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darkeralmond · 10 months

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Luca smut… that’s the request, you pick the plot lmao

TYSM FOR THE REQUEST!! i am so obsessed with never have i ever so i just had to do this scene

Study Session

Luca Fantilli x fem! Reader

song: company - justin bieber

synopsis: y/n is luca’s tutor, and you’ve not been showing up to the past couple tutoring sessions. you and luca get in a huge argument and now you guys aren’t talking. he then crawls into your window and things get crazy

warnings: 18+, smut, p in v, she/her pronouns, luca calling u “good girl”, high school au!

word count: 1.6k

a/n: this is based off that one scene with paxton and devi from never have i ever when he crawls into her window and kisses her. literally my favorite scene ever. i’m in love with him and luca. ALSO THE EDITS TO COMPANY WITH LUCA LIVE IN MY HEAD RENT FREE

masterlist | request info

For the past couple days, Luca has been mad at you. The thing about Luca is that he was all beauty, no brains. He relied on his hockey abilities to score himself into college. He broke his arm while playing in a game which left him with a season ending injury.

Now he relied on your tutoring to help him get the grades for college. Even then, he couldn’t seem to pay attention when it came to that kind of stuff.

When Luca came up to confront you about you flaking on your guys’ tutoring sessions, it broke out into a huge public argument in the hall. In the heat of the moment, you screamed at him which you regretted deeply.

“Maybe, you should start studying on your own,” you yelled. “If you wanna be a good student, then be a good student! I can't hold your hand forever!” Like that, you stormed away. That single statement ruined that entire relationship you built up with him.

It looked like he took your advice however. He started getting A’s on his projects all without your help. You felt happy to watch him succeed independently, but it made you feel uncomfortable to know that maybe he never needed you after all.

You were laying on your bed while listening to music. You felt your phone buzz against your stomach which startled you. You had your phone on ‘do not disturb’ mode since you wanted some alone time without any distractions. You checked the notification and saw it was Luca texting you. You furrowed your eyebrows and read the text.

Luca

Wyd

Nothing

Luca

Can u let me in?

There was then a knock at your window. Your breath got caught in your throat as you shot your head up. You saw Luca outside your window while the rain poured down on him. You quickly threw your phone to the side along with your headphones and got out of your bed.

You rushed over to the window and unlocked it. “Luca?” you whispered. “You’re in my house?”

“Yeah,” Luca said as he looked around your bedroom. “I guess so.” He looked back at you with a smile on his face. His hair was soaking wet, his clothes were drenched, and he was in your bedroom. You blinked a couple times as silence filled the air around you two. “Look, I just wanted to thank you for pushing me to be a better student. It felt good to finally do something well in school.”

He had never been hotter. He shot you a look with his bedroom eyes, your heart pounding in your chest as you tried to wrap your head around everything currently happening. “So…” you started, “Are you here to study or…?”

That was a great question, why was he here to begin with? Was he here to study for an exam? Was he here to apologize for the argument? Was he here… for you?

He simply shook his head and muttered, “No.” You continued staring at him as he stepped closer to you. He brought his hand up to the side of your face and tucked some strands of hair behind your ear.

His touch made your body tense due to the shock. He glanced down at your lips before meeting your eyes once again. He closed the space between the two of you and kissed you.

You kissed back, your eyes fluttering close as you placed your hands on his chest. Your heart pounded faster than usual as his tongue brushed against yours. Your body was humming. You melted in his embrace and let your fingers trace patterns into his wet shirt.

This was the best feeling you ever experienced in your life. Every fiber of your body was telling you to stay right there, kissing him. You figured he was here to just study or anything else, just not this.

You pulled away and looked into his eyes. “Y/N,” he husked. Your eyebrows raised as you anticipated what he would say next. “I need you.” He needed you? This stunned you even more. “Can I please treat you like you’re mine tonight?”

The way he said those words sent a thrill through you and ignited a fire inside of you. Without saying a word, you nodded your head as you stepped back toward your bed. You sat down on the mattress and looked up at him. The dim lighting created shadows across his face which made him look angelic.

With a smirk on his face, he sat next to you on the bed and pulled you close. He wrapped his arms tightly around your waist and peppered kisses on your neck.

His hands trailed from your hips to up underneath your shirt. A small gasp escaped your lips as his cold hands came into contact with your warm skin. His mouth returned to yours, his hands cupping your breasts that were still covered by your bra.

You let a small moan slip as the kiss went on and on, deepening. It almost hurt how much you craved his touch and how badly you wanted him. The only reason he didn’t get a reaction out of you is because you were trying to keep calm, but it seemed he could sense your desire and knew what he was doing to you.

You tugged off your shirt and tossed it to the floor. Luca leaned back a bit and gazed at your body. The moonlight hits your skin perfectly making it shine and glisten. He ran his thumb along the curve of your waist, his fingertips grazing across your hip bone.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he whispered as he threw off his own shirt. All of this was happening while your parents were downstairs. You felt nervous that they could hear you right now, or that they would hear you soon.

You turned your body to face him. He stared back with hooded eyes. The moonlight illuminated his handsome features in an ethereal light. Your breathing quickened with every passing second.

He teased at the strap of your shorts which was his signal for you to take them off. You did exactly that and revealed your matching pair of panties.

Luca groaned as his colored eyes examined your exposed body. You both stopped moving as he stared up at you. “Are you on the pill?” he asked softly.

Holy shit. He wanted to actually have sex with you. It was such an abrupt realization. It took you a minute to process. “Of course, I am,” you replied with a sigh.

He nodded his head, his eyes trailing down your body. “Okay, good.” He looked back into your eyes before messing with the buckle of his belt. “Take them off,” he said as he shot a glance down at your panties.

You slowly slid them off just like he said to. He nodded his head with a smirk spread on his face. “Good girl,” he rasped. “Now lay down.”

He got up from his spot on the bed which left you more room to lay. Once you settled down, he stood in front of you with a mischievous grin. He took off his boxers revealing his large erection. “Fuck,” you muttered as your eyes widened.

He ignored your comment and grabbed your waist. He pulled you closer to him before aligning himself with your entrance. You looked up at the ceiling, your breaths shallow and quick.

You felt nervous. What if you ended up getting pregnant? What if you sounded weird when you moaned? What if you got caught? Your thoughts were interrupted by him inserting himself inside of you.

Your breath hitched as your back slightly arched. His movements were gentle. He pulled out of you a little before thrusting back in with one powerful motion. Your back arched again, but you relaxed as you realized what it was like. He began to move in and out of you at a steady pace, filling you completely. You felt so full and comfortable, it felt amazing.

You closed your eyes and breathed deeply as you allowed him to take care of you, to take care of you for once. Quiet moans slipped from your parted lips as he thrusted into you.

He was slow and gentle, obviously treating you like you were delicate. You could even hear him groan out of pleasure. You bit your bottom lip as you looked up at him. His eyes met yours, both of you were panting. It felt good. You weren’t complaining, in fact, you loved it.

Luca began to speed up his movement as you both came together. He moaned as he held you tighter. “Fuck, Y/N. I’m gonna cum,” he groaned as he kept a steady pace.

He pumped in time with his thrusts. As he climaxed, you moaned as you came too. Once you finished, you laid there as he pulled out. You heard a loud noise coming from downstairs as you both tried to catch your breath after that unraveled in under one hour.

“Uh,” you said as you sprung up. “You need to leave, now!” You then heard your mom yelled out your name from downstairs. “Uh, coming!” you shouted back as you got up. You threw on your pajamas as Luca threw on his clothes.

“That was fun,” he smirked. “I should come over for more than just study sessions.”

You would’ve been flustered by that comment, but you were too worried about not getting caught. “Yeah, yeah! Go!” You threw your shirt on and watched as he threw on his own.

He winked as he hopped out of your window and looked back. “One more kiss?” he asked.

You sighed, “Yeah.” You placed a long, lingering kiss on his lips before pulling away. “Now leave!”

He chuckled, “I’ll see you tomorrow.” You smiled softly as you shut the window and quickly rushed out of your room. You just had sex with Luca Fantilli. Holy, shit. He did need you!

#luca fantilli #luca fantilli x reader #umich hockey #smut fanfiction #luca fantilli smut #luca fantilli x y/n

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mrcspectr · 2 years

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wake me (when it’s over)

Summary: In which Marc Spector dreams and often fears the things he doesn't understand.

Title from Wake Me When It’s Over by the Cranberries.

Trying to forget something that you know, It hasn’t killed you yet, but you cannot let it go, I’m trying to exist, trying not to scream, How it does persist, entrapped inside a dream.

Inspired by this fantastic piece that’s been living rent free in my brain for a solid week now. You should absolutely go reblog it because wow.

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: implied/referenced suicide, canon-typical violence, angst

He remembers the Duat, more than anything else.

He tries not to, really. Steven has been informing him, tirelessly, how unhelpful it is to look back on the past. That their time in death was quite long enough for the both of them to live through it all, he figures, and there's no sense in ruminating on the whole thing.

As if he needed the reminder.

The next time he had the body and some.. Alone time, he'd have to remember to get rid of all those self help books Steven had been reading.

They're not self help books, Marc, they're psychiatric textbooks on proven therapeutic methods of processing trauma. And while I’m at it, don’t even think about it.

"Personally, I liked it better when we processed our trauma with a talking hippo."

Would it kill you to take this a little more seriously?

"It might, actually."

Marc.

"I also liked it better when the tapes you listened to kept us awake, because now all they do is put me to sleep."

Marc!

"Okay, okay! I'm done, promise."

They were lying on the worn mattress in Steven's London flat, staring at the ceiling, a cassette tape turning on the bedside table beside them. It was the fourth tape in a set of ten, and they'd been at it for hours now.

Marc moved his head to check the clock radio; it read 2:03AM in a harsh, red light.

"Oh, no way."

Hey, what do you think you're-

Before Steven could think to stop him, Marc pressed down hard on the STOP button, the dull man's voice they'd been listening to since dinner coming to a halt mid sentence.

Thought you were done, hm? Clearly you're not done being a complete tosser!

Turning his head back up to the ceiling, Marc's eyes met Steven's miffed expression. There was a mirror fixed to the wood, enough to see his reflection down to his waist, so that he could see Steven's arms crossed over his chest.

They didn't need the mirrors to communicate anymore, not really. After spending so long not knowing each other, now they traded the body like an afterthought, having conversations out loud and sharing its voice until people on the street started staring.

It was as easy as breathing.

Posting the mirrors around the room was Marc's idea. It's not that he didn't enjoy the way they communicated now, he'd talk to him any way he could, now that he, well, could.

He just liked being able to see Steven's expressions sometimes, the way his whole face seemed to open up when Marc called him buddy. His look of concern when Marc was having a particularly rough day, without him ever having to say much of anything out loud.

Even now, when Steven was very clearly annoyed with him.

He had to keep from smiling. It would only get him in more trouble.

"It's time for bed."

We’re already IN bed. And sure, right when we were starting to make some real-

Marc can't help it now, and rolls his eyes. "You don't actually believe this crap works, do you?"

Doesn't really matter what I believe now, does it? Gotta try something.

The irritation on his face had melted away now, replaced with worry, his eyebrows knit together in concern.

"Hey, I'm the only one who gets to look like that."

Steven ignores the joke, which is surprising considering the nature of it, but Marc notes the measured focus in his tone.

Think you'll have another one tonight, then?

Marc sighed, pushing all the air out of his lungs until he felt his body sink further into the bed.

"I dunno, Steven. I told you, it's always random."

He'd been having nightmares for weeks now, ever since they came home. It was to the point where dread would creep in on him in the late evening, gnawing at the pit of his stomach until nightfall, reminding him of what was to come. He never went more than a few days without one.

Some nights he was pleasantly surprised, sleeping the whole way through with no interruptions. Other nights.. well.

How long's it been now?

"'Bout three days. I'm due."

Well with that attitude, it's no wonder we haven't got to the bottom of it.

"Steven."

I'm serious Marc, I've done all this research and you've made almost no effort to-

"Steven, I'm done talking about it."

Then how about you listen instead, yeah? Ever since we got back, it's like sometimes.. sometimes you're still there, Marc.

He looks away from him, closing his eyes against the cool fabric of the pillow. Sometimes it feels like the mirrors make it harder to hide, but it doesn't matter. Steven always sees him anyway.

Do you still think about all that? Everything that happened back then?

That's not what it is, not even close. The truth of it all, their childhood and all the pain that came with it, feels more like a dull ache now than a nagging wound. Ever since he shared it with him, let him shoulder some of the burden, it was much easier to carry.

He felt lighter, even.

Steven was convinced that, somehow, Marc still carried some of that blame, and he never could find the words to tell him just how easily Steven had scraped that feeling from his bones. How his insistence and his honesty had shined a light on all his darkest places, made him see himself anew.

No words ever felt like enough, so he doesn’t say anything. He hopes Steven understands anyway.

So he lets Steven think what he wants, because it’s easier than explaining the alternative.

It's easier than telling him about the fear that's replaced it. The way he can still feel his knees digging into the sand even now, how hollow he felt looking down at Steven's frozen body, hand reaching out to him.

Even though Steven is back with him, the way he was always meant to be, Marc remembers being in that place without him. Looking at an empty shell of the person who meant the most to him, and how it made him feel empty too.

How he was powerless to save him, and the only solution that made sense was to kneel down and join him.

It was a different kind of blame, a different ache. He was afraid, because now he'd tasted that loss and it clung to him like damp fabric.

Now he was just a man. No longer Moon Knight. No longer anyone’s fist. And it was a painful reminder at times, just what was possible to lose.

Marc?

His eyes snap open again, and he wonders how much time he's spent lost in thought. Only seconds, he hopes.

"Hm?"

You know you can talk to me, right? I mean, I shouldn't have to tell you that, but. Ya know.

He looks up at Steven, and the look on his face is so honest and endearing, he almost forgets the way it all feels. He makes it so easy to let go of things, and Marc is thankful, again, that he left that field behind for now.

Again, he can't help himself, and so he smiles. "Yeah, I know, buddy. I know I can."

Good. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've had the very smart, incredibly unique idea of actually getting some rest for once. Can’t believe you didn’t think of it. You should try it, sleep is conducive to learning you know, and I have a big day planned for us tomorrow, and-”

Marc groaned in mock exasperation, pulling the blankets over their head. He needed to hide the way his grin had started growing the minute Steven began prattling on again. It wasn’t just his, though, but one he was sure they shared.

He didn’t need the mirrors for that.

Good night, Marc.

“Night, Steven.”

He's there again, like he always is, but it's all wrong.

He's wearing the suit. He'd never worn it there before, had he? It was only ever that pale, threadbare outfit, the one he’d worn in the hospital all those years ago, picked out of some long buried memory he’d rather stay forgotten.

Wait.

The suit.

The suit?

Before he’d even opened his eyes, Marc knew it was there, wrapped close around his body. The way it always made him feel just a little trapped, a little claustrophobic. He could take it off any time he wanted, would will it away in a moment when his work was done, but he could never quite shake the feeling that he was suffocating in it.

His lungs constrict at the thought, breath catching in his throat.

When he looks down at himself, the crescent moon on his chest, the hood hanging low against his brow, he thinks the cloth wraps even tighter around him.

Maybe he imagined it.

Okay.

Breathe. Okay.

It’s fine. All I have to do is just. Take it off, right?

Back then, the idea alone was enough to send the armor slipping away into nothingness, waiting in the darkness of somewhere far away until he needed it again. But now, no matter how hard he tried, no matter how many times his thoughts echoed the word away, away, away, still, it stayed.

He takes a fistful of the fabric of the cape, pulls it as far away from him as his arm allows, jerking it taut. But it still doesn’t tear.

Panic began to settle just beneath his skin, on the edge of boiling over.

The smell of sand wafts over him, ancient and familiar. Looking towards the horizon, as far as his eyes can make out through their glow, sand dunes and a deep purple sky. The only sound the erratic beating of his own heart.

I’m alone out here.

“Steven? Are you there?”

Marc prods at that spot in his mind where he usually resides, but there’s no response, no presence but his own.

He feels hollow again, a ringing in his ears that he can’t seem to shake.

“Boy, are you gonna be disappointed.”

Marc is jolted back to his senses, turning to address the voice that spoke up behind him. Eyes widening, he sees.. Himself.

But it’s not himself, and it’s not Steven, either.

There were dull, heavy circles under the man’s eyes, but the bright intensity of his glare made him seem too alert, too focused. He wore a black jacket, collar pulled up flush against his neck, a flat cap arranged neatly on his head. His hands were balled into fists at his sides, but besides that, he remained still as stone.

“Not who you were looking for, hm? I mean, kinda. But not really.”

The man chuckles to himself, allowing him what felt like a pitying glance. They were on level ground but Marc still felt like he was looking up at him, somehow.

Marc decides at that moment that he doesn’t like the guy. At all.

“So when do you plan on letting me in on the joke, pal?”

He speaks up again, this time a little less teasingly than before.

“You don’t deserve it, you know.”

Marc blinks in his direction, not sure if he even heard him right. “‘Scuse me?”

“You. Don’t. Deserve. It. What you’re wearing. Do I need to spell it out for you?”

“I- wait a second. Do you even know what this is?” He gestures down at himself, cape billowing out behind him.

“Of course I know what it is, hermano, this ain’t my first day.”

His condescending tone is finally settling in now, and the heat of Marc’s annoyance is creeping up his neck, across his cheeks.

“I don’t even know who you are.”

“Don’t I know it, boss. But I know all. About. You.” He punctuates every word with a step forward, making Marc falter a bit.

“Anyway, doesn’t matter who I am, we’re here to have a conversation, right?”

Marc throws his arms up in exasperation. “There’s nothing to even talk about, nothing to deserve here. It’s a-”

“What, a punishment?” the man spits it out, a bad taste in his mouth. Like he’s thought about this conversation, a thousand times, has predicted every answer Marc could give and picked it apart until he knew the flaws in it by heart.

Marc’s own heart starts racing again.

“Because you’re so good at taking those, right?”

Marc stands in place, says nothing. He knows he’s proving the point with his silence, but the words won’t come to him, the weight of the admission sitting in his rib cage. The man starts to pace around him, a wide circle carved out of the sand by his footsteps.

“Yeah, and that’s the whole problem with you, isn’t it? I am so sick of your self righteous bullshit. Your oh woe is me crap, it’s exhausting.”

“Who even-”

“You can’t just take something for what it is, find the point in it.”

Suddenly, he throws his hands out, shoves Marc back into the sand so hard it cascades out around them. He stands over him a moment, deep browns of his eyes seeming to blacken through his glare, and considers the way the cape fell open across the ground. The need to be close to it is so immediate, so blinding, he drops to his knees, pinning Marc to the ground along with it.

“You bury yourself so deep in shit that you can’t appreciate what’s been handed to you.”

Marc wonders, for a second, if this is what he looked like during all those fights. Frenzied, delirious, a quiet sort of hysteria. He understands now why people ran.

“G-get off of me-”

“Why? Isn’t this what you want? To keep this? Don’t you miss being the hero? You can’t protect anybody without it.”

He grabs a fistful of the cape in his hand the same way Marc had not long ago, gestures with it, knuckles sharp against the black gloves he wore.

“I know you think about it all the time.” He taps a finger of his other hand against his own temple, that ghost of a sneer playing across his lips.

“You may keep your secrets from everyone else, Spector, but you’ll never keep them from me.”

Without warning, he digs his fingers deep into the gauzy wrappings directly over Marc’s heart and pulls, hard. As the fabric rips apart with a sickening noise, he feels a searing pain burning across his chest, like the man’s taken his skin along with it.

And he doesn’t stop, taking piece after piece, scraps blowing away in the wind. Marc tries to reach up at him through his fury, pushing away at his face but it’s no use. Everything feels so heavy, so impossibly far away.

The burn is stronger now and Marc’s in agony, the pain consuming him so completely that when he tries to cry out, tell this man to please, stop, I’ll do anything, you can have it, no sound comes out.

Marc Spector is an open wound, heart exposed to the desert sands.

And he feels the man grip it tightly in one hand, squeezes it as he leans down to whisper in his ear.

“Now it’s my turn.”

Marc!

Someone’s screaming.

Oh, it’s him that’s screaming. How long has he been screaming?

It takes him a minute to come to, feeling eventually dripping back into his limbs. The panic takes a bit longer to subside, his whole body damp with sweat as he starts to regain his hearing.

Finally, he can make out the words leaving his mouth.

“Stevenstevenstevenstevenste-”

Marc, hey, Marc. I’m right here. It’s Steven.

He’s still in bed, but it’s a wreck. Blankets thrown across the floor, sheets tangled up and around his legs. He’s ripped his shirt off at some point, but it’s so soaked beside him that he couldn’t see putting it back on again. He’s not sure where the pillows went.

