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angel-eyes05 · 1 year

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to leave the warmest bed i've ever known

pairing: spiderwoman!reader x miguel o’hara

summary: after miguel’s fight with miles, you confront him in his office

warnings: this whole thing is basically one big argument there’s SO much angst, implied suicide attempt, HUGE ATSV SPOILERS DO NOT READ THIS IF YOU HAVEN'T SEEN THIS MOVIE, im projecting a little in some parts of this ngl (i cried writing a certain section of this, you'll know it when you read it lmao), mentions and descriptions of blood, gore, and death

word count: 4.1k

notes: i watched the movie yesterday…and miguel is on my mind. but i remember reading this namor x reader fanfic after i watched wakanda forever of a similar idea to this and i loved it so this is HEAVILY inspired by that fic, but just make it miguel. i would link it but ngl that was so long ago and i dont remember the author. if i end up finding it again ill put it here. also, just pretend miguel has been doing this whole spider society thing for a couple of years at least, it just needs to work like that for this ik its probably not canon but just roll with it lmao. and yes the title is a taylor swift lyric im so glad you noticed (im so sorry she's in my brain rn with the eras tour)

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The anger boiled up inside your chest as you stormed your way across the lobby. Hundreds of different Spider-Man variants were scattered across the area, some more injured than the others. It sickened you sometimes. How he had so many people under his grasp and just decided to throw some of them at the walls sometimes, not caring how hard they hit the floor because they were all just ammo to him. How despite his denials of it, that’s probably what your role was to him as well. Nothing more than a bullet in his massive machine gun.

You normally tried not to think about it, how his determination towards his goal sometimes meant lack of care for others. But this time he had just gone too far. You always had a soft spot for Miles, watching closely on him whenever Miguel would let you go though scanners of all the different variants. You admired his struggle, but eventual success to taking up the previous Peter’s mantle, and always hated how Miguel talked about him. You knew there was no way Miles could’ve asked for any of this. For the pressures and struggles of being a Spider-Man, for everything causing such a strained relationship with his parents, for the death of his uncle, and for what will be the eventual death of his father. You definitely didn’t.

Ok lets do this one last time. Eh, whatever, there’s probably gonna be 50 other introductions after this one so it doesn’t really matter.

Being Earth-837’s Spider-Man has never been easy. Especially since you were bit when you were only 13 (another reason you sympathized with Miles and Gwen). Your life had followed the order of canon events to a perfect T, your older brother killed in a fight with a robber only two months after you were bit. You tried to overcome the burden of your powers by trying to live as normal of a teenage life as possible, but it was mostly in vain, having to give up multiple friendships and relationships in fear of those you love getting hurt. This was only elevated when your boyfriend Peter was murdered in the crossfire of an encounter with Doc Ock. You didn’t understand. You couldn’t. What you had done to deserve all of this. All you did was just be in the wrong place at the wrong time. You wonder sometimes what would happen if someone was in the same place you were when you got bit. If someone else went to the closed down area of that museum and ran into that spider. That stupid spider that ruined your life. Those thoughts slowly started to disappear for a bit. For a few years things were easy. Things seemed like they were finally going in your favor.

You were 25 when it happened. The last canon event. Ever since you were a little girl you hated your mother’s job. Losing nights of sleep over if she would come home or not. She always did though. She was good at her job. Too good though. Good enough to get promoted to police captain, which for who you were, was basically sealing her fate. She saved so many people that day. You were too busy fighting Venom to notice how much collateral damage you were causing in the process. Your mother’s job was to evacuate all the citizens away from the fight. She died shielding a child from incoming debris. A noble way to go. But god was it gruesome. You found her after the fight was over, two metal poles impaling her. One through her stomach and one straight through her face, pools of blood growing bigger below her as she was left there, all the paramedics busy trying to save the heavily injured. You froze when you finally recognized her, unable to at first due to how mutilated her face was from the pole. Suddenly, you were transported back to being a six year old, falling asleep outside the door to your mother’s bedroom so you would know exactly when she would come home. Purposefully falling asleep in her arms so that she couldn’t go anywhere.

When you used the key she had given you to get into her apartment that night, and you slept in her room, desperate to intake anything left of her before she was fully gone. You doused yourself in her perfume so it still felt like she was standing right behind you. You had always loved her smell. The smell of vanilla, curl product, and fancy perfume. They were attached to memories you had of her. Trying on her heels when you were a kid to try and be fancy like her. Smelling her hair in the morning before school to comfort you before she left for work. Despite all of this bringing you comfort, all it really did was cause further denial in your heart. That one day you were gonna hear the keys clacking in the keyhole to your apartment one more time. That’s all you really wanted. You would give everything up in a heartbeat just to hear her police scanner go off one last time. But it wasn’t going to. And it was your fault. Deep down you knew it was. You should’ve done a better job controlling the debris. You had always been a messy fighter, but you didn’t know it was going to mean anything until it was too late.

How you got up to the top of that building is still a blur to you to this day. But next thing you know, you were looking at the New York City skyline from the very top of the Empire State Building. And at the very edge too. You heard some sounds behind you, but you just decided it was the wind howling from how high up you were. You were just so tired. Everything and everyone you loved was cursed all because of you. And with your mother as the most recent victim, you decided you finally had enough. You took a deep breath, eyes overflowed with water, as you set your foot forward.

