responds, leaking until the slick noises of his cock popping in and out of you are almost louder than your unchecked moans. Normally, one of you would be covering your mouth so the rest of the family couldn’t hear, but, deliriously, you realize this is his goal. It dawns on you that he’s claiming you, proving you belong only to him in front of the man who had come onto you.

This thought is enough to shove you violently over the edge, cunt clamping down around Tommy’s cock until you’re screaming, powerful waves of euphoria wracking your body. Behind you, Thomas groans and digs his fingers into your shoulder, hips ramming against you once more until he’s painting your insides.

You gasp when he pulls out of you, flips you onto your back, tosses your legs over his shoulder and thrusts back into you, his length as hard as it had been at the start. You chant his name like a prayer when he resumes his frantic pace. Sweat drips down your brow as you arch, cumming on his cock a second time.

Thomas is able to pull two more orgasms from your trembling body before his hips stutter once more. You groan in appreciation when you feel sticky warmth flood your cunt until it overflows, dripping down your ass and onto the table. Your heaving chest mirrors Tommy’s and when you raise your hazy gaze to his face, you find the tense look gone, replaced with contentment.

Body aching, you slip your legs from his shoulders and sit up, gripping the front of his shirt to pull his lips down to yours. You whisper that you love him—only him—against his mouth and sigh when he wraps his arms around you, crushing you to his chest. You stay there, inhaling the scent of sweat and blood and sharp soap, the scent of him.

A pathetic whimper to your left startles you. You glance over to the wide-eyed man hanging from the hook. You’d forgotten he was even there.

Thomas releases you, cupping your face before retrieving the cleaver off the table next to you. In his eyes, you see a promise to pick this back up as soon as he ties up the loose end. Fondly, you smile.

#thomas hewitt #thomas hewitt x reader #leatherface #leatherface x reader #slashers #tcm #tcm the beginning #the texas chainsaw massacre #slasher x reader #reader insert #my writing #thank you for the ask #n sfw

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yelenasdog · 3 years

Text

𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 (𝐫𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐨𝐫 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦 𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫)

𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐘 𝐊𝐈𝐖𝐈 𝐁𝐘 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐘 𝐒𝐓𝐘𝐋𝐄𝐒

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: fluff

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: wherever they go, it seems they can’t escape each other

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 6.09k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: smoking, drinking, kissing, getting ~steamy~, but nothing explicit.

𝐚/𝐧: this kinda feels melodramatic at times, but over all i think this is an alright fic that took me forever LOL! i hope you enjoy it! btw,

this can be read as ben!rog or just rog, i just was thinking of ben!rog when i wrote it

also if u wanna listen to kiwi while listening, the vibes would be immaculate and i reccomend it :D kk enjoy

✺🎬✺

Her footsteps were mute as she padded forward on the concrete, searching furiously through her crochet bag. The box in her hands stayed tightly gripped though, Roger noted. He waited a bit until he was certain she had no chance of finding what he thought she was looking for, and that he would be her last resort.

“Need a light?”

He watched with careful eyes as the girl next to him fumbled about to pick out a cigarette from the nearly emptied box, probably just some cheap ones from the gas station near the dorms.

“Yes, thanks.”

The brunet nodded, bringing his forward to her’s and inhaling, a few loose embers falling to the ground in a sparkling orange flurry.

Roger observed the way her chipped nails on ring adorned fingers shakily held the cigarette as she brought it to her lips, taking a very long drag.

It was windy out that night (which was the reason he was telling himself he decided not to bother with his Zippo), her silky black dress doing barely a thing to keep her covered from the chilly temperatures. He noticed the blue tint to her formerly painted lips, only a pale stain of color left behind. He also happened to notice the goosebumps that graced her exposed arms and legs, and her slight shiver that came with it.

The girl nervously adjusted the twisted strap to her purse, sending a glance in Rog’s direction every once in a while, but mostly she kept her gaze fixed on the stars above. She seemed to be mesmerized by the way they twinkled so brightly, even in the polluted sky. The bottles of liquor in her purse clinked together, and she cringed visibly at the sound, a shiver being sent through her bones.

He smiled at her behavior, oddly endeared by it, perhaps even enchanted.

“What’s your name?”

She turned, taking the stick from between her lips. Roger kept his eyes glued to the plump flesh momentarily despite the movement away from the area.

“That’s none of your business, Roger.” She smiled, a playful look set ablaze in her eyes.

He looked down, putting his hands up in mock surrender.

“How do you know my name, then?” He questioned curiously, slanting his eyes and quirking a brow.

“Your band.” Her voice seemed softer, almost a fond tone set within it.

“You’ve seen us play?”

“Yeah, you guys are good.”

“You’re a fan then?”

She chuckled, looking to her feet.

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

He laughed, nodding yet again.

They stayed together for some time, silently and mutually agreeing that enough had been said. They finished off their smokes, and with that, she turned to go.

“Bye, Roger.”

He bit his lip, feeling the sting shoot through him. He was conflicted on if to make a move, not wanting to diminish his confident and cool reputation he believed he had built for himself. He settled for shouting something along the lines of “will I see you around?” (which upon thinking back over it, maybe it wasn’t that cool), to which she only shrugged and kept walking.

He could hear the bottles loudly clanking together as she sauntered off, lord knows where to. He watched her go until she turned the corner, tossing one final look in his direction before continuing on, leaving him in deep thought.

“I’m telling you, mate, she was drop dead gorgeous. And I have no idea who she is, no name or anything!”

Brian rolled his eyes, tossing his notebook across the room onto the yellow sofa Roger was resting on, turning his full attention to his distraught friend.

“Well, did you ask her for her name?”

He shook his head, rolling his eyes in a similar manner to Bri. “Yes, I did. She said it was ‘none of my business’.” He scoffed, twirling a single drumstick between his fingers while tapping his foot repeatedly, annoying Brian to no end (per usual). The curly headed man only barked out a laugh, finding the entire situation quite humorous, if he was being honest.

“But she knew the band! Said that she thought we were good. S’ like she couldn’t make up her damn mind.” He grumbled, slumping forward.

“Wait, she knows the band?”

The drummer looked at him like he had two heads nodding slowly.

“Yeah, what about it?”

Brian stood up and sighed, grabbing his guitar and headed to the edge of the bar’s stage, resting behind the curtain briefly.

“You really are thick, Roger.”

“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?” He joined him by the curtain, noticing Tim had come up behind the pair.

“What’s all this about, then?”

“Nothing.” Brian and Roger replied in unison. Tim huffed, making his way onto the stage where the growing crowd was waiting. Cheers could be heard for the frontman as he introduced himself, saying something about how the rest of the band would be out in a second, and that they were just having some “sound issues”.

“Rog, if she’s a fan, she’s probably here tonight, yes?”

