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stevethehairington · 1 year

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i’ve seen so many fics and threads and posts about virgin eddie who comes way too fast the first time he and steve do anything even slightly heavier than some light making out, which i LOVE — don’t get me wrong

but, consider:

virgin eddie who comes way too fast the first time he and steve do anything even slightly heavier than some light making out, who was so focused on trying (and failing) not to come too soon, who is so embarrassed in the aftermath of doing just that, that he doesn’t even realize that steve ended up beating him to the punch.

they’re on the couch in eddie’s trailer. wayne’s out so they have the whole place to themselves.

steve’s sitting with his spine pressed against the back of the couch, and he’s got a lapful of eddie. eddie’s knees are on either side of steve’s thighs, digging in high by the crease of his hip, and he’s poised above steve, holding himself up.

his arms are around steve’s neck, and steve’s are around his waist — low on his waist, as in, almost groping his ass low.

steve’s chin is tilted up and eddie’s is tilted down so their lips can meet in the middle in a heated kiss. a messy kiss. wet and hot and a little bitey at times and a lot overwhelming. steve’s mouth is something else. warm and velvety, sweet and sure. he knows how to use his tongue, and he’s not holding back with it.

eddie’s trying his hardest not to blow his load right then and there.

this is the furthest they’ve gone yet, this high intensity, borderline bump and grind makeout session — because that’s what it is. a borderline bump and grind.

in this position, eddie’s dick is caught between them, still tucked away in his pants, but trapped between his own body and steve’s abdomen. every time steve shifts, his stomach brushes against the bulge in eddie’s pants, and eddie nearly whines from how good that ghost of a touch feels. he can’t help himself when he rocks forward, just a little, just enough, desperately seeking out that delicious friction. he can feel steve below him, too. the tent in his pants just grazing eddie’s ass every time he moves.

it’s driving him insane, and eddie is seconds away from exploding.

and then — oh, oh shit. fuckingfuckfuckfuck.

eddie explodes.

far too soon. christ, steve didn’t even get a goddamned hand on him. his pants didn’t even come off — hell, the fly didn’t even get undone!

eddie breaks the kiss and buries his face into steve’s neck, breathing heavily against the soft skin there. hiding his embarrassment where steve can’t see it.

steve, for what it’s worth, doesn’t seem to notice. not at first, anyways. one of his hands slides up eddie’s back, his touch soothing, while the other stays against eddie’s hip. “shit, eddie,” steve breathes into his hair.

when eddie doesn’t say anything, doesn’t move from steve’s neck — that’s when steve notices something’s up.

“eddie?” he asks. “hey, what’s wrong?”

eddie groans. shakes his head. doesn’t move.

“eddie,” steve repeats, drawing his hand back down eddie’s back. “talk to me, come on. what is it? did i do something?”

and jesus, no. steve didn’t do anything but be his perfect, sexy, stupid self.

well. time to face the music.

with another muffled groan, eddie pulls his face from steve’s neck. it’s burning, flaming, so red that he probably matches the blanket spread over the arm of the sofa.

“i fucking— i didn’t fucking last, okay? i shot off like a god damn fucking firecracker in, like, ten seconds flat, jesus christ.”

he shoves his hands over his face then, not wanting steve to see how embarrassed he is. how fucking humiliated.

only, steve doesn’t laugh. doesn’t tease eddie. he doesn’t even try to console him, either. instead, he curls his fingers around eddie’s wrist and tugs at his hands until he can pull them away from his face. he drags one down to his own crotch. presses eddie’s palm against the front of his shorts and— oh. they’re wet. like he — like steve came in his pants too.

just as quickly as eddie.

oh.

“you know, if you made it ten seconds flat, i must’ve only made it five,” steve tells him, and the thing is — the thing is. he means it. he’s serious about it.

holy fuck.

“you—”

steve nods, before eddie can finish that thought. “yeah,” he says. “i fucking did. because of you. because you’re so fucking hot, eddie. and you were just— just moving that like, right in my lap, and that was just, fuck, way too much — in a good way. in the best way. i just— couldn’t handle it.”

steve’s cheeks are rosy, like maybe he’s a little embarrassed about it too. but that sparkle in his eye, that smile stretching that pretty mouth of his — he looks pleased. delighted, even. like coming in his pants — eddie making him come in his pants — in less than thirty fucking seconds is the highlight of his god damn day.

what really gets eddie, is that it probably is.

“you’ve got nothing to be embarrassed about,” steve promises, reading eddie without him having to even say a thing. “i like it when you ‘shoot off like a god damn firecracker’,” he echoes eddie’s words back to him. “it’s hot. it makes me feel fucking good, eddie.”

“oh,” eddie breathes. he hadn’t considered that.

“besides,” steve says, letting go of eddie’s wrist so he can snake his arm back around his waist — so he can dip his hand back down to his ass. “we’ve got plenty of time to work on your stamina.”

“yours too, apparently,” eddie shoots back, finding some of that confidence he usually carries in spades, letting a grin unfurl across his mouth.

steve barks out a laugh. “mine too,” he agrees. his hand slips into the back pocket of eddie’s jeans and cups his ass through the fabric. he gives it a squeeze and quirks an eyebrow. “race ya?”

eddie’s laugh is swallowed by steve’s mouth as he recaptures it into another searing kiss.

oh yeah, eddie thinks, nipping on steve’s bottom lip, giving his hips an experimental roll that pulls a groan out of steve, lets have some fun with this.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #mack writes #macks ficlets

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sprout-fics · 9 months

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Humbly requesting the stay the night prompt of “wait…you’ve been here all night?” Pairing whatever. Just wanting to see this written out 💜

When you wake, the world feels like it’s trying to hammer you back unconscious.

“Shit…” You say immediately following your groan, pressing the heel of your palm to your eyes to quell the horrible pulsing pain there. The headache feels like it’s trying to carve inside your skull, and you can taste bile still on your lips, tacky in your mouth.

The hell happened last night? You think blearily, blinking in the brightness of late morning sunlight that filters through your curtains. It’s too bright, but when you twist to try and draw them closed your body aches in protest.

You try to recall the evening from the night before, recalling your giggling laughter as Soap slung an arm around your shoulder and dragged you over to the dance floor of the club. He and Gaz had belted out the lyrics to the songs, muffled by the pump of the speakers, had stumbled over to the bar and ordered more drinks. The rest is a dizzying haze of color and light, but judging from your clothes crumpled and the foul taste in your mouth, you can judge it didn’t go well.

“Fuckin hell…” You groan at a fresh wave of throbbing at your temples. Yet your stomach rumbles, empty and biting at your insides, and at last it forces you from bed, stumbling down the stairs of your flat towards the kitchen.

Yet as you enter inside you’re startled to find a gigantic, looming figure in a dark hoodie, mask bunched around his nose as he sips from a mug that seems far too small for his massive hands.

“Ghost?” You squeak in surprise, bracing in the doorway with shock clear across your face.

Ghost looks up at you, dark eyes not smudged with paint and clear behind his plain black balaclava. He doesn’t look surprised to see you at all, unlike you.

“Was beginning to wonder if you were dead.” He remarks flatly, holding your gaze for a long moment, just enough to make your cheeks burn. You’re still dressed in your clothes from last night, hair messy and makeup likely smudged to shit. Yet Ghost appears entirely nonplussed, at last turning towards the kettle.

“You don’t remember.” He observes, and when you shake your head you groan, the motion far too much for your hangover headache. He glances over his shoulder at you, nodding with meaning towards a chair at the kitchen table.

“Where’s Johnny…Gaz?” You ask as you gently lower yourself down, cradling your head in your hands.

“Probably still bollocksed.” Ghost declares, turning and leaning on the counter as the kettle simmers behind him. “They were bog-faced by the time they called me. Said you were fallen from grace, from what I could make out.”

You knew that much, can tell from the way your stomach distantly rolls with discontent. It doesn’t explain why he’s here.

“So what?” You ask, rubbing your temples. “You helped me home?”

Ghost shrugs, mouth quirking with a hint of amusement in a rare glimpse of his expression. “Held your hair while you got sick, made you drink some water, kept you from texting your ex…joking.” He supplies at your aghast expression. “Settled down on your couch to make sure you didn’t wander out into the streets.”

You blink at that, raising your head from your hands and snapping to look at him. “Wait…you’ve been here all night?”

Ghost shrugs again, but this time there’s a strange ounce of guardedness to it, like he’s reluctant to admit he kept watch.

“...and Soap and Gaz?” You venture, and that makes the wry, barely sinister smile return.

“Told ‘em to bugger off. Might have to go hunting in some alleys for them later.”

You aren’t sure whether to laugh or be horrified with the dryness of his tone, half-convinced he’s telling the truth. Before you can ask, the kettle whistles behind him and Ghost turns, pouring the hot water into a second mug.

“Bloody sergeants.” He sighs, a little irritated. “Should have never let them take you out. Can’t be trusted when they’re sloshed.”

There’s a tone there that’s frustrated, and rather than it sitting unhappily in your chest it instead makes you smile.

He was worried.

Ghost turns, sets the mug of tea on the table before you, his hand covering the top. Yet when you reach for it he doesn’t move, and you glance up to see his severe stare leveled down at you.

“No more getting pished.” Ghost tells you severely in a low murmur, and you grimace, duck your head in a rightful amount of shame.

“No more drinking with the sergeants.” You recite dutifully, and Simon huffs a sound that almost feels like a chuckle.

He stands over you, arms crossed as you blow at your tea, watches as you finish it, and you feel warm under his gaze.

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #ghost x reader #ghost x you #simon riley x you #stay the night writing prompts #OK BUT I REALLY LIKED THIS ONE #I love Simon's sarcastic and kind of biting humor it's so fun to write #drabbles

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peachesofteal · 10 months

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okay okay I’m the anon who sent in the ask about if Simon would’ve chased Darling and like…now you have me intensely needing that AU where he chases her, carries her back, and ties her to the bed 😈

AND wondering how they even got her to the flat in the first place?? Like even Darling is confused, so it must’ve been that quick for Simon and Johnny to get her from the hotel back home for her to wonder how the hell she got back there

Sorry sorry I’m just so obsessed with Dead Disco and all these possible AUs and different scenes and scenarios have me going absolutely FERAL

I could be very well tempted to write "tying to the bed" au but also, loved this opportunity to revisit Darling and the guys between chapters three and four, when she was incredibly vulnerable and in a difficult mental space. So, thank you. All my love to you! 🩵

Canon for Dead Disco - takes place between Chapters 3 and 4. 18+ Mature themes. No smut but Darling doing darling things (eating issues, alcohol use, anxiety, depressive episode, etc.) Mentions of prescription medication.

“Do you have any clothes?” Johnny asks, rubbing your shoulder softly. You nod and point to the bag that sits haphazardly on the chair. Simon rifles through it while Johnny works the towel in your hair, trying to get it as dry as possible. You sit still for him, unmoving, and it hurts when he remembers the way you were only two months when he washed your hair, giggling against him, relaxed and happy while he massaged his fingertips into your scalp, carefully making sure everything was rinsed from roots to ends.

Something rattles in Simon’s hands, and it draws your attention, your head whipping to where he’s got a bottle of pills in his hand, a full bottle, and Johnny smothers his grimace. Simon puts it back in your bag without saying anything, but the silence speaks for itself. You haven’t been taking your meds.

“I’m sorry.” You lament, voice choked with tears, and Johnny pulls you into his chest, smoothing a hand over your hair.

“Shhh. It’s alright, we know.” His heart breaks for you, for what he knows is going on in your head, for how you must feel. Abandoned. You felt abandoned by them. You felt like you were on the outside. You felt left behind. He swallows the guilt, not allowing his own unsteady emotions to take over, instead choosing to finish with your hair and coaxing you out of your robe to get changed.

“Are we…” you begin but trail off, and he holds the t shirt that Simon pulled from the bag towards you. “really going to get a new place?” you finish once your head pops through the hole, and he realizes it’s Simon’s t shirt. You were wearing his own when you answered the door, and he wonders how much of your bag is actually their clothing.

“Yes, darling.” Simon answers. “But first we need to get you home.” You stare at him kind of blankly, a little void-like, before you blink and nod slowly.

“Okay.”

“Okay? You’ll let us take you home?” Simon clarifies, because he needs it. Johnny knows, he needs to hear it, the permission, the allowance for what comes next.

Control.

“Yes.” You whisper. Simon looks at him, and it’s all Johnny needs to understand. Stand down. Let me handle it. Lock step. Johnny nods.

They get the hotel room together pretty quickly. You sit on the bed with your legs crossed the entire time, eyes burning a hole in the wall, vacancy still present there, unmoving until Simon prompts you, encourages you to stand, where Johnny hesitantly offers you his hand, to hold. Take it. Take it, please darling. Trust me. I’m here. I’m right here.

You stare for a long moment, before you’re finally clutching onto him, letting his fingers intertwine with yours as he moves you towards the door.

When the three of you get to the elevator, you falter. You step away from the both of them, letting go of Johnny’s hand, panic rising through you, your eyes darting between them and the elevator.

“Darling.” Johnny tries to reach for you, but you step back.