Breathing slowly returning to normal, heart beating steady in his chest, Marc reaches up, feels the skin intact there.

Letting out a shaky sigh, he looks up at the mirror again.

Steven’s expression is a mixture of horrified and pained. He wants to shy away from it, but Marc knows he won’t fall for that scheme anymore.

Marc. We have got to do something.

#AHHHHH OKAY HERE #mcu #moon knight #moon knight fanfiction #marc spector #jake lockley #steven grant #fanfic #mk fic

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trenchcoatsbi · 11 months

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yoo could i ask for a playlist for a tallulah qsmp fictive mayhaps? she has an insatiable hunger for music it's frightening (/silly) ,, she likes soundtracks (child of light is her current fav), stuff like the oh hellos/cavetown/bears in trees, and generally cozy sorta feeling songs, plus anything lullaby-ey if that makes sense :] hope u guys are well! sorry this is a tad long or vague hhaha -–🔉🌠

hello! Admittedly I rushed this a bit I’m not as sure about these as I was about 🌾🪶 Phil’s but I took a swing we’ll see if I missed later I guess. I tried to include as many artists as possible so you have plenty of people to look through since you said she was a bit insatiable when it came to music! I did phone in the last few songs like the lullaby-eque ones. yeah again this was a bit of a mess on my end. Though I have been writing down songs for this for a while I didn't have an easy time narrowing down things as to what I wanted to include so at this point I've just thrown my hands in the air and declared it done now. Sorry if the playlist is messy or unsatisfactory.

Art used is by @/sallomezz on tumblr and can be found here!

Hope you find something to enjoy on the playlist or in my bonus ramblings below! -phil

okay so I kinda cheated my self imposed rule of one song per artist but in my defense I couldn’t choose between Moonlight and Paperwork… They’re my two favorite Fish in a Birdcage songs and I thought both were kinda fitting so oh well both of them are there.

Anywho I could go on and on and on about how I was this close to fighting myself to the death (<- hyperbolic) over this. Let's just get to other recommendations I didn't put on for one reason or another.

Starting with musicians I put on there but didn't include a song from for whatever reason:

Myxrite! My personal favorite song Now and Again doesn't look like its on Spotify at all so uh yeah I'm linking it here because I like it a lot.

Bug Hunter is on there too but he's currently in the top ten of my favorite musicians so yeah here's more suggestions! Go With The Flow and Listen to Your Mom pretty high up there in terms of my favorite songs. Making Up Words is one of my favorites lyrically (though I must say that Disco in the Panic Room is up there too), and of course I have to mention Try My Best and Slow Burn because I keep using lyrics from them to inspire drawings (that I'll never post anywhere online). Okay fuck I need to move on before I link literally every single one of his songs lol

Same as Bug Hunter, The Narcissist Cookbook is up there in terms of my favorite musician + he put the MOTH album (one of his old ones that wasn't on on youtube yet) on youtube recently so he's been in my head a lot. Ghost Stories and UNWELCOME GUESTS (warning: unwelcome guests starts with a phone ringing noise idk my friends always get surprised by it so I'm just gonna mention it in case) are rahgjagh they are so good they exist in my head rent free

Madilyn Mei has been on loop in my head cause a friend of mine. Anyway Six Legs (tippy tappy toes) and Sleeping in the Kitchen. just live in my brain now because of them lol

The actual recommendations that aren't just more songs from folk on the playlist already:

I Fight Dragons! I fucking love them! Their music tends to have techy/8-bit noises and they're a bit more on the rock side of things but their stuff is really good! Good Morning Sunlight and Oh The Places You'll Go... They are the most <3 to me forever... Sunny Afternoon too... God I love IFD I need to make my friends listen to them with me more

If you like IFD you may also like Jonathan Coulton or the portal song guy as my friends know him lol. Nobody Loves You Like Me or Now I Am an Arsonist or really anything from the Artificial Heart Album is always my go to for showing people besides the songs from Portal (Still Alive and Want You Gone) that my friends know.

Similar to IFD, a lot of Going Spaceward's songs have techy noise in the like proper releases, but his youtube has a lot of acoustic versions of his songs that don't have those. His covers are good but really most of his music is just funky. Uh since I will absolutely not narrow this down in any timely fashion I'm just going to link the entire Can You Hear It Album and uh Count Past 23.

Joseph Dubay is a musician I only got into like a few months ago but I really like his stuff, kinda similar vibes to what i was going for with this playlist but a lot of his songs just didnt fit the vibe so I didn't feel like adding them. That being said I am obliged to tell absolutely everyone I talk about music with to listen to Pastel Goth and 4evr so yeah.

Completely different vibe but San Fermin may be of interest to y'all! Astronaut and The Woods are the ones I listen to most from them but everything about their music just scratches the brain itch for me. Their stuff is indie rock which is kinda in the genres of the bands you mentioned!

A bit of a different suggestion but since you mentioned her liking soundtracks AZALI might be a cool youtube channel to check out! They make short songs in FL Studio and idk I'll be honest I don't listen to soundtracks or things like you mentioned in that part of your ask but I do listen to every upload AZALI makes and I think they're all pretty neat. The songs are all like a minute or two long but I like to just put them on loop when I'm writing. Truth, Violence, Warmth is my go to for writing for this specific project, but Mechanical God was how I found their channel and I'm just fond of City of Shattered Glass so there those three are my suggestions.

#phil posts #sbi asks #playlists #qsmp fictive #tallulah fictive #🔉🌠 anon #somethings might be a bit messed up wrote this while half asleep haha #if anything is messed up I'll fix it when I wake up -phil

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khaoray · 1 year

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hello! it's your secret santa again 🎁 and i'm back with a couple of questions for you! i see you like several different shows, but i'd love to hear about a couple of your faves and why you love them. who are some of your beloved characters? who makes you go berserk when you see them? :D i hope you have fun with these, and enjoy your weekend!

hello again, stranger!! i hope you're well. i'm warning you now that this will probably get pretty long bc 1. i am incapable of shutting up and 2. i have many faves for all of these, but i'll try and limit myself asdfg

a couple of my fave shows

just between lovers - it's probably my favourite drama of all time, i just love everything about it. it came into my life at a time when i really needed it and gave me the story of two incredibly broken people picking themselves up and learning to heal and it's stuck with me since i first watched it.

if you wish upon me - for many of the same reasons as jbl tbh. it got me out of a drama slump, it gave me a good ji chang wook drama for the first time in at least five years, it gave me an unconventional romance between two absolutely unhinged idiots, it gave me intergenerational found family

one spring night - the drama that started this blog!! it was the drama that brought me back to watching kdramas after a couple of years away and it will always hold a special place in my heart for that.

some of my beloveds; spoiler alert: i like my men hot, tragic and bitchy

park joong gil - let's just get the obvious out of the way. he thoroughly took over my brain while tomorrow was airing and still lives up there rent free. what can i say, his cunty fashion sense and even cuntier personality bewitched me body and soul. he burns rapists alive. he gaslights the king of the underworld to protect his wife. he has a tragic tm backstory. what's not to obsess over??

jang han seo - my baby boy forever and always. has a character ever fought so hard to become a better person just to have their arc so thoroughly disrespected?? i do not think so!!! he's tragic. he's a bitch. he's an idiot. he's smart as hell. he's the bravest man in the entire world. i love him.

nam seon ho - my og tragic tm boy. he's doomed by the narrative. he's destined for sadness. he is, above all, a nuisance to the people in power who want him to stop talking about social inequality. listen i see a pretty man resign himself to being the villain bc that's the only thing the narrative allows him to be and i am immediately on his side. it's the villain apologist in me <3

people i go beserk over

lee soo hyuk - the things this man does to my mental health cannot be quantified. i look at him and feel like my brain has been dropped into a blender and turned to the highest setting

kwak dong yeon - not only is he insanely pretty he's just insane like this man just opens his mouth and lets whatevers rattling around in his brain come out and it never makes any gd sense but that makes it hilarious and i want to be his best friend

woo do hwan - he's just. the prettiest man. THE PRETTIEST MAN. how does he just. look like that. wtf.

jeon jong seo - a recent addition but she makes me 😵‍😵‍😵‍

#vic.txt #ask #✉️🎅#i told you i wouldn't shut up i am sorry but also not

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neon-junkie · 3 years

Note

Ok so going off the fic with the batch taking your suppressors every once in a while, how would they be if you wind up going into heat? Would they do like a group session or assuming the heat takes a few days would they take turns? You've got this thought living in my head rent free

I do plan on writing a full fic where you go into heat, but for now, here are some thoughts. (gender-neutral reader)

I was meant to briefly write a few things for this, but uh, this is 2k words... sorry, not sorry hehe.

---

So, it all comes down to what your heat is actually like. Is it a single day thing? Does it last for a few days? Are you somewhat stable? Or are you a complete and utter mess? Are you whiny and desperate? Or snappy and demanding? So many factors to consider!

Either way, the Batch is going to help. They'll do a mixture between a group session, and taking it in turns. They chalk up a rota, and spend a few hours with you every day, taking care of your needs, however you see fit.

The first shift is spent with Hunter, of course. He's going into this blind, just like everybody else, since Tech can only find so much about your heats. You've not had one in years, so you're also uncertain on how things will go.

Hunter is extremely caring. He's heavily concerned, not just for your physical needs, but for your mental wellbeing. Hunter needs to make sure that your heat doesn't scramble your brain too much, and the second you show signs of things becoming overwhelming, he's there.

At first, he attempts to be calm and caring. He'll fetch water when needed, and ensures that you're eating, whenever you can stomach food. Hunter won't come onto you until you ask, and even then, he's still soft and gentle. Fuck, he's worried he's going to hurt you - you're hyper sensitive right now, so every touch feels tenfold.

It isn't until Hunter removes your underwear that he realises just how bad you are. Fucking hell, you stink, and Hunter has to shut his eyes and let out a deep breath as he attempts to calm himself. Curse his heightened senses, they're really not helping right now.

He wants to relieve you with his fingers and mouth, he wants to hold back as much as possible, but no matter what he does, it's not enough. You need to be full, over-flowing, stuffed to the brim, and after hours of listening to you beg, he finally snaps. Hunter swiftly fees his cock, leaving the rest of his armour still on, and pulls your knees up over his shoulders. He folds you in half, mating press style, and lets out a heavy sigh as he slides into your slick heat.

Even now, Hunter's trying so hard to be careful and gentle, but you're clawing at his armoured back, whining and moaning his name, and he decides that fuck it, he's going to pound this heat out of you, or at least attempt to. Hunter manages to keep you busy for a few rounds, enough to stabilise your heat for a few hours, until he eventually has to tap out from exhaustion.

His shift is up, thank the Maker, and he crawls back to his room due to exhaustion, leaving poor Echo to take over where he's left off.

Echo, like Hunter, attempts to be calming and gentle with you. It doesn't take a genius to realise that Hunter's just spent the last few hours tending to your needs, mainly because the air stinks of sex, but for now, you're stable.

Echo has a nap with you, letting you curl up against his chest, huddled under the warmth of your blankets. Thankfully, you manage to get some rest, only to wake up hours later with that throbbing pain between your thighs again. Your whimpers wake Echo up, and he's greeted to the sight of you mewling in his arms, grinding yourself against his thigh as your heat worsens as every second passes.

Sadly, Echo isn't entirely sure what to do. He's not hooked up with anyone since before Skako Minor, and despite not losing his cock in the blast, he hasn't really touched himself since then. He considers himself to be inexperienced, somewhat of a virgin, and he can't keep eye contact as he explains that to you. However, he insists that he wants to help, he just needs you to take the lead.

Despite the overwhelming desire to mate, you manage to suppress your needs, enough to give Echo the reassurance that he requires. This time, you're the one being gentle as you straddle him, slowly undressing him whilst you make out. Echo is the one whimpering as you slide down onto him, holding yourself steady until he gives you the signal to move.

Fuck, you're aching, burning up between your thighs, but you continue fighting your natural urges. Echo notices this, and encourages you to pick up the pace, telling you that he's content and relaxed with how things are going. You trust him, and you know that if he needs you to stop, he'll tell you to. With that knowledge in mind, you pick up your pace.

To your surprise, Echo begins bucking up into you. Your heat is so damn tight, wet, slick, and ah- Echo only manages to last a single round. Knowing that you're aching right now, he swiftly cleans himself up, and leaves a gentle kiss on your forehead as he tells you that he's going to get you more help.

Tech is surprisingly not on his holopad as he enters your room. He's somewhat formal, informing you that he's here to tend to your needs, and help however possible. You're biting back a laugh, but your cheeky smile is wiped off your face as Tech shows you the little device that he's been working on this whole time.

It's some sort of vibrator. You're able to attach it wherever you need it to go, and Tech helps fasten it in place, smirking to himself when the device turns on, and you instantly let out a groan. It's perfect, stimulating you enough to keep most of the heat down, but you're still aching to be filled up.

Tech has no problem filling in that role, and informs you that mating press is the perfect position to hit all the right spots. He swiftly strips down before manhandling you into position, and wastes no time sliding into you, letting out a groan as his cock begins filling you up. Of course, Tech's thrusts are calculated and accurate, paying attention to how you react to different angles, speeds, and so on. You tell him exactly what you want, and Tech delivers.

With Tech's accuracy, and the vibrating device working away, you reach peak multiple times, as does Tech. He fills you up, over and over, until you're overflowing with his (and the others) loads. Tech can't help but push his leaking release back into your hole, making a smug comment about how you seem to be so desperate to be filled up, yet you can't even hold onto what he gives you? Tut tut.

He's sweating by the time you two are finished, both out of breath, exhausted, and somewhat stable. Tech makes quick work of cleaning both of you up, and doesn't bother redressing as he crawls into your bed, pulling you tightly against his chest. Your heat is far from over, but for now, you can enjoy some more rest, before the next Batcher comes along to tend to your needs.

Wrecker is up next, and thankfully, he brings food! Haven just woken up, your heat hasn't returned to its agonizing state, so for now, you can enjoy some snacks whilst you and Wrecker mindlessly chat away.

After snacks and a cuddle, your heat begins building up once more, and Wrecker seems surprisingly eager to help you out. You've spent the last day being pounded over and over, leaving your hole open and leaking, giving Wrecker an advantage when he slips his thick cock into you. The others have filled you up perfectly, but Wrecker is something else, boarder lining painful. He remains still as you adjust to his size, and when you're ready, he goes slow.

However, Wrecker holding back and going slow only seems to make you worse, and you practically have to beg to get him to speed up. He knows he's big, and he doesn't want to hurt you, but seeing as you're almost in tears from the sensation between your thighs, Wrecker decides to pick up the pace.

When Wrecker delivers, he delivers, and goes above and beyond to help you out in any way possible. He's worth the stretch, and his massive frame is doing things to you, peering up through your hazy eyes to see nothing but Wrecker, towering over you, keeping you pinned beneath him as he fucks you senseless.

Wrecker's grunting and moaning as he cums, and he only needs to stop for a few, brief seconds before picking up speed again. How he can fuck like this is a mystery to you, but you're not going to ask questions, especially when you're this cock-dumb.

Finally, after hours of progress, and days of your overall heat, the burn is slowly starting to settle down, and it's only taken four men to help you out! Wreckers' load spill out of you when he finally pulls out - not like your bed isn't already soaked. He wraps you in a blanket and settles you on the floor as he pulls on some light clothing and strips your bedding, insisting on cleaning up before the final person takes over his shift.

When your bed is remade, you're left bundled up in it, and Wrecker ensures that he's smothered you in more than enough kisses before leaving your room.

Crosshair takes a while to arrive, and you almost drift back to sleep whilst waiting. He's brought you some water, and helps you up as he hands it over. He doesn't say anything, at first, but when he finally speaks, all he tells you is that your room stinks. Like, it reeks, and it's drifted out and smothered the entire ship. Crosshair is laughing as he tells you that Hunter has had to camp outside, as the smell is really getting to him, but Crosshair is here to finish things off.

Crosshair makes a comment about how you've saved the best for last, and places the kindest, most tender kiss you've ever felt on your temple, before he shrugs the blanket to you and gets to work. Whilst the others have been gentle in their own ways, Crosshair isn't - he knows what you need, and he's insistent that he's going to be the one who fucks this heat out of you.

Crosshair wants you on all fours, head down, ass up, wrists pinned behind your back. You're still stretched out from Wrecker's thick length, and Crosshair's chuckling as he slides in, making comments about how fucked out you are, about how you need five different men to satisfy you, about how needy and forgetful you must be if you forgot to take your supplements.

As Crosshair's pounding into you, you can feel everybody's previous loads being pushed from your hole, dripping onto the bed. Ugh, the covers are going to need changing again, but that chore disappears from your mind as Crosshair slips two of his fingers in alongside his cock, fingering you as he fucks you in an attempt to keep you full.

He can't help but make even more comments, both praising and mocking you for how well you're taking his fingers and cock. After the first set of orgasms, Crosshair flips both of your bodies over, and lays back on your bed. He has you lie on him, your back against his chest, and he holds your legs up against your shoulders as he begins fucking up into you.

Crosshair is grunting against your ear, leaving the occasional mark on your neck. He's not holding back - why would he? This is what you need, and Crosshair's here to supply it. One hand moves from your legs and wraps around your throat, whilst the other slips between your thighs to touch you feverishly. He's ordering you to cum for him, demanding it, and the final orgasm that you have almost causes you to black out.

During your hazy, fucked-out state, Crosshair carefully rolls you off him, and begins taking care of you. He cleans you up, helps you put some light clothing on, and curls up into bed beside you. Crosshair's large frame wraps snugly around you as he takes the position of big spoon, planting gentle kisses on your shoulder as he asks how you're feeling.

Finally, your heat is over, and now comes the following soreness from being fucked silly over the past few days. Oh well, it was fun, and maybe now you'll learn to take your supplements regularly?

#this was fun as fuck to write #tbbwriting #swwriting #nsft #the bad batch #the bad batch x reader #tbb x you #reader insert #gn!reader #gender neutral reader #smut #hunter x you #tech x you #echo x you #wrecker x you #crosshair x you #the bad batch x you

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anotherpjofan · 2 years

Note

Who do you think is the most powerful of the 7

Anyways this became really long so I’m going to park my explanation under the read more

TLDR; Percy is the most powerful of the seven in terms of raw powers but I believe Frank and Hazel could be on par/ be more powerful with more practice

Okay so about this: It keeps changing

Most of the time I’m like yes Percy but then I remember that Hazel literally caused an island to collapse and prevented Gaea from rising for like 70 years

Then we have Frank who can turn into any animal. Sure he needs the knowledge but this is insane. Like he could turn into a Drakon and just…basically become kind of invulnerable and easily smash through enemy lines.

Then we go to Piper. Who’s charmspeak is always downplayed for some reason?? But in my head she can have monsters listening on her every word.Like this girl can talk them to kill themselves without lifting a single finger.

Listen Leo with his powers and brain? If given the time he can create an elaborate machine that destroys like 1000 monsters at once while he’s sipping coke or something in the corner.

So in canon we don’t really get to see Jason having extreme powers for some reason despite being a child of the big three? But personally I believe that he can like control the air in the lungs and kill someone easily if he tried hard enough.

Oh and lastly Annabeth. Listen I like her but I hate to admit just brains…isn’t really going to save your life. Especially since her “smart” plans are mostly the same as everyone else’s. Like how Percy bailed them out with the whole Chrysoar thing. However the annabeth that lives in my head rent free is able to learn any weapon in minutes, create a battle strategy that will effectively decapitate a monster in seconds and has extra strength like this girl could carry 100kg without a sweat.

Anyways this brings me back to Percy. He also does some pretty spectacular things: blowing up a mountain and controlling poison and water in blood etc but I think the thing that sets him apart is that he dosen’t get tired that easily. Then again I also think that it could be due to the endurance he built up over the numerous years where he had to consistently use his abilities and push them to their breaking point - kind of like muscles yknow

Anyways my point here is that unfourtantely basing off an canon I would have to eliminate Jason, Leo, Piper and Annabeth because their powers just aren’t developed. Hazel and Frank seem to have a limit to how much of their powers they can use at one go while Percy dosen’t seem to have this limit. Again I think this is cause he spent so much time testing the limits while the others didn’t get the chance.

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ppersonna · 4 years

Text

the landlord - myg | m

↳ summary- your air conditioner breaks right at the height of a recordbreaking heat wave. good thing your hot landlord, yoongi, knows how to attend to any needs you may have.

