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ericsprincess · 11 months

Text

checkmate

You catch your brother's annoying best friend doing something in your room.

~~~

“....oh, and by the way, Sunwoo is coming over tonight to watch a movie,”

You stop mid-folding a t-shirt and look at your brother in disbelief. He can’t be for real, you think. This is like the third time just this week.

“This is like the third time just this week,” you frown at your brother that’s standing in the doorway to your bedroom. “Doesn’t he have his own place and his own roommates to annoy?”

“Yeah, but his roommates are working on some school project, so he doesn’t want to distract and annoy them much, until they finish it,” your brother shrugs.

“So, he’s just coming here all the time to annoy us?” you groan and throw the semi-folded t-shirt on the pile.

“Well, he’s not annoying me. Come on, sis, he’s not that bad. He really likes you actually, you’re just so mean to him all the time,” pleads your brother.

“Are we talking about the same Sunwoo?” you ask. “He literally just asks me the most dumb questions all the time and does things to spite me.”

“Yeah but that’s how Sunwoo shows his affection,” your brother laughs.

“By the greasiest overacted flirting?”

“Basically. If you saw beyond his overdone fuckboy persona you would see he’s actually really nice. He’s just playing it up in front of you, because he wants your reaction and attention,” smiles your brother. He seems to find this whole situation amusing, and this annoys you even more.

“I find it really hard to believe it,” you frown. “But okay, he can come, but it’s your responsibility to keep him on the leash, understood?”

“Sure thing, sis,” he shoots you finger guns. “Gotta run to school, see ya!”

“Bye..” you sigh. You really, really love your brother, but when you agreed for him to move into your spare bedroom to save up on his university costs, this is not how you imagined it. You did not expect to sign up for a 2 in 1 package, that is your brother and his annoying raccoon of a best friend, that is now the bane of your existence. The worst thing is, that Sunwoo is not even doing anything actually bad, he’s just being annoying and you never know how to react to his teasing.

You hold up one last sock, and it’s without the pair. Seems like a deja vu, that something is missing. Great, lately it seems that the laundry machine is taking way too many sacrifices.

~~~

This is already a long day and it seems that it will never end. You left for work and now you’re sitting there, mindlessly typing on your computer and pretending to work. You want to go home so badly, but you’re not even looking forward to that much now, that you’ll have a visitor.

I’ll just get food and stay in my bedroom, you think. But usually, that doesn’t deter Sunwoo from going to bother you under the pretense of “saying hi”. He’d just knock once and open the door without waiting for a reply, as if everything belonged to him. Maybe I should just lock the door.

DING! Your thoughts get interrupted by your phone announcing you just got a message. DING DING!