“I-“ you gasp, and then press your palm over your heart, like it aches, like you’re physically hurting. “I d-don’t know what’s wrong with me.” You sob, the sound tearing into Johnny, shredding him apart and he gapes at you, momentarily confused. No, no no. Come back to us. “I don’t- I don’t know.” Simon moves, fast, into your orbit, wide palm streaking across the dead air to hold onto you, pulling you into his chest while gripping your neck. Not hard, not enough to hurt, but enough to act as the fail-safe, the thing that they turn to sometimes when presented with no other choice. The shutdown button. It settles you easily, gently, and pulls you back into yourself in moments like these. “I’m sorry.” You blubber, while Simon walks you backwards, slowly, until you’re pressed against Johnny, and his arms come around you easily.

“Stay with us, darling. Stay here. With us.” He coaches you, trying to keep you present, keep you calm while kneads his fingers against your shoulder. He vaguely remembers the still cold, half drank beer that was sitting in the dresser in your room, and it clicks together a bit more, why you’re so upset in this moment, compared to the tired, subdued, near catatonic state you’ve been in for the last hour. Alcohol is a depressant. And for you, and others who struggle similarly, it can make or break you. It can leave you feeling anxious for days after over consuming, can make your heart hurt and your brain confused that much more easily when you’re vulnerable like this. Johnny knows this. “Love, look at me.” He taps your jaw while Simon shuffles your bag back onto his arm and presses the elevator button, all the while still rubbing your neck. You peek up at him, face still half burrowed in his chest, and he takes the opportunity to ask. “Were you drinking earlier?”

“Yeah.” You whisper. “I’m so-“

“Don’t.” Simon soothes you. “Don’t apologize, darling. You’re okay. Everything’s alright now. We’re going to get you home, and get you into bed. Maybe something easy to eat if you feel up to it, okay?”

“Okay.” You mumble. You keep yourself pressed into Johnny and he can’t help but soak it up, loving the feeling of you in his arms, safe, here, with him. Not gone. Not MIA. Here.

You fall asleep in the car. Johnny holds you in the backseat, the entire time, and nobody speaks. Simon occasionally checks on him via the rearview mirror, and then reaches his hand behind the driver’s seat to squeeze Johnny’s knee. It’s a comfort, and Johnny just wants to fast forward until the three of you are together, at home, in bed.

He wakes you when they pull into the parking garage, managing to rouse you enough to get you into the elevator, and by the time the doors are opening on their floor, you’re fully awake, your hands twisted together while you walk. He breathes deeper, breathes easier, when the front door opens, and he walks through, turning to coax you through the doorway with an outstretched hand and open palm, as Simon stands with every muscle tense, his eyes not blinking, not willing tear his gaze away from where you linger, and he knows its because he is afraid you'll bolt. Johnny's not sure he could keep him from chasing you down at this point, and when he glances at him again, he sees how his body is thrumming with nervous energy, ready to break into a sprint at a split second’s notice.

Come on, love. Come inside.

“Darling?”

#peaches asks #peaches writes #dead disco #ghost x soap x reader #soap x ghost x reader #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you #john soap mctavish x reader #john soap mctavish x you #simon ghost riley #simon riley #john mactavish #simon riley x reader #johnny mactavish x reader

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dpr-stay · 7 months

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Dino Slippers and Wooden Cabins.

Charles Leclerc x Reader

Warnings: she's unedited, omg so much crack. WC: ~2.6K

I wanted to write and yes, it's shit, and yes, it's crack, and yes, I hate it. but what can you do? it got kinda sentimental towards the end, but the closing lines terrible.

also don't do what the reader does, be safe when you're in a cabin alone.

A knock at your cabin door caused you to look up from the TV. The firelight cast from the fireplace danced around the wooden room, reflecting on your drawn blinds and making you blink. You waited for a second before turning back to your TV, wincing as you saw one of the main characters trip and fall.

You were quickly distracted from your show when the person at the door knocked again. Seriously? You take a week away from work in an isolated cabin in the snow to not be bothered by people and this is what happens. A random person knocking on your door in the middle of the night. In the middle of nowhere. While you were alone.

Maybe you should heed the warnings your friends had given you and not open the door, certifying that you wouldn’t be caught by some lunatic or something. That thought unnerved you, what if the person knocking on your door was an escaped prisoner or even a murderer? You shivered despite the warmth from the fire heating you.

Your friends had all exchanged glances when you’d told them of your holiday plans, side-eyeing each other so that one of them would try and make you not go. Lily, one of your friends since you were little, had sighed before standing up and saying that you probably shouldn’t travel solo. You had immediately protested, waving off her concerns and saying you’d take your mum’s dog, Popcorn, as sort of a guard dog.

Popcorn who now stood shaking in the corner, glancing between you and the door with wide eyes. Right now, you were unsure why you thought you could bring a Papillion as a guard god, but past-you had wanted to take this holiday so bad that you were eager to think that an axe-murderer could be dispelled by one of the ugliest, smallest, and most rancid looking dog’s you’d ever seen.

That was a joke, Popcorn wasn’t rancid, just crusty (as your mother lovingly called him.) The way spit hung from his jaw, wobbling everytime he shook made you breathe through your teeth, subconsciously wondering how Popcorn got on the family christmas card instead of you.

Another knock on the door made you sigh before standing up and making your way to the large wooden door. You placed a hand on the handle, turned the lock, and opened the door to a sight that was worse than you could have even imagined.

A head of wavy brown hair, slightly ruffled, tilted upwards to reveal stunning blue eyes. An easy smile settled over his face when you made eye-contact, his hands bunching in his pockets drawing your attention to his snow-dusted puffer jacket.

“Hi,” He said, his nose and eyes bright red, showing how the cold had been affecting him. You could only look on in horror as he shook his head, his hair whipping around as though he was in a movie, and a few dollops of snow cascaded from his hair.

It was worse than a murderer, it was a hot man.

You immediately felt a heat begin to rush to your face. You could handle a crazed, knife-wielding psycho, but you couldn’t handle attractive men. It was a well known fact within your friend group, you made a fool of yourself in front of every mildly-hot guy.

Whether it be tripping over your feet in highschool and falling flat on your face in front of a long-time crush or trying and failing to chat up a guy at a bar, you’d always return to your group of friends, tail securely between your legs and dragging your feet.

Hell, your friends had even tried to fix it for you. Lily had set you up on countless dates, none of them working because as soon as you made eye-contact, you couldn’t speak and you ended up being mute for the entire 30 minutes a guy stayed. Her boyfriend, Alex, found it to be the funniest thing, laughing at you (goodnaturedly, he’d assured you one time after you gave him the stink eye) everytime you recounted one of your increasingly unfortunate stories.

So now, out in the freezing cold and looking at one of the most beautiful people you’d ever seen in your life, you knew something would go wrong and you’d make yourself seem like a dunce. You didn’t have to wait long, as his eyes cast downwards and you were reminded of the fact the only pajamas you’d brought on your trip were a cheapie set that you’d bought for five bucks at some random retail store. The issue with them was that they were clearly designed for kids, dinosaurs decorating every inch of the fabric.

At the time you’d hadn’t minded that they’d probably been made for degenerate adults, only happy to snag a bargain, but now you were really regretting it. Regretting it even more as the man’s eyes dropped down to your slippers, accompanying dino claws that you’d laughed at when you’d put them on earlier. Now you were cursing yourself for your whimsy, eyeing the clearly expensive fabric that made up the man’s scarf wound so tightly around his neck. His eyes climbed you, reaching your face before he made eye-contact again.

“Uhm, my car broke down and this is the only place for several hundred kilometers. My friend Alex said that one of his friends was staying around here and that I could pop in.” The man explained, the friendly smile never dropping from his face. Holy fuck he has an accent as well.

As if timed perfectly, a ding sounded on your phone, causing you to reach for it. A message icon with Alex’s name was on your home screen, reading further when you opened it that ‘a friend of mine might show up for the night because of his car breaking down. I hope that’s ok.’ You could only stare at your phone. As though he was waiting for the read receipt to pop up, Alex then sent another message.

‘Thank me later.’

Having enough of that, you closed your phone and shoved it rather forcefully into your pocket. You plastered a smile onto your face and turned to the man.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realise you were coming. I probably would’ve… gotten changed.” You trailed off, the smile on the man’s face quickly changing to one of amusement. Trying to rationalise that he was laughing at your joke and not your outfit, you moved to the side of the doorframe and welcomed him in with a sweeping hand.

He took a few steps into your rented cabin before you closed the door, the coldness of the night getting shut out in place for the heat from your cabin. The man’s eyes took the place in, sweeping over the log walls and the tv that was still on. He nodded his head slightly as though agreeing with your choice of programming.

“Would you like a tea?” You asked, desperate to try and be in solitude for a few minutes. He turned to you and nodded with a thankful smile. Jesus that smile was about to be the death of you. You quickly scurried off into the small kitchen, boiling the kettle and then releasing a stream of air yourself.

Oh god. He was really, really attractive. How were you supposed to live peacefully, this was your holiday after all. You tilted your head back till you were glaring at the ceiling, before snapping it down and whipping out your phone.

When the kettle stopped boiling, you set down your phone, mildly satisfied with the amount of mean emojis and phrases you’d sent to Alex. The ding from the kettle made you quickly grab two mugs before debating on either earl gray or english breakfast, two of the complimentary items included in the cabin. Unable to decide because both contained caffeine, you reached into a cupboard and grabbed out two sleepytime tea bags. The good stuff, you thought affectionately as you bobbed the tea bags up and down, before grabbing both mugs and walking back into the living room.

The man stood up from the couch where he was sat as you rounded the corner and grabbed the tea from you with a ‘Thank you’ before sitting down. The couch itself wasn’t entirely fantastic, it was quite small and very hard. On the first day you’d arrived, you had launched yourself onto the couch in a small way of celebration that you had a holiday, only to roll off and a light bruise to form the next day.

“I’m Charles, by the way.” The man spoke up and you looked at him before nodding and smiling. He kept looking at you till you finally got the cue and jolted a little. You introduced yourself and Charles nodded, repeating your name while glancing around the space. He took a sip of his tea.

“Alex says that this was your holiday,” He mused before looking back to you. “In that case, I’m sorry to interrupt it.” He spoke calmly and you shook your head.

“No, it’s ok. It was getting a little boring anyways.” You promptly lied, if not just to make him feel a bit better. He nodded, obviously not convinced. You both sat there in silence before Charles made to take the puffer off.

You watched for a second before thinking it was too weird and taking a sip of your tea. Immediately you could tell that Charles had skewed tastebuds as you felt your tongue burn. Oh my god. You held yourself back from spitting it out or pouring it back into the cup, deciding it was too disgusting to do in front of Charles.

You looked around, only to see Charles, arms bared and looking at you curiously. Ashamedly, you weren’t exactly looking at his face, seeing the way his arms flexed around the mug. It took you five seconds before you started coughing on the liquid in your mouth, quickly standing up as Charles reacted. He stretched a hand around your shoulders, his eyebrows drawing.

“Are you ok?” He asked, rather simply as though he was unsure about what exactly was happening.

You only nodded, your face scrunched together before you finally swallowed. The liquid burned your throat on the way down. A gasp left you when you opened your mouth before you quickly started fanning your mouth.

Getting the message, Charles moved to where he assumed the kitchen was, returning with a glass of water. He strode towards you, looking strangely determined before that was completely wiped away when the sound of a yelp was heard.

Except it didn’t come from Charles. Not even when his eyes widened and he was suddenly slipping, going down and taking the glass of water with him. The water splashed up when he hit the floor, the only sound audible being the barking of Popcorn as he jumped around Charles. You were stood still, jaw on the floor as Charles groaned.

You took a second to regather the events. A stranger showed up at your door, you made tea, you burned your mouth, Charles took his puffer off, he went to get you water, he stood on Popcorn and then accidentally tipped a whole glass of water over his head.

After five seconds of silence you rushed over to Charles, variations of “I’m sorry!” slipping free from your mouth. You pulled him up into a sitting position, resting him against the wall. Your mouth felt completely useless, burnt to a crisp, while you placed a hand on Charles’ wet shoulder.

He took a second or two before rolling his head on his shoulder to look at you. You were crouched at your knees, looking at him in concern. He looked at your knees, taking in the triceratops front profile printed on both of your knees before looking at your face

“You know,” He started, his voice more subdued than before. “Your mouth isn’t the only hot thing in this room.” You rolled off your knees and onto your butt, completely gobsmacked. Was he flirting with you after your dog nearly killed him?

You could only look at him, jaw slightly agape as he made continued eye contact with you. A different look, one that hadn’t been displayed during his non-stop smile fest a few minutes prior, flitted over his face for a second. After a few more seconds of you sitting there in shock, he spoke up.

“I’m sorry, have I read the situation wrong?” He asked hesitantly and you could only look on in abject disbelief. What on earth was going on, why had this hot man who was friends with Alex shown up and started flirting with you whilst you were clad in dinosaur pj’s?

Alex.

You stood up. What were the chances that Alex had sent one of his friends to fuck with you. Probably very low, he was a nice guy, but there was literally no other reason this incredibly handsome man would take a look at you hand-fanning your mouth and decide to start throwing out pickup-lines.

Charles looked up at you curiously as you were silent. It didn’t make sense though, Alex wasn’t cruel. He always seemed as though he wanted the best for you. Maybe he was two-faced? But no, why would he fuck with you?

“I’m sorry, have I made you uncomfortable?” Charles piped up and you looked down at him. He seemed sheepish.