↳ rating- explicit / 18+

↳ word count- 4.3k

↳ pairing- yoongi x reader

↳ genre- smut, light crack, PWP

↳ warnings- basically the plot of a porn, theres no plot, the plot doesn’t make sense, seduction, oral sex (m/f receiving), penetrative sex, dirty talk, fun laughing giggly time during sex, honestly yoongi is great and i love him, maybe exhibitionism if u squint ???, cum sharing, finger sucking, motorboating

↳ a/n- did i just write basically the plotline of a bad porno? yes. did i love it? also yes. this was lowkey inspired by my own landlord coming over to my place (that i DIDNT SLEEP WITH) and i answered the door in a state of undress :/ i hate myself lol. anywwayyss! enjoy yoongi the landlord! pls feel free to interact with me because i need constant attention uwu

The inside of your apartment feels hotter than the blazing sun outside. Your air conditioner chose the worst week to fritz on you. A record-breaking heat wave.

Nothing helps. You open windows, blow fans, sit in front of your fridge, take cold showers. All just momentary bliss that ends too soon.

It finally breaks you and you muster up the courage to text your landlord, Yoongi.

You inhale a deep breath as you click on the name. Min Yoongi, landlord. Your eyes flutter shut for a moment without realizing.

Your landlord who lives in the same building as you is likely the hottest and most attractive man you’ve ever met. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t have a crush on the man. Every month, paying rent was torture. You wanted to fling your legs open to him and request he takes his payment another way.

But you never did. He always remained cool and expressionless and it was hard to get a read on the man, let alone see if he’s interested.

Your fingers slide across the keys, nibbling at your lip as you decide what to say.

[to: yoongi] hi! sorry to bother you but my ac appears to have died and im afraid ill be next at the rate of his heat wave 😩 no rush but id appreciate help!

Perfect. Simple, slightly cutesy. Emoji to express how chill you are.

Your phone vibrates almost instantly and a smile curves on your face.

[to: me] oh no, we can’t have that. haunted apartments are hard to rent out 😉 im out until late tonight but i can stop by first thing in the morning if that’s cool?

A flirty line? Is this… working?

[to: yoongi] tomorrow is great! and don’t worry, if i die i won’t haunt this apartment, i’ll haunt yours 😌

[to: me] see you tomorrow, poltergeist 👻

You’re leaping through the air at the idea of the hot landlord semi-flirting with you over text when you notice your apartment. It’s disgusting. Your face burns red and you instantly work on the space before Yoongi comes over. He can't see you like this.

Sleep is out of the question. After your ravage cleaning and polishing and organizing, you’ve worked up more than a sweat. A cold shower helps for a moment but you end up lying in bed feeling slightly wet and very, very hot. The humidity is draining.

You change into an outfit of a crop top and g-string panties. You aim the 3 fans in your room to point around your bed for direct wind contact. It helps, somewhat.

Sleep finally comes as dawn breaks. It’s cooled off enough that the ambient air around you is finally tolerable. Exhaustion overwhelms you, and you pass out, hard. Finally.

You’re broken from your exquisite dream of being nailed by your landlord when a loud knock wakes you up. It’s disorienting. You’re so tired you’re not even sure where you are at the moment, let alone who is at the door. The knock sounds again and you scurry to turn off the loud fans and book it to the door.

The door swings open and reveals your landlord, Yoongi.

“Oh, hi!” You’re excited to see him, for reasons beyond fixing your air conditioning.

Yoongi steps in and looks like he’s about to speak but opens his mouth and remains silent. His cheeks tingle a light shade of pink and he’s staring at your body. Did you drool all over yourself all night or something? What was he staring—

Oh god.

You glance down at your body. The crop top you hastily changed into in the middle of the night hits you a little lower than where your breasts end. The G string is non-existent. It covers almost nothing, which is why you opted for it last night in your desire to get cooled off.

You take a step back from the sexy landlord still gaping at you and shyly cross your arms over your chest.

“I’m sorry, I—it was hot,” you mutter. “I’ll go change.”

Yoongi licks his lips, then snaps his eyes up to you and finds his voice. “It’s fine. It’s your home,” he swallows. “It’s hot in here, so stay comfortable. Don’t want to overheat you.”

His eyes stare down yours intensely. It feels like your veins sizzle, and it’s not related to the scorching temperature of your studio apartment.

He breaks the contact first and heads towards the panel in the wall where the inner workings of the air conditioner hide.

You wait in your kitchen, enjoying the natural shadow and shade from no windows and a spot to hide from Yoongi.

What if he thought badly about you? What if he doesn’t find you attractive and thinks of this as a ploy to get him to lower your rent or something? How could you recover from this? Would it ever go back to being the same?

You’re anxiously tapping your fingers on the kitchen countertop, listening intently as the landlord fiddles with pipes and belts and mutters under his breath every so often. Eventually, you hear a soft ‘aha’ and your air con kicks right on. You think it’s the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard. Instantly you feel the machine push out air. It’s lukewarm now from disuse, but soon it will be frigid cold. You stand in front of the breeze and bask, arms open to let the wind blow through you.

Yoongi clears his throat, and it startles you, making you realize you’re standing in your house nearly naked, ass cheeks out on display, under-boob surely peeking out to say hi. Your face burns and it makes him chuckle as you jump and attempt to cover yourself somehow.

“How long was I standing there?” You ask quietly.

Yoongi can’t wipe the amused smirk on his face. “A few minutes,” he shrugs. “Glad it’s working now for you.”

The air rapidly cools as the machine continuously pumps out colder and colder air.

“Thank god. I owe you,” you sigh.

“Nah, that’s what rent pays for,” he smiles.

He makes his move to leave you alone, and you recognize this is it. This is your chance. You can ask him to fuck the shit out of you now. If he declines, well, the first of the month would start being more awkward. But if he accepts… it’s too blissful to imagine.

You grab at his arm as he walks past you. He stops in his tracks, and his eyes travel to where your hands meet his skin.

“I’m serious,” you attempt to sound as confident as you can. “I owe you.”

He arches a brow at you and turns completely to face you. Your hands hover at the hem of your tiny shirt, lifting a sliver to give him a glance of the bottom of a rounded globe.

“Let me repay you somehow?” you ask.

A smirk lifts at one side of his lips. “You think that will cover the cost?”

Your cheeks heat and you pull the shirt up higher, determined to get him in your bed or die trying.

“I’m hoping.”

Yoongi’s eyes zero in on your tits. Rounded and full, nipples prickling in the fresh and rapidly cooling air. He contemplates for a moment as he lets his eyes get their nice, long drink of you.

“Yeah, now that I think of it, that should be exact change.” He drops his bag of tools and approaches you quickly, hands cupping your head as he kisses you intensely.

He kisses you with all the fire of the heatwave outside, melting you from the inside out. You’re sure to be sweaty and clammy after you’re finished with him. He swipes his tongue over your lips, and there’s no hesitation to let him in. Your hands grip at his sides, pulling his shirt up as much as you can while trying to focus on making out with the hottest guy you’ve ever met.

He chuckles against your lips at your weak attempt to disrobe him and he reluctantly pulls a step away from you to take the shirt off. He stands there and allows you a quick look before he’s back on to you. His skin presses against your chilled nipples and the fire and ice sensation makes you shiver.

Yoongi kisses you passionately, you notice. Like a lover. It’s laced with deeper intention and you hope you’re not overthinking it. You will your brain to just shut up and enjoy. Emotions can come later.

Now, you’re the one to remove your lips from his and he pouts slightly at the loss. You smile and slide down to your knees, hands undoing the button of his tight jeans and tugging them down.

“Shit, babe, I think you may be overpaying me,” he admits. “Wasn’t that hard to fix.”

As a finger pulls down the front of his boxers to let his cock spring free, you flick a smirk up to his face.

“Then consider this my repayment for being late on rent all those months,” you state before shifting your gaze back to his hardened cock. It’s gathered pre-cum at the head and you wonder if he’s been hard and wanting since he got here and first saw you. The thought is intoxicating and spurs you on.

Your tongue licks up the slick at the tip that threatens to drip off, before it swirls around the bulbous head. Yoongi isn’t afraid to be loud, it seems. You supposed you wouldn’t be afraid if you owned the building too. Who will complain? And to who?

“Hoooooly fuck,” he gasps. “Sh—shit I might let you pay rent like this for the rest of your lease.”

You pop your mouth off and lick your lips, allowing your hand to grip his shaft and begin stroking him.

“I don’t want to pay rent this way. How about we consider it a perk?” You smile, pressing forward to kiss his tip teasingly.

“God, a girl who doesn’t want to fuck me just to take advantage of me? And she’s hot as fuck and wants to blow me for fun?” he quirks his head. “Shit, be careful or I’ll end up falling in love.”

It makes your head spin a little and you suckle at the tip a little longer, making him keen, before you pull away again.

“Maybe that was the plan all along,” you simper, then take him in fully, letting his tip glide down your mouth to the back of your throat. He groans loudly, and it’s the most satisfying sound. It makes you want to do this more. Every day if you could.

You get to work, sucking him in, allowing him passage to your throat, vacuuming your cheeks to add additional pressure, gliding your hands up and down the slick shaft to assist you in touching every single bit. Yoongi is thriving. He can’t believe his luck. The hottest girl in the complex, the girl he’s secretly pined over, is sucking his cock as if her life depends on it.

You’re salivating at the act now, saliva spilling out your mouth as you continue to envelop his cock quickly. You slip it out of your mouth to lean down and lick and suck at his balls, which makes him hum in absolute pleasure. You don’t remain long—his cock is nearly pulsating with desire. Your mouth returns to its rightful place and as you’re licking and sucking and pumping and stroking him, you maintain even and sensual eye contact with him.

You want him to know this isn’t a chore, a means to an end. You want him to know you’ve dreamt of him fucking your throat raw every night since you moved in.

Yoongi got the picture pretty quickly. His mouth drops open as he openly gapes at your work, giving him probably the best and hottest blowjob of his life.

Your tongue swirls at the ridge of his head and Yoongi feels it snap—the tightness that holds everything back. He fucks desperately into your throat, relishing in the feel of your gagging and moaning. It didn’t take long until he was seeing it through to the end, pumping hot white ropes down your throat while he moaned out your name with a string of expletives.

The immoral pop noise your mouth made as you pull off his cock makes the blue-haired landlord standing above you moan.

“Fucking hell—where the fuck have you been all my life?” he sighs as he cups his hand under your chin. He beckons you back up, desperate to kiss you. You oblige and return to standing, pressing against his body to pull him in to a dirty kiss.

“Upstairs, apparently,” you murmur.

He swipes his tongue on yours, tastes himself there, and decides he wants to taste himself on you all the time. His hands slide down to your ass, the g string still curving down the line. He snaps at the straps as you kiss, making you puff a laugh against his lips before pulling away.

“I’d be willing to fix your leaky faucet in the bathroom if you let me eat you out,” he offers.

You’re tugging him towards your bed, knocking over multiple fans in the process, and flopping onto the mattress, landing on your back.

“Throw in fixing the squeaky wheel on my closet, and you’ve got yourself a deal,” you joke, spreading your legs to give him the tiniest clue of what lays between.

He sighs dramatically with a smile, “Needy tenant,” before he slips down to hover over you. He intends to kiss and lick every part of your body, starting with the tits that hypnotized him.

“Can’t believe you opened the door like that,” he chuckled as he plucked a nipple between his fingers and lightly rolled it. “I thought I was dreaming.”

The feeling is instant, electricity sparking at the tips of your nipples and warming its way around your body, directly to your cunt. You’re absolutely certain that by the time Min Yoongi reaches his mouth to your core, he’ll drown in it.

He moves forward and wraps his lips around the bud, allowing his hands to travel to the neglected one and to squeeze and pinch and prod. He’s rewarded with your beautiful sighs and gasps—it’s sweeter than any song he’s ever heard.

He presses your tits together and rubs his face in the cleavage there, making you gasp and laugh at the same time. He gazes up at you and flashes his gummy smile.

“I’ve really wanted to do that,” he admits, which makes you giggle again.

“Be my guest,” you approve. He takes your reply and does it again for just a moment, before he’s kissing and sucking at the flesh of your breasts. He wants to mark you, leave a piece of him for you to remember every time you see yourself. You moan in appreciation and rub your thighs together, desperate at the ache that grows with every nip and nibble of Yoongi’s lips and teeth.

He seems to understand and trails down, kissing and sucking at your long torso, abdomen, hips. He leaves little bruises everywhere and you want them to last forever. You want him to mark you and claim you as his own.

His fingers slip around the thin straps of your underwear, and he tugs them right off. He’s unable to stop the loud moan when he notices the slick that strings between them and your folds. You’re drenched, and he marveled at how excited you were about him.

“Fuck, babe—” he sighs as he lowers his chest down to lie in front of your spread thighs. Your center is weeping, slicked with your arousal and he can tell you’re desperate for friction, for anything. “Look at this perfect fucking pussy.”

You whimper as you can feel his breath so close to where you need him.

“Yoongi, please,” you whine. “I’m so fucking horny.”

“I can tell,” he hums. “Keep moaning my name like that and I’ll make sure you’re always horny and ready for me.”

He lowers his lips, hovering millimeters from your slit. He holds it there as he watches your anguished face nearly burst at how close and yet how far he is, before he obliges you and presses into you.

You gasp at the first swipe of his tongue on your clit. He maintains a soft up and down motion on the nub and you’re already seeing stars. He steadily increases the pressure and the speed, then spices it up by swirling his tongue around in different shapes, spelling out his name on your cunt with his tongue to remind you just who got you this fucking soaked.

Your legs falter and quiver as he slips his tongue deeper inside you, licking into your hole and nearly drinking you up. He pulls back and devotes his attention to your clit and your moans turn from soft gasps and pleas to loud whines as he slips his fingers into your cunt and slowly fucks you, spreading you out. He’s not small by any means, he feels he can get you ready to go.

“I want you to cum for me on my tongue,” he states, matter-of-factly. “I want to feel you on my fingers.”

You nod, plucking at your own nipples with one hand as the other seeks purchase in his hair.

“Can you do that for me, babe? Can you cum for me and get my hand nice and drenched? I want to lick it off my fingers.”

His fingers get frantic and he splits his time between suckling and laving at your clit and encouraging you with illicit requests and praises.

Yoongi continues, never letting up or even giving an inkling of a hint he’s tiring. His hand works like a machine and he slips yet another finger inside your heat, making you arch off the bed. He licks at your clit with just the right pressure, and he picks up the speed and it sends you tumbling towards your orgasm. You feel the breath leave your lungs as it hits you, core and channel muscles squeezing him tight and legs shaking around his body. Your moans echo off the small apartment walls, only drowned out by the sound of the fresh air-con still running.

“Oh, my god Yoongi—” you pant. “I’ve never cum so hard from oral in my life.”

He pulls his fingers from inside you as you come back down from your high and chuckles at your words. True to his promise, he lets the slick glisten on his finger and marvels at it, before he’s popping the fingers into his mouth and sucking them clean.

“You taste so fucking good,” he compliments, and it makes your chest tighten and tips of your ears turn red. “Fuck, I could eat you every fucking day.”

You smirk, still sensitive but feeling the desperate ache inside you needy for him and his thick cock. Your legs spread open as he lays between them and you’re wiggling your hips to get his attention.

“I’m sure we could arrange something in my lease for that,” you tease. “I could suck your cock hourly, honestly.”

He groans as he sits up between your legs, cock resting heavily on top of your mound. It’s so close, so close to where you need it to be. You appreciate the thick member as it rests and as Yoongi catches his breath. It’s thick and long, on top of your mound the tip reaches to the tiny swell of your stomach. You know you will not be able to walk tomorrow, that’s for sure.

“You’re telling me I could have been going down on you and been getting my dick sucked by the hottest girl on the planet this whole time and all I’ve done is give you shit about rent?”

You stifle a laugh and spread your legs open wider. “Looks like it. We better make up for all that lost time, don’t you think?”

His cock is rigid, almost stone, and he agrees heartily.

“Fuck yeah, we should. I’ve been dreaming about being inside you.”

He sounds so dirty, looks so sinful—it’s all so much and you’re almost begging for him to take you.

He reaches down to the pants on the floor that dropped and shimmies a condom out of his wallet. You send him a look that he silences with a roll of his eyes.

“Every dude has one, chill,” he mumbles. “I haven’t gotten laid in like a year and a half.” He pales as he realizes what he just said. “Not that it matters. Or that I care. Or that you care—christ can we fuck now please?” He asks as he rolls the rubber onto his stiff cock.

You’re laughing a bit, not at him but with him, and you lean up on your elbows to kiss his lips. “If it makes it better, I haven’t gotten laid in 3 years so I’m the loser by comparison,” you assure.

He wants to ask you how the fuck you haven’t gotten laid in that long because you’re the hottest god damn person he thinks he’s ever seen, but he realizes he doesn’t care and that it works out in his favor because Yoongi doesn’t like competition.

“Looks like the landlord needs to fix yet another problem of yours,” he winks as he lines himself up. You lean back onto the pillows and sigh as you feel the touch of his head right at the opening of your slit.

In one slow motion, he slides himself to the hilt. It’s tight, so fucking tight even after one orgasm, and Yoongi nearly hollers at the feel. He’s sure his eyes are rolling back in his head. It’s warm and tight and wet and even through a condom he’s in absolute bliss. He’s hoping one day he can try it without—fuck you raw and stuff you full of his cum.

He’s still inside you, and after a moment to breathe and adjust to the thick girth of him, you’re whining. “Yoongi, fuck me, I need you so fucking bad.”

A feral groan leaves his lips, and he’s off, beginning a pace that has him hoarse from moaning in no time. He’s never felt so good inside a cunt before, never understood how some men could do crazy shit for ‘magic pussy’, but now he gets it—he realizes he’d probably do some dumb things for a chance to be inside you again.

“Oh, yeah—” you whine. “S-shit, you’re so fucking big, Yoongi. Fuck me nice and deep.”

“Mmm, yeah? You want me to bruise your cervix? Want me to make this cunt remember my fucking cock?” He thrusts harder, pushing into you with diligent speed and intensity. “Gonna make sure you can never cum from another cock again, only mine.”

You’re losing your breath with how hard he’s fucking into you, both your moans and pants coming out in quick little bursts between his thrusts.

“Y-y-yes! Yo-o-ongi! Right there!” He hits a spot that feels so good, and you feel the pull towards orgasm tighten.

“God—you feel so. fucking. good.” he emphasizes with a thrust. “Need to feed your tiny pussy my dick every day, hm? Needy little cunt needs my thick cock.”

Tears form in your eyes. The depths he reaches inside you nearly scrambles your brains—you forget everything that isn’t Yoongi and his perfect thickness spearing inside you.

“Yoongi! Gonna c-cum!”

He goes harder, becomes rabid for your second orgasm and wants to feel the way you squeezed his fingers on his cock, knowing the channel will feel even impossibly tighter.

“That’s right, good girl,” he praises while he maintains a punishing pace. “Let me see you cum on this cock, baby, wanna see that pretty little pussy all creamy for me.”

His thumb rubs at your clit, moving it in circular motions, and diverts his eyesight between watching your full tits bounce and your lips open and close in pure bliss. You’re the definition of fucked out and Yoongi feels a surge of testosterone at the sight—knowing he was responsible.

“O-oh! Th-there!” You’re frantic and he can tell you’re right on the edge. He goes even faster, deeper and harder, and it’s the final straw. You’re catapulted off the edge and thrown headfirst into your orgasm. As he suspected, your perfect cunt pulsates around him like a fist and he’s groaning and stuttering as it triggers his own release.

It takes a few moments for both of you to come down, before he pulls his softening cock from within you and disposes of the condom. You’re breathing hard, and he’s smiling at the sheen of sweat on your body.

“Good thing I got that AC fixed today, hm?” He asks as he leans over to kiss at your lips.

You grin and pull him down to lay next to you, snuggling into his body. He holds onto you and kisses your head. He feels a level of contentment he’s never felt before.

You break the silence. “Now, as the landlord’s girlfriend, do I get any special perks? Like you’ll throw the utilities into my rent? Free cable?”

He chuckles against your forehead. “Not a fucking chance, babe.”

#bts #bts imagine #hyungsmutsociety #ficswithluv #ksmutclub #bts smut #bts yoongi #bts suga #yoongi smut

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votederpycausemufins · 3 years

Text

I wonder what people think of the NSMP so far, and how they think of it at the end of the chapter, and just what people think in general

@petrichormeraki the hermit Tommy people and @helleborusangel the online friendo with great rambles!

“So, how are things with Grian?” Grifter looked up as someone sat at the table he was working at.

“Surprisingly well.” Grifter replied. “It took about a day to get him used to standard weapons again, which isn’t too bad. He’s still worried about respawning, which is an obvious fear. Oh, and I’m hoping he’ll be able to hang out with Flora today!”

“Oh, that sounds like a great idea. I know there aren’t many young hermits, so if he’s able to hang with anyone his age- hey maybe I should end lessons early.”

Grifter looked up at the other Listener. “End lessons early? You mean for just one, or both of the kids?”