His eyes widened, and he suddenly began to feel quite dumb, not that he would admit it.

“Yeah, I suppose so…but she said she wasn’t a fan?” He trailed off, confused.

“She probably was just saying that for some reason. I don’t know, women are odd, they like to play hard to get.” Brian commented, oddly flippant for how conflicting his statement was.

Roger stood in place for a moment, still greatly confused what Brian was trying to get at. He shook his head and furrowed his brows, trying to put together the puzzle of this mess in his mind.

“Roger, for God's sake, don’t think about it, just go.”

Following his advice, Roger did his best to disregard any previous thoughts of confusion, a switch flipping in his mind. He stood taller, saying, “You know what Bri, maybe you’re right.”

“Great, go on then.” He watched as Roger bounded out with a newfound adrenaline and a smile plastered on his face, rolling his eyes for what wouldn’t be the final time that night at his bandmate’s antics.

As soon as he had made it behind his kit, he was scanning the crowded room, trying to locate the girl from last night. He watched the door throughout the performance, trying to see if she might have just come in a bit late. He held the hope she would somehow show up with him in his mind, but all to no avail.

The entire night, he couldn’t shake the thought of her lips from his mind, or the way the skin of her neck was so open and exposed, practically begging for him to attack it with his own lips. And with the way things were going thus far, he was sure that pretty face of her’s would be the death of him, he was certain, in fact.

“Find her?” Bri had questioned almost as soon as they had ended for the night, the lot of them now working on cleaning up.

“Nah. She never showed up.”

“I’m sorry, Rog. Maybe you’ll see her again soon, the campus isn’t that huge, you know.” Roger’s mouth formed a thin line as he raised his eyebrows, not convinced in the slightest that the situation proposed would occur.

“At this point I’m wondering if she’s even a bloody student here.” Roger grumbled, obviously no longer feeling the initial electric adrenaline of the night's performance.

Brian frowned, placing a sympathetic hand on his friend's shoulder and patting it once or twice before standing to go finish packing up.

It was later now, and the boys were finally leaving the bar, bidding their goodbyes to those around them. Roger walked out the front (in what Tim and Brian joked was a ‘moping manner’), hearing the bell jangle above his head, ringing annoyingly in his ear. The cold air hit him like an arctic breeze (or a ton of bricks, he wasn’t sure which description was more fitting). He shook his head and blinked a few times, as if that would rid his body of the frigid feeling. He sighed dramatically and pulled his corduroy jacket tighter around himself, watching as his breath made a small cloud in front of him.

“Roger?”

He turned, recognizing the voice immediately.

“Having a pity party, are you?” She giggled out, wrapping her arms around her middle.

“It’s only me, so no. Not a party.”

She “ahh”-d in understanding, her mouth forming into a sly grin. Her lips were a pale pink color that night, her eyes a bright blue shade. And similarly to the night previous, she was graced with only a brown fringed dress, her matching boots in one hand, a lit cigarette in the other.

“Then what would it be if I joined you?”

He stood in thought, tilting his head. “I think then, yeah, it would be a party.”

“Do you not get cold, ever?” He added after a beat of silence, observing her ill outfit choice for the frosty climate. She rolled her eyes, muttering out a brief “ha, ha.”

Roger couldn’t help but bite his lip, holding back a laugh.

“I do on occasion get a little bit chilly. But I like the feeling.”

He tilted his head, walking over to where she was leaning against the brick wall of the dive bar. He turned to face her, not that she noticed, putting his weight on the rough surface behind him.

“It makes me feel,” she hesitated, struggling to find the right word, although she felt it was right on the tip of her tongue.

“Alive?”

She finally met his eyes after what seemed like forever, softly nodding. To him, she looked like an angel in that moment, the street light so beautifully illuminating her locks like a halo around her. He reached a cautious hand forward, dragging it against her cheek, down to her bottom lip.

Her mind was screaming at her to leave while she still could, to somehow not fall in the mix of the infamous campus player that was Roger Taylor.

But her heart? Well, as cliche as it sounds, her heart was telling her to disregard any reasonable thoughts and just kiss the bastard, for God’s sake.

And if anyone knew Y/n Y/l/n, they knew that most times, she would listen to the latter mentioned, rather than the former. And so after several moments of unbearable silence, she decided she would. Catching on relatively fast, Roger took her flush against him, Y/n able to feel his breath fanning over her face.

She leaned forward with a small smile, placing her hands on either side of his face. Her eyes wandered to his plump and rosy lips, adrenaline pumping through her veins. But before she could make the final leap, so to say, Brian, of all people, called out her name in a confused nature, squinting, believing that it might have been his eyes deceiving him. The girl from his 9 a.m. lecture could not possibly be about to snog his bandmate.

Impossible.

Her eyes widened, head turning immediately when hearing her name fall from his lips.

“Brian, hey!”

“Wait, you two know each other?”

Ignoring Roger’s (panicked) question, Brian walked over, a look of amazement still prevalent in his features. She moved from Roger’s side over to Brian, giving him a side hug, Bri’s arm resting on her shoulders.

“I see you’ve met Y/n. She’s in my astronomy class.”

She smiled brightly as the neon signs lining the downtown district of bars and restaurants alike, meeting Brians gaze.

“Yup, got to love Dr. Martin’s lectures.” She chuckled, the tall man next to her doing the same.

Picking up on Roger’s absolutely bewildered appearance, still taking in the situation unfolding in front of him, Brian took the liberty of initiating another conversation.

“So, Y/n, did you see the show tonight?”

She frowned, crossing her arms.

“Wanted to, but no, got caught up in the library. I have my final for statistics on Thursday, or else I would have been there.” She locked eyes with Roger, giving him a soft smile. Suddenly changing her demeanor, she reached into her bag she always seemed to have with her, pulling out those cheap cigarettes and her Zippo. She lit one of the sticks, inhaling.

“In fact, I heard your drummer was incredible, so I thought I would try to see him in action tonight.” Her gaze never left Rogers as she conversed, her mouth pressed in a line, the rest of her face completely neutral.

“But you’ve seen us before Y/n, he’s been with the band for quite some time.”

“I mean, I wanted to see him with a fresh pair of eyes, a different perspective, I guess.”

Still mildly confused, Brain shook his head and muttered something like “Right, okay” to which Y/n softly smiled at before dropping the cigarette from her hand. Barefoot, she couldn’t reach down to step on it, have the sparks die out under her toes.

“Could one of you get that, please?”

Roger nodded immediately, his boot finding its way quickly, the toe of it making a circular motion. His eyes stayed on Y/n, as had hers before. And despite the bustling city around them, Hell, even despite Brian’s perplexed stare, it felt oddly intimate, as if they were locked onto each other’s view (not that they were complaining).

