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oftenwantedafton · 3 months

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Quiver - Steve Raglan/William Afton x Goth Female Reader

Rating - Explicit

a little fluffy office sex smut for Valentine’s Day

Also also available on AO3

There’s no way you’ve been hired on merit alone.

Not looking like that, with your fishnet tights and short skirts and sheer blouses and dark makeup. Everything shaded ebony or a variant of it. It’s all so close to being on the verge of indecent while barely meeting the dress code requirements.

So Steve Raglan assumes this must have been a favor to someone. A relative of yours has an inside connection, getting you this part time job at the social services office for some extra cash while you manage your college courses. Another entry for your sparse resume to supplement your babysitting reference and that job at the coffee shop that you’d worked at the previous summer.

For some reason it’s you more often than not these days that guides the clients back to his office. He can hear the heavy tread of your Doc Martens all the way down the hall from the reception area. He smells your gum, sometimes, mixed berry or cinnamon. Watches the way you lazily blow a half hearted bubble, a thin stretch of the xylitol pushed between your white, white teeth against that dark crimson mouth. The hair you’d hastily pinned up is already coming undone. You’re wearing a choker today, the band of velvet drawing attention to the arch of your throat. The gum chewing is loud, sloppy, wet as you lead a nervous looking middle aged woman to his door. Everything so careless. There is no grace or delicacy here. You bend to retie the undone lace of one boot. The skirt is really much too short for that.

Steve clears his throat and struggles to focus on the individual seeking work across from him. There’s a rip in your tights today that’s driving him mad. Just below the hem of your skirt. In a sea of other openings in that daring weave of material he doesn’t know why that one haunts him so much. He imagines shoving his thumb through it, squeezing your thigh.

The image will not leave his mind and he spends his lunch break that day with the solid wood door to his office locked and the blinds on his solitary window overlooking the parking lot securely sealed before he fucks into his fist until he spills over his hand thinking about you bent over for him.

***

The winter drags on, but Raglan doesn’t mind it much. It’s a welcome precursor to the long, arid stretch of summer months ahead.

It’s nearly Valentine's Day. Red and pink decorations adorn the reception area. Cardboard cutouts of hearts and roses and cupids with bows and arrows, the quivers adorned with lace. Someone in the office always decorates for every holiday. It seems like a lot of effort for very little reward. He’s never been one for festivities or celebrating. He interacts with his coworkers as little as possible. It’s not that he’s not good with people; he could hardly do this profession if he wasn’t. He’s very good at reading people. He knows how to be polite and charming and charismatic. He knows how to feign empathy to extract the information he needs when he’s placing these applicants, sifting past the drama and the sob stories to determine what their qualifications are. He’s not interested in excuses, only outcomes. That’s why his wall is covered in accolades acknowledging his accomplishments and achievements. He’s run out of room for them now. There are several still sitting unframed in one of his desk drawers.

So it’s not a lack of skill that drives a wedge between himself and other people; more like a lack of interest. Most people aren’t worth investing time in. You, though. You’ve certainly caught his attention. And he’s caught you staring more than once, lingering at his door when you have no reason to. He thinks you might be developing a little crush. A small smile here, a flutter of lashes there. There’s something there, dormant, waiting.

The middle aged career counselor has never been anything but polite to you. And you’ve been, well, yourself. So the weeks have passed and there’s been no advancement of any type, no progress in your relationship, workplace or otherwise. You still are the main attraction of his fantasies when he needs to rub one out. It’s shifted from a sporadic event to more of a daily one. He really needs to do something decisive about this one way or another.

So there’s this silly holiday now. A plethora of gift choices. A box of chocolates is what he decides on. Traditional. A classic. Heart shaped box. He’d arrived at the office before anyone else. A card with your name printed on it in capital letters. It doesn’t even remotely resemble his typical cursive. He sets the box beside the keyboard you sit at. It feels like baiting a trap.

Probably because that’s exactly what he’s doing.

***

The morning progresses like any other. You lead the clients in, one after the other. You’re wearing the ripped fishnets today. There’s a crushed red velvet cami beneath the sheer black blouse. Your nails are black with little red hearts on them.

A client has cancelled last minute. You’ve come to inform him. One of the other women who works in reception calls out to you as she passes by. “Did you find out who they’re from yet?” You shake your head. There’s a silver heart dripping from the black lace choker at your throat that swings with the movement.

“What’s that?” So casually inquired. He turns in his swivel chair slightly.

You shake your head again. Your cheeks flush. You’ve already told him about the client cancelling. Something that could have been done over the phone. Yet you’re still hovering by the open door.

“Someone left me a box of chocolates. No one recognizes the writing on the card.”

“You have a secret admirer then? How romantic.” His teeth flash in a grin.

“You don’t…you don’t know who’s written this, do you?” You walk to the desk. You smell like jasmine today. The card is tucked into the waistband of the skirt. No pockets. You hand it to the seated man. It’s warm from the heat of your body. It makes him want to do terrible things to you.

“Hmmm.” He hums thoughtfully. There’s still a smile struggling to break free again, his lips twitching. He’s enjoying this. Seeing you so disarmed. All of that clomping around in your heavy boots and shrouding yourself in your dark colors won’t shield you from him. He’ll access the young woman beneath all of that. “I might.”

“Really?” You reach for the card. He taps the edge against his lips and your fingers drop uncertainly. That rent in your tights makes his mouth water. You’re so close to him. Probably the closest you’ve ever stood.

“Supposing,” he begins, “since I now have a half hour free and it’s nearly lunch time, you take your break now and we discuss it?”

You stare at him. He lifts his brows, waiting for a response.

“Okay,” you murmur.

The trap closes, the bait taken.

***

Steve waits patiently while you go inform the office manager you’ll be taking your lunch now.

Once again you’re hesitating at his office threshold, as if halted by some invisible forcefield.

“Shut it behind you, please.” A click as it draws closed. The career counselor stands and walks towards it, turning the lock.

He sees you swallow, the choker straining against your throat. He’s much taller than you; taller than most people. He looks down and you look up and it matches the images he’s created when he thinks of you on your knees in front of him.

You lick your painted lips. “So, you think you know who it is?” Still trying to be casual. To make it seem like this is anything other than what it is about to become.

“I don’t think. I know.” The amusement is gone from his features. His pale eyes are going dark, the pupils expanding with desire.

“Oh. I thought you said…” Your voice trails off when his hand sits against the side of your neck, tucked beneath your hair. He pushes you and you easily stumble against the door.

“Have you really no idea?”

Your lips are parted. Wicked ruby against the pure white. Temptation. He hears you breathing more rapidly. Lets his fingers thread up into the hair at the back of your head to pull your face upwards. A gasp.

“Well? I’m waiting for your answer.”

“It’s you…”

“Yes.”

“I didn’t know you…we’ve barely spoken.”

“Not using words, maybe.” He inhales and exhales deeply. “Would you like to try some more of that…nonverbal communication?”

You nod against the hand still holding you.

His mouth presses against yours. He does not bother with gentle kisses or a soft introduction of lips. There is no time for that and he has waited long enough for this moment. His tongue spears your lips and he tastes you for the first time. You’ve snuck one of the chocolates he’d gifted recently. Bittersweet dark and cherry cordial. You moan against his mouth. He presses his body into yours, so you can feel what you do to him. How crazy you make him.

Steve abruptly pulls away, clutching one of your hands and dragging you towards the desk. He sinks back into the chair and tossed his glasses on the desk before be finally surrenders to what he’s wanted to do for so long, pushing a thumb inside that inviting gape in your hosiery. His other hand disappears under your slit maxi skirt, wedging between your thighs, eliciting another whimper.

“Normally I am all for foreplay and drawing things out, but today is simply not going to be one of those days since we’re both on the clock, as it were.” Both hands now clutch the waistband of your tights and panties and he drags them down roughly until they rest rumpled somewhere around your knees. He thinks he’s made a least one new rent in those tights; at the very least made the previous opening even wider. Pretty soon they will be too indecent to wear in public at all. “Bend over,” he rasps, and you obey, resting your upper body on his desk. The wheels of the chair roll across the plastic mat shielding the carpet and he runs a hand over the curve of each cheek appreciatively. “Stance a little broader,” he urges, fingers dipping between your thighs to stroke along your sex. Another soft moan as your spread your legs further apart. His thumbs dig into your flesh as he separates your cheeks and drives his tongue inside of you.

The noise of pleasure that escapes is anything but soft this time and you clamp a hand over your mouth to stifle it. Steve pauses for a few heartbeats to see if anyone will come knocking. Apparently satisfied this is not the case, he begins eating you out in earnest. He loved eating pussy and yours is a particularly delicious specimen. He can still taste the remnants of soap from your shower that morning. Your own flavor, musky yet feminine. He could happily spend the half hour just like this, but he wants to fuck you and that’s exactly what he does next, standing up and unfastening his belt. Fly opened quickly and his cock pulled free. Rests it against one cheek. Breathing ragged. He makes sure you’re still muffling your voice before he eases into you. There’s a lot to take. You’re not going to be able to keep quiet.

As predicted you whine. The brace of fingers over your lips have slipped a bit. “So fucking tight. I love this wet pussy.” He pushes a little further. Another keen. “You can take it.” The hand curled around your hip tightens. A final shove. “There you go. Good girl.” A snug fit around his cock. Sheer bliss. He withdraws and thrusts back inside, your body jerking across the desk. Steve’s sweating already, teeth gritted. It has been far, far too long since he’s been bottomed out in some hot cunt like yours. No more test runs. He begins fucking into you roughly. Shoves the hem of his dress shirt impatiently out of the way so he can watch his cock saw in and out of you. He wishes he was recording this. You looked so fucking good bent over his desk. The little mewling, keening noises you’re making are driving him insane. “You like that, huh? Answer me you little slut,” he growls.

“Yes,” you gasp.

“You’ve been teasing me for months now with those ripped tights and short skirts. Stomping around like a fucking whore.” He settles both hands on your hips and drags you back onto his prick as his hips snap forward. A sobbing sound somewhere between pain and pleasure. He’s being rough. He really doesn’t care. His fingers dig deep enough to leave bruises as he continues to pummel you. His eyes dart to the clock. The time is passing far too rapidly. He debates about filling up your womb right then. So tempted to breed you. But then there’s your mouth. Yes, that’s where he wants to dump his load today.

He pulls out and slumps back in the chair behind him. Sees you straighten gingerly. Sore already. You’re really going to feel that come morning. “Kneel down.”

The tights and panties are still gathered in a tangled bunch around your knees. He has to help you get into position. Your mascara has smeared. The carefully painted lips are smudged. They’re about to get even messier. His fingers knot in your hair, guiding your mouth to his cock. He heaves a sigh. Your mouth is as perfect as your pussy. He feels your lips stretching to take him in. Another tight, wet hole for him to squeeze into. But you’re still so tentative. He’s going to have to assist you.

Steve forces your head to remain still while he shoves himself against the border of your throat. You gurgle and choke and gag as he unrelentingly batters you several more times before being merciful enough to let you slide back off of him, coughing and gasping for air. Fresh runs of mascara stain your cheeks where the tears have leaked anew from the strain. Your nails dig into his thighs when your head bobs over him again. He lets you control the pace a bit, watching your lips and tongue work over the head and shaft. “Look at me.” Your eyes meet his. He grabs your head and greets the back of your throat again. “That’s it. Take that big cock down your throat. You love it, don’t you?” You whimper, attempting to answer.

He drags his saliva coated dick free and you struggle for more air. “Open your mouth and stick out your tongue. Keep looking at me.” He sets the flushed tip against your moist pink tongue. Wraps his fingers around the shaft and strokes, pushing down on the muscular organ that’s cradling the head of his cock. Your eyes are locked with his. His breathing is labored. So close. His eyes narrow as he frowns. A moan tears loose and he shoots a stream of cum inside your mouth. You blink and struggle but he’s got you pinned in place. A few more creamy sprays paint your mouth. He wipes the edge of his cock off on your bottom lip. “Swallow every drop of that.” He jerks your head back a bit. You close your mouth and swallow, wincing over the taste. “Let me see.” You stick your tongue out again. Clean. “Good girl.”

The bearded man relaxes his grip in your hair. His eyes flick to the clock again. Made it with five minutes to spare. Just enough time for you to put yourself back together and wash up in the bathroom across the hall.

He helps you stand, easily pulling you to your feet. Clothes are shifted back into place. The tights are not as ruined as he’d anticipated. He’ll have to work on them some more another time. You depart his office without comment. He wipes his brow and sits back down at the desk. The card is still lying there, beside his glasses.

The workday continues. You usher in more clients. He finds them job placements. The office closes for the day.

Steve waits for you outside, leaning against your car—black, like everything else you own. He’s watched you from the window of his office exiting and entering it so he’s certain it belongs to you. His arms are folded. He sees your steps slow as you catch sight of him.

“I thought,” he begins. There are roses resting on the windshield. Dark purple. “We might have dinner together.”

You draw even with him.

“I don’t like to be rushed. It’s not how I do things.”

You nod, glancing at the flowers adorning your vehicle. The heart shaped box is clutched to your chest.

“Or would you like to continue where we left off?” He pushes off the car and leans against you, pinning you in place, your body resting crushed lightly between the steel and the social worker’s long, lean frame.

“Do I have to choose only one of those options?”

A smile. “Not at all.”

“Both,” you decide.

The grin widens. “Both it is. Happy Valentine’s Day.” He bends to kiss you.

#william afton x reader #william afton x you #steve raglan x reader #steve raglan x you #william afton smut #steve raglan smut #dividers credit @saradika-graphics

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dariaslookalike · 3 months

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Building Houses and Burning Bridges Pt 5: Bargains and Balls

Summary:

It seems, oddly enough, that Gregory House lives to annoy you. He takes 'arseholish boss' to the next level. Wake up in the morning, ready to have breakfast, and drive to the hospital where you both work? Nope, you're getting a text that says you're late to his impromptu 4:30 AM meeting where he's had the 'breakthrough of the century' on the team's latest case. Get your hair cut and walk into work, for once feeling confident? Nope, he's saying that he would have done a better job blinded, hands tied and going through Vicodin withdrawals. Finally, 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺, prove him wrong and attempt to wipe the cockiness off his face? Nope, you're simply slow because you didn't get to your diagnosis quicker and weak-willed because you didn't fight him for it in the beginning. Everything House does infuriates you, and it seems everything you do infuriates him. No wonder you end up pinned to the wall of your apartment and groping him like your life depends on. And knowing House, it very may well.

Warnings: Adult language, mature themes, eventual smut, female protagonist, no reference of y/n

Rating: 18+ MDNI

Current Status: Ongoing

Masterlist: Building Houses and Burning Bridges

Next Chapter: Pt 6

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The white envelope sears a hole into your pocket during your journey home. You toss it against your bedside dresser, and imagine it sizzling and scorching the wood.

It sits there for another week before you pick it up again. You blame work, of course. House hadn’t given up completely on making your life a living hell, but it seemed he had relented somewhat. Still, you were running around. Chasing after MRIs and lumbar punctures and CT scans and bloodwork and all the sorts. Cuddy, after your last conversation, seemed determined to make sure you weren’t about to collapse under House. She set up work counselling (that you skipped. Admitting that House was affecting you was admitting defeat, right?), and, by his snarky “Tattle to mummy? You’re just lucky I like seeing her with a whip” comment, she had reamed House out.

Any spare time that you did have at the hospital was taken up with clinic duty. Kids with snotty noses, men with sore backs, women with rashes, teenagers with acne; you had dealt with more incredulous patients in one week than you had during your residency.

So yes. You blame work.

You sit on your bedroom floor, your back pressed to one of the boxes. It has DESK STUFF scrawled across the side in sharpie. Of course, you couldn’t start unpacking until the rest of your bedroom was clean. Starting with the envelope.

You slide open the top and pull out the invitation. Small. A slight silver tinge. An embossed stamp of the hospital’s logo. Overwhelmingly underwhelming.

Still, your stomach curled, and you reread it, over and over. A charity ball, to celebrate the end of winter and more importantly, raise money for some of the hospital’s foundations. It had raffles, auctions, and games. A long list of celebrated donors and a longer list of speakers. You scan the list, and while you see Dr Wilson’s, House’s isn’t shown. Maybe he was shy, beneath all that boisterous toxicity.

You snort to yourself. Not likely.

It takes two more days for you to drag your feet to Pop’s. He’s tinkering away at something by his counter; too many screws and bolts for you to really guess what. But when he sees you, he drops it all, and rushes around the counter to crush you in a hug. You laugh, but it’s swallowed up by the scratchy flannel he’s wearing. He sways you on the spot, and you hug him back, clutching at his back.

When he releases you, his hands land on your cheeks. “You look horrible!”

You laugh and push away at his hands. You can imagine the flecks of dirt and iron on your cheeks, but you make no move to wipe them away. “Gee, thanks.”

He nods, and you follow him back to the counter. You lift yourself up, and sit on the edge, your feet dangling off like a child’s. He picks up what he was working on earlier, and grumbles. “Not rude. Just the truth. You look terrible. Like a ghost.”

You nod, swinging your shoes in front of you. “Work’s been a lot recently.”

His eyes swivel to yours, and his tinkering pauses. “Is it that man again? Home?”

In the past few months, even though you had slowed down on your impromptu home renovations, you had still visited Pop. On slow days, he taught you card games and how to shuffle a deck. In his large hands, the cards were like magic, disappearing and flying through the air. He had not been impressed at the news of your boss. Of course, you omitted some details (like how at one point, you were convinced you wanted to jump his bones), but he got the general gist of House’s behaviour.

Laughing, you shake your head half-heartedly. “A little bit. Even without him though, the job’s just tiring.”

He huffs. “You need food. Sleep. If you go home and get to bed, me and Ella will drop you soup.”

As if summoned, you hear her telltale shoes clicking against the hardwood floor. Ella, Pop’s wife, appears through the small door in the corner that leads to the back. She’s a beautiful woman. Dark, greying ringlets of hair frame her sun-kissed, weathered face, and a store apron is draped across her frame. You push yourself off the counter to stand and her smile is instantaneous. Just as Pop did, she rushes forward to hug you. It’s not as bone-crushing, but you squeeze her back tightly nonetheless. Her green eyes twinkle, and you have to force yourself not to stare at the full lashes that frame them. “It’s good to see you, sweetheart.”

You smile. “You too, Eleanora.”

Her smile drops, and she swats at your arm. “Ah, so you call him Pop and all I get is Eleanora? Call me Ella, at least.”

You duck your head and raise your hands in apology. “Of course, of course.”

You had this conversation numerous times in your past visits. Something about her nickname was too endearing. Of course, she was an endearing woman; a wide, toothy smile, rosy cheeks, and golden jewellery hanging across her neck. Yet, she was formidable and intimidating when she wanted to be. That’s what drew you to call her Eleanora. Ella was an amazing cook, and on some of the nights you stayed chatting with Pop until closing, she would push a plate into your hands and demand you eat it. For such a small woman, she could be intense. It was a demand you were willing to oblige.

Happy with your promise to concede, Ella turns and busies herself by tidying Pop’s counter. She replaces the screwdrivers and Allen keys that he has lying about to their home and is a flurry of cleansing movement around the two of you. You know better than to try to help; she had nearly had a hernia the last time you tried sweeping the floor. Ella was a self-sufficient woman and survived alongside Pop without taking advantage of others.

You raise yourself back onto the counter and sigh, looking towards Pops. “I don’t need sleep. I need a dress. At work, we have this biiiiig,” You stretch your hands over your head in a sweeping motion. “Charity event. I have nothing to wear; is there a dress shop around here? Or even a clothing shop?”

No way would you be able to meander into town near the hospital before or after work; the shops opened too late and shut too early. The thick caterpillars that are Pop’s eyebrows, scrunch together, but it’s Ella who stops her flurry and speaks. “No, no, I’ll have something for you.”

You tilt your head to the side and look at her quizzically. She taps your knee and bustles off to the back door. You shoot Pop a look, but he just shrugs his shoulders. “Best if you follow her, kid. She’ll drag you up there anyway.”

You nod and push through the back door. It leads to a larger back room, filled to the brim with filing cabinets, and thick, manilla folders that are bursting at the seams. To your left, you turn just in time to see Ella trudging up a sagging staircase. You spare one last fleeting glance at the room and follow her.

While she is able to make it up quietly, the stairs creak in protest underneath you. You sheepishly hasten your steps when Ella makes it to the next floor. There’s a small wooden landing and adjoining doors. Ella has already disappeared into one, so you gingerly open each. The first is a small, but pristine and ornate bathroom. There’s a lounge room, filled with bookshelves and a VHS player. The third is a small kitchen; a window looks outwards to a simple backyard, but you can imagine it in the summer, pushed open and welcoming all sorts of warm sunlight and songbird melodies. Finally, after feeling like the biggest intruder to their home, you find Ella in the bedroom.

She’s plunged into a large, wooden cabinet, and you toe off your shoes to abandon them by the landing before you cross onto the soft carpet. You sit on the edge of the large bed awkwardly, but when you clear your throat, Ella spins around and tuts. “No, up, up!”

Like a soldier, you stand to attention, but Ella doesn’t seem as offended at you sitting on her bed as she does seem interested in poking at you. For a moment, she stands in front of you and surveys you, her green eyes sweeping across your face, your torso, down to your legs and back up again. She steps forward on nimble feet and reaches up to push your chin up and your shoulders back. Now you really do feel like a soldier.

She pulls both of your hands in front of you, and you think it best to just let her play around with you like a doll; right now she was Eleanora, not Ella. She turns your palms upwards, and then back down. Then she guides your arms out to the side, and nudges your leg apart with her own, all while staring with a calculating eye. Now, standing in the centre of her room like you're in the middle of a jumping jack, she circles around you. Your head involuntarily turns to follow her, but she tuts again, and you look forward. She shifts your hips to the centre and places the palm of her hand against your back, pushing to even your posture.

She does odd measurements with her hands. She closes one eye, holds a hand parallel to your throat and shifts it down, lining it up against your waist. She gauges the width of your shoulders and mirrors it against your hips. She tuts at your chest, and you look at her with worry. She shakes her head, “It’s fine. Your mother and God were just kinder to you than they were to me.” She continues her measurements and when she circles back around to face you, she nods with determination. “It should be perfect.”