bro

>hey sis

>btw

>i need to stay late in school because something came up

>so i just told sunwoo the door code and he’ll let himself in

>just so that you’re not surprised he’s already there

>gotta go, love you byeee

>also dont kill him pls lol

you

>oh for fuck’s sake

You groan. This can’t be real.

~~~

Ugh, finally home. You angrily punch the door code and wait for the door to unlock. Immediately you kick off your shoes, fling a laptop bag away and mentally brace for greeting the awaited intruder that should be already there.

You march into the living room, already pre-pissed off but - there is no one there. No one laying on the couch in sneakers, spilling crumbs of your snacks between the seats. No one playing the console, yelling at the game. No one drinking a beer, putting it on the table without a coaster and loudly burping. Suspicious.

Maybe he bailed, you think and your mood is already getting brighter. So you just decide to go to your room to chill. You open the door and -

“What the fuck are you doing?!” you shriek. You’re standing in the doorway, stunned, looking at Sunwoo, who’s frozen like a deer in the headlights. As he should be, since he’s absolutely not supposed to be in your room, the one single place in your apartment he’s banished from.

And what he’s totally absolutely not supposed to be, is standing over your opened laundry hamper, with half of its content thrown outside of it.

“N-nothing,” he stutters and awkwardly steps away from the little mess of clothes. Interesting. This is the first time you’ve seen Sunwoo without his confidence and cockiness. His face is getting red and he’s looking genuinely nervous.

“Nothing my ass. What are you doing in my room?” you push.

“Nothing, really, I was not doing anything,” he anxiously shakes his head and takes a step back. You suddenly catch a glimpse of something familiar.

“What’s in your hand?” you ask, but before he can even try denying having anything, you step forward and snatch the item he’s squeezing in his sweaty palm. You immediately recognize it.

“Kim Sunwoo.” you growl threateningly.

“Y-yes?”

“Kim Sunwoo. So not only you impose all the time, not only you steal my food and make a mess. You even dare to go to my room? And steal my fucking panties?? AND THEN LIE ABOUT IT?” you’re furious.

“I-i am really sorry, Y/N, please don’t kill me! Or-, or, please don’t tell Y/B/N about it,” he pleads, with big eyes and face red from embarrassment. This is not how you usually see him and you’re finding out that you’re quite liking it. He’s actually kinda cute when he looks all helpless and caught off guard. Your anger is quickly getting replaced by mischief and you decide in a split second that you’re going to have fun with it.

“Why shouldn’t I?” you raise your eyebrow. “Why shouldn’t I tell my brother that I caught his best friend stealing my panties? What are you even stealing them for?” You have a hunch, but it will be more fun to pry this out of him.

“I…I just…I just wanted them..” he takes a step back. You take one step forward.

“Why?”

“Because…” Sunwoo looks like all he wants is for the ground to open and to swallow him whole so he doesn't have to be confronted. “...because they smell of you..” he whispers. He has nowhere to step back to, his back is touching your dresser.

You’re so close to him your chest is barely touching him. You can feel his fast breathing and heart pounding. He’s much taller than you, but you are the one in charge in this situation and you’re almost drunk off the feeling. Especially, since it’s Kim Sunwoo, the bane of your existence, for the past few months.

“So you’re really a pervert, aren’t you?”

“N-no I swear I’m not!” he rushes to deny, but you can just somehow tell it’s not quite like that.

“I can feel your boner. Kim Sunwoo, you even like this, don’t you? Do you find it hot that you’ve been busted?” you accuse him. “Oh geez, my brother will be really devastated to hear that his best friend not only is a pervert, but also gets off on it.”

“Y/N, please, don’t tell him, I- I will do whatever you want! I will behave from now on, I swear!” he pleads. “I’ll return all of the other ones too, I promise!”

“Other ones?” you’re in disbelief. You probably shouldn’t feel this way, but you’re finding it really hot that this pest which kept annoying you for a long time, is secretly so attracted to you that he resolved to steal your panties to sniff and masturbate to. It’s so disgusting and yet you’re getting wet at the mere mental image of Sunwoo holding your used panties to his face while jerking off frantically.

“So here’s the deal,” you start. “In the exchange for my silence, you’ll do whatever I want for three months, okay?”

“Okay, okay, deal, thank you,” he nods desperately. He’s looking all pathetic, with a red face, almost watering eyes and with a boner tenting his pants. You’re so wet and it gives you the worst idea.

“We can start now,” you step away from him and lie down on your bed, bending your legs at the knees, feet at the edge of the bed, your skirt falling back, exposing your legs and underwear.

Sunwoo looks frozen.

“Come here,” you scoff and he snaps out of it and rushes to you. He kneels on the ground in front of your bed and hesitantly reaches out, but it’s like he’s not actually sure if he can touch you.

You roll your eyes and pull off your panties yourself. “What are you waiting for? A written invitation?”

“Sorry, sorry,” he hurries with an apology and puts his face between your legs immediately. He starts eating you out eagerly, whispering “Thank you, thank you”.

He’s surprisingly not bad at it. He doesn’t seem to be too experienced, but what he lacks in experience, makes up for in enthusiasm. It’s almost like he’s making out with your pussy.

He’s slowly licking over your folds, gently sucking on your clit, his tongue is hot, wet and feels so good. He’s slowly building up the intensity and it feels so good, you can’t help but moan a little, even though you’re really trying not to.

Sunwoo looks like he’s enjoying himself too, with one of his hands rubbing over his clothed cock, and you have half a mind to mock him for it, if only making a coherent sentence wouldn't be so difficult right now.

You’re getting close, with his tongue flicking over your clit, but you decide you don’t want to come like that. You grab him by his hair and tear his head away from your pussy. He whines about it and makes an attempt to get back to licking you, but you’re holding him too firmly. He must be in pain, but he doesn’t seem to care about that.

“Come up and fuck me, before I kick you out,” you let his hair go. He seems surprised, but not wanting to anger you further, he quickly takes off his pants and underwear, while you move up higher on the bed. He joins you on the bed and you’re not wasting time, grabbing his hard cock and pulling him close to you. He whimpers in pain, but complies immediately and pushes inside your pussy. He’s hovering on top of you and it seems like he’s not daring to move yet. Actually, his face is getting closer and all of the alarms in your head start ringing.

Oh shit, you wonder, he wants to kiss me. Your hand quickly flies up and you grab him by his jaw to stop him. You blindly pat with your other hand on the bed quickly, until you find what you’re looking for - your discarded panties. You ball them up and stuff them into his mouth.

“Don’t get stupid ideas, Sunwoo,” you say. “If you want more of the taste, this is the only thing you’re going to get now.” you warn him and to get him to move you slightly kick him with your heel.

He gets the hint and starts fucking you immediately, already with a fast tempo. It’s clear neither of you is going to last long. But you have to admit he feels really good. It’s just a passing thought, as you are staring at his blushed face, with your panties stuffed into his mouth and his eyes glossy, but you already know you’re going to make the most out of this “deal”. The thought of having Sunwoo as your plaything for three months is so arousing, that it’s what gets you to come, while he’s fucking into you.

Your squirming and moaning is so strong, you almost throw him off yourself, but he has enough presence of mind to hold you tightly, while he fucks into you fast and hard. Not before long he’s cumming into you, eyes close and whimpering. You can feel his cock pulsate in you and you squeeze him closer to you with your legs, so you can feel it even better.

He spits out the panties and snuggles a little into your neck as he’s catching his breath and you graciously give him a few seconds of this before you’re kicking him off you.

You’re both a mess - half-undressed, sweaty and disheveled. You throw him his clothes. “Put it back on.” He does and just awkwardly stands, obviously not sure what to do now.

“We’re done here…for now. You should go to the living room to wait for my brother and I really hope I won’t see or hear you anymore tonight, so you better behave. And if I catch you in my room again, the deal is off and I’m telling everything, understood?” you threaten.

He nods and hesitantly goes to leave. He’s actually really cute, when he’s all obedient, you wonder. It melts your heart a tiny bit. You probably shouldn’t like it so much.

“Hey Sunwoo?” you call after him. He turns back.

“Y-Yes?”

“You forgot something,” you smirk and throw your panties at him. He catches them and looks at you, confused.

“Put them into good use, until I see you next time, would you?”

He looks completely embarrassed, but nonetheless he stuffs the panties into his pocket and literally runs out of your room, while you laugh at him.

Best deal of my life, you think and head to the shower.

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cambion-companion · 1 year

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Hi, I love your blog! On the subject of "one bed", what do you think of this: reader is kidnapped. Aemond happens to find her. They're too far from the city, so they must set up camp in the woods/cave. His sword is placed between them (like Jon & Ygritte), but it's really cold, windy and rainy, their fire dies. 😮 They must share their body heat, and Aemond's extra warm bc of his dragon blood. 🥵 Even better if they're childhood enemies. I'm a sucker for the enemies-to-lovers trope. lol

Oooh, yes, I love the enemies to lovers trope more than anything. Let me see what I can cook up here! This is also the longest fic I've written in a WHILE lol

word count: 2,664

Aemond x fem!reader | enemies to lovers | 18+ only | there be a lot of SMUT | hot spring smut

The wind whipped about you, causing your cloak to flutter and swirl, the snow landing in thick white flakes on your shivering head and shoulders.

“Aemond, it’s close to nightfall!” You shouted to the distant figure ahead of you. “We should make camp!”

“We don’t stop until we reach White Harbor!” Came the muffled reply, his voice almost carried away on another strong gust of chill air.

“When will admit you got us lost?” You jutted out your chin in defiance as the prince rounded on you, striding through the deepening snow to approach you.

He was taller than you, stronger too by the looks of him, but you refused to be intimidated even when he loomed into your personal space, forcing you to look up at him. “You are a traitor and now a prisoner to the Crown. I have been tasked with bringing you back to King’s Landing.”

“And we aren’t going to get there if we freeze out here!” You interrupted, glaring into his one eye. “I thought you were the smart Targaryen. At least you were last I saw you…” You continued to taunt as Aemond took your elbow roughly, shoving you to walk ahead of him. “But I guess a lot can change in ten years.”

“Keep moving.” Was your terse reply, you could almost hear his teeth grinding and you smiled to yourself in satisfaction.

“Oh, come on, Aemond!” You looked over your shoulder, momentarily taken aback by how close he still was. “We were friends once, remember? What’s changed since then?”

“What’s changed?” Aemond echoed your question, incredulity and anger lacing his every word. “You fed information to the Black Queen and her allies.” He touched the pommel of his sword with a gloved hand, staring daggers at you. “You are a spy charged with treason, and my brother entrusted your retrieval to me alone. Now walk.”

“How clever of him.” You resumed trudging through the snow, it was up to your knees now. Aegon had known your one weakness would be his brother, the boy you remembered so fondly as your childhood friend.

It has been easy for Aemond, tracking you down, asking after you under the pretense of reuniting. You had fallen for it, of course you had. Now your hands were bound in front of you with thick rope, and you were being led back to the Capital like a lamb to the slaughter.

“We will take shelter in those caves.”

Darkness had descended quickly as the snow continued to fall, you squinted, making out the shape of several large rock formations ahead of you.

Aemond scouted out the shallowest of these caves, laying out the bedrolls and handing you some dried meat to eat. You tugged dismally at the jerky. It tasted terrible.

The winds seemed to be driving the storm away, soon enough the clouds dispersed, leaving a clear sky and a full moon above. Your predicament momentarily forgotten you looked up in awe at the stars and the way the silver light of the moon reflected brightly off the white blankets of freshly fallen snow.

You felt Aemond’s gaze, turning your head to catch his eye. His long hair was bright under the clear night sky, the light reflecting off the paleness of his skin. You looked at each other, in heavy silence, for a long while. Aemond gave nothing away, his expression smooth as marble. Only his eye moved as it roved across your moonlit features.

“You don’t have to wear that.” You broke the silence, motioning to Aemond’s leather eyepatch. “I’m sure it’s soaked by now.”

His mouth thinned as he continued looking at you, not deigning to reply.

“I was there when it happened, Aemond.”

Another beat of silence.

“I recall.” His voice was low, clearly audible now that the winds had abated.

In a fluid movement, Aemond lifted the patch off his head, still watching your face unblinking. Despite yourself, your breath caught in your throat at the sight of what lay beneath. A multi-faceted gemstone of rich blue caught the light and refracted into a thousand sparkling moons.

“It’s beautiful.” You breathed, entranced by the sight. You laughed suddenly. “Of course, you would choose the most beautiful gem.”

“I’d much rather have my eye.”

“Of course.” You repeated, feeling foolish. You looked down at your hands, resting in your lap, still bound by rope. “Is there any chance you can untie me?”

“No.”

“Great!” Your eyes narrowed at him. “Can we make a fire?”

“No.”

“Well, you’re just a ray of sunshine.”

“A fire would act as a beacon, drawing unwanted attention.” Aemond rolled his eye, shifting to lay down upon his side. “At least I am not a traitor.”

“I had no choice, you insufferable upstart!” Anger bubbled in your chest, your words cutting through the still night air. “I did it to save my family.”

Aemond was silent, he turned onto his back, looking up at the dark ceiling of the cave.

You took the opportunity to at last retrieve the small knife hidden in your boot, sawing slowly at the rope that bound your hands. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand, privileged as you are.” The bindings began to loosen. “But I refuse to play the pawn in someone else’s game.”

With a snap your hands were free. You came to your feet suddenly, turning to run in the direction you knew to be shelter and freedom. The moon shone bright overhead as you ran through the snow, making your surroundings almost as bright as in daytime.

You prided yourself on being fast and agile, however Aemond was still faster. You felt a heavy impact at your back as he tackled you face-first into a snowbank. You lashed out, making impact against some part of him that gave you an advantage, allowing you to wriggle out from under his weight, rising back to your feet.

“I thought you were clever.” Aemond panted, facing off against you, his sword still in its sheath. “I suppose much can change in ten years.” He mocked, tilting his silver head at you, a grim smile upon his lips. “Didn’t occur to you to wait until I slept before trying your escape?”

He approached you, deflecting your attacks as you tried to fend him off. Aemond grabbed your elbow, practically dragging you back to the cave. “You are more trouble than you’re worth.”

“Then why don’t you just kill me and be done with it?” You collapsed against the stone ground as Aemond released you with a push. “Death is what I face at King’s Landing.”

“Indeed, it is.” Aemond’s stance was still defensive as you struggled back to your feet. “My brother wants you to be an example to the people.”

“What do you want, Aemond?” You asked, spitting your damp hair out of your mouth.

The prince didn’t answer you, busying himself instead with patting you down for more weapons, you little knife was lost in the snow.

His dexterous hands moved across your body, probing your clothing for more hidden daggers. You inhaled sharply as he pressed his fingers to the inside of your thighs. “Buy me a drink first.”

He looked up at you, his prominent brow furrowing. “Do you feel that?”

“Yes, that’s why I-”

“Hush.” Aemond interrupted you, straightening and looking intensely over your shoulder, deeper into the cave.

He stepped passed you, and you followed his movements with a quizzical quirk to your eyebrow. Then you felt it. Warm air. Seeping from somewhere deeper inside the dark cavern.

Aemond muttered something unintelligible, returning to his pack where he rummaged a while. Flame sparked as he struck stone upon stone, igniting a makeshift torch, holding it aloft and returning to where you stood watching.

“Ladies first.” He motioned for you to walk ahead of him, deeper into the cave.

“Very well, but if I get eaten by a bear, I’m coming back to haunt you.”

“Promises, promises.” Aemond half-laughed, his breath tickling the back of your neck as you explored further.

The warm air blew stronger against your face as you picked careful footsteps forward, the way ahead illuminated by flickering firelight. You descended through rough walls of black stone, ducking every so often to avoid a jagged overhang. Soon the sound of water met your ears, the air around you very warm and humid, the stone beneath your feet glistened and little puddles of water lay around the small cavern you found yourself in.

“An underground spring!” You exclaimed, excitedly turning back to Aemond. “I’ve heard of there being hot springs in this area, but have never found any. Thank the gods!”

You shifted off your heavy cloak, beginning to undo the fastenings of your clothing, eagerly looking at the clear water and the coils of steam rising off its shimmering surface.

“What are you doing?” Aemond sounded rather perplexed behind you, still holding the torch aloft.

“Drying my clothes and taking a bath, what does it look like?”

“Y/N…”

Your hands, which had been undoing the lacings of your tunic faltered, hearing your name upon his lips for the first time in over a decade.

You turned to face him; jaw set determinedly. “You can turn around or even leave me here in darkness, I will get into that water.”

Aemond looked away as you shuffled off the rest of your clothes, spreading the soaked fabric out on the stone to hopefully dry a little. You splashed into the hot water, sighing loudly as your chilled body was enveloped by warmth. “Aemond you’ve got to come join me. It’s unreal.”

You looked over to where the prince still stood rigid, facing diligently away from where you bathed. “You can’t see me, silly. The steam covers our bodies as good as clothing.” A playful smile tugged at your lips as he finally looked back over to where you sat.

He lay the torch upon the ground, the firelight illuminating the small cavern in a cozy glow. You watched as Aemond removed his cloak as well, only looking away politely when he started unbuttoning his shirt and trousers. You heard the water splash and felt little eddying waves as he entered the spring, choosing to sit as far from you as possible.

You glanced over at him before laying your head back against the stone, watching how the torchlight cast dancing shadows on the jagged dome.

“Who threatened your family?” The question was soft, you almost didn’t hear it over the sound of dripping water.

“I’m not sure who, exactly. Just the Blacks. They knew of the position I held in the Capital, and how valuable the information I received could be for them.” Unbidden tears pricked the corners of your eyes as you continued looking up at the ceiling. “They made gave me a taste…an example of what I could expect should I disobey.”

“What do you mean?” Aemond’s voice was a little closer, concern lacing his words.

“Minerva.”