But they weren’t, as she proved mere seconds later, abruptly bidding them goodbye and heading the opposite direction.

The pair of boys watched her as she went, heads tilted and jaws dropped to where if their mothers were present, they would be scolded to “close their mouths before they catch flies in there!”.

“That’s her, you know.” Roger commented bluntly, slightly shaking his head and then popping his lip.

Brian took a moment, turning toward his friend, stuttering.

“As in, her, her? Y/n is mystery girl?” He laughed, shaking his head in disbelief. “Yeah, well, good luck with that, Rog.”

“Why would I need that, Brian?” He challenged, putting his hands on his hips, lifting his chin. Brain kept his assumed position, moving his hand to scratch at his neck.

‘Well, I’m sure if you hang out around her enough, you’ll find out.”

Rather than shouting out at him, asking him what the Hell he meant, as he really wanted to, Roger paid Bri no attention, not even giving him a second look before under his breath saying “I’ll see you later”, and in what Brian considered to be a quite shocking turn of events, bolting off in the direction Y/n had gone.

He ignored the shouts from Brian, ignored the judgmental stares and loud whispers of those who recognized him from the band. He no longer cared about keeping his ‘cool reputation’, not when she was so close.

“Is that Roger Taylor?”, “Oi, isn’t that the drummer from the band at the pub?”, “Hey, why’s he buggin’ out?” all flooded his ears, usually followed by what seemed to be snickering, making a desperate attempt to cloud his mind from his self-assigned mission. But it was no use, as he was set on catching up to her. In fact, she was so close he swore he could smell the mixed scent that was uniquely her, smoke and her perfume.

He hollered her name, God, he yelled it till his throat was hoarse, just ‘cause he could. He loved the way it rolled off his tongue, he loved the fact he even had learned it to begin with, and that alone was probably why he adored it so much.

She heard his cries, turning where she stood and tilting her head.

“Roger? What on Earth are you doing?”

He finally met her, bent over on his hands and knees, breath lost in totality. She placed a concerned hand on his sweaty head, combing through his chocolate locks. He would have shivered at the feeling, if he had the energy. Rather, he looked up with the goofiest smile she’d ever seen, resembling a golden retriever, or german shepherd perhaps, in human form.

‘D’you wanna go somewhere with me? Hang out a bit?”

She nodded, holding out a hand.

“Lead the way.”

“Mom and Dad want me to be some kind of a scientist, study the stars.”

“Yeah? And what do you think about that.”

She tilted her head, shifting her position.

“I’m not quite sure. I wouldn’t be against it, that I know. The stars are beautiful, but they aren’t where my heart lies, I guess.”

He turned to face her, their noses almost touching. She could feel his breath fanning over her face, and the proximity sent butterflies through her stomach.

“I want to be an actress.” She all but whispered, turning her attention back to the full night sky and the wonders that hung in it.

“An actress, huh?”

She only hummed a confirmation, moving her left hand to pick at the cool grass under her palms.

“I could see that. You, I mean, on the big screens.”

She turned, and Roger swore he had never seen anyone smile so big before in his life.

“Really?”

His own smile grew, and she nodded vigorously, the two of them beginning to laugh. He pulled her closer by her shoulders, unaware of where the conversation would lead.

“I’ll go to New York. You’ll see me on billboards in Times Square.”

“Well, that’s nice to know. I’ll just be a lone dentist somewhere, while you forget all about me, having lavish parties and such. Whatever it is that famous people do.” His voice was obviously joking, melodramatic was written all over him, yet Y/n couldn’t help but still feel a sliver of guilt.

She hit his arm, rolling back over to face him. She still had a smile glued onto her lips, both of their eyes crinkling at the edges.

“Oh, shut up, will you? Smile will make it big, and we’ll meet again, when you’re on tour. Or perhaps if I’m filming where you’re performing! We’ll have those nights to ourselves, It’ll be a secret rendezvous.”

She turned to her back again, finding his hand on the damp green, her heart beating a million miles a second as she reached for it, slowly entangling her fingers in his.

“The papers will write about us, Rog, when they find out. ‘Famous actress Y/n Y/l/n seen leaving a hotel with renowned drummer Roger Taylor’ is what the headlines will say. God, what a scene we’ll cause.” Her eyes were full of excitement as she spoke, her heart feeling like it was so filled with glee that it could soar out of her chest.

“Well, I wanna know the specifics.” Roger sat up, pulling her up with him, she giggled, and the brunette wrapped a hand around her waist. She sat beside him, the streetlight by the backroad she had led them on illuminating her like a silhouette. She bit her lip and grinned, tilting her head up to better exam Rogers angelic features.

“Are you gonna have some bloke waiting for you at home, hmm? Waiting for you while you conquer the world, only for you to break his poor heart?”

“Nah.” Her answer was immediate, her eyes honest as she spoke. “Only a cactus. He’ll be my only friend. I hear it’s lonely in Hollywood, Roger.” He raised his eyebrows briefly at this, choosing his next words.

“You’ll have me?”

His head turned to look at her, admiring the way the pale moonlight illuminated her, the artificial light from the streetlamps not doing her neverending beauty and justice, in his opinion. Their eyes seemed sporadic, searching each other's faces for signs of what they were doing, possibly being wrong, but they found nothing, as expected.

The yearning had become all too much for the inspired pair, and it felt like at last, all they could do, the only thing they could do, was kiss.

So they did. Roger took her face in his hands, closing his beautiful eyes, his eyelashes barely brushing against hers. He leaned forward, joining them together, finding that they immediately moved in a perfect synchronization. They were like two sides of the same coin, and that seemed to be particularly evident in that moment. By the contrast of their lips, or perhaps the aspirations of their careers becoming somehow just a little bit clearer.

But it didn’t matter, none of it did. Not in the long run. So they pulled apart, chests heaving and faces painted with childish grins.

It was quiet then, only the crickets and the howling wind could be heard. But she liked it that way, preferred it, actually. So quiet, in fact, that Roger was able to fall fast asleep, Y/n lying comfortably in his arms. She stared at the stars, then back to his sleeping figure, her mind unable to come to a consensus on what on God's green Earth she was to do.

She settled for placing a kiss on his jaw, closing her eyes. His eyes only fluttered, never waking completely. She muttered something like “See you, rockstar.” against it, before standing up and walking away, only turning back once to see his sleeping form one more time.

That was the last time for 6 years that he would see Y/n Y/l/n. See her in person, at least.

When he woke up the next morning, he was confused to say the least, wondering why Y/n didn’t wake him, mostly wondering where she had even gone. He looked around himself, patting the green grass beneath him, as if she somehow was invisible and he had missed her upon initial glance. He had shouted for her, his throat still hurting from when he did the same thing only 12 hours previous.