The Listener shrugged. “Both obviously. Vee probably wants a break as much as their sister, so wouldn’t be fair to give one a break and not the other.”

“You’re not sending Vee to the NSMP, right?” Grifter asked, trying not to have any worry in his voice, and if there was, he quickly tried covering it up. “I mean, I haven’t gotten everything over there fixed. They’re all still used to how Nightmare ran it. And I haven’t gotten around one of the things he put in there.”

The Listener chuckled. “No! Of course not. If I could keep Astrid from wanting to visit, I would. I mean, it sounds like you’d like her to come over for Grian. I could try keeping her out if you want but-”

Grifter rolled his eyes. “Yeah, rebellious teen who’s also got magic. Been there, done that. Speaking of, how long have they been training?”

The Listener perked up at that. “Astrid’s been going for one year and twelve days, and yesterday was Vee’s mark for one year. I got each of them a present of course since it’s pretty much like a birthday and all.”

“Well then, if that’s the case, I think I have a little present for them as well. In the middle of everything yesterday, a Watcher was having a one year party.”

Though Grian found it easiest to learn and use a sword for pretty obvious reasons. Instead, he kept an axe out. Apparently it could be as powerful or even more dangerous than a sword to the point that a number of people used it as a preferred weapon. It was a bit heavy for him, but to be honest, all of the tools felt a bit heavy in his hands. Gym class didn’t really have the best setup for using stuff like this.

He set his axe down for a few moments to let his arms rest as he pulled out his communicator. Sense apparently needed to fix it up so it would work in this time or something. Seeing as how it was working and even looked upgraded, it looked like the man had succeeded. Grian checked his coordinates, moving it from side to side to figure out which way was which as the numbers changed in real time. He was pretty sure at this point he was very lost, since he was used to streets and maps and not open land and coordinates. The only real street was near the castle, and it didn’t even last that long until it turned into what was practically rubble.

While Grian knew he could just stay in the castle since rooms were offered, part of him wasn’t thrilled at the idea of having to be stuck with what would essentially be roommates again. Especially if he could live elsewhere without having to pay rent. He would have to build his own place and gather the materials for it himself, but he had been interested in architecture and was thinking about going to college for it, and it seemed like it was easier to get the stuff he would need here.

He found a nice small tree to start with and pushed leaves out of the way for a good place to start chopping. When he did, Grian was surprised to find his axe chopping through the wood like it was warm butter, taking a chunk out of it in two swings. After that, he nearly fell over in surprise when he realized the tree was still standing, but after getting back up and feeling the tree to make sure he wasn’t imagining things, Grian could feel a hint of magic there, keeping the tree floating in the air.

Not wanting to leave it there, Grian started to tear down the rest of the tree, glad to see that the leaves were falling on their own since he didn’t want to deal with them too. Since one tree had been easy enough, Grian started on another, and then another. He took breaks between every few trees, not used to the amount of work even if the axe made it easy. But he was too busy during those breaks to catch the fiery orange color darting about in the shadows.

As Grian began to chop down another tree, he was stopped again as he was tackled from the side. In a panic, he swung his axe wildly, managing to hit whatever was attacking him by the sounds they made, but couldn’t be completely sure because he had his eyes closed. Finally, something grabbed his axe and yanked it away, pinning his arms down before he could grab anything else.

“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t kill you right now.” A voice hissed from above him, and Grian nervously opened his eyes. He immediately focused on the person’s ears, which were definitely not human, but he sighed as he realized they didn’t belong to a rabbit. Unfortunately, that didn’t seem to amuse the hybrid as they let go of his one arm and instead pressed their forearm against his neck. “What are you? A hunter?!”

Grian quickly shook his head. He would say something, but talking was pretty hard when being choked. He saw a tree out of the corner of his eye and then looked back and forth between the tree and the hybrid, hoping they would understand what he meant. While it seemed like they didn’t, they at least eased up on his neck, letting him breathe better and speak. “I was just getting supplies.” He wheezed out, taking a break to catch his breath. “Grifter said-”

“Grifter?” The hybrid asked in surprise, then let Grian go for a moment before grabbing him again. “Wait, explain why you look so much like him. How do I know you’re not lying about him. Are you even on his good side?”

“We’re relat-” Was all Grian got out before the arm was against his neck again. “Right, sure you are. How come I haven’t heard of you before? I mean, I know my family pretty well.”

Grian wracked his brain for some way, any way to get this person to leave him alone. He at the very least had access to one hand, since the arm trapping it before was now on his neck, but he had no way of knowing if the person would understand him. He used his pointer finger to point to the side, then crossed his fingers, put his hands into a fist with his pinky out, then a fist with his thumb to the side, then finally put his thumb between his middle and ring fingers while it was in a fist. He repeated that a few times before the arm on his neck pulled back slightly

“Gry-an?” The hybrid asked, and Grian winced, but nodded, pointing to himself. “Alright, and what about Grifter? Who is he to you?” And he was glad his arm was left free. He pointed to himself again, then brushed the side of his cheek twice with the back of his hand, then had his hand go forward, palm down. “Or really? Then where are your wings?” And grian shook his hand like he slammed it in something. “Oh.”

Finally the hybrid moved away, freeing Grian from the ground. He rubbed his neck, coughing a little. “I see what he said about me needing to train…”

“So Gryan, what are you doing around my place?” The hybrid asked, standing up, not offering a hand to Grian.

“It’s Grian, and I was just trying to gather supplies. Grifter said I could stay in the castle, but to be honest, I’d like a place of my own. I went looking and found this place, so I was going to collect some wood. I didn’t realize this place belonged to you. But I’m glad you know BSL.”

The hybrid raised an eyebrow. “BSL? You mean sign language?”

“Uh, yeah. Your accent didn’t quite sound British, so I was worried you might have used ASL, or something else.”

“What’s the difference?”

“A lot. There’s also the two handed alphabet, and I'm pretty sure the sign for future is different if hurt isn’t.” Grian explained, finally pushing himself up to his feet.

“I just used what I was taught by my Grandma.” the hybrid shrugged. “She said something like it was bonzel? Or something like that.”

“BANZSL?” Grian said, fingerspelling it at the same time. “I mean, essentially the same thing. It’s just easier to say BSL.”

“I don’t understand anything you just said, I just know I understand the way your hands move.”

“Good enough.” Grian nodded. “So, your forest? I guess I cut down too many trees, huh?”

The hybrid shook their head. “Pfft, no. I can just replant them. You were just in what I think of as my place, and I’m not a fan of unfamiliar people showing up.”

“And Grifter is… is he allowed or not?”

“Oh he’s definitely allowed.” The hybrid smiled. “Coolest uncle around and now the admin, why wouldn’t I want him hanging at my place?”

“Cool.” Grian smiled, but then his eyes widened. “Wait so I’m an uncle?!”

The hybrid shrugged. “I dunno. You’re from the past, right? I doubt I’m born yet for you- how old are you?”

“Eighteen.”

“What the fuck, I’m older than you!” The hybrid exclaimed “Sort of. Long story. Short version is the old admin was a bitch.”

“So, does that mean you were born at that point?”

They rubbed their chin. “No, not yet. I’m trying to remember how old I was and how old dad was when I was adopted.”

“Oh, you were adopted?”

“I think. It’s easier than saying my real dad ran out on my mom and then she dated and married this new guy who’s now my dad.”

“Yeah, that does sound easier.”

“So, I don’t think I gave my name. I’m Fleur.”

Grian smiled and shook their hand. “Nice to meet you.”

Mumbo wanted to find Grian and leave right now. He was pretty sure the others thought the same, but right now they were all split up. They had started to explore before EX had caught up to them. Before he could say why, they were soon attacked by a creeper hybrid going by the name Euro. Mumbo could tell it was obviously the same one that was Techno’s Hels version based on the way they fought, managing to go hand to hand with the piglin hybrid.

Even with that, Euro had been strong enough to keep them split up, and now Mumbo was worried about Grian and Grum. He was especially worried from the fact that they had been there for about a day and he hadn’t seen any sign of Grian or his hels copy. It also didn’t help that the mobs here seemed to be more powerful than the ones on hermitcraft, which caused even more problems. Even in the day, he was getting trouble from zombies and skeletons that were wearing helmets, protecting them from the sun.

An arrow nearly hit Mumbo, breaking him out of his thoughts and making him start to run so he could find new cover. He barely got a shield up in time to block an arrow before he dove into a cave and pulled out a spare redstone torch for some semblance of light. The redstoner backed up, hoping for a bit more cover, but then he bumped into something that was unmistakably someone else. He was about to scream, but then his mouth was covered by a hand, so he struggled instead.

“Calm down, it’s just me!” A voice spoke that was just a little too cheerful for the situation they were in. Mumbo stopped struggling and was let go, able to turn around and see Wilbur was in the cave with him.

“Oh thank goodness. I was worried I wasn’t going to find anyone else.” He looked Wilbur over. “How are you doing?”

“Well, once you’ve died once, the fear of dying again isn’t that bad, especially since we get respawns here.” Wilbur replied, not as chipper as before.

“Yes, but that’s only with respawn anchors, and last I checked, we weren’t linked up to any of those. And if we are, we don’t know where it is and if it's broken or not.”

“Hmm, that’s true.” Wilbur replied, tilting his head slightly in thought. “Well, I’m sure there’s something for if you die and don’t have one yet. I’m sure they wouldn’t make it that easy to actually die.”

“I suppose that’s true.” Mumbo conceded. “But we should still be careful.”

The pair prepared themselves to move out of the cave and get through the landscape, not as worried now that neither of them were completely alone. They were just about to leave when Wilbur grabbed Mumbo’s shoulder and pulled him back. “Wait, there was something I wanted to tell you.”

“What was that?” Mumbo asked, turning back to look at the other man, who seemed to currently be struggling with trying to remember. He remembered at the party hearing mention that Wilbur had still been struggling with his memory after officially being revived, so Mumbo was patient with the man.

“Techno… he mentioned something about when Grifter was in the Dream SMP. About Euro.”

“I think I remember overhearing a tad bit of that when you were both over for Grum’s party.” Mumbo replied. “Something about Grifter talking about his family.”

Wilbur nodded. “Yeah, it was… That’s what it was!” And he smiled, finally remembering, before frowning again at whatever he remembered. “That was Euro who attacked us, but from what I heard, Grifter bragged about him being some sort of coward. That seemed like the opposite of what we saw. Do you think it was a lie? Or maybe that was someone else.”

“I’m not sure.” Mumbo replied. “Maybe he was just using the element of surprise. If we see him again and attack, it could scare him.”

“You’re right, that’s probably it.” Wilbur agreed. “If we see him again, I’ll try attacking and he’ll run off, letting us look for the others.”

“You think they’re alright?”

Wilbur shrugged. “Depends on if any of them are with someone else or by themselves.”

“I guess that’s true. So, what can you tell me about the people from your world? It might help us know what to expect.”

Grum smiled as he cut down another zombie, getting approval from Techno. The two of them had quickly found each other again after Euro split them up, mainly since Techno stayed behind to fight the hels smp’er, and Grum hid nearby. Since then, they fortunately hadn’t run into anyone else, but the longer they went without seeing anyone at all, the more suspicious it became.

“Do you think they’re planning an ambush?” Grum suggested, making Techno shrug.

“If it were me, I’d probably try that. But this isn’t the SMP I’m used to.”

“Yeah, but it also looks like this place is still pretty dangerous. Nightmare was just as bad as Dream… and Theseus wasn’t that nice either.”

“Could also be that the rest of them are just idiots and cowards.” Techno said, hoping to lighten the mood. “They see us out here slaying monsters left and right and know not to deal with us.” That seemed to work as Grum giggled a little. “They’ve seen true terror! A pig and a child, truly a force to be reckoned with.”

They were able to keep the mood up for a bit longer, but then Grum was feeling sad again. “I really hope my dad is okay. He got really hurt last time we saw Grifter. I did too…” And his screen flickered a little.

Techno noticed Grum’s distress and picked the bot up, putting him on his shoulders and trying to ignore chat’s cooing. “Yeah, well now you’ve got me, and Phil’s around here somewhere, so we can take him on.”

“Yeah, and we also have Paul.”

“Still not sure what his deal is, but chat seems to know something about him. They’re just shouting all over each other so I can’t tell what they’re talking about other than it being him.”

Grum nodded, quiet as they walked a bit, then he leaned down and looked at Techno. “Hey, maybe we can find out. He’s supposed to be a king, right?”

“Unfortunately, yeah.” Techno replied. “Why?”

Grum sat back up and crossed his arms, Techno lifting his own arms up worried that Grum was about to fall off his shoulders. “It’s more of a fortunately. I’ve got extra diamonds and you can use those so I can get access to my mayoral reservoirs.”

Techno stopped walking. “You sure that’s a good idea? How do we know it’ll even work for him? Or, you know, even work for you?”

“Well,” Grum conceded. “We don’t really know. I mean, we’re in a hels dimension, so I might not be able to access anything. Or it might crash again, though I think that was just your old admin’s fault.”

“Then let’s not risk it just yet. We don’t need to know about that and if it goes wrong, it will go really wrong and leave you out of commission.” Techno explained, starting to walk again, but then immediately stopped, only moving to bend down and set Grum down on the ground and grab his weapon.

Seeing what he did, Grum grabbed his own sword, ready to attack whatever Techno noticed. For a few moments, everything was completely quiet. Then, before either of them could react, both Grum and Techno were suddenly trapped in bedrock.

Paul sliced through another group of mobs in the way, then helped Tommy up to the ledge he was on. Tommy had yet to even swing his sword with Paul tearing through anything in the way. At the very least he had been able to use a bow to shoot things down from afar, but Tommy prefered melee to ranged. The teen wouldn’t have been too frustrated if it weren’t also for the fact that the man was going out of his way to kill any chicken they saw as well.

“I still don’t fucking get why you keep killing chickens. Why do they matter?” Tommy asked, picking up some feathers left behind.

“All chickens are spies, or at least a good enough portion that it’s best to get rid of any you see.” Paul explained, suddenly swinging at a creeper that had snuck up on them. “They’ve been a problem for as long as I can remember. At first, I had know clue why, it was just a sort of gut feeling. Like I knew when I didn’t actually know.”

“Alright, and so you just took it as fact?” Tommy asked, rolling his eyes.

“Not, of course not.” Paul replied. “I mean, only dumb people would do that, and there’s three types of people in this world, those who can do math, and those who can’t.”

“Bitch that’s two types of people.”

Paul sighed and looked back at Tommy. “Yeah, that’s the joke.”

“Oh…”

“Anyway, one time I found one messing with my things. I thought it was just a fluke until it happened again. At this point, I was already in the show biz a bit, so I played along. I trapped the chicken and then started jokingly interrogating it. When it actually started writing its chicken scratch on a sign, I thought I was going crazy at first.”

“So, it was actually a spy?” Tommy asked, not fully believing him.

“Yeah, it was. And from there things started unravelling until I finally met Punch.”

Tommy frowned. “And Punch is your hels version?”

“As far as I can tell, yeah.” Paul affirmed. “Pablo Punchwood, god of unwilling death. Most people think of ravens, crows and vultures as birds signalling death, but chickens can be ruthless. Whoever thought of calling cowards chickens did not meet a real chicken.”

“Really? What harm could they do?” But Paul didn’t answer Tommy verbally. Instead, he pulled out a book bound with black leather and opened it, following along with a page. A moment later, a rift of a sort of camo green color opened in the air next to the pair, and Paul reached his hand in, pulling out what looked like a dead mouse. “What the fuck was that?!”

“Think of it like a sort of multiworld enderchest.” Paul explained, though still not answering Tommy’s question about the chicken. When they next encountered some monsters, Paul had them take a more covert route, hiding instead of fighting. Finally, they reached a pair of chickens while the pair of them crouched in the grass. Paul pulled the rat out again, then bit at the inside of his cheek a bit before using the blood from the wound he caused to put blood on the rat.

Tommy watched as the man then threw the animal towards the chickens, surprised by how quietly it went through the air. Then it landed and caught the attention of the chickens, who then started pecking at the creature. After a few seconds, Tommy looked away, not able to stomach what he saw.

“So, that’s chickens for you. Anything about that size that’s injured, and they’ll tear it to shreds. Sometimes there are even chickens that are confident enough to go after people, but bluckers are the ones you need to look out for. They really like to bite.”

“So chickens have been dangerous spies this entire time?!” Tommy asked as they started to move, looking back to see only the bones of the rat were left behind.

“Sure have been. It’s part of why avians are a class all of their own when talking about hybrids.” Paul explained, getting them through another rough patch of monsters. “See, ages ago, there were dinosaurs, and those eventually found their way to being various birds. Technically, there’s a longer explanation, but that’s all you really need to know right now.”

“So avian hybrid people are technically part dinosaur?” Tommy asked, surprised.

“Sort of. See, when you get into the nitty gritty of it all, part of the reason avians are called that and not bird hybrids is because of the fact that they tend to be more shifter than hybrid.”

“More what?”

“Shifter. There’s different classes of what most people generally call hybrids. There’s standard humans, hybrids, shifters, and naturals. Of course, technically humans count as naturals, but the categories were made by a human so it’s a bit of prejudice there.”

“Can you fucking cut to the chase?” Tommy asked, not wanting a lecture.

“Sure.” Paul shrugged. “Punchwood is my evil version, he’s got a thing with chickens, even though he should be staying in this dimension, he’s messed with things, avians are some sort of descendant deity now, and that makes categorizing them odd.”

Tommy was completely silent for a few moments, even stopping in place as Paul continued walking. Then, he came to his senses and ran to catch up. “What the fuck? None of that made any sense! Where do dinosaurs come into that? Why the fuck are there avians here then if he’s hels? Why isn’t it just fucking chickens then?”

Tommy didn’t have a chance to answer as suddenly Paul dodged an attack. Tommy himself barely pushed away, just in time to dodge an attack from a woman wielding a pink axe. He swung his netherite sword at the woman, which hit the blade of her axe, sending sparks into the air. “Hey! Are you going to help me fight or what?”

With those words, Paul attacked the woman as well, looking much sloppier than he had fighting the monsters. Though Tommy couldn’t do much about that right then, he still filed it away for later. After they dealt with whoever this was.

Doc tried to hold back another hiss. When he first ended up finding Phil, he was just glad to have someone else on his side. The monsters were a slight hassle, but between the two of them, they were getting through them well. So well that they actually had enough time to just walk and chat. Doc was even the one to suggest Phil come up with a topic to talk about. And he decided to ask about Doc’s interaction with gods.

Though the hybrid wanted to yell at Phil, he knew that was more the fault of Theseus, Paul and himself for opening things up to that conversation. So reluctantly Doc answered the questions Phil had.

“So why are you just calling it the Perd now?”

Doc rolled his eye a little. “Yeah. Easier to mishear and harder to search for. It’s not like we really want anyone releasing Notch into the world again.”

“Why would anyone want to let him out?” Phil asked incredulously. “He was a tyrant god. People were looking for a way to trap him for years.”

“Yeah, people were, but other people continued to worship him before and even after he was finally imprisoned. God apples being called that is still a recent change.” They paused the conversation to deal with some mobs before Doc continued the answer. “Not everyone is so long lived to remember those days. Heck, some people think Herobrine’s still not a nice dude because of that old propaganda that always got put out. I mean, he can be violent if need be, but you saw how tame he tends to be.”

“I have?”

“That’s Joe. The guy hanging with Cleo and wearing glasses. Eret’s dad.”

“Really? Wouldn’t have guessed.” Phil replied, and Doc was glad for the slightly lighter subject. But that took both of them off guard, meaning neither of them was ready when they were suddenly attacked by an enderman.

Phil was the first one attacked, the monster sending him a few meters back with the amount of force behind the attack. It swung at Doc next, hitting his right arm and leaving a dent in the prosthetic. When it tried to swing at Doc again, Phil had jumped back to his feet and swung his axe, the blade hitting the monster and making them teleport a few blocks away.

With the short break in fighting, Phil and Doc were able to get a good look at their foe. The enderman stood there, slouched over a bit, yet still taller than a regular enderman. Their normally small paw like hands were now large enough that Doc was pretty sure just one could wrap around his head, and that wasn’t counting that the monster had four arms instead of just two.

The last things of note was the fact that half of the enderman was a pale lavender instead of being all black, and they were also wearing a hawaiian shirt of all things. But that was enough for Phil to realize that they were dealing with Ranboo’s hels version.

Xisuma sighed as he got back to his feet. While he was glad to not have ended up completely alone in an unfamiliar world and dimension, he wasn’t the biggest fan of having only found his brother. X had tried a casual discussion, but EX always found a way to turn it into a fight.

And that also didn’t mention the trouble they were already having from mobs. Xisuma was defending the both of them while his brother refused to help, leaving the monsters with the upper hand. Xisuma could usually keep his cool fairly well, but at this point, Xannes was starting to get on his nerves.