—--------- The days pass by in a flurry of snowy weather and icy roads. The charity event is quickly approaching, and your stomach is curling at the thought of it. Cameron, Foreman, and yourself are bundled into a small cafe booth. It’s overpriced and has horrible sandwiches, but it’s inside the hospital and most importantly away from the mini blizzard outside.

You poke at your sandwich and sip from your hot chocolate. Cameron got a pastry, which while you would usually expect to be burnt on one side and undercooked on the other, looks like sweet goodness. Foreman wretches at his salad. “This has got to be a health violation. Who puts anchovies in caesar salad anymore?”

You laugh. “Who buys anchovies from the hospital anymore?”

Foreman shakes his head and pushes his plate away from him. You reach across and push your own towards him, and he looks towards you with wide eyes. “Really?”

You nod. “Yep. I asked for no mayo and got mayo, so they’ll go to waste if you don’t have them.”

Cameron laughs. “When Chase shows up, they won’t go to waste. He’s like a tall, skinny, bottomless pit.”

You all laugh, and Foreman humbly accepts. In a mouth full of sandwiches, he speaks. “Fu wot, aryu affergeec?”

Cameron scoffs beside you and shakes her head. “Finish chewing, Foreman. I don’t want your crumbs spat in my coffee.”

He swallows and turns back to you. “I was asking if you’re allergic. To mayo? Or would it be eggs, then?”

You shake your head, feeling a blush creep over your cheeks. “I’m not allergic. It’s just gross and makes me gag. I used to be force-fed sandwiches which were basically drowned in mayo, and now I can’t eat it.”

Foreman nods. “I get it. My mum used to make us tuna pasta- she was a great cook, but something about that dish she could never get right. I think we were so broke at one point, even the tinned tuna was out of date. Just the smell of tuna makes me gag now.”

You sip your hot chocolate, trying to chase away the thought of fish and mayo. You stop when you spy Chase, weaving between tables, looking like Frosty the Snowman. When he slides in across from you, Foreman laughs. “What happened to you, man? Did House send you outside as a punishment?”

Chase scoffs, and whips his beanie and scarf off. It sends flecks of snow flying, which quickly melt against the table. “Nope. I went to five different stores, and the first three were closed.” He groans, rubbing at his side. “I think I busted a rib on the ice.” Cameron coos. “Did you slip over? Before we go back up, I’ll see if you’ve actually broken something, or if you’re just being a baby.” Chase locks eyes with you across the table,\ and rolls them. You stifle a snort.

Foreman speaks between mouthfuls this time. “What. Were. You. Shopping. For?”

Chase inhales and produces a white shopping bag. He places it on the table and slides it towards you. Now you’re the one locking eyes with him, and mouthing ‘What?’ He gestures towards the bag with a hand. Even Foreman’s put down his sandwiches to watch. “Open it.”

You’re sceptical, and gingerly reach a hand inside the bag, pulling out a box. You look back to Chase for confirmation, and he nods. “Go on.”

You open the box, and push past plain tissue paper. There’s a pair of glittery, black pumps. You look back to him, frantic. “Chase, I can’t, these are gorgeous and-”

He nods. “I barfed on your shoes. Literally barfed. And I was meaning to get you a new pair a few weeks back, but then I didn’t know what you liked.”

“No, really, I can’t take these, this is too much-”

“I tore up the receipt. Shredded it, actually.”

You blink. “Huh?”

Cameron nods along. “I saw him burn it too. And black’s not Chase’s colour, so I guess you’ll just have to take them.”

You shake your head, but Chase speaks first. “I’m serious. I’m not taking them back.”

You stare at him, willing him to break, but he pokes his tongue out at you. You furrow your brow. “Okay. You know these aren’t really practical for work, right?”

Foreman reaches over, plucking a heel and holding it up to examine it. “Look at it! You’ll finally be able to reach the top medicine shelves in the clinic.”

“Ha ha.” You laugh humorlessly, taking back the shoe, and returning it to its box.

Chase speaks. “Well, we’ve got that charity thing coming up this week…I was hoping it went with your dress, and that maybe, you’d like to-”

“Sit with us!” Cameron interjects. Chase shoots her a look and begins to open his mouth but she continues. “Cuddy’s asking us for table arrangements, so we thought we’d sit together as a diagnostic team. Right, Foreman?”

Foreman squints at her, but when there’s a resounding thump under the table and he winces, he nods. “Yep. Right.”

Chase chews his cheek, staring at Cameron. “You sure, Cameron? Maybe we should let her make her own decisions and not force her into something.”

Cameron shakes her head. “She’s not being forced into something. She’s being asked, and can say yes or no.”

You lean forward. “I’m lost. What am I saying yes or no to?”

Chase doesn’t look towards you anymore, staring down at the table. Cameron turns to face you. “Well, do you want to sit with us?”

You nod. “Of course; the only other people I know here is Cuddy and House.”

Cameron smiles, and if anything, Chase’s face turns even more sour. “Perfect. We’ll see you there.” —------ Chase avoids you for the rest of the week. You thought, maybe the shoes were a sign of something more. But he’s adamant in separating at every chance from you. Before, he used to seek you out at the coffee machine and talk to you about everything from you shouldn’t trust the creamer to how aliens must be real. It’s disappointing. Cameron shoots you sad smiles when no one else is around. “He’s just stressed. House has been riding his arse, but after this charity ball, it should be fine.”

Your logic wants to question her, and demand to know why she thinks that. But, you feel like you’ve lost a friend in less than four days, and nod, clinging to some semblance of hope. Yet, two days being the dinner-ball-charity-anxiety inducing-thing, it’s House that seeks you out.

‘I’ve been told to ‘talk’ with you.” He makes quotations with his fingers in the air.

You scoff, and spin back to the microscope, where about a minute ago, you were analysing liver cell enzymes in peace. “Oh, so no hitting this time? I’m glad, I thought your cane could use a break.”

House makes a weird noise in the back of his throat, and your eyes flick back to him. He coughs….almost awkwardly? “Mother superior says you’re skipping counselling.”

“Ohhh.” House had to talk about feelings. No wonder the narcissistic robot was feeling awkward. “Yep.”

He rolls his eyes. “Most people wouldn’t be so snippy with their boss.”

You nod along, staring back at the glass slide. “Yep. Then again, most bosses wouldn’t be the reason that most people need work counselling, but hey.” You don’t mention that you’re upset Chase is managing to ghost you at work.

He scoffs. “You don’t need it because of me. I’m sure there’s some weird, hormonal, womanly disaster you’re hiding.”

“So we agree. I don’t need it.”

“Don’t twist my words like that, newbie, I-”

You sit up, facing him fully. “The only reason Cuddy wants me in counselling is because she’s afraid you’re hurting my feelings. You’re not.” Lies. “It doesn’t keep me up at night when you act like a dickhead.” Lies. “Hence, I don’t need counselling.” Lies.

House runs his hand down his face, and you have to stop yourself from tracking the movement. Just stare at the pale wall to the left of his head. Just like that- no, no you’re staring at his face again.

He sighs. There’s a beat of silence, then two, and then three. You’re about to ask him why he’s still interrupting the task he ordered you to do when he speaks with a lively vigour. “So! If you’re not wanting to throw yourself down a set of stairs because of me,” Lies. “You could totally manage to go to the charity thingamajig with me. Something about dying babies or dying grandmas, I don’t know.”

You blink. “It’s for the hospital’s Domestic Violence foundation and Childhood Cancer.”

“Ah, so men acting like babies and children dying like grandmas. I’ll take that as a yes.”

“No!”, you blurt out.

He blinks, frazzled. “No? You don’t think abusive men act like immature babies?”

You roll your eyes. “Shut up. Why are you inviting me?”

His jaw flexes for a moment, and he stares at you. The silence is loud, but you see the chord of electricity connecting the two of you thrumming. Your thoughts are pulsing at the same beat. Say it. Chase didn’t say it. No one’s ever said it to me. Say that you’re inviting me because you want me with you. Not Cameron, not Cuddy, not some leggy blonde. Me.

Instead, he says “It’s the one apology you’ll ever get for me making you want to throw yourself down a set of stairs.”

Your thoughts zap and fizzle out with a pop. Even their absence is shameful, and you dumbly nod your head. It’s a work event. What were you expecting? Moreso, why were you expecting it from House? “Fine.”

His eyebrows shoot up, and you scoff. “Don’t make me take it back.”

“Hey!” He places a hand to his heart, faux wounded. “No refunds on sponsoring domestic abusers with me.”

“What? That’s not what the charity do-”

He’s already limping out of the lab and you’re left in silence. —------- There was no frumpled jacket, fraying sweater, and an untucked shirt. No coffee-stained jeans or pen-scratched slacks.

The black dress clung to your waist, cinching in, and widening out into a breathy, floor-length skirt fleckered with embroidered flowers and trailing leaves. God, you prayed no one thought this was too slutty; sure, there wasn’t a thigh-high slit or even any leg showing, but your full breasts were practically shoved up to your chin.

Ella’s dress. She was ecstatic when she handed it to you, and demanded that you try it on at their home and that Pop drive you to the ball. She helped you wriggle into it; almost a claustrophobic process, but Ella would laugh each time you hand stuck through the neckline or the skirt. “You’re like a silly monkey. When my daughter and my sons grew up, I thought there would be no silly monkeys left here.” She pinches your cheek tenderly while you're wrapped in odd angles of the dress. “But then you came. I’m so glad you did.”

Eventually, you stretch and jump and slide into the dress. Pop’s already waiting for you outside, by his old, clunky truck. He envelopes you quickly, squeezing you and resting his head on your own. “You look beautiful. Ella was right, the dress is perfect.”

You laugh. “She always is.”

You thank him again and again for driving you all the way, but his reply is a gruff laugh. You insist that you’ll be fine later tonight, and will get a lift home with someone or call a taxi. It’s two late for Pop to be driving out on icy roads. When he parks in the bay of the hospital, he turns to you. “You sure? I rather you get home with me then not at all.”

You nod. “I’m sure. Don’t worry, I’ll get home.”

He runs his hands across his moustache, and nods. The seriousness dissipates from his face, and he smiles tenderly at you. “Have a great time.”

The dress was beautiful, you think when you shuffle from the car and quickly into the warmth of the foyer. But Ella had been right in saying that your mother and god were kinder. Your boobs were nearly spilling out of the top, and as you step through the doorway, you cross your fingers that you wouldn’t give the whole hospital staff a nip slip.

The hospital’s foyer had been completely converted. There was no stuffy receptionist or odd potted plants. There was draped, flowing curtains along the wall, obscuring the view of the clinic and offices. There was a faux chandelier for god's sake, dangling down from the floor above. Even the floors seemed to gleam. The foyer seemed bigger somehow. There were large, circular tables, covered in white cloth, that bordered the edges, yet there was still room for (presumably) a dance floor in the centre. Furthest away, there was a large catering table, and you stomach was already growling.

The second you think of beelining to the food however House sidles into view. He whistles, staring at your chest. “Wow. I’d say you clean up nicely, but those sure do.”

You resist the urge to cover up, and a blush flames across your cheeks. “You don’t look absolutely repulsive yourself, House.”

That was far from the truth. House was wearing a form-fitting black suit. Had his hair been combed? Was his cane polished? Whatever it was, he looked…handsome. You would have to be wary.

He holds out his left hand. “I hope you don’t have rabies.”

You gingerly reach out, feeling his rough palm against your own. His fingers are against your pulse. “I do. Air-borne gonorrhoea, too.”

House smiles, and you find that you can’t look away from it. He realises you’re staring at him in awe however and a scowl quickly covers his face. He yanks you to his side and spins for the both of you to face the room.

You hiss, “You’re lucky I didn’t trip. I would have brought you down with me.”

“I have the cane as an advantage. Now,” you inch closer, til your shoulders are pressed together. Or rather, it’s your head by the tip of his shoulder. You tilt your ear, listening as he whispers conspiratorially. “The best thing I will ever teach you is how to get in, and out of a Cuddy-event.”

You snort. “I thought that you wanted to support domestic abusers?”

He peers down at you, scoffing. “You must have me confused for someone else.” He looks back out to the foyer, and gestures with his head, first to the catering table, “You get food. Not a lot, but enough to seem that you’re interested in staying for the evening. You dance, and make sure that someone remembers that you’ve danced.”

You nudge him in the ribs, and he looks back at you. “How do you dance? I’ve seen you avoid walking to an OR because of your leg.”

He grins and reaches into the pocket of his suit. He produces a pill bottle and rattles it. “I have enough of these bad boys to endure Cuddy’s torture tonight. I’m going to tear it up on the dance floor.”

You roll your eyes. “Okay, dancing, eating, what other great tips do you have?”

“Well, I have a great tip in my pants but another one is also to do the worst thing on earth- small talk. Luckily for me, I have Wilson.”

You huff out a laugh torn between humour and disgust at his innuendo. At that, he loops your arms together, and he walks towards one of the outlying tables. Wilson sits there, and you spy the ducklings a few tables over. You wave at them, and while Foreman and Cameron both smile back, Chase blanches.

Wilson draws you back to where you are when he says your last name. “It’s good to see you here. And with House! I thought by now, he would have made you a bitter enemy.”

House scoffs, and you feel where your arms are linked burn when he speaks. “I have. This is all a ruse to get her guard down.”

You roll your eyes, but smile at Wilson. “He roped me in. Something about dying babies and dying grandmas.”

Wilson squints. “That sounds like House, especially because tonight is for Domestic Violence-”

“And childhood cancer!” House interjects. “I bet you’ll see a lot of your little friends running around tonight, Wilson. Or is it more like wheeling around?”

Now Wilson rolls his eyes and turns back to you. “If you ever need a break from him, I’ve got a free seat at my table.”

House’s elbow seems to pull you in tighter, but you smile. “Thanks. I’m sure I’ll swing by later.”

House doesn’t say bye to his friend, already leading you away. It’s odd; Wilson and House bicker and fight, yet you get the sense they’re the closest friends in the hospital. You try to tug his elbow back towards the ducklings' table, but he tuts. “Small talkis donee. Food now.”

You shake your head. “That was hardly small talk. We were there for two minutes before you were an arse.”

You realise you’re saying we. What was the etiquette of bosses asking out employees on a not-date date? Or, moreso, dates in general? Were you supposed to leave him alone? Separate and enjoy the night before reconvening. Or, like you were doing now, be paraded around on his arm and cling to him like a hopeless bird clings to a dangling birdseed treat?

You’re brought out of your own head when House speaks. “It’s Wilson. He’s used to my arse if you know what I mean.”

You bark out a laugh. That would make sense on to why Wilson put up with House’s shit. Old flames always burn dully. House is weaving you in between tables, and directing you towards the catering table.

He swears and begins yanking you around like a getaway driver. “Shit. Left, left! No, now right. Oh, fuck-”

Cuddy marches up to you two and beams at you. She glares at House. “Were you trying to avoid me?”

House puffs out air from his cheeks. “No, why would you ever think that?”

“You’re behind a fake palm plant.”

He uses his cane to reach up and poke at the plastic shrubbery beside you. “Darn. I thought it was the real thing.”

Cuddy sighs, and turns to you. “You look beautiful. I’m glad you came.” She pins House with a stare. “Even gladder that you tried being kind for once.”

House gags. “Not altruistic though.”

Cuddy shakes her head slightly at him, and smiles at you. You scan her scarlet dress with an approving nod. “You look amazing. That dress is gorgeous”

A slight dusting colours Cuddy’s cheek, and she smiles again; smaller, but far more sincere. “Thank you, kid. Try to have a good night. You’ve worked hard, especially with a boss like that.” Her eyes slide to House, and he bares his teeth at her mockingly.

You nod, “Thanks, I’ll try.”

With that, House huffs and sidesteps Cuddy, practically dragging you with him. You shoot her an apologetic look, but for a man with a cane, House hobbles fast and you’re quickly crossing the room towards the catering table.

Finally, he untwines your arms, and you look down at his absence. You feel oddly bare. House is staring down at his own elbow, but then he shakes it out like it’s gone numb. He straightens his shoulders and nods towards the table. “Small talk is definitely done now. Food. The second best thing to drugs. Actually, third, to drugs and monster trucks.”

You pick up a plate from the end. “In that order?”

House scoffs, and mimics you, grabbing a plate. “God, no. Have you seen a monster truck? Those things are awesome.”

In silence, you both move along the table, scooping heaps of vegetables, roasted meats, and desserts. He’s the one to stand, and debate over the deserts; quite literally listing off the pros and cons of cream, fruits, chocolate, and pastries. He must sense you staring at him, and he straightens to his full height, looking down his nose at you. “What?”

You raise your spare hand in defence. “I just think that this is the longest you’ve talked to me. Definitely, the longest you’ve been nice to me.”

A strange mixture crosses his face. His mouth slightly opens and his eyes almost soften, but then it’s gone, and he’s clenching his jaw, and rolling his eyes so far back into his head you’re worried he’s having a seizure. “Don’t worry Newbie, I’ll make sure to ride your arse on Monday.”

You snort. Spoke too soon, huh? “I’m sure you’d like that, House.”

He stills and stares at you. “And if I would?”

You chew your lip, looking at him through your lashes. It’s all on the tip of your tongue, about to burst over the edge in a flood of words, but then, somewhere in the room, you hear Cameron’s laugh and remind yourself of her heartbreak. Was House worth that?

You shake your head. “I need to sit down while we eat, otherwise I’m gonna wear chocolate fondue down the front of my dress.”

House doesn’t follow you when you walk to the ducklings' table, and you force yourself to not turn and look for him. You plop into one of the chairs and smile at the three doctors sitting down. You sigh, “Hi. You all look fantastic. Odd, without the lab coats.”

Cameron laughs. She’s in a blue dress with a sweetheart neckline. It makes her eyes vivid, and you mean it when you say she looks fantastic. “Thanks. You look really nice too.”

You grin, abandoning your plate and whipping you leg upwards. You raise your skirt, feeling like a scandalous 1860’s woman, and point your toes at Chase. The ducklings all peer down, and Chase’s face becomes quickly flushed when you speak. “The heels are killer. They were a perfect find, Chase. Thank you.”

He nods, averting his eyes and staring at the table. “No problem.”

Okay. So still weird. It’s Foreman who clears his throat, dissipating the awkward air that had settled. He wriggles his brow. “So, House?”

You groan, and pick at some of the food in front of you. “Don’t get me started.”

Cameron peers at you. “Has he been…tolerable?”

“Um, yeah.” You nod. “At least to me.”

Her eyes dart across the table, but they’re quick to return to you. “I’m glad you’re having a good night then. Maybe it’ll show you that beneath it all, he has some humanity.”

You duck your head, bashfully. “Yeah. He was the one who asked to join me tonight; he said it was an apology for being a dick basically. I know it doesn’t mean he’ll never be a dick again, he’s House for gods sake, but… It’s a good reminder that he has a little bit of a soul.” You clear your throat, trying to blink away the tears springing up in your eyes. “I was thinking of transferring. Giving up. I never even started to make plans, and I’m not sure if I was actually going to.”

Cameron smiles. “I’m glad you didn’t. It’s been great working with you; House isn’t all thunderstorms and rain clouds.”

Foreman laughs sarcastically but Chase scoffs, crossing his arms against his chest. “Really?”

A beat passes, and he stares at Cameron, who shakes her head. “Don’t.”

Chase’s eyes dart back to the skirt of your dress, to where your heels are hidden again. “I think she should know.”

Foreman’s firm voice rings out across the table. “Don’t ruin it, Chase.”

Your eyes narrow. “Know what?”

Cameron begins to open her mouth, but Chase turns in his seat and faces you. “House didn’t ask you to tonight.”

You laugh softly, staring at him. “I was there Chase. He did.”

Chase shakes his head, his hands flying up. “No. Cuddy did. You were skipping counselling and getting withdrawn. You stopped coming out to drinks with us. She knew something was up. Maybe knew what you were planning.”

Cameron’s voice is stern. “Chase, stop it.”

Chase shakes his head, almost in a frenzy. “No!” He locks eyes with you, staring intently. “Cuddy asked him to invite you tonight, weeks ago. When he couldn’t even do that, she had to make a fucking trade with him. He is your date for one night, shows some sort of niceness,” He spits the word, “And gets a month and a half off of clinic duty. He’s not being kind or tender, or human, he’s being House.”

Your eyes flicker towards the rest of the table. Foreman is staring down at the table, shaking his head, and Cameron is practically murdering Chase with her eyes. Her eyes dart towards you, and the soft pity that you find there is enough confirmation. The mouthfuls of food in your stomach turn to lead, and you blanch, pushing up from the table.

Chase is still saying something, and it’s almost apologetic, but you can’t make out the words. There are definitely tears in your eyes now and they make your vision blur.

One of them calls out your name, but you’re already halfway across the room. Doctors at other tables stare at you, and you see Wilson's head perk up. He calls out your last name, but you storm past.

House is standing by the fake palm plant. His plate is jammed into the soil, and his fork stabbed through one of the plastic leaves. He smirks when you appear, and grabs your hand, spinning you. “Just in time Newbie.” He leans his cane against the pot plant. “One dance, and we get to go home.”

You don’t register that he’s leading you to the centre of the foyer. There are a few other dancers there, twirling gently and swaying to the music playing through the announcement system overhead. His hand burns against the curve of your waist and the other one guides your hand to the side of your body. You’re struggling to breathe, but huff out the words. “Are you high?”

He squints one eye and tilts his lips to the side. “A little bit. How else would I be dancing with no cripple stick?” He leads you around the floor, and your feet simply follow him. You clench your jaw. “Or are you just that desperate to get out of here?”

House nods and barks out a laugh. “I’ve already seen two people barf from the seafood. Of course I am.”

You shake your head. “Or is it just me that you want to get away from?”

House scrunches his face. “What? Do you actually have rabies?”

You try to escape his grip, but his hand is firm against your back, caging you in. You stop moving, stilling alongside the edge of the floor. In your peripheral, you think you see Wilson standing up. You drop House’s hand. “I know Cuddy asked you to take me tonight. Although it wasn’t really asking, was it? You had to be fucking paid for it.”

You shove against his chest, and his hand grips yours against his suit. “Did Cuddy say that?”

“What does it matter? Are you denying it?”

He raises his eyebrows. “Well, I wasn’t paid.”