He had felt out of control, like the one he had been chasing had just slipped through his fingers (which it had). He had remembered asking Bri, day after day, if he had seen her in class, even just seen her around in general. Everytime the answer was the same.

“No Roger”, “I’m sorry, Roger”, “Not today, Roger”. It was a horrible, predictable pattern, that he had enough of. He was supposed to recover from it quickly, bounce back from her almost immediately, as there was basically nothing to bounce back from.

But he couldn’t, and due to such reasons, he supposed he finally understood what Brian had said, or warned, that night before he had gone chasing after her. He got it, in his own sad way.

And over the years, she slowly faded to the back of the drummer's mind, behind groupies, and songs, and shows, and such, just for her to resurface again any time he saw her on a billboard, just as she had promised. But he never let it show, outwardly at least.

He had made Brian swear not to tell the others, never to breathe a word of it to Deaky or Fred. He was embarrassed by it, for some reason, and that’s why he guessed he forbade him from speaking of it. But how long can you keep a silly college secret from your nosy bandmates? Apparently 6 years, tops, for Roger Taylor.

“Alright, everyone. Gather ‘round, I’ve got a surprise.” Freddie had said, his grumbling bunch of friends tired from their day’s work. Though, they usually had grown to appreciate and look forward to Fred’s “surprises”, today everyone was just a tad bit too grumpy to try (a certain Roger Taylor in particular, let’s call it foreshadowing).

“Oh, stop your moaning and whining, please, I promise this will be good!” the eccentric frontman had said, something hidden behind his back in his left hand.

Rog ran a hand through his, now, blond hair, exhaling in such a way that made Freddie slant his eyes, before giving in and rolling them at his flippant behavior.

“What’s going on, Fred?” Brian had been the brave soul to ask, stepping forward and then looking away momentarily to place his guitar onto a stand waiting not so far away.

“I thought you’d never ask.” He replied, jumping down from his place on the risers, removing his hand from his back and holding out what seemed to be 4 tickets to something. He walked down the loosely formed line of men, putting one in each of their extended palms. Roger, at the end of their formation of sorts, became concerned when Brian had burst out laughing, looking to his right, being met with Roger’s face of confusion.

Freddie, possibly more confused than Roger, pressing the piece of thick paper into his hand, his gaze falling onto Brian, who now had tears in his eyes.

“Bri, what’s so… funny. Shit.” He had looked down to the slip, the only words he needed to read to know he was absolutely screwed, being “Jaws” and “Premiere”.

Now, anybody who knew anything, knew that Y/n Y/l/n was going to be in the film that was said to become the blockbuster of the summer, playing the role of Ellen Brody (though a few had said she was far too young for the job). She had been an overnight success in the film industry, gaining popularity from the 1973 film, ‘The Sting’, playing Billie.

And Roger had watched ‘The Sting’, and you can imagine his surprise when Y/n had sauntered onto screen, red lipped and fresh faced. (He had to admit, she looked great in a suit.)

After that, the assault on Roger’s fragile heart was never ending.

Billboards began to pop up even more frequently as she was to star in more films, and it seemed no matter where he was touring, he couldn’t escape her. Whether it was posters, her face printed on newspapers, adverts in about every place business was done for one of her films, he felt like he was being followed. He had even seen an article about her in a magazine, and when he had flipped the page he was greeted with Queen’s smiling faces.

He had stopped watching them after ‘American Graffiti’.

So, he figured that this one wouldn’t be any different, and he simply planned on ignoring said film until he caved, doing his best to avoid her on the silver screen and anywhere else, which hadn’t been too difficult until this point (not).

But this? This was a whole new level of being royally fucked.

“Brian, Rog, something you want to share with the rest of the class?” John had asked, cocking his head and propping his legs up on the coffee table in front of him. Brian began to speak, wrapping an arm around Roger’s shoulders, the shorter man looking up at him with angry fire burning in his eyes.

“Well, I’m honestly quite excited. The film industry has always seemed very intriguing, actually, and I’m looking forward to meeting new people. Rog?”

“No.”

“No?” John repeated, “No, what?” He waved a hand around, trying to understand what Roger’s problem was.

“I just- I don’t- I knew-”

“Roger had a fling with Y/n Y/l/n and she broke his heart.” Brain blurted out, Roger turning and immediately smacking him upside his curly head of hair. He regarded an “Ouch!” before him and the rest of the boys burst out laughing, the drummer not included in that demographic, fuming.

“Rog, darling, when was this? How did we not know?” Freddie managed to breathe out, sitting down next to Deaky on the studio sofa. He crossed his hands and ankles, his full attention turned towards Roger who really, really didn’t wanna have to do this, and who really, really was gonna get Brian back for this later. Would he untune all his guitars? Unplug his amp during rehearsals, perhaps put hair remover in his shampoo? But, that would have to wait until after he was forced to spill his 6 year secret.

“It was in 69-”

“69?!” Freddie had cried out. “It’s been 6 bloody years? And you didn’t think to tell us?”

“Well I didn’t really see a reason it would be necessary to tell you all! In fact, I probably wouldn’t have told you ever if this bloke didn’t have such a big mouth!”

“Hey, watch it.” Brian weighed in, crossing his arms and fluttering his eyes.

“Look, Roger I really don’t see the issue here. We go to the premiere, you just keep a low profile and ignore Y/n, problem solved.” John cut in, trying to be helpful.

Keyword: trying.

“And how exactly will I do that?”

“We will behave, I promise.” Freddie added, though Roger seemed to be having a difficult time believing him or his claim for the others. So Roger only scoffed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Yeah, I’m sure you will.”

Cameras were flashing brightly, reporters and such were shouting loudly, and Y/n was already exhausted.

Her red lips were painted like DeAngelo had done it himself, and her hair was styled just the way she liked. The heels she was wearing per request of her stylist, though, were horrible. They looked lovely, yes, but they were digging into her poor ankles, and she still had to wear them for who knew how long. She didn’t complain, though, she wouldn’t dream of it.

She would just continue her slow walk down the carpet, a sultry smile on her face. The black fabric of the gown she was wearing fit her beautifully, snug in all the right places.

She sure hoped it was, at least. Especially because she knew that he would be there.

Roger Taylor, the blessed drummer that managed to make a home in the backburner of her mind, his success coming as no surprise to the actress. She had loved every one of their records, and rather than running from his work like Roger had, she opted for going straight to the record shop, purchasing any and every Queen album in her sight. When she had checked out, the very shocked cashier had made some remark, asking something about “you a fan?”

She had thought about it for a moment, thinking back to all those years ago when Roger had asked the same thing. She smiled, shrugging.

“Yeah, you could say that.”

So when she had worked up the courage to invite the entire band to the premiere (on behalf of Spielberg, of course) she was a nervous wreck to find out they had accepted. Really, ask anyone who had any contact with her in the time from then to the premiere, they could testify that her moodiness had risen like a hot air balloon.