“That wasn’t my intention. You just seemed to be interested,” you both cringed, him at using that word, and you at the fact that he’d caught you, “so I thought I’d y’know. Let you know it was reciprocated.”

“Huh?” Was the only thing you could manage.

“Should I go back to my car?” Charles asked, placing a hand down to lift himself up and stand. You, in a split-second decision, shook your head. Charles looked at you.

“Uhm, you can take my bed for the night.” You decided to shake yourself off and completely ignore the events that had transpired.

Charles then shook his head. “No, I can’t take the bed. It’s your cabin.”

You really weren’t in the mood to argue and endure a back and forth so you just shrugged.

“Fine, let’s share it then.” Ignoring how forward that seemed, you just turned around and lumbered to the bedroom, opening the door to the kingsized bed. Charles followed after a second, he seemed to be collecting himself, standing in the doorway.

“I’m ready for bed so I’ll just hop in after I go around and turn everything off.” You said and moved through the doorway. You ignored his incredibly close presence as much as you could.

After a quick sweep of the cabin, turning everything off and closing Popcorn in the cage your mum had insisted you bring, you returned to the bedroom. You found Charles lounging on your side of the bed, under the covers and scrolling on his phone.

When you walked in, he turned it off and placed it on your side table. You chose not to mention that it was your side and just settled for the other. You turned off the light and made your way to the other side, slipping off your slippers and rolling under the covers.

A few minutes had passed of your staring into the darkness, Charles’ breathing cluing you in that the man hadn’t fallen asleep either.

“Charles.” You called out into the darkness and you felt the covers move a little.

“Yeah?” His voice called out.

“Did you actually mean it?” You asked.

A few seconds passed and you felt Charles roll over, causing you to roll over as well. You made eye contact, a small ray of light from the moon coursing through the blind and landing on Charles's face.

“Yeah.” He said simply, his smile stretched across his face. You nodded before starting to smile too.

“Cool.” You said dumbly and Charles laughed. “Yeah, cool.” He responded, the warmth that leaked into voice causing your smile to grow wider.

it's so bad but i wanted to post something so here it is

#f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #formula one x reader #f1 oneshot #formula one imagine #f1 imagine #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc fanfic #yipee!!

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threadsun · 1 year

Note

Hello! So, this may be a kinky one so feel free to skip if you don’t like it!

But uh, can I request for some headcanons about the sdj boys doing oral for their fem.S/O,,,? Please !

As someone who has been active in my local bdsm scene for years, it's so funny to me that you thought this might be too kinky for me 😂

But yeah, of course!!

Content: oral sex, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, begging, praise, edging

Jack:

Oh is he generous~

He could spend hours between your thighs, tongue on your clit, fingers pumping slowly in and out of you as he draws orgasm after orgasm from your body

Tangle your fingers in his hair. If you want a little more control, you can use it to push him where you want him to go. And if you don't... well, it's a good idea to have something to hold onto anyway

He won't stop until you tap out. He'll find your limit and keep pushing it until you use your safeword

Seriously, however long you can go for, he can match. He doesn't need to breathe either, so his mouth will be on you for as long as you can stand it

He's especially fond of going down on you when you're stressed. He wants to be the one to drive all the thoughts from your brain and replace them with the feeling of his tongue deep inside of you

He's a tease. He likes to make you beg for him. He always starts by teasing you over your panties, hot breath on your thighs and tongue pressing flat against the front of them until you're begging him to eat you out

If you try to muffle your sounds with your hand, he'll pin both of your wrists to the bed while he goes down on you. He wants to hear exactly how good he's making you feel

Ian:

When you first start dating, he doesn't really know what he's doing

He's eager! He's got the enthusiasm! He just needs a little guidance from you about what you like best

But that's not a bad thing! It means you can train him to eat you out exactly how you like it. Once he learns, he'll be perfect for you, he'll know exactly how to make you squirm for him

He loves to kneel between your legs when he eats you out. You, sitting on the edge of the bed, or on the couch, or on the kitchen counter. And him, kneeling between your legs, looking up at you like you're his god

The best way to describe him generally is desperate, and this includes eating you out. He eats you out like a man starved. Rest your legs on his shoulders and he'll make out with your cunt like it's the only thing he lives for

And oh god does he get hard from it. The taste of you is enough to get him horny. Hell, even the smell of your pretty pussy makes him moan

The best way to tease him and get him to beg for you is spreading your legs and telling him you'll let him eat you out if he's a very good boy for you

Seriously, he can't get enough of you. He's absolutely pussywhipped and he'd do anything to get between your legs again

Shaun:

This man is a tease

Seriously, he's mean. He wants to hear you beg for him, cry for him, absolutely desperate for him before he so much as touches you

Before his tongue is put to work, he uses it to whisper the filthiest things you've ever heard, lips brushing your ear as he feels you shiver against him

And when he finally gets between your thighs, he'll give you a cheshire cat grin before licking a stripe right over your pussy. He loves the way your toes curl as the tip of his tongue flicks against your clit

He loves watching you ride his face. Peeking up from between your legs as you bounce on his tongue. Something about that angle is just so perfect~

He'll hold your thighs, pulling you back onto his tongue when you try to pull away because you're overstimulated. He's mean and he likes to make you whine and squirm

His favourite sounds from you are when you're begging. Whether it's for more or for mercy, he's not picky.

He just loves to experiment and see what reactions he can draw out of you by doing different things! He studies you very carefully to figure out exactly what you like

Nick:

The only time his mouth is away from your pussy when he's eating you out is to praise you

He'll tonguefuck you through your orgasm and only pull away long enough to rasp out "good girl" before lapping up your cum with a moan

He's vocal when he eats you out. Moaning, humming, growling if you try to pull your hips away before he's done with you. You can tell exactly how he's feeling

His fingers dig into your thighs, keeping them around his head so he can get his tongue deeper into you. He can never seem to get close enough, deep enough, he's always trying harder

He loves to edge you. Bringing you to the brink of orgasm over and over and over, only to pull away and warm your clit with his mouth while he waits for your orgasm to subside so he can build it up again

You have to earn every orgasm you have. If you don't reward him with moans, thighs clenching around him, fingers tugging at his hair... well, then you don't get to cum!

He's patient. He can spend hours and hours teasing you with his tongue, rolling his tongue stud over your clit and fingering you. And you won't get to cum until he's decided you've earned it

But once he's decided you've earned it? He'll make you cum over and over until you're a shaking mess on the bed

Joseph:

He's a very generous lover

His favourite way to eat you out starts with him pushing you up against the wall to make out

And once you're moaning against his lips, grinding against him, needy... Then he sinks to his knees and pulls one of your legs over his shoulder

His tongue is talented. He knows how to get you squirming while he sucks your clit, flicks it, laps at it... And when he brings his fingers into the mix... oh you're fucked

Seriously, when his tongue and fingers work together, he'll have you seeing stars. And once your knees are too weak to keep holding yourself up, well he'll just pull your legs over his shoulders and carry you to the bedroom, still eating you out all the while

He'll throw you onto the bed, getting between your legs and going back to eating you out. He's not going to be done until you're soaked for him. Until you've cum so many times you're numb

His face is drenched by the time you're done, soaked in your cum. And he couldn't be happier about it, licking his lips clean and going on and on about how amazing you taste

And if you'd rather take charge and pull his hair while you ride his face? Well, he'll just be a good boy for you and take it!

Jean:

He takes his time

He starts slow, with hot kisses pressed to your hips, your thighs, the little bit of tummy right above your pussy. He might leave the occasional hickey here and there too

He likes to use his tongue when he's teasing. He'll lick over every mark he leaves, he'll run his tongue along the lines where your hips meet your thighs, he'll lap at your folds teasingly

When he finally gets around to your pussy, he explores every inch of it with his tongue. He starts by lapping at your slit, teasing at your hole, running it around your clit

And then he finally pushes it into you. He tonguefucks you nice and slow, trying to reach every inch of you he can. He can't get enough of you!

He likes to keep you talking while he eats you out. He'll pull away to ask a question, just so he can hear the way your voice shakes and your words get muddled when his tongue presses back into you

He also likes to hold your hands when he eats you out. The only time he'll accept them not being in his hands is if they're tangled in his hair. In that case, give it a tug and he'll moan for you

Seriously though, he'll take hours to build you up and edge you until he finally lets you cum. And then he won't stop

#swwsdj #something's wrong with sunny day jack #sdj jack #sdj ian #sdj shaun #sdj nick #sdj joseph #sdj jean #sunny day jack x reader #ian duff x reader #shaun durand cofer x reader #nick herraras x reader #joseph haberdae x reader #jean laurent x reader #f!reader #sdj headcanons #18+ only #sunshine

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smuttyassholes · 2 months

Text

Happy Belated Valentine's Day from the Assholes (Asshole #6 Writes)

~~The First Time~~ Your first time. Did you think of it often? Yes. Maybe. Or maybe not. At least that's what you tell your friends. Lie to them that you don't care. That "if it happens it happens". Doesn't matter with whom or where. If it's when you were 18 or 25. It was funny when you were 19. Then 24. Not so much when you are in your early 30s and you have barely been kissed. Let alone asked on a date.

And you push it out of your mind. You ''carry on". You get a new bank account, a job. It's just bussing tables, making coffees, minimum wage. You don't care, it's money in your pocket. You get a hole in the wall flat. Your parents try calling, you don't pick up. Ever. And you still don't think about getting laid. Being kissed, being held. Someone bending you over the nearest surface, tasting your skin, biting, licking.Hot breath on your neck spreading you open with hands, fingers, tongue. Then a cock. You don't think about it.

And life goes on. Drones on more like. Some color, some music. Some moments that are worth it. And still don't think about it. One of those endless days though that you spend "not thinking about it", you meet him. You don't know his name at first, his voice even. He is bent over the coffee menu, platinum blond hair falling over his face, long fingers tracing the words. He looks puzzled then disgusted almost. You aren't surprised, the coffee shop was small and the selections were too poor even for your standards. Then you hear a grumble for the first time. "How can there be no espresso for fuck's sake...." Then his face lifts, scanning for a server you presume.

His eyes make you think dragon. Dressed all in black, lips pursed, he could pass as one with the designer expensive watch you notice on his wrist and the most likely expensive thick frames on his face. They draw even more attention to his dragon like eyes and you make your way to him, thinking that, if anything, this will be an interesting encounter to look back on. You stop at his table, notepad and pen at the ready, asking politely. "What can I get you?"

Black eyes. Hazel so dark that it's black surveys you. He hums, then whispers. "Please tell me my eyes deceive me and you actually do offer plain espresso instead of those sugary concoctions from hell." You chuckle under your breath in spite of yourself as you nod then reply (it isn't polite to nod after all). "Yes we do. What will it be?" He sighs in apparent relief as he says "An americano. No water extra ice. To go." "Right away sir. Will that be all?" He nods and you jot down the order, disappearing. You don't generally trouble yourself with making coffees but today you make every single effort not only to make his coffee, but for it to be excellent. You are nervous as hell as you bring the carry out coffee as instructed to the table.

The man has risen, black pea coat pulled back on and buttoned, you catch a glimpse of a tight black turtleneck and then his voice, ice cold like the coffee you were carrying. "Double or nothing. I'm a professional and I don't make mistakes. I get results. My services come with this price tag because of it. You are wasting my time. Either you wire me the difference or I go back home to enjoy this lovely Saturday morning you are ruining for me. Now what's it going to be?"

He turns, taking the iced coffee from your fingers and swirls it slowly, long fingers tapping as he waits for the answer on the other line. He then wraps his (ridiculously full and pouty you suddenly notice) lips around the straw taking a long drag of a drink and humming in approval, following it up with "Language Mister Price. Swiss bank account, as previously discussed. Good day." He hung up and it seemed like his entire demeanor changed if only for a moment. His mouth lifted as he took another long drink and whispered as he set money on the table. "Coffee worthy enough of double the price. Keep the change rosebud."

Then he left.Long black coat billowing behind him, the only color on him his platinum blond hair. That was the day that I started thinking again of what it would be like. The first time. And the face I saw in the dead of night,in my fevered imaginings, in my broken moans,was his.

Author's Note: And with this Namjoon drabble I start introducing my writing in this blog. I have some ideas for this, so if it is liked, please let me know by reblogging and leaving some notes.

More to come!

~ Asshole 6

#bts imagines #asshole 6 writes #asshole 6 #namjoon smut

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gregorovitch-adler · 3 months

Text

What Will I Be, Without You?

John had dozed off on the sitting room sofa of his new flat, covered in his own mess. Worn-out, two-day old clothes, stinking with sweat and alcohol.

It had been a year since Sherlock's death. Well, a year and two months to be exact. John had moved out of Baker Street within two days after Sherlock had jumped off the building. He couldn't bear to live in that place anymore.

Not without being reminded of Sherlock in every single particle of that living space.

Not without thinking he saw Sherlock in public every time he stepped out of the house. Not without going through the entire line of thought and regrets.

Regrets about what could have been, if he had been honest about his feelings for Sherlock when he was alive. About how he called him a machine, hours before he committed suicide. All that.

He knew there wasn't any point in living any more, and absolutely not at Baker Street.

So he'd moved out. Having spent the time of his life with Sherlock for a year and a half, after they'd met, had made him somewhat hesitant to actually to take his own life.