“No.” Aemond was next to you now, you could see him in your periphery. “Y/N, look at me.”

You raised your head, fresh tears falling down your cheeks to mix with the steaming water. Aemond looked crestfallen, his eye sorrowful upon your face. “I loved your sister like she was my own.”

You nodded, your face crumpling, hugging yourself under the water. “I know, Aemond…but a lot can change in ten years…”

Light fingers grazed your cheek. “Where is the rest of your family now?”

“Still at home.” Your lips parted slightly as you looked at the intense expression on Aemond’s face.

“We will retrieve them.” He spoke firmly, his mouth shaping the words carefully. “Bring them to safety. And you…” His wandering fingers traced your jaw, his thumb brushing your lower lip. “Y/N.”

You leaned into his touch, your gaze falling to his plush mouth. “What of me?”

“You will not answer to my brother.” Aemond took your chin in his hand, tugging you still closer until you overbalanced, catching yourself against him with a hand to his bare chest.

“Aemond…” You breathed out his name, whatever you intended to say forgotten as he pressed a kiss to your lips.

You moaned into his mouth as his hands skimmed down your sides to grope the flesh at your hips. He pulled you flush against him, your breasts pressing against the planes of his chest. The water enveloping you in silky caresses as you moved to straddle Aemond’s lap.

He nipped at your lower lip, coaxing your mouth open to allow his tongue to roam and taste you. You ground yourself against his hard arousal, frowning down at the prince as he stilled your movements with a firm grip.

Aemond pulled away to look up at you through his hooded eye. “I will not take your maidenhead tonight, for we are not yet wed.”

The “yet” lingered in the air as he moved to place wet kisses to the hollow of your throat, sucking bruises to the soft flesh of your neck.

“Then what-ah!” You gasped, your hips jerking Aemond’s fingers brushed against your slick center.

“I want you to ride my fingers, Y/N.” He mouthed at your breast as your rose up to position yourself over him.

He helped guide you down, his longer fingers entering your core, moving and curling inside of you as you began rocking against him. Your body jerked as Aemond’s thumb brushed your clit, rubbing circles against the swollen bundle of nerves.

“You’re so beautiful.” He breathed, licking and sucking your pert nipples into his hot mouth while palming the swell of your breasts with greedy hands.

You moaned, arching into him, your eyes shut and mouth open from the pleasure of feeling him stroking deep inside your cunt. The water splashed over the stone rim of the pool as you quickened your pace, your hands coming to grasp at Aemond’s strong shoulders for support.

“Aemond I’m going to-” The walls of your quim clenched around his fingers as, with another stroke to your clitoris, he sent you over the edge. You rode out your orgasm on the prince’s hand as he continued kissing every inch of skin his mouth could find.

With a sudden movement, and the splashing of hot water, Aemond stood, holding you to him by your thighs. He turned, placing you gently down upon the stone floor, spreading your legs wider before he knelt, still within the water, burying his face into your spasming cunt. Your cries of bliss echoed off the rough walls as you felt his tongue licking up your juices, fucking into you with wild abandon. Aemond moaned against your heat, his fingers still gripping your shaking thighs, forcing them to remain apart as you writhed atop the ground. Your fingers buried themselves in his silken hair, though you did not know whether it was to push him away or pull his face deeper into you.

With a lewd wet sound, Aemond released you, licking his lips and watching your wanton expression with a small smirk. “It’s demanding all of my self-control not to take you right here, on the floor of this cavern.”

“I wish you would.” You slid back into the water, kneeling to face him. You pressed a kiss to his mouth, tasting your release still upon his tongue.

He groaned, cupping the nape of your neck with his hand. “You’re not making it any easier.”

“I know.” You slid your fingers along the hard length of his shaft, before stroking him fully in your hand. “Stand up.” He obeyed, the water dripping off his body, revealing his rigid member.

You bit your lip, admiring the sight of him fully bared to you. The rivulets of water running down along the contours of his muscles, shimmering golden in the firelight.

“We aren’t done yet, my prince.” You leaned forward, placing a kiss to the leaking head, looking up at Aemond’s face through your long lashes. “You’ve been so generous to me.” You licked a long stripe along his twitching cock. He hissed, grabbing a fistful of your damp hair in his hand.

“Allow me to return the favor.” The water lapped at your waist from where you knelt in the pool, you smirked up at his entranced expression, before sucking him into your greedy mouth.

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ohmtoff · 12 days

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could i request a fic of reader and nick having a friends with benefits type of relationship, reader is in love with nick but doesn’t realise nick is in love with reader too so they have a mutual pining situation?

Mutually Exclusive

Summary: You can’t handle being just friends with benefits with Nick, not when you’re in love with him.

WC: 1.6k

Contains: angst, pining, misunderstandings, friends with benefits (or is it?)

a/n: heyyy!! so sorry for taking so long to write this😭 hope it’s okay that i didnt write any smut even though it’s a FWB prompt lol i just wasnt feeling to write smut sorryyy anon. hope you like ittt <3

——————————————————————————

Your head was pillowed on Nick’s chest, your fingers skimming over Nick’s soft stomach, occasionally trailing it across his chest hair which makes him giggle, and you were trying to figure out how to tell him you’d been asked on a date. Nick was running his fingers through your hair, occasionally placing a soft kiss to your temple, and your head is racking on how to explain that this will be the last time you will ever be in bed with him. You both had just finished a particularly sweet bout of intimacy, you felt utterless boneless, and you needed to somehow tell Nick you couldn’t keep doing this.

When you had first met Nick — at a party thrown by Larray — you’d immediately been drawn to him. How could you not be; Nick was cute and soft, so handsome in a way that still somehow felt comfortable and approachable. Eyes so blue and piercing that your heart immediately fluttered at the first eye contact. And Nick had apparently been drawn to you as well, at least that was the impression you got when you both ended up making out in the corner of the party a mere hour later.

After that first time, you both just kept… hooking up. Initially, it was only at parties, both gravitating towards each other and ending the night entangled in some way. Soon, after Nick had insisted you and him exchange numbers, it morphed into scheduled hook-ups, no pretense of a party required. And then you both started hanging out afterwards, trying a new restaurant or watching a movie or just talking. You’d catch meals together and facetime each other before going to sleep.

You weren’t sure when you both transitioned from random strangers hooking up to hook-ups who occasionally hang out to inseparable friends who also happen to hook up with each other, but you didn’t want to question it. Nick was maybe the best thing to ever happen to you, and you weren’t about to complicate that with logistics.

A finger ran over your face, smoothing out the wrinkle that had appeared between your eyes, snapping you out of your thoughts and into the present. “What’s got you so stressed?”

I thought I was okay with us just being friends with benefits but someone else asked me out and I’ve realised that I don’t want to go out with someone who isn’t you but that’s not what this is and I don’t know what to do about it because this isn’t enough but I don’t want anyone else.

“Mm, nothing.” You nuzzled into Nick’s chest.

“I know you. You don’t get that little crinkle between your eyes unless you got something on your mind.” Nick kissed the area in question, featherlight and soft.

“You know that guy, Curtis?” You focused on the tattoo of Nick’s arm, smoothing over them lightly, marveling at the goosebumps he left in his wake.

“Um, I think? That one guy that’s stalking you?” Nick chuckled, and the vibrations in his chest shook you just a bit. Just enough to remind you how physically close you and him were in that moment, as if neither boy existed without the other. Something panged near your heart.

“He’s not… He’s not stalking me.”

“Oh, so he just happens to appear everywhere you are? I don’t think we’ve gone anywhere in the last month without him ‘randomly’ showing up. He’s obsessed with you.” Nick pushed back your hair from your forehead and kissed you there. “Can’t say I blame him, though.”

Your chest ached. You weren’t sure when you’d fallen in love with Nick, but you were now firmly in the throes of it and every delicate gesture from Nick, every word of affection, every tiny touch, twisted something deep in your stomach. When Nick held you like this, naked and sated and warm, and looked at you with those adoring eyes, touched you like you mattered, You found it almost impossible to hold back all that you was feeling.

“You obsessed with me, Nicolas?” You hoped the joke would defuse some of the tension, maybe make Nick believe you too could be cool and casual about all of this.

“Yeah,” Nick whispered before cupping your face like you were something precious and pulling you into a kiss, small and slow and perfect.

You wanted to cry.

You needed a moment to gather yourself after Nick pulled back, eyes closed and lips still puckered.

“What did Curtis do?” Nick’s fingers returned to your hair.

“He, uh, he…” You thought it may be less painful to pluck out his own eyelashes than continue. “He asked me out.”

You hadn’t known how you thought Nick would react, but laughter had not been anywhere on your list. But Nick did just that, laughing boisterously, shaking them both. “Oh, wow. Poor Curtis.”

Poor Curtis. What did that mean?!

You frowned and sat up, needing to somehow find a way to put space between yourself and Nick. You turned to face the wall and crossed your arms, fighting back tears.

“You don’t have to be cruel, Nick.”

“What?” Nick sat up too, placing a tentative hand on your shoulder, which you shrugged off. “I just meant—”

“I know what you meant!” You looked down, concentrating on Nick’s white sheets. “Just because you don’t want to date me doesn’t mean no one else does.”

“What?! What are you talking about?!” Nick almost sounded angry, as if you were the one mocking him.

“People can like me, Nick! People can find me attractive and compelling and worthwhile.” Tears formed in the corners of your eyes.

“Babe, I know that—”

“So why did you laugh? Why did you pity Curtis for liking me?”

“What are you talking about?!” Nick sounded on the verge of tears as well, which finally made you turn to look at him.

His face was flushed red, his eyes glassy and wet, and he almost looked scared, as though your words were wounding him somehow.

“I’m worth someone liking me like that. I deserve that.” Some of your resolve was slipping at Nick’s expression, but you still managed to choke out a self-defense.

“I know that. You think I don’t know that?!” A tear slid down Nick’s cheek.

“You don’t get to cry, Nick. You’re the one insulting me.”

Another tear fell down Nick’s perfect face, splotchy and red, but still perfect. “I don’t get to cry when my boyfriend seems to be trying to break up with me by accusing me of not liking him and talking about another guy asking him out?”

“Wh–what?”

“I’m gonna cry over that, baby.” Nick’s voice was thick, his face now covered in a steady stream of tears. “I’m gonna cry over you breaking my heart.”

“Boyfriend?”

“Don’t make fun of me.”

“You have a boyfriend?” Since when did Nick have a boyfriend?

“Apparently I don’t anymore.” Nick’s voice caught at the end, a sob escaping his mouth.

“I— I’m your boyfriend?” Were you an idiot? Had you been dating Nick this whole time? You reached out to grab Nick’s face, wiping tears with the pads of your thumbs. “Nick. I am genuinely asking you: am I your boyfriend?”

Nick gaped at you. “I— yes? I thought so.”

You floundered for a moment, surveying Nick’s face for any sign of insincerity. Instead, all you found was wide-eyed hope. In lieu of any verbal response, you pulled Nick’s face to your own, kissing him with all you had, all the twisted aches in your stomach, all the blind hopes in your heart. You guided Nick back down, settling on top of him as your kiss deepened. The only thing you could think was NickNickNick.

“Mm.” Nick lightly pushed you back, separating your lips so he could talk. “You really didn’t know?”

“You never said anything. I don’t even know if you liked me like that, I thought we were just… hooking up.”

Nick stroked a thumb over your bottom lip, blowing a soft breath of laughter out of his nose. “Baby, I’m almost embarrassingly in love with you.”

“I didn’t know. You never… I didn’t know.”

“I guess I could have been clearer. But I thought when we started actually going on dates…” Nick trailed off, cheeks flushing.

You groaned and dropped your forehead to his chest. “You know damn well people now go on dates and have sex casually. How was I supposed to know we were serious? I thought we were friends who hung out all the time and then had sex.”

“Yeah, my love, that’s what dating is.” A beautiful laugh bubbled out of Nick, a bit watery from his crying, but still so lovely and bright.

“Okay, well, that makes it a lot easier to turn Curtis down.”

“I may not like that he went after my boyfriend, but without him, you may have just assumed we were platonic best friends who kiss for the rest of our lives. Our grandchildren gather round to hear our love story and you’re like ‘he’s just my friend, he doesn’t like me like that.’”

You raised your head and grinned wickedly. “Grandchildren?”

Nick smiled back, soft and glowing. “Oh yeah, we’re ride or die besties. May as well go in on one headstone, purely for financial purposes. And one last name too. Again, for financial purposes.”

“You proposing?” Just joking about it made your stomach do several backflips.

“Nah, not yet. We have to at least buy our own house first.”

You chuckled. “Hey.”

“Hm?”

“I’m embarrassingly in love with you too.”

You settled back onto Nick’s chest, resuming your skimming of his stomach, listening intently to Nick’s heart race. Despite having been in this exact position ten minutes prior, you felt lighter now, none of the trepidation and insecurity remaining.

Nick wanted you — loved you — as so much more than a friend with benefits, and you had never been happier.

#nick sturniolo #nick sturniolo fanfic #nick sturniolo imagine #nick sturniolo x reader #nick sturniolo x male reader #nick sturniolo fanfiction #sturniolo triplets fanfiction

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pathetichimbos · 1 year

Note

hiiiii

was wondering if you’d like 2 do a quick “where is she” type hurt&comfort prompt with thomas and/or bo!! maybe some victim vs slasher action thatd be funn

Includes: Thomas Hewitt / F!Reader

SFW

TW: Hurt / Comfort / Reader is kidnapped under false pretenses of being 'saved' / Their slasher bf does Not Like That / Canon Typical Violence

…

Hi! Thank you for sending in this ask and I hope you're doing very well.

This... Did not turn out to be a quick drabble, haha. I, as usual, got carried away. When I checked the page count I was at 12 pages and had only written Thomas' part, so there's that. I don't want to overload in one post, or keep you waiting any longer, and I'm currently struggling to write Bo's part at the moment, so I'm going to post Tommy's part for now and update this later with Bo. I welcome any pointers for his character, by the way, I've never written for him lol. Anyways... I hope y'all enjoy!

Quick side note: I just recently reached 300 followers!! Yay!! I'm so excited and happy that you guys enjoy my work <3 I'm going to try and start writing more often so please, send in all your requests! Thank y'all for taking the time to read my stories and follow me, it means the world to me.

Thomas Hewitt:

The Texas air was hot and heavy, as it was in most August days, weighing everything from the birds to the pigs down, not much of anything caring to move about in this heat. Even Hoyt elected to take the day off, currently lounging about on the front porch, beer in hand. Though that wasn't too unusual, at least now he had somewhat of an excuse.

Luda Mae was in town, running the store, today being one of those rare days where she took Monty with her so he could “get his stinkin' ass out of the house”, as she had so graciously put it.

Not even Thomas had a lot to do today, so the two of you were taking advantage of that, currently set up on the living room couch.

You were sitting on the back of the couch, with Thomas situated between your legs, mask off and hair down so you could properly comb through it.

It was late morning by this point, so the strongest wave of heat hadn't come through yet, and you had all the windows open to try and keep the air flowing through the house before it did.

The radio played an old song from its corner, echoing a woman's voice throughout the living room. You hummed along, gently separating another section of hair and spraying a light mist of water over it with a spray bottle so you could carefully brush it without hurting your husband.

Thomas currently had his head leaning against your thigh, partly to give your more access to that side of his head, and partly because he was dozing off from the mix of humming and having you gently work through the knots in his dark curly hair.

You finished brushing out that section, running your fingers from his roots to the tips a couple of time to be sure, before pulling it to the side to place in a loose ponytail with the rest of his untangled hair.

You could start feel the soft, deep rumble as Thomas began to snore, and let out a soft laugh.

He had a habit of falling asleep every-time you brushed his hair, enjoying the close contact and the chance to take his mask off and let his skin breathe.

You let out a soft hum and bent down to place a kiss on his head, rubbing your thumb along his cheekbone as you did.

You pulled back and continued to work, putting in even more effort to be gentle and soft as to not wake him. You carefully moved his head to your other thigh and began to brush the other side of his head, the brush easily combing through the knots, a stark contrast from when you initially started brushing his hair for him a few months ago.

After another fifteen minutes or so, you were finished, and pulled his hair together to give it a final brush through before setting the water bottle and brush to the side, sitting up straight to stretch your back and arms.

Thomas was still gently snoring, face pressed against your inner thigh as he continued his midday nap. You didn't really have the heart to wake him, but your ass was starting to fall asleep and hurt from sitting on the hard surface of the back of the couch, and it was getting close to time to start on lunch.

You let your hands run down his hair and to his shoulders, giving them a gentle but firm rub as you planted a kiss on his temple, speaking softly, “Tommy, baby, wake up. I'm all done.”

Despite what most people would assume, Thomas wasn't too much of a heavy sleeper, especially when he was on the couch, and that little bit was just enough to stir him awake.

He sucked in a shallow breath and let out a yawn, stretching his arms under your legs before hooking them over your thighs, letting his head fall back to look up at you with a sleepy smile.

“Good morning.” You joked with a smile of your own.

He hummed a bit and leaned over, pressing a kiss to your thigh.

“I've gotta start on lunch soon.”

He shut his eyes and let out a soft grunt of disapproval.

“Mhm.” You hummed back, running a hand through his hair again, “And then I've gotta--”

You were cut short by the rigid sound of the telephone ringing from the table behind you.

You sighed and reached around, pulling the base up and into to your lap.

“Hello?” You answered, holding the receiver with your shoulder while you idly played with Thomas' hair.

“Y/N? Could you put Hoyt on?” Luda Mae responded, skipping a greeting as she always did. After all, she's calling her own house, why should she have to say hello?

“'Course, Mama, lemme call for him.” You agreed, covering the receiver with your hand before yelling, “Hoyt, it's for you!”

No response.

“Hoyt?”

Nothing.

“Hoyt!”

Typical.

You reached down and tapped Thomas' shoulder, catching his attention, “Tommy will you go grab Hoyt? I think he's passed out in the rocker out front.”