Now, though, she was kind of regretting that she had invited them, looking over to the sharp looking bunch, all dressed to the nines. She scanned her eyes over them, catching a wave from Brian, which she gladly returned with an enthusiastic smile. Bri then tapped Roger on the shoulder to alert him of Y/n’s acknowledgment, which resulted in Y/n’s eyes widening to the size of moons.

She turned her head, and worked to finish up her walk of the carpet just a tad bit faster. It all seemed to be for nothing, though, as in the dark of the theater for the premiere itself, she saw the seat next to her be filled, a presence filling her senses.

“Miss me?”

Their hands were all over each other, not truly caring if the tabloids caught a glimpse, just needing to make up for lost time.

They had stumbled into the golden hotel both her and Queen were staying in, the swinging doors of the New York establishment blowing a cool gust of wind in their direction.

They merely laughed at the minor interruption, their teeth clashing as they both smiled momentarily. It was soon forgotten, though, both of them having much more pressing matters in their minds.

They only came to a cease in the elevator, some old couple who most definitely did not care about whatever pressing issue the two of them felt they had, standing off to the side. (Y/n could swear she saw the older woman smirk and wink at her, to which she cocked her head and smiled.)

Once back into the safe confines of Y/n’s suite, they resumed like they had never even stopped, hands gravitating towards the others form as if they were opposite magnets, unable to be separated for too long.

“You’ve driven me crazy, you know that, right? “

She giggled and bit her lip, looking up into his eyes, their foreheads pressed together.

“Mmm? I’d hope so.”

He pulled away, shaking his head, blond locks following suit.

“Really, you have no idea. I haven’t been able to shake you from my head. You’re everywhere.”

Her excitement could barely be contained at his confession of sorts, chest heaving, trying to stay calm.

“Yeah, that was the plan.”

Roger shook his head with a dry chuckle, looking to his feet and back to her when she had tilted his head up, her finger resting on his jaw.

“Well, are you into it?” She questioned, grabbing his hand and pulling their clasped fingers in between their chests, her eyes hazy with hope.

“Yeah.” He titled his head, feigning a pondering look. “You could say I’m kinda into it.”

“Shut it!”

“Make me.”

She rolled her eyes at his stupidly provocative suggestion, and he only laughed, the two of them falling onto the plush comfort of the bed in a meshed flurry for the remainder of the night.

And if you couldn’t guess what could have possibly happened next, the black dress ended up in a pooled up pile next to the bed that night, right next to the heels that finally she had the pleasure of discarding.

The next morning, it was unlike the one 6 years ago, as when Roger woke up, he was overjoyed to find a sleeping Y/n, laying on his chest with hair splayed around her. And he had to say, he usually wasn’t much of a cuddler, but for some reason he felt so incredibly endeared, that anything else wouldn’t have sufficed.

He ran small circles on the exposed skin of her bare shoulder, the comforter concealing the rest of her limbs that were tangled up with Roger’s.

When she stirred, Roger sat up, fondly watching as her eyes fluttered open and her tongue ran across her dried lips, still carrying a hint of last night's red pigment. She looked next to her, her eyeline matching up with the covered skin of Roger’s lap.

She sighed, shifting her head to rest on his thighs as her feet dangled off of the bed. One of Roger’s hands came up to softly massage the top of her head, the other against the headboard, behind his neck. She stared at the ceiling, an unreadable expression creeping its way to her features.

“We were jacked up last night.” Roger’s voice cut through the silence they shared, deeper in the late morning than she had heard before.

“Correction, you were jacked up.”

“Whatever.”

They laughed, silence soon taking over once again. Roger sighed, closing his ever tired eyes.

“Are we gonna pay for this?”

She scoffed, inhaling deeply before reaching over to the nightstand, grabbing her carton of cigarettes. He noticed they were the same brand from college, a small smile making its way to his face at the thought.

She first lit hers, then lighting a second one for the man occupying her king sized bed (though she wasn’t even slightly upset by this, quite the opposite). She handed it to him, sticking her own between her lips and sitting up, straddling where her head had been minutes before.

She leaned forward, so close their noses were to the point where they were nearly touching. She took the cigarette from her lips, blowing the smoke to the left of Rog in the direction of the large balcony overlooking Times Square. She turned her attention back to him, though it had never really left, tilting her head.

“Do you regret it?”

“No.” The answer came immediately, no careful consideration or pondering needed.

“Right.” She removed herself from him, standing and taking the sheet with her, letting it cover her like a renaissance dress. She walked over to the balcony, leaning against the frame of the double doors. She took another drag, an adoring smile spreading across her face.

“Then there’s your answer.”

She paused, Roger tilted his head, his brows lifting.

“Of course we will.”

✺🎬✺

if u liked that hot mess pls like and rb!! mwah ily go eat protein and drink water if ur able. xx hj

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fleetwoodmak99 · 3 years

Text

Long Past Dawn

Eric Draven x reader

This is requested from @sister-morticia "Hi!! Can I please request an Eric Draven x reader whump with lots of hurt and comfort/worried!Eric? I need some caring fluff! Thank you!! ☺️" I had so much fun working on this!!! I'll be posting a part 2 as hcs of the aftermath soon. It will focus more on the comforting aspects. Also I’m really sorry this is long.

WARNINGS: Panic attacks, hyperventilating, serious wounds, gun violence, mentions of blood, depression, talks of deep sadness, death, resurrection, paranoia, explosions, and fainting.

SUMMARY: It has been a year since you lost your lover, Eric Draven. While you have managed to get by, it has been extremely difficult. After having a particularly hard night, you decide it might be a good idea to go for a walk to release some steam, only to fall upon a danger situation.

Its been a entire year since you had lost the love of your life, Eric Draven.

It was around Halloween. The leaves on the trees were starting to change from green to orange and yellow as the air turned cool.

Halloween used to be Eric’s favorite time of the year. Always making a big deal about it with lots of horror movie marathons and tons of candy. Now, you had none of that.

No celebrating, no watching horror movies all night, no eating a bunch of candy, no Eric.

Even though it had been a whole year since that dark night, it still haunted your every waking thought.

Every day seemed to bring a new struggle. The worst of it being at night. The pain of losing Eric broke you down to the point where you could do nothing but spend most nights crying.

Anxiety making itself known at every turn. Always worried that the men responsible for taking the life of your lover and leaving you for dead will one day realize you aren't and come after you.

Memories of that night plagued your dreams often. Seeing flashes of T-Birds gang breaking through the door of your shared apartment and attacking you while you were cooking dinner.

The panic consuming your chest becoming too overpowering as you relived that night over and over again. Jolting awake in a pile of sweat when it became too much. Feeling your stomach turn to the sickening thoughts roaming around in your head.