“Could you move faster? You’re slowing us down.” EX said, making his point by walking faster than he was before.

“We would be making more progress if you were fighting the monsters instead of me.” Xisuma grumbled, making his point by shooting a nearby spider.

“Oh, I’m sure you wouldn’t want me getting in the way.” EX replied smugly. “I’m sure you’d rather ban me again than have me sticking around. Who knows, maybe it would stick this time.”

“At this point, it would probably help.” Xisuma replied, though under his breath, not wanting his brother to hear him, then spoke in a more audible tone. “I’m sure you’d find a way around it.”

Xannes just chuckled, slowing down and finally letting Xisuma catch up again before tripping the admin with a laugh. Xisuma looked up in frustration at his brother before just lying on the ground for a moment to calm down, not wanting to fight back. And then Xisuma was suddenly dragged back with a yell as something grabbed his ankle.

Xannes turned around to see why X had yelled, only to find a trail in the ground and his brother missing. “What? Oh, ha ha. Very funny, brother. I’m sure even with my setbacks, us sticking together is still a better option.” He was quiet, waiting for a response, but none came. “Oh alright, I’ll be a bit nicer. Just come back.” But there was still no answer.

Now more worried, EX took his sword out, the blade a tad shaky in his hands. “Brother, I get your point now. My little jokes aren’t actually funny. Is that what you want right now?” Yet again, there was still no answer, except this time, there was the snap of a branch or something in the nearby area, leaving Xannes whirling around, weapon at the ready. “Br-Xisuma! Where are you?! Stop messing around!”

All that happened was another sound from nearby, making Xannes flinch, but with few other options he moved towards it. He needed to push through a bit of foliage, but then he finally saw his brother. The admin was tied up and hanging upside down, a very tall person standing next to him in a light blue cloak with gold accents, two pairs of wings on their back and a golden circlet on their head over the hood of their cloak.

Xannes crept forward, trying to make as little noise as possible. His eyes connected with Xisuma’s, who was trying to signal something, but the hels admin couldn't piece it out in time. Xannes looked back at the figure, only to see them turning back towards him. He tried to hide again, only to have his shoulder grabbed at the last moment and be yanked back.

EX got a glimpse of the person’s face, them similar enough to the demon from the DSMP that he made the connection. “Oh, and I can get a matching set out of this.”

Xannes kicked at the angel demon thing. “Let go of me you bastard! Or I promise you will regret it!”

“Oh, is that so?” They asked, tilting their head. “Well, I guess you’ll have to show me.” And they started to tie Xannes up as well.

When he was hanging next to Xisuma, the admin wriggled a bit to turn himself towards Xannes. “Why didn’t you do anything? I’m sure lightning could take down even an angel.” But Xannes just grumbled. “Look, I can’t get us out of this one, you can’t make me do everything.”

“Oh shut up!”

“Why? I’m not an admin here. I can only get us in and out of worlds, and at the very least I need to stay for the others. I can’t do anything to get us out, so you have to instead.”

“Well sure! Let me just, I don’t know, pull up my kill aura to attack him, hmm? Oh wait, I-”

And then Xannes stopped talking as suddenly the angel was attacked by an invisible force. The pair of admins watched as their captor was attacked until they finally died from damage, and a few moments later, Xannes and Xisuma were both freed from their bindings. “Took you long enough.”

Xannes picked himself off the ground. “That wasn’t you?”

“I told you I can’t do anything since I’m not the admin here. You were the one just talking about kill auras.”

“Well… I can’t actually… access any of my hacks here.” Xannes hesitantly admitted. “And I never got to go to any of the fancy schools you got to go to, so I’m always relying on them for combat.”

“You’re saying you can’t actually fight? Is that why you weren’t helping?” Xisuma asked, taking his brother crossing his arms and looking away as a yes. “Well, we have ample time while making our way through this world looking through the others. I’m sure active experience would help.”

“I don’t want your help.” Xannes replied defensively. He started to walk off in a huff, then paused, looking back. “Why not pretend to teach your viewers or whatever you record things for? Pretend like you’re doing something useful.”

Xisuma chuckled and followed behind his brother. That was probably the best he was going to get from EX, but it was better than nothing. The two of them continued through the world, Xisuma defending against monsters they encountered. And if there were a few less, the pair didn’t notice, just as they didn’t notice the person in a frowning mask following behind them.

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halfway-happyyy · 3 years

Text

Coming Home

AN: hello friends! it’s me again! and back (again) with something that no one asked for, but if this thought has to live rent free in my head... then it might as well in yours, too.

tw: nothing but fluff, since that’s all i can get my brain to create these days.

She awakens in the morning's hush to a dull throbbing in her head, her throat like sandpaper. Shuffling through a mental rolodex of the previous evening’s drinks, she swallows hard to keep the roiling waves of nausea at bay. An idle glance to the clock on the spare room night side table tells her that it’s later in the morning, and she waits until she hears the familiar sound of water hitting the metal drain of Alexander's shower before she lifts the duvet from her body. A cool, hardwood floor greets her bare feet as she pads to the closet in search of something to throw over her figure before she heads downstairs. Settling on a worn, crème cashmere sweater of his that falls to her shins, she stretches her arms high above her head to limber up. Stepping out into the hallway, the heady aroma of freshly ground coffee beans greets her as she makes her way down the spiral staircase towards the much-needed liquid. Muffled pieces of Swedish find her from the kitchen.

“There she is,” Gustaf beams at her, his wise, knowing gaze twinkles merrily in the sunshine filtering in through the open kitchen window.

Bill is already reaching for a coffee mug for her.

“Morning Goose.” She smiles, sleepily. “Good morning, Bill.”

He smiles at her, wryly. “Good morning kid. How are you fairing so far?”

She shifts from foot to foot- remembers the shots taken, the beers consumed, the martinis sipped, and she grimaces. “I’m uh… definitely feeling a little rough for sure, but it’s really nothing a couple cups of coffee and some food won't cure.”

Gustaf laughs heartily before taking a deep sip from his own mug. Setting it down against the oak tabletop, his smile bears a teasing lilt. “I confess I am impressed that you're even upright at the moment.”

She accepts the coffee from Bill graciously, notes that he has made it exactly how she likes it, and thanks a higher being for the Skarsgårds. Taking her first sip of the day, she savours the creamy bitterness of it on her tongue, and the warmth of it as it settles in her tummy and turns to Gustaf. “Me too, Goose. How did last night get so out of hand?”

Bill rolls his viridian eyes. “The same way it always does.”

She remembers the text she received from Alexander yesterday afternoon vividly: ‘Hey kid- I’m back on home turf for the next week. Having some friends over tonight to celebrate. Bill and Gustaf miss you. Maybe I do too. If you’re not doing anything, please consider dropping by. Don’t bring any liquor. I already have too much. Hope to see you soon, xx – A’ Her cheeks warm at the thought of it, and she swallows hard. “Yeah, I have no recollection of like… the last two hours of the evening.”

Bill chuckles into his mug. “You were pretty entertaining. Uh but eventually, and unfortunately for the rest of us, Alex hauled you into his arms and tucked you into bed a little after midnight.” Alex hauled you into his arms… And just then- a flash of a memory; his impossibly warm, sure arms around her, the softness of a bed, the sheer relief of him pulling a duvet over her body, a pair of tender lips against her temple, a sliver of pale light from the hallway on her arm, the sound of a door shutting softly. “But hey,” Bill murmurs, taking notice of the expression on her face. “You had fun, right?”

She’s about answer in the affirmative, when the water stops, and she clears her throat. “I wanted to run something by you two before Alex comes down.”

Gustaf sets down the script he had been reading and turns to her, his attention now suddenly all-consuming. Bill sets his empty mug against the marble counter and folds his arms across his chest. “Go on, then.”

“What do you think the chances of Alex setting me up with Joel are?” She picks anxiously at a patch of chipped lavender polish on her pinkie finger as she awaits their responses.

Gustaf speaks first, his expression deadpan. “Joel who?”

She has to fight the urge to roll her eyes. “The other Scandinavian giant who likes to hang around with you guys sometimes. He and Alex go way back apparently…”

“You don’t mean Joel Kinnaman?” Bill asks, tone incredulous.

Her cheeks grow ever warmer. “Yeah, that’s him.” He had made an appearance last night for a couple of hours- and she thought that they had hit it off well, all things considered. “But if you guys don’t really think it’s a good idea, I’ll just… leave it.” Gustaf opens his mouth to say something, but in place of any actual words, a booming laugh tumbles out and soon the pair of them are laughing so hard, they’re both silent. She folds her arms across her chest, suddenly defensive, and waits for their laughter to subside. She listens for Alexander’s weighted footsteps above her. “Alright you two, that’s enough. I get it, I’ll drop it.” She snaps.

Gustaf sighs, his eyes still glitter just as brilliantly as before. “Listen, little one. I don’t think it’s a bad idea at all. I just think that it’s precarious territory.”

“What’s precarious about it? Apart from the fact that you both clearly don’t think that I can make it happen.” She gets it before they confirm it for her. One of his ex-girlfriends was Olivia Munn for crying out loud. She suddenly feels ridiculous for even considering it.

Gustaf clears his throat and stares at her, and she feels like he’s peering into her very soul. “You are a very capable and brilliant young woman, my dear. So, you will excuse me if I find it difficult to believe that you truly don’t know.”

She stares at them both, expectantly. “Don’t know what?”

Gustaf shrugs and takes another sip of his coffee. “Alex carries a massive, blazing torch for you.” His admission hangs heavy in the air before them and she barely has time to register it before the sound of Alexander on the staircase rouses her. “So, you can absolutely ask him to set you up with Joel, but I doubt very much that it will go in your favour.”

She’s about to shake her head, to protest, but Alexander enters the kitchen. His dark blonde hair is still wet from the shower, and water droplets glisten above the collar of his blue t shirt. “What’s all the fuss about? I could hear you two yahoos laughing from the washroom.” His gaze turns to her, and he smiles. “Morning kid. Good to see you up and at it.”

“Good morning, Alex,” She mumbles. “I’m sorry about last night.”

His expression softens evermore, and he shakes his head. “Nonsense. I just hope you’re feeling alright today.”

She swallows hard, the throbbing in her head still apparent, but more tolerable after coffee. Gustaf’s words echo in the back of her mind. “Hanging in there.”

“It is suspiciously quiet in here now, boys.” Alexander murmurs as he procures an espresso cup from the same cupboard.

Gustaf clears his throat and closes his script. “Just an inside joke between the three of us. I'm off. I've got an audition with HBO on Thursday that I'd like to feel at least somewhat prepared for. Thanks again for your ever-generous hospitality, brother.” He stands up from the table, and slings an arm around her shoulders, kissing the top of her head as he does so. “You remember what I told you, hm?”

She nods her head. How could she possibly forget? “Yeah, Goose.”

“You coming little brother?” He cocks an eyebrow at Bill. The middle Skarsgård nods his head in the affirmative and leans over to tell Alexander something in their native tongue. It makes the eldest brother smile, and he throws an arm around Bill's shoulders to bid him goodbye.

Bill wraps his arms around her, and this is always when the full gravity of their stature hits her. “Good seeing you again, kid. Take care of yourself, hm?”

She beams at him and nods her head. “’Til next time, Bill.”

She listens for the familiar chime of the front door closing, before lifting herself onto the counter next to Alexander. “I found this in the spare room closet,” she murmurs, gesturing to his sweater. “If you mind, I can go change-

“I don't mind at all, kid.”

Alexander had been an integral part of her life for the better part of five years now, and in all that time she was simply grateful just to call him a friend- a wonderful one at that. But then she remembers the lingering touches, the playful- yet somehow scorching teasing of any new love interest, the general (and sometimes overpowering) sensation of sheer want for him at the end of a long night. She views him in a new light now; the crystalline water droplets from before have evaporated into his sun-kissed skin, but his hair still bears the weight of moisture and the sudden urge to card her fingers through it is overwhelming. “I have something to tell you,” He murmurs.

This is it, she thinks.

“It's about last night.”

And suddenly, the nausea that had been so persistent an hour ago, returns in full force and she swallows hard to keep the coffee from rising in her throat. “Alex, if it's something I did or said… I'm sorry.”

He shakes his head and lifts his gaze to hers, her azure orbs are alight with a fire she doesn’t quite recognize. “None of that, kid. It's Joel. He wants to take you out for dinner sometime soon and I guess he wanted my blessing first.”

“Oh.”

“Mhm.” He confirms. “Seems you made quite the impression on him last night.”

And god, she thinks this news would have been the best news to receive an hour ago. But then sixty-two minutes elapsed, and in that space of time, Gustaf handed her his eldest brother’s gift-wrapped secret, and here they are. “I didn’t mean to,” She mumbles.

And Alexander laughs at this, and in that moment, she swears it’s her favourite sound in the whole world. “You never do, kid. There’s just something about being around you that’s as effortless as breathing. You take up the perfect amount of space. It’s quite a thing to behold, actually.” He sips his espresso, his intense gaze on her makes her feel more naked than she’s ever been before. “So, what do you say?”

She offers him a half-shrug. “What do you say?”

He blanches now. “What do you mean? This is entirely your decision.”

“You know him better than I do. You also know me, Alex. What do you say?”

And like grains of sand through fingertips, his resolve crumbles before her very eyes. “I can’t quite articulate what it’s like to watch someone accomplish in a night, what I’ve thought about for nearly five years. That is entirely on me, though,” He trails off, setting his empty cup against the counter. “But he’s a good guy, kid. I’d be lying if I said anything to the contrary.”

Her throat constricts as she mulls over what to say next. “Why did you wait, Alex?”

There is a vast vulnerability to him that she hasn’t been privy to until now. And in this moment, he isn’t Alexander Skarsgård the movie star- Hollywood and Sweden’s most eligible bachelor. He is her best friend; the six-foot-four dork with the adorable overbite, the guy who can’t pronounce his ‘ands’ properly because of his accent. He is the man who would give the shirt off his back to anyone in need. A true, golden heart beats in his chest, it keeps him alive, propelling him towards greatness. “I don’t operate the way normal people do, and you know that. It’s like… I repel relationships. It’s the distance and the timing that throws people off, kid.” His eyes darken. “They’re drawn to the glitz at first; the premiers, and the award ceremonies, the tropical vacations. But then I miss birthdays and weddings and engagement parties, and no one ever seems to want to stick around after the dust settles.” He allows himself a deep, steadying breath. “And I’ve never blamed them at all for that. But then you came into my life, and we weren’t ever in a relationship in the traditional sense, but you became a really good friend- one of the best, and you stuck around." He sighs heavily. "You just... feel like coming home, kid. And in all this time, that feeling has never wavered or changed."

“Alex, I-

“So why did I wait? It’s a good question,” He clears his throat. “I waited because I thought that the minute I laid everything out on the line for you, you wouldn’t want it.” And god, she can feel her heart cracking under the weight of his honesty. “And even saying it now, I know I should have automatically given you the benefit of the doubt. But you’ve been around for all of it, kid. You've picked up the pieces. You know how ugly it can get.”

She swallows hard, heart thrumming wildly in her chest. “Come closer,” She murmurs. Alexander hesitates a beat before settling into the space between her legs, his denim jeans tickle the velvet softness of her inner thighs, and she shivers into the sensation. His face is mere inches away from hers now, and she can smell the refreshing scent of bodywash on his skin, the sharp citrus shampoo from his damp hair. “I want to try Alex,” It comes out as a whisper, but he catches it because his lips twitch into a small smile. “If you want to.”

His gaze travels to her lips, and he closes the distance between them to kiss her. His massive, warm hands find purchase in her hair as their kiss deepens, and every fiber of her being screams at her that this is it- this is what they’ve both been waiting for. When he eventually pulls away, he rests his forehead against hers to try to regulate his breathing. His gives her thighs a gentle squeeze and places a tender kiss to her forehead. “I absolutely want this, kid.”

And she believes him because she wants it just as bad.

#forever soft #alexander skarsgard #alexander skarsgard x reader #alexander skarsgard imagine #alexander skarsgard oneshot #alexander skarsgard fanfic #alexander skarsgard fluff #alex sstuff #writing #drabble #fluff #alexander skarsgard rpf #rpf

174 notes · View notes

writing-in-april · 3 years

Text

Origins

Spencer Reid x Gender Neutral Reader

Summary: Reader feels homesick after a particularly gruesome case. Spencer can’t buy a plane ticket, but he can try to help recreate part of home with them.

A/N: hey heyyyy- this is my eighth fic for my 30 fics in 30 days for April- I’m very nervous for this one to be honest- idk if it’s going to be a lot of peoples cup of tea- this one had me researching a lot lol since I have no clue about boats at all lol- I hope I did the request at least a bit of justice (sorry in advance if I fuck up any terms or anything) but I think I did pretty well with my research (I think). I originally got the request from @imagining-in-the-margins when she handed it over to me also thanks for some help on the folklore parts too! Here it is-

I always want to hear from you guys so feel free to drop me an ask here- and hopefully y’all enjoy!!

Warnings: ~disclaimer lol I know nothing about boating~ Anyway into the other warnings- Takes place directly after season 3 episode 8 (Lucky with Floyd Feylinn) Spencer gets really fucking sea sick- poor baby, Reader is from overseas (originally Cornwall in the request but I made it a bit more vague) and Reader’s father is a fisherman

Main Masterlist Word Count: 1.8k

The air that floated around whenever I was out on the water, salty sea water or fresh salt water always seemed to breath life back into my lungs. The river that we were boating on was quite salty near its widest point, tides brought the saltwater in to mix with the fresh making the water quite brackish.

I was lucky to still live somewhat near water after I had moved over to America. I hadn’t had the luxury of picking exactly where I was going to live and work when I transferred to the FBI, I just happened to draw all the right cards. With my schedule I didn’t go out on the water as much as I used to, definitely not as often as I had as a child. I yearned often to feel the specific type of air people only felt when on the water, especially when my job got particularly gruesome.

Gruesome was a way to define the last case my team and I had been brought in to investigate. My stomach churned at the thought of our last unsub, his name couldn’t leave my mind and the images of his heinous acts certainly didn’t leave either. Floyd Feylinn Ferell had been his name, though I wished I could forever scrub it from my memory. His crimes were too vile that everything seemed to trigger a memory, specifically of the frozen corpses.

The team had even noticed how affected I was by the case, often sending me worrying looks whenever it looked like blood drained from my face over sheer shock- just like the corpses. Cases had been gruesome before, sure, but there was something about this one made me feel frozen by fear.

I needed air, and not just any old air.

Homesickness was another factor that was making me feel so ill. I hadn’t been back to my home in so long, the only time I spoke with my father was over the phone, no video chats at all. He was just as technophobic as Spencer, maybe even more so to be honest. My father’s life as a fisherman hadn’t made him exceptionally tech savvy. He did know how to work a phone now thanks to you, which was another similarity to him and Spencer. I had helped Spencer learn how to work his new smartphone just last week.

Spencer, my lovely boyfriend of a few months, wanted to help quell my dark thoughts as best as he could with all of his knowledge. His first solution was to always revert to books, which I didn’t mind, it only made him more special to me. He tried to find books that would remind me of home- and get my mind off of gruesome cases that were closed and shut cases.

Hotch had then suggested the team take a day off, just one. After weeks of back to back cases with little to no reprieve we’d finally get some time alone, even if it was only for a day. All I needed was one day to get on the water and cleanse myself of the negative thoughts I had been feeling lately.

It was actually Spencer that had first suggested this excursion. He had come to one of our dates with his arms full of pamphlets all about renting a boat for the day. He also had definitely read up about boats, I’d expect nothing less of Spencer. I had learned it was his way of subtly showing affection, researching anything that I even was passively interested in.

Spencer packed even more than I did when we set off on the day long date, packing to the brim at least one too many bags- to be honest he packed two too many bags.

Once we had gotten the boat out into the water, the relief was almost instant. It was like my body knew I was home. I wasn’t actually at home of course, but it somehow knew I was near the water again. Honestly, Spencer hadn’t been far off when he called me a mermaid on one of our first dates, I had gone on a ramble about my love for it.

The water wasn’t nearly as clear as where I had grown up, much more dull in my opinion. But, the breeze that danced across my skin as well as the water made me feel more at home then I had been in a long time. After letting the mist spray onto my cheeks for a while I looked over to check on Spencer, who was not doing well by the looks of it.

Spencer’s face was twisted up in a grimace, not used to being in a boat. Until I had asked him a few weeks ago, to make sure it would be safe to go out on the water with him, I hadn’t even been sure he could swim. I also wasn’t that surprised that he had this reaction, it would have been less of a problem if it was a boat that I had picked out and bought. But, I’d take what I’d get if only to be by the water.