He let out a disgruntled sigh but stood up, reluctantly sulking out the front door.

“Thomas is goin' to get him now, Mama, I think he fell asleep on the porch again.” You explained into the phone.

“Alright.” She sighed, “Just tell him to hurry up.”

After a few moments you could hear Hoyt yell from the front porch, followed by him stumbling in, still half asleep, with Thomas in tow.

“Phone.” You set the base back down and held out the phone for him to take.

“Who is it?” He slurred out, yet still grabbed the phone.

“It's Mama.”

“What the hell does she want?” He grumbled, before repeating the question to her, “What the hell do you want?”

You silently ushered Thomas over and grabbed his mask before standing straight on the couch to help him put it back on. It wasn't your favorite thing, having your husband hide half of his face, but Hoyt was awfully mean when he was drunk and it made Tommy feel more secure.

“Uh-huh. Alright. Yea. Yea. I'll be there in 'bout half an hour.” You could hear Hoyt finish mumbling and hang up the phone behind you before much too loudly announcing, “Thomas, get ready, we got supper comin' in down at the store!”

Thomas and you both let out a sigh. Well, looks like your day off was cut short.

There was a routine in place for days like these and falling into it was rather easy. You were placed on Hoyt duty, meaning you had to get his sheriff uniform ready to go and Hoyt sobered up enough to drive, and Thomas had to prepare the basement for the arrival of new guests, to put it delicately.

The two of you set to work, Thomas planting a quick kiss to your lips before tucking himself away in the basement, and you sat Hoyt down with a plate of carbs and a large glass of water to try and sober him while you tracked down everything he needed.

By the time you finished finding all of the things he carelessly threw around from the day before, he had sobered up enough that you deemed him safe enough to leave the house.

You assumed you had quite sometime before Hoyt would make it back, so you decided you'd take the time to get a few chores done beforehand, even though you knew it would upset Thomas if he found out.

It was his request that you stay in your shared room when Hoyt brought any new victims home, always worried that something would happen.

Normally, you listened to him, but the longer you waited the more chores would pile up. Besides, it would just take a few minutes.

You started with the dishes from breakfast, what with it being a lazy day and all, you figured you could do them at lunch instead. You had a couple of other things to clean up in the kitchen and finished it off with gathering the trash to take it out on your way to feed some leftover slop to the pigs.

Only an hour and a half. You smiled to yourself as you checked the wall clock, happy that you finished the chores so fast.

You dropped off the bag in the can by the back door and dumped the leftovers into the slop bucket that you kept beside it and made the short walk to the small barn out back where the pigs stayed, passing the chicken coop on the way.

The small pink pigs squealed with delight when they saw you approach, having gotten used to either you or Thomas being the ones to bring them food.

They gathered around the long feed trout that was set up in their pen, happily squealing in anticipation as you dropped the spoiled leftovers into their pen, each of them happily chowing down on the food. You kneeled down and patted one of their backs, one of the females, if her large, very obvious pregnant belly gave any clue. Tommy had noticed a while back that she was pregnant, and you gave extra care in keeping an eye on her.

You cooed after her, ushering her to eat all she could for her and her little babies, gently rubbing her back as she ate.

You sat up after a moment, stretching your back again before standing up and grabbing the slop bucket to carry back to the house.

You cringed when you picked it up, however, this time catching a whiff of the moldy food that caked the sides. Apparently it had been a while since the bucket was washed out.

You carried it out of the barn and to the side where one of the outside hoses sat, turning on the creaky faucet to wash out the bucket.

It was a messy job, and by the end of it, the dirt you once stood on was now mud and your shirt was soaked with a large splash of water. At least it helped cool you down a bit, being out in the heat like this was exhausting and you were already sweating.

You turned the faucet off and shook the bucket out a bit more before the sound of running footsteps caught your attention.

You turned back to the house, only to see a young man you didn't know running straight for you.

You jumped at the sight, taking a step back out of surprise and fear. However, when you did, your shoe hit the mud and you slipped, landing clear on your back and knocking the breath out of you.

You tried to take in a sharp gasp of air, only to be met with pain coursing from your spine to your chest, making it tighten.

You sat up, grasping at your chest and trying to breathe, tears streaming down your face, all while the man finally reached you.

“Hey, hey--!” He called out in a loud whisper, shaking as fear lined his voice and filled his wide eyes.

You shook your head no, pushing yourself back and away from him.

“No, no, it's okay, it's okay,” He raised his hands as he kneeled down, “I-I'm not gonna hurt you, I'm gonna help, I'm gonna help.”

You continued shaking your head and pushing away, desperately trying to breathe so you could scream for Thomas.

He ignored your obvious attempts to get away from him, and grabbed your arm, pulling you up and towards the back of the barn. You finally managed to pull in your first breath, coughing as he continued yanking on your wrist, practically dragging you across the dirt and grass.

There was a second door in the back and he found it easily, pushing you into the barn and towards the ladder to the loft where the hay was kept.

The pigs squealed in surprise, running around in their pen in distress as you tried to fight against the stranger.

“Stop! Leave me alone!” You pushed and pulled against his grip as he tried to shove you up the ladder.

“No, it's okay, I-I'm not one of them, I'm not gonna hurt you--” He ignored your pleas as he spoke over you, “I'm gonna help, I'm gonna help--”

You could feel the old creaky wood bend and groan against your back as he shoved you into the ladder repeatedly, trying to force you up there.

Sharp pain shot through your elbow as it slammed into the wall, finally managing to get your wrist out of his grip.

You ignored the pulsing and shoved him back, freezing when Hoyt's revolver fell from the man's pants.

You thought about diving for it, but he was faster, his hands in the air as he knelt down to pick it up.

“No, don't, don't worry, I- I'm not going to hurt you, I got this, before I ran--” He grabbed the gun and shoved it back into his jeans, “I won't hurt you, I promise.”

How stupid could this man be? Did he still not get it yet?

You were shaking, your racing heart almost loud enough to cover up the sounds of the pigs fearful squeals and Thomas' chainsaw echoing back from the front yard.

There was no way he'd hear you, not all the way back here, and definitely not in time.

You took a shaky breath and silently cursed yourself for reloading that same pistol before sending Hoyt off just earlier today.

Your mind started racing as you tried to think of a plan, your hands grasping at the air, looking him up and down.

He was on the younger side, early twenties at most, splashes of blood covering his open red button up and gray t-shirt. He was blond, making his light five o'clock shadow almost hard to see against his tan skin. His brown eyes were puffy and red, practically shaking with fear, his chest heaving and fists curled at his side.

“We, we've got to hide--” He took two bold steps towards you, “Before they come looking for us.”

You pressed yourself harder against the ladder as he did, taking in a shaky breath and nodding. He didn't know who you were, and you needed to keep it that way until you could escape.

You turned around to face the ladder, the old wood creaking under your weight as you climbed up, pushing the thick wooden door open with a thud before climbing in.

The scratchy hay dug into your knees and hands as you crawled further into the loft, giving the man room to climb in right behind you.

He immediately shut the small door and looked around, “We should put something heavy on the door.”

“B-But what if we need to get out quickly?” You countered, not wanting to make it harder to get out.

“It'll make it harder for them to get in.” He ignored your input and walked over to the nearest bale of hay, “We need to keep them out.”

You watched helplessly as he struggled to drag the heavy bale across the dusty wooden loft, finally falling down with a thud after he managed to cover the door.

“We can wait here until we get a chance to escape.” He crawled his way over to sit beside you, still shaking but seemingly calmer than before.

He swallowed and took in heavy breaths, trying to process the last few hours in his mind as you silently begged whatever god that was willing would help you get out of this alive.

You could've practically jump for joy when the familiar sound of a idling chainsaw and heavy footsteps against the barn floor became apparent against the calming squeals of the pigs down below.

You could almost feel the man tense beside you as he started shaking his head, quietly pushing himself away from the bale of hay that covered the loft door.

“No, no, no, no...” He mumbled to himself quietly, covering his own mouth as he pressed himself into the old wall of the barn.

You looked to the floor, Tommy's footsteps slowly circling around the barn, and felt a firm grip on your arm as the man quietly pulled you back with him.

“Shhhh.” He pressed a finger to his lips and pulled out the revolver, looking back to the bale.

It was your turn to shake your head, lifting your hands as you spoke, “No, no, it's okay, don't--”

He slapped his hand over your mouth as the footsteps stopped.

Thomas looked up, to the loft.

He could've sworn he heard a woman's voice, even over the anxious pig's squeals.

He gripped the chainsaw tighter, confusion overcoming him.

The victim Hoyt sent him after was a man, so, did that mean there were two of them? Had Hoyt somehow overlooked an extra person? It wasn't completely uncommon for him to make such a mistake.

He stayed silent, listening. There were no more sounds now.

He took a step towards the ladder, noticing the mud marks leading in from the open back door, even against the ladder.

The chainsaw weighed heavy in his hands, send vibrations through his fingers as he readjusted it to hold it in one hand.

He grabbed the ladder with his now free hand, the ladder creaking loudly under his weight as he took a couple of steps up, positioning the chainsaw to press against the door.

It didn't budge, so he squeezed the trigger, the chainsaw revving up and cutting through the old wood with ease.

He pressed further, the spinning chain suddenly flinging wood chips and hay back at his face with enough force to actually leave some small scratches on his exposed cheekbones.

He ignored it and moved the chainsaw in different directions, cutting at the hay bale that was apparently left on top to deter him.

Within a few seconds he was able to use the base of the chainsaw to get enough leverage to sling what was left of the door open, the remaining hay flinging to the side with ease.

He pushed himself up, grabbing a hold of the side of the loft's floor to help him balance as he pulled himself up with enough force so he wouldn't get caught off-guard by the two victims undoubtedly waiting for him.

His chainsaw slammed on the loft floor, still rumbling in idle as he stepped into the loft, deep brown eyes darting to the man sitting across from him, to the gun pointed directly at him.

He ignored the threat as he stood up straight, chainsaw tight in his grip.

“Don't come any closer!” His voice was unsteady, his hands shaking.

He took a step.

“S-Stop!” He stuttered over himself, thumb slipping more than once as he pulled the hammer down.

Thomas listened this time, staring the man down.

“Drop the chainsaw.” The man ordered, “Now!” His voice cracked.

Thomas did as he was told, the chainsaw hitting the floor with a loud thud.

“O-Okay, now grab it!” Thomas could hear the floorboards creak as the second victim walked up behind him.

His hand flexed as the footsteps stopped.

He could use her, as leverage, even a shield. All she had to do was reach for it. The moment she did he could grab her.

His eyes darted right and he saw dirty, shaky hands grab the handle.

His hand shot out, catching her with force as he turned.

You screamed, out of surprise and pain as Thomas gripped your wrist with enough force to bruise it.

Confused eyes met yours as he stared, his strong hold loosening out of reflex.

“Let her go!” The man yelled from beside you two, still pointing the gun at your husband.

He did.

He pulled back, fear and hurt in his eyes as he tried to figure out why you were here.

You hated yourself as you picked the chainsaw up, heavy in your grip as you dragged it away from him.

You walked closer to the man, the chainsaw sending vibrations through your hands and to your arms, turning them to jelly. You were unfamiliar with handling the large tool, only ever using it once before when Thomas had taught you how.

The man hurried to stand, still pointing the gun at Thomas.

“H-Here.” You offered, pushing it out to him, “I don't even know how to use this thing, I'll end up hurting myself.”

The man nodded, falling for your lie, “Okay, then you take this,” He shoved the gun towards you, “I can handle that thing.”

You switched weapons, Hoyt's gun feeling much easier to handle in your hands.

It wasn't light, the weapon weighing heavy in your hands as you slammed the butt of it against the man's head, a few drops of blood splattering against your hands and face as he hit the floor.

You turned to Tommy, letting the gun hit the floor as you let out a heavy, shaking sigh.

“Thomas--” You stepped over the man's unconscious body, arms wide as you threw yourself at your husband.

He met you halfway and slung his thick arms around you, clinging to you as he crushed you against his body.

You choked on a sob as you buried your face in his neck, hot tears streaming down your face out of relief.

He pushed his masked cheek against your head, pressing a kiss to your mud caked hair, his eyes squeezing shut as he tried to steady his breath.

He had been ridiculed, relentlessly beaten by bullies, threatened by coworkers, attacked by victims and almost killed dozens of times, but nothing compared to the fear he had when he saw you in that loft.

He couldn't understand why you were there. Had you randomly changed your mind and decided to leave him? After so long? Were you taken against your will, threatened and forced to do these things? Were you hurt, scared, afraid for your life while he was off doing what Hoyt told him to? What would've happened if he hadn't shown up? Did he scare you, or hurt you?

You pulled back just enough to place your hands on his cheeks, Thomas holding you up as you pulled him into a kiss.

You opened your mouth and he deepened the kiss, your hands snaking around his neck and trying to pull him even closer while teeth clashed and tongues fought to explore each other's mouths like teenagers sharing their first kiss.

You sighed through your nose, pressing your forehead to his as you pulled back to look at him.

“I'm so sorry.” You whispered, “I didn't think he'd be back so soon, I- I thought I had more time...”

His brown eyes were filled with fear and relief, feeling like he had almost lost you.

You cupped his masked cheek, letting your eyes flutter shut as you finally felt safe again.

It was a long time before Thomas let you out of his sight after that. He was glued to your side, overprotective and worried for months to come.

You often caught him staring at your deeply bruised wrist while it healed, angry and ashamed that he hurt you.

You constantly reassured him that you weren't angry at him, or scared that he'd do it again. He treated you like glass long after it healed, gentle and afraid, like you'd break into a million pieces if he didn't take extra care in his touches.

Needless to say, it took months before life went back to normal for you two, but after that, anytime any victims were expected, the first thing he did was safely tuck you away in your shared room before anything else.

#slasher fandom #slashers #thomas hewitt #thomas hewitt x s/o #thomas hewitt x reader #thomas hewitt x y/n #thomas hewitt x you #slasher x reader #slasher x you #slasher x y/n #slasher x s/o #Jamie Writes

633 notes · View notes

aestherin · 1 year

Text

privacy

19: idea of luxury

NOTES contains: kissing, mentions of 'housewife' (lol this so random ToT), very very lightly suggestive??? (tbh idek what counts as suggestive anymore :"D)

It was cold inside, but your hands were sweating.

Was it from the tension? You don't know. Likely, but not certain. Nervousness? Another possibility.

But was the cause of it related to the lean blue-haired man currently making his way towards you?

Certainly.

"Are you gonna publish an interior magazine?" Ayato smirked. "You keep taking photos of my penthouse, [Name]."

You rolled your eyes. "No, but I'm capturing all I want because I may never get to see this again. This would make good inspo for my future home."

Standing right in front of where you were sitting on the couch, you hear him feign a sigh. 'Close,' you thought.

"Love, you can go to my penthouse anytime. I can even have a duplicate key made for you. You want that?"

"No."

Ayato raised a brow. "And here I thought you liked my home."

"Not enough to treat it as my own, apparently."

"Shame. I was about to ask you to be my housewife."

You immediately sat up, causing you to be closer to him. The light fabric of the shirt Ayato's wearing was mere centimeters away from you. "Oh? Does that interest you?"

Baffled from what he said prior, you opted to ignore the almost nonexistent distance between you and the body of the man you're currently looking up to. "Excuse me? Housewife?"

"Yes?"

"Why the fuck do you think I'd want to be your housewife?"

Truthfully, for a moment, you considered the possibility. You've never wanted to slap yourself so bad once certain images flashed in your mind: the two of you smiling sweetly at each other, you cooking meals for Ayato (because he can't cook to save a life) in this very same penthouse, and more scenarios of affectionate domestic activities. Not to mention that the scenes even had filters when you imagined them.

You despise your own mind sometimes.

Maybe you should write scripts, too.

"Oh? You don't?"

Why in the world are you having this kind of conversation with him as he's looking down at you and you're staring up at him?

This is... a little...

'Ayato's a fucking tease.'

"No. I don't."

Your boyfriend laughed heartily. "Are you sure, love? You know, tens — if not hundreds — of thousands of people would get on their knees to be my housewife." He started leaning down towards you. "Some people even use that as their social media handles."

You forced out the actress in you, only so that he cannot see the expression that you truly were about to show. Why was he this close?

Actually, why were you guys even taking this long conversing about this one topic?

A sassy facade. "Well, sorry to burst your bubble, mister, but I'm not them."

You noticed how his brows lightly shot up in realization, how his playful gaze turned into one of delight. It's astonishing, really. How he could easily switch.

He let out a deep breath. "You're right, love. You are not them."

Ayato leaned in even closer, settling his hands on the backrest behind you to support himself.

Earlier, it was his shirt that your face almost had contact with. But now...

It was his face.

His unfairly perfect face.

A genuine smile from the guy was all it took to break your pretense.

"You're my girlfriend, right, [Name]?"

It took a lot of willpower to go back to acting composed and unaffected after that certain display of his.

Seriously.

"Yeah. A fake one."

You could swear something changed in his eyes.

Ayato, however, made sure that you can't point it out — how his heart dropped, how the previously present glint in his irises disappeared, how his lips almost displayed a frown with a single statement of yours.

'Did you really have to say that?' he mused.

Fortunately, he was an expert at turning things around. He had a knack for harvesting pleasant outcomes from unfavorable situations.

Ayato was not about to let that one thing ruin his day.

"Ah," he stared back again. "Thank you for mentioning that, [Name]. I almost forgot."