You tried to calm your thoughts. You really did. But the terror that filled your chest was too powerful.

A strong force making you leave the warmth of your bed in an attempt to ease your mind. Pacing around the room, completely lost in thought.

Are they going to come after me? Will they want to harm me?

The demanding thoughts running through your head was starting to cause a wave of nausea to wash over your body.

No. They don't know you are alive. They would have come after you if they had.

You were lucky enough to get Sergeant Albrecht assigned to your case. He was the only one on the force who was kind to you.

Albrecht helped you stay under the radar until you were able to get enough money to move far, far away. The main problem being that you couldn't find a good steady income that would get you out of this hell hole while not blowing your cover, creating the never ending cycle of being trapped in the city. Being doomed to live here forever with no escape.

Still, you felt an overwhelming ache in your stomach every time you thought of Top Dollar still being out there, controlling most of the violence in the city. Hoping that the brutality won't one day unleash on you.

Knowing that it went against the rules you had started following in an attempt to protect yourself further, you decided it might be a good idea to go for a quick late night walk. Noting the dangers of what you might be doing, but it was your last attempt to ease your anxieties and distract you from the pain.

Hoping that the fresh cool air will be a jolt to your system, you grabbed a light jacket and black high tops, placing it over your pajamas and venturing out into the night.

Stepping out of the safety of the apartment building and into the bitter cold. Feeling the tip of your fingers and toes already starting to turn into ice. Still, you were determined to complete your walk as it has always been a good way of distraction you from your intrusive thoughts.

With that being said, the streets of Detroit certainly looked different at night. Feeling a thick layer of sorrow and rage in the air. It being so thick it became difficult to breath.

Choosing to ignore it, you kept walking.

A smile spreading across your lips when you see a group of children in Halloween costumes running with bags of candy in their hands, laughing as they did so.

Curiosity taking over as to why children would be out this late on Devil’s Night. Seeing as you did much worse things when you were a kid, you let it slide.

Either way, you began to have doubts if this was a good idea, deciding it might be time to head back and hide from the world once more.

Turning around and walking the other way, you could already feel a wave of relief washing over you as you made your way back only for your heart to be ripped out of your chest when a booming explosion erupted just up the road. A burst of light blinding you as the ground rumbled.

The sudden event sending you onto the ground, holding your heads up to your head in an attempt to protect yourself from the eruption.

Trying your best to focus on what exactly was happening as the light started to dim into small flames and a bundle of smoke coming from an old abandoned building.

At first, you wanted to run the other way. Knowing that this was most likely the work of Top Dollar or some other big mob boss trying to cause some havoc in an already broken city.

Yet when you tried to get up, you remained planted on the ground. Your body being completely immobilized and without breath.

As you tried getting your strength back, you started to hear a faint scream coming from up the road. Your thoughts immediately going to the children you had seen giggling to each other just moments ago.

You tried remembering which way they had went. Hoping that they were far away from the building now engulfed in flames but after hearing more yelling, you knew you had to make sure no one was hurt or worse.

With a new found determination, you felt yourself starting to grow stronger, experiencing a rush of adrenaline fueling your body.

This time when attempting to get up, you were able to get onto your feet. Your legs still feeling weak, you forced yourself not to waste time and move towards the very thing you made you shake.

Getting closer to the fire, you could start to feel the heat coming from the flames. Inspecting the building, you couldn't see anyone inside. In fact, you couldn't see anyone at all.

You thought for sure the police or at least the fire department would be on their way considering it was a Devil’s Night tradition for the whole city to burn. Yet no one was there. It was almost unnatural.

You were pulled from your thoughts when you heard not a scream but groaning, murmuring and the collusion of masses coming from the back side of another building.

With caution, you started to make your way towards the sounds. Leaning on another building for support, gaining distance from the heat.

Hearing the unknown sounds starting to grow louder and louder, you could see the silhouette of different bodies laying on the ground. You didn't know if they were dead or unconscious.

Deciding to grab a nearby wooden stick. Just in case.

Two men suddenly bursting in front of you, struggling against each other. They rolled around the dirt floor, one trying to get the upper hand on the other. Both eventually getting up and starting to throw hands.

You couldn't decide whether to intervene and try to break them up or start running, but once again your body worked against you. Forcing your mind to turn blank and stay in place. Making you now watch the whole thing go down.

At first glance, you couldn't recognized who the men were yet you couldn't help the strange feeling that you were meant to be here. Somehow this was related to you. You felt it deep down.

You tried analyzing them as they continued, trying your best not to be seen.

One of the men was a lot shorter than the other and had greasy shaggy dark brown hair underneath a worn out black knit hat with baggy clothes.

While the other one taller, and more muscular. Mostly wearing tight fit leather. His dark brown hair was longer than the other one, resting just above his shoulders. Black and white paint covering his face as some type of mask.

His hits being more calculated and precise going against the others, who was becoming more and more sloppy by the minute.

As the two men start to taunt each other. Somehow neither seemed to notice you as you stood there in fear. Your heart sinking when you hear one of the men starting to speak. You recognized that voice, clear as day.

The short man was Skank. He was apart of T-Bird's gang, who worked for none other than Top Dollar.

Shit. You need to leave now.

Finally, you were able to slowly make yourself move backwards as your feet stumbled on themselves. You tried your best not to make any noise, not even risking breathing. You couldn't help your eyes from being glued to them.

"I-I know you. You're that guy we had to straighten out cause you and your partner were protesting Top Dollar's tenant relocation program. B-But you're supposed to be dead. We killed you, dead." Skank mumbled, slightly laughing in disbelief at the end.

This made you stop. Your body turning cold.

You knew exactly what he was talking about. Remember a few months before the attack, gathering other tenants to protest. But that wasn't what was making your nerves go wild.

It was who Skank was fighting with.

No. There was no way. He has to be talking about someone else.

You didn't even want to think of the possibility of seeing Eric again. Knowing that there was no possible way that could ever happen.

But why did he look so familiar? When you heard the strangers voice, deep down you knew.

"I guess not all things that die, stay dead." His voice was deep and raspy, showing off his classic sarcasm that reminded you of Eric before his death.

How could this be happening? There was no way that could be Eric. No way.

As your thoughts battled it out in your head as to if this was a dream or not, Skank began to laugh hysterically like he was losing his mind as well. Slowly starting to move his hand behind his back to retrieve the loaded gun resting on his waistband.

While you hadn't noticed, Eric did. Giving off an eerie smile before springing into action, darting right for Skank.

Not being quick enough as a gun shot ring out, causing you to let out a small shriek. Placing your hands upon your ears in an attempt to shelter them from the sharp pain booming through it. Dropping the wooden stick in the process. Closing your eyes to try and hid yourself, knowing fully well that it was useless.