He pretended to hide his urge to dry heave over the side of the small boat that I had rented for the weekend. He looked almost green at this point, I knew he was only staying for my benefit at this point making me a tad bit sad. Water definitely seemed to have the opposite effect on Spencer compared to me, being on the water always felt like instant relaxation to me.

I still, however, didn’t want him to feel any major discomfort like he was obviously feeling so I decided to pipe up since he wouldn’t tell me himself, “Are you sure you’re ok enough to stay, Spencer?”

He pulled his life vest around himself as tight as he could while crossing his arms around his stomach. It took him a second to answer and in that time I almost started to turn the boat around back to the bay.

“I’m fine!” He squeaked out and I could see a shiver run through him. If I had offered to turn the boat around he’d most definitely have given me a glare, not wanting me to turn it around for his own sake. I squinted my eyes in suspicion, he was not completely fine obviously, but if he was insistent on staying maybe I could find something to distract him from it.

“Do you want to hear a sea shanty or do you want me to tell a regular story?” I asked out into the wind, thinking that might distract him from his nausea.

“A story, but you can’t call them regular stories.” He teased back as well as he could with the urge to dry heave, as if he didn’t know what I had meant. I scooted a little closer to him before I prepared myself to tell my story.

Selkies were always the ones I started out with whenever I told the stories I had grown up with. Despite its dark undertones I had latched onto the story as a child, finding it similar to the mainstream perception of what mermaids were. Though I’m reality seals that could transform into humans were a far cry from mainstream ideas of mermaids, a Merrow would have been a better comparison.

I always gave Spencer the origins of the story, he liked to know exactly where they had come from and how I had heard about the story in the first place, “As you know by now the folklore about Selkie’s originates from Scotland. Well- let me think about what I haven’t told you about Selkies before…” I pondered for a moment before remembering an aspect of the Selkies powers I hadn’t educated Spencer on yet. There was no doubt in my mind that he probably had all this information stored away in his brain somewhere, it was nice to know that someone genuinely cared about the stories I liked to tell. “Selkies are immortal, but they can be killed by other creatures. And I know I’ve told you that part, but I haven’t told you that they are generally killed by sharks when they are in seal form.”

I then went into the whole lore surrounding Selkie’s immortality. My hands were waving around animatedly as I talked, just like how the small waves were rocking our boat. They had definitely calmed down by now, hopefully Spencer would feel better soon.

Once I finished my tale I beamed over at him, my mood had brightened significantly over this trip, even though I could sense that Spencer’s had not. Though the story might have helped, he seemed a little less sickly now. He then managed to ask again without puking, “Could you tell another story? Maybe about the Kelpies? Or the Pixies of Cornwall? You can pick anything though really, I love listening to your stories.”

My heart swelled enough from his words that I thought it might burst. I wouldn’t have expected anything less of Spencer, he always hunted for more knowledge about things he was maybe more ignorant about compared to other topics.

I opted to then tell him about the Kelpies, who were also water dwelling creatures, before moving onto the pixies. He even seemed to be getting attached to the same stories that you favored as a child, and even as an adult.

I looked over at him as I finished my last little bit of information that I felt I could muster up today. A smile filled with fondness crept onto my face, his fluffy hair strewn about. It was cute despite his lingering sea sickness.

His face was remarkably less green now, my stories must have soothed him which made me feel heat run to my cheeks. Each time Spencer took interest in my origins I felt deeper feelings bubbling up, that were more than what we had expressed yet. Instead of voicing my full feelings just yet, I leaned forward to give him a chaste kiss on the forehead. He may have not looked green anymore, but I’d wait to give him a kiss on the lips until after we got back to shore, just in case something was to happen.

“Can you sing now?” I knew that he was not requesting me to sing any silly old song. He wanted me to sing the sea shantys that my father had taught me as a child. Not that I minded his request, I’d do anything to make him happier and I loved singing them anyway.

I smiled brightly as I guided the boat back to shore while I sang, already feeling lighter. It had not just been the water this time that made me feel better, it was also because of Spencer. He had taken so much care to help me feel more connected with home, loving to learn about your origins.

Ask Me Anything

—-

Tag lists (message me if you want to be added):

All works: @shotarosleftpinky @oreogutz @90spumkin @kyra-morningstar @s1utformgg @takeyourleap-of-faith I’m sorry 😭

All MGG characters: @muffin-cup @willowrose99

Spencer Reid/CM: @calm-and-doctor @destiny-tsukino @safertokiss @slutforthegubes @onlyhereforthefanfics @jareauswifey

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds x reader #matthew gray gubler x reader #matthew gray gubler fluff #matthew gray gubler #mgg #mgg x reader #criminal minds #30 fics in 30 days

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mypoisonedvine · 3 years

Text

Satisfied | Andy Barber x reader (chapter 4)

(chapter 1) (chapter 2) (chapter 3)

series summary: you’re the only lawyer in Boston who can get under Andy Barber’s skin, but you didn’t realise that he was trying to get under your clothes. as is the nature of law, it’s only a matter of time before the truth is discovered.

word count: 3.7k

warnings: angst, implied smut, non-linear storytelling

a/n: I wrote this series originally with my friend joyce, and after she deactivated some of the chapters were lost. this series is long-since completed, but I’m reposting now so people can still read!

You hated being back at your temporary ‘home’. The small apartment your company had rented was… suboptimal at best. It was a cramped little place that reminded you of your dorm at college. Only it had one difference: you were alone. But it was a place for you to reflect. And that was enough.

After the nightmare of a deposition, you had a lot of work to complete. Not only that, you had another two cases that you had to work on. Usually you would have been done and there would have not been so much stress involved but life happened.

Maybe if you were not so preoccupied by thoughts of Andy you would have been on top of your workload. But Andy posed more than one issue. He was on your mind a lot. He lived in your brain the way he did back in college. He was buried into your brain. And as much as you dedicated your existence to the law, he had more of you than any other person ever did. And that was why you had spent the last three days ignoring him.

Your entire existence burned to speak to him but you held out. You stayed strong and buried yourself in work. Your table was cluttered with pens and numerous reports and documents in a way that reminded you of being a student again. Andy always made fun of how messy you were when you studied. In every other aspect of your life you were so organized and neat yet the second you had any paper near you, it looked like a tip.

The little memory brought a smile to your face. It was dangerous to reminisce in the better days but you did miss him. Many a flurry of different failed relationships helped you realize that it was because you still loved Andy Barber. And your need to make him hate you stemmed from your inability to let him feel indifference towards you.

Ever since you returned to Boston, you spent more time than you were willing to admit dwelling over the past. How different would your life have been if you had gotten valedictorian? Would you have been happy?

You’re startled out of your thoughts when the buzzer rings and when you went to check the camera, Andy was at the front with his hands in his pockets. “Andy?”

“Let me in. You can’t keep avoiding me.” his voice is slightly distorted by the buzzer. Something, however, compelled you to let him in; you pressed the button and watched it flash green. It took a minute or so before Andy was at your door.

“Andy,” you breathed, “what are you doing here?” When you saw him, you realized that it was both a good and bad idea to have avoided him for a few days. You missed him. Just a little more than you wished to admit. But you needed to be away from him.

“Making up for lost time,” he replied before crashing his lips down on yours. It was practically a scene out of a stupid rom-com but it didn’t matter at that moment. He chased you the way you wished he had before. At least a part of you wished for that to happen.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” you sighed as you tore away from Andy’s touch the way you’d drop hot coals.

“Don’t,” he pleaded, “you said that back in college--”

“And look where that got us,” you interrupted. The last thing you wanted was for that conversation to come up once again. It hurt too much to think about, let alone to talk about.

“No, we’re not doing this. Can you just let me in?” you had always been unable to resist him when he pleaded with his eyes; you let him enter and he made himself comfortable.

“It’s not as nice a place as yours,” you felt a little uncomfortable having him examine the bits of your life you tried to hide. “The firm I work for rented it for me.” You wished that the place was just a little cleaner before Andy came over unexpectedly. It was by no means a mess but it was nowhere close to the standard you were accustomed to. Or the one that he knew you had.

“Can you stop worrying about how you come across or how you’re perceived by people for just a second?” Andy raised his voice. You did not expect the outburst. Nothing gave you any indication for it.

“Did you forget that you came here, Andy?” he had a way of winding you up and you had never been above it. Your voice was blatantly irritated but Andy paid no mind to your frustrations.

“I...I just wanted to talk,” he sighed, calming down almost instantly. That made you understand that he really did come over for a conversation. It was never your strong suit but you needed something from him.

“About what, Andy?” your voice weak. “Us? There is no ‘us.’”

“About the case,” he looked at you pointedly avoiding the loaded statement you had just made. But you know that it hurt him. It was evident in his eyes. Even when he tried to hide the pain from you, it was impossible. You knew him too well.

“So what was all of that about making up for lost time, Andy?” you were on the verge of screaming not knowing how else to react.

“I-I came over about the case,” he licked his lips as he watched you, “but then I saw you. I saw your fucking face and I--”

“Andy…” you sighed, “we can’t keep doing this.”

“No, you don’t want to keep doing this,” he corrected, “but we still have a case to deal with.”

“We don’t have a case to deal with. I feel as if you have forgotten that we are representing opposing parties, Mr. Barber.”

“Trust me. I haven’t,” he deadpanned, “but seeing as your dearest client is shelling out a lot of money for this to be sorted, I thought that it would be helpful if we helped each other out.”

You raised an eyebrow out of interest, ashamedly intrigued. “And how would we ‘help each other out’?”

“Get your client to accept a plea deal. Considering how much money you’re being paid, he definitely has the means to fight it. But he doesn’t have the brains to. The evidence against him is mounting.” You hated Andy’s judgement. He always disagreed with your path, insisting that becoming a DA was the only moral way to practice law.

“Is that your professional opinion, Mr. Barber?” you cocked your head, “is this direct from your boss or is it stemming from your moral high-ground?”

“Consider it a favour from a friend. Or is it that you want that extra money so you continue to represent an arsonist?” Andy’s tone is biting, his disapproval of your career evident.

“Will you stop saying that? I’m doing it for free!” you blurted out.

Silence elapsed over the two of you. Andy looked at you with an admiration you had not seen in a long time. It was almost unsettling how warm it made you feel. “Why?” His voice was so soft that you almost missed it.

“Just because I didn’t become a DA doesn’t mean that I don’t give a shit, Andy,” you were unsure of why you so desperately craved his approval. Or why you needed him to know that you were not just another money-hungry, morally bankrupt attorney. “But that’s what you thought, wasn’t it? That I only care about money?”

“It doesn’t matter,” he breathed out but the guilt was evident. It was written all across his face. The cruealen eyes you looked into many times were laced with genuine sadness. He was wrong. “I’m sorry. Your client… he’s not paying, but the firm is still paying you, right?”

“No…” you let out a visible breath, “I have two other cases up here and so my company rented this place out and I am taking this one pro bono. If anything, I’m losing money by taking this on.”

“I’m sorry I judged you,” Andy pulled you into a hug you did not resist. He mumbled ‘baby’ into your hair at the end but you managed to catch it. It was soft but it was there. And it made your heart skip just a little. It had been so long since he had called you that.

You missed having his arms around you. It reminded you of safety and cramming for an exam. Land law was never your specialty but Andy got you through it.

Being pressed against his chest made you realize that he hadn’t changed his cologne. It was the same one you got him on your one-year anniversary. How you did not realize sooner was beyond you but there is something touching about it.

“You still wear it,” you’re surprised that you said it aloud. Andy looks at you in confusion. “The cologne I got you.”

He doesn’t look you in the eye but nods. “Yeah… it sorta became part of my everyday life. It reminds me of you.”

You nodded slowly and looked away, glancing out the window. The tone of the room shifted in exactly the wrong direction.

“Listen, I know we were sort of awful for each other,” Andy chuckled dryly, “I know we still are awful to each other. But it’s always been you. It’s always been us. And I don’t see why we can’t give it another—”

“I got an offer... I’m gonna be a partner,” you blurted out, cutting him off before he could say anything else that would make leaving harder.

“Oh my god!” he replied excitedly, after a pause to process your interruption. “Baby, that’s… that’s great.” You knew that he was worried, he had every right to be. All of the offers you once got had caused the same doubts.

“It’s in California.”

His face dropped and he swallowed nothing. The silence was heavy, and cold. Or maybe that was just the Boston air. It had always felt like this… dark and damp and carried on a wind that made you shiver to your bone each time it blew. It was exactly this feeling that should have made you long for sunny California, with its orange trees and beaches and manifest-destiny attitude. It didn’t, but it should have.

It reminded you of college. Of talking to Andy about vacancies available across the country. You had always liked the idea of moving for money but he didn’t. And that was how he stayed in Boston after you graduated whilst you sold your soul to a corporation.

He stood up and walked to the other side of the room, looking out the window. He ran his hands through his hair in that way he did when he was anxious. “You didn’t say you could be a partner,” he recalled. “You said you were going to be a partner.”

“Yep,” you agreed.

“So, you’ve already accepted it? That’s it?”

“I feel like I have to. I mean, you would never ask me to stay, would you?”

“I wouldn’t.”

“Because you respect me too much? Or because you know I’d never choose you over my career?”

“Both,” he said, anger tinting his voice. “I would never want you to resent me. If you gave it up for me, you’d resent me. But just know…”

“What?”

“Just know I would’ve given up valedictorian for you,” he said it with such earnestness you did not know what to say or do. It was a declaration; one that you were not able to refute or confirm. Because you did not know.

“Are you fucking serious?” you were not sure how to feel; anger and doubt swelled in the pit of your stomach. He could have said that all those years ago. Tears pricked your eyes as you tried to keep your composure.

“Yes.”

“You think I still care about that?”

“It doesn’t matter if you care now. You cared then. And I would’ve given it up, to save us,” Andy raised his voice.

“But you didn’t, Andy! You fucking didn’t!” tears fell freely down your face as you realized that his words and his actions would forever contradict the other.

“Because I thought you’d never be with a guy who would do something like that! Do you realize that? You hated me because I got it when I didn’t want it, but I wanted to impress you! I wanted to deserve you!”

You were petrified, practically glued to the couch in fear and confusion and devastation. It was almost impossible for you to fathom Andy’s thoughts about you. Maybe he was right. Maybe you would not have wanted him if he gave it up. Because if he did, you would not have earnt it.

“Everything I did then, I was just trying to be the guy you wanted. I became everything you feared you would become if you had a relationship in law school. I completely lost sight of my studies, I would’ve flunked out, I was so obsessed with you-- thank God you were such a know-it-all or I surely wouldn’t have studied again after I met you.”

“Andy, this isn’t true. You were always a great lawyer. You always wanted it,” you tried to reason with him. He was a good lawyer.

“I’m only as much a lawyer as you made me. Everything I did was about building what I thought you wanted, so I could get you…” he paused with a slow breath, “and I’d throw it all away, to make you stay.”

“You won’t leave Boston...” it came to you slowly. You almost wished that it would not be the case. You wanted him. Maybe a little more than you wanted him back in college. It may have been the time and the distance that made you crave his heart.

“I won’t leave Boston,” he confirmed. “It’s the one thing that reminds me of who I was before you. Who I’m trying to be.”

“And you got an offer,” you realized suddenly.

“Old habits die hard, I guess,” he shrugged.

“Are you seriously suggesting you’d give it up for me?” you were petrified by the concept. You would have never let him do it, anyway. He had worked too hard and for too long for you to be the reason he gave it all up.

“If you gave up your partnership in Cali, wouldn’t it be fair for me to give up on being Suffolk County DA?”

“Oh shit, Andy, no, that wouldn’t be fair. You need to take it,” you begged him.

“I knew you would say that. You’ve barely changed at all.”

You stood up and approached him, placing a hand on his cheek. “Give me a year,” you pleaded. “Maybe that’s what we need. A year apart to remember who we’re supposed to be. Maybe I’ll love California and partnership and we’ll be able to say ‘hey, we’ll always have O’Leary’s’.”

He smiled a little, in a sad way. You hadn’t quite convinced him yet. He was unsure if you were really going to come back; he had trusted you with a lot before and each time he did, you broke it. Maybe giving you a year was too much of a risk for his sanity.

“Or maybe…” you breathed, half pleading, “maybe I can come back and you’ll be here. And we can try to get along better than we used to.”

“I won’t wait forever,” he nodded slowly, “but I can do a year.”

“Okay,” you smiled, reaching for his hand and weaving your fingers into his. He squeezed your hand but looked away. “Andy…”

He turned to you and you wondered if you looked like you were about to cry, because you certainly felt like you were. The situation was overwhelming, yes, but Andy, in himself, was the most overwhelming thing in your life. He consumed the only available parts of your existence. Everything you had not lost to the law belonged to him.

Maybe in another universe you got to keep him. That you got married and had little Barber children. But right then, none of that mattered. You just needed him to know the truth. Three tiny words on the tip of your tongue to let him know the one thing that had stayed buried in your heart for a decade.

“Don’t say anything,” he requested weakly. “Don’t say something that’s going to make this any harder.”

“But what if it’s the truth?”

“It doesn’t matter now,” he denied.

“Look at me,” you demanded, running your hand over his face, stepping closer and pressing your body against his. You looked into his eyes and looked for hate, wishing that he still hated you at all. “I love you.”

“Please don’t say that.” Andy’s voice was strained. You saw the internal battle he was having and it pained you. You knew that he wanted to say it. He loved telling you that when you were young. He’d remind you of his love so much you had it ingrained in your mind.

“But what if I never get another chance to say it?” a small broken sob escaped the confines of your lips. Every fibre of your being wanted to repeat those sacred three words just once more to ensure that he heard you. That he really heard you. You needed him to understand the weight behind your words.

You had never meant them more than you had in that moment. You loved him. It was a confession you had not been able to deal with for years. You loved Andy Barber. And you had done so since the first time he said it to you in your dorm.

“You will,” he nodded, voice full of conviction, and soft eyes. “Come back in a year.”

“And when I do?” your voice was weak. Scared. It was unlike you. You had always gone after what you wanted but this time you had no choice. You had to wait a year. 365 days.

“We’ll have this conversation again. And it won’t be like last time. It won’t be like this time. It’ll be the truth.” Andy grabbed your trembling hands and kissed them.

“Before I go,” you whimpered, feeling a tear start to fall, “lie to me just one last time.”

That was how you ended up in his bed again, his lips all over you, whispering everything you wanted to believe could be true. I love you. We’re gonna make it. This isn’t goodbye. He kissed you like it was the end of something. He fucked you like it was just the beginning.

---

Another day, another argument. As he paced around the dorm, you were trying to remember a time when this wasn’t just a part of the cycle. There was no way it had always been like this, right? If it had, you wouldn’t have made it this long… just a few months and you were already at the end of your rope.

“I can’t keep diminishing myself because you’re afraid of being overshadowed,” he shook his head.

“I’m not afraid of you,” you scowled.

“You’re afraid you won’t be valedictorian,” Andy was tense and he stood away from you, “you’re afraid that it will be me that takes it.”

“Yeah! Of course I am! Because it’s what I’ve been working towards basically my whole life and now you’re trying to take it from me when you don’t even care about it!”

“Of course I care about it!” Andy ran his hand through his hair in frustration. The argument was going around in circles. It always did and you always ended up in the same place.

“Not half as much as I do.” Tears welled in your eyes. It was your dream. Your goal. And it was right in your sight. You were at the finish line and all you had to do was cross it.

“I don’t know why you’re so insecure, honestly. You are so… threatened, by everything, by everybody. Nobody’s nearly as good as you. You run circles around all of us. And you still can’t let go and let your accomplishments speak for themselves. You’re at Harvard! You’re already with the best!”

“Best isn’t good enough. I need to be the best of the best.”

He sighed and leaned back against the wall. “You are never going to be satisfied. I can’t satisfy you, and you can’t satisfy yourself.”

“What do you mean you can’t satisfy me?”

“You’re going to dump me if you get valedictorian.”

“What makes you so sure of that?”

“Because I’m giving up on us, if I get it.”

You looked away. After everything you still didn’t want him to see you cry. “Think you can do better than a salutatorian?”

He laughed a little; a sad, broken noise. “Yeah, something like that.”

He started to walk away and you were going to let him. Some weaker part of you took over for a moment though, and grabbed his sleeve. “Don’t go,” you requested. He seemed like he was considering it. “We can still be together, if I get it.”

He shook his head and looked at you with watery eyes. “You’re impossible.”

“Please, Andy,” you have never pleaded for anything, let alone anyone, but Andy made you want to fight. Whether it was for him or for valedictorian, you were not sure. But it wasn’t enough for him. You needed to actually give something up; before he made that decision for you.

And, so, you watched him leave. One footstep after the other taking a piece of your heart the further he gets. It crushed you. Since you had lost Andy, you had to get valedictorian. There was no fathomable way you were going to be able to deal with the loss of both. “I love you,” you whispered to his fleeting back.