You frowned. "That what? We're fake dating?"

His lips curve to a smirk.

And everytime he does that, you die.

"No. What we were supposed to be doing."

"Huh?"

The man sighed. "Dearest love, you can't have possibly forgotten that we're here to kiss."

"Fuck."

"Hehe."

"Do you want to get on with it now?"

"Yeah, sure, whatever. It's not like it's a big deal anyway."

Liar.

"I've done this plenty of times with my co-leads."

"Oh? I see." You fail to see how his gaze darkened, with how his face was positioned near your ears. "I'm expecting you to be a good kisser then," he whispered.

You braced yourself.

The two of you stared at each other for seconds, with neither of you making a single move.

"When are you going for it?"

"Huh?"

"You're too slow, love. Is it taking you so long to muster up the courage to come and kiss me?"

"What do you mean?! I was waiting for you, you dumb fu—"

A peck on your forehead. Then your left cheek, then the right. Another on your nose. The next one on your chin.

The last one being on the corners of your lips.

'Is he playing with me?!'

He pulled away, grinning like a complete fool. "Ayato!"

"What?" He played innocent.

"Please. Let's just get this over with," you plead.

His gaze remained still on you. In Ayato's eyes, you looked absolutely divine. You with your furrowed brows, pleading eyes, and pouty lips... How could he ever refuse you?

How could he ever resist?

"As the lady wishes."

This time, he was heading for your lips.

But he stopped halfway.

"Motherfu—"

There it was.

His lips tasted like cherries — they felt like them, too.

One...

Two...

Three...

He pulled away by then, with you not being able to get your fill.

It was utterly embarrassing, how your head somewhat chased after his when he distanced himself. Luckily, you were able to control yourself and stopped before he even opened his eyes.

And when they found their way back to yours, his lavender eyes were hazy. Dark and lidded, certainly different from the bright and mischievous ones from just minutes ago.

You were sure you weren't in a better condition either.

The breaths you make are heavy, and so are your eyelids. And your mind?

Blank.

You opened your mouth first. "Ayato, I..."

"Sshh." He placed a finger against your lips. "We're not quite done yet, love. Don't you think so?"

'I can't fucking think.'

You mumbled incoherently at him, confused.

"I believe that first kiss we made... it's not that convincing yet, no?" He breathed.

Ayato made your foreheads touch. "Unless, you don't share the same opinion as mine? If that's the case, then we can stop here, and..." A sigh. "call it a day."

You took a deep breath.

The usual curve of his lips returned as your hands reached around his nape.

"No. I find it unconvincing as well."

privacy — ayato x reader smau

prev. masterlist. next.

NOTES -> not a cliffhanger this time (i think) so that u guys can sleep in peace😌 -> i cannot believe i wrote this (wrote late at night before i slept and i swear my face is heating up) -> my brain is not functioning anymore after writing this -> was listening to 'collide' while writing 👀

TAGLIST I (closed) @catsrkool @sukunasrealgf @redactedhimbo @layla240 @mxlkytea13 @itsactuallylina @milza12 @aixaingela @tatiratty @kimiesstuff @laventiseriou @kunihaver @bibisbestgirl @lunaavity @coquettemaiden @opchara @slvdsjjk @cotton-eee @lady-elodie @dearxiiao @wheneverthesunrise @heartswonder @chuduchok @headphonesrlif3 @lleoll @vnderthesunn @lizzardlady1234 @nekogakuro @rifran @atlatcaheart @ani-st @creammpuff @lunastarjay @kittycasie @poisoned-candy-apples @zannivrs @b0bafl0wer @moonlightaangel @elsoleil

#privacy smau #ayato x reader #genshin impact #genshin #kamisato ayato #kamisato ayato x reader #genshin smau #ayato smau #aestherin #genshin celebrity au #modern au #genshin modern au

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sugoi-and-spice · 2 years

Note

Shigaraki always having cold hands and just always being cold in general in contrast to you who is always warm so he finds himself always pressed against you or just trying to be near you in general for a little bit of your warmth whether it’s holding your hand, putting his own cold hand underneath your shirt on your stomach where it’s the warmest or even when you are both laying down, wrapping his arms and legs over you to the point you can’t move

Love, love, loooooove it.

Shigaraki is absolutely the type of shit to put his cold feet on you in the middle of the night just to annoy you.

In the same vein, if you're sitting at the bar unsuspecting, he definitely comes up behind you and puts a cold drink on the back of your neck.

In canon, even if his hands are cold, I don't think he likes to touch you with them without reason -- he's way too cautious of his quirk and would take some convincing. When he has control over decay though, or in real world/Play Nice AU -- abso-fucking-lutely.

It's the same as the drink thing, where he loves to just shove his hands suddenly up your shirt and hold his cold hands flat against your stomach or back to annoy you. When the taunting is over though, your skin's temperature adjusted to each other, he definitely still keeps them there. Touch-starved Shigaraki is a serious cuddler -- a stage-five clinger.

Of course, he's also tsundere as hell and stupidly bad at feelings, so he'll never admit it -- hence why he uses the pretense of messing with you to get you where he wants you, coiled up in his arms.

CW: Absolutely teeth-rotting fluff. Seriously, nothing to worry about here, lol.

"Damn it, Tomura!" you squealed, trying in vain to shimmy away from him as he pulled you back across the bed by your stomach, "That's cold!"

"I know," he smirked, splaying his fingers wide and pushing up to the dip of your sternum, "I need to warm them up."

"Then get some real gloves!" you snapped.

For the first time -- although you had a feeling it wouldn't be the last -- you regretted finding those single-finger gloves at the art store.

"It'll be so great!" you'd thought. Now Tomura didn't have to be so precious and neurotic with you. It would only bring you closer.

Yeah. Closer to your last fucking nerve that is.

"Tomuraaaaa," you whined as he pulled you tighter into his chest, burying his nose into the crook of your neck.

"I'll warm up soon, just deal with it for a little." he sighed into your skin.

"Your face is cold too," you grumbled, "Why are you so cold?"

"Just deal with it." he repeated breathily, like he was already starting to drift off to sleep.

You huffed. You didn't want to let go of your irritation just yet -- he was being an absolute goblin, he didn't deserve to get off that easy. And yet, you couldn't help but melt a little into the surprising softness of his embrace.

Between all of his work and insomnia, it was pretty rare that you and Tomura actually went to bed together. There was no domesticity to be had here. No brushing teeth or reading books together and turning off the bedside lamp with a kiss goodnight.

Occasionally if the stars aligned, he'd slip under the covers for an hour or two next to you, most of the time when you were already sleeping. And that was if you two were even spending the night at the same place. Even then, the rests were tense and near touchless -- Tomura with his back to you and his hands tucked under his arms. No risks, no relaxation.

No room for innocent intimacy.

So this simple moment? With it's warmth and it's giggling and it's goosebumps peppering your skin?

It was pretty fucking great.

You sighed, blissed and contented this time. His hands had indeed warmed up, and so did your chest. Tomura finding a new way to annoy you was a small price to pay for this new way of being close to him.

And then, with a smirk, he put his feet on you.

"Tomura!"

Like my work? Please consider contributing to my Ko-Fi!

#TOMURA SHIRAGAKI #SHIGARAKI #TOMURA IMAGINE #TOMURA HEADCANONS #SHIGARAKI HEADCANON #SHIGARAKI HEADCANONS #BOKU NO HERO IMAGINES #BNHA IMAGINES #MHA IMAGINES #MY HERO ACADEMIA IMAGINES #SHIGARAKI X READER #SHIGARAKI IMAGINE #SHIGARAKI FANFICTION #SHIGARAKI X YOU #TOMURA SHIGARAKI X READER #SHIGARAKI TOMURA X YOU #SHIGARAKI TOMURA X READER #SPICE WRITES #shigaraki fluff

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misc-obeyme · 2 months

Note

Since the topic was brought up again and I also don't think it's the reason the game gave us--do you have any theories why Barbatos might be so upset with Solomon?

Personally I feel like it might have to do with MC somehow, and that the whole Number 8 thing was just a pretense so Barbatos wouldn't have to say the actual reason in front of MC......

Well, to begin with, I absolutely agree with you, Melody. I think Barbatos was just saying that because he didn't want to tell MC the real reason.

This got a little lengthy & there are some spoilers, so I'm going to put it under the read more!

I very much think that there is something else going on between Solomon and Barbatos, that it has to do with Nightbringer and thus MC and their trip into the past, and whatever it is, Barbatos doesn't feel like he can speak about it freely.

I have thought since the beginning that Barbatos knows what's going on with Nightbringer. He makes some comments that indicate as much and the fact he gave MC a piece of his grimoire for Belphie's episode... he just knows too much to not be in on at least part of it.

Solomon definitely knows more than he's telling MC, as evidenced by the conversation he has with Nightbringer in season 1.

It seems to me that it's possible that whatever Barbatos knows and whatever Solomon knows is the same thing. Or at least there's probably some overlap in their knowledge.

All of that kind of leads me to a couple different theories about what it is that Barbatos could actually be upset about.

If Barbatos is Nightbringer, he could just be upset that Solomon is there at all. Solomon says that he came back to the past on his own, which means it wouldn't have been part of Nightbringer's plan for him to be there to begin with. If Barb is Nightbringer, he could just be upset that Solomon is messing with his plans.

I think it's also possible that someone else is masquerading as Solomon at least part of the time. We know that Michael at least can take on the entire appearance and personality of someone else. So that makes me think maybe Barbatos is aware that it isn't really Solomon and therefore isn't actually angry at Solomon at all, but at whoever is pretending to be him. This one admittedly feels like a bit of a stretch, but I also don't really think Barb is Nightbringer, either.

It could be that Barbatos is not Nightbringer, but is working with Nightbringer for some reason. And he's upset at Solomon for getting in the way?

It's just that Barbatos doesn't seem to be actively getting in Solomon's way. So even if Solomon being there wasn't part of the plan, it doesn't seem to be interfering. Which makes me think that this just isn't enough of a reason for Barbatos to be so angry that he's hurling insults.

I have other thoughts, but they all revolve around it being revealed that either Barbatos or Solomon (or both of them) are keeping massive secrets from MC. But I always end up writing myself in circles because I can't figure out the motives for either Barbatos or Solomon in any of these cases lol.

Mostly it's just a ~feeling~ that there's more to all this and that Barbatos just said the first thing that came to his mind so that he wouldn't have to tell MC the real reason.

#Solomon seems genuinely baffled by it too #so I think they at least don't seem to be in on anything together #though I could be way off base #anyway hopefully some of that makes sense #in the end I'm still just kinda like ??? about the whole thing lol #obey me #obey me nightbringer #obey me solomon #obey me barbatos #melverie #cc mutuals #misc answers

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theamityelf · 1 month

Note

Haven't seen anything more with your zombie infected au, I kinda miss it. I would like to see more shennanigins with Makoto and his classmates pretty plz.

Ooh, I actually have a post in my drafts for the Undead AU! (It's unrelated to this ask, though, lol.)

But yeah, ask for whatever AU you want anytime! 😁

...

"Mail day!" Makoto cheered, returning to his classroom and finding, to his relief, that Taka and Sakura had succeeded in keeping everyone there in his absence.

Sakura immediately took the large package that he was struggling to carry and set it down in the middle of the room.

Those still in power over Hope's Peak could only get packages onto the barricaded campus once a week, and since each class had to be given their own package, the 78th class only received theirs once a month. Mail day. (Email day happened weekly, and the video calls with Matsuda happened biweekly.)

The box was lined with insulation, for it contained frozen meat for the undead and food for the luckster, along with whatever else they saw fit to send. (The meat ran out pretty fast, but at least it meant he wouldn't have to hunt for a few days and his friends weren't starving.)

Makoto pulled up a chair.

"Let's see..." He opened the letter from the headmaster that accompanied the package. "Yep, we have a few assignments today. Um..." He set aside the actual math homework and history assignment that had come enclosed for him, because for some reason the lucky students were expected to contribute to the pretense that this was still, on any level, a functioning school. "Hiro! You're first."

Yasuhiro climbed down from the shelf he'd ascended (because Syo had been fronting for most of the day and she'd gotten into it with Mukuro this morning).

"Okay, it looks like they just want you to choose something out of a list again. Oh, actually, you have to pick three. And it's a really long list. It says here there's a set of index cards, if that's easier..." He checked the box and found the centimeter-thick stack of index cards that had been mentioned. Like the list that was printed on the headmaster's letter, all the cards seemed to contain the name of a different chemical (all of which Makoto had never heard of). Makoto fanned out the cards as best he could, so Hiro could at least somewhat see the words on them. "So, you just have to pick three of these, and I'll tell them which ones you picked, okay?"

Hiro picked a card.

"Okay, that's one."

He picked another card.

"That's two. You're doing great."

He picked a third card.

"Great, that's three- Oh!"

Actually, the third "card" was two cards stuck together.

"I...don't know what to do about that, so I'll just tell them both cards and that they were stuck together. Thanks, Hiro!" Makoto wrote down the results, and Hiro skulked away, giving Syo a wide berth. "Okay. Sayaka?"

He turned and found that Sayaka was right behind him– the kind of thing which would have startled him at the beginning, but at this point he took it in stride.

"Great. They sent another recorder, and they want me to record you singing again, so I'll just start it now..." (He pushed the record button on the little device.) "...and I'll give that to you, and you can just hold it until it runs out of battery."

Sayaka took the recorder with a smile, like it was a treasured gift. Her smile was still as camera-ready as ever. And as usual, anything that made her the slightest bit happy made her start humming. And the sound of her own lovely voice only made her happier, which led to singing. She crawled off with the recorder in hand, vocalizing wordlessly.

"The new glasses are in! Byakuya, Syo- Oh, Toko!"

Byakuya got to his feet and shambled over to take the newest replacement for his broken glasses, but Toko merely crawled glumly over, snatched the little black glasses case from Makoto's hand, and crawled away. Rather than return to his original spot, Byakuya sat on the desk that corresponded to the chair Makoto was occupying, looming passively over him.

"Do you need help putting them on? No? Okay." (He still watched carefully, making sure neither of them poked themselves in the eye or broke the new glasses.) "Hifumi, a new sketchbook and pencils. Not that I don't love what you've done with the walls."

He handed off the art supplies, and Hifumi made a kind of squealing noise that was definitely getting picked up on Sayaka's recorder.

"I'm glad you like it. Don't forget, though, we're sending it back to them after a month so they can see your work." (He would still probably put up a fight about it, when the time came. Makoto had found that giving him money worked to make him relinquish his work, but it wasn't like he had a bunch of that here.) "Kyo- Ow!"

Celeste had at some point found her way to Makoto's side, and she was now pointedly yanking his hair. He knew that her choice to pull his hair was meant to communicate something, in lieu of speaking; if her primary goal had been to hurt him, it would have hurt way more.

"No, sorry Celeste. They didn't send your new hair clip yet. I only sent that email yesterday. Now, if you'll let go..."

Byakuya placed a hand on the back of Makoto's chair and leaned in, like a tiger about to pounce. (Though he didn't growl, as that would actively escalate things by getting Toko or Syo involved.) For a moment, he and Celeste had a bit of a stare off– him snarling at her and her glaring vacantly back. But then Sakura made a small noise like a clearing of the throat to remind them all that she was right there, and Celeste released Makoto's hair.

"Uh, thank you. Kyoko, your dad sent you a gift. And he says to tell you that he hopes you're feeling alright and that you know everyone is working hard to find a cure."

Makoto held up the little, flat box with the black ribbon on it, but Kyoko just dismissively batted it out of his hand and back into the package.

He sighed. "Well, if you change your mind, try to do it before Junko takes it."

Junko made a high, distinctly offended noise– more at being treated as predictable by Makoto, of all people, than anything.

Kyoko stood up and rested her weight on the back of Makoto's chair. She seemed to be reading over his shoulder, but one of the first things the people in charge had had him test was whether the undead could still read, and none of the results had been conclusive. The fact that Taka hadn't been able to complete assignments like the ones they sent Makoto (and not for lack of trying; they always sent him a copy, anyway, as much to track his mental faculties as to appease his desire to be a good student) suggested he probably couldn't read, but every now and then Kyoko did things like this, and it was unclear whether she was just going through the motions of gathering information or if she actually knew that she was looking at. She did nothing in particular to demonstrate comprehension.

"Um...what next..." Makoto took a little longer than he had to, pretending to find his place, just to see if Kyoko would point it out to him. She didn't. "Chihiro, another new tablet."

The functioning-tablet-for-Chihiro to broken-plaything-for-Kazuichi pipeline was pretty short, but Chihiro enjoyed the tablets while they worked, and it kept attention away from Makoto's laptop, which he needed to receive and answer emails and calls.

Not just because it would be bad if the laptop was broken, but even more so because the laptop's ability to contact the world outside the school meant that Chihiro could do something malicious with really bad consequences, like hack the people who were trying to find a cure and confuse or destroy all their records. At least, that was how it had been explained to Makoto. He was sure that Chihiro wouldn't mean to upset or sabotage anyone, but an intuitive skill for programming and a decreased situational awareness did not go well together.

Rather than take the tablet from his hands, Chihiro climbed onto Makoto's lap and started tapping at the device while it was still in his hands.

"Okay, it's getting kind of hard to read the letter, guys..."

#danganronpa #undead au #makoto naegi #sakura ogami #kiyotaka ishimaru #yasuhiro hagakure #toko fukawa #genocider syo #sayaka maizono #byakuya togami #celestia ludenberg #hifumi yamada #kyoko kirigiri #junko enoshima #chihiro fujisaki

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anteroom-of-death · 2 months

Text

Teacher's Pet part 15

Synopsis: The Doctor steps into his role as the wolf in this game, fully.

A/n: I had to tone down some of this smut. So it's a bit shorter than intended. Elsewise I fear the worst of tumblrs filtration system. LOL! Enjoy! Love you alllllll!

Apparently a young, fresh companion of his future self had formed this support group after several bad experiences and being dumped back on earth ‘for her safety’.

He didn’t have time to care for whatever this distraction was. He already was at the point of near-snapping. He was not going to risk anything into the future. Live under false pretenses. The cords of the actions set would not weaken under these new stressors…