You laugh humourlessly. “You got out of fucking clinic duty for this! Did you have to raise it? Did she offer one week and you demand fucking six of them?”

He scoffs, and drops your hand. “What did you think tonight was? A date?”

You clench your jaw, willing the tears to not fall. They wobble at the edge of your eyes. He blinks in realisation. “God, you wanted this to be a date, didn’t you?’

He soldiers on even when you shake your head. “Yes, you did. That’s why you were smiling and laughing and for once, not being a pain in my arse. You wanted to believe that I had asked you out.”

You have. “I didn’t think you found me so repulsive that you had to be begged to take me tonight.”

“What does it matter what I think? Did you want me to actually ask you out from the bottom of my heart? Pretend that I actually want to be here, and that out of everyone, I would want to be here with you? On a date?”

Wilson reaches you at the edge of the dancefloor, and you finally wrench yourself out of House’s grip. You spit venom at him. “Fuck you, House.”

House laughs your last name bitterly. “I’m sure you wanted to.”

Wilson calls out your last name. “It’s not what you think, he-”

You laugh, your shoulders hunching over. “No, I know exactly what it is. Forgive me for thinking that for once in your miserable life, House, you wanted to apologise to someone or do something kind for them. I’ll make sure to thank Cuddy for the great,” You hiss the word, “night.”

House just stares at you, his jaw flexing and Wilson’s the one rambling a long explanation that you couldn’t give less of a shit about. You turn on your heel and stride across the room, and out of the hospital doors.

#house md fanfiction #house md x reader #gregory house #house md #gregory house x reader #gregory house x f!reader #house md fic #gregory house fic #gregory house smut

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faulty-writes · 1 year

Note

Thank for you previous answer ! The girls do deserve more attention 😔

Since your requests seems to be still open, may I please request something for Tenya and our favorite girlboss Mei dating a 1-A student who's a nepo baby and thus, their relationship being the subject of a lot of gossip ? (You write tenya really well I can't help myself but ask something for him)

I hope you're having a great week-end 😌

[ Ironically enough, Mei is my second favorite ship with Iida. The first would be Uraraka. Either way, this request sounds awesome! If you're familiar with My Hero Academia: Vigilantes, you'll recognize who the father of the "nepo baby" reader is. If you haven't read that manga, I suggest doing so because it is amazing. ]

Who could have imagined years and years after your father visited Japan, you'd make the choice to enroll at Yuuei. Of course, being from America and the child of the Playboy Hero: Captain Celebrity was a big deal.

From the start, you recalled how others stared at you. Bewildered at your existence. Well, all except one. "Hello!" he bellowed out, chopping his hand through the air. "My name is Tenya Iida. I am very honored to have a student of such high status join us at this prestigious learning establishment!"

You hated that your father's playboy reputation followed you, unlike him you preferred to remain loyal to the one you loved. Of course, this didn't stop rumors from starting the moment everyone found out that you and Tenya were dating. "I suppose that is rather troubling, but I do not believe rumors are made in just," Part of you wanted to know how long that perspective would last.

"Pardon, please step away from Y/n," he said, clenching his fists by his sides and staring daggers at Neito who had pinned you against the wall. "Oh, come now, they were flirting with me! And rumor has it they have a bit of a crush on me, heh. Perhaps you're too ordinary for them, after all as a bit of a celebrity baby myself, I think Y/n and I would make the perfect couple," Tenya naturally became infuriated with those words and explained the wrongs Neito had committed before politely dragging you away.

"It's somewhat disheartening to know our relationship has garnered so much attention," he stated, tapping his chin as he looked outside at the group of paparazzi. "It's not so bad once you get used to it kid!" your father, otherwise known as Captain Celebrity said, slapping Tenya on the shoulder with a bright smile. "Forgive me," he replied, shrugging your father's hand off. "But I do not wish to make Y/n go through such complications," although part of him hated the rumors that continued to circulate about your relationship.

"I...I am not quite sure how to respond to...such a thing," Tenya stated, looking at his phone. There was an article published with a picture of you and him. He was wearing his Ingenium suit with his arm wrapped around you, but it appeared as though you were in some weird love triangle because you were also holding onto Deku's hand. You frowned when you noticed the title of the article, 'Celebrity Student Love Affairs.'

Gossip was strenuous, to say the least, and you were more than certain Tenya would end your relationship due to the unwanted attention. But as usual, he used logic to make it work. "Perhaps this is but a taste of the inner workings of a hero's life. I am well aware that you are rather...famous in your own regard and I...I am quite honored to be with you and our romantic endeavor regardless of the challenges it presents," sometimes you wondered if he'd make a better poet than a hero student.

Mei was the bubbliest girl you had ever met, and when she found out you were a celebrity baby. Well, she took advantage of it as she often did with others if it meant her inventions, or "babies" as she called them, got attention. In the words of Shota Aizawa, "She's a born saleswoman" and boy did she sell you right into a relationship.

"Oh, try this on! It's baby number 5706!" she exclaimed excitedly with that bright smile that made your heart race. "Now strike a pose!" she demanded, holding her phone up. "Once they see my babies are used by a celebrity baby, there'll be no stopping the businesses that will contact me!" While you were happy to help Mei become more recognized, you had your hopes you were more than just an advertisement opportunity for her.

Mei was rarely serious, but when you brought up your suspicions that she was using your "relationship" to boost her ego for the first time you saw her frown. "Don't get me wrong, my babies are super important to me! And it's good to have someone in the spotlight to advertise them! But...you're my ultimate baby!"

"Yeah, I swear man! Y/n flirted with me yesterday!" Hanta announced, purposely allowing Mei to overhear. But she was either too busy with her current invention to bother or she was ignoring him. "Hey Hatsume!" he called, "How do you feel about that!?" She paused and turned to look at him with a smile. "Sorry, what was your name again?" she honestly didn't care about the rumors and even if you were flirting, she'd figure out a way to keep your heart. After all, she wasn't one to easily give up.

She handled the paparazzi pretty well or at least better than you imagined. In fact, she took the opportunity to hold you close and do just about anything publicly acceptable to show her affection for you. She also answered any curious questions or rumors about your relationship and what it was like to date the child of famous celebrity heroes. It all boiled down to her accepting you for who you were rather than your predetermined title as a celebrity baby.

She was strangely protective of you, especially when you invited her to high-class events that your parents attended. "That's the power of my latest baby!" She announced after successfully crushing the lens of a paparazzi member's camera who had tried to take scandalous pictures of you with someone else. They got frightened away and Mei proceeded to hold you close for the rest of the night.

#tenya x reader #mei x reader #iida x reader #mei hatsume x reader #iida x y/n #iida x you #bnha x you #bnha x self insert #bnha x reader #bnha x y/n #tenya x y/n #faulty writes: tenya iida: 23 #faulty writes: tenya iida: headcanons: 23 #faulty writes: mei hatsume: 23 #faulty writes: mei hatsume: headcanons: 23

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angelkurenai · 3 years

Text

Imagine having a crush on Charlie Hunnam and Dean, your bodyguard, getting extremely jealous when, during an interview, you can’t stop flirting with the man who is also there as a guest.

“You know, all jokes aside, you seem a lot more calm this time. You're usually stressed out to go on interviews, no matter the host.” Dean remarked, his eyes taking in your figure.

Seriously, why don't you spread your legs a little more, I didn't quiet get the message yet. you almost said, and you most certainly thought, but only bit the inside of your cheek and looked away from Dean.

Your bodyguard leaned casually against his seat, knowing fully well just how distracting he was to you like that but not giving a damn. The suit did wonders, not that he needed it to. Though you had a growing suspicion he was well aware of it and was doing it on purpose just to get you back for everything you'd put him through.

“Well, for one I've had time to relax.” you shrugged, looking away, finding it easier to speak when you weren't looking at him “And I did plenty of it, to the point I'm looking forward to get back on the spotlight. Maybe you should try some of that? You are more stressed tonight.”

“You mean vacation?” he raised an eyebrow as you hummed.

“The kind of vacation that's meant to make me relax?” another questioned which you nodded your head at.

“Oh that kind of vacation, I see. So-” he paused, giving you a look “Not the kind of vacation that's a torture for me, filled with ice-cold showers and morning shots of whiskey because you're walking around in your bikini all day long and refuse to change unless it involves dressing down more? That kind of vacation?” he paused, eyebrow raised as he expected an answer to that before adding “Mind your own business.” he muttered, voice deeper as he glanced at the driver who had been not-so-subtly listening in.

“I-” you parted your lips to answer but ended up shrugging anyway “Guilty. But also, sorry not sorry. Besides, that's not the point here. I mean it, you could really use some vacation. Lately it seems that whenever I have an interview you're more stressed than me and my manager combined.”

“Do I? I wonder what the reason might be. Oh maybe it's the fact that last time I remember, you took part in a game that involved buckets of water being poured on you while wearing a white dress and what I rather vividly remember very little coverage underneath. And you-” he pointed a finger at the driver “If you dare google that, you're fired. Trust me I will know.”

“Yes, sir. I didn't hear a thing, sir.” the driver said with almost wide eyes, knowing fully well not to challenge Dean. It didn't matter how, he wasn't going to risk it.

Meanwhile, all you could do was roll your eyes “It was not buckets, only glasses of water. We were playing water war and just because you were giving me looks all night, I lost and Jimmy won. So yes, I blame you for that. Besides, I was wearing underwear, alright?”

“At this point I really wish you weren't. Wouldn't have been as... traumatizing.” he struggled a bit to say the word because if he really used the one he felt like, the one he wanted to, then he didn't know if you'd make it to the studio. But given the snort the driver gave then it couldn't be more wrong of a choice for a word.

“Social media didn't see it that way, as far as I remember. Including several celebrities I know of.” you shrugged, smirking “I don't know about you, I had plenty of fun.”

“And I had plenty of heart-attacks.” he muttered instead, mostly to himself.

“Either way, you don't have to sweat it this time. Graham doesn't have any sort of games, not of that kind anyway.” you brushed him off “Nothing to worry about.”

“Nothing to worry about. Nothing my ass. Son of a-” he sighed heavily, dragging a hand down his face.

At this point he would certainly take all the water the ocean had to offer, instead of whatever that fancy colored liquid that sat in the glass on your hand was. A glass you hadn't missed the opportunity to refill at least twice so far. And while that on it's own wasn't such a bad thing, combine it with a ridiculously attractive man who happened to be your celebrity crush – as you never failed, not for a second, to point out to Dean every time you got the chance – and a lack of inhibition and you had the perfect recipe for a catastrophe. Or Dean's death, whichever came first.

“So as you can imagine, now there's a bit of a problem there now. Mostly whenever I'm on a flight and what not.” Charlie explain as Graham nodded his head and you looked at him with a concerned frown.

“But it's not like it's left a problem with your hearing in general, right? You- you can hear well from that side of-” Graham started speaking.

“Well, generally speaking I can- I'm sorry what?” but as he was talking, Charlie started speaking at the same time only to pause and ask the question back instead, which made all of you burst into laughter.

“Wait- hey you!”

“Ah gotcha huh?” he grinned, his smile only getting brighter when he glanced in your direction, your giggles a tad louder and more easy thanks to the alcohol in your system. It was exactly that which had Dean on edge. One of the many signs that the alcohol was doing its job.

Much like the easy and inviting smiles. Much like the way you'd bite your lower lip at times, when he spoke. Much like, even when you were speaking, instead of looking at the host, your eyes would constantly jump on the man next to you on the couch. Much like when you laughed at something funny he said, your hand would rest on his shoulder or, worse, when it rested on his thigh. And if that wasn't driving Dean mad as it was already, when the actor only seemed to relax under your touch and lean in closer, it felt like he could only see red and that the tie around his neck was choking him. He was about to loosen it only to remember he had done that long ago. If there weren't people there, he'd have long ago jumped from his seat and started pacing around like a lion in a cage. His jumping leg was certainly proof of that, what with all of his twitching. He huffed, shaking his head before he narrowed his eyes at the scene before him. Every little action that unfolded before his eyes was proof of why he hated not being able to intervene when you had a little too much to drink.

“Territorial much, aren't we Deano?”

He remembered you asking with a smirk on your lips, which had very quickly and easily turned into a grin - if not a slightly drunken one - when you'd clearly seen the way his eyes had only darkened and his jaw, clenched and all, had twitched. The look he had given you was of a warning one, telling you not to test him further but after a party where you've had a little too much too drink and even more to flirt, with all those actors and celebrities around, you only saw it as a challenge. He knew real well he was being territorial, he didn't need you to ask. He had nearly punched a guy when he got his hands on you, and it was expected after he had been fuming in the corner and watching like a hawk when said hands lowered even further down your back and you leaned into him all giggling and touching. He was bound to explode and it came as no surprise that, even drunk, you would take notice of it and use it to your advantage. Granted, he couldn't pin you on the wall and mark you down nor slam you against the bathroom wall and have his way with you, but he could come up with ways to get in the way.

Not that the alcohol seemed necessary anyway. Snapping back to reality, the scene before him verified his thoughts. The way the man was looking at you, his undivided attention all yours, his eyes on you at all times and, even worse, his lingering touches could have very easily made you fall into his orbit without even a single drink needed.

“And here I thought that walking away with a bruise or two from the set of Marvel was too much. Oh how I love green screen now!” you laughed “I mean I've had several injuries before, but most of the time they're far too stupid to talk about. Besides, I always look one step away from total meltdown doesn't make much of a difference if you add an injury or two to the case, so- Cheers to that!”

Your words, as you raised your glass, earned a laugh from everyone around you, Graham not missing the opportunity to speak “See? That's exactly why she is my favorite guest! This is what everyone now calls is a total mood!”

The man next to you, who threw his head back and then looked at you with absolute adoration written all over his face “Oh I doubt that even at your worst you could look anything short of perfect, darling. In fact I feel like I should have received a warning, to make sure I was more properly dressed or something. I didn't know I'd be sitting right next to an angel tonight.” his accent wasn't making things easier as Dean could practically see you swoon.

“Oh, look who's talking. Please, don't have a single doubt Mr Hunnam, I can't take my eyes off you tonight!” you smiled, or more like smirked, at Charlie, whose smile only got bigger when he heard your words.

“Now it's my turn to blush, please.” he offered you a smile which you could only describe as adorable, if not irresistible given how you bit your lower lip “I mean, I'd say it's just me but I believe that everyone will agree when I say that I don't think there would be a single injury that can take from the beauty sitting next to me right now.”

“Why you flatter me so much, Charlie, but you say that only because you're too good and because you haven't seen me in the morning.” you pointed out, loving to see him raise an eyebrow “The whole rise and shine is the exact opposite of what I do. One, because I don't rise, I could stay in bed all day long, and two, because I can only shine as much as a black hole does.”

“While I could definitely argue with you on that one, dear, I'll only say that it's impossible to believe. I don't doubt for a second that you're any less beautiful. That could be just my imagination, sure, because I have no personal opinion or experience but-” he shrugged while the audience cheered for him and you laughed behind your hand, and the man lowered his head in slight embarrassment and rubbed the back of his neck “Besides-” he cleared his throat “In all seriousness, now, there is nothing wrong wanting to stay in bed till late.”

“And even more when there's good company for cuddles, right?” you raised a suggestive eyebrow at him, making him bite his lip in return as he lowered his head while laughing “Besides, I am never one to deny a man his chance at seeing how I really am in the morning.” you shrugged not in the least bit innocently, because Dean knew that look and the whole body posture you had and it had him gritting his teeth, before the audience cheered even more loudly at you “For- You guys! For research purposes, clearly. So that Charlie can testify that I am indeed the... human equivalent of a black hole in the morning! That's all.”

Your giggles could barely be heard as the audience clapped once more, some of them laughing as well. You instead bit your lip before taking another sip of your drink, Charlie doing the same.

As if by some miracle, or at least for Dean, this time it was Graham who spoke up “Why, for some reason, I feel like I am third-wheeling here? And I thought it was my show. I feel like you won't even realize it if I'm gone.”

“No Graham, of course not!” you reassured him with a smile “You know you're my favorite host! You're the star of this show, the one that makes the rest of us shine and bring out the best in us! The one who makes us laugh and have the time of our lives in the show! The one who makes us look forward to this! The one-” you paused , snickering as you glanced at Charlie “Boy am I drunk already?”

Everyone along with Graham, laughed. Well, everyone except for Dean, who looked like he was going to pounce any given second now, especially with how his arm was casually resting on the back of the couch, almost over your shoulders “It's alright, I think we all realised it by the second complement in a row.”

“Well, at least let's all be honest. It's at least slightly less embarrassing than me recounting mildly gross if not horrifying stories of all the injuries and infections I've gotten. Which, thank you, by the way, for, Graham. It's-” Charlie paused, nodding his head “Exactly as I pictured spending my night. Speaking about the times I got a moth in my ear and ran down a forest naked, while such a lovely lady is sitting next to me.”

“Oh trust the lady, she is very much enjoying the conversation, worry not!” you giggled and he grinned, finally resting his arm on your shoulders and giving you a squeeze.

“You're mostly welcome!” Graham laughed “But, speaking of- I noticed this and I wanted to ask you myself, this seems like a reoccurring pattern with you Charlie, isn't it? Like, I always hear you saying that you got sick this or the other way and you- correct me if I'm wrong, but you are someone who takes pride in their personal hygiene.”

“I- I'm a germaphobe, you can go ahead and say it.” he laughed “Yes, it's one way to describe it. Of course I- I do take pride in my personal hygiene but I do think it's exactly that which gets me. You know how these kinds of things end up turning against you? Well, yeah, that's what happens with me. I get sick all the time.”

“There is a saying about that, isn't it? I think I've heard it somewhere but I can't, for the life of me, remember it right now.” you mumbled with a deep frown.

“Oh yeah, you attract the most that which you fear the most.”

“Ah, yes! Yes.” you nodded your head, pausing only half a second before looking back up at nobody in particular “Oh how I fear Charlie Hunnam!”

And that was all it took for the crowd to erupt into cheers and for Dean to groan as he let his head fall into his hands. There was no need to look any more, the way the actor's eyebrows rose in interest and a smile spread on his face. He knew what was to follow, and he didn't mean just the interview, and that meant he had to prepare himself for whatever he had to do to keep and... if need be, maybe finally, mark his territory. But unlike any other time, he knew, it wouldn't be as easy.

“You- what? You guys! I was only... I'm just saying what every lady and gent here is thinking, that's all. Me? I'm just more or less... drunk. Drunk more than I initially assumed.” you laughed, shaking your head despite your burning face “Aah Graham, how I hate you.” you gave a sweet smile to the host and friend of yours as all he did was laugh at your misery.

“Ah Graham, how I love you.” Charlie said, laughing “Can we-” he looked away and around at the crew as he lifted his glass “Can we get come more of that here? Lovely drink. Truly lovely.”

“Lovely night.” Dean grumbled to himself, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest, eyes hard as he glared at the man before him and next to you. But truth was he knew that it was only the beginning of the night if not the beginning of a very long and tiring journey, which he didn't know if he'd make it through. Why?

Because as if on cue, as if he'd read Dean's thoughts, Charlie's eyes met his. The smile vanished from his lips for barely a few seconds, making Dean straighten his back and narrow his eyes at him. Because he'd, maybe, finally met his match. That's why.

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 3 years

Note

ace: "DEUCE! my man! my brother! i'm here for revenge! this is payback for those birthday punches from you and floyd-senpai!" deuce: "come at me, bro! SUMMON CAULDRON!" ace: "don't hide behind your cauldron! take me on like a man instead of running away like a coward!" deuce: "you're on! BET THE LIMIT!"

[Referring to this imagine!]

***Spoilers for chapter 5!***

Deuce had a huge bite of cauldron cake lodged in his mouth when Ace made the sudden declaration of war--the sneak! Waiting until Riddle left for the washroom to attack! The first blow came upon his arm, knocking the fork out of his hand. When the second blow came, Deuce managed to catch it with his (now freed) hand.

“Ace, what the hell are you doing?!”

“Payback!!”

“Huh?!”

“What was it that you said on my birthday, Juice? Birthday punches, equal to how old you are, plus one for good luck? I’m just keeping old traditions alive!” Ace cracked his knuckles. “Now prepare yourself!!”

“Tch!” Deuce hastily set down the remains of his cake, his body tensing for an oncoming brawl. “This is... This isn’t our space! We shouldn’t be fighting in Raven-san’s--”

Ace brought his fist back and swung--

--and missed, stumbling a few paces forward and bumping into a table. But he was quick on his feet, and even quicker with his reflexes. He corrected his footing and spun to glare at Deuce.

“Oi, oi, what was all that junk you said about being a man and taking it?!”

“I’m not gonna...” Deuce froze, his eyes honing in on something that had rolled onto the ground. A single deep-fried, soft-boiled egg, ruined. Inedible.

Newfound rage seeped through his veins.

“Alright, that’s it. You want a fight? I’ll give you a fight.” Deuce produced his magical pen from his breast pocket and aimed it at his friend.

“Ooooh, playing dirty now?” Ace smirked.

“Mmm? Kani-chan and Saba-chan are fighting? Eheheh! Sounds fuuun! I wanna join, I wanna join!”

“YOU STAY OUT OF THIS, FLOYD!!” the duo shouted in unison, sending deadly glares his way.

“Eeeeh, how boring~ Weeeeell, I guess watching a battle’s not so bad, either.”

“Do your worst,” Ace challenged, returning his attention to Deuce. “I bet I could get all my hits in before you pull the right spell out.”

“You’re on.”

Ace flew at him, fist raised. Magic swirled in the air above him. Warm, crackling--like sparks gathering, preparing to form lighting and strike. A blazing fire waiting to happen.

Deuce took a deep breath, then exhaled. He could see it now, in his mind’s eye. The shape of his soul, stretching out before a sea of darkness.

“Summon Cauldron!!”

“Wha--OOF!!

Ace found himself pinned under the suffocating weight of a heavy iron cauldron. His torso was pressed hard against the attic flooring, crushing his chest and impeding his breathing. He flailed for a few seconds before crying out in annoyance.

(In the background, Floyd was cackling with laughter. It sounded even more out of place than usual, since it was set against the Chicken Dance.)

"Don't hide behind your cauldron! Take me on like a man instead of running away like a coward!"