And then it became your turn to grieve. The loss of Andy took a bigger toll on you than you were even able to imagine. That was in spite of the fact that you had spent less time with him over the past few months as he was working a lot more than usual.

You knew that he was saving up for a big purchase. He always did a lot more overtime when he was doing that. Only you had no idea what it would be. All you knew is that it would be a surprise, or so he told you.

next chapter: finale

#andy barber x reader #andy barber fanfic

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lupinblacktheone · 3 years

Text

"So, I was thinking": a modern college!AU:

Johnny is bored. He has already finished all of his crosswords; all of his friends are busy minding their own business and won't pick up their phones.

Classes won't begin until next Monday. Johnny arrived at his dorm last night and he doesn't know when his roommate will be there. All he knows about this person is his name: LaRusso, Daniel.

Wondering about this mysterious boy could set Johnny free from his boredom. Is he a nerd? Or a drama kid? Johnny hopes he won't sing all the time. Of course he likes music (who doesn't?), but musicals... he isn't ready for them yet.

It would be nice to have some common likings with him. Maybe horror movies or breakfast for dinner (well, Johnny is so broke that he eats it for all meals, basically).

Remembering the old times, which weren't good, not at all, tugs at Johnny's heartstrings. He doesn't miss arguing with his parents all the time, but he certainly liked not having to iron his clothes himself. And he misses messing around with Tommy, Jimmy, Bobby and Dutch after school.

Oh, and Karate! Johnny misses it so much that it hurts. He couldn't find a Karate club to join (is this a thing? In Johnny's opinion, it should be. There are clubs for everything in this campus. If he can't find one, he'll form one). Maybe he can practice with Daniel and he could be the second member of the Karate club.

"Hello! I'm Daniel!"

Johnny stares at the boy. He's short, dark-haired and has round brown eyes.

"Johnny", the blond boy gets up, approaches Daniel and shakes his hand. "Can I help you unpacking?"

"Please", Daniel sighs and rubs his neck. "My mother just dropped me off and turned the car around. I barely had time to say goodbye. Can you believe it? I think she wants to rent my room while I'm gone, but I don't think I'll be going home anytime soon. How about you?"

Obviously, the first thing Johnny learns about Daniel is: he's a chatterbox. Second thing: he's from Jersey. He lives with his mother and would love to learn martial arts, but her mother wouldn’t let him because she’s afraid he will get hurt.

"I know Karate", Johnny confesses with a little smile.

***

Sometimes, Johnny regrets having told Daniel about his passion for Karate, because the kid didn't stop begging Johnny for some classes until he finally gave up.

Their dorm is too small and they would destroy it sparring there, so Johnny decides to have the class outside, behind the gym. Daniel said he would meet Johnny there after dinner (and yes, Daniel also has breakfast for all meals, since he is just as broke as Johnny).

December is on the way, so Johnny is wearing as much sweaters as he can (including his Cobra Kai jacket). He leans his back against the red brick wall and puts a cigarette between his lips.

Daniel shows up some minutes later, carrying a heavy messenger bag on his shoulder and wrapped in hoodies and coats (he has lots of cool hoodies; Johnny loves to borrow them and he is using the baseball one right now).

"Ugh", Daniel puts the bag down, massaging his shoulder.

"Are you ok?", Johnny asks with a worried look on his face.

"Perfect. Let's do this."

They get on fighting positions and spar for a while. When they get tired, they walk back to their room, peacefully talking about the day.

"Let me carry this for you", Johnny picks the messenger bag, even though Daniel has already bent to pull it.

He places it over his shoulder and Daniel walks beside him, ranting about his lame Calculus professor.

"I couldn't convince Mrs. Warter to postpone the paper's due date", Johnny complains when Daniel asks about his day. "I'll be lucky if I get a C on it."

"Do you want me to help you?"

Yes, please, he almost answers. Johnny enjoys having Daniel around. They don't have many common likings besides Karate and breakfast food, but he really enjoys staying up late with him, sharing their only desk (Johnny begun to work as a cashier in a store near the campus and Daniel writes other people's assignments for money and they are saving money to improve the place) and laptops on study sessions. Or to spend rare and lazy Sundays in their room, doing crosswords (Daniel bought some magazines and gave to Johnny). Or to share breakfast meals in the middle of the night because they can't sleep.

"Are you free tonight?", he asks, his voice sounds desperate, just as his eyes.

"Is this a study session or a date?", Daniel replies jokingly and raises an eyebrow. "Sure. I can help you."

Johnny opens his laptop and shows Daniel what he's working on.

"I mean, it's not bad, but could use some adjustments here and there. Let's get to work."

Daniel presses the keyboard keys hard with strong movements that emulate a pianist, but with perfectly tied hair. His brain is formulating what should be in the text and getting rid of what shouldn't be read by Johnny's professor.

"I think we're done here", Daniel declares.

"Thanks. I'm gonna buy you a coffee tomorrow, with extra cream."

"Much appreciated", the boy winks and Johnny's heart skips a beat. "So, I was thinking..."

"What a miracle", Johnny teases, smiling to distract Daniel from his blushing ears.

"Anyway, are you going home for Christmas?"

"I don't think so. You?"

"Also no. I don't have enough money for a ticket to Parsipanny."

Daniel looks at Johnny for a moment. His blue eyes are usually shiny, but now... he's more than just sad. Johnny looks depressed and scared.

"Are you alright?", Daniel reaches for Johnny's hand. "You can talk to me. I'm here for you."

Johnny doesn't talk. Instead, he goes for a hug. A big and warm hug. He clings onto Daniel as if he was the only thing keeping him from being blown away.

He doesn't want to cry. However, he can't fight the tears anymore. Daniel holds Johnny, trying to keep him together only with his bare hands. He doesn't try to whisper comfort words in Johnny's ear, he just stays there, providing his roommate all the support he can.

That night, Johnny falls asleep in Daniel's arms. He has never felt this safe before.

The next morning, Johnny rushes to the closest cafe shop to get the nicest cup they have. He drops by the dorm to put the coffee on the desk with a note: To the best roommate ever. Thank you for everything. Love, J.

He sends the paper to Mrs. Warter as soon as he takes a seat in the computer lab for his first class, hoping Daniel's help can save his poor ass from failing Warter's class.

A few hours later, Johnny is waiting for the last class to begin so he can get to work. Not that he likes standing up by a counter telling old people where they can find raisins, plum juice and other things old people buy. But at least, he gets to listen to his music and does little pieces of homework between a client and another.

There is something Johnny can't do at the store: see Daniel. Too bad they don't take many classes together, because every time Johnny sees Daniel entering the classroom, the world changes. It becomes brighter and more beautiful. He knows it's cliché, but Johnny is tired of pretending to be the perfect son, athlete... he just wants to be Johnny.

And Johnny is brave.

"So, I was thinking...", Johnny says when Daniel sits by his side.

"That's unusual", Daniel lets out that amusement air through his nose. "What is it?"

"Do you wanna go out? With... with me?"

That is really unusual. Johnny never was this reticent before. Not even when he noticed he had a crush on Ali Mills.

“Yeah, sure. When?”

“How about Friday? My shift ends at 5:30.”

“Sounds great.”

***

Johnny spends Christmas in his dorm, with Daniel. They curl up on Johnny’s bed, wrapped in Daniel’s hoodies, solving crosswords puzzles and drinking tea while listening to Johnny’s music. Neither of them wants to talk about their families.

Growing up as an only child, Johnny never had to share his things. He wouldn’t even allow Ali to read his poetry (he wrote some about her, tho), or let his friends go through his Spotify playlist. Not because he's embarrassed to like these songs, but because the lyrics describe him so perfectly that he's not comfortable with someone listening to it in front of him.

When he met Daniel and found out they could be good friends (maybe more than that? Johnny certainly hopes so), he felt an urge to take the boy on a journey through his world. First, they shared Karate, then crossword puzzles and went on and on, discovering little things about one another.

“Huh… I couldn’t get you anything for Christmas, so I wrote you a poem. Wanna hear it?”

Daniel doesn’t say anything, just gets closer to him as Johnny clears his throat and searches his notebook for his newest composition. Once he finds it, he puts the paper in front of his eyes (he was brave enough to ask the boy out, but not to have that lovely brown eyes gazing at him while he reads his feelings out.)

“I loved it, Johnny. Now get ready for your present.”

Johnny doesn’t close his eyes when his lips are pressed by Daniel’s mouth. It feels so good that they do it again and again until they fall asleep, holding each other.

***

Graduation is almost here. Most students have moved from the dorms or plan to do it soon. Daniel and Johnny, on the other hand, haven’t mentioned the matter yet. As you can imagine, they don’t want to live with their families again. The only thing Johnny wants is to stay with Daniel and he wonders if Daniel wants the same thing.

“Hey, Danny”, it was supposed to be a nice and quiet study session before the finals, but Johnny can’t hold this down any longer. “I was thinking… do you wanna live with me?”

“Are you kidding me? You’re never getting rid of me, blondie.”

#lawrusso #daniel larusso #johnny lawrence #college au #fanfic #Johnny's POV

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consumedkings-archive · 3 years

Text

THE LAND OF GODS AND DEVILS, a sequel.

—part i.

word count: 6k

rating: m for now, rating will change in later chapters as things develop, tags will be updated accordingly.

warnings: naughty language, massively canon-divergent, roman gets his own tag because he's a fucking nutso, canon-typical violence, established relationship that might not be the healthiest, age gap, domestic murder family. for this chapter in specific, roman likes to take things to the Extreme (i.e., "i'm going to fucking kms if you say this word one more time") but if you're here i imagine you know exactly what he's about.

notes: it's here! i know that most of my followers and friends on here are my friends through my far cry 5 content, but my return to the fic-writing world was inspired by my first longfic in a decade after watching birds of prey. you could say, perhaps, that i have a Type(TM), given that roman sionis lives rent free in my head forever and always. this is the sequel to my work carry your throne, though i like to think it's fairy user-friendly, especially once we really get into the thick of it.

special thank you goes to my beta and the loml, @starcrier; the first person to ever truly recognize varya for the wretched little beast that she is and love her anyway. thank you for being my beta and for loving my girl!

and, of course, another special thanks goes to @shallow-gravy, @vasiktomis, @faithchel, @tomexraider, and @belorage for being so supportive of my foray out of the far cry fandom and back into one that, in a way, brought me here in the first place!

summary: —by dread things, compelled.

roman sionis is the closest he has ever been to having everything that he wants; a perfect wife, a perfect family, a perfect international black-market arms dealing business signed over to him in its entirety. unfortunately for him, there are people in the world who would prefer to see him without, and that has never been a thing that roman has accepted for himself: being without.

(or: a fic wherein the devil spends his time rebuking sin.)

“If one more person says the word ‘chandelier’ in my presence,” Roman announced, drawing all eyes to him, “I'm going to blow my fucking brains out. Got it?”

There was a brief moment of silence that lapsed before the murmured acquiescence of the workers marked their return to their work. Blowing hot air from his mouth, Roman raked his fingers through his hair and turned back around to where Zsasz was watching him expectantly.

“What?” He demanded. “It’s my wife’s birthday.” Emphasis on the my, not the wife; it was not a favor Roman was doing for Varya, it was something he was doing for himself.

“V told them she wanted it.” Zsasz gestured to the offensive piece of lighting, which continued to haunt Roman’s waking and dreaming hours with its garish crystalline drippings and expensive bulbs. Ever since Varya had found out his fluctuating approval of the chandelier, it had been in and out of the Black Mask Club more times than he could count. Not that he needed to; he could very well put in or rip out a stupid fucking light fixture as many times as he wanted.

“Well.” Roman pulled a glass out from behind the bar, setting it on the top and dropping an ice cube into it. “She does so love to torture me.”

“It's just a—”

“Do you want my fucking guts on the floor, Zsasz? I mean it. Say the word and I’ll do it.”

The blonde regarded him drily. “No, boss.”

“Blood and guts everywhere.” Roman gestured widely with his free hand. “All over the floor. The bar top. You’ll have to clean it up. Maybe wipe down some of the bottles.”

“I won’t say it.”

“I don’t have to tell you how hard it is to get blood out of the carpet.”

Zsasz’s mouth quirked up in a smile. It said, without saying anything at all, no, you don’t. More agreeably, and with the flash of pearly whites and the capped tooth: “Sure.”

Roman poured well over what would have been considered the polite amount of expensive scotch into his glass, capping the bottle and setting it aside. It had been exactly twenty-four hours of making sure the club was perfectly polished and styled for Varya's birthday; though she was shrewd, she was so preoccupied with the twins and the lawyers and overseas business associates that she barely seemed to notice whatever was coming in and out of the Black Mask Club. He didn’t think she’d had a baby nor a phone out of her hands in over two days, and truthfully, it was starting to become tedious. Now that the twins were a little over a year old, they were supposed to be scheduling their honeymoon.

The delay of it hadn’t been a big deal, at the start. But everyday with you feels like my honeymoon, Varya had demurred months before the twins’ arrival, fluttering her lashes and gliding her fingers along the lapel of his jacket—and not even an hour after she’d curtly informed him that any more chatter, while she was nursing a headache, would be met with a swift and efficient extraction of his vocal cords by her own hands. Motherhood was supposed to have domesticated her, Roman thought, and had done the exact opposite; now, she was more assured of her status and power than ever.

So, yes; Varya had been busy, and he was almost certain she’d forgotten her own birthday. Never mind that everything had to be perfect. Never mind that it had to be immaculate. Never mind that Varya had deigned to order a brand new fucking chandelier from the same place they’d gotten one last time, knowing full well that he had made the executive decision to gut the fucking thing and get it out of his club.

“Tell you what, Zsasz,” Roman muttered, taking a swallow of the amber liquid in his glass, “don’t ever get fucking married. You want someone knowing all the shit that pushes your buttons all the time?”

“Maybe you just got a button pusher for a wife.”

Roman grimaced and took another swallow. It was true. “Fuck off.”

The blonde opened his mouth to say something else—and hadn’t he gotten confident in himself too, since Varya had become such a permanent fixture in their life, constantly goading and coercing him to voice his opinion on things, things that normally he would just defer to Roman on—when the doors to the stairwell and the elevator opened.

Eclipsing the doorway was Armazd, Varya’s hand-picked-from-the-batch-of-Russians-left-over-guard. Armazd had to be easily cresting six-foot-five, his dark beard neatly trimmed and peppered with silver, a scar breaking the color of his top lip. Roman had only ever seen the man swathed in dark clothes, like a fucking mourner on parade. His wife had been the one picked to be the twins' nanny, despite the fact that Roman felt like she barely did anything.

Also hand-picked. Thoroughly vetted. Interrogated for hours. No stone left unturned, when it came to Yuli and Ro.

“What are you doing down here?” Roman barked, coming around the side of the bar to make his way across the room. “You’re supposed to be going up and keeping—”

“She is coming down,” Armazd clarified. “In the elevator. Irina called to tell me.”

“Instead of stopping her?”

“She was—”

The elevator dinged in the hallway, and Roman quickly ducked around Armazd and closed the door into the club behind him. As soon as the doors slid open, he planted a smile on his face and closed the distance between himself and his wife.

Nobody would know, looking at Varya, that she not only barely utilized the nanny that they had furiously vetted and now paid handsomely, but that on top of juggling their twins she was actively in the process of getting a massive, international gun-running business signed over in his name. There was not a single hair out of place, not a single crease or rumple in the sapphire-blue silk of her blouse or skirt; the scent of her preferred jasmine perfume followed her like a cloud. She looked as put-together as the day he’d first seen her standing in his club.

And now, he desperately needed her to stay out of it.

“Kitten,” he greeted warmly, his hands—though gloved—immediately scratching the itch by reaching for her; they captured hers to carefully still her procession to the club’s main room. “What are you doing down here? I thought you’d be busy for hours.”

“Yuliana has been fussing nonstop,” Varya replied, her voice light despite what could only have been an expression of frustration quickly following, “all while I listen to grown men fussing nonstop at me on the phone.”

Roman feigned a sympathetic noise, bringing her hands up to his mouth to kiss them. “We have a nanny, V.”

“You know better than anyone else,” the brunette murmured, brushing her nose against his as their hands dropped, “that she is inconsolable without you.”

He tried not to look too pleased. “I’m sure that’s not true.”

“Don’t be modest, Romy.”

“Well, I’ll come up, of course.” He kissed the corner of her mouth. “And console our princess.” Another kiss, to the other corner. “So that you can continue letting grown men fuss at you.”

She beamed at him prettily, and finally they met in the middle for a real kiss—nothing coy, nothing demure, but lingering warm and just between the two of them.

“I love you,” she purred. “Go on, then.”

And then Varya pulled away, as though to go around him and into the club, and Roman blinked rapidly. He had only just caught her around the waist before she could walk in and pulled her in a full one-eighty until she was facing the elevator again.

“What are you doing?” she asked, a laugh bubbling out of her. “I was just going to make myself a drink.”

“Encouraging productivity,” Roman replied, hitting the button for the elevator doors to open again. “Ready for all this paperwork to be done, aren’t you? It’s been over a year.”

A year of wading through mafia-esque bureaucracy. A year of listening to Varya say, these things take time. A busy year, to be sure, jam-packed full of things—the biggest wedding in Gotham since its founding, the twins.

A funeral.

Roman tried more and more every day not to think about his (now) brother-in-law’s funeral, the double burial of the only man that might have stood a chance at being loved by Varya more than Roman himself and the only man who had ever been anything like a father figure to her. Family is tedious, he’d wanted to say, brothers and fathers and mothers, the whole lot of them, cut them loose why don’t you? Why should anyone matter to you outside of the twins and I?

Varya glanced at him over her shoulder. “These things take time.”

He rolled his eyes. “Mhm.”

“Not to mention, we were a little busy,” she added, eyes narrowing playfully as he nudged her into the elevator, “you know—having children.”

“And what beautiful children they are.” Roman hit the button without looking, the doors sliding shut behind him.

“Well, how am I supposed to suffer through those phone calls without a stiff drink?”

He quirked a brow upward. “I’ll make you a stiff drink, Mrs. Sionis.”

The brunette propped herself up against the back rail of the elevator as it whirred into motion. The corner of her mouth, painted ruby, curved and her head tilted inquisitively. “Oh?”

“Of course,” he demurred, sidling forward and boxing her in against the wall. “I’ll make you a stiff drink—”

He dropped his head to the slope of her jaw to plant a kiss there.

“—you’ll finish up with the lawyers, and put on the dress I bought you—”

Varya hummed and sighed sweetly.

“—we’ll go out to dinner for your birthday—”

He dropped his hands to her hips, planting a kiss on her temple so that he could rumble, “And we can get to work on baby number three, hm?”

A sweet laugh billowed out of her just as the elevator came to a stop and the doors slid open to bring to Roman the oh-so-sweet sounds of a caterwauling infant. Over the distressed crying was Irina’s voice, shushing and cooing dulcet words in Russian; he could see her swaying to and fro with a swathe of fabric bundled in her arms.

“I almost forgot about my birthday,” Varya said thoughtfully, completely unrattled by the sound of their daughter’s distress. She stepped out from between him and the elevator wall; Roman fell into step beside her easily, the sound of her heels clipping against the floor enough to draw Irina’s eyes to them.

Roman said, “I know you did,” and did not bother to hide his smugness as he held out his arms for the shrieking baby in Irina’s arms. The redhead regarded him with a sort of weary amusement before she acquiesced; with Yuliana safely in his arms, he watched Varya cross the room to turn the automatic rocker that held their son back on to a slow, lulling pace. The freckled infant babbled happily—ever the quieter of the twins—and as Varya said something to Irina in Russian that inspired the woman to depart to the kitchen, she absently picked up a baby blanket from the couch and wandered over to him.

“Yuli,” she murmured, waving her finger at the already-content infant, tucking the blanket around her “is that all you wanted, hm? Just for your papa to hold you?”

“What else could she want for?” he replied confidently. Soothing Yuliana’s fury had become old-hat for him at this point. And, certainly, it pleased him to know that sometimes, the only thing that would make his daughter stop screaming was being held by him. Not even Varya—who had taken to motherhood like a fish to water—bothered when she was in a fit.

Still, the brunette sighed dreamily, her finger captured by their daughter’s tiny hand before she said, “What a perfect little gem.”

Roman hummed his agreement. “Finishing that call with the lawyers?”

“Perhaps tomorrow,” Varya replied. “They’re in a mood today.”

“They’re in a mood every day.” Russians, he thought venomously.

“Yes.” She smiled, flashing pearly teeth at him. “But only today is my birthday.”