That didn't mean he didn't consider that every now and then. The gun sitting on the coffee table probably had a lot of things to say.

A few hours later, the morning light from the outside hit his eyes and they fluttered open. He must have forgotten to draw the curtains last night.

His head was throbbing with pain as he got up. He winced and held his head in his hands. Must be the hangover from yesterday.

He felt disgusted and sluggish, the smell of sweat and alcohol making his nose scrunch. He turned around to drop his feet on the ground to get up slowly. To go on with yet another dreadful day.

When he looked up, a tall figure dressed in dark clothes greeted him. A man with curled hair, sea-green eyes and an impeccable dress sense. He was holding a bottle of tablets and a glass of water in his hands.

John startled and sat back as he stared at him blankly. The man looked strikingly similar to Sherlock, John thought, as he reached for the gun that he'd left on the coffee table yesterday.

"That would be hardly necessary, John," he said, holding held out the bottle and the glass to John. The voice was unmistakeably Sherlock's. John would know. "You should take these."

John's jaw dropped. He felt some dizziness, and he didn't remember the next few moments or probably hours.

John's eyes opened again and he found himself lying on the sitting room floor, covered with a blanket and a pillow beneath his head. He winced as Sherlock sprinkled some cold water on his face.

"You okay?" Sherlock asked, placing a hand on John's left shoulder.

"You... aren't you..." John was suddenly bolt upright on the floor as he stuttered. "You were dead! I saw it happen, I was right there! How... Sherlock, what the hell!"

Sherlock gazed at him for a bit and lowered his eyes. His lips were compressed too. "I'm sorry, John. Forgive me."

John opened and closed his left hand trying to process all the things he was feeling. His hangover wasn't helping. He massaged his forehead with his hand.

Sherlock Holmes was alive.

John still remembered how he wished Sherlock would stop being dead when he was performing his burial.

Not just that day. John kept hoping (begging) for it to happen every single day since then. He thought about nothing but that only yesterday.

Just another day of his live since Sherlock died.

John knew how impossible it was, but he kept asking Sherlock - who resided in his mind, heart, soul, every part of his body - for the same thing: to stop being dead. And Sherlock was alive after all!

His whole body lightened up from within with joy.

But he dimmed again almost as quickly as he'd lightened up.

A whole year of his life had passed by, grieving for nothing. Everything he went through, all alone, was in vain.

John hissed and grabbed his head with both of his hands.

"Please take this. You're clearly not okay and -"

"You don't bloody get to tell me what to do!" he shouted, aggravating his headache some more. "You leave, make me grieve for more than a year pointlessly, I'm left here feeling like a bloody idiot, and you break into my flat pretending none of that happened? Now you're sorry? Perfect!"

John hissed in pain and snatched the bottle of pills out of Sherlock's hand.

John swallowed a pill and drank the glass of water that Sherlock had placed on the coffee table, before he had sat back defensively.

He got up from the floor and went straight to the bathroom to brush his teeth and take a shower, leaving Sherlock behind in the sitting room on his own.

He spent the whole shower cursing Sherlock mostly in his mind (and a bit out loud) and going through a plethora of conflicting emotions. The whole time they spent together, after all they'd both been through, did that mean nothing to Sherlock? Not as much as it meant to John, apparently.

He scoffed bitterly as he continued to wash himself. Sherlock had probably gone to an adventure. Maybe the case was unusually complicated this time. Or, who knows, he probably solved a lot more than just one case during his time away.

Why didn't he let John accompany him then? Was he really that useless to Sherlock? At least he wasn't dead now.

No. Screw that.

John got out of the bathroom and slammed the door of the attached bedroom. He was getting dressed as quickly as he could, planning to head to the kitchen to make himself some tea and breakfast, all while ignoring the hell out of Sherlock. Probably this would make him leave John's flat.

He opened the door to go to the kitchen.

"John." Sherlock called from behind as he followed him. "John? John, listen to me!" his volume was getting higher.

John was not going to respond. He put on the kettle and looked for some eggs in the fridge.

John couldn't help wonder one thing though: why was Sherlock back now, if he thought John's presence in his life was that useless? What was the point?

Maybe Sherlock needed his expertise in his current case. Yeah, fuck that. He wouldn't even think of helping Sherlock after this.

"John, can you hear me? How long are you going to pretend I'm not here?" Sherlock's tone had become indignant. The audacity! "It's not like I'm invisible!"

John didn't even turn around. "Well, you were. For more than a year. Until yesterday." He kept his voice as cool as possible, suppressing his rage.

He took out the eggs and grabbed a pan from one of the cabinets and began to cook.

It must have been two whole minutes of silence in the kitchen while John watched the things he'd put on the stove. He served those eggs on a plate before pouring some tea in his mug.

He set the things on the kitchen table and sat down to eat, as though this was just any other day, and he was the only sign of life in that dark, lonely flat.

He could feel Sherlock's gaze on his face tangibly. Probably he was waiting for John to make eye contact with him. John shifted in his chair a bit.

Part of him wanted Sherlock to get the hell out of here. Part of him wanted the man to stay.

John sighed as he kept looking at anywhere but Sherlock in the room.

"Fine. If you're going to be like this..." he trailed off began to look here and there for his coat.

John's head snapped up. "If I'm going to be like this? Me? Sherlock you utter-"

"I did it for you," he said, looking at John in the eye with earnestness.

John scoffed as he continued to eat.

Sherlock shook his head with his brows knitted. "I'm not lying. Moriarty had appointed three snipers, threatening to kill three people who were the closest to me. You, Mrs Hudson, and Lestrade."

John looked up at Sherlock again with his lips parted.

"His only condition was that I jump off the building. The keycode that I'd deciphered - it was fake. He told me those three snipers could be called off only by him. And then he shot himself in the mouth."

John placed the silverware on the plate. If Sherlock was to be believed, then... Oh God.

"You tell me. What was I to do then? I could either go ahead with Mycroft's plan that involved faking my death, or I could die for real and never come back. Did you really want the latter, John?"

"Jesus, no! Sherlock, I didn't... I thought you were - I thought you'd gone on with an exciting case or something. An adventure. Without me," he dropped his voice a bit in the last sentence. His stomach gave a pang of guilt.

"Why would I do that?" he asked, with a genuine-sounding confusion in his voice.

John shrugged. "Because you thought I was useless. Maybe you didn't need me anymore."

"Don't be ridiculous," he said and drew a chair for himself, taking a seat across from John on the table. "I always need you."

John swallowed as he picked up his fork again. He wanted to reach out for Sherlock's hand. Not now. "There's some more tea in the kettle," he said instead.

Sherlock waved this off. They gazed at each other and, if John wasn't imagining, there was surely something else he could see in Sherlock's eyes apart from the obvious frustration.

Something that probably reflected John's own feelings for him.

John cleared his throat. "What happened after that? Where did you go?"

"Many parts of the world. Russia, China, and India were some of them. I was trying to dismantle his network from its root. My last location was Serbia, before I came back to London, finally. It took me unexpectedly long to get out of there..." he trailed off and swallowed as he looked away.

"Why?" John took sipped his tea some more.

"Never mind."

"Sherlock," he warned and gave him a hard stare.

Keep me in the dark again and I might actually punch you in the face.

Sherlock seemed to have read his mind, because he looked up at John and took a sharp breath. "They captured me in a confined place. Worse than an average jail. They tied me up. Whipped me, starved me to death, and if I would dare to doze off, they'd whip me some more. I had to live with the smell of my own human waste for a whole month." Sherlock bit his bottom lip.

"Jesus!" he exclaimed in a whisper. He looked down at Sherlock's slim forearms that were placed on the table. He wished to reach for them, but didn't, for some reason. His heart was on fire with anger. "How did you escape?"

"Mycroft showed up," he said briefly. "He managed to set me free. And now I'm here."

"When did you come back?" he asked, knowing nothing else to say.

"Three days ago."

"Why didn't you come here then?"

"I was in hospital the first night."

John nodded, blinking a bit with a strange, stinging sensation in the corner of his left eye.

"Then I was thinking of ways to meet you in person. Explain myself to you," he said and paused for a bit. "John, I know you've been through a lot. But I wasn't out there having fun without you either," he said in a cautious tone, sounding quite gentle.

"I know! Or I know now, at least." John swallowed and got up from his chair, his eggs forgotten on the plate. He went around the table and stopped behind Sherlock. "May I see?"

"John... I don't think-"

"Please?"

Sherlock turned around to face John. He nodded and got up from his chair to take off his suit jacket.

He unbuttoned his shirt slowly and shrugged it off, revealing his sculpted upper body and a completely battered back. Black and blue. Some blisters had appeared, too, on his lower back.

"Jesus Christ," John whispered and felt his eyes welling up. John wanted to find all of those arseholes and kill every single one of them. "You did all that for us?"

Sherlock began to put on his shirt again silently. He tucked it in his trousers. "For you, mainly," he said, in a quite tone.

John couldn't take it anymore. He placed a hand on Sherlock's shoulder, making him turn around and placed his arms around Sherlock's neck. He tried to be careful about his wounds.

Sherlock stiffened for a moment but then he relaxed as he placed his arms around John's waist.

They didn't speak for a long moment. John closed his eyes and sighed.

He turned a bit to breathe in Sherlock's perfume and his natural scent from his jawline and neck, enjoying his proximity for as long as he could.

Their arms were wrapped tight around each other and for the first time in a whole year, John felt alive again. John was living in the moment like anything.

"I'm sorry," John said, breaking the silence in the room.

"What for?"

"For assuming the worst about you," he said in Sherlock's ear, with his nose touching Sherlock's cheek. "For reacting like this when you returned."

Sherlock hummed.

"Who else knows about this?"

"Molly and my homeless network."

"Molly?" John's heart sank.

"She helped me with the plan along with Mycroft. It was only possible because Moriarty deduced the very specific people who were the most important to me. She was excluded from the list." Sherlock cleared his throat. "You were the first person I decided to meet as soon as I was discharged from the hospital after coming back to London."

John sighed in relief, feeling bad about jumping to conclusions again.

Another moment of silence fell in the room. Their breathing was synchronised.

Sherlock turned to face John, who did the same at the same instant. Their eyes locked with their noses touching.

Unsure of who initiated it but now John's mouth was on Sherlock's, and they were kissing. John placed one of his hands through Sherlock's curls and deepened the kiss as Sherlock tilted his head a bit.

They parted after some time and stopped for breath. The way Sherlock looked at him was setting John's whole being on fire with all the things he felt for Sherlock at the moment (always had).

"John," he breathed. "Since when?"

"Always. You?"

"Same." Sherlock leaned in to close the gap between them again.

John gasped with relief and kissed him back, trying to express everything he felt for Sherlock through his fervent kisses.

They found themselves moving to the sitting room. No one broke off the kiss, not until they both sank in the sofa, with John on top of Sherlock.

John moved his mouth along Sherlock's jawline and planted kisses along his neck, getting familiar with what that beautiful, long neck felt like at last.

"I always need you," Sherlock said, repeating his statement from before. "You'll never be useless to me." He grasped for John's jumper around his shoulders and held him tight.

"I see. Thank you for telling me," John said when he stopped kissing him. They looked at each other in the eye again. "I need you too. Right now."

Sherlock furrowed his brows. Then his eyes widened. "Oh."

"Please, can we...?" John trailed off, painfully aware of the tightness in his jeans now.

"John," Sherlock began, clearing his throat and shifting back on the sofa to look at him properly. "Let's not, I'm afraid."

"Oh." John shifted too and they were both sitting on the sofa now, facing each other. John cringed at what he was going to do. He was now getting soft. "Sorry. I shouldn't have -"

"It's not that," he said and took both of John's hands in his own. "You don't have to apologise."

"But what's the problem?" John wanted to know. "D'you think it's a bit too soon? I'll understand." He shrugged.

Sherlock shook his head. "There's no problem. I've never done this before with anyone," he said, gesturing between the two of them. "Never wanted to." He looked away and inhaled deeply. "And never will."

John frowned. "You don't want a... relationship, then?" (Please no.) "Still married to your work?"

"What? No, of course I want that! But not the other thing, what you wanted to do with me a moment ago."

"Oh." He looked down at the space between them.

"I've always been like that. Don't think it's personal."

John looked up at him again. Then he tried to recall the term he'd heard (or read) on the internet in passing for people like Sherlock. Asexual, probably.

Once he remembered that, everything fell in place for him.

John nodded in understanding. He stopped feeling anything negative after that. "That's okay," he said and pulled Sherlock in his arms again.

They arranged themselves a bit and John was lying on the sofa on his back, with Sherlock on top of him.

"Do you still want me?" asked Sherlock, with his face buried in John's neck.

"Of course, I do!" John pulled him closer and kissed him on his cheek. "With you gone for a whole year, dead - at least in my eyes - I was lost. Worthless. Feeling like a vegetable. A rotten one. I used to think about taking my life every other day."

"John!" Sherlock turned to look at him, alarmed.

"Why do you think I have my gun lying around, otherwise?"

"Don't do that again. Don't even think about it. Just, please," he rambled, gripping John tight around his waist.

"I won't anymore. I promise. But just saying. I'll never stop wanting you."

Sherlock kissed him on the forehead and smiled against his skin. "Neither will I."

John sighed in contentment. He could stay on the sofa all day with the love of his life.