“Sorry, but that’s how it has to be,” Deuce sighed, tucking his magical pen away. “I already told you, we can’t be fighting in someone else’s house. If you want to come for me... Come for me after the party, and I’ll gladly take you on.”

“Ngggh...!! This isn’t over, not yet!”

“It is.” Deuce folded his arms and granted his friend a stern look. “Reflect on your actions a little.”

He turned to grab his cake and resume eating it. A forkful was mere centimeters away from his mouth before--

A strong gust of wind abruptly kicked up, sending the cake splattering into the wall. Deuce blinked, staring at his unfinished slice. Slowly, he craned his head to face Ace, who had crawled out from under the cauldron.

Pointing his own magical pen at Deuce.

“I told you, it isn’t over til the fat cat sings.”

“... Are you talking about Grim or Lucius?”

“It’s just a saying, dummy! I don’t mean it literally!!” Ace vigorously shook his head. “Anyway...!! Put’m up, cuz I’m coming for you!!”

“Yeah? Bring it, then.” Deuce’s eyes hardened--sharpening like the pointed tip of a spade. “You wasted not one, but two foods today... You attacked me while I had my guard down... You disrespected the rules of someone else’s house... That’s unforgiveable!”

The air was thick, laced with tension.

Deuce moved first, intent on striking back.

“Bet the Lim--”

“Ohhhhkay, time out, time out!!” Trey called, stepping inbetween the Heartslabyul first years. Deuce and Ace stopped dead in their tracks at the sight of their senpai. “That’s enough of that. None of us are here today to punch each other. We’re supposed to celebrate, so both of you, settle down.”

“But he--”

“I don’t want to hear excuses.” Trey frowned, folding his arms. “Deuce, you know better. And Ace, don’t go starting things. You know Riddle wouldn’t like that.”

“Yes, sir...” Deuce hung his head in shame--but Ace was still fired up and ready to protest.

“It’s just some harmless fun! What’s the big deal? It’s not like Riddle’s gonna know, he’s off at the washroom probably getting stuck in the toilet or something.”

“... Who exactly is getting stuck in the toilet?”

“... The Dorm Leader’s standing right behind me, isn’t he?”

“Yup.” Deuce nodded.

“Yes,” Trey added. “Er, welcome back, Riddle.”

“Ahah! It’s Kingyo-chan! Kingyo-chan’s back!”

“... Well, crap.”

“Ace.” Riddle’s voice was low and menacing--a sharp contrast to his cute face.

“Y-Yeah, Dorm Leader?”

Riddle’s expression contorted with rage, his face turning as crimson as his hair. “OFF WITH YOUR HEAD!!!”

#twst #twisted wonderland #Deuce Spade #Floyd Leech #Ace Trappola #Riddle Rosehearts #Trey Clover #twisted wonderland interactions #disney twisted wonderland #Deuce birthday takeover

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shelby-love · 4 years

Text

STEFAN SALVATORE

Safely His

Requested: no

Prompts: none

Warnings: A bit harsh in the beginning (angsty)

Authors note: This is my first time writing a TVD oneshot. I'm sailing into the unknown and expanding my vocab yaay.

You walk out of the Grill on unsteady feet. The celebration round of alcohol you shared with Bonnie and Caroline made you tipsy but not tipsy enough for you not to be able to make your way back home.

You lean against the wall and fish out your phone. The light from your phone blinds you for a second before you turn it down and make out the numbers that indicate what time of the day it is. 11:23 P.M.

Not bad Y/N. Not bad at all.

Slowly but surely you're in front of your car with car keys still at the bottom of your purse.

"Maybe if you weren't such a lightweight drinker then you would be able to find your damn keys Y/N." You huff at yourself. When it comes to alcohol you should never ever be left unsupervised.

"Looking for something?" Someone asks from behind you. You freeze and stop rummaging through your purse. Instead, you grab the bottle spray with liquid vervain inside. It's kind of like your own pepper spray.

It works on both humans and the supernatural world you've come to learn about once the Salvatore brothers moved back to your hometown, Mystic Falls.

"Nope." You're quick to replay. Just as your brain commands your body to turn around the mistery person unleashes their inner beast onto you.

You're pinned against your own car with your mouth covered by the vampire's own hand. Your purse and the bottle of vervain dropped to the floor in the quick spur of motion.

"I'll have a great time with you." He whispers against your ear, his beard scraping the side of your face and sending chills of fear down your back. You've never felt this alone and cornered in your life. "I can smell your fear girl... But your blood is calling me more. It's such a shame you spiked it with alcohol. Now you'll have to pay for it in a different way."

The meaning of his words would've been confusing to you had you not learned about vampires from your own vampiric friends. You now knew exactly what he meant.

He was going to turn you.

Not because you deserved it or wanted it. But because of the fact that he was obsessed with this newfound power of his. This ability to take away someone's choice. To make them miserable for the rest of their lives.

He flushed you against his chest and sped over to the nearest lone spot he could find. A spot that would be private enough until he made you drink his blood and snapped your neck.

Fighting against him is impossible. Screaming is impossible because no one was around to save you.

Hoping that Caroline hears your whimpers of pain while she's surrounded by booze and music is already too much for you.

It's going to happen. And it's going to happen now.

You watch as he bites into his wrist and before you even get to let out a sound, his hand is replaced by his bloody wrist.

You refuse to let the blood travel past your tounge but he's twisting your throat in a way that makes you gag and swallow the blood immediately in order to release the pressure.

When he stops you close your eyes and wait for your neck to be snapped.

Instead, the man is no longer on you and instead he's on the ground. Bloody and neck snapped 90 degrees.

Your eyes search for your savior and you almost collapse in relief when Stefan appears in front of in a flash. Even in the night you can make out his features.

His hero-like hair, his dark eyes and beautiful facial features you learnt to adore from all the time you spent with him.

Your heart skips a beat and you allow him to cup your face into his hands. "I'm sorry I didn't get to you sooner."

You shake your head and throw your arms around him. After nesting your hand into the safety of the crook of his neck you allow yourself to be carried away to safety whilst whispering soft words of gratitude to the vampire.

***

You wake up in a place that's not your room and the more you look around the more you realised that you were in this room before.

This is Stefan's room.

You never really slept in his bed. Although you wanted to. The crush you had on Stefan was developing more and more as your friendship grew.

The sound of footsteps nears the room and you feel butterflies rise in your belly.

But then your eyes land on Damon and all the buttetflies leave in an instant.

"What do you want Damon?"

He smirks before fully leaning against the doorframe, his magically blue eyes taking in the sight of you in his little brother's bed. "Well...I heard about your little misfortune that happened yesterday. Thankfully my heroic little bro saved you and brought you here... To his room... So sorry if I'm a little bit surprised."

"Damon please leave her alone." You hear Stefan's voice.

"Whaat?" He acts fake surprised before smirking once again and wiggling his eyebrows for effect. "And leave her here to your mercy? No can do bro."

"Damon..."

"Alright, alright!" He throws looks between you and Stefan, who's hidden behind him. "I'll let you two lovebirds be."

When blush appears on your cheeks at his words, Damon takes it as a win. He mouths, you're whipped, before leaving you alone.

"How are you feeling?" Stefan comes inside the room with a cup of water in his hand and a painkiller in his other. He takes a seat next to you on the bed and hands you the water and painkiller.

"Better. Stefan, thank you..." You try to find the right words because saying thank you without any other words feels not good enough. But there aren't any other words than those two simple ones.

After all of the more dangerous things you've been through with your friends, this is the first time you felt truly scared for your own life. There aren't no words with which you would express your gratitude to him.

"You don't have to thank me Y/N." He replies simply and sits closer to you on the bed. When he places a hand over your and you don't pull it away, something in him switches. But in a good way. A very good way. "I don't want you to go through that ever again. No one should have to go through that."

It pained him to see you like this. It pained him to see you anything other than happy. It took him a near death experience with you to finally come to the conclusion that his feelings need to be out in the open. He knew that he wouldn't really loose you if you were changed last night but it didn't matter. You were going to be something he never wanted you to be unless you wanted it. And he knew you didn't want it.

"How did you know where I was?" You ask, unsure of that piece of puzzle.

Stefan shakes his head laughing. That part had to come out sooner or later.

"Caroline was very open about being drunk with you. And I know that your alcohol tolerance is..." He catches himself when he sees the murderous look you sent him. Any word other than horrible was going to work. "better than bad... So I guess I just wanted to make sure you got home safely."

You melted right then and there. He cares about me.

"And then I found your stuff on the floor. Including the vervain pepper-spray," He chuckles. "the rest you know."

"You really are a hero." You tell him laughing.

A somewhat awkward silence consumes the air around you as the two of you stay silent after your little remark.

"Stefan." ; "Y/N." Both of you speak up at the same time. Wierdly enough it brings a smile to both of your faces.

"You go first. I want to know your thoughts." You admit shyly.

Your words only make him scoot over on the bed until he's that much closer to you. "You want to know my thoughts? I want to kiss you right now."

And he does so. He cups your face in for a kiss you imagined a thousand times. He waits for you to return it and show him it's okay for him to do this.

And so you do.

You return it with the same passion, lulling him into it until you're both completely lost in each other. It's passionate and real. It's easily fifty times better than what your realest dreams could ever give you. It's a promise of love and safety. From Stefan to you and right back from you to him.

You forget about the world around you. The room, the day, the time and the event of last night leaves your mind completely. You occupy your thoughts with Stefan Salvatore. The guy that became your friend before he became your lover.

He pulls away just enough to look at your eyes and whisper. "You are something entirely else."

"Is that a good thing?" You whisper back in the same daze as he did.

"The best." And with that the last of his control breaks and he freely kisses you again and again after that. Making you feel amazing all over.

The next time someone tries to touch you in any way other than to shake your hand, things might get a bit messier than before.

Because you're completely and utterly safe now.

MASTERLIST

#stefan salvatore #stefan salvatore imagine #stefan salvatore x reader #stefan salvatore fanfiction #the vampire diaries #the vampire diaries imagine #the vampire diaries fanfiction

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longitud-de-onda · 4 years

Text

mistakes like this

pairing; javier peña x female reader summary; you return home having forgotten your keys, so javi lets you spend the night at his place, both of you pretty tipsy from the night out. rating; nc-17 warnings; alcohol, smut, dubcon a/n; (added feb 22, 2021) i’m no longer writing as much if at all for the fandom, and as such i don’t have the time or energy to rewrite this to match the more consensual sex that i had imagined while writing. however i want to make it clear that as it stands, consent isn’t very clear in this fic, and issues of that consent are mentioned. word count; 3.1k mistakes like this masterlist

You almost fell on the way up to your apartment. Javier, thankfully, was not only right next to you, but coordinated enough to catch you.

You muttered a thank you, as you gripped the handrail a bit tighter to make it the rest of the way up the flight of stairs. Your head was still pounding, an aftereffect of the countless glasses of alcohol you had consumed earlier that night.

Earlier that day you captured one of Escobar’s sicarios after a week without leads. Connie had suggested you all go out and celebrate. The four of you enjoyed each others’ company, but, after a few drinks, Connie and Steve were all over each other, and Javier suggested they head home early to spare everyone at the bar from seeing the two undress each other on the dance floor.

Javier and you stayed for another hour, drinking and talking until it was late enough to call it a night and head home.

You now stood in front of your apartment door rummaging through your purse, trying to find your keys. If they were there, you couldn’t see them. Your stomach sank. And it didn’t mix well with the alcohol. The wave of nausea and frustration caused you to lean your back against the cold door and slide down to the ground.

You stared at a spot on the floor where a fine line split across a yellow tile. Something big must have caused the crack. Something from before the Embassy bought the building.

You glanced up. Javier fumbled with his own keys, not entirely sober enough to open the door in one try and you giggled at the sight.

“Something funny, Y/N?” he turned around, cocking an eyebrow.

“No, no, it’s all fine Javi,” you said, drawing out the ‘i’ in his name, “it’s all good.”

You turned your head back to your purse and dumped all the contents on the ground. No keys anywhere. You groaned. You remembered where you last put them down. Unfortunately, that place wasn’t your purse.

“You sure you’re all good?” Javier asked, leaning in his own (open) doorway, grinning.

“I, uh, I forgot my keys,” you said, “left them in the drawer at the Embassy.”

“Fuck,” Javier said, “If you want, you can stay at mine tonight.”

You figured the alcohol excused the lack of tact. At least you were about 80% sure he wasn’t inviting you to have sex with him. 80% was enough for you when tipsy.

“Fine,” you said, scooping your stuff back into your purse. Standing up was a challenge, your legs a lot shakier than you were used to. You followed Javier into his apartment, muttering a ‘thank you’ along the way. He just nodded back.

“I’m gonna take the sofa, you can take the bed. The bedroom’s in the back,” he said, pointing, as if you had never set foot in his apartment before. You knew very well where the bedroom was. The two of you had been working together for almost five years now, and small dinner parties with Steve and Connie or late nights where you took work from the embassy to someone’s coffee table were not uncommon.

“I can take the couch,” you protested, “It’s your house.”

“Y/N,” Javier walked over to you, placing his hands on your shoulders, both to stabilize you and ensure you looked him in the eye, “You’re gonna take the bed, and I’m gonna sleep on the couch. I know you, and you are going to wake up much more hungover than me, so if the bed is a bit more comfortable, at least you’ll have that going for you in the morning.”

To be honest, you had zoned out after he said the word ‘hungover.’ This was going to hurt tomorrow morning. Javier was right about that; even if you didn’t get drunk too easily, you suffered much more in the morning than the average person. Javier’s reasoning didn’t really matter either because when he held your arms with the force he did and stared into your eyes, saying your name with such agression, you melted. Anything he could have said, you would have agreed to.

You nodded, reaching up to push him off of you. The alcohol in your head mixed with your decision making and if he stayed there even a few seconds longer, you would have fallen deep into his eyes and made a decision you would probably regret in the morning.

You and Javier were coworkers and close friends. You started at the embassy before Steve, and the two of you had grown close, but it was never anything more than friendship. You were his wingman when you went out, you drank together, and he would share all the details of his many conquests.

He was attractive, but that was always a thought you wrote off as a product of an often lonely life (and hearing him have sex at least three times a week through the walls of your shared floor) and would push to the back corner of your mind. You liked how unproblematic your relationship was.

“I’m gonna grab a glass of water,” you said, averting your eyes from Javier’s and making to go to the kitchen.

“That sounds like a great idea,” Javier grinned, trailing behind you.

You grabbed two glasses and filled them from the tap before handing one back to Javier.

“Do you have any pain relievers?” you asked. You leaned up against a counter, one hand gripped to the edge of the laminate. Your head was getting better, but it would still hurt until you fell asleep.

“Yeah, I can go get them,” he said, exhaling with a grimace, implying he might need some himself, “Can you make some toast or something? My stomach is about to start fighting back.”

“Okay,” you smiled. You wanted toast too. Food always helps ease the pain the next morning. Anything extra in your stomach would. You rummaged around his kitchen to find the bread and popped it in the toaster. Drinking the water in your glass helped, both your head and your rationality.

Waiting for the toaster, you let your mind wander. It would have been nice to keep drinking until you were really drunk and spend the rest of the night and morning at the bar, but any longer and Javier would have probably gone home with some girl, leaving you to make it back alone. And you would have returned to some hot, young girl, disheveled and a bit out of it, walking out of Javier’s apartment door, or worse, heard them passionately making love like you heard most nights.

You were reasonably less tipsy when the toaster finished, and you placed each slice on a plate.

“They might be expired,” Javier said from behind you. You jumped, not having heard him approach.

“That’s fine, they usually still work, right?” you said and grabbed the bottle from his hands, dumping out a pill and swallowing it with a sip of water.

“Usually,” he grabbed a plate from the counter next to you and took a large bite, and began talking again with his mouth full, “I already took one so I hope so.”

He rested against the countertop next to you, and the two of you stood eating, the only sound the crunching of the toast. You loved the quiet. You didn’t need to talk to be okay spending time with each other.

When you finished you set your plate down next to you and glanced up at Javier. He had stopped eating a minute ago and now stared at you, half-finished toast on the dish in his hands.

The quiet was now heavy and uncomfortable. Something about his gaze meant something more, but you had no idea what. Your head was clear of the pain, but in its space was the crushing feeling in the air and confusion. Javier was not one to talk much, and if you said anything, it might very well ruin the night.

He swallowed, his neck rippling in the soft light, and you stared back, goosebumps prickling up all over your arms and your stomach tightening. He analyzed you the way he would approach a new case: slowly, methodically, and with a raw intensity that scared most of his coworkers. It didn’t scare you when you were on the clock, but here? Here it sent a shiver down your spine.

He set down his plate, and walked forwards, pinning you against the counter. A hand rose up to push back a strand of your hair that had fallen in front of your face. You breathed deeply.

Then his lips came crashing into yours, arms wrapping you, moving across your back with an intensity you weren’t used to.

You didn’t feel the alcohol running through your body anymore, but it was clearly still working its way through your brain as you kissed back, roughly, one hand holding his jaw, the other gripping around his neck. Javier’s lips were strong and you melted into them, legs beginning to tremble. This was a bad decision, right? You were friends.

But he shoved your hips together, pushing your further against the countertop digging into your back. You let out a moan against his lips and decided to let go. Your mind was awash with thoughts of him. Javier smiling at work, Javier rescuing you from a bad date, Javier’s eyes glistening with excitement as he brought you and Steve to his new favorite restaurant, Javier and you laughing over bad telenovelas with a bottle of wine.

You not wanting to ruin a delicate friendship didn’t matter anymore as he disappeared and began to kiss down your jaw to your neck, mouthing at your skin, sucking marks that would be there at work on Monday, not that you could even think that far ahead.

You worked your hands down his back, reaching the hem of his shirt, which you pushed up, finally getting to run your hands across his skin, pulling his chest towards yours.

With a grunt, Javier reached his hands down under your thighs, lifting you up onto the counter, allowing you easier access to his face as he leaned over you to kiss you again. Your hands returned to the hem of his shirt, pulling it upwards, and he broke off to remove it. Your hands resumed roaming over his hot skin, and his hands slipped under your own shirt. Fingers brushed across your breasts and your arousal built pressure in between your legs.

Javier pulled your shirt over your head, eyeing your chest hungrily. He leaned in to kiss your clavicle, and you threw your head back gasping. His lips moved down to the tops of your breasts, and he reached back to expertly unclasp your bra.

Once he removed the offending article, he buried his face once again in your chest, kissing, licking, and sucking on your nipples and you squirmed on the cold laminate, wanting nothing more than to feel more of Javier. You grasped at his hips again, hoping for some friction, but he pulled back, leaving you whining.

“Bed,” he panted, pulling you gently off the counter.

You nodded. Trying to walk with Javier proved difficult as you struggled to hold yourself up, your whole body shaking with arousal.

He reached his arms under your legs once again, and you jumped into his chest. You pulled him close, his bare skin against your naked breasts causing a swell of need, and you kissed. Javier walked with you to the bedroom, where he dropped you on your back on the soft sheets.

He crawled over top of you, placing kisses every inch from your navel to your neck until he reached your face to once more kiss you passionately on the lips. His hands worked to unbutton your pants and push them down to your knees.

He teased you, hands roaming around your waist, down inside your thighs, and grabbing your ass. His fingers brushed up against your clit, and you let out a loud moan. It was like the moans that kept you up at night when Javier had other girls like you squirming in his bed. While the logical part of your brain told you to stop, you wanted more. It had been a long time since you had gotten any action, and tipsy sex between two friends wasn’t the worst that could happen, right? Plus, the alcohol in your system kept you from saying no to any of it.

“Javi,” you breathed, “Please.”

“Please what?” he asked.

“Please more,” you said. You inhaled and exhaled rapidly, you wanted friction, and you wanted something inside you. Soon.

Javier nodded. He spread his palm over you, squeezing gently, eliciting more sounds out of your control. He slipped a single finger inside you and you writhed underneath him.

“You’re so warm, Y/N” grunted Javier, “So wet for me.”

He leaned down to press a kiss on your lips as he slipped another finger in, and began to move them slowly. You lifted your hips, desperate for more, and he bent his fingers, pushing into all the right spots. He moved with more sensitivity than before, and you took the moment to try to slow down your breathing. Sweat covered your hot body, the sheets sticking to your back, and you felt a build up inside you. As Javier moved more, moved faster, you felt even more empty. You wanted more of him.

You shook at the brink of an orgasm.

“Javi,” you said, “Javi, please. Please. I’m gonna—I’m gonna cum. I want you. Inside. Please.”

He stayed quiet, nipping at your neck, sucking dark purple spots into your skin. His fingers kept moving until they hit exactly where they needed to, and you cried out, clenching around him. You arched up into his chest, hands digging into his back, scratching into his skin.

“Y/N, you’re gonna be the death of me,” Javier said, sitting up straddling your legs. You whined at the sudden lack of contact.

“Javi,” you said, head falling back onto the bed, the rest of your body vibrating with pleasure. He pulled your pants completely off, throwing them across the room. He began to take off his own pants, revealing how much you aroused him.

Javier was no stranger to sex. He was practically an expert if there ever was one at the activity. He reached down to caress your body, rubbing across your stomach and up to your breasts where he squeezed. You were winding up again as he felt you.

You hadn’t ever let any of your alcohol-induced fantasies of Javier reach this point, never allowing yourself to imagine what this could be like. It would have ruined the easy way you lounged around eating pizza and drinking beer together and the casual physical intimacy without any tough emotions involved. But here you lay, a slave to every touch, gasping at his strokes. You wanted nothing but Javier. He was going to be the death of you.

You were utterly fucked. Tomorrow morning, whatever happened, your relationship would never be the same.

Grabbing your hips, Javier pulled you up onto his lap, where he teased at your entrance, his precum mixing with the results of your orgasm. You bucked your hips, silently asking for more, and Javier, firmly gripping your waist, slowly pushed in.

You moaned again with the feeling of fullness. He kept pushing in deeper and deeper. Until he pulled back, leaving you almost entirely empty again, and thrust forward once more, his hands around your waist guiding the motion.

He built up speed and you whispered his name, once, twice, and then again until you repeated it like a mantra. His palm moved to the small of your back, pulling you up into an embrace. As he knelt on the bed, you began to bounce yourself up and down, listening to Javier’s moans.