She had him there. Still, he was itching for the whole thing to be done—Ilarion had dragged his feet through the process of even drawing up the original contract, which had only been a spit in his face (“You are the only person who gets to fuck Varya Astakhova, that is as exclusive as it gets”) and by the time all of that nasty business had been wrapped up, Ilarion was dead.

Ilarion, and Nikita—leaving only a single living soul to be in charge of the Astakhov empire: Varya herself.

Which, she had expressed time and time again, she had no desire for; not in the public way that her father had done it, and Ilarion after them. She much preferred the clerical work of it all. Paperwork and public relations. Let the men do men’s work, she’d demurred one night, tangled up in their sheets, when he’d asked her what she was going to do with it. I don’t mind. They like me better as their madonna, anyway.

“You know,” she continued, breaking him out of his thoughts as she made her way to the bar cart, pouring herself a drink, “they will like you more if it’s you they’re talking to.”

“I don’t give a fuck if they like me or not,” Roman replied, lifting Yuliana with both of his hands so that he could look at her. “Isn’t that right, princess? Mommy gets to do all the paperwork so that your papa can spend all of his time with you, instead of listening to some dumbfucks bitch and moan on the phone.” He glanced at her. “Well, anyway, since it’s your birthday we can let it slide.”

“Very generous of you.”

“Get dressed, won’t you?” he prompted, depositing his now-content daughter in the mobile swing with her brother. “The table’s been ready for us since noon.”

Varya watched him, dark eyes glittering amusedly. “And why, my darling, did you make the reservation for noon? It’s nearly six now.”

“Because,” he replied, “I wanted to make sure they held it, regardless of how long it took us to get there.”

“Ah.” She lifted her chin a little, lashes fluttering with contentment when he reached up and brushed the hair from her face. “Or else?”

Roman flashed her a grin.

“Or else.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

They held the table.

“Good for them,” Roman said as they followed the server out onto the balcony. The table had clearly been refreshed—a new candle, a new vase, a new bucket of ice and bottle of champagne. He’d heard the waitstaff whispering furiously among themselves as they idled in the lobby to be taken to their table; now, settled across from the birthday girl, Roman was content with the way they had squirmed.

“Quicker than the two-hour wait last time,” Varya noted by way of agreement, smoothing her hand along the edge of the tablecloth.

He scoffed. The only reason they had waited in the lobby for two hours was because Varya had asked him to stay for the table she wanted. If it had been his way, they would have left with a bloody warning and gone somewhere else. “I can’t believe I finally convinced you to leave the twins home for a night and we got stuck sitting in that fucking lobby because they gave our table away.”

“In my defense, they are good babies, Romy. Hardly ever cry. Certainly not too much trouble.”

“But there’s two of them,” he replied, “and toting two babies around is a lot of work. All I’m saying is, what’s the point of paying her that much fucking money if we’re just going to—”

The waiter came by the table, clearly a little stressed; the lines of concern on his face were clear as he cleared his throat and said, “Should I come back?”

Varya, perusing the menu: “No, my darling, you may stay. You were saying, Romy?”

“I just don’t know why we’re shoveling money into her bank account for her to be a glorified accent chair in our house rather than a nanny.” Roman gestured to the champagne bottle expectantly. “Open it.”

The waiter did as he asked, having been standing there uncomfortably for a moment during their exchange. As he worked to carefully open the champagne bottle, Roman turned his attention back to Varya; her eyes remained on the menu, absently twisting the engagement and wedding band on her finger back and forth.

There was no way, he thought, that she was putting off getting the business signed over to him on purpose. Surely, there was no way; even when Ilarion was alive, even when she had anticipated no further problems, it had always been, if you’re going to be my romantic partner, it seems only right you’d be my partner in business too, don’t you think? And yet—

And yet, Roman could not push down the strange, hazy doubt that occasionally flickered through his mind. He had always wanted Varya, had always found himself wanting and wanting and wanting more and more often, and Varya had always seemed content to indulge him. There was, it seemed, nothing she enjoyed more than indulging him. One more kiss, one more minute in bed, one more lingering glance across the room. She was the absolute pinacle of his hedonism, in every sense of the word, and had proven time and time again that she would give him anything that he wanted.

The business had always been for her and Ilarion. He wanted it, and told her he did, and she said, you can have it, if you like, but like in all things, there was a slyness about his wife—a cruelty—that he found endearing and dangerous. Dangerous, because it wouldn’t have been the first time he’d been on the other end of her cruel nature, playfully poking and unwinding and tugging the thread loose until she had pushed him to the limit.

Something echoed in his head, and he realized that the waiter was asking him what he wanted to eat. Varya had handed the menu over and steepled her fingers, watching him with dark, curious eyes and red painted lips, sooty lashes fluttering. A pretty, painted little snake.

“I’ll take whatever she’s having,” Roman said after a moment, setting his menu aside and returning his attention to the brunette across from him. “Something interesting, kitten?”

“Can I not just appreciate my husband?” Varya demurred. “You’re wearing the suit I like best, after all.”

“It is your birthday. What greater gift is there than me?”

She laughed, delighted by him—as she always was—and took a sip of her champagne. “You were away from me, for a moment.”

He watched her, gauging her carefully. Even I know not to drop my pants when a viper opens its mouth, Bianchi had said, just before Varya had unloaded six rounds into his face and chest less than two feet away from him.

“Just thinking,” is what Roman said finally.

“Hm. A dangerous past time.”

His expression flattened, deadpan. “It’s taken a significant chunk of time to secure your father’s business in my name.”

Something flickered across Varya’s expression. at the word father. “To secure my business,” Varya replied, her voice abrupt and cutting, her eyes narrowed, “in your name.” Absently, she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She looked to be composing herself, like she’d spoken on a knee-jerk reaction rather than with thinking.

Then, glossy and silken again: “You know your patience means the world to me, Romy.”

There was nothing that he loved more than watching her pull back her venom for him. Drumming his fingers against the top of the table, Roman bridled his own irritation to say, mildly, “I’d do anything for you. Even wait...” He made a thoughtful noise. “Over a year to finally take on the responsiblities you wanted handed over to me.”

“Of course.” Varya smiled prettily, absently straightening out her silverware. “And we will speak no more of my father on my birthday, or any day after this.”

He knew what that meant. She phrased it pretty, wrapped it up in silk and velvet and presented it to him as unassuming as a doe, but he knew what that meant. There is my button, she was saying, there is my trip wire. Don’t push it, Roman. The name Nikita had all but been banned in their household, even when funeral arrangements were being made; any time he’d heard one of the lawyers mention her father’s name, there had been a sharp rebuke. Not in my presence, she would tell him later, I do not want to hear that fucking name in my presence.

“At any rate, there is nothing that I want more than for this whole process to be done,” she continued lightly, reaching across the table to take his hand. “It was always what I wanted, you know. Ilya was better suited to be a functional piece of the business; he was the face because he had to be, not because he wanted to be, and I am better suited for the nitpicking and the details. Being the overseer is much more in your circle of talents, Romy.”

Her words assauged something unsettled and prickly in him, the sweep of the pad of her thumb across the back of his hand returning that doubtful monster in his mind back to its slumber. He sighed.

“You’re right,” he acquiesced after a moment, “it is more in my circle of talents.”

“Undoubtedly.”

“I always got the impression Ilarion wasn’t happy with it,” he added. “Though you two certainly enjoyed making work of me that first night, didn’t you?”

Varya smiled demurely. “It was never meant to make work of you, only to make a good impression.”

“Hm,” he replied, eyes narrowing playfully, “but you enjoy pushing me, V.”

She looked pleased. She always did, when he remarked on something that felt like he was really seeing her, beneath the glossy veneer. His girl did so love being seen.

“Only,” V demurred, “because you so enjoy reining me in.”

“Guilty as charged.”

Roman brought her hand to his mouth, kissing the back of it before relinquishing it and glancing around. He would just have to exercise patience, of which he had the most; patience, modesty, and humility, all excellent qualities that he could participate in at will, at any given time. Without any restraint.

“Did the men get the chandelier installed?” Varya idled, snapping his attention back to her. He narrowed his eyes.

“I told you I didn’t want a chandelier anymore.”

She looked at him across the table, dark doe eyes wide and innocent. “I thought you liked how polished they make the club.”

“No, you little viper,” Roman replied, clicking his tongue, “Paolo has a chandelier in his club, and there’s no fucking way I’m going to have people comparing it.”

“Ah,” she murmured, “the drama of the chandelier goes on.”

“And while we’re at it, might as well gut that one from the estate, too.”

“There’s more than one chandelier in there.”

“Then the men will be busy, won’t they?” He tsked his tongue. “I know you dream about watching me blow my top, V, but I’m making an executive decision on gaudy light fixtures.”

A smile flashed across her expression, pearly teeth and delighted eyes. She sighed, almost dreamily, like there was nothing more that she liked than to be doing this exact thing, and with him.

“Oh, Romy,” the brunette said sweetly, “you are the only thing I dream about.” And then, almost as an after thought: “Gaudy light fixture terrorism included.” She waved her hand to dismiss any protest or rebuttal he might have given her and said, “Now, since it’s my birthday, tell me all of the things you love the most about me.”

Roman sucked his teeth, eyeing her for a moment as he leaned back in the chair. Wicked little thing, waiting to preen and glow under his attention, a feline seeking him out. Her little bout of cruelty before was already forgiven. He said, “We’re going to be here for a while, if I do that.”

“They held the table for over six hours,” Varya demurred, “I’m sure they’ll hold it for as many more as you need.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

By the time they got to the club, Varya was acting as though nothing had happened.

Truthfully, Roman preferred it that way. It just also left a lot of room to wonder—his wife was a talented actress, adept at smoothing his ruffled feathers out and not divulging her own feelings on the matter. And he wouldn’t ask, of course. If Varya wanted to express herself, she would, and had, quite openly in the past.

“I am so happy to be home,” she announced, gliding past the door to the club once Roman had opened it for her. “Do you think the babies are asleep, yet? I always miss putting them...”

Her voice trailed off, pausing a little as she seemed to realize that the club was cloaked in inky darkness, freezing just a few steps past the threshold. Roman let the door swing shut behind him, nudging her forward with a hand at the small of her back. He was met with some resistance; she steeled, stiffening against his insistence, before taking a few steps forward.

He said, barely keeping the delight out of his voice, “You’re holding up the line, V.”

“Roman,” Varya said, her voice pitched oddly soft and tight, “why—?”

The lights flashed on to a loud, unified cheer of Happy Birthday!; the club had been packed with vases of flowers, the tables donned with food and drink, and everyone worth their salt within a fifty-mile radius had made their way there. Not a single thing was out of place—everything exactly where he had instructed it be placed, and not a fucking chandelier in sight.

Roman came around in front of the brunette, grinning. “Happy—”

He stopped. Varya’s expression was not happy, or even surprised; it was something else, something that he couldn’t read, the pupils of her hot-whiskey eyes blown wide and the normally Renaissance-soft lines of her face sharpened and hardened into an expression that was more vicious.

“V?” he asked. Her eyes snapped to him, and for a second she looked the same way she had that night in the loft, her hands drenched in blood and the kitchen knife clutched in her fist with bodies at her feet: like she didn’t recognize him.

It took a heartbeat, but her expression smoothed out and she smiled, almost sheepish—like she’d been caught doing something naughty, instead of being caught being somewhere else. Someone else, more the wolf than the girl.

“The lights,” she explained, hands resting on his chest, “they startled me, is all.”

A frown creased his expression. He brought his hands up to hold her wrists, thumb pressed against her pulse point. It fluttered unsteadily. Unconvinced, Roman pressed, “The lights?”

“Just the lights,” Varya assured him. She tilted her head up and kissed him, one hand departing his jacket to go to the back of his neck—and when she kissed him, he could feel that strange little flicker of energy, like she’d been stamping something out before it could catch, but it still vibrated under her skin.

He opened his mouth to say something else, but she disentangled from him and swept around to the crowd of people waiting, beaming prettily and playing at bashfulness, as though she did not enjoy their eyes on her and did not soak their attention up like a flower did sunlight. Whatever had been plaguing her in that moment was now gone, and she was awash with attention and love, thanking people profusely and accepting each hug and cheek-kiss directed her way.

Roman brushed off the odd feeling that she wasn’t being as forthcoming with him as he would have preferred—no secrets anymore, isn’t that what they’d agreed on?—and instead waded into the crowd. Music kicked on overhead; chatter picked up to a warm humming around them; there was nothing else to think about except letting his girl enjoy her birthday celebration.

By the time Varya had made a suitable number of rounds (which tended to verge much higher than one, much to Roman’s chagrin—what tedious work, to share her with everyone else), she had barely sipped the glass of champagne someone had planted in her hand. She circled back to him eventually; like always, there was that pinprick tugging in the cavity of his chest, like they were bound by a single thread that kept them from parting too much and too quickly, and when she drew closer to him again it oozed relief, warm and vibrant, through his ribs.

“Sufficiently loved on?” he asked as she neared, hand reaching up to slide around her waist.

“By them? Certainly.” The brunette’s hand smoothed along his shoulder, the pad of her thumb gliding across the velvet of his jacket. “By you, though, not hardly. Not ever.”

“You are insatiable,” Roman agreed in a rumble. He splayed his fingers against the small of her back, tugging her in closer and brushing their noses together.

“Just for you,” Varya murmured, and the words brushed their lips together just a little—but everything with Varya, like this, felt like almost-kissing, enough to push him to some kind of edge where his stomach twisted and wrenched with want when she added, “And only for you.”

“You know I can’t resist you when you talk like that.”

She laughed, leaning in to set her glass to the side and curl her fingers into his shirt for a kiss; everything for a second felt normal, and good, and right again, the strange way she’d gone-away back in the doorway having disappeared, the dark cloud over her having cleared, her wretchedness from dinner dissipated.

And Roman kissed her, with the sound of the party chatter ringing in his ears, and kissed her with the faint taste of champagne flooding his senses when she parted her lips against his, and kissed her while his hand fisted the fabric of her dress and he managed out in a voice rough with want, “So you’re trying to rile me up.”

“I always,” Varya murmured against his mouth silkily, “want you riled, Romy.”

“Varya?”

A stranger’s voice filtered through the haze—the rose-colored one that usually accompanied Varya saying anything like she wanted him riled up—and Roman felt the irritation spike straight through it. He turned to look at the interruption at the same time that Varya did, only to find a young, handsome blonde standing just a foot away.

Varya said, sounding faint, “Maxim?”

“It has been a while,” the blonde said, and he sounded sheepish. “I called Armazd, asking after you—”

“Sorry,” Roman interjected briskly, fingers still curled—now possessively—into the fabric of Varya’s dress against the dip of her spine, “but who are you?”

His wife started to say, “Romy, this is—” at the same time that the man began, “I am sorry, my name—” and they both stopped at the same time, a strange little silence stretching between them.

“Maxim,” Varya said after a second, turning to look at Roman now. “This is Maxim. He is Artyem’s son.”

Roman stared at her, more to buy himself time than anything; she said the name like he was supposed to know who that was. Artyem, but it didn’t sound familiar. Almost any Russian name sounded like gibberish to him, and if Varya had said it to him, it had been in passing, an afterthought, nothing but a whisper of information passed between them before it was gone again.

Until it did. Until he remembered that the person Varya had thought was her father had actually been Artyem, that she’d poisoned him, let him bleed to death on the carpet while she had mentally checked out of the moment. That she had watched him die, but she had been somewhere else—someplace else, the way Ilarion had described it, very far away where she couldn’t even enjoy what she’d done fully.

And Maxim—golden, and polished, and clean-shaven—looked awfully pleasant for someone whose farther had choked to death on his own blood because of Varya.

“I see,” Roman said, even though he didn’t. His gaze turned to Maxim. “And you’ve—shown up without calling ahead?”

“I have been in Turkey,” Maxim explained, “finishing up some business, and I did not know how to get in touch—”

“Well, you spoke with Armazd, didn’t you?” Roman’s head tilted. “The man practically sleeps in our bed, I imagine he would have been happy to get you in contact with us.”

“Admittedly,” Maxim said, “I wanted it to be a surprise—”

No, Roman thought absently, venomously, that won’t do at all.

“—Varya’s birthday—”

“So you slunk in,” Roman elaborated tartly, “like a little street dog, hm?”

“Maxi,” Varya interjected, fingers absently tracing the stitching on Roman’s jacket, “why don’t you go get a drink and acquaint yourself with our friends? Armazd is just there—you see?”

Maxim’s eyes darted between her and Roman for a minute. He shifted on his feet, tilting and giving a little smile that might have liked abashed if Roman didn’t think he saw a little squirm of self-satisfaction in his gaze. Fucker.

“Of course,” the blonde replied after a moment. “C dnyom razhdyenyem, Varushka.” He took a step forward, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

Varya’s thumbnail dug into the lapel of Roman’s jacket. “Thank you, Maxi.”

Once the blonde had departed, linking up with Armazd in the crowd to get introduced, Roman straightened up from the bar. It was impossible not to stare at this newcomer—he glowed with an easy charisma, flashed bright smiles that were all teeth. Roman hated him already.

“Maxi?” he asked her, eyes narrowed, and Varya sighed. He waited for her to elaborate. Perhaps she’d say they had dated once, perhaps they were literally nothing. That would be ideal, after all. Ships passing in the night.

She said, “We grew up together.”

Even worse. Roman twisted a loose, dark curl of hers around his finger. “And you killed his father.”

“Well—” She paused, mouth pressing into a thin line. “He does not know.”

“He doesn’t—” The notion that she was keeping secrets, and not from him, coiled high and happy in his throat. He tried not to sound too delighted when he said, “V, surely he knows.”

“Surely he does not, that I did it. Only that it happened. And I will keep it that way,” she added firmly, picking up her champagne glass from the bar top. “Maxim was incredibly loyal to my father because Artyem was, but more than that—he was mine and Ilya’s friend. I’m sure he is missing Ilya almost as much as I am.”

“As we all are,” Roman agreed sagely, planting a kiss on her temple in spite of the dry look she gave him. It was hard to tell, to get a read on this Maxim. What was it he’d dragged himself out of the trenches for? Just to fly halfway across the world to wish Varya a happy birthday? Above all things, Roman understood that his wife was a desirable thing, and knowing that he kept her out of the reach of others was part of her appeal—but that much? Could someone who was just a friend want that much?

He continued, “So what is it that Maxim offers to the business, hm?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Varya demurred, which didn’t sound at all like the truth. “Artyem was the one who sent him out on jobs. My father kept things tight around the top, you know. If anyone would know what it was Maxim was up to in Turkey who wasn’t my father or Artyem, it would have been Ilarion.”

“I find it hard to believe you have no idea what your father was using someone for.”

The sound of delighted commentary drew both of their eyes away; Irina had come down, both dark-haired infants in her arms, and was walking them toward Varya and Roman. Murmured remarks on what could only be their cuteness passed throughout the crowd of party-goers.

“I am putting them down for bed,” Irina announced as she approached, “and I know you like to say goodnight.”

“Oh, you are an angel,” Varya murmured, glass set aside once again. She leaned in, pressing a kiss to baby Ro’s cheek. Yuliana babbled, and she sighed dreamily, “Have you ever seen more perfect babies, Roman?”

Perfect babies, a perfect wife; soon, he would even have the perfect grip on Gotham’s neck, throttling it until it was nothing but dust and ash. Soon, but not soon enough; he’d be content when it was just done and settled, when there was nothing else standing between him and everything that he wanted. Varya, and the guns—what an odd thing, to know that a year ago he’d set out for this and it was just falling into his lap.

“Romy?”

“Never,” Roman replied, smiling and glancing back at his wife, reaching and cradling the back of Yuli’s head. “I’ve never seen more perfect babies, V.”

Across the room, Maxim watched them. There was something about it that Roman didn’t like—the way his eyes flickered, the way he looked between the children and Varya, the way their eyes met and he didn’t deflect away. Like he didn’t mind getting caught. Where had he come from? What little shithole had he crawled out of, over a year after Nikita’s death and Ilarion’s death—longer, still, since his father’s death? Hadn’t he wondered what had happened to his father?

What are you doing here, he thought venomously, that you think you can just come in here like nothing? Like I won’t root you out like the little rat you are?

Maxim smiled. It was a polite smile, unassuming kind of smile.

Roman picked up his drink from the counter, taking a heavy swallow. Suddenly, the evening seemed to stretch out endlessly in front of him, no finish line in sight.

Nothing else standing between me and everything I want.

And he was going to keep it that way.

#birds of prey #birds of prey fic #roman sionis x original female character #ch: varya astakhova #ch: roman sionis #ch: victor zsasz #roman sionis/original female character #my writing #fic: the land of gods & devils #me sweating profusely posting this #i am really excited about this though and i want to really really thank everyone who has been supportive of me pursuing this!!!!#creeping up on varya's birthday and also the one year anniversary of CYT making me super emo #<3 <3 <3

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