Not being able to contain your breath anymore, you started to hyperventilate. Trying your best to get your breath under control but finding it almost impossible as it kept escaping you.

Not even realizing that the two men had turned their attention to you. Eric taking a second glance as he couldn't believe his eye. He was in complete disbelief that it was you standing right there. Eric assumed you died as well that night, seeing you there made his blood drain from his face.

As the pain in your ears started to die down, you slowly forced your eyes open. Blinking a few times before getting a clear picture as to what was going on. Seeing the two men wrestling to take control of the gun. Eric grabbing at Skank's face, trying to block his vision. Somehow Eric seemed completely fine for being just fired upon.

Was he hit at all? Was he hurt?

Panic fueling your body to run but when you looked at Eric, you knew that wasn't going to be possible.

Now you needed answers.

What was he doing here? How is he alive? How long has he been alive? A day? The whole year?

Not knowing if it was the sense of curiosity or the excitement of seeing Eric in the flesh that made your heart pound. Being completely convinced that this was all just a dream.

Hearing another bang piercing through your ears once again, causing your body to flinch out of instinct. All this followed by a tight pressure coming from the side of your thigh. Even though it wasn’t painful, it was still enough to send your body to the cold ground.

At first not realizing why until you began to see a pool of red liquid starting to collect underneath your leg. Knowing fully well now that you were Skank's target. Lucky for you, he has terrible aim.

Hearing who you assumed to be Eric and Shank struggle against each other once again but you couldn't find the courage to look away from your wound.

Now feeling a strong burning sensation beginning to form on the right side of your thigh, pinpointing exactly where a bullet had ripped itself through your leg. Leaving a nickel sized hole in its place.

Quickly placing your hand on it, in an attempt to somehow ease the intense feeling that throbbed through your entire leg. Feeling a wet sticky substance slipping through your fingers.

Your body starting to jitter uncontrollably as darkness began to form around the edges of your vision. The world starting to go blurry around you.

A comforting hand suddenly resting on top of yours, causing you to jerk yourself back. Only for you to make eye contact with the worried gray eyes of Eric.

A sense of relief washing over you, a small smile resting on your lips. Quickly fading, when he applied a slight pressure to your injury, trying to stop the bleeding. Causing the pain to become more intense.

Your thoughts moving to Skank, hoping he was no longer a threat. You scanned the area, your sight landing on him running down the alleyway and disappearing as he rounded the corner of a building. Your vision starting to become more and more faint as you tried to focus.

You felt a gentle hand caressing your cheek, pulling your sight back to Eric.

"I need you to stay awake, y/n." You could hear the panic in Eric’s voice.

You tried to respond.

You wanted to tell him you were trying, that you missed him, that you loved him. Yet nothing but a slight whine came out.

The energy starting to leave your body as a dull ache started to form at the back of your head. Losing all control off your body as it went limp.

The darkness completely consuming your vision as your heart pounded.

Eventually not fighting it anymore and allowing sleep to take over as the world disappeared. The last thing you remembered was hearing Eric calling your name.

#eric draven x reader #eric draven #the crow imagine #eric draven imagine #the crow

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multiplefandomsblog · 3 years

Text

“Offer”

request; Can I get an imagine with Kokichi with an artist S/O who wants to paint him but he keeps flustering them with suggestions of a nude painting of him?

warnings; kind of suggestive, mention of nudity, cussing, mutual pining i think, i made it kinda crack fic, reader has an ultimate talent(artist), not edited too well, ended it weird like always, kissing, lowkey making out tho-

note; wow i wrote way too much- but hey, i still hope you enjoy this!

word count; 1.9k+

You walked around the school, looking for Kokichi to ask him to be your model.

Although you have sketched Kokichi several times before, you felt you needed to ask him face-to-face so he could just stay still in his goddamn chair instead of changing positions every 5 seconds and ruining your half-done sketch. And so, you went off to go find the boy, finding it surprisingly hard to catch him.

“There you are! I was looking for you-” You puffed out a sigh of relief, clutching your art supplies close to you as you saw your purple-haired classmate. Not a second after he caught sight of your figure jogging towards him, he had started taunting you.

“Oooooh, hey S/o, you seem mighty happy to see me, hm? I wonder why that is…” He took a funny-looking step towards you, voice laced with an interrogating tone.

He had that strange smirk on his face, and not the one you liked. N-not that you liked his smile! In consequence of staring at him and sketching him constantly without his knowledge—or so you thought—, you have become almost a master of reading his mood and expressions.

“Don’t get any wrong ideas, I just wanted to ask you if I could paint you.” For a small moment you swore you could see his expression twist into one of shock, before quickly melting back into his shit-eating grin. “Well of course you would! I’m the ultimate supreme leader, after all.” He acted as if he wasn’t just gob-smacked a second ago.

You beamed up at him, you had been in a small art block for a while and the moment you saw Kokichi, you knew he would be the cure to it. And so, you were ecstatic when he said what he said, “So you’ll do it?” You jumped a little too high, and spoke a little too eagerly.

“Mhm! —but with a catch, of course.” Your face dropped, you should’ve known the little fucker would try and get something out of you. “Nishishi!”

Unsure if you even wanted to know, you asked carefully, “W-what’s the catch..?” Your voice laced with caution, brain suddenly being reminded of all the pranks and blackmail he had fucked everyone else over with in the past. Knowing him, it could vary from, ‘Eat a bug.’ to, ‘Survive a knife game against me!’

But what he said was definitely worse than the former, and the latter.

“You have to paint me fully-nude.”

… It was suddenly very quiet, the echo of his insane remark, bouncing off the walls. The silence mostly coming from your side—then again, what did you expect? Painting Kokichi would mean the end of your art block and a painting of Kokichi, like, c’mon, but painting Kokichi nude would mean- Well, you weren’t sure what it meant; hence, the silence.

Impatient and somewhat annoyed by the silence, he poked at your shoulder, “So? Are you gonna paint me naked or not?” You stared at your shoes, too afraid to make eye contact with the boy you were now thinking of... naked.

“... C-can’t I just paint you normally?” He pouted, a comedically high whine erupting from his throat as he replied, “But that’s no fuuuuuun!”

“Don’t you want to see your ultimate supreme leader, whipping out his wang?-” You shoved his face away from your warm one, “Y… I mean n-no, no!” Your tone weak before getting loud and defensive as you caught yourself before all hell broke loose.

You felt your stomach drop as you thought about the possibility of Kokichi knowing you wanted to see him, and I quote, ‘Whipping out his wang’, Kokichi would never let that one go.

“Aw man, well I guess you don’t wanna paint me theeeen.” He slowly stepped away, a pout on his face as his back faced towards you. He hummed circus music as he teetered on his feet, balancing on one foot at once as he ‘walked’ away from you agonizingly slow, obviously waiting for you to tell him to come back.