“Fuck, Y/N. Oh god. Fuck,” Javier exhaled, “Shit, Y/N.”

You wrapped your arms around him, your breasts flush to his chest, and you kissed him, all teeth, biting at his lips, then his jaw down to his neck. His hand on the small of your back pressed you down further with every thrust, and you became desperate for a position that allowed you to feel him deeper.

Javier wanted the same, as he pushed you back down onto the bed, pulling up your waist as he leaned over you, one hand stabilizing himself, the other wrapped firmly around your waist, holding you up in the air, close to him. His face hung over your chest, and as he quickened his thrusts, he took one of your breasts into his mouth, biting and sucking at the nipple.

He slammed his hips into yours, getting deeper and deeper as he hit a spot inside you, making you cry out, loudly. Again and again. Another orgasm threatened to erupt.

His hips stuttered as he let out a groan, and you felt him pulsing inside you. He kept rocking into you as it happened, building up, growing brighter and brighter until everything turned white and your hearing cut out.

When you finally came to, you had collapsed on the bed, breathing heavily. Javier lay on top of you, head right underneath your chin. Just as you went to reach up and wrap your arm around him, he rolled off you and lay down beside you, your arms barely touching.

His breathing slowed, and you waited for him to say something. You hoped for the best but braced for him to kick you out as he did with all the other girls he fucked. As a neighbor with thin walls, you always heard when he finished, along with the doors opening and closing and whatever girl he had brought home leaving the apartment building shortly after.

You didn’t expect him to prop himself up on one arm and kiss you on the forehead.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he whispered before he lay down on his side, facing you, and wrapped an arm around your waist.

He closed his eyes and his breathing slowed. He had almost instantly fallen asleep. You held in a little laugh. Of course Javier would fall asleep right after. You were still coming down from the high, and despite how exhausted you were, it would be a while before you drifted off.

You smiled, watching him. Asleep with his guard down, he had the hint of a smile on his face. He didn’t appear half as tough as he did awake.

You pulled him in closer.

“Goodnight, Javi,” you whispered into the darkness.

next part

#javier peña #javier pena #javier peña x reader #javier pena x reader #pedro pascal #camila writes #rated e #under 5 #reader #smut #pedro fics #narcos fics #javi x reader

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karasu-hieis-dragon · 3 years

Text

PEACE AND CHAOS

Sith Kenobi and my Jedi OC Kyrhyraeth Scath. Kyra has been fighting her feelings for Obi Wan Kenobi for years. She would never allow herself to give in because her loyalty to the Order is too strong.

Or so she thought.

I am marking this Explicit NSFW 18+ because of smut in later chapters and cussing.

Sith Kenobi is a gentleman, he will never take what he wants from Kyra. Permission is hot. I will beat a mother fucker with another mother fucker who says otherwise. There is a small amount of man handling though so if that is a trigger please keep scrolling.

Peace and Chaos Chapt. 1

The heavy rain was falling onto the city streets from the dark Coruscant sky, the drops slamming onto the ground, hitting your ears like echoes of ancient chants from a time long gone. She stood out in the storm letting the rhythm of the water pour onto her cloak, she imagined this is what it felt like having fingers strumming across an instrument. She was used to the cold rain, it always made her feel renewed, it was never a bother, in fact it made her feel powerful. As a child she would crave the storms that would rage outside, it calmed her mind when the water would hit her bedroom window, it was like music to her ears. No, the rain never did bother her, what did though was the dark red tendrils that were weaving their way into her Force signature. The swirling red vortex mixing with hers, it was never unsettling and if she was being honest it felt like home.

Bastard.

She knew who it was, she knew what he wanted and no amount of closing herself off helped. He knew her too well he always knew how to get in, he always could but she would always let him in no matter what. They were just children when they met at the Jedi Temple, both ripped from their homes - or at least that is how they felt at the time – brought in at the age of ten to train to become Jedi. Trained to be peacekeepers only to be thrown into a war neither wanted to fight in. She will never forget the day they met, they were just children, but their bond was instant.

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The first day of Jedi training for the young Force Sensitives was with Master Yoda, the Younglings were brought into a big room and told to have a seat on the floor. She held off sitting so she could look around the room at all the Younglings to see who she may want to sit next to and the moment she saw him she knew she wanted to sit next to him. All the other kids were already sitting up front and center talking to each other eager to learn how to become a Jedi. But not him, no, he was alone in the corner as if he was trying to hide, focused looking at his hands folded on his lap. He looked scared and it made her sad, there was something pushing her to meet him, a tugging inside of her soul that told her this was the right thing to do. So, without any more hesitation she walked over and sat down by his side. She felt as if she was home. When she took her place next to him, he looked over at her and just smiled, even back then his smile was warm, and it called to her. Looking at her with those eyes so blue they looked like the storms she loved to watch through her bedroom window back home.

She reached her hand out to him and asked his name, he surprisingly didn’t hesitate he just moved his hand out slowly and shook her hand. It must have taken every ounce of confidence he could gather to respond “I’m Obi-Wan Kenobi” whispered in a shy voice. His face lit up though when she repeated his name back to him “Obi-Wan Kenobi. That’s a neat name.” He didn’t let her hand go he just kept slowly shaking her hand up and down and after what felt like a lifetime he finally sputtered out “W - what’s um, what’s you – your name?” Without missing a beat, she said “I am Kyrhyraeth Scath but you can call me Kyra” followed by a little giggle. From that moment on the two were inseparable.

She liked to tell herself the reason they had bonded so quickly was because she had punched another Youngling across the face for him, but she knew better than that. At lunch that first day a Bantha of a kid came up and stole his dessert right from his tray, Kyra didn’t even think twice, she just walked up to the kid, hauled off and punched him. She came bouncing back with his dessert in hand leaving the Youngling behind her bleeding and crying.

It left Obi-Wan totally speechless.

Looking back though she realized it was the balance between her and Obi-Wan. Where Kyra saw a chaotic storm in his eyes, Obi-Wan saw a calming peace in hers. It was almost tragic but they both found solace in each other.

They were drawn to each other’s energy.

Balance.

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Kyra was trying to remain strong; she knew it was wrong to go see him but like a moth to the flame...

If the Jedi Council knew she was in contact with him there would be repercussions and she could not allow that to happen. She thought the rain would help drowned him out, but it seemed to only make it worse. The red tendrils wove their way into her head, swirling and mixing with her purple Force signature. Purple. Of all the kyber colors that could have chosen her, she gets purple. Both light and dark power. Rare. Obi-Wan had tried to comfort her the day they built their lightsabers but it was futile, it was supposed to be a day to celebrate but all she could think about was that she would be susceptible to the Dark Side.

In a way, her younger self was right.

You know you are going to come see me you always do.

Maker, Kenobi, why are you doing this?

Last name basis now? I am crushed.

Fuck off.

Only if you’re the one I’m fucking.

Where are you?

You know.

And just as quickly as he had invaded Kyra’s head, he left it just as fast, knowing it would drive her crazy.

And it did.

He knew every kriffing button to push and she fell for it every fucking time. She allowed it, she craved it. She needed his chaos.

Soaking wet, standing outside his door like a lost loth cat, dripping wet and cold. Cursing at herself for always falling for his shit.

If the Council knew…

But she didn’t have a chance to finish her thought, the door abruptly opened cutting it off. Of course, he knew she was out there, kriffing Force bond. He leaned against the door frame in the cockiest fashion looking very much like a Sith Lord. Dressed in all black, black fitted tunic, loose pants and red belt draped around his waist perfectly.

Maker, Why does he have to look so handsome? Those tortured amber eyes that replaced the beautiful cerulean hue, they still sparkled every time they saw her and she wasn’t sure how that was possible.

“It’s because you make me happy.”

“Shut up.”

“Your feelings betray your tone, little one.”

“Don’t fucking call me that, you Sith bastard.”

“Again, your feelings betray you.”

She tried storming past him to get inside and out of the rain, knocking into his arm hard as she tried to push by. Before she could get even a step past him, he had reached out grabbing her arm, slamming her back against the wall. He pinned her hands back with the Force then using his right hand he grabbed her chin making her look up to have direct eye contact with him. Kyra looked at him with defiance, she knew he would never hurt her, so she stood her ground. This only made it worse, he loved when she didn’t take his shit.

“Let me fucking go, Kenobi”

“Say my real name.”

Bending down slightly he brought his lips to her ear and with a low growl he whispered.

“My Sith name.”

Kyra tensed up, he could feel it in his bones, and he relished in it.

“That is NOT your real name Obi-Wan and I would rather you kill me than even whisper that filthy name.”

“You wound me.” Tsking low into her ear. “Do you find me so barbaric that you think I would ever kill you? Besides, Kyrhyraeth if I kill you how would I ever make you…” He took in a deep breath then exhaled right next to her ear. “…scream my name.”

It took all of Kyra’s strength not to collapse, feeling the burn swirling in her stomach and the pooling between her legs that wasn’t rainwater.

“Oooh, you like that thought.”

Obi-Wan pulled back, snaking his calloused hand across Kyra's cheek then gently grabbed a handful of her wet hair. He was mere inches from her face – Stars, why does he have to smell so good? His warm body pressed against hers, amber eyes lit with the flames from the candles he had burning in the room, lips twisted in a sensual smirk. He knew she wasn’t going to budge; she never gave into him when it came to intimacy but that didn’t stop him from trying. He knew she craved him so he was relentless but Kyra never wavered, the Order was too important to her.

He has never met another person like her, she was a perfect storm. Defiant but loyal. Strong but caring. Dedicated but so fucking reckless. She was perfection.

He looked down at her wet, dripping form and he couldn’t help but think how beautiful she was pinned to the wall by him. Her drenched flaming red hair was sticking to her pale, freckled face, those fierce blue eyes staring up at him with all the strength she could conjure yet - there was something else there, there always was.

They were filled with love.

Love for him, a Sith Lord and no matter how hard she tried to hide it; he knew she loved him. Just like he loved her except he would never try and hide that from her. Ever.

Fuck her Jedi Code.

Her lips were closed into a tight perse, eyes narrowed now shooting daggers at him. He loved it, he loved that he caused her to react this way, he thrived off it just as much as she did, but he would never cross a line she didn’t invite him to cross. He was a Sith, yes but he will always respect her, she was his universe, he would never take his anger and hate out on her. She deserved better than that, she deserved better than what the Jedi Council offered her as well.

She saw his eyes soften, and his face relax. As hard as she tried to put on a good act she knew he saw right through her, so many times almost caving, before he became a Sith and after, neither were easy to say no to and right now was proving to be no different. He was so close, his eyes pleading with hers, all she had to do was give him the hint of an approval and his lips would come crashing down on hers. She needed to push those type of thoughts aside though, she was already giving a big fuck you to the Order by forming this kriffing attachment to a Sith she will be damn if she makes it worse.

“Please let me go, Obi-Wan”

Kyra felt his Force grip and hand grip loosen, hands dropping to his sides in mock defeat, but his eyes never left hers. He finally allowed her to walk past him, he had a fire lit so it warm in his apartment and it felt really good. She was freezing in her wet clothes.

Without a word he turned on his heel and walked into his bedroom, returning a few minutes later with one of his long sleeve shirts, a pair of pajama pants and a towel, all of them black.

“Here, as much as I love seeing you disheveled, you’re going to get sick if you stay in those wet rags” He smirked at his jab towards the Order for their choice of robes they made the Jedi wear.

She knew he wasn’t going to let up so she grabbed the dry clothes out of his hands and headed to the refresher. She looked at herself in the mirror, hair tangled, face flush and her robes a wrinkled wet mess. She didn’t understand his attraction to her, he could have any woman he wanted in the galaxy but he always came to her. Then the memories started to flood her brain, it had been the worst fucking year of her life. They had fought the night before he left on his mission to protect the Duchess of Mandalore. He begged her to let her dedication to the Jedi Order go, he was so worried he wouldn’t make it back alive and he wanted to have what could have been their last night together to be special.

But she denied him, he poured his heart out to her, and she fucking denied him. Not only that, she had lied to herself. He was everything to her and she let him leave not knowing if she would ever see him again. She let him leave thinking she didn’t want him. It was the biggest regret of her life because she did love him but she refused to tell him. He loved her but she broke him. Then much to her distain he allowed the Duchess to put him back together. Kyra was all he ever fucking wanted.

Until Satine.

Tears started to roll down her cheeks.

Kyra took a deep breath cursing herself as she removed her lightsaber, focusing on the cold, black metal in her hand. Putting it down on the sink she got undressed and stepped into the shower turning the water on to the hottest setting letting the water pour over her. Get yourself together for fucks sake. She grabbed his soap and it smelled distinctively like Obi-Wan. Gods, why does he have to smell so good? Spicy, woodsy and….Maker, why does he do this to me? Kriff, how the hells am I still a Jedi?

She finished washing her body and hair then she just stayed there letting the hot water run out before she allowed herself to get out. After drying off she slipped into his shirt and pajama pants, throwing her hair up in the towel. When she walked back out to the living room she noticed he had put out some cheeses, meats, crackers and a fresh pot of tea. He was standing facing the fire, fists balled up she could feel his unease. Kyra sat down on his overly plush sofa and poured them both some tea trying to ignore the tension, then he finally spoke.

“She didn’t mean anything to me.”

“Are we really going to do this right now?”

He still wouldn’t face her, she knew it was because he was ashamed.

“It doesn’t matter Obi-Wan, you owe me nothing. You were protecting her and were on the run for a year. Shared trauma. I don’t blame you.”

“I know it still hurts you.”

“A lot still hurts me.”

He finally turned around, eyes solemn.

“You’re a terrible Sith, you know that?” She teased.

“Only when I’m around you.”

Smiling weakly he walked over to taking a seat next to her on the sofa.

“You know, while we are on the subject the same could be said about you, Jedi.”

“I like you better when you’re a dick.” Kyra smiled weakly.

You both sat there in silence, sipping tea, enjoying the delicious treats he had put out for the two of you. Though comfortable there was still the underlining tension of so many things not said. As many times as Kyra had agreed to see him this is the first-time things had escalated this way. It was usually quick meetings to have kaf and catch up and torture each other but this time it was different, and she couldn’t figure out why. Suddenly the silence was deafening. Before she realized what she was doing and before she could stop herself, she blurted out a question that she instantly wished she could take back.

“Did you love her?”

Silence.

Fuck it, I have taken it this far and the damage is done.

“I asked you a question.”

Silence again, he just sat there looking at his hands on his lap, like he did the first day she met him.

“Answer. Me.”

He let out a shaky breath, closing his eyes.

“Yes, but not the way you are thinking. Yes, I cared for her as a friend but that was as far as the love went. I would never allow myself. She was just a pawn to get back at you for hurting me.”

He opened his eyes to look at Kyra who was sitting there with tears streaming down her face. Suddenly there was rage behind her eyes, as many times as he has pushed her, he has never seen her allow that emotion to take over her. Even in the worst of battles she was composed. No, his little Jedi was at her breaking point and it made him tense.

Shit.

The next words she spoke were strangled as she fought to control her emotions.

“Did. You. Fuck. Her?” She stated through gritted teeth.

There it is, she finally allowed herself to let go enough to ask the question that has been plaguing her since you came back alive and stupidly told her about Satine. Obi-Wan had instantly regretted it not realizing she would harbor the pain for so long.

At the time he just wanted her to hurt like he did. Not realizing she had been hurting just as bad choosing the Jedi Code over him.

Maker, Kenobi, you’re a fucking idiot.

He was finally snapped out of his stupor by her yelling, seeing her hands curled into fists, shaking.

“YOU SITH ASSHOLE, ANSWER MY QUESTION!”

Obi-Wan turned to look her in the eyes, relieved he was finally able to tell her the truth. He gripped her shoulders; he could feel how hard she was shaking trying to control her anger and it pained him. So much of her time requires her to remain calm and not show emotions such as fear and anger. She was allowing herself to let go and it was intense. He raised his hands to cup her face using his thumbs to wipe the tears away. Her eyes were pleading with his to just answer the question.

“No, I didn’t.” He exhaled the breath he was holding, raggedly.

Then he saw a change in her eyes, the rage and pain turned to relief and something else he couldn’t identify.

Then she was crashing her lips into his.

All the pain melted away as soon as her lips touched his, she finally felt so free.

Fuck the Jedi Code.

Than you for reading please let me know if you want to be tagged for future chapters.

#sith kenobi #star wars #jedi #obi wan kenobi #fan fic writing #sith #sith!kenobi

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clareguilty · 4 years

Text

Pulled Punches

Soldier 76/f!reader Rating: Explicit | No Warnings Word Count: ~3000

A smutty gift fic for a friend ;)

“You’re pulling your punches,” Jack crossed his arms. You could imagine his look of disapproval behind his visor.

“No I’m not.” Your response was immediate. Childish. He may have been right, after all. You flipped the grip on your training knife, taking a defensive stance.

“You aren’t attacking with your full weight. If you don’t put more force into it, you won’t do any lasting damage.”

It was frustrating, training CQC with a literal supersoldier. You were untrained, yet you were going up against someone twice your size and with years more experience than you. Jack had beat you every single round for the last half hour, but he refused to let up.

Even though he had his visor on, he was dressed down to just a black tshirt and pants without any of his armor or gear. It was hot as hell in the desert, and you had followed suit in just a loose sleeveless top and some leggings. It was becoming harder and harder to focus as your heart pounded with exertion and Jack’s muscles flexed under his shirt. Why the hell was he so ripped? You had watched him rip a steel door off its hinges two days ago, and now you couldn’t take your eyes off the way his biceps moved under his sleeves.

“Agent, focus,” he snapped. You glared at him.

“Focus on what?” you asked, cocking your head. You were getting tired of this.

Your insubordination must have struck a nerve, because Jack darted forward in an instant, knife drawn faster than you could blink. You sidestepped, ducking under his outstretched arm and taking a few quick swipes at his midsection. He knocked you with his unarmed elbow, and you stumbled back. A boot swept behind your ankles. Suddenly, you were looking up at Jack as he knelt to roll you and pin your knife arm behind your back.

“Fuck you,” you hissed.

He chuckled. The sound made your blood boil. “You need to attack from your core, that’s the only way you’ll have enough strength to disarm your opponent. Don’t worry about hurting me. I can take it.”

“Let me up,” you hit the ground. You didn’t want to admit that you liked the heat of Jack’s hand against your back, or the feeling of his weight on top of you.

He relented, stepping back as you pulled yourself to your feet and readjusted your stance yet again. You were pissed. This whole thing felt pointless. You would never be able to beat Jack. Would you even be good enough to make it out in the field? You had been traveling with Soldier 76 for a few months, and it was hard not to feel like dead weight. He was an ex commander. You were just some naive kid who didn’t know when to quit.

So you squared your shoulders and readied your blade. Jack only seemed amused by your anger. He probably thought it was pitiful.

Except when he attacked this time, you didn’t just sidestep. You dropped low underneath his attack, stepping in close and headbutting him right in the stupid fucking visor.

The impact made your vision go white. Still, you shoved into him with everything you could manage, forcing him back half a step. His balance was unshakeable, but you were too damn mad to even bother taking him down. You just went for blow after blow until he pushed you off of him.

It was a quick reset for you, and you lunged again. This time, he trapped your arm with his, blocking your next swing. You reached to grapple, but he trapped that arm as well. Your leg was lifted and you went down swiftly but gently.

You were pinned beneath Jack, snarling and furious. He pulled the knife from your hand far too easily for your liking.

“That was great,” he praised you, never breaking his hold on you. “Much better.”

“You motherfucker. Don’t patronize me.” You were fed up with Jack constantly talking down to you.

“I’m not,” he insisted. “I’m very proud of you.”

“Just get the fuck off me,” you shoved at him. He backed off and offered a hand to help you up, which you ignored. You stormed back to the bunker, fed up with sparring for the day.

The bunker was an old shelter from the omnic crisis, set into the side of a hill and pretty well fortified as well as off the grid. You didn’t question how Jack knew to find it, or how well stocked it was -- as though someone had been through recently and replenished the supplies. It was one room with an adjoining bathroom, minimal counter space, gas cooktop, low cots scattered about and an old sofa with a coffee table strewn with incomplete decks of cards.

Jack didn’t come back inside until later; he probably wanted to give you a chance to cool off.

“I’ve got food,” he announced as he pushed open the heavy door. The smell of meat and corn hit your nose, and suddenly you were much more forgiving.

You dug into your portion. Jack ate on the other side of the room, but you could feel his eyes on you.

“What?” you demanded around a mouthful of food.

Jack chuckled and shook his head. “You are the most insubordinate little shit I’ve ever had the pleasure of traveling with -- and that includes Jesse McCree of all people.”

You scowled and turned away.

“I’m very proud of you,” Jack said, and you nearly choked on your food. “You learn fast, and you train hard. It’s good to see you’re improving every day.”

“It’s not enough,” you shrugged.

“What do you mean ‘not enough’? You’re picking up combat skills on the fly as fast as any of the best recruits I trained back in Overwatch. I’m amazed at how well you understand everything, it doesn’t come easy to everyone.”

“But it’s not fast enough,” you turned to face him. “I’m still years behind everyone else. Shrike? Reaper? Widowmaker? They’re the best at what they do. Even the fucking cowboy can aim while he’s drunk. If I keep dragging you down, you’re going to get hurt.”

Jack seemed shocked by your outburst. “I wouldn’t keep you around if I didn’t think you could handle it. I knew the risks when I let you travel with me.”

It wasn’t what you wanted to hear. You weren’t sure what you wanted to hear. “I’m going to shower and get some sleep.” Your chair scraped across the floor.

You had grown used to the closeness that came with traveling with Soldier 76. The shared space, the unspoken boundaries. He had spent years living in close quarters with other soldiers on the field. Your life had left you no stranger to such things either.

Except for the feelings you constantly tried to push down. The respect and adoration for this hero who had picked you up off the ground. You had tried to play it off as admiration for his service, and a stupid celebrity crush, misplaced feelings because Jack was the only person you saw most days. But that wasn’t the truth. It was something deeper, something dangerous. You had fallen for this man who was training you, caring for you.

Too bad he would never feel the same.

‘Agent.’ ‘Recruit.’ That’s all you were. Jack was a hero, more than you would ever be. You were nothing to him. It hurt. You settled in on your cot, facing the wall and counting the minutes until Jack turned the lights off.