Obviously, his little fawn would die. Obviously, he’d regenerate. Obviously, this would end.

He drew a line in the sand, no peeking at her or his shared fate.

Meeting her at the front of UNIT, and trying the best to not record any facet of this future girls face or being. Doing so would be a catastrophe, just skate down around and go off into the afternoon and his plans.

A perfect date that would further enchant his pet fawn to his side. Especially since she now had the nattering of other voices in her head regarding him. He had to undo the damage. Keep her from cleaving herself from his side.

He admitted to himself that he was spiraling- and just about ready to cross another line. It was just now a matter of how, and how far…

He set that in a corner of his brain how he would go about this.

She was currently entranced by the arrangement of coffees the café and the cacti available. He would have launched into a diatribe about flowers, but she was leading the charge here.

She was oddly well-versed in the secret meaning one could send another. He was impressed. A secret hyperfixation.

He indulged her and him.

One particular flower meant ‘I give you my soul’. He made a note to buy her some. A shallow offering. As he sold his soul long ago. Her knowledge of these meanings and the gesture would go on to create a meaningful ripple effect in the relationship.

Dinner was great, and a perfect segue to the new levels he needed to take.

It was a very deliberate. Give her a small glance, or trail up her exposed skin and a small hit of her own hormones amped up with a mental reimbursement. She was already becoming undone from her own natural need for him. The secondary reinforcement from him was just foreplay.

Humans loved a bit of touch.

This human was definitely no exception.

After a while, the perfect idea dawned on him. A less overt invasion than when they consummated the success of the term’s end the other week. A quieting one. Make up for the directed hormonal release by appealing to darker desires. He knew the thoughts she held for him. Play into some of those fantasies while he shut down the dissent from within.

He paid for the meal and playfully dragged his fawn into a cab, a bit of dancing…and a bit of glamor. He fully realized that there was no turning back now.

The darkness inside him grinned.

He grinned back.

She wasn’t the most agile at the waltz they preformed. A natural-born klutz. The way she was looking at him reminded him so much of the gaze that she held when they first made true contact. Intrigued, deeply in thought, a bit distracted but firmly all for him.

Eventually, the last call for drinks at the dance hall rang. He paid their tab.

He absconded off with her in tow. Back to UNIT. Back to their room. Back for the next phase in his own self-corruption.

She planted a kiss on his forehead as she went off to get herself ready for bed.

The Doctor started stripping himself down to his bare flesh, save for his boxers.

She came back, with a thick layer of product smeared onto her chest, neck and face.

“I’d like to try something new with you. Always been a secret that I’ve had since we’ve started this…” He lied, like a liar. “But I’ve been so concerned about your fragile human body…”

She finished rubbing some hand crème in.

“Oh?” Her eyebrow arched itself over the ridge of her forehead.

“I want to take you on a chair. I want to bend you over, grab a fist-full of your hair as you dangle over the top and have my way with you.” He didn’t fully elaborate what exactly fantasies she held, just put the carrots out and have her think.

“We could do that. Bit tired, but sure! I’m game!” She started to remove her robe.

He pounced and ripped it and her clothes off, tearing them in the process. Hungry kisses he began laying on her as he spun her around and took one wrist to march her over to the chair in the room. (‘Cuck chair’ he delightfully recalled her calling it weeks previously…)

She started to get on willingly, it wasn’t enough. He picked her up and placed her in the position he saw in her mind. The chair let out a little creaking noise with the weight of her.

He bit the back of her neck, not hard enough to deter her income-base, but enough that it would leave a pleasurable bruise. Gone within a week at maximum.

His cock stood at attention. Hard and aching from it all. He had to have and fully make sure she’d never stray or even think of leaving him. He’d been, quite frankly, nursing a little bit of a stiffness down there since she smacked his ass and snogged him on the Tube.

He grabbed at her hair like a leash on a dog and slid himself in to her cunt and her mind.

A man on a mission…

He kept pushing himself in and out of her, but going deeper into her brain. He found the brush she had with his past and future companions. He quieted these voices and the doubts they gave permanently. Still allowing her to keep the friendships blooming and the memories, but revoking the feelings of inadequacy and the fears of the future. The doubts. The everything. A very delicate and deliberate job.

The pruning was difficult, as her mind was very distracted by the current sensations of him pulling her neck back to a semi-dangerous level. Just to kiss her on the lips and tell her, “What a perfectly filthy girl you’re being…” That shuffled her brain like a deck of cards.

The words, especially, they made her audibly shiver. He briefly let go.

He grasped a fistful of her hair again and pressed his mouth once more to her neck. He slid himself to the absolute maximum her tight cunt could handle. He bit down, gently touching the new wound with his tongue. Savoring the taste of her neck, now inflamed so close he swore he could taste her blood through the developing bruise…

He grazed her ear lobe with his eye-tooth and breathed a hot, needy breath into it, he rolled her one nipple in the

He inhaled her hair once more. Its scent just as delicious and just as addictive as he was trying to be to her…

Gently, he laid her back into her stomach over the chair’s back. Her back was beautiful as he ran his hands up and down it, raking his nails like the claws of the wolf he kept coming back to in his analogies.

He pressed his full body weight down, tilting the chair into the wall and bracing, it, her and him from total disrepair. Or concussion.

A concussion on her brain would undo all his fine-tuning and actually make it harder to deal with her mind.

And he needed it in as best of condition as he could have it!

He kept his pace up as he leaned down to bite her nape of the neck, carried away, he drew a tad bit of blood. It dotted itself up around the divots of the fresh wound.

He flooded her mind discreetly once more. Bringing her to her first orgasm mentally. His work was done and fine tuned.

He sped up his pace and grabbed her up by the collarbone. Sliding her down over his knees, firmly set in the seat of it. He grabbed her legs and slid them over and tucked her feet and ankles between the backs of his calves and thighs.

He drilled her more, tougher, the rate he went bordered on blood-lust. He couldn’t tell if her cries and grunts were in pain or pleasure. He went back in to her mind to see if he was going to far.

He wasn’t. It was both.

It egged him on, he unexpectedly lost control and he came before he wanted to. He went on as he felt himself coming to bring her another orgasm with her mind, and forced her body to react accordingly…

He relinquished his hold on her body and got out of her and stood up. She slumped over. Shivering. Shaking. Breathing heavily.

The Doctor didn’t know what all he was feeling. Pride, disgust, relaxation? A mixture? It was a tad too overwhelming.

He had to go to her…

He moved to the side of the chair, crouching down. Finding eye-contact. She had a very unreadable expression on her face.

“Hey, how are you?” He went for the simplest route.

“I…think….you fucked…my brains out. Not exaggerating. I feel like people say. Fuck.” She exhaled after a minute of reflection and catching her breath.

He peeled her off the chair and carried her to the bed. He laid her simply on her back, head up.

“I think I need to buy another set of pajamas now.” She turned her head over and looked at the pile of ruined cloth on the ground.

“You were so good.” He praised her.

“And you weren’t too bad yourself…” She replied, again. Keeping herself, and by extension him, in check.

After what felt like several hours, but was in all actuality, fifteen minutes, she pulled her body off the bed.

“I need to shower again. Yeah.” Her voice as quiet as a fall of a grain of sand.

“I’ll join you. If we need to sleep, we’ll need to be cleaned.” He said.

They showered, she redid her skincare, and they held each other in bed.

She was asleep, he didn’t need to sleep.

As he gazed at the wall, and contemplated the meeting with Gwen Cooper-Williams the next day, it dawned on him:

The beginnings of the story of Little Red Riding Hood was a folklore in the deep dark annals of European history. A dark passionate tale in origin about the defilement of a young maiden and a beastly wolf-man way beyond her years. In some, the wolf-man left her and she killed herself from being impure. In some, she was corrupted and became worse than him. Really depended upon the cultural values of the little tribes telling this shared story.

And here he was, living the fairytale out in real time.

It was up to him now, this wolf had a choice.

And he would not let either happen.

The hunt was finished.

Now to fully devour.

Game over.

#personal #doctor who #12th doctor #12th doctor x reader #reader x 12th doctor #you x 12th doctor #12th doctor x you #i wrote this #shamless self interests #teacher student #self insert #doctor who fanfiction #yea #peter capaldi #yipeee #mixed metaphors

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seasonsbloom · 2 years

Text

bad habit part ii (hangman)

part i, part iii

pairing ; hangman x female!reader

synopsis ; the moment you meet hangman, you know you hate him. and then suddenly, you’re not so sure anymore.

wc ; 9.5k

warnings ; angst, explicit language, mentions of alcohol consumption, mentions of previous character death, explicit sexual activity (masturbation, fingering, oral (f receiving)), tiny bit of a dom/sub sort of dynamic but only if you really really really squint, horrible dirty talk, age gap, inexperienced reader, more angst

note ; i can't believe i wrote a second part. i feel horrible. i'm actually so scared this is going to disappoint everybody i feel like crying lol. part three coming... at some point? it's gonna take a while

Penny - for all that she is pretty, put-together, and decidedly human - reminds you of a bloodhound.

Sure, she’s undoubtedly less furry, and she uses actual cutlery at dinner, but she’s just as perceptive, especially when it comes to sniffing out any connection between Hangman and you. (Also, she may be into belly scratches. What the hell do you know?)

So when you arrive at the Benjamin residence for an emergency tutoring session on a Sunday morning and find Amelia nowhere in sight, you’re not really surprised. After all, how urgent could anything involving Shakespeare really be? The guy has been dead for four hundred years.

Penny is actually waiting on the threshold when you push open her gate.

You didn’t trust yourself not to puke in an Uber, and you’re pretty sure taking your own car would only have resulted in a DUI, so you decided to make the twenty-minute trek to Penny’s on foot. A decision you regret rather sorely now that you’re queasy, exhausted, and sweaty.

“What happened?” Penny asks without preamble before you’ve even made it inside.

You’re nursing the hangover of the century. Your head hurts like somebody went to town on it with a baseball bat, and your stomach keeps doing summersaults around the single slice of untoasted bread you forced down earlier. Since your bed felt like it had been pushed out to sea for most of the night, you only got four hours of sleep. Even your calves hurt.

“I got drunk,” you say and step into the house. The moment the airconditioned cold hits you, you almost sag with relief. “That’s what happened.”

Penny pushes the door closed behind you. “That is not what I’m talking about, and you know it.”

You flick up your sunglasses, cringe, and immediately put them back on.

“Penny,” you say, “I have no idea what you’re on about.”

Without waiting for her invitation, you push your way into the kitchen. Usually, Amelia is at the breakfast counter, eating Lucky Charms. Or you can hear her pattering about upstairs, trying to find her books and pencils for your lesson.

Today, everything is quiet.

“Don’t act dumber than you are,” Penny says. “Own your intelligence.”

Even now, you think, she’s trying to get you a date.

“Where’s Amelia?” you ask, even though you think you already know.

“She’s meeting her friend. Tell me what happened.”

“Are you still paying me?” you want to know, crossing your arms in front of your chest.

Penny sighs your name, but you just shrug.

“You lured me here under false pretenses. The least you can do is give me a decent salary for my troubles, don’t you think?”

“Lured you?” she repeats, voice rising. When you turn, she’s pinching the bridge of her nose between her forefinger and thumb like she’s the one with a throbbing headache.

“Lured me,” you confirm. Of course, you’re perfectly aware you’re giving in to your penchant for the melodramatic, but you’ll do anything to avoid the topic of a certain aviator for as long as you can. “You said I was here to tutor your daughter, not to get interrogated.”

“Oh, for god’s sake!” Penny throws her hands up in the air. “How about I make you breakfast as compensation?”

You think that over for a moment. “Do you have any coffee?”

“I made some earlier.”

“Well…” After a moment, you concede. “Alright, I guess. But I still think you’re taking unethical advantage of our employer-employee relationship.”

Penny doesn’t even grace that with an actual answer, but even as she rushes to get busy at the stove, you hear her mutter something that sounds like I’ll show you unethical.

“So,” Penny starts again, reaching into a cabinet. “What happened last night?”

You shrug and slide into a chair at the breakfast counter. “Nothing. I played pool with Phoenix and her friends, got super drunk on Mojitos, and then I took an Uber home. Regular night out.”

Penny, who had been pouring coffee into a mug that says World’s Best Dad for some reason, pauses to gape at you.

“You’re not getting breakfast for that,” she says, sounding genuinely upset.

“I don’t know what you want me to tell you,” you respond, but it sounds feeble even to your ears. “Nothing else happened. You want me to start making shit up or something?”

Penny sets the mug down on the counter with a thunk. “Payback told me you and Hangman disappeared on the beach together for like fifteen minutes.”

The words Hangman and beach draw a visceral reaction from you. Your stomach swoops in a way that’s decidedly not caused by the residual alcohol in your bloodstream.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you say, but you can feel your cheeks heating up. “We… took a walk on the beach.”

“A walk on the beach?” Penny looks like she would sooner be inclined to believe you if you’d told her you’re actually an ancient beast of the night who can turn into a bat every second Tuesday of the month. “With the guy you supposedly hate?”

“Yes. We…” You scramble. “We talked about how much I hate him.”

“And you went on about that for fifteen minutes?”

For this, you don’t even have to lie. “Oh, believe me, I could go on about that for fifteen hours.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Penny mutters. Then she slumps back against her kitchen cabinets, still, to your dismay, holding your mug. Something on her face changes, goes gentler. Sometimes she reminds you so much of your mother that you can’t look at her. “Phoenix also told me… well, she said you’re a virgin.”

In response, you stiffen.

“Oh,” you say and lower your eyes to the countertop.

“Sweetie…” Penny begins. “There’s nothing wrong with that, you know that, right? Plenty of people don’t have sex until they’re older. Hell, plenty of people never have sex at all, and that’s fine, too!”

You hate the tone in her voice, the pity, the affection. It makes you want to rip your hair out.

“I only wish you would have told me. I wouldn’t have pushed you the way I did. And I would have kicked Hangman’s ass myself the minute he started flirting with you like that.”

Save for the last part, it echoes what Hangman told you last night, and you hate it. You’re not a child.

“I’m not a virgin,” you interrupt Penny before she can really gain traction. “I’m just not very experienced.”

Penny frowns. “You’re not? So why didn’t you just say that last night?”

“Because… it’s not…” With a groan, you drop your face into your open palms. “I don’t know, Penny, okay? I panicked!”

For a while, it’s quiet. Then you hear shuffling as she pushes the mug across the counter to you and smoothes her hand over the back of your head once. The bitter fragrance of coffee hits your nose.

“It’s okay, sweetie,” she says.

“It’s not okay at all,” you disagree, words muffled by your hands. “I acted like a complete idiot.”

Penny hesitates. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but… Did something happen with Hangman?”

It’s silver moonlight painting him in shades of blue. It’s his chuckle over the roaring of the ocean. His fingers tracing over your thigh. His body bending over yours. The silk-soft whisper of his voice in your ear. Saying: And when you fuck yourself, I want you to think of me.

You clear your throat and shift in your seat, finally taking your hands away from your face. You don’t even know how to begin explaining what happened between you and Hangman last night.

“I… well. Maybe?”

Penny makes a joyful sound. “That’s great! Did you make out?”

“No…” You hesitate. “Really, we just… talked.”

“Talked? Without killing each other? And they say miracles aren’t real…”

It actually makes you chuckle. At the sound, relief floods Penny’s face.

“See, this whole thing isn’t so bad after all.”

You shake your head before she’s even finished speaking. “Penny, I literally told a whole group of fighter pilots that I’m a virgin. Which isn’t even true! I bet they spent the whole night making fun of me.”

Penny rolls her eyes and says, “First of all, sweetie, you’re nowhere near important enough for people to talk about your sex life all night. It’s not like you’re Timothée Chalamet or something.”

She grins at you like she wants a medal for being up to date on current events. Instead, you just stare her down in a way you hope she’ll understand as severely unimpressed.

“Besides,” Penny sighs once the laudation she was expecting doesn’t come, “Hangman said if any of them tried to make fun of you, he’d shoot them down personally the next time they were in the air.”

You blink. “Hangman threatened murder?”

“Loud and clear.”

You don’t know what to do with that information. While your brain starts blasting a whole barrage of red alerts, your stupid heart skips a beat.

Traitor.

For a moment, you think about it. You turn the mug over and over in your hand, staring into the ripples in the dark liquid like you’ll find an answer to all the questions that have been keeping you up since you first met him in it.

Finally, you confess, voice very quiet, “He said he liked me.”

That actually seems to throw Penny for a loop.

“He said he likes you?” she repeats, voice rising an octave or two towards the tail-end of the sentence.

“Okay, no reason to act that surprised,” you mumble. “Jesus Christ, what am I? Jabba the Hut’s baby sister?”

Penny is quick to shake her head. “I didn’t mean it like that, honey. Just… I didn’t know Hangman’s heart was capable of affection for anything other than his plane and his favorite fine-tooth comb.”

You frown. “Didn’t you tell me he’s a good guy?”

“Yeah, and I stand by that. I just didn’t think I’d live to see the day Hangman Seresin has a crush.”

“He doesn’t have a crush,” you immediately rush to clarify, but it feels like your stomach dropped somewhere to the near vicinity of your feet.

“You just told me he said he likes you.”

“Yes, but I think he meant it more like…” You hesitate as you struggle to find the right word, wrecking your mind and then finally settling on, “... carnally.”

Penny stares at you. “Carnally?” she repeats. Genuine shock makes her features slack.“My god, you really have to stop reading all that Shakespeare.”

The ache in your head throbs in answer, and you wish the ground would open up to swallow you whole.

In lieu of a response, you take a healthy sip of your coffee and promptly burn your mouth.

“Well, whatever, we can work with carnally,” Penny says. Now she’s definitely just making fun of you. “You want pancakes?”