"Let's move back in to Baker Street. I can't let you live like this. Please."

"I will. Move back in with you, I mean."

They gazed at each other, with John's heart brimming with fondness and love, and began to kiss again. Softly and slowly this time. There was no rush, after all.

They had the rest of their life to love each other as much as possible.

Tags: @helloliriels @gaylilsherlock @gaypiningshit @totallysilvergirl @lisbeth-kk @jamielovesjam @a-victorian-girl @topsyturvy-turtely @keirgreeneyes @peanitbear @inevitably-johnlocked @catlock-holmes

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hollandsangel · 1 year

Note

For your sleepover, could you do Steve Harrington x reader w/ "waking up to them on the floor" from the first prompt list?

join the sleepover!

sure thing!! i feel like this is a bit softer than it is funny but im not responsible for anything that goes on in my head.

“waking up confused as hell when you hear a loud thump, then trying not to laugh as you find them (just as confused, mind you) on the floor…”

you shiver in your sleep, the absence of steve’s arms wrapped around you leading to the loss of heat. it doesn’t take long for your half-asleep mind to lose consciousness again, simply tugging up the duvet and knocking out within seconds.

that is until you hear a loud thump and immediately shoot up, thinking the worst. first, you imagine a demogorgon, invading your home, then maybe jason banging on the door in search of eddie again, and that just draws a deep sadness from your chest until you go to grab steve and he’s not there.

you look over to his side of the bed in search of him, leaning over just enough to see the top of his head, hair all mussed from sleep.

“baby?” you drone, your voice just as groggy as your mind.

steve doesn’t say anything, so you scooch over to the edge of his side and peer down at him, clocking the confused pout on his mouth, “sweetie, did you fall out of bed?” you ask.

his own voice is gruff and a bit more confused than yours is, “i had a dream,” he starts, half the duvet wrapped around his waist and making it difficult for him to stand or even sit upright.

you get a bit worried then, fully aware of steve’s history with nightmares and night terrors that have plagued his sleep for far too long, “a bad dream?” you ask cautiously, rubbing his forehead gently and pushing rouge hairs from his face.

he shakes his head, and you smile at him, both in relief and humour. he still hasn’t tried to get back into the bed.

“dustin was chasing me,” he croaks, looking afar with his brows pinched together as if he’s trying just as hard as you are to understand what he’d just said, “i don’t know why,” he breathes out, too tired to think about it too hard.

he presses his palm to his forehead for a second and you hear him sigh. “come back to bed,” you mumble, grabbing his wrist to move it away from his face and pull him up as best you can at the awkward angle. steve grunts and wrestles with the duvet, eventually just tossing it on the bed before clambering up. the two of you work together to straighten it out and lay it flat over the mattress. it proves to be difficult, your limbs weak and harder to control from the heaviness of sleep.

finally, you fall back against the pillow and steve huffs, instantly curling around you and tugging you into his chest.

“m’ sorry i woke you up, baby,” you can tell his eyes are closed from the tone of his voice, heavy and slow and barely awake.

“it’s okay,” you yawn, letting your own eyes flutter closed as you snuggle back into him, “steve?” you ask, words all muffled by your pillow.

“hmm,” he hums back.

“i was cold when you were gone,” you aren’t even really aware of what you’re saying, not quite conscious enough to register.

“m’ here now baby,” is the last thing you hear before sleep engulfs you.

#steve harrington #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington drabble #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fic #steve harrington imagine #steve req

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sarcastic-positivity · 5 months

Note

(This is a one-shot I wrote based on the gerry x Tim roomates AU. It ended up a lot longer than I intended, but yk lol.)

Title: Another failed attempt at love

When Tim finally made it to the floor, his flat was on he stomped down the long hallway until he reached the door, where his flatmate, and more importantly, his bed was waiting for him.

He unlocked the door fumbling with his keys out of anger. He felt so stupid, he should've quit dating apps a long time ago but here we are. He shut the door louder than he intended and flinched at the realization. He wasn't sure if Gerry was awake or not, and he didn't want to risk waking that nightmare. Gerry needed his rest and lord help anyone who stand in his way.

But as soon as Tim turned to face the sitting room of his flat, if you could even call it that, he heard a raspy voice come from the unmoving figure sitting on the couch. "That bad huh?"

Gerry was sitting on the sofa, the only source of illumination being the graphics tablet sitting in his lap. His makeup was still on, though slightly smudged. Although Tim wasn't sure if that was intentional or not. Gerrys leather platforms were sitting off to the side in front of the couch as they usually sit, Tim was pretty sure there are dents in the dirty carpet where they sit.

"What are you a bloody vampire? Turn a light on!" Tim flipped the switch to his right and the room lit up. Gerry winced at the sudden light and indistinctly closed his eyes and tried to adjust.

"Unfortunately, no." The Gothic boy said sarcastically from where he sat. "So, did the date go well or not? You seem pissy."

Tim sighed and made his way across the room, "how difficult is it to pay for YOUR BLOODY MEAL!? He offered to pay or me! And then WHOOPS, forgot his wallet!" Tim waved his hands around to accentuate each word. He plopped down next to his flatmate as gracefully as a toddler doing a belly flop. "And I mean, I'm fine with paying for myself, but HE offered to pay! And then I had to pay for us BOTH!?" He continued.

"Wow, you've had a hell of a day." Gerry said mockingly.

But that was lost on the angry man sitting next to him. "Yeah! And he didn't even ask me any questions he just talked about himself and his ex the whole time." Tim sat with his arms crossed like a pouting child, mostly as a joke, but he was genuinely upset. There was a gap of silence where the two men sat in the thick tension filled air.

"Well, anyways, what are you drawing?" Tim broke the silence and leaned over the poorly died black haired man next to him.

"Eh, nothing, I just decided to draw you as a warm-up sketch. I'm gonna add some of the other archive workers." Tim looked into the bright tablet and saw a gorgeous drawing that shared his face. It honestly looked better than Tim did on a good day. It sure as hell didn't look like a bloody warm-up.

"That's amazing" he thought. He didn't realize untill Gerry responded that he had said it out loud.

"I mean, I've done better." Gerry said uncharacteristically shyly.

"Whats with the sudden humbleness? I thought you were good at everything?" Tim said sarcastically, and playfully elbowed his flatmate.

"I'm not good at everything, I'm just better than you." Gerry said with a smug smirk and a look in his eyes that somehow always seemed to make Tim nervous.

"Yeah, right." Tim teased, trying to hide the twisting feeling in his stomach and the rising temperature of his face.

Gerry went back to his drawing when he was finished teasing his flatmate. Tim watched him draw, he always did. But his eyes couldn't help but wonder to the artist. Gerry's dark gray eyes and smuged eyeliner were illuminated by the glowing tablet. The bright screen exentuated his features in a way that made Tim's face grow hotter.

Tim liked his Gothic roommate ever since they got to know eachother. They met through Jon, oddly enough. Apparently Gerry's mom worked in the institute in the 90's or something? Tim didn't really know the details, but based on how Gerry practically flinched each time she was brought up, Tim didn't want to ask. Gerry needed a place to live and Tim was barely affording his flat at the time, so they teamed up and Gerry moved in.

Tim didn't know how difficult it would be to live with the guy. He was only a year or two younger than Tim and he was hot, so he thought he would just jokingly flirt with him, from time to time like he did with everyone else and it wouldn't be a problem. Well little did he know that Gerry was also a huge tease, mostly to Tim which he thought was weird. Tim was really only on the giving end on the overly flirtatious friend, but Gerry would always find ways to knock him off his feet. Tim didn't know he had a thing for goths untill Gerry. Or maybe Tim just had a thing for Gerry.

"See something ya like?" Tim caught himself staring at Gerry's lips, that were twisted up into a smug smirk. That fucking smirk. Tim felt his face grow impossibly hotter as he tried to explain himself.

"I, well, I- I mean" Why was he bumbling like an idiot? He was good at this? This was his thing? He was the one who got people flustered, not the other way around. Tim heard Gerry start to laugh. God he loved Gerry's laugh. It was scratchy yet soft, it was like a shitty knitted jumper. But God it was cute. Tim watched the other man's lips as they laughed free of malice. He found himself leaning towards his gorgeous flatmate looking up into his eyes. Gerry suddenly stopped laughing and made a suprised expression. His pale face grew a bright shade of red as he looked at the man sitting next to him. He took a quick look at his lips then back to his large eyes.

Gerry quickly closed the distance between him and the other man. Tim genuinely couldn't believe he was kissing Gerry Keay. The man who flirted with him for more than a year and never actually made a move. Tim scooted closer trying to deepen the kiss. Gerry pulled away for a moment and before Tim could start to apologize for what he'd done. Gerry quickly moved the tablet from his lap and was back with his lips on Tim's.

Tim lifted his hand and placed it on the back of Gerry's neck. Gerry slightly parted his lips as an invitation and Tim quickly took it. Gerry supported himself on Tim's shoulders and Tim moved his hands to the other man's waist. Gerry was wearing an oversized jumper with a band that Tim didn't recognize, but it didn't really matter because Gerry swiftly pulled it off and threw it behind him. As Gerry moved to continue snogging his flatmate, Tim planted his hand on his chest to stop him.

"Why?" Gerry scrunched his brows in a puzzled expression and Tim continued. "Why are you doing this? Do you actually have feelings for me or is this just a fling?"

Tim was always awful with his words when it mattered most, but he felt he got his point across.

Gerry snickerd at his words and grabbed Tim's face with his tattoo clad hands "Tim Stoker, I have been in love with you for months." Tim lifted his brows in suprise.

"You wot?" Is all he could think of in response. The long haird man sitting next to him laughed, hands still wrapped around Tim's face. He pressed their foreheads together as Tim started to laugh as well.

The two men laughed together for a while. "I just, I never thought you actually had feelings for me." Tim said, the blood instantly flowing to his cheeks.

"I flirt with you all the time!?" Gerry responded throwing his hands in the air dramatically.

"You flirt with everyone!" Tim argued.

"No, no, no, you flirt with everyone. I only flirt with people I'm interested in and people who respond in funny ways. You just so happend to be both." Gerry looked at Tim with a smug expression and had the absolute gawl to wink! At the man who's already practically melting by the fact that the sexy goth he's shared a flat with for a year and a half, is in love with him. Tim felt his blood rushing a little further south than he'd like, so he turned away so as not to have even another problem on his hands.

"I love it when your shy." Gerry says with a smile. Tim turns and immediately grabs him by the neck of his t-shirt and kisses him. Gerry grabs his face and leans into the kiss.

"How's that for shy?" Tim says, pleasantly grinning at Gerry. The other man rolls his eyes and pulls Tim in for another kiss.

"Shut up, you tease."

Omggggg love love love

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girl-of-many-fandoms · 2 years

Text

Sherlock being Sherlock

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Reader

Summary: Sherlock undermines Y/N’s intelligence while helping out on a case.

Warnings: none

First attempt at writing for Sherlock hope you guys enjoy! 😊

MASTERLIST

---

"Shut up would you darling. You're about as sharp as a sack full of soup when it comes to these things-"

"Sherlock-"

"And sadly I don't have the time nor patience to draw a picture using crayons to explain it to you. So make yourself useful by leaving!" Sherlock knocked all the scattered books and papers that littered his desk in frustration, they weren't making any progress in the case they were working and they had hoped that the teacher could be of use but she also hit a block.

"Sherlock! Y/N you don't have to go, he didn’t mean that." John wanted to smack his friend upside his head for speaking to the one woman that meant something to him like she's some piece of garbage.

"He does." Turning on her heels, she grabbed her bag and headed out the door and down the steps, John briefly glared at Sherlock as he chased after her.

"Y/N wait!" She looked over at him as she slipped on her coat to leave. John paused on the second step trying to come up with the right things to say to get her to not walk out the door and quite potentially Sherlock's life.

"He's an ass and says things that shouldn't be said-"

"Like implying that my IQ level is in the bloody trenches, yeah I gathered that."

"He's just Sherlock being Sherlock."

"No, that's Sherlock being an outright twit that doesn't have a filter." Before he could squeeze another word out, Y/N stormed out the door slamming it shut behind her.

"You're wasting time John, she’s of no use to us with our case. We have so much to-" John turned to look at the curly haired man that stood on the landing.

"What the hell was that?! You didn’t have to call her an idiot like that for goodness sake Sherlock, she's an incredible woman. A woman that loves and cares for you, might I add and you're self destruction is surely going to push her away."

"Oh so what?" John rolled his eyes as he stomped his way back up the stairs to their shared flat.

"You are going to apologise and fix this with her because everyone knows that there isn’t going to be another woman to put up with you and your brash behaviour. I don't even know how she's put up with you for nine months." Sherlock hung his head low, his words finally catching up to him. He knows that he did have to rectify his mistake of yelling at her and making her out to be an idiot when in fact, she's remarkably intelligent.

"I'm serious Sherlock, as soon as we wrap this up you are going to fix this."

"No, nope I need to go after her right now."

"No, if you go after her that's only going to end badly for your face."

---

The rain was pouring down on all of London at eight forty-five at night and Sherlock's pace quickened in the direction of Y/N's home. He shook off the heavy water off of his coat as he took shelter beneath the awning over her front door.