You woke up screaming. Gasping for air. Someone was there, and you lashed out without thinking.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Jack’s rough voice brought you back to reality. “It’s me. I’m right here.”

Jack. He was alive. He was safe. You fisted your hands in the worn material of his shirt and buried your face in his chest. Your cheeks were wet with tears.

“You had a nightmare,” he said calmly. “Have you been having them recently?”

You nodded, clinging to him desperately in case he tried to disappear. “Ever since we faced Reaper in Mexico City.”

Jack hummed. He was thinking. “You’re worried he could have killed you?”

“I’m worried he could have killed you,” you shuddered. “He almost did.”

A hand smoothed down your back, rubbing large circles. “He’s almost killed me a hundred times.”

“Not helping.”

“No,” Jack breathed, “I guess not.” He moved to sit on the tiny cot, pulling you into his lap and holding you to him. “I thought you would be glad to be rid of me? No one to kick your ass in training.”

“Still not helping,” you said.

“Alright. I promise I’m not going anywhere. I’m too damn stubborn and petty to die at this point. And these days I’ve actually got something to fight for. Something worth protecting.” His voice, normally so strong and commanding, wavered just a bit.

“What’s that?” You finally looked up at him, tear-stained and trembling.

He leaned down and pressed his lips to your forehead.

“You bastard,” you cursed and beat a fist against his chest.

“What did I do this time?” He asked. He was smiling, you could hear it.

“Don’t you know I’m in love with you?” It wasn’t how you wanted to confess. You hadn’t wanted to confess at all. You were fine taking your feelings to the grave rather than face this kind of vulnerability.

He froze. A moment of careful consideration. Risk evaluation.

“I thought you were smarter than that,” he finally admitted.

“I thought I was too,” you huffed.

“You need sleep,” he said, trying to change the subject.

“You’re supposed to tell me to get over it.” Why was he still holding you? Why hadn’t he pushed you away? He should have been disgusted. Offended.

“What?”

“You’re supposed to tell me that I’m a reckless kid and I need to get over my feelings for you.” You needed that closure, needed a push in the right direction.

“I… can’t do that.” He sounded miserable. Defeated.

“I thought you were a hero?” Why were you still letting him hold you? Why were you so comfortable in his arms? You should have been disgusted.

“I’m a sad old fool. And I love you too.”

It should have been the type of revelation that made everything change. You should have felt your heart race and your cheeks flush and it should have been everything you had ever dreamed. Instead, you were coming off an adrenaline crash after your nightmare, and you could barely keep your eyes open as you breathed in the smell of leather and pulse munitions.

You would deal with this later. Everything later.

You woke groggy and way warmer than you would have liked to be. Lifting your head, you realized you were sleeping on Jack’s chest, one of his arms thrown around you protectively.

“Oh, fuck,” you groaned.

“I feel that,” Jack said, not moving. He had probably been awake for a while, lying perfectly still. Was he scared of something?

“You’re not actually in love with me, are you?” You squinted, trying to remember what dumb shit you had said last night.

“I should be asking you the same question.”

“Am I in trouble?” you asked.

“What would you be in trouble for?” Jack pushed up to his elbows, letting you sit against the wall and drag your hands down your face.

“I don’t know? You’re the commander or whatever. Isn’t it against the rules for me to want to fuck you?”

Jack made a choked sound. He flushed pink to the tips of his ears before finding his words. “Well, I’m not a commander anymore. And I think I’d be in even bigger trouble for wanting to be with you.”

It was your turn to stutter and flail. The thought of your feelings being reciprocated was still foreign. “We’re fucking idiots,” you groaned.

“Well,” Jack said, “What do you want to do next?”

“What do I want to do?” you asked incredulously. “If I had my way, you’d be pinning me to this cot, and I wouldn’t be able to remember my own name.”

It was a bluff. An exaggeration. An attempt to break the tension. You didn’t think he would take it seriously.

He moved too quickly. You didn’t stand a chance, still half asleep and reeling. And there you were, on your back, staring up at Jack’s gorgeous blue eyes as he smirked and settled his weight on top of you.

“Have I ever told you that you run your mouth off too much?” he asked.

For once, you were speechless. No witty remark, no spitfire comeback. You just wanted Jack to kiss you, but you couldn’t even find the words to ask for it.

“That’s better,” he teased you. He leaned down to capture your lips with his own and you moaned against his mouth. It was everything you had dreamed it would be. And you had dreamed about this a lot.

You rolled your hips up to grind against Jack. He groaned low in his throat and rocked back against you. “You’ll let me know if you’re uncomfortable?”

“Just don’t stop,” you fisted your hands in his shirt and pulled him to you. You had only gotten this far by some fluke, and you weren’t about to let it slip away. Your hands wandered everywhere, broad shoulders, thick arms, hard chest, firm ass. Jack seemed all too pleased by your admiration, he basked in it with a cocky grin. “Kiss me you cocky piece of shit,” you rolled your eyes.

A firm hand grabbed at your ass, and Jack growled in your ear, “Is that any way to speak to your commander?”

You moaned and let your head tip back so he could drag his teeth over your pulse point. It was a blinding sensation, and you retaliated by grabbing Jack’s cock through his pants. He was hard already. His grip on your ass tightened, a low moan escaping him.

“Is that what you want, sweetheart? You want Daddy’s cock?” He forced you to meet his eyes, holding your gaze as he waited for a response.

“Fuck that’s hot. That’s kinda weird, but it’s hot. Why is it hot?” You weren’t expecting it, but the way it made your stomach flip -- you were definitely into it.

He raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, I want you to fuck me,” you huffed.

“That’s a good girl,” he said, kissing you once more. This time, the two of you shed clothes piece by piece. Jack marveled at your chest when you tossed your shirt to the ground. He brushed his rough fingers over your nipples, delighting at your reaction. He didn’t need any encouragement to begin kissing over the sensitive skin, taking your nipples into his mouth.

“Jack,” you moaned.

“That’s it sweetheart. Tell Daddy what you want.” He pulled your leggings off and nudged your thighs apart, teasing you with delicate fingers.

You hated it. Hated having to ask for such dirty, embarrassing things when Jack clearly knew what you wanted. But damn if it didn’t make you wet.

“Inside --” You squeezed your eyes shut and bucked your hips. “I need you inside of me, Daddy.”

It was the magic word. Jack couldn’t control himself after hearing it. He stroked your clit and pressed a finger inside of you, quickly adding a second. You moaned and palmed his cock as best you could through his underwear. He was big -- bigger than you had imagined. Damn super soldiers.

It felt amazing, and you would have been happy to come just like that, but Jack wanted more.

“I need to be inside you,” he growled. He kicked off the last of his clothes, stroking his cock before settling between your legs. “Is that okay, baby?”

You nodded, trying to pull him in closer to you. “Please,” you whined.

He rubbed his cock along your entrance, pressing the tip in slightly. “I’ve got you,” he pulled you against him as he pressed forward. It was a stretch, but Jack kissed you so sweetly, whispering to you. He waited, watched your expression and held still until you gave him permission to move.

It was slow, careful, at first. Both of you trying to match the other. You finally found a rhythm that felt right, and Jack began to move quicker and quicker, harder and harder. You clung to him tightly, kissing sloppily over his neck and jaw. It felt so good, everything you had ever wanted.

Jack’s hand slipped between your bodies, a few strokes over your clit and you came around his cock. He held you as you shook and gasped, sinking your teeth into his shoulder to muffle your moans.

“That’s it, baby.” He laid you gently on your back. “Let Daddy take care of you.”

He didn’t slow, continuing to fuck you as you worked through the aftershocks of your orgasm. He was getting closer. The pace of his hips faltered. “I’m close,” he moaned.

He pulled out as he came, stroking himself and spilling across your chest. It was messy, and you would have been annoyed if it wasn’t so damn hot. Jack stilled for a moment, but he made no move to lay down or clean up.

“Jack?” you asked. He leaned forward and kissed you, pressing your foreheads together,

“Are you able to go again?” he asked.

You were surprised, but you found yourself nodding. Jack was just as careful this time, making sure you were as comfortable as possible before taking you once more. He worked you to a slower, softer orgasm.

You came down from the high, and things started to become too much. It wasn’t the same blinding pleasure anymore. Jack didn’t seem to be tired at all. He brushed your hair out of your eyes, trailing a thumb over your lips. “Hold on, baby. Just a little bit more.”

He came again over your chest. You lay there painting as he shuddered through his second orgasm. This time, he wiped you down carefully, splitting a bottle of water with you. He pulled you close to him.

“You’re still hard?” You felt his cock against you.

“Don’t worry about it -- super soldier shit.” He nuzzled against your skin. “We’re not training today. I just want to lay here.”

You were perfectly fine with that.

Masterlist

#soldier 76 x reader #soldier 76/reader #soldier 76 #jack morrison/reader #jack morrison x reader #Jack Morrison #overwatch fanfic #smut #lemons

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writefightandflightclub · 4 years

Text

“Honey, I’m gonna...” (First Order!Poe x reader)

What is this? This is the 1st of 14 short prompt requests I’ll be writing as part of my 500 follower celebration! See my call-out for requests (now closed... unless you’re desperate!) and credit for prompt list creators here.

What is the prompt: “I’m gonna end up breaking your little heart in two” with First Order!Poe (I loved this request- thanks @yougottakeeponkeepinon. I hope you like it! I realise you didn’t ask for smut and yet I wrote smut- hope that’s ok too. Sorry if not!)

Author’s note: Hey, have you all seen that picture of Oscar from Dune yet? No reason, just maybe you should have that look in mind while you read this idk.

Word count: I failed on my 500 word limit (which was the point of the challenge). This is 1042. Must do better next time!

Warnings: 18+ only. Explicit smut (esp. fingering). Mild choking. Language.

GIF: By the fabulous, multi-talented @damerondjarin <3

“Miss me, kitten?”

The Commander’s smooth, authoritative tone is a balm and a whipcrack all at once. With three words he has you both molten and standing to attention. You could swear the rod he speaks into your spine is the only thing keeping you standing, the only thing granting form to your pooling, spreading warmth.

You don’t answer, don’t turn to look at him. You simply stand, servile and pliant in this service corridor you have no business being in so late; no business except for this. You thrill as his strong hand clenches the back of your neck, driving you forward. His body pins you flush against the wall, your cheek flattened against cold, unforgiving metal, the buttons and clasps on your uniforms digging cruelly into you skin.

You whimper as his hot breath billows against the shell of your ear, moan as he thrusts his thigh harshly between your legs, spreading them. “Which part of me did you miss most?” he enquires, voice laden with need. The dash of gravel in his tone makes you throb for him.

“I missed your fingers, Commander.” Your hips already writhe on nothing, desperate for his touch.

“So fuckin’ needy.” he growls, letting out a satisfied breath against the nape of your neck as he reaches around to unbuckle you, easily yanking your layers down to your knees. “Let’s take a look at you then, filthy girl.” Obligingly, you arch your back a little, pushing your ass towards him. Presenting yourself to him. The air cool against your already dripping slit. Your bare skin brushing against the starchy fabric of his uniform, feeling the hint of something thick and hard and full of promise beneath.

You get off at the thought that he’s just looking at you, getting hard for you. From knowing he’s at his weakest when you’re this wet, all for him. You imagine he’s so weak he might even give you what you want. Especially when you’ve been so good for him. When you’ve done exactly as he ordered and haven’t touched yourself all week, no matter how incessantly he teased you.

Reasserting his crush on your neck, against your body, his practised hand finds the space at the junction of your spread thighs, fingers ghosting tantalisingly close to where you need them. “I bet you want me to leave these gloves on?” he purrs.

“Please, Commander.” You feel a heat rise over your cheeks at the fact he knows exactly what you need, knows every shameful desire you like him to perform on you.

“You’ve been good, denying yourself.” Your knees almost buckle at the velvet praise in his voice; at the feeling as he drags a finger of his smooth, leather glove along your slick folds. “Now, I’m gonna make you come so hard you won’t be able to look me in the eye for a week, do you understand?”

All you can do at that is quiver, a fractured moan emanating from your lips. Then, he glides a single finger inside you, just as slowly drawing it out again. The motion is akin to a pin slipping from a grenade; you don’t know how something so subtle could lead to such a powerful detonation, but this touch alone sends devastating shockwaves through your core. “So responsive.” He growls. “So thirsty for me.”

He has already kept you waiting so long, touches you so well, that he only needs to pulse his fingers a few times before you are ready to explode, your fuse dangerously short. The Commander adds a second girthy finger, then another, thrusting in and out of you slowly, deliciously, increasing the intensity of your detonations threefold. His thick digits stretch your walls, the ridges of his knuckles beneath those smooth gloves drag deliciously over every sweet spot.

His touch has you begging for mercy; threatens to level you. There’s no holding it back. Couldn’t if you tried.

“Commander, I’m gonna…. Please. Please, can I?”

“That’s it, kitten.”

You clench hopelessly hard around his fingers, gush over them, a broken moan wracking you, almost like a sob. You could cry with how good it feels.

“Pathetic for me, aren’t you?” he teases, and you can hear the self-satisfied smile in his voice as you go limp against him. You’re exposed for him and a sopping, twitching mess; you can’t exactly argue. The only thing keeping you upright the weight of his warm body pressing you securely against the cold metal.

“Turn around,” he commands, barely giving you time to recover before his hands move down to unshackle himself from his pants. “Wanna see that pretty face.”

As you turn, you see -for the first time in the dim light- that he’s brandishing a fresh, bloody wound above his eye, a smattering of grazes over his face, no doubt from today’s mission. “You’re hurt!” You reach out for him instinctively, but he takes firm hold of your wrists and stares you down with sunless eyes.

“Nuh-uh,” he scolds, his turbulent eyes backlit with amusement at your evident concern. His lips ghost softly over yours, foreshadowing a tender kiss you know he won’t give you – never does. “I know I make you feel good but don’t get too sweet on me, Princess. I’m gonna end up breaking your little heart in two.”

It’s inevitable, you realise. There’s nowhere else for this to go. And he makes the admission proudly. But your lips curl into a devilish smile all the same. “Do you promise?”

His eyes radiate a multitude of dark promises. You’ll gladly cling to any he’ll give you. “You want me to break you, baby girl?”

Your pupils blown out, you tilt your head to the side, offering your throat to him. Showing how you belong to him. “Break me. I’m yours, Commander.”

He slides a hand up to your throat and squeezes. In these moments he shows you that he wants you. That he needs you too, even if it’s only for this.

And so, you’ll let him break your heart, if he wants to. Maybe you’re crazy, but you didn’t know how good it could feel to be broken. Not until you belonged to him and he showed you just how healing it could be.

#first order poe dameron #first order poe dameron x reader #first order poe x reader #poe dameron smut #poe dameron x reader #star wars x reader #poe dameron x you #500 follower challenge #500 follower celebration #fic prompt #prompt request

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jaskierswolf · 4 years

Text

You Set My Heart Ablaze Pt11/25

The gym stank of sweat and the air was thick with testosterone and fragile masculinity. Renfri snarled as one of men wolf whistled at her and she punched the bag in front of her harder and then spun round to hit the bag with a flying kick, imagining it was the idiot’s face. She loved the gym. She loved the feel of her muscles burning. She loved being strong and knowing she could crush any one of these pathetic losers in a fight.

But they only saw her as a woman.

They saw her as weak.

They saw her as a potential conquest.

She screamed and let a sequence of punches and kicks loose on the bag and then half collapsed onto it. Her gloves wrapped around the back of the punching bag and she hugged it close as she caught her breath.

She heard the sound of laughter behind her and she spun round to yell at the poor person who had underestimated her.

The shout caught in her throat.

It was Lambert.

His long ginger hair was half tied up behind his head and dripping with sweat. He’d clearly already started his workout before deciding to bother her instead.

“Whoa there.” He put his gloved hands up in front of his face to defend himself from her obvious ire. “I was laughing at the poor bag! I promise.”

Renfri glanced over to where the other men in the gym were standing at, ogling at her like she was a piece of meat, and then back to Lambert. “You’d be the first one.”

Lambert raised an eyebrow and looked over at the other men. He scoffed. “You could take them easily, Shrike.”

“Oh I know.”

“Want to test the theory?” His eyes danced playfully.

She punched her gloves together. “Fuck yes.”

Lambert flexed the muscles in his arms and waved the guys over. “Oi! Care for a little competition?”

The men ambled over, grinning lecherously at her. She rolled her eyes and stretched her muscles before pulling off her gloves. She wouldn’t need them for the type of sparring that Lambert had in mind. It would be less boxing and more street fight. Her hands were still wrapped up under the gloves to offer her knuckles enough protection and the heavy weight of the boxing gloves would only slow her down.

“Yeah. We’re interested.” Moron number one said.

Lambert tilted his head. “Two on two. Me and Shrike versus you two. First team to both tap out loses.”

“Standard rules?” Moron number two asked.

The gym’s boxing ring meant that sparring was not unusual and there was a set of rules drilled into the wall after one memorable fight where one the boxers had been bitten and had had to go to hospital.

Lambert nodded. “Keep it clean.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll go easy on your girl.”

“Not his girl.” Renfri growled.

“Whatever, sweetheart.”

Lambert smirked and cuffed Renfri lightly round the head. She retaliated with a quick swipe to his side. “Bit of advice fellas? Don’t hold back. She won’t.”

They howled in laughter as they took in Renfri’s smaller form.

She grinned.

This was going to be so much fun.

She’d sparred with Lambert enough times to know his style, his strengths, his weaknesses, and he knew the same about her so they easily slipped into a dancing rhythm as they dodged and attacked their partners. When Lambert got caught in the stomach by a well time blow, Renfri was there to pull him back out of danger and block the next punch before spinning round and knocking the other man round the head. Lambert yelled as he launched his next attack on the poor pitiless men who had underestimated her. The man didn’t manage to get his hands up in time before he was thrown towards the ropes under the sheer weight of Lambert. He tapped out shortly after that. Lambert winked at her and tapped out, dunking under the ropes to help the other man out of the ring and leaving Renfri alone against their final opponent.

“Is that all you got, girl?” He spat at her.

Renfri rolled her eyes and beckoned him forward. He lunged at her like the brute that he was. She easily side-stepped the attack and kicked the man as he passed her, propelling him into the ropes. He grunted and spun round to attack her but he was too slow, she’d already caught him in the stomach with another punch and a quick swipe at his ankles sent him crashing to the ground.

He groaned as he struggled to catch his breath.

Renfri pouted down at him.

“Aww. Is that all you got?” She laughed and Lambert whooped from where his was now resting his arms on the ropes on the other side of the ring.

“Fuck you!” The man spat and went to grabbed her but she’d already predicted the attack and she leapt back. He crashed onto his stomach and she straddled his waist to pin him down. She pressed her palm against the back of his neck.

“Never gonna happen, sweetheart.” She pressed harder against his neck.

The man writhed under her trying to get free but Renfri had had far too much practice in the ring.

The man yelled but reluctantly thumped his hand twice against the mat. Renfri was off him in a heartbeat, not wanting the pervert to get the wrong idea. Lambert was already in the ring to give her hug. It was sweaty and disgusting but she laughed all the same.

The normal fight etiquette was to help your partner up at the end. She glanced back at the man who was practically whimpering on the mat and then turned to his friend. “You can take care of that. We’re done here.”

She ducked out of the ropes and made her way to the shower rooms to clean off, agreeing to meet Lambert outside so they could grabbed some lunch together. She was starving after all the exercise, she felt like she could eat a horse!

“Sorry Roach!” She laughed to herself as she grabbed her gym bag.

After her shower she changed and towel dried her hair before going outside to meet up with Lambert. His hair was still damp, from the shower this time instead of sweat, and he’d changed into an oversized hoody. She bumped her shoulder against his as the walked down the street.

“Where to Wolf?” She asked as her stomach rumbled.

He shrugged. “Thought maybe some sandwiches and coffee?”

She hummed in agreement. “Coffee is always good. I thought you were hanging out with Eskel today?”

He scoffed. “Yeah. We were supposed to. The bastard goat of his got sick and had to go to the vets.”

Renfri frowned. Eskel adored his pet goat like it was his child. “That’s rough. Is he alright?”

Lambert laughed darkly. “Eskel or the goat?”

Renfri grinned. “Both?”

“The bastard ate something he shouldn’t have. Eskel is just being paranoid. That goat eats anything and everything.” Lambert drawled and opened the door to the coffee shop that they’d stopped outside.

Renfri grimaced at the pink streamers and confetti in the shop window. She’d forgotten it was nearly February already. St Julian’s day was coming up, a celebration of the saint of love and music. It always drove Renfri insane. She hated it. People became sick with love and romance, and in all honesty she’d never understood the fuss. Romance had never been something she’d experienced nor particularly wanted. She was more than happy with her friends and the little family they’d become.

Still, that didn’t mean she enjoyed having other people’s romantic bliss being shoved down her throat in the build up to St Julian’s day, the constant questions of when she was going to get a husband and settle down, or when are you going to have kids, Renfri?

How about never?

She wasn’t broken and she didn’t need a romantic partner to feel like a success in life.

If she told herself that enough she might start to believe it.

Yeah, St Julian’s day was not her most favourite day of the year.

She took a deep breath and went inside. The bell chimed as they stepped through.

Renfri froze and Lambert almost crash into her.

“What the fuck, Shrike?”

Renfri spun round and clapped her hand over his mouth . “Shut it!” She pointed to a corner of the coffee shop where Geralt was sat with Ciri’s teacher.

Lambert mumbled something and licked her hand. She grimaced and pulled her hand away, wiping the saliva down Lambert’s hoody.

“What the fuck?” Lambert repeated more quietly. “What’s he doing with the teacher?”

“I don’t know!” She hissed. “Now move, you prick!” She tried to shove him out of the door but he didn’t budge.

“I’m gonna go talk to them.” Lambert decided and Renfri groaned.

“This is a terrible idea.”

“You go then!”

“I’m not leaving!”

“Then come on!” Lambert tugged her towards Geralt and Jaskier.

Jaskier spotted them first.

“Oh shit!” He cursed and leapt up from the table. “Ah. Hello!” He waved cheerily. “Geralt your friends are here!”

“Fuck!” Geralt swore and spun round to glare at them.