You nod to the pancakes, then narrow your eyes. “What do you mean work with?”

She shrugs like none of this is a big deal and answers, “When you go and meet up with him, I mean.”

“I’m not meeting up with him.”

Penny freezes where she is trying to pull a pan from the cabinet without upending a tower of pots on herself. Then, slowly, she turns to face you.

“What do you mean you’re not meeting up with him?”

“I’m just… not.”

You’ve been thinking about it since you woke up this morning. Only thinking doesn’t do the whole process justice. Agonizing, more like.

No matter what road your thoughts run down, they always end up circling back to Hangman. Hangman and his punchable face. Hangman and his obnoxious smirk. Hangman and his aggravating, insufferable, incessant flirtations and teasing and overall intolerable personality.

But that’s only the half of it.

Then there’s Jake - soft and tender when he thought he’d upset you. Touching you like nobody ever had before. Saying words that make your cheeks heat up even just to think about. Making you crumble behind Penny’s bar, unraveling the tight coils of you until you spilled into his hands like pearls off a string. Then wondering how you’d get back home as if nothing had happened, as if the earth hadn’t shifted about a mile to the left, as if he hadn’t just irreversibly altered something not just between him and you, but something inside of you, too. Something that would never be the same again.

You don’t know what to think, don’t know what to feel. It’s like you’re stuck on a rollercoaster, constantly whipped every which way by the forces of gravity.

If you’re honest with yourself, you can admit that you want Hangman. Want him more than you’ve ever wanted anyone before, even if the thought sparks fear in your chest.

But you’re also not sure if you like him very much.

Even your heart feels like it has a hangover.

Penny steps up to the breakfast counter again. “Honey,” she says, “please just go and get laid, okay?”

It’s a testament to just how much whacky shit has been going on in the past few weeks for you to not even manage a tiny, scandalized gasp or something.

“I’m fine,” you say, shaking your head, “I don’t need to get laid.”

Penny raises an eyebrow and reminds you, “You just used the word carnally unironically. I think it could be argued nobody in the history of mankind has ever needed to get laid more than you do.”

“Penny,” you groan. And now you actually do find it within yourself to feel both a little scandalized and a little insulted.

“I’m just saying. If you see Hangman again, just… think about letting him take you home and fuck your brains out, yeah?”

With that, she saunters towards the stove to get started on your pancakes.

You’re not going to promise anything to her, but you’re almost completely certain that you’re not going to be thinking of anything but that for the foreseeable future.

I’m going to die, you think. I am literally, actually, genuinely going to drop dead on the spot.

If you asked Penny, you wonder if she’d organize a burial at sea for you.

The scene before you is a nightmare: A whole barrage of men chasing after a football, nearly all of them shirtless and their skin so shiny you wonder if they took a few minutes earlier to rub each other in baby oil. Which is decidedly not the train of thought your sexually frustrated brain should be taking just about now.

“Is this a joke?” you ask.

Penny asked you to hang out with her earlier, promising ice cream and complimentary cocktails if you kept her company while she balanced her books. Of course, after you agreed, it turned out you had to bring the ice cream yourself, and it’s also all just been an elaborate hoax to invite you into your own personal hell.

You’re standing on the Hard Deck’s back porch, stopped dead in your tracks and blinking rapidly into the blinding sun bouncing off shiny torsos. The two soft serve cones in your hands are starting to melt. Sticky chocolate ice cream drips down your wrists, leaving a residue of rainbow sprinkles on your skin. You barely notice.

“Sweetie,” Penny says, “this is California.”

Your answering noise is something between a whine and a squeak.

“Give me that ice cream before it melts completely,” Penny orders. She’s stretching one arm in your general direction without taking her eyes off the scene in front of her.

Not like you can blame her. You almost break your neck on your way down the few steps because you can’t stop gawking.

Penny takes her ice cream from you. She’s sitting on a small wooden bench, sunglasses pushed into her hair, and one leg pulled up on the seat with her. The papers fanned out in front of her lay abandoned.

“I thought you were doing your books,” you say, aiming for nonchalance even as you ogle a guy with hair the color of caramel. Since when were mustaches a thing again, and why were you suddenly into it?

“I am,” Penny says, gesturing towards the notebooks. “Can’t you see?”

You can’t see. You’re hypnotized by the most obnoxious display of abs you’ve ever witnessed.

And then you freeze.

“Wait a minute,” you say, “is that Phoenix?”

You recognize her mainly because she just managed to tackle a guy twice her size and make it look easy in the process. Seeing her in her shorts and sports bra ensemble makes you think you should get back on doing your sit-ups.

“Uhu.” Penny nods. “And that, right there, is Hangman.”

It’s not that you want to look. In fact, you know you’re going to regret looking, know it’s going to seal your fate, know it’s going to plunge you even deeper into this mess. But you just can’t help yourself.

You follow the line of Penny’s finger right to Hangman. He’s wearing dark sunglasses that cover his eyes, and his blond hair gleams like spun gold in the sun. Your eyes trace from his chest downwards, following the trail of hair that leads down, down, down into the waistband of black shorts slung so low it’s dangerous.

Instantly, you snap your head back around.

Penny is already grinning at you.

“Don’t,” you growl from between clenched teeth, “say a thing.”

She raises her hands. “I wasn’t going to.”

“Well, that would be a first,” you mumble, trying to act like you aren’t going through all five stages of grief simultaneously.

“I just thought it would be good for you to see what you’re missing out on.”

“Missing out on,” you repeat. It’s getting harder and harder not to turn towards the beachfront again.

Penny stabs her finger in what you’re sure is Hangman’s direction again. “All that could be yours, sweetie.”

“Penny,” you scold, but your voice lacks any real fire. “That’s not even true.”

“Sure it is. The guy has been trying to get into your pants for weeks now.” She pauses. “I’m pretty sure this might be the first time he’s ever had to work for it that hard.”

You ignore her and start eating your ice cream instead. It’s melted down into more of a soup, with the sad few surviving sprinkles that haven’t gotten lost on your arms swimming on the surface.

The thing is, you’re not even trying to make Hangman work for it. You’re trying to get him to stay as far away as possible so you don’t go actively insane. If you do give in to Hangman’s advances, you know it won’t end well for you. It will derail your life, uproot the routine you’ve spent so long establishing, break down the walls you’ve built around you.

It’ll only end up hurting you. You’re not stupid enough to risk it, no matter how handsome he is.

A chorus of hollers and cheers finally turns your head again, watching as Hangman scores a touchdown. You really shouldn’t find his posturing after attractive, the way he all but howls into the wind, the flailing arms.

There is something to be said about the sun glinting off his tanned skin like liquid gold poured all over his body. Like he was carved from marble.

You could get poetic with it, or you could just say that he’s so hot it’s starting to piss you off.

Clearing your throat, you cross your legs and turn away.

You’re perfectly aware that Penny is staring at her own pilot, but unlike her, you’re actually a good friend, and so you won’t mention it. In fact, you go a step further and pretend not to notice.

The game ends with Bob being hoisted onto mustache man’s shoulders. Both the fact that Bob is the only one who kept his shirt on and the somewhat stunned expression on his face firmly cement him as your favorite of the aviators.

As the group starts dispersing, some of them actually heading your way, you grow rushed. Even if Hangman threatened them with actual murder, you don’t think you want to face any of the pilots after your drunken display. Besides, you’re not sure you won’t go into spontaneous cardiac arrest if you have to look at Hangman close up.

“Didn’t you promise me a cocktail?” you ask, leaning across the table towards Penny.

She waves you away, eyes laser-focused on the oldest of the group approaching her rather determinately. “You can make one for yourself inside.”

You take her up on the offer immediately, both to get the hell out of there and to give her and the guy some privacy.

It’s blessedly cool and shady inside the Hard Deck. With three hours left until opening, you’re the only one inside, and you could cry with the relief of it. The sounds of the ocean are muffled here, as are the voices, and it almost feels like you are stepping into a cocoon of quiet, something private and sheltered.

Theo, Penny’s old dog, is lying with his paws spread out in all directions near the bar. You crouch to a squat and stroke your hand over his belly, feel the soft fur between your fingers, the steady rise, and fall of his chest, the reassuring warmth. He blinks up at you through kind eyes gone milky with age.

“Penny said I’d find you here.”

Hangman’s voice catches you so off guard you all but jump into the air, banging your head against the bar’s edge on the way up. For a second, stars go off in front of your eyes like fireworks blooming in a night sky, and you blink rapidly to get rid of them. Then the pain sets in, a spreading wildfire that rolls across your head in waves.

“Oh, shit.” From what you can make out through squinted eyes and a vision still blurred by the impact, Hangman looks genuinely concerned as he takes a step in your direction, arms stretched out in front of him. “Are you okay?”

With a hand pressed to your head like you need to keep your skull from splitting in two, you become suddenly and horribly aware that he’s still shirtless. He’s put on a pair of flip-flops, but apart from that he’s still largely the same as he was out on the beach, dripping sand and saltwater onto Penny’s hardwood floors.

And there’s just so much of him, you don’t know what to do with yourself, don’t know where to look. Broad shoulders, bronzed skin, big hands, long arms.

Your head spins, and it’s not from the concussion you’re probably nursing.

“I…” It takes you a moment to regain your ability to speak. “I’m fine. Yeah. Thanks.”

Turning away from him to duck behind the bar, you shake your head to get rid of the last remnants of fuzziness. It works but also makes the pain throb like you just poured salt on a wound.

“Need me to play doctor?” Hangman asks, the grin audible in his voice.

You roll your eyes. “No, thanks.”

He watches quietly for a moment as you get busy behind the bar, completely ignoring him. There’s no sound but the clinking of ice cubes against glasses and the distant whirring of the aircon. Above your heads, the miniature planes suspended from the ceiling sway softly in a light breeze.

Finally, as if he can’t stand the silence anymore, Hangman says, “You day-drinking?”

“Why, do you have a problem with that?” Your tone is much more forceful than what you were aiming for, hostile, almost.

If it bothers Hangman, he doesn’t show it. “I was just wondering if you would offer me one, too.”

You don’t even pretend to think it over.

“No,” you say and place a single decorative mint leaf on the most pitiful excuse of a Mojito you’ve ever seen.

In your defense, you were distracted. Hangman’s pants seem to have slid even lower in the time it took him to walk up to the Hard Deck.

He pushes his sunglasses into his hair and grins at you as if butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. “So.”

There’s something foreboding about that word and something even worse about his voice when he says it. The light drawl to it. The open end.

“What?” you ask and take a sip of the drink that almost leaves you spluttering. Way too much rum.

Hangman shrugs and bends down to scratch behind Theo’s ears. And the old, tired dog immediately rolls onto his back, tongue lolling out.

Traitor, you think to yourself and throw him a venomous look.

“Have you been a good girl?”

That throws you so off guard you drop your drink. Liquid splatters everywhere, the front of your shirt, the bar top, even over the bare skin of your legs. A single lime wedge finds its way between the open toes of your sandals as the glass clatters to the ground and shatters into a million little pieces.

Flustered, flushing, frantic, you start fumbling around for a towel, broom, or anything else to clean up your mess.

Hangman catches you by the elbows before you can react and pulls you towards him with a pressure that is as firm as it is gentle.

“Careful, sweetheart,” he says, voice right by your ear. “There’s glass everywhere.”

And there’s no mocking there, just concerned gentleness. It knocks you completely out of kilter.

You let him manhandle you away from the chaos of shattered glass and limes and the pool of liquid and onto a bar stool out of the danger zone. Half of you want to tell him you could have handled this yourself, but the other half started flatlining the minute he put his hands on you.

Once he’s safely deposited you, Hangman disappears behind the bar to clean up, and that you let him do gladly. Theo, apparently awoken by all your ruckus, pushes his head against your leg, begging for attention.

When Hangman re-emerges, he wipes his hands on his shorts. There’s a glint in his eyes you don’t like at all. At least this time, you’re not holding anything breakable unless Theo’s head counts, but you doubt you have enough strength left to crush that.

It takes all the willpower left in you to start saying “Hangman…” fully intent on telling him off, telling him to get lost, get out of your life, stop robbing you of your sleep and your intelligence and just leave you alone.

He interrupts, “I thought I told you to call me Jake?”

Almost immediately, you spit back, “Well, I don’t know you like that.”

Hangman grins. “Sweetheart, I’ve met a lot of girls in my life, and God knows they liked me, but I don’t know that I’ve ever made one as nervous as I make you. It’s a compliment, really.”

“I’m not…” It takes you a moment to wrap your head around those words, and then the indignation flares up in your chest. “I’m not nervous. I hate you.”

He seems entirely unfazed by that. “You sure? I mean, that’s two injuries in under five minutes. If I ever spend an hour with you, I’m worried for your life.”

Every time you even begin to think that he might be nice, he says something like this, which reminds you that yeah, no, he’s actually still just the exact same cocky bastard you knew him to be from the first moment on.

Pushing Theo’s head away gently, you hop off the bar stool and reach for your tote where you left it earlier.

“You leaving?” he asks, and you make it a point not to look at him as you nod.

The last thing you need is another ogle at his abs. Who knows what other stupid things that will lead you to?

You feel sort of like you’ve been hit by a freight train.

He clicks his tongue, a chastising sound, and you can’t fathom why in the world you have the sudden and overpowering urge to get on your knees and beg for forgiveness.

Clenching your thighs together in search of some kind of relief, you ignore the impulse.

And then, because you could never take your own advice anyway, your eyes fall down to his abs. You just stare at them for a moment, brain pretty much unplugged. There’s not a single thought running through your head.

“Sweetheart,” Hangman says, “my eyes are up here.”

You want the ground to open up and swallow you whole. You want to leave the country and change your name. You never want to see him again.

You also, sort of, want to lick his abs.

From the threshold, somebody clears their throat.

It’s the guy with the mustache from earlier. His sunglasses are balancing precariously low on the tip of his nose, and you wonder distantly what kind of hold sunglasses indoors have on these pilots.

You’re thankful the man has pulled on one of the most ridiculous Hawaiian shirts you’ve ever seen because you’re not sure you would have been able to function with two shirtless guys in the room. You’re barely holding on as is.

“I’m a little busy right now, Rooster,” Hangman says without taking his eyes off you.

“I can see that.” Rooster - and, really, what’s up with these names? - looks between the two of you like he can’t make sense of what he’s seeing. “You okay?”

It takes you a second to understand he’s talking to you.

“Huh?” You ask, brain still buffering.

Rooster gestures towards where the mojito has soaked into your shirt, a dark stain that turns the fabric almost translucent. You realize they can probably see your stomach rolls. Immediately, you wish you were anywhere else in the world.

“Oh, yeah. Fine,” you say, even as your voice shakes pathetically. “Just spilled something.”

Rooster doesn’t look like he buys it.

“It was a Mojito,” Hangman supplies helpfully. Then he grins at you like he just did you a favor.

“Right.” Rooster gives you another long, searching look, then shrugs, leaves it be, and says to Hangman, “Admiral wants us back on base in fifteen minutes, or it’s fifty laps each. Don’t make us go through that just so you can bore the poor girl to death, yeah?”

Hangman waves him away almost absentmindedly. Then, once more, he lets his eyes trail over you, from head to toe, and you shift your weight uncomfortably.

“Sweetheart,” he says, “I’ll see you in your dreams.”

“In my nightmares, maybe,” you answer, but you feel so wrung-out you can’t manage to put a single gram of power behind it.

He laughs anyway, and that’s almost nice of him.

“Be good,” he says. Then he follows after Rooster.

From the direction of your feet, Theo sighs loudly.

“Yeah,” you whisper, sinking back onto your previously vacated chair and patting the dog’s giant head. “You and me both, buddy.”

You can’t fall asleep.

And it shouldn’t even be a big deal - this has happened hundreds of times before. Sleepless nights in the face of impending deadlines or exams or first days at kindergarten, at school, at college, at a new job. Tossing and turning and kicking blankets to the foot of beds. Finally admitting defeat and plugging headphones in to play white noise or an audiobook or a podcast so dull you’ll eventually fall asleep just to escape the drag of it.

So it shouldn’t be a big deal. Only it is.

Because this time, it’s not deadlines keeping you awake, not the fear of failing algebra or nobody at the gas station liking you. This time, it’s Hangman. Hangman and his stupidly perfect abs, Hangman and his lopsided smirk, Hangman and his green, green eyes, Hangman and…

You groan and roll over onto your stomach to push your face into the pillow. Maybe if you suffocate yourself, you’ll finally be free of this.

It’s so hot. Even with the window open and your curtains closed only halfway to let in some of the night air, the temperature barely cools down anymore. Like your room absorbs all the heat in the walls and then blasts it at you as soon as you lay down. Your downstairs neighbors are fighting, and someone is watching Star Wars at top volume in an apartment somewhere to your left.

And above all that, the constant din of jet engines tears through the night.

The sound makes you think of Hangman again. His hands on you as he bends you over that pool table. His hips pressing against your ass. His voice in your ear.

Before you know it, almost on their own accord, your hips start moving against the mattress in tiny, tentative thrusts.

It should be humiliating, maybe, but you’re so past caring. And, anyway, to allow an emotion like humiliation, you’d have to think about it, which you aren’t. Your head is completely empty save the echoing of Hangman’s words.

Have you been a good girl?

Your whole body throbs, core clenching around nothing, and a quiet gasp escapes you. If you move your hips just so, the fabric of your panties and sleep shorts draws tight against your pussy, and then it nudges against your clit, and it’s almost enough, almost good, almost something, almost, almost…

Grunting with frustration, you flop onto your back again.

Okay, so, fuck it.

You told yourself you wouldn’t do it, that Hangman wasn’t getting to you, that the night in front of Penny’s bar had been a mistake, a drunken slip-up, just hormones going rampant because you haven’t been fucked properly in years. Or ever. And okay, maybe you’re just desperate for some dick, but you certainly aren’t going to give in to Hangman, of all people. You’re not going to become another notch on his belt. Isn’t his ego big enough without it? Don’t you still have some dignity left?