Y/N placed her bookmark in the current novel she was reading and set it off to the side. The doorbell rung again and this time she willed herself from under her blanket and off the couch to go answer the door. It's raining cats and dogs outside so whoever was at her door had to have a good reason to be.

"Hello- oh, it's you."

"Hello, may I?" As much as she would rather not let him into her home it was cold and wet outside and by the looks of it, he had walked here in the pouring rain; and she didn't want him to catch a cold. She headed back up the stairs to her flat leaving Sherlock to let himself in and remove his coat as well as his shoes.

"Why are you here, Holmes? My level of intelligence is miniscule compared to yours and I'm sure you'd rather be in the company of someone that shares your level of competence." Sherlock watched quietly as she fastened her robe to her body to cover up herself. Y/N was still angry at him for earlier and he knew that. He stood in the middle of her living space, dripping water onto her hardwood flooring.

"You know where your clothes are go change, your creating a puddle." Y/N put the kettle on to make tea for the both of them, not like he deserved anything other than a proper slap across the face. While he was changing he tried to formulate the right way to handle this without shoving his foot in his mouth.

"Could we sit down dear?"

"Nope, I'm good right where I am in the kitchen, you could stay all the way over there."

"Don't want me close to you?"

"Unless you want to be bashed in the head with this kettle I think it's best if you stay far away from me." Sherlock brushed off her bluff, closing the distance between them with his long strides. Crossing her arms over her chest, she stared into the pair of blue eyes she's grown to love as he stood mere centimeters away from her.

"I'm sorry."

"For what exactly?"

"For losing my temper, yelling and for saying something I didn't mean. I didn't mean it when I called you useless or made a comment on your intellect, it was the spur of the moment. I was frustrated and I took it out on you when you were only trying to help." Sherlock brushed his knuckles against her cheek and she instinctively leaned into his touch bringing a smile to his face.

"I get that you were frustrated but that isn't a valid excuse Sherlock. You called me darling and a useless idiot in the same breath."

"I know darling and I promise it'll never happen again. Allow me to make it up to you." The towering man kissed the crown of her head, cheek and bridge of her nose making her heart flutter at his affection.

"You've got your work cut out for you Mr. Holmes because I'm not going to make it easy for you and your astonishing brilliance."

"I do love a challenge."

"I know." Sherlock finally pressed his lips against hers in a gentle kiss which was cut short by her kneeling him in the groin. He grunted in pain and stumbled back, holding his crotch in pain. Y/N smiled watching as he doubled over still groaning in agony.

"I deserved that."

---

Honestly don't know if I'll keep writing for Sherlock but we'll see.

Honorary tags:

@sketch-and-write-lover @blackcat420

#sherlock holmes imagine #sherlock holmes x you #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock holmes #bbc sherlock x reader #sherlock x reader #benedict cumberbatch imagine #benedict cumberbatch x reader #benedict cumberbatch x y/n

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shytastemakerthing · 5 months

Note

hi id like to request a romantic twst matchup ^_^ i dont label my gender/sexuality and the way i present myself fluctuaes but i could consider myself as androgyne (he/she). im an afro-carib with caramel brown skin, 4a curly hair. im more on the chubby side with a round face (two moles on each side) and apple body shape. i have a bit of a resting bitch face as well.. and my voice is at most monotone amd flat.

im pretty calm and mellow most of the time.. like an observer in the background. im a soft-spoken guy. usually im relaxed and unshaken, though my motivation seems to come on a whim every other day so i may seem out of it at times. its easy to keep my composure for most things and keep my emotions in check. i have tendencies to be passive-aggressive when provoked and im kinda stubborn but i swear that im chill and friendly.

its easy for me to pick up from setbacks. im naturally intelligent but i dont really study to keep it.. its not like i dont want because, im quite self-aware, its just the lack of motivation. im also quite clever when the time comes and people still seem surprised abt it. im also a realist and i tend to give advice rather than comfort when the time comes. when im around the people i love i seem more chatty that usual, not like super loud or outgoing but im def enjoying myself.

i also laugh at like everything even if its unfunny as hell. my humor is mostly sarcasm and satire tbh. i like trying new things for the sake of trying new things. i also like playing video games, indulging in my interests (drawing, fashion, movies, etc) or whatever seems to catch my eye. ive been wanting to get a bass guitar and grow a garden one day. im also told im quite good with babies but not toddlers. quite the pacifier. my love languages are quality time and parallel play and id like to receive acts of service and words of affirmation (or the ones i give). thanks!! ^_^

A/N: Hello and thank you so much for your request, anon! I do hope that you like your match-up! Enjoy!

Tw: None

I match you with..........

Ruggie Bucchi

Honestly, with how crazy his life is, between doing jobs for Leona, jobs for anyone else, trying to get his schoolwork done, being like an unofficial vice housewarden for Savanaclaw, he needs someone who is as calming as yourself, After such a long day, knowing that he could easily retreat into the safety and comfort of your arms makes his hyena beyond thrilled. It's his favorite part of the day.

Ruggie loved just how real you can be about things. Too many people just beat around the bush or try to sugar coat things when there are times where you just need the brutal honesty of a situation. Seeing how he grew up, it was easy to say that he had a similar mindset. Not everything is all sunshine and rainbows. So the fact that you'll just tell him things as they are, no beating around the bush or trying to make things better, it is something that he greatly admired about you.

Look at the hyena and tell me he isn't sarcastic in some way, shape, or form. Sure, he absolutely loved himself a good laugh, oh, but he just loved your sarcasm. It always brings a snicker out of him. This means he will also get sarcastic with you and at you, or crack some jokes as well, some being better than others.

Seeing how you keep your composure is something that's always impressed him (even more so if your the Ramshackle prefect, because if he was ripped out of his world, put in a brand new one where he knew absolutely nothing, put in a dorm that was falling apart at the very foundation, he didn't think he could keep his cool the way that you do), and he certainly thinks that a lot of the students here could learn a thing or two from you.

Oh, he absolutely loves your hair! He has seen hair like yours before, but not often. Now, he is a very dedicated partner (and also got some experience with a lot of the kids that were in the village he grew up in), meaning he learned everything about your specific style of hair. How to care for it, how to style it, the whole nine yards. If you ever need someone to work with and style your hair, he's the hyena for the job (he will even do it for free....... or maybe at least for a doughnut)

Overall, Ruggie is a very dedicated partner. He may not have much, but he finds anyway that he can be able to show that he can provide for you. Just the fact that you actually looked his way and gave him a chance means more to him than you could ever possibly know.

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twst #matchups #twst imagines #disney twisted wonderland #romantic #twst ruggie #ruggie bucchi x reader #ruggie x reader #ruggie bucchi #twisted wonderland ruggie #twst ruggie bucchi #shy answers #shy writes

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forbidden-forest-witch · 1 year

Text

Destiné à Être: A Remus Lupin Story

Chapter 11: A Comforting Touch

(Warnings: Smoking, drinking, language, sexual themes. 18+ only

... there is gore and mentions of blood in this chapter)

Word Count: 4.4K

"I wish I could take all this pain and sorrow from you, but for now I will offer my hand to hold and my shoulder to lean upon" -unknown

Another week passes without any communication between the two. Brigitte awakens with the sun to write routine letters for her mother and Francesca before heading out, making sure to leave out her drama with Remus, and instead telling them that everything is 'fine and nothing new to share'. At this point, she's giving up on ever getting close to the older wizard ... so she thinks.

Brigitte sends off the mail in the drawing room fireplace and makes a stop in the kitchen, where she locks eyes with someone equally surprised to see her.

"Good morning, Britt", Remus says, nervously holding onto a coffee cup. He's leaning against the counter with hair messier than usual and heavy, dark eyes.

"Remus", Brigitte replies flatly, trying not to look at him. She grabs an apple from the fruit bowl and starts for the door when he reaches out for her hand. Bri jerks her head around, startled by the contact. His hand is warm, rough, and she's been missing his touch.

"I'm sorry", Remus blurts out. Regret is written all over his tired face. "Everything I said. It's just- I ... Can we please talk later?", he trails off, peering deeply into her eyes, desperation flooding his pupils. Its been some of the hardest couple weeks, distancing himself from her presence. Constantly imagine the heartbroken look on her face when he rejected jet.

Brigitte sighs and a tiny smile ghosts her lips, "I suppose we can do that". How can she say no to him and those puppy eyes? He lets out a relieved breath and grins at her.

"Great. I can't wait". Remus lifts her hand to his lips and places a lingering kiss on the side of her wrist.

Brigitte walks out the door with an elated smile. Remus sits down and picks up the paper, hoping some Rita Skeeter rubbish can distract him from their impending conversation, and the ache he feels from the approaching full moon.

⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

Five minutes later, Brigitte meets Tonks outside of Auguste's flat. The plan is to meet Moody and Hestia Jones so that they can inspect a few Death Eater residences. They scurry into the narrow street beside his building, but before they can Disapparate, a strong hand grips both their arms. Their screams are cut off as they get sucked into the air.

"What the--"

They land in the middle of a wheat field. Moody is in front of them, leaning on his walking stick. "Constant Vigilance", he states, before pointing the staff at Brigitte. A ball of fire shoots straight at her head, but the elemental witch protects herself, destroying it with a larger flame. A two-on-one duel ensues, with Moody effortlessly blocking both witches attacks. Brigitte tries to weaponize her magic by sending strong gusts of wind, shards of ice, and even using the wheat to tangle up the veteran Wizard.

Tonks uses the skills she's acquired as an Auror, but to little avail. Moody taught her everything she knows and he's using it against her. It doesn't take long for him to outsmart them, sending spells as a distraction so that he can Levicorpus both women at the same time, making them land hard on their backs.

"Hmm. Y' doing alright, but there's always room for improvement", Moody assesses.

"We can go back to our old stomping grounds in the woods. I loved those practices", Tonks says, wiping the sweat from her forehead.

"We will after I determine no one else is using the area. It's a good hiding spot, that's the last place we want to encounter those retched dark Wizards. Or even Muggles".

"Oh, Mad-Eye, don't be so paranoid! And hell, I thought we did pretty damn good. That was impressive, Britt!".

"Thanks, Dora. I didn't know I could do that stuff". Brigitte smiles proudly at herself. She knew her magic could do great things, but she's never displayed it to that extent. It makes her feel more confident if she were to encounter an enemy.

"Now, come. Hestia Jones has already snooped around a couple properties. Still nothing. That's what we want, those Death Eaters cowering, hiding together and staying away from the general population", Moody says, mostly to himself. He takes Tonks' shoulder, who hastily grabs Brigitte's hand before Apparating.

Hestia Jones is standing on the street corner waiting for them. It's not London. They're in the country. The streets are lined with tall trees and ivy-covered brick privacy walls. Their goal is to get into the mansion on the other side. The property is an alleged hiding spot.

With Snape only present for certain Death Eater meetings, his knowledge is limited. He hears bits and pieces of information that is relayed to Dumbledore, who informs Kingsley and Moody. From there, they have to guess where Voldemort's loyalists are hiding and what they are plotting.

There's no one else around, which isn't uncommon in this elite area. People keep to themselves, but that also makes it easy for these villains to fly under the radar. Moody is able to get them passed the surrounding protection charms, and after muttered spells, the giant front door creaks open to allow them full access.

It's dark and abandoned looking. White sheets cover the furniture and the drapes block out the sunlight. Hestia Jones preforms Homenum Revelio, which shows there is no one else in the home. Moody and Tonks throw out counter-spells incase there are any traps, and once it's clear they take a step over the threshold.

Immediately, a shrieking comes from the top of the stairs in front of them. They all hold their wands up, watching as a large, blurring ball rolls down the stairs. It's an odd sight, with contorted faces, spider legs, and giant skeleton-like hands trying to form out of the mass.

"I hate these damn Boggarts. Too many of us, it can't decide what to turn into", Moody says, before destroying the unformed creature. They wait, but the commotion doesn't prompt any more surprises.

"Alright, you two go off that way. Jones and I will go upstairs first", Moody whispers. Brigitte and Tonks set off to the left wing, inspecting for any signs of life or clues as to where the homeowners may have fled to.

The first room they come into is the dining room. It's a typical residence for a Voldemort lover: Black floors, black walls, and snake accents on the crown molding and furniture. The table is still perfectly set, with intricately folded napkins and polished silver. The wine decanters are still full, so that could mean someone plans on returning.

As Brigitte and Tonks carefully prowl, it becomes more obvious that this is a hunting lodge. Along with the heads of the ancestral House Elves, "trophies" of stuffed dead animals are mounted on the walls with their murder weapon, and a polar bear rug is sprawled out in the middle of the smoking room. Brigitte stares at it queasily.

"These people are barbaric", she sighs. "Wanna destroy this room?".

"Gotta let them know one way or another that we were here... and not to be messed with", Tonks snickers. Brigitte engulfs the rug into flames, to give it a proper cremation, while Tonks knocks down the gold plaques and awards.

"Oops! Can't make too much noise or Moody'll here us. He'll say this is childish", Tonks shrugs. They scamper across a large, barren ballroom and into the library. Brigitte can't help but gasp at the volumes of books and Old World artifacts.

"I hate these people, but this is a nice damn collection", she admits. With their illuminated wands they examine the room: more weapons and unusual souvenirs. Unique treasures that it would be unwise to touch.