Unfortunately for the White Wolf both Renfri and Lambert were well acquainted with his death glare and ignored it without a second thought.

“Geralt!” Lambert pulled the other fireman into a sideways hug. “We didn’t know you had a date!”

“Not a date!” Jaskier chimed up. “Right Geralt?”

“Not a date.” Geralt agreed. “Mr Pankratz was just telling me…”

“Oh it’s Mr Pankratz now is it?” Lambert asked with a smirk. “What happened to Jaskier, or should I say Dandelion?

“Oh a fan! Geralt mentioned you were a fan! I’ve never met a fan before. Did you want an autograph? Or is that too presumptuous.” Jaskier blushed and fidgeted with his hands.

“He doesn’t want an autograph.” Geralt answered, ignoring Lambert’s protests.

“So if it’s not a date?” Renfri quirked an eyebrow at the very date like setting.

“I… I was just passing by you see.” Jaskier stammered. “The lemon drizzle cake in this shop is just to die for!”

“And I was already here.” Geralt added.

“Getting coffee!” Jaskier agreed. “We all love coffee. That’s why we’re here! Coffee!”

“I think you might have had enough caffeine.” Renfri muttered and crossed her arms.

Jaskier laughed almost hysterically at that. “But I couldn’t just leave without saying hello! It would be rude of me.”

Geralt grunted in agreement.

“So I thought what’s the harm in popping over for a quick chat and then you came in and here we are!” Jaskier finished.

Lambert chuckled and smirked at her. “He knows I was only joking right?”

Renfri shook her head. “I don’t think he does. So where’s your lemon drizzle cake?”

Jaskier looked back at the table. Between the two coffees, one black and one covered in what looked like caramel syrup, was a large slice of chocolate cake.

“Did I say lemon drizzle cake?” Jaskier blanched.

Lambert laughed and patted the teacher roughly on the back. Jaskier yelped and his fingers were twitching nervously at his side. “Relax. We don’t care what you do.”

“It’s not a date.” Geralt growled. “Leave him alone.”

“Then why are you lying, Ger-Bear?” Renfri asked as she sat down in Jaskier’s vacated seat, helping herself to the chocolate cake.

“We’re…” Geralt paused, obviously struggling to find the right word.

“Friends.” Jaskier finished looking back at Geralt apparently not noticing Geralt’s frown at the word. “We’re friends but some people might find it a bit strange given that I’m his daughter’s teacher. If it got back to my boss…”

“Then why bother at all?” Lambert scoffed. “How did you even become friends any way?”

Geralt opened his mouth to speak but Jaskier cut him off. Renfri rolled her eyes. How did Geralt put up with this idiot? The way Geralt had described him, Renfri had pictured some cool but slightly dorky plaid wearing nerd… not this… this… whatever this was?

“That was my fault! Geralt mentioned about Ciri wanting to learn an instrument and well that’s sort of something I love and I just talked his ear off about it for, gods, it must have been hours.”

“It was half an hour after school.” Geralt corrected.

“And well after that it sort of just became a habit. Geralt would pop in after work every so often to ask if everything was going alright with Ciri.” Jaskier continued. “We were all worried about her when she first started and when the holidays were approaching we knew it would be hard.”

“Her first solstice without her real family.”

“Geralt! You are her real family now. We’ve talked about this!” Jaskier chided him and patted the other man on the shoulder. “But umm… after a while, we sort of stopped talking about Ciri and just talked about, well, life! And…” Jaskier paused as he suddenly focussed on Renfri. “Hang on! Is that my cake?!”

“Our cake.” Geralt added. “Don’t take it personally. She does it all the time.”

“But I was really looking forward to that!” Jaskier whined.

Renfri smirked and looked the teacher steadily in the eyes as she took another mouthful of chocolate cake. It was deliciously moist and rich. “Is that chocolate fudge icing?” Renfri mumbled around her mouthful of cake.

Jaskier gaped at her and put his hands on his hips.

“Geralt!” He pouted.

“Renfri, leave the cake. Otherwise I’ll never hear the end of it.” Geralt said giving the teacher a soft smile, one Renfri had rarely seen before. “He talks enough as it is.”

“We hadn’t noticed.” Renfri drawled sarcastically but put her fork down on the plate reluctantly.

“I had.” Lambert argued and Renfri punched him in the arm before peering at Jaskier’s coffee.

The teacher lunged for his cup, knocking into the table and spilling both his and Geralt’s coffee over the table. “Oh no. No no no!” He picked up the mug and cradled it to his chest. “You stole my cake. You are not stealing my coffee too!”

Renfri cackled at his possessiveness over the drink. “Is there even any coffee in that monstrosity? It looks like pure sugar!”

Jaskier rolled his eyes and scoffed. “Do all firefighters drink their coffee black as smoke?”

Geralt smirked. “It’s on the application form.”

“Fuck off.” Jaskier glared at him. “I know you’re all laughing at me. Honestly, I thought we were friends Geralt!”

Lambert laughed hard at that and Renfri rolled her eyes at him. “That was your first mistake.”

“We should move tables.” Geralt suggested as he tried to mop up Jaskier’s mess with some napkins. “This one isn’t big enough for four.”

Jaskier’s expression changed from one of horror and offence to fondness in a heartbeat.

Well wasn’t that an interesting development.

Geralt had never mentioned that his crush on the teacher was requited. Although all that talk of friends was probably throwing the white wolf off.

“Well seeing as my seat and my cake have both been stolen.” Jaskier huffed and narrowed his eyes at Renfri. “I’ll get us more coffee and cake whilst you guys chose a new table. Any requests?”

“Not cake.” Lambert said. When Jaskier gave him a questioning look he shrugged. “I’ll come with you. I want a sandwich.”

The pair of them shuffled over to the counter to order whilst Geralt and Renfri gathered up their belongings from the smaller table and moved it to a double one in the centre of the room. One of the staff looked wearily at the mess of coffee soaked napkins that were left behind. Geralt tried to scooped them up to put in the bin but he was shooed away as they picked up their cleaning supplies to get to work. It was a battle not worth fighting so both firefighters mumbled an apology.

Renfri was watching Geralt carefully as they sat down. He was too busy looking over at Jaskier to notice, sipping what was left of his coffee. Geralt frequently spoke about Jaskier at work when they were in between jobs, mostly in reference to Ciri and the wolf pack would always laugh and joke about his attachment to the teacher but it was completely different seeing it in person.

She hadn’t realised how close the two men had become.

Geralt had never mentioned going to see Jaskier after school and now outside of school too. Regardless of what tales Jaskier spun, Renfri was certain that this little coffee date was not an accident or a spontaneous affair. She felt bitter that Geralt felt like he couldn’t trust them with the truth. Yes, they’d teased him about Jaskier but he should have realised that the wolves would support him no matter what.

They were family.

But what if Geralt was starting to build a new family without them?

They’d already added Ciri to the mix, which really she didn’t mind. It was nice to have another girl around when they got together. The boys didn’t quite understand how draining it was to be the odd one out every single day, even if she was just one of the boys, but that didn’t mean she wanted another intruder into their tight family unit.

And come to think of it, it was always Geralt that brought new people into the mix. Yennefer, Ciri, Jaskier.

Were they not enough for him?

She pulled the chocolate cake back towards her. Jaskier was getting new cake anyway and she was still fucking hungry. The movement was more heavy-handed than she’d meant it to be and it drew Geralt’s attention.

He tilted his head at her.

“I’m fine.” She grumbled and stuffed a forkful of the delicious cake into her mouth.

“Renfri…”

“I said I’m fine.” She spat out, crumbs spraying the table. “Just keep mooning over the teacher.”

Geralt frowned. “I am not mooning.”

“You’re forgetting about us.” Renfri snarled.

“What the fuck, Renfri?” Geralt huffed. “Where would you get an idea like that?”

Renfri scoffed but didn’t say anything and Geralt didn’t have a chance to push for an answer as Lambert and Jaskier came back carrying trays filled with coffee and food. The teacher was chatting away without a care in the world about his band and the new album he was working on with Ciri’s ukulele teacher. Lambert was pestering him for the chords of the previous songs but Jaskier was reluctant to give up his secrets.

“Come on you bastard!” Lambert growled. “A favour for Ciri’s favourite uncle?”

Jaskier put his tray down and rested his hand on his hip with a smirk. “I thought Eskel was Ciri’s favourite uncle?”

Lambert looked like he wanted to wrestle the teacher to the ground. “Who told you that? Geralt? He’s a fucking liar.”

Jaskier just laughed and Geralt smiled fondly across at him like he’d hung the moon. “Ciri told me actually.”

“Bollocks!” Lambert growled.

“It’s true!” Jaskier argued.

“Fuck that!”

“I am wounded that you don’t believe me. Geralt, tell him!” Jaskier pouted.

“I didn’t say anything.” Geralt smirked.

Renfri watched the whole exchange as she pulled one of the sandwiches off the tray. Perhaps she shouldn’t have eaten the cake first but what was the point in being an adult if you couldn’t eat dessert first?

She was absolutely stunned and how quickly Lambert and Jaskier seemed to have bonded. Her friend was probably just a bit starstruck from meeting Dandelion. What was it about this teacher that had her friends acting all silly?

He was too chatty and annoying.

Ok so maybe she was jealous.

Maybe she was scared.

She sighed.

She just didn’t want to be left behind as her friends began to find partners. It wouldn’t be the first time it had happened. Geralt’s eyes flashed to her and he frowned and pulled out his phone. After a few seconds her phone beeped in her pocket.

G —You’re not fine.

Renfri looked up at him and rolled her eyes.

—Renfri. You’re not fine.

She sighed and frowned at him before tapping out a reply, zoning out of the conversation at the table.

R —He seems nice.

She tilted her head towards Jaskier who was bickering with Lambert and seemingly oblivious to their silent conversation.

Geralt just nodded and raised an eyebrow. She sighed.

— You’re family, White Wolf. I will not lose you

“Geralt!” Jaskier gripped the older man’s arm. “Geralt are you even listening to me?”

Geralt looked up from his phone at Jaskier like a man seeing the sun for the first time, and then smirked. “Not at all.”

Jaskier gasped and sat back in his chair. “Wow. I mean wow really. Here I am, singing your praises about how wonderful a father you are to Ciri and you aren’t even paying attention!”

“You didn’t miss much.” Lambert grunted.

“Rude!” Jaskier pointed a finger at the ginger. “All of you, rude! I should have just stuck with my kids. They love me.”

“Someone has to.” Renfri snorted.

“Renfri.” Geralt grumbled in a low voice.

“No. No she’s right.” Jaskier sighed dramatically. “I am destined for loneliness and heartbreak.”

Geralt rolled his eyes and punched Jaskier in the arm. “Shut up, Jask.”

Jaskier stuck his tongue out at Geralt.

“I can’t believe you’re friends with him.” Renfri groaned to Geralt.

“It’s a difficult task but I do my best.” Jaskier winked and to her surprise Renfri actually laughed.

She crossed her arms in front of her chest “Yeah well. Don’t go thinking you’re special just because you’re new.”

Jaskier smiled brightly. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

She narrowed her eyes at him and then patted him hard on the back. The teacher yelped at the sudden contact and she laughed. Perhaps he wasn’t so bad after all.

______

#the witcher #renfri #lambert #witcher lambert #witcher renfri #geraskier #geraskier fanfiction #geralt of rivia #jaskier pankratz #fireman!geralt #teacher!jaskier #teacher au #you set my heart ablaze #wolfie's witcher writing #almost half way #so many coffee shop scenes #aro characters #cos I'm aro and I say so

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platypanthewriter · 4 years

Text

A Strategic Proposal 1/6

Renamed from Indecorous Proposal

Part One/Part Two/Part Three/Part Four/Part Five/Part Six

“Hey,” William Hargrove III asked, leaning in close. “So which of my many virtues did you fall for first?”

“Oh, no,” Steve laughed, sticking to the point of the thing, which wasn’t Billy’s gleaming curls, golden tan, soft smile, or the way his muscles filled his soft-looking linen shirt. “You need to refuse.”

William--Billy, Steve remembered--blinked at him, his wide grin fading. “What?”

“Refuse the offer of marriage,” Steve repeated, ignoring a pang of guilt, and trying to look under the tent flap for any nosy people’s shoes.

“...refuse the offer of marriage,” Billy said again, turning away to pour himself a drink.

“That brandy is for celebrations,” Steve sighed. “It’s expensive.”

“Why did you make me an offer of marriage,” Billy asked, after throwing back the whole, albeit small glass.

“I needed to convince Her Majesty I wasn’t ailing for love of her—”

“So you have need of me,” Billy said, to the glass. “I can help you—”

“I’m surprised she believed me, honestly,” Steve hissed, waving his arms. “We’ve barely met—”

“...we’ve met,” Billy said. “Several times, do you not--we were at school together. We danced at her coronation. I was in the hunting party that went north, we rode together for weeks—”

“That was you?” Steve frowned at the wall, trying to remember anything other than his heart feeling like it was slow-roasted as his queen married another. Billy poured himself another drink, and Steve grabbed his shoulder. “Look, do the honorable thing, just leave—” his head snapped sideways with the force of Billy’s fist, and he staggered, more startled than hurt. He stalked back to Hargrove, raising a hand to strike back, then halted, as Billy leaned heavily on the little table for brandy, and took a long shuddery breath.

“I told everyone I would accept,” Billy laughed, tossing back his second brandy. He sat heavily right on the ground. “They’ll—”

“Why would you...” Steve sighed, and Billy shrugged, his eyes downcast. “Eugh,” Steve groaned. “You’ll have to say you changed your mind. Tell them I’m unmarriageable.”

“Everyone said how lucky I was,” Billy laughed again. “They told me how polite I ought to be. I’ll never get another offer like this, after all--Sir Steven Harrington, friend and protector to Her Majesty—”

“If money is your concern, I can ease that particular problem,” Steve bit out, and Billy made an odd noise in his throat, staring up at him.

“That--that was not the difficulty,” he said hoarsely, his smile going a little feral. “No.”

Steve began, guiltily, to wonder whether Billy Hargrove had some kind of dream he was quashing--to guard the queen, perhaps. Something Steve’s offer would have enabled him to do. “I didn’t--I didn’t mean to trick you,” Steve sighed, leaning back against the table, and Billy laughed for a third time, his gaze on his outstretched boots. “Why would you even think I was in earnest?!”

“I apologize for my lack of humility,” Billy said, smiling, and took a deep breath. He closed his eyes, and took another. “I’ve half a mind to accept anyway.”

“What?!” Steve whispered. “No! You can’t marry me for--for no reason!”

Billy’s smile widened, but he didn’t look happy. “You shouldn’t lie about some things, you know?”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Steve growled back, grabbing the glass from Billy’s hand as he waved it, shrugging. “Why would you even—”

“How’s it going in here?” asked Her Royal Majesty, Queen of the Cities on the Wheel, Nancy, Steve’s ideal love, walking into the tent. “I hope you know your own luck,” she told Billy, raising her eyebrows.

“Wait,” Steve said, “Wait, wait, ah—”

“Of course I’ll cherish him,” Billy laughed, looking less like he was smiling, and more like he was baring his teeth.

“Don’t be an idiot, man,” Steve breathed, and Billy smirked. Steve shot him a glare with all the fury he could summon, hoping to leave a pile of ashes in the man’s chair.

“You’re willing to sign, then,” Nancy said to Billy, unfurling a gilt scroll with a narrow-eyed glance between them.

“I hope my esteemed beloved isn’t jumping before he looks,” Steve hissed.

“I’m sure such an honourable knight has only my happiness in mind,” Billy shot back, his smile widening, though his hand shook as he dipped the pen in the inkwell.

“Perhaps we should...walk together...a moment—” Steve waved a hand at the door of the tent, half frantic, half determined to get Billy Hargrove alone, to throttle him. “Before making any rash decisions—”

“Don’t question your good fortune,” Nancy told Steve, her eyes softening. “You are loved by many.

Steve stared at her smile, remembering how relieved she’d looked when he’d told her he loved another--that she wasn’t breaking a love for the ages in her marriage for peace. She’d looked too relieved, he’d thought, staring up at ceilings over the months, and she looked it again now, pressing his fingers around the pen. He looked over at Billy, who was pouring another drink--and then back to Nancy, his first love, and, he suspected, his last.

He signed the contract.

Nancy clasped his and Billy’s hands together, and pushed them out of the tent to a rousing cheer--to Steve’s horror, his entire cacophony of squires had assembled, along with his fellow knights, and what looked like Billy’s family, and a whole entourage from the woman Nancy was marrying for the good of the country. Everyone cheered, and he smiled, for them.

“This is...fast,” he hissed to Nancy, out the side of his mouth, and felt Billy’s grip nearly crush his fingers.

“I would have thought that’s what you wanted,” she whispered back. “You’ve kept this awfully quiet. If you want the pomp and circumstance, we can do a ceremony when we reach the capital.”

He did the math. “Six months,” he said, his shoulders relaxing. Surely, he thought, he could find a way to wriggle out in six months.

“It’s official, of course,” she said, smiling as though he’d find that encouraging, and his heart plummeted like a rock down an empty well. “Signed and witnessed by the queen. You’re husbands. Would you like to go to your rooms now?” She leaned in, her grin going mischievous. “They overlook the gardens, not that you’ll likely spend much time on the balconies.”

Billy laughed, rubbing his eyes, and Steve wondered wildly what he expected to get out of the arrangement--court standing, perhaps. The ear of the queen. In his rush to ease her mind, he thought numbly, he’d probably introduced a traitor to her court.

“I will be sure to appreciate the roses,” Billy told her, smiling at her around Steve. “Pretend with me, my love,” he hissed at Steve, who sighed, and smiled.

“Give me a few rounds of combat with her, at least,” Billy hissed, as they walked across the grounds.

“What?” Steve asked, alarmed.

“Let me win you. Let me try,” Billy whispered, banging their shoulders together, and Steve bit his lips together and nodded, rolling his shoulders in a shrug.

“There’s no other knights in this tournament,” he sighed, and Billy slid their fingers together, squeezing.

“Then I have a fair chance,” he whispered back.

Billy drank that night until Steve wondered whether he’d drown. He was so soused Steve half-carried him to their room under the wary eye of Her Majesty, her stony-faced beau Barbra of Holland, and their bard, Jonathan Byers.

“Is he...well,” asked Steve’s love, as the man he was now bound to in soul and body tried to start a fistfight with a suit of armor on the wall.

“He’s happy,” Steve gritted out, certain of that even if he couldn’t imagine why a man would marry someone unwilling, and then act as though he was, in fact, the injured party.

“He wanted you to ask him to dance,” remarked his queen, glancing his way, and Steve groaned.

“Which I did, if you’ll recall, despite Robin’s return with news.” He’d done his best to play the role--leaning close as Billy rambled, returning sloppy kisses to his hair and ear, and even hand-feeding the drunken creature morsels of food when he’d dropped his knife under the table.

Billy had drawn Steve’s fingers into his mouth, his eyes fluttering shut, and Steve had had to yank his hand back and stomp Billy’s foot hard under the table. Billy had only leaned closer, licking his lips as he ran his fingers up Steve’s thigh, and Steve felt a chill, suddenly, as the air of the Great Hall hit the sweat running from under his hair.

That night, Steve fully intended to slam a door in Billy’s face, but he ended up pinned against it, Billy’s bulk heavy against him, Billy’s mouth hot and insistent when Steve was tired and cold.

Steve let himself be pushed back on the bed, let urgent, shaking fingers strip off his clothes, and clutched at Billy’s curls as they tickled his thighs, Billy’s hot tongue flat along the underside of his cock. He covered his face as he came down his new, unwanted husband’s throat, his eyes stinging in the knowledge that somewhere else in the palace, Nancy was relieved.

Billy pulled back once Steve had come, scooting to sit on the side of the bed, and Steve fought off his exhaustion, sniffling back tears, to wave him over.

“Come here,” he said, beckoning.

“Always fair, is Steven Harrington,” slurred Billy, his laugh a little bitter, and Steve rolled away, sighing.

“Don’t, then—”

Billy’s weight slammed into his back, nearly rolling Steve onto the floor. “No, no, do as you will. Have your way with me—” he trailed off, biting his lips together as Steve rolled on top of him.

“Will this do?” Steve asked, gripping the man’s prick, and Billy nodded, staring up as Steve rubbed his thumb over the tip. Billy’s hips rocked up, his eyelashes fluttering as he moaned, and Steve felt some small satisfaction as he worked the interloper in his bed into shuddering pleas. Once he was finished, he climbed off, and went to wash his hands, blowing out the lamps and crawling back in to lie along the edge of the bed. As he began to drift off, he felt a soft brush at his nightshirt, and then a stealthy squirm up behind him as Billy settled to breathe against his shoulder.

Steve readied himself to throw a stray arm off, expecting an attack for long minutes after Billy’s breathing had steadied and slowed. He sighed, turning his head against the pillow. Why did he force my hand, he thought, dimly furious under the wet weight of knowledge that it didn’t matter who he married, if it was not to be one he loved.

He didn’t know much about the Hargrove holdings. He hadn’t felt he’d have to learn. He’d find they were short on money, he suspected, or favor, or had a scandal in the family. He almost hoped for the last--it seemed more human, somehow, to trap someone in a marriage to save a family reputation than for simple greed.

The next afternoon, Steve began to remember who Billy Hargrove was. He was deliberately annoying, dragging Steve’s attention away from Nancy--and Steve let him, turning when he felt a presence at his shoulder, and listening to whatever half-baked tirade Billy began to get his attention. ‘Began’ was the key word, because when Steve turned to listen, and asked questions, Billy trailed off into anything that came to mind, his smile startled. He was obnoxious and out of place, but when Steve’s mind strayed to his queen, it was a balm to hear Billy Hargrove in his ear, his warm breath incorrectly identifying game birds.

“Do you hunt at all,” Steve laughed, his cheeks sore from the unaccustomed smile. “Badgers do not fly.”

“Tell me everything,” Billy whispered back, his smile soft as he watched Steve lean against the stone wall of the stables, unsteady with mirth.

When Billy mumbled to a halt in the training yard, his whole mind on Steve’s hands in his, Steve began asking questions back--details on the ridiculous-sounding stories Billy had begun, to make Billy’s eyes and smile widen in surprise.