“Koki-” In a flash, Kokichi had been by your side, dragging your hand to god knows where. “You have me convinced! I’ll let you paint me because I’m suuuuuch a nice guy. Nishishi!” Although you should’ve asked where the both of you were going, you felt knowing the catch was more important, “B-but what’s the catch?”

Kokichi kept at his speedy pace, yet he answered with a voice that still had so much energy in it, “Aww, I’m hurt you think there’s a catch, do you not trust me that much?”

Silence.

“Meanie... but yeah, you were right to suspect me. The catch is.... “ He drum-rolled on your palm, “You just have to kiss me for payment!” He slowed down a bit to send a cheeky smile your way. You almost tripped on your feet as you heard him, “What!? Bu-”

Kokichi quickly interrupted you, “Uh-uh, don’t try to pretend you don’t wanna. I know you have nooooo problem kissing those little sketches of me when you think no one is looking~” His voice quieted down sinisterly as he spoke, the evil smile spreading across his face once more. Although he had been wearing an extremely thick mask of a smile to hide his true feelings, anyone would’ve noticed that small blush on his upper right cheek. Anyone.

“You saw that?” Kokichi cackled at your agitated and flustered face, “Nishishi! Don’t worry, I’m the only one that knows. After all, no one finds you interesting enough to actually notice that.” You furrowed your brow at the subtle hint he had given you, “But you did-”

Kokichi put on a teasing smile this time, “That was a lie! I didn’t see anything with my own eyes, I just assumed you have and so you helped me confirm it! Nice job on fucking yourself over, S/o! Nishishi~!” You rolled your eyes, you liked this guy?

Well anyways, it didn’t seem to matter whether you questioned your feelings for the liar, as you finally made it to where Kokichi had been dragging you to. You watched as Kokichi skipped away from you and hopped on the bench, surrounded by moss and other wild plants.

“Ta-da! When I first saw this place, I immediately thought of you! You know, because you’re a nerd who likes cliché art settings.” He grinned, posing on top of the bench, “How’s this? Nishishi! Don’t answer that, I know this is perfect.”

... He looked like an idiot. But a cute idiot.

Suppressing a laugh, you gestured downwards to guide him down from his strange pose, “U-uh, maybe you could just, sit down? Like a normal person, I mean.” He sneered at you, before reluctantly sitting down, “You’re so boring.” The way he sat on the bench reminded you of a child who had just gotten denied candy.

Smiling in relief, you quickly took a seat on the bench opposite to him, bringing out your supplies excitedly. Despite the pout on Kokichi’s face, and the grudge he wanted to keep, the way you so excitedly took out your canvas made his heart melt as well as his attitude.

In the corner of your eye, you swore you could see Kokichi’s genuine smile, albeit it was lopsided but it still made you flush. Without thinking, you spoke, tilting your head upwards to look at him better, “You should smile more, you’re really pretty like that.” He… his mind blanked for a second, his façade fading away slightly to reveal a genuine expression of shock.

He quickly gained his composure back, “Um, okay? I always smile, are you blind?” Despite his passive-aggressive reply, you couldn’t find any reason to be mad, although you should’ve been. You smiled fondly and shook your head, diving back into concentration towards your canvas.

After an hour of pointless conversation, flirting, and calculated strokes of your brush, you were satisfied with the result. “... Alright, I’m done.” Kokichi sighed exasperatedly as he stood up and stretched, “Finally! I was afraid my limbs were going to freeze forever in that position.” You stared at him accusingly, “You didn’t even stay still the entire time. At one point, you did a fucking cartwheel-”

Kokichi slid on over you, leaning over your seated figure to peak at the painting of him. “Lemme see!” He reached for the painting with his pale hands, causing you to jerk the painting away from his reach. “It’s not dry yet! Just look, don’t touch.” You scolded, unamused by his pouty expression. “You’re no fun S/o-chan, but okay. I know how much you like to be in charge~” He teased, before finally laying his eyes on the painting he stayed still one whole hour for.

You felt your anxiety rise at his silence, “... Well, d-do you like it?” Although you were pretty confident in your ultimate talent and skills, for some odd reason, you felt extremely nervous when you showed it to Kokichi.

You were confused as to why your hands were shaking, you’ve shown your artwork to galleries, museums, the harshest art critics in the world! So why the hell did it matter so much to you if this one boy liked it or not?

“I think it looks super handsome! And by it, I mean me. Nishishi!” He grinned, “I look good in everything after all.” You scoffed, you couldn’t believe you actually expected a genuine compliment from Kokichi, of all people.

“Hey so, it’s time for your payment you know?” Payment... what? You looked up at him in confusion, big fat crocodile tears sprung out from his eyes, “Waaaah! I can’t believe S/o forgot our deal!” You flushed again as you were suddenly reminded of the kiss.

You sighed tiredly, “You were serious?” He glared at you, “I’m always serious!” You gave him an accusing look that screamed, ‘You know that’s bullshit.’ But sighed defeatedly for what seemed like the umpteenth time. As you stood up to walk up to him, you set your painting down nearby.

Squirming underneath his expectant gaze, you leaned in torturously slow until your noses were nearly touching, your eyes were glued to his lips nervously. You kind of just… stood there, waiting. Waiting for him to take initiative, as he usually does. “... You know, You’re kissing me, right? Not the other way around.” His voice was lower, quieter than usual, and you could feel his breath within each word.

He smirked at your awkward shuffle towards him, finding your averting eyes and flushed face extremely endearing. Though Kokichi would never admit it, deep down he was nervous too- But of course, he refused to ever admit that reality. Even to himself.

“I-I know that! I was just… preparing.” He hummed a skeptical ‘Okay’, standing patiently for the kiss you owed him. Letting out a shaky breath, you quickly pressed your lips on his, before immediately pulling away. Well, you tried pulling away. Kokichi gripped your collar, eagerly going in for more. His lips enveloped yours roughly, he could feel you trying to back away and so he just decided he had to go even harder.

Once he pulled away, he saw your lips puffy and swollen, and face completely dazed. You wanted to ask him why he stopped but he interrupted you before you could, “You know, I never said you had to kiss my lips, pervert〜” Your eyes widened at his statement, “It seems you’ve been wanting this for a while, huh?” You didn’t say anything, only fuelling his fire.

“Nishishi! You’re so obsessed with me, it’s adorable~” You took a defensive step back, “I-I am not!” He suddenly leaned his face dangerously close to yours, grinning sadistically as he heard your whimper. “You shouldn’t lie, you know? Especially not to me.” He leaned in next to your ear, catching your earlobe between his teeth and biting gently.

“Anyway!” You snapped out your daze as he barked suddenly, “The nude painting offer still stands, you know!” He yelled out, walking away from you, strangely.

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