But. Capital B.

But… you can’t help it. It’s like a craze that washes over you, this insatiable hunger, this constant craving for more of him - more of his touch, more of his words, more of that teasing that drives you insane with anger and want.

And you’re just so horribly, undeniably, achingly horny.

So. Fuck it. Who cares. No one’s ever going to know anyway.

For a moment, you blink up at the waterstained ceiling, heart racing, decision made, and then you realize you have no idea what to do.

Usually, when you get yourself off, you’re quick about it. Focus, shove your fingers into your shorts and rub insistent circles over your clit for five minutes until you come. You don’t even take your clothes off. That always seemed like too much of a hassle, too embarrassing, too vulnerable for what was just a means to an end, just a way to blow off some steam. You like for this part of your life to be practical. Efficient. Gone and done and over before you can think about it for too long.

But not tonight. If you’re going to allow yourself to indulge only this once, give into this base, nagging desire that’s kept you awake for far too long just tonight, then you should at the very least make it count.

When you lift your arms to take off your tank top, your hands are shaking.

As soon as you shut your brain off for even a second, you’re right back on that beach with Hangman, right back to his voice and his touch and the insistent thrum inside of you chanting moremoremore.

You let your hands glide over your skin, luxuriate in the feeling. After your shower earlier, you slathered your whole body in a thick layer of moisturizer, and the residue still sticks to your fingers. Your nipples are already so hard it almost hurts.

It’s far too easy to imagine Hangman there with you. His large hands replacing your own, flicking across your collarbone, the expanse of your stomach, fingertips gliding over the jut of hipbones beneath skin. You think of his body hulking over you, the arms digging into the mattress by your head, think of him stripping off his shirt and saying touch me, sweetheart, and getting to run your fingers all across that sun-kissed skin, through the wiry hairs on his chest and leading down his stomach.

And it’s so juvenile, it’s so high-school it’s almost laughable, but then you think of kissing him, and it almost drives you insane. Remember how close he was out on the beach, his lips half an inch from your own, how bad you wanted it, and how he didn’t give it to you.

But here, in your bedroom, in your head, in your fantasy, you can make him do it.

Hangman slots his mouth over yours, not gentle at all, teeth knocking against teeth, and for a moment, it’s just firm, hot pressure, your heart hammering against your ribcage, and then it’s like a dam bursts. His tongue pushes into your mouth, and it’s wet and hot and good, and your pussy throbs in answer. His fingers slide into your hair and pull, not enough force that it would hurt but enough that you feel it, all the way down to your toes, stomach clenching in answer, and he’s everywhere, covering you, pulling you closer, licking into your mouth.

Suddenly too impatient to wait any longer, you push your hand past the waistband of your shorts and drag a single finger over your slit through the cotton of your panties. They’re soaked through.

It’s a mixture of embarrassment and molten heat that has you turning your head into your pillow, muffling whatever sound was trying to escape you, as you rub tight circles into your clit.

And then it’s Hangman’s voice in your ear, saying, good girl, let me do it for you, let me touch that wet little pussy, and you can’t wait any longer and fuck making it last, fuck dignity, you want it now, want it faster, need to release that tension that’s been building and mounting and growing until there’s no space left in you for anything but wanting him. So you lift your hips, slither out of your shorts, hike your panties down until you can kick them off your calves, and then you’re naked in the darkness of your room, body sticking to the sheets with sweat.

You spread your legs, let one hand wander across your chest to pluck at a nipple, and then go lower, slide them between your thighs and over your lower lips. You’ve never been this wet, not even that night at the beach with him touching you, saying the most filthy things you’ve ever heard, and your fingers slip through it, catch on your clit. It draws an actual whimper from you.

You’re wound so fucking tight, so tense, so scared of what you’re about to unleash here, but the need wins out. So you kick your feet further apart, almost defiantly, close your eyes, dip down to collect some of the slick pooling at your entrance, spread it all over your clit.

The touch punches a gasp out of you, kicks your heartbeat up a notch as something like sparks burst behind your closed eyelids.

You think of Hangman’s kiss going lower, leaving your mouth covered in his spit, wide and swollen and panting, trailing down your throat, over the point where your heartbeat pulses frantically, down between your breasts, down your navel, down to the apex of your thighs. The idea of his head between your legs, green eyes looking up at you, smirk disappearing just for a moment as he presses a kiss to each kneecap is almost too much, so much it makes you clench and bite back a moan.

He’d tease you because of course he would. More patient than you could ever be about the delay of your pleasure (waiting’s half the fun, sweetheart, you can almost hear him drawl) as he paints a path up your thighs with his mouth until you’re writhing and sobbing and kicking your legs hard enough he has to hold you down, fingers spreading wide against your legs.

What’s the magic word, sweetheart? he’d ask, grin, and you wouldn’t think at all about punching him, would only think about kissing him, kissing him until the world ends.

And you’d say please, Jake, please, and you’ve never pleaded for anything in your life, you do things on your own, you don’t need help, not from him, not from anyone, but it wouldn’t be so bad, you think. To let go. To be at his mercy. To beg him for something you know - just know, perfectly well, beyond a shadow of a doubt - he could give you easily, gladly.

And Jake - Jake, not Hangman, Jake - would smile once, press a kiss so sweet it would feel almost out of place to the jut of your knee, say, see, that wasn’t so hard, now was it, and then he’d lean forward and lick a confident stripe over your clit.

Nobody’s ever done that for you. Nobody’s ever put their mouth on your cunt. It’s only ever been botched, rushed attempts at sex with your high school boyfriend, quick things, awkward things in your childhood bedroom with no lock on the door, and Twilight posters watching from every wall. Just him getting what he wanted and not caring at all for what it was that would get you off or at least get you relaxed. But you know it wouldn’t be like that with Jake. Now it would be good, better, mind-blowing.

You double your efforts, fingers rubbing faster, pressure more insistent, and it builds inside of you, slowly but surely. Inevitable, as your hurtle unstoppably towards that distant cliff’s edge.

You think of that tongue on your clit, think of his lips sealing around it and sucking, wet, unrelenting pressure, and you just know that Jake would be good at it, eating pussy, because nobody gets that cocky without some kind of positive reinforcement. He’d hold you down with large hands on your stomach, press you into the mattress, and keep you in place as he went to town, as he didn’t let up until you’re spluttering and sobbing and begging, humming against you when you make a particularly sweet sound, and then when you think it can’t possibly get any better, when you’re dizzy and disoriented and dangling by a satin thread, and your head is empty of all thoughts except yes yes more please jake jake jake, then, finally, he’d add his fingers.

The thought makes you suddenly aware of how empty you are. How you ache to be filled. But you don’t move to do it yourself. You just keep your hands where they are, one holding your lips spread open and the other moving around your clit, making the room spin.

It’s just not something you do for yourself, even if he did ask you to on the beach, (the moonlight and the ocean and he’s whispering and when you fuck yourself, I want you to think of me) because it doesn’t feel good when it’s you. You can’t ever get the angle right, can’t reach deep enough for it to feel like anything else but a painful stretch, but you know it would be different if they were his fingers, fucking you, making you come apart on his digits. Know you’d be rocking right back against the pressure of them as he speared you open, plunging first one finger, then another. And you are so wet you know it wouldn’t hurt, that it would be easy for him to slide inside, crook his fingers, and unravel you completely.

You’re a puppet dancing on his strings, and he isn’t even here.

You press a little harder, go a little more frantic, and then you think of him glancing up at you from between your thighs. How his hair would be mussed from your fingers and his mouth slick and smeared with you. Be a good girl for me, he’d say.

I am, you think, and like an echo, hear the sound of your voice saying it out loud, feel your lips form the words, and there you are, talking to the walls, telling it to no one, telling it to Jake, “I am. I’m a good girl for you, Jake, just for you.”

Come for me, sweetheart. I want you to come all over my mouth. I want to taste it.

It undoes you. You go tense all over, hips undulating, rutting your cunt against your fingers desperately, shamelessly, as everything grows abruptly even slicker, even hotter, as your lower body clenches like an iron fist, and then releases all of a sudden, vision shuttering just for a moment as white-hot, pulsing release washes over you like a wave.

You make a sound that’s almost a keen, almost his name, and bite your tongue bloody to hold it back.

It crashes through you for longer than you expect, and you ride it out against your hand until you’re too sensitive, until it goes from good to too much, and then you close your legs, roll to the side, and pant into your duvet cover.

Your surroundings return to you slowly - the couple still fighting, the Imperial March echoing down the hall, the planes roaring above. How strange that everything can be so mundane, so unchanged when it feels like your whole world just shifted.

For a while, you just lie there as your raging heartbeat returns to an average pace, as your body winds down, as your slick dries sticky between your thighs, and the wet patch of the sheets where you lay before soaks deeper into the fabric.

And then you say, loud and clear, “Oh, fuck me.”

When it rains in California, it’s like a different dimension opens up and swallows the earth.

Beach bars are abandoned, and lone surfboards drip water where they lay. Flipflops swim in puddles. People huddle in soft-serve shops to wait hours for the worst of it to pass. The sky is blotted with dark gray clouds that look sad and listless, like kids who got lost on a field trip.

When it rains in California, you miss your mother so much it’s like something ripped open inside of you.

It makes you restless.

Usually, you’d take your mind off things at work, but it’s Sunday, and you’re off. Amelia is at her father’s for the weekend. Penny is at work.

Your apartment is a void.

At first, you try to distract yourself: You read a book, but the words pour sideways off the page. You turn on a Youtube yoga session, but your apartment is too small, and you keep knocking your knees into things. You play Candy Crush on your phone, but you’ve been stuck on the same level for an hour and just can’t beat it.

Finally, you turn off the Golden Girls episode, shut your laptop and accept your fate.

In your car, it’s like being underwater. The rain patters against the windows and the roof and the hood in a steady, relentless rhythm, like hundreds of tiny fists knocking at the metal. Every window is covered in water, rivulets racing each other like erosion marks on a map, like craters in the glass, and you feel submerged, surprised every time you inhale, and there’s no wetness bubbling in your lungs.

As the wipers clear paths on the windshield that last only for a moment or two, you signal and turn off the road onto the gravel of the Hard Deck’s parking lot. It’s all so stupid, you think as you cut the engine and suddenly there is no sound at all but the rain, how just a month ago you’d never been here before, and now it seems this godforsaken bar is the scene of so many moments you’ll never forget.

For a moment, you stay in the car, caught between two times.

Your mother loved the rain. You remember being six, sitting on the couch with her, and she’d put her arms around you, pull you to her chest, and say, listen, pumpkin, do you hear it? That’s the clouds saying hello. And then the two of you would stay there all afternoon, listening as raindrops plinked against rooftops, dripped from branches, dipped into puddles.

That’s the safest you’ve ever felt, you realize suddenly. Right there on that couch, with her. Everything after was just white noise.

And maybe that’s the problem with it all.

Hangman belongs in the suntanned and brilliant and wanting to be seen always. It’s like he was made for this place and all its golden, blue-sky glory.

But you… you want to be invisible. You want to shrink back into the gray indifference of clouds and puddles and cars that spray you if they get too close to the curb. You’ve always been a creature of water.

You know he’s inside because Penny told you he is. Shot you a text earlier that read your boyfriend’s at my bar!!!! come get some ;)

You’re soaked the minute you get out of the car, but you don’t mind. Embrace it, actually. Welcome the raindrops kissing your nose and cheeks, catching in your hair.

The bar is almost deserted, save for the small group of naval aviators. They’re playing darts, and you spot Hangman right away. It’s hard not to, anyway, with how he carries himself. Always so sure of everything he does.

You don’t think he’s ever felt the same fear that takes hold of you now, the same uncertainty.

Penny doesn’t spot you from where she’s serving a regular at the bar, and you’re glad. Makes it easier just to stomp through the room, fingers hooked into the strap of your bag like you’re holding on for dear life.

When you’re just a few steps away, Hangman notices you. For a moment, you can see his face light up, but then he looks at you, really looks at you, and something about it shifts.

You don’t want to know what you look like - hair greasy, face not washed, in pajamas that consist of an old, worn-out tee and sweatpants you’ve had for years, complete with holes and ramen noodle stains. You don’t want to care.

“Can I talk to you?” you ask without preamble as you reach the group.

Phoenix, who’d moved to greet you, freezes where she stands, looking between Hangman and you with an unreadable expression.

Hangman raises an eyebrow but nods. You’re so thankful that he doesn’t argue it could make you weep.

He hands his darts over to Coyote. “Don’t ruin my streak, yeah?”

Then he follows you to a corner near the bathrooms, uncharacteristically silent.

“So, what’s up, sweetheart?” he asks, painting a grin on his face that won’t really reach his eyes. “Missed me?”

You take a deep breath and say, “I want you to leave me alone.”

For a moment, Hangman goes very quiet. You see his eyes focusing, see his shoulders tensing, realize just how attuned you are to every minuscule reaction of his. It’s pathetic.

“What did I do?” he asks.

There’s no teasing in his voice. It’s not even the frustration from that night out on the beachfront. It’s just raw, genuine hurt, and you didn’t even think he was capable of something like it. Something so real.

You swallow around the lump in your throat. “I just… I don’t want it.”

A muscle in his jaw twitches, but he doesn’t look angry. He looks like a man very used to dissecting sticky situations, making calculated decisions quicker than you could ever hope to. You realize with a sudden jolt that when Hangman isn’t hanging around bars, giving unwanted sexual epiphanies to girls, he’s an actual fighter pilot. Someone fighting battles in the sky that may just cost him his life.

“On the beach, you said you didn’t want me to stop.”

He’s not being accusatory, not acting like he’s entitled to anything, not at all like you imagined. Why does he have to be so nice? It would be so much easier if he weren’t, if he yelled at you, if he caused a scene.

But this… this makes you feel feeble, fraying, like you’re going to spiral at any moment.

“I…” You can’t even find the words. How do you explain that it’s not like it was on the beach anymore? It’s not fun, it’s not light, it’s real, and it’s heavy, and it scares you. You’re so fucking scared.

How do you explain that somehow, strangely, your fantasy has made it real?

“I don’t want it anymore. I changed my mind.”

“Sweetheart, if this is about….”

“Stop!” your voice rises high enough that you know you’ve caught the pilots' attention. Frustration and anxiety coil in your stomach. It’s getting hard to breathe. “I just want you to leave me alone, Hangman! Why can’t you just leave me alone, you’re always there, you’re everywhere, and I don’t want it, I don’t want this, just stop, just….”

You can’t tell panic from range, can’t say what it is that accelerates your heart rate, makes your breaths choked and panicked. You just know that your hands are numb, and something sears in your nose, and you want to go you want to leave you don’t want to see him anymore.

For a moment, Hangman seems surprised by your outburst, recoils half a step, and then catches himself just as quickly. He thinks it over, and then he nods.

“Alright,” he says, smoothly, easily, as if you didn’t just yell at him in public. Shrugs his shoulders. “Your decision. It’s always been your decision.”

He pushes off the wall and shoves his hands into his pockets. Nods his head as a goodbye. Says your name just once.

Your name. Not sweetheart. And it’s the final line, you know it is. It’s really over.

Something inside of you twists and tightens to the point of pain, and it’s so dumb. You never even liked terms of endearment, thought they were overdone and sappy and clichée, but as he walks away, you wish he would turn back, wink at you, say see you around, sweetheart, wish you could fall back into that easy, strange routine the two of you have built.

Only he doesn’t, of course. Because you told him not to. Because you made the decision.

Suddenly, you're fighting tears.

“Did you just get dumped?” you hear Coyote ask.

Hangman laughs easily, the way he does everything. Nothing fazes him. Nothing sticks. You wish you could be like that, wish you could stop feeling everything so deeply, thinking about it so much, wish you could be easy-going. Wish this meant nothing to you the same way it does to him. Wish you could be somebody else.

He takes the darts back. “To get dumped,” he says, “you need to date first. This was nothing.”

And that’s the truth. It really was nothing.

You never kissed, never went on a date, never did anything but talk.

And still, to you, it changed something profound. Knocked you off course. Unbalanced you.

You have no right, but it feels like your chest is caving in. The tears are hot on your face. You wrap your arms around your ribcage as if you need to keep your body from splintering apart, keep your bones from cracking under the pressure of everything walling up inside you.

You feel like a colossal fool, standing there in the middle of this bar. Realizing you built something up in your mind that was never there to begin with. Realizing that all you’ve dreamt, you’ve dreamt alone.

Hangman doesn’t care. So why can’t you?

Without looking at Penny, without looking at Hangman, you steel yourself and walk to the door. Step into the rain.

You want to talk to your mother. You want to call her and tell her about how you broke your own heart because surely that’s better than having it broken by somebody else. You want to hear her voice. You want to make her laugh.

You want to sit in perfect silence with her and listen to the rain.

This time, in that car submerged in water, you close your eyes and imagine you’re drowning.

#top gun maverick #hangman x reader #hangman fic #hangman #jake seresin #jake seresin fic #jake seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin #fic #writing #mine #f: bh #hnhnnggnnghn i'm so scared to post this oh my god #this is so filthy i'm ashamed

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