“Tell me more of this lamia,” Steve would whisper, as Billy licked his lips, gazing at Steve’s.

“A--a horrid. Beast,” he stumbled, then laughed. “There are records. It slaughtered four towns, and cracked the bones of many children before I slew it.”

At this, none the wiser, Steve had pulled him closer, whispering, “A feat indeed,” against Billy’s lips. After that every time Billy spoke he described a stronger, faster, more brutal monstrousity, until Steve began to recognize the look, and knew to cup the back of Billy’s neck and kiss him ‘til they ran out of breath.

When they were silent in attendance at functions, and Billy would reach over to tuck Steve’s hair behind his ear, Steve mouthed ‘Thank you,’ to watch Billy’s eyes widen, and his grin grow smug.

As the days turned into weeks, Steve began to consider trusting the man who had refused to release him from marriage, and eventually he sought news from Robin.

“I haven’t heard much,” she said, frowning over at Steve’s husband, who had stripped his shirt off after sparring, dumped a bucket of water over his head, and was turning this way and that in ridiculous postures, glancing at Steve.

“There must be something,” Steve said again. “I begin to think my humble savings and respect were his only goals, but if it be worse—”

“You think all of...this,” Robin waved at Billy, shivering, and watching them, “--is pretense?”

Steve sighed, put his hand to his mouth, and whistled to watch his moronic husband laugh.

“...if it be a show, it is a good one,” Robin said, wrinkling her nose.

“I would like to believe he is...odd,” Steve tried, squinting.

“Mercurial?” she suggested, laughing.

“To agree to marry a stranger,” Steve nodded, and Robin frowned at Billy again. “If he is...of inconstant mind,” Steve said softly, “--if he is...fickle, it does not inspire trust.”

“...no,” she sighed. “No. You are...confident his...admiration is feigned?”

“I…” Steve considered the boy he remembered in the man before him. “He was a bully, in school.”

Her gaze at Billy sharpened, and she leaned her head close to speak.

When they parted, Billy dashed up, tossing his arms around Steve’s neck. “How does fair Robin?” he asked.

“Gathering intelligence on you,” Steve told him, and Billy let go, then ran to catch up to Steve’s gait.

“Why?” he asked.

Steve snorted softly. “Why would you insist on marriage to one who dislikes you, and asks only for escape?”

“Why make an offer of marriage to one you despise,” Billy asked, slamming their shoulders together. “You can’t think this was some sort of plan.”

Steve dropped an arm around him, squeezing him close. “I never despised you,” he muttered, stumbling at the awkward way he held Billy against him, but he didn’t let go, and Billy didn’t squirm away.

When they closed the door to their rooms behind them, Billy was pink-cheeked, his gaze wandering from Steve’s lips to his eyes.

“May I kiss you,” he asked, “--though neither of us are drunk?”

“You may always kiss me,” Steve told him, realizing it was true as he pushed his husband against the door, at ease with the familiar warmth of Billy’s moustache and warm muscles in a way he’d never been in Her Majesty’s arms. There was no tension with Billy, only heat, and their throaty laughter as they tried to disrobe without lifting their fingers from each others’ skin.

They made it to the bed, finally, rocking against each other as the bells sounded for midday. When they finished, as ever, Billy flopped across Steve’s chest like a fish--limp and clammy--but his smile was so smug and bright Steve allowed it, sliding his fingers through Billy’s sweaty curls.

“How did you come to pick my name,” Billy whispered, turning his head to kiss the edge of Steve’s hand. “Surely there was someone you...admired, at least—”

“I needed someone she didn’t know,” Steve sighed, and billy nodded, aware as ever that the everpresent ‘she’ in Steve’s head was his queen. “Someone she’d believe I knew.”

“And you wrote the school?” Billy asked, laughing. “Dear Harrow, please supply a list of suitors for one Steven Harrington—”

“When I claimed to be--unbothered,” Steve laughed, his stomach sinking at the memory, “--when I suggested there might be...another, one I had hesitated to make my feelings known towards out of—”

“My name was mentioned,” Billy sighed. “Not by you.”

“By several people,” Steve agreed, remembering Sir Hagen’s rolled eyes, and his squire’s teasing. He stroked his thumb along Billy’s cheek, in hopes of lifting his shuttered expression.

“And you wrote,” Billy laughed hoarsely. “Lies, to trick me.”

“I didn’t!” Steve cried, grimacing. “My love letters are read aloud to laugh at, usually, I didn’t think I’d win your heart.”

“They were laughable,” Billy agreed, his eyes wet, and Steve punched his shoulder, then squeezed him tightly, and kissed his ear.

Steve was grateful, guiltily, that it had been Billy. Billy Hargrove, loud and brash, earnestly ready to return a love Steve had never felt. “I’m sorry to have hurt you,” he whispered into Billy’s curls.

“I never thought I’d hear from you again, after the ass I made of myself in school,” Billy laughed. “Let alone an offer of marriage.”

Perhaps he could grow to be satisfied with Billy in his arms, Steve thought, kissing his husband until the man returned nearly to clay in his arms, and then rolling him to make...love, Steve thought, watching Billy curl around his hands, panting. “I--I am glad to—” Steve began, and Billy looked up, hazy-eyed, then moaned under Steve’s mouth. “I am relieved it was you,” Steve murmured against Billy’s neck, and Billy laughed, but his face heated under Steve’s kisses.

“I am glad you never read the replies to my letters,” Billy whispered, smiling.

“Why?” Steve asked, wondering whether they were still at the bottom of his wardrobe where he’d flung everything that arrived during the queen’s endless series of marriage ceremonies. Billy leaned up for a kiss, and Steve reminded himself to dig out the letters, now months old. “I think I will love you,” he told his husband, who made a weird noise mid-kiss.

“Don’t take on an impossible challenge,” Billy mumbled, sighing. “You can’t help seeing the truth of me, any more than I could resist riding to you on the strength of a few dishonest letters.”

“No, I--I am beginning to, I think,” Steve told him, lifting his husband’s head to frown into his eyes.

Billy bit his lips, searching Steve’s face and smiling a disbelieving and unsteady smile. “I won’t hold my breath,” he whispered, and Steve groaned, and stuck out his tongue.

Robin pulled him aside again after he gave up on pushing around the remains of a late dinner. “He was...badly treated at home,” she said. “Passed over for honors. His training was...biblically harsh.”

Steve’s heart leapt, and he remembered the letters--Billy was a better liar than he was, he suspected, but there might be truth in them, if what Robin had found was all there was to find.

“He would be valuable as a dissonant,” Robin said. “He may be bitter. Thank you for bringing this to our attention.”

“He is, some,” Steve acknowledged, giddy with the news that Billy might be exactly as he appeared, and in love with him.

“He used your proposal as an escape strategy,” she emphasized, and Steve nodded, dismissing the alarming images of Billy with ties to hostile countries, or a secret background in assassination.

“I knew it was something,” Steve assured her, proud, and she punched his shoulder so heavily he staggered into the wall.

“He pretends affection,” she hissed, and Steve bit his lip, thinking, then shook his head.

“No, he feels some...warmth, towards me,” he said, remembering Billy’s cautious smile that morning as Steve pulled him in for a last kiss.

“Some...warmth,” Robin repeated, and Steve waved her away, running down to find Billy in the training yard, with designs of knocking him in the mud, and washing him thoroughly later.

Part One/Part Two/Part Three/Part Four/Part Five/Part Six

#harringrove #Knights in love #can't write what I want so have this thing #whatever it is #platypan

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s-and-n-writes · 4 years

Text

scarred, broken, and mended

summary: She felt the weight of the ring on the string around her neck and could feel her scars.

No, she thought, not wanting to get lost in the memories, not now. I can do this later.

So she plastered on a smile, tied an apron, and started frosting some cupcakes.

That night, she allowed herself to feel, and cried herself to sleep, plagued by nightmares of black leather and a feral grin.

pairing: jason todd x marinette dupain cheng, red hood x ladybug, red hood x multimouse

quick links:

| next chapter >

| miraculous masterlist | series masterlist |

inspired by:

scars, freckles and names, and gotham mouse, paris bug, both by @izzybellepenguin

warnings:

trigger warnings, abuse, mentions of abuse, angst, evil! adrien

a/n: Maribat Jasonette Fic. violence and bullying. there might be another tw but i don't know. the possible tw will start at ~~ and end at ~~. the definite tw will start from the first word and end at ~:~.normal intro notes. i'm s of s and n. also this is going to be angsty for a long time. also I've never read the comics or watched the movies for batman but i've read almost every maribat fic so plz come at me. thank u

Crack .

Marinette sunk down against the wall, holding her, now broken, wrist. Tears were streaming down her face as she held in a sob.

“Stop bullying Lila, you filthy bitch! God, why was I ever friends with you,” Alya whisper-yelled at her. They were in an empty classroom after school ended and nobody was around. Still, Alya took care to be quiet. Lila was standing behind her, complete with fake tear tracks and a massive smirk.

As Alya slapped her again, leaving her cheek red, Lila continued to fake sob about how she “couldn’t believe Marinette would act like this” and how she “makes it so hard to forgive her”.

~:~

“It’s fine, Lila. She deserves this. You are a much better person,” Alya said, and they walked away together. Alya continued spewing out encouragement and praise until Marinette couldn’t hear them anymore. She finally let out her sobs but quickly wiped her eyes. She had to be home soon, before her shift at the bakery started.

She got up, cradling her wrist, and put up her hood to cover her red face and puffy eyes. Marinette had changed what she wore after the first time they left visible bruises. Now, she wore a black hoodie over a pink shirt, with grey pants, and kept her signature purse (I never liked writing clothes so just imagine them). She made them, and she signed everything with her signature: MAT. She had made a fashion brand online after Jagged Stone had asked for more pieces, and soon Clara Nightingale had asked for a few too. Eventually, her brand, MAT, was famous and celebrities everywhere wanted something. It stood for Marinette And Tikki, for her favorite tiny god. She knew Tikki would be there for her, no matter what.

Oh no! She was going to be late! Marinette took off, trying to rush home, when she winced and had to slow down. She had forgotten that her ankle was sprained after Alya pushed her down the stairs. She limped home quickly, entering through the back door. She didn’t need her parents realizing she wasn’t home yet.

Marinette hobbled up the steps and into her room, putting down all her books and collapsing on her bed. Tikki came out of her purse and flew near her.

“Marinette! Are you okay? Are you hurt too badly?” Tikki asked, full of concern for her favorite Ladybug.

“No. My face hurts but the main thing is my wrist. I think it’s broken,” Marinette said, trying to stuff the pain and sadness down. It was a habit even though Hawkmoth was defeated. She was just so used to pushing all her emotions down that she couldn’t stop. Blank-faced, she sat up and wiped away the tears. Her face was almost back to normal and she needed to start healing now since her shift started in 10 minutes.

Marinette started chanting the healing spell she learned from the Grimoire. After Master Fu had passed over guardianship, she had taken it upon herself to learn the Guardians’ magic, as it would help her. Right now, she had to heal her wrist. FInishing the chant, she took a sip of the potion needed to complete the spell. Marinette scrunched her face in disgust. No matter how many times she drank it, it still tasted like a mix of broccoli, sock, and camembert. Odd combination, but what can you do?

Now that her wrist was almost fully healed, (it still hurt to move it a lot), she needed to run down for her shift. If she was late, her parents would ground her, and that would hinder her patrol schedule. Even though Hawkmoth was defeated, she and Chat Noir had kept their Miraculous. Well, that’s not completely true.

Chat Noir started out as a good partner, if not a little too flirty. As time went on, however, he started being less helpful. He would flirt aggressively and try to force Ladybug on dates, which made him useless in battles, but at least he would try. Once, he even went as far as to refuse to help defeat an akuma.

During the battle with Hawkmoth, however, when he was revealed to be Gabriel Agreste, Chat Noir fought hard , with an intensity Ladybug didn’t know he could have. It was completely new and seemingly out-of-character for the guy who would constantly get killed and controlled by akumas. Honestly, Marinette was a bit scared. She had to physically stop Chat Noir from cataclysming Hawkmoth.

After Hawkmoth was defeated, Ladybug decided not to reveal identities, since Chat Noir was kind of annoying. Not to mention, he was incompetent in fights and generally terrifying during the battle with Hawkmoth. Not a great person to know your deepest secret.

Chat Noir kept pushing for a reveal, how he deserved this for taking down Hawkmoth, and how everything would be great because they could finally date. Ladybug had no interest, and when she said so and refused the reveal, Chat Noir went crazy.

He began demanding and begging for a reveal, saying how they were ‘soulmates’ and they could ‘ finally start dating’ and how they were ‘perfect’ for each other. When that didn’t work, he was following her on patrol, trying to find out where she lived. Chat Noir and Adrien both got closer to Marinette as well. Chat Noir would stop by and vent about how Ladybug was rejecting him, and how Marinette was so similar to her. Adrien would hang out closer to her and Marinette saw him stealing glances at her during gym and lunch. Normally, this would have made her giddy, but her crush had died the day he said to ‘take the high road’.

Marinette could deal with this. She could deal with the following, the venting, and the begging. It was annoying , but not the worst. Then, it happened. Ladybug was out on patrol and Chat Noir was following her, as usual. He stopped her by yelling and caught up. Then, he grinned, and it was more animal than human.

~~ (possible trigger warning)

Ladybug could see the malice in his eyes when he pinned her on the ground. His claws traced her face, then it started. Chat Noir growled and tried to rip her suit, rip her mask, do anything to be able to identify her. He even tried to remove her Miraculous, but thankfully she had enchanted them so they couldn’t be removed by force. Then, he tried his ‘Hail Mary’.

“CATACLYSM,” Chat Noir yelled, no, growled , and Ladybug’s eyes went wide. His hand went to her left side and Ladybug screamed. She could feel the cracks on her skin, could feel the dark energy zooming across her body. She went limp, and Chat Noir jumped away, seeing how the suit cracked but didn’t come off. It left scars from the left side of her rib cage, stretching around to the right side of her stomach. The main one was on the front, but there were many smaller ones, branching from the main one and covering her back.

~~ (possible trigger warning ends)

After all of that, Marinette knew she had to take back the Miraculous. With a heavy heart, Ladybug called Chat Noir to the top of the Eiffel Tower and took back his Miraculous. It was hard but ultimately worth it. Even now, walking down to the bakery, she felt the weight of the ring on the string around her neck and could feel her scars.

No , she thought, not wanting to get lost in the memories, not now. I can do this later . So she plastered on a smile, tied an apron, and started frosting some cupcakes.

That night, she allowed herself to feel, and cried herself to sleep, plagued by nightmares of black leather and a feral grin.

quick links: | next chapter >

a/n: so updates will be there and if i miss the schedule, it will be there. i will try and update every week. plz comment if you enjoy. comment if you dont. if i fail miserably at writing let me know.

tagging:

so we’ll be starting a taglist for this series, and we’ll be tagging people who liked the post before. if you don’t want to be part of the taglist, sorry about that! shoot us message and we’ll remove your tag, no offense taken. if you want to be part of the taglist, send us an ask/message and we’ll add your name!

@charme-de-malchan @aveline-rose @bookblokeanoid

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depressedkakashihatake-fics · 3 years

Text

Genius

Kakashi Hatake/Iruka Umino/Tenzo Yamato/Maito Gai

1397 words

Kiss: The Smooch

For: @temarihime (might enjoy it), @tenzoyamato (Tenzo!!!)

Five days ago Kakashi and Tenzo had started training Naruto to create a new Jutsu with his Rasangan. Five long, endlessly boring days. It would have been at least a bit more bearable if Gai had been there to keep him company, but lately it seemed as though the Green Beast was constantly on missions. Always the one to be requested by customers he seemed to have an endless list of people with jobs for him.

Which left Iruka alone. Passing his days by teaching class at the academy, eating subpar food at home, and trying desperately not to miss all of the cuddles he would be getting if even one of his boyfriends was available.

Just one of them. Was that so much to ask?

Kicking a rock towards the river, Iruka sighed. Naruto’s training was important, he wasn’t about to deny that, but it didn’t mean that Kakashi and Tenzo needed to sleep in the training field every night. Surely they could come back to the village for just one night. Naruto probably needed a soft bed to cuddle up in himself, and Iruka wouldn’t mind taking his favorite student out for Ramen to celebrate all of his hard work training.

“Iruka!” four seconds was all the warning Iruka got to brace himself for impact before two strong arms wrapped themselves around his torso, pinning his arms down to his side as he was lifted up into the air and his ribs were crushed under the strength of Gai’s hug.

Apparently he wasn’t the only one who had been missing his boyfriends.

“Gai,” looking back at the Green beast, Iruka chuckled when he saw those big black eyes staring back at him with hopefulness “It’s nice to see that you made it back safe.”

Who was he kidding. He could never ask Gai to tone down his excitement just to save his ribs from being crushed into a million pieces. What was he, Kakashi? No, scratch that. Even the stone cold Hatake Kakashi couldn’t say no to Matio Gai’s hugs. It was simply impossible.

When Gai finally set him back down on the ground, Iruka turned around to face him and smiled when he saw that blinding toothy grin on Gai’s face. “I take it you just got back into the village?”

“Half an hour ago,” Gai confirmed “I just finished giving my mission report to Tsunade-sama. Decided to go out for some Dango if you’d like to join.”

Dango. Gai had brought him the answer to all of his complaints within seconds of greeting him, and he couldn’t have been happier.

“You absolute genius!” cupping Gai’s cheeks in his hands, Iruka surged forward and planted his lips against the Green beasts in a hot passionate kiss. How had he not thought of this before? Pulling away after a moment he chuckled when he saw a look of confusion etched across Gai’s face. “Dango is the perfect answer.”

“Answer?” Rather than responding to the question that Gai had posed, Iruka reached down to take hold of his hand and headed towards the village gates with Gai now in tow. There was no way Kakashi would be able to say no to Dango with all of his boyfriends, which means Tenzo would have to come along too. Once they were back in the village it would be easy to convince the pair to stay for the night, and he would get all of the cuddles that he had been so sorely missing over the last few days.

Arriving at the training field just outside of the village walls, Iruka stopped at the entrance, releasing his grip on Gai’s hand. It didn’t take long to locate the three shinobi that he was looking for. Huddled into a small group in the middle of the training field, the three of them stuck out like a sore thumb.

“What are they doing?” Gai inquired, laying his head down on Iruka’s shoulder.

“Training,” Iruka responded with a warm smile ‘Kakashi came up with an Idea to improve Naruto’s Rasengan. They’ve been here for the last five days working endlessly to help Naruto create a new Jutsu.”

It was actually sort of cute seeing them at work. Iruka had imagined the three of them arguing a lot about how to go about the training, but here they were. Standing around talking like adults. It was surprising, at least for Kakashi and Naruto. Tenzo was the only one that he trusted to act like an adult.

“We should go interrupt,” Gai poked him in the side, chuckling when he glared back at him “I haven’t seen them in seven days. It seems like you haven’t seen them in a while either. They’ll love it if we interrupt.”

“They’re training,” Iruka insisted, grunting when Gai poked him in the side once again “what do you even want us to do? Just walk over and join the conversation?”

Gai scrunched up his nose at the idea “Of course not,” he protested “we could-Oh! We could kiss them!”

“Kiss them?” raising an eyebrow, Iruka waited for Gai to elaborate.

“Ya, you know like you did back in the village?” Thinking about it, Iruka felt his face heat up when he recalled the moment he had grabbed Gai’s face between his hands and planted the happiest kiss against his lips.

“Oh…”

“Ya, let’s do that,” Gai beamed “I’ll kiss Kakashi, you kiss Tenzo.”

Well it certainly didn’t sound like a bad idea.

“Deal.” With that decided, the pair made their way towards the middle of the field. They were about half way there when Kakashi and Tenzo turned to look at them, alerting Naruto to their presence.

“Iruka-Sensei!” Naruto threw his arms out for a hug, frowning when his Sensei-passed him with little more than a pat on his head. “S-sensei?”

It wasn’t that Iruka was ignoring his favorite student. He’d be more than happy to give Naruto the attention he wanted after he had done what he came here to do.

“Meh, rather rude of you don’t you think, Iruka?” Kakashi smiled as Gai and him came to a stop directly in front of their chosen boyfriend. “Naruto was trying to- Mmm!”

Kakashi’s sentence was interrupted when Gai threw his arms around the copy ninja’s neck and pulled him into a deep passionate kiss. At the same time, Iruka grabbed the front of Tenzo’s uniform jacket and pulled him in for their own kiss, chuckling slightly against Tenzo’s lips when he wrapped his arms around Iruka’s waist in response.

“Sensei!?” Naruto called out behind him, but his protests went unheeded. Iruka was on a mission and he had every intention of finishing it.

As the kiss went on, Tenzo pulled Iruka flush against his chest and moaned softly against his lips. It was intoxicating. The kiss with Gai early had been so beautiful and quick, but this was so much more. Deep and passionate. Never ending.

He loved everything about it.

“Meh, are you two done?” Opening his eyes Iruka glared over at Kakashi. Now leaning into Gai’s body, the Copy Ninja looked like he was in paradise with Gai’s arms holding him close.

Breaking away from the kiss, Iruka laid his head down against Tenzo’s shoulder and chuckled. “On one condition,” he smiled, “You and Tenzo have to come out for Dango with us. Take a break for the night.”

“Can you take the month off?” Naruto grumbled behind them “that’s how long I'll need to forget I saw Captain Yamato kissing Iruka Sensei.”

Rolling his eyes, Iruka turned around in Tenzo’s arms and reached out to flick Naruto in the nose. “Or you could come with us and we could stop for Ramen on the way,” he offered “I’m sure all four of you could use some food in your bellies.”

As if on cue Naruto’s stomach started to growl at the mention of Ramen.

“That does sound like a good idea,” Kakashi agreed “We have been working quite hard.”

Iruka pretended that he didn’t hear the soft ‘bullshit’ Tenzo whispered behind him. There was no doubt that when Kakashi said ‘they’ had been working hard, that it was really Naruto and Tenzo putting in all of the work while Kakashi relaxed. It was just who he was, and Iruka loved that about him.

Even if it did get on his nerves sometimes.

#Kakashi Hatake #Iruka Umino #Maito Gai #Tenzo Yamato #Kakairuyamagai #This one was so fun to write XD #i loves it #25 days of kisses

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