Moody sends a patronus "Downstairs clear! Going up!". The girls scan the shelves, tapping the artifacts with their wands for any traces of dark magic. After finding nothing they move onto the next room, the main study. They can hear Hestia and Moody scuffling around above them, most likely forcing open a door or pushing away bookcases.

"Not very light on their feet", Brigitte jokes. Tonks snickers as she scans more shelves and Brigitte wanders over to the grand mahogany desk.

"Maybe there's something that'll at least tell us when they were last in her-", she's cut off by a loud metal clamping sound. Brigitte yelps and collapses hard onto the floor.

Tonks whips her head around and watches the events unfold in slow motion. A bear trap is suddenly clenched around Brigitte's leg, causing her to topple over. The pain immediately sets in and she lets out blood-curdling shriek.

"AHHHH! THE FUCK- MERDE!", she sits up in a panic and attempts to pry the teeth open. The hunting tool is huge, so big it's a challenge for Brigitte to sit up as it twists her leg.

Tonks runs over, screaming hysterically as well. "Merlin! Britt! Shit... MOODY! MOODY!", she shouts desperately. He and Hestia appear seconds later. They're taken aback to see Brigitte hyperventilating on the floor as she and Tonks aggressively try to release her leg from an iron bear trap that's soaked with her blood.

"Merlin", Hestia gasps before rushing over to the scene.

"Get it off me! Get if the fuck off me!", Brigitte groans miserably as her hands become soaked in her blood. Sparks flutter from her fingertips as she begins freaking out, and the metal gets hot. The thick blood is making it harder to grip the teeth off the contraption. Brigitte thrashes her leg, further injuring herself.

"How the hell did this happen?!", Moody growls while examining the trap. Tonks tries to catch her breath to explain,

"I-- I don't know! There was nothing on the ground and all of a sudden she was screaming!".

Hestia points her wand at the trap but nothing happens. "Could've had an invisibility charm. Whoever set it out wanted someone to step into it- someone like us. I... can't... unlock it!". She taps her wand on the trap a few times, but the sparks just fizzle without success.

Brigitte keeps tearing at the trap while crying and hyperventilating. Then she jerks her head up and looks around at the other's faces. She looks at their mouths and starts stuttering incoherently.

"I can't- I can't hear anything!", she screams. "Why?! Why?!".

Tonks grips Brigitte's face and tries to hold eye contact to calm her down. Brigitte scans her face, tears streaming down both their cheeks. Her eyes dart back and forth when she reaches up to Tonks, "FUCK! Fuck I can't see!", and she starts sobbing uncontrollably, her face contorted in anger and pain. She tries to grab at the bear trap, but Tonks holds her still.

"We have to get her out of here", Moody urges. "Tonks, send a patronus to Bill Weasley and tell him to meet us at Headquarters. Hestia and I will carry her". Tonks nods her head and tries to wipe her cheeks dry and ends up smearing Brigitte's blood across her face. She mumbles into her wand and sends off her jack rabbit patronus before disapparating.

Brigitte is curled up on the floor still trying to pry open the trap and blubbering incoherently, her tears, sweat and blood all mixed together. Hestia attempts to pick her up but, Brigitte fights her.

"No honey, no, I'm helping". The two struggle; Brigitte swings her fits frantically, obviously panicking at the darkened silence she's now trapped in.

Moody points his wand to levitate her body, keeping her still so she doesn't create more damage. Brigitte weeps pitifully as they Disapparate to 12 Grimmauld Place....

The house is quiet. Remus is sat in the drawing room reading The Picture of Dorian Gray while Sirius nurses a cup of tea and reads some nonsense article about himself, that quotes Cornelius Fudge about the whereabouts on the 'madman killer'.

"Say Moony, you hear that crazy Black made his way down to Mexico? According to Fudge... ha! I wish...", he says ruffling the paper.

"You mean you'd rather be on the beach with a margarita, instead of here?", Remus asks pointing around the room, "you are bloody mad".

"Ahhh, one day, I will be on a beach in Mexico with a margarita. Just wait, Moony", Sirius leans back and daydreams that reality. Remus smiles sadly at his friend before returning to his book...

The house is silent until the front door slams shut, and the men hear someone running up the stairs. The men jump up and stare at the doorway, wands in hand. A few seconds later Tonks appears with a dirty and disheveled appearance and out of breath.

"Is Britt's potion case still under her bed?!", she looks at them frantically before running off. Remus and Sirius look at each other before following after Tonks, who's stumbling out of Brigitte's room with a wooden box.

"Tonks, what's going on? What's wrong?!", Remus asks her desperately, examining her bloodied appearance. She looks at him painfully, hesitant to tell him about Brigitte. Before she can respond the door crashes open again, causing Mrs. Black to shriek profusely. The wicked witch is immediately drowned out by an ear-splitting cry.

Tonks races down the stairs, followed by a panicked Remus and Sirius. They follow a thin trail of blood down the hall, and open the kitchen door to see Hestia and Moody trying to place a wailing Brigitte down on the table.

"Come on Tonks, help me hold her! Apparating didn't do her well", Hestia huffs while Brigitte yanks on the bear trap. Tonks sets the potion box down and helps hold her still.

The horrific scene makes Remus' heart sink to his stomach and his throat go dry. Blood is steadily dripping from the bear trap that's hovering above the table. Brigitte's clothes and face are stained red and her hair is matted to her face.

"Wha-what happened to her?", he croaks out with watery eyes. He and Sirius step into the room as the other three continue to tend to the flailing woman and ignore his question. The candles flicker violently as Brigitte freaks out, and even a pitcher filled with water sitting on the counter shatters to bits.

She thrashes around uncontrollably, a chain of French curse words spilling from her mouth, while Tonks tries to hold her still so she doesn't hurt herself more. The weight of the trap pulling against her.

"Britt, love you've got to stop ripping at it, please", Tonks pleads despite her temporary deafness. Moody flicks his wand at the trap unsuccessfully while Hestia rummages through the potions box.

"How the fuck did this happen to her?!", Sirius demands.

Tonks looks up at him, her voice quivering, "bear trap... came out of nowhere... poisoned... she can't see or hear us", she starts sobbing while trying to grasp Brigitte's arm. She continues to scream incoherently in French.

"Aidez-moi! Aidez-moi! Maman! Quelqu'un! Merde! Fuck! AhhhHHH!".

"What's she saying?", Tonks shouts over her.

Sirius's lets out a pained sigh, "She's begging for her Mum, someone to get that thing the hell off her".

Remus is horror struck as he looks at Brigitte covered in her own blood. The usually delicate, yet powerful witch in the most heartbreaking scene. The sound of her gut-wrenching cries strains his ears and makes the pit in his stomach twist. He rushes to her side and takes Tonks' place.

"Brigitte, Britt stop! Darling it's okay," he pleads as she kicks around screaming. Remus gets ahold of her dainty hands; she desperately tries to fight him off but he's stronger. He places them on his cheeks so that she can feel the scruff and ridged scars. He lightly caresses her wrists as she feels his distinctive features.

Her breath hitches when she realizes it's him, "Re-Remus?", Brigitte mumbles shakily. She opens her terror- filled eyes and looks blankly at him. His heart breaks seeing the tears as she looks around hopelessly. The tension in Brigitte's muscles somewhat subsides as she moves her hands to the back of his neck, clinging to him to find some comfort.

Remus sits on the edge of the table and holds her close as she buries her face in his chest, his scent calming her down enough to stop the constant screaming.

He caresses her back as she hiccups and whimpers, and takes slow, deep breaths to encourage her breathing to mimic his. Hestia finally finds something to help counteract the poison and injury. Sirius comes back into the kitchen with a confused Bill Weasley,

"What's going on- oh my Godric, Britt...", he gasps .

Moody grunts at him and sits to take pressure of his leg. "Hope your curse-breaking training has prepared you for this, we can't get the trap off her leg".

"Britt!? Mon dieu, non, Sissy!", Fleur appears from behind Bill and runs over to her friend. Tonks grabs her arms, pulling her to the side to explain the situation and keep her out of the way. Bill approaches Brigitte's clamped leg and assesses it, Remus still holding her tightly and caressing the back of her head.

Hestia comes over with a handful of viles and sets them down by Remus. "Here. Give her one drop of this and then this", she instructs as she hands him two eyedroppers.

He gently pulls Brigitte back a little to expose her face and lightly puts the dropper on her lips. She initially jerks her head away but Remus rubs her back encouragingly with the arm still holding her. She parts her lips and allows the liquid to spread across her tongue. Remus hands the droppers back to Hestia and soothingly scratches up and down Brigitte's arm.

In a matter of seconds, she goes limp in his hold and he panics, "wha- what did you make me give her!?".

"The first potion was for the poison, the second was to let her pass out. It's not going to feel good when Bill finally gets this off", Hestia explains gently.

Remus continues holding Brigitte and strokes her hair, her arms limply wrapped around his neck. Sirius has a twinge in his heart looking at the distraught expression on his friend's face as he desperately clings onto the girl who he's fallen so hard for.

Tonks is in the corner trying to console a hyper Fleur. "Help her, Bill! But don't hurt her, please don't hurt her!", she cries.

"I'm not going to hurt her, my flower", Bill says calmly. He bites his lip in concentration as everyone watches him flick his wand at the bear trap. About five minutes later it finally creaks open. Sirius and Moody remove it from Brigittes's leg and Moody promptly leaves with the weapon, presumably to show Dumbledore.

The lack of pressure on the deep wound allows blood to flow freely onto the table and waterfall onto the floor. Hestia grabs another vile and sprinkles its contents around Brigittes's calf, effectively stopping the bleeding and sealing the gash.

"She's lucky it didn't go through her bone, only scrapped it. It'll be a few days before she feels like walking too much. With the potion she took though she won't even be awake again until tomorrow", she explains as she uses her wand to remove the pant fabric from around the wound. Hestia removes Brigitte's combat boot and conjures up a bandage for the healing injury.

Everyone takes a collective sigh knowing that the stressful moment has passed. "That was fucking awful", Sirius breathes out. Everyone nods exhaustedly, except for Remus who's staring blankly at the floor with a clenched jaw. Hestia gently pats his arm and bids everyone a goodbye before she slips out of the kitchen. Bill gives Fleur a tight hug to help calm her down.

"I think we should get her cleaned up. How about it, Fleur?", Tonks suggests.

Fleur wipes away the last of her tears and agrees. Remus stands up and carefully hooks one arm under her legs while the other supports her shoulders. "I'll take her upstairs", he mumbles.

Although the nearing full moon has him weakened, he cannot break the physical contact with Brigitte just yet. His protective instincts have kicked in and he's hesitant of anyone else touching her. Tonks nods and gives him a small knowing smile.

Remus holds Brigitte close against his chest, followed closely by the girls, and gently places her in the bathtub. He awkwardly rubs the back of his neck and backs out of the room,

"I'll be right outside. Call me if you need any help", he tells the pair and closes the door behind him. With their heads hanging low they stare at Brigitte's bloodied figure as they assess a plan.

"So, I can Evanesco her clothes off and we'll get her cleaned up? I feel like she wouldn't mind that, yeah?", Tonks wonders. Fleur slowly nods with her face still masked with worry as she gazes down at her best friend.

"Uh, yes she won't care. I've seen her naked hundreds of times. You get the water started and I'll get her fresh outfit", and she hurries out.

She nearly bumps into Remus who's leaning against the wall next to the door with his face buried in his hands. Fleur gives him a gentle squeeze on the arm as she scurries past. Tonks fills up the tub and they carefully dab off the blood and wash Brigitte's hair.

Once she's clean, they drain the dark pink water, dry her with a spell, and slip clean clothing onto her slack body. Tonks dumps the red-stained towel to the sink.

She gasps at the sight of herself in the mirror, "Merlin! I've been too busy worrying about Brigitte, I didn't even think about what I look like", she says while rinsing off her hands and face. "I'll shower at Auguste's later. I need to let him know what happened... REMUS! You can come in now!", she shouts, making Fleur cover her ears.

Remus does not hesitate to come rushing back in. He easily scoops up Brigitte and takes her into the bedroom. He gently places her on the bed, and then Fleur covers her with the satin bedding and kisses her cheek.

Tonks walks in after them with the pile of ruined clothes to discard, "I'm going to head out to tell Auguste what happened. We'll come over tomorrow... she's going to be fine, Remus", she says, seeing the look in his eyes. "It gave her a real fright but she's okay. Damn tough little witch". He just stares down at Brigitte's motionless body.

Fleur smiles softly and nods in agreement, "She will be fine. Take good care of her, Remus". She takes a deep sigh and walks out the room with Tonks.

Remus stands at the side of Brigitte's bed and takes her hands in his. It's so small in comparison and fits perfectly in his palm. He draws little circles on her soft skin with his thumb as he admires her delicate features. Her now peaceful expression; the freckles scattered across her ivory skin; and her pink velvety lips that he was lucky enough to once experience all make his heart palpitate.

Then suddenly he imagines her blood-soaked and his breath hitches in his throat. Remus doesn't fight the tears that start to blur his vision any longer, not worried about Brigitte or anyone else seeing him finally crumble.

"You really scared me down there, ya know? I... I don't think I could handle seeing you in pain like that. That's what I'm afraid of– hurting you ... but, god dammit Britt, I don't want to stay away from this. I can't. I want to protect you ... I haven't stopped thinking about our day together, and how we could have more moments like those ... ", he whispers to her, his voice cracking as he speaks.

He quickly composes himself when he hears Sirius coming up the stairs. He peeks his onyx head into the room to check on them both, but mostly Remus.

"How's the patient?", he asks, keeping his voice cheery.

"She's better, now... I saw her this morning, y'know? She actually agreed to talk to me tonight... I'm just terrified of causing her pain, Pads. What can she possibly see in me?".

Sirius sighs at Remus' self-criticism, having heard it before. He gazes at Brigitte before turning to his friend.

"She probably sees the amazing guy that you are, mate. You're the only one who doesn't... how can you worry about hurting her when you were the only one who made her feel okay downstairs?".

Remus simply shrugs in response. Sirius squeezes his shoulder and walks backwards to the door,

"Come on, want a drink? I could use one after that".

"No... no, I think I'll just stay here for a while. Just in case the potion wears off sooner, ya know? I don't want her to wake up by herself", he says pitifully. Sirius slowly nods and goes back downstairs.

Remus takes the chair from the corner next to Brigitte's bed and slides it closer to her. He makes himself comfortable and lets his eyes wander around the room, admiring her personal touches. He catches the painted couple on the mantlepiece gazing down upon him and Brigitte as they swing back and forth.

Remus notices her copy of A Picture of Dorian Gray sitting on her bedside table. He picks it up and scans the pages printed with the French translation. He places it back down and accios his own from his bedroom. It zooms into his hand and Remus reads the book to pass the evening. Sirius comes back after some time with a sandwich, which Remus reluctantly accepts after Sirius scolds him for not taking care of himself.

Eventually the combination of his adrenaline wearing off and the nearing full moon overwhelms Remus' body enough to let him drift off to sleep in the chair, and for the rest of the night long after he's fallen asleep, his grip on Brigitte's hand remains secure.

...

Let me know if you wanna be tagged! plz and thank u

Masterlist

Taglist: @dontjudgemyobsessionpls

#Remus Lupin #Professor Remus Lupin #remus lupin fanfiction #remus lupin oc #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin smut #sirius black x reader platonic #Marauders #golden trio #prisoner of azkaban #HP and the Goblet of Fire #harry potter and the goblet of fire #golden trio era #werewolves #harry potter imagine #order of the phoenix #romance #werewolf #hp fanfic

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pinkkinoko · 2 years

Note

Jesus christ please bless us with your kid!mungrove hcs 😩😩😩😩😩😩 i love these babies so much

*High pitched yelling*

You’ve unleashed the beast😶

To be quite honest, I think the drawings center mostly around a three year old Billy and a five year old Eddie, which would make it a separate timeline from my foster care au (god I’m gonna illustrate some stuff for that too because😭💔) but anyway, I’m pretty sure for them to meet it would be Eddie probably going to California.

So far, I’ve thought it’d be interesting to have Eddie’s parents skip town without him, something that unfortunately happens a bit too often, and Wayne has to make a drive to Cali for work, but since he’s not about to leave Eddie to fend for himself, he decides to take him with. Eddie is a pretty energetic five year old, so the drive there is hell for him, and he’s also cranky because his parents promised they wouldn’t leave him behind next time they bailed. It’s also the middle of June, so it’s ridiculously hot, and when they finally arrive in cali, Wayne does his best to let Eddie get some time to burn off his stress by taking him to see the beach.

Eddie’s still sulking, but he’s a kid, so he’s over the moon about getting to see the beach, and he’s dumbstruck with just how big it is. He’d only ever seen stuff about it in picture books, so Eddie’s practically vibrating with anticipation and trying to wrestle out of Wayne’s grip while he tries to smear sunscreen on him so his nephew doesn’t cook in the California sun.

Once he’s looking like he’s been dipped in mayonnaise, Wayne finally lets him go and Eddie all but teleports to the shore. He’s about to run straight into the water before something tugs him from behind and has him falling flat onto the sand. He’s about to cry when he opens his eyes and stares up into these big blue orbs that are looking down at him with what looks to be stern disapproval. Eddie wants to be annoyed, but this kid looks like one of them little angels he sees when he passes by the church on Sundays. The ones with those tiny wings and pretty blonde hair.

He giggles and points a finger up into that stern face, “You look like an angel!” The other kid makes an even angrier face and bends down to smack a hand onto Eddie’s forehead. “No. Billy.” He says it in a very serious tone, like Eddie’s made some big mistake he’s gotta be told off for.

“Ow!” before he has a chance to complain, the child—the boy—is being lifted up into the air. Eddie almost thinks it’s magic before he sees the pretty lady in a white dress, her blonde hair matching his angelic little acquaintance.

“Oh my, Billy! We don’t hit people! I’m so sorry, you ok sweetie?” Billy is squirming in her arms, obviously very upset at being removed from his task of pestering Eddie. The lady is trying to help Eddie up but having a hard time due to Billy’s protests, so Eddie dusts himself off and stands up on his own—like a big kid.

“Um, I’m ok, um, I think, I think Billy should say sorry too.” Eddie purses his lips and stares up at the two with expectant eyes. Kids in Hawkins always make fun of him because of where he lives and the hand-me-down clothes he wears, even the grown ups make funny faces at him when he plays alone in the park with no shoes on. He’s made it a habit to have a big attitude and a bigger mouth. The adults are always telling him he’s rude, he just things they’re ruder for staring.

The lady blinks down at him before smiling—she has a really pretty smile, she looks like an angel too—and setting Billy down.

“You heard him Billy, think you can say ‘sorry’ for hitting him? Maybe the nice boy will play with you when you make up.” Eddie thinks Billy doesn’t like the idea at all, he has big tears threatening to fall down his cheeks and he’s looking at a spot just in front of his feet.

“Why’re you crying? You hit me!” Billy starts wailing in earnest at that, big hiccuping sobs as he walks up to Eddie and points at something behind him. Eddie turns around and looks down to see a big shard of brown glass sticking up from the sand a small ways away.

He turns back and scrunches up his nose.

“You should use words! Just say something! Sheesh, you’re awful pretty, but you don’ talk, huh?” Eddie doesn’t really think it was mean, he’s just being honest, but Billy just starts crying even louder at that as he turns betrayed eyes onto Eddie and runs back to his mom.

Wayne eventually comes down to see what the fuss is about, and the two grown ups get to talking while Billy glares dagger at Eddie from behind his mom’s legs. Eddie just squats down and stares back with fascination, he’d never seen such a pretty boy before. Even the girls in Hawkins don’t have long lashes and curly blonde hair like Billy.

Eddie really wants to be friends, even if this poor kid doesn’t know how to say much.

Billy, for what it’s worth, wants to throw sand in this weirdos face and tell him he’s stupid. He’s not really great with talking to people he doesn’t know though, so he settles for sticking out his tongue. The scrappy kid just giggles at him and sticks his own tongue out in return.

Billy thinks he hates this idiot.

#mungrove #kid!mungrove #can’t believe people be out here wanting to know what I think #This is a very rough headcanon i apologize lmaoo #yes Billy is a bit of a cryer krgvblrsght #pk’s library

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softquietsteadylove · 1 year

Note

@theshipper47 had this lovely idea and I had to ask you!

tyrant king/Ice Queen AU or secretary AU:

Gil is in prison and Thena needs to get him out 👀

Gil sits down heavily into the seat, hunching himself to lean against the counter as the guards watch them all. He picks up the phone receiver, "hey."

"Hey, Baby."

Gil smiles. Thena has never been one to go crazy with petnames or cutesy couple behaviour. But since he was apprehended by the Korean authorities on their way back to London, she hasn't missed an opportunity to make it clear that she's his partner. "They set a bail number, yet?"

Thena keeps the smile on her face. They're both sure that the guards know at least some of what they're saying in English, so they haven't taken any chances. "Not yet, Yeobo. I keep asking them, though."

What she means is they still don't have any evidence to convict him on anything serious, they just don't want him to slip out of their fingers again.

Gil sighs. He's tried telling her to go home without him--maybe try to make some progress from the English side of things. Even having him expedited from imprisonment in Korea to the UK would be an improvement. They're a little easier to bribe, he thinks.

"Hey," Thena gives him a softer smile this time, tilting her head in the way he thinks is really cute. She presses her hand to the reinforced glass between them, "I miss you."

He presses his hand as close to hers on the glass as possible. "Fuck I miss you, Naekkeo. Sleeping here fucking sucks."

She purses her lips, "I'm sure it's miserable. And just to be clear, sleeping at the airport hotel without you isn't what I'd call enjoyable."

He chuckles. That's more like his Thena--who would normally have a little bit of a tough time expressing how much she misses him, especially around other people. "I'll be with you soon, Gongjunim. If-"

"When," she corrects him freely, and has been doing so everyday when she's allowed to come and see him like this. She raises her brows, "they find out who is framing you for all this."

Gil grins at her. Thena worked for him long enough--she knows who to call, who to trust and who not to. She knows how to fake documents and which ones need to be legit. Hell, she worked for him so long he's still surprised she wasn't brought up in the 'embezzling' charges they had gotten him on.

But that just means that whoever blew the whistle on him was on a personal vendetta, not really out to destroy his 'shipping' business.

Apparently whoever it was didn't know - and still doesn't - what a force of nature his Thena is.

"My poor husband," Thena sighs both loudly and sweetly, putting an extra sweet note into her voice. She flutters her lashes and lets her hair slide off her shoulders, revealing just a little bit of cleavage under her cardigan. "Stuck in this awful place."

Gil raises an eyebrow, leaning closer in a somewhat vane attempt to block the guards' view of her. "Uh, baby?"

But she gives him another smile and taps the glass. It's morse code.

I'm going to pay one of them to give you something for me.

The little minx--his clever snowfox, more like. He snorts, forgoing the coded message and simply drawing a big heart on his side of the glass with his finger. "I know, it's awful. Wait for me?"

She tilts her head at him, "I won't be waiting long, since you'll be with me in no time."

He smiles. She hasn't wavered in that belief even once while visiting him. Even when he's attempted to bring up the flat back home, or his office he still owns here, or any of the other domestic stuff. She won't let him even imply that he won't be back by her side as soon as his trial happens. "Okay, fine, you won't be waiting long. But still...?"

Thena gives him a look he recognises from their earlier days of knowing each other. There's a lot happening behind those eyes of hers. But she would look at him like this sometimes when she was contemplating asking about his business meetings, or that time she had his favourite sundubu delivered to the office when he was sick.

Eventually, her debate with herself ends. It's not denial driving her, rather the drive and belief in whatever she's planning that will get him out of here. She'll do whatever she has to--he believes it too, looking at her.

Thena draws a much smaller, but just as earnest heart on her side of the glass. "I would wait for you until the world burned down around me."

Gil grins, bringing up his hand again to let their fingers press against the glass, as if he could touch the tip of his pointer to hers. It'll have to do. "I promise it won't be that long."

Thena slips her hand away and draws her facade over herself again, clearing her throat and shrugging away any real emotion she had let bleed through. "Indeed--I'm going to go have a meeting with some old associates of yours. I believe they'll hear me out. We had a lovely chat over some tea last we spoke."

Ah, yes, the juniors he had met with whose faces Thena had smashed with a tea tray. They probably would hear Thena out, even if it was just because enemies of Gil's were also enemies of theirs.

"Tell 'em to be on their best behaviour," Gil chuckles. He snarls at the guard waving at him to wrap it up. He sighs, "I gotta go, Princess."

"It's okay," Thena whispers back, her eyes already glassy at having to watch him get led away in handcuffs again. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"I love you, Naekkeo."

"I love you too," she promises, watching as he sets the receiver down, as does she. They hold each other's eyes until he's physically pulled from his seat to be marched back to his cell.

Thena undoes an extra button on her cardigan and stands, making a weepy show of picking up her designer purse.

"Ma'am, if you'll follow me."

Ah, so sweet and innocent seeming. She smiles at the guard--young, probably looking to rise in the ranks. And if he can't do that, then maybe he'll take a payoff from a rich inmate's wife. "Oh, how sweet of you."

She bats her eyelashes at the guard, making light conversation until she's almost out of the building. She looks at the young man without the crocodile tears in her eyes, "here."

He blinks as she slips an old nokia phone and pair of wired earbuds into his hand.

"You give that to him for me and this," she enunciates, slipping a thick stack of won into his pocket, "will be doubled by tomorrow. Can you do that for me?"

The young man gulps, but he doesn't hesitate to accept it, "yes, ma'am."

"Good boy," Thena purrs, watching the poor boy blush as she leaves the same way she came, surrendering her bag to be checked again. Not that anything will be amiss (the money was in the lining of the fake purse and the phone was nestled into her bra). "I'm sure my husband will remember your kindness when all this nasty business is over."

#Thenamesh Receptionist AU #Thena is a force of nature #and she is going to stop at nothing to get Gil out of the clink #so...I've never been to jail #maybe that's obvious by anxious nerd of it all #but I have no idea how frequently you're allowed to visit #I think it might be once a week or maybe a month?#but Gil's not in like jail-jail yet I think #he's just being held on suspicions #they think he did but they just can't prove it #but really #they have him on so many suspicions but they can't actually tie anything to him #and Thena is going to find who it was who implicated him in the first place #and she is going to use that tea tray of hers #and she is going to rupture their nutsack #because no one messes with her househusband!

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