Your plummet was interrupted by a sudden contact you felt to your forearm. Shock filled your body as you turned around to look at what had stopped your attempt. The blue hand was massive, nearly wrapping back around onto itself as it held onto you for dear life. You finally looked up at face that the hand belonged to. The mask that covered the massive figure was a strange one. Blue with strange red silhouettes for the eyes. It kind of reminded you of…your own costume? That couldn’t be though there was no way. This must be the afterlife or something. You already jumped and that's why you didn’t remember your way up to the top. This was some kind of creature trying to stop you from jumping down to hell below. His breaths were heavy and loud, almost like he was desperate to stop you. This convinced you that this was real, which caused you to try to escape from his grip. He was stronger than you, and was putting up a huge fight. You were slick though. Once you were out of his hand, you closed your eyes and quickly made your jump. Everything flashed before your eyes. Your brother, Peter, your mom. You were hoping to see them soon. This was very quickly interrupted again when you suddenly stopped falling. Something had attached itself to your stomach. You opened your eyes. A web? This web was much different than yours though. It was glowing a bright, neon orange.

The man was holding onto the end of it tightly with both hands. His mask then disappeared to show his face. His was long, matching how big the rest of his body was, defined cheek bones sticking out. Brown wavy hair slicked back with a few loose strands flying out in the wind. The look of desperation on his face stook out most of all. Why did he care so much? He didn’t know you, and you definitely didn’t know him. “Let me pull you up. Please,” he said to you between shaky pants. You stared at him for a bit before nodding. He slowly pulled you up with the string of his web, each move more careful than the last. As soon as your feet were planted safely back on the roof of the building, he wrapped you up in his massive arms. You appreciated the gesture, but you didn’t return it, still very confused about why he was so concerned. He was so big around your body though, you couldn’t help but feel a little comforted, feeling his still shaky breaths against the hairs of your neck. Soon after, he clicked on some buttons on his neon orange watch and led you into a portal.

The rest is history. You’re grateful he found you that day. It allowed you to meet so many people, Peter B., Jess, Gwen, Hobie, Ben, Pavitr, Margo. They all related to you and you felt like you could share things with them that you couldn’t do with anyone else. You had grown especially close to Peter and Jess, both of them having been in the game for a long time, just like you. They both knew how you felt, having lost so much and growing so tired after so many years. Peter even named you as Mayday’s godmother when she was born, a gesture that caused you to nearly kill him with your hug. Miguel though was different. He wasn’t nearly as social as the rest of your friends, but you found yourself having much more intimate moments with him (in more ways then one). You eventually found out why Miguel was so concerned for you the day you met. He had taken interest in your abilities early into looking for variants for his little “project”, but refrained from roping you into something so dangerous while you were still in your teens.

Once you were old enough though, he started paying more and more attention, hoping to catch you in a fight and recruit you then. But he was always pulled away with more important duties to attend to. That was until he witnessed your canon event. He had seen it happen so many times before through his scanners. It was going to happen. It had to in order for your universe to not collapse in on itself. But for some reason, yours hurt more than the rest to him. Especially how you coped with it. Seeing you wrap yourself up in her blankets and clothes broke his heart. He knew where this would lead to. That’s why he was there that day. To save you. He had to, or he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself. You got your own watch immediately, along with your own room in the Spider Society headquarters. He stayed close with you for the first month of you being a member of the team. When he wasn’t out on missions, he was with you. You didn’t really know what to label you two as, but whatever was going on, you liked it. And he did too.

That is until Miles came into the picture. Once Miles was bit, all hell broke loose for Miguel. He was always in some alternate dimension catching some Spider-Man villain who got out and rangled them back over here, falling back over to you more beat up and bruised than the last time. You couldn’t imagine how much stress he was under, the fate of the entire multiverse up to him. You had some ways of helping him relieve his stress, but you wish you could convince him that he wasn’t alone in this. But nothing ever got through to him. He had become distant, aloof even. You tried bringing it up to Jess every so often, but she would just brush it off.

“That’s how he’s always been.” Not to you he hasn’t. This week has been hell though. With Spot making it over to Miles, Miguel had been going into rages all week. You had put up with it for now, but that was all about to stop. Watching how harsh he was being on Miles, throwing so many Spider-Men at an innocent boy, risking all of their lives in the process. Disregarding everything Gwen and Peter were feeling and then throwing Gwen back into her broken world with nothing. He had gone too far. No one else was going to stand up to him about it, so you knew it had to be you. Maybe he would listen, maybe he wouldn’t. It didn’t really matter. He just needed to hear it.

“It’s not worth it you know.” The voice snapped you out of your thoughts, stopping you in your tracks. “You know how stubborn he gets over these things,” said Jess, trying to convince you to save your breath. “I don’t care. I have to at least try,” you responded, monotonically. “I just don’t understand how you can follow him so blindly and not see what he’s doing is wrong.” “Because he isn’t wrong. I don’t know about you, but I’m not just gonna stand by and let some kid’s stupid decisions destroy another Earth,” Jess argued. “He’s just trying to save his dad, I can’t understand how that makes him such a bad person,” you said, finally turning around to face her, shocked when she was closer to you than expected.

“You know exactly why. Don’t be so naive, y/n,” she shot back. “You can’t stop me,” you said staring straight into her. She shrugged. “Then I can’t help you.” She began to walk away. You did to, until you heard her say. “You don’t know how much he cares for you.” You turned around to face her again, but her back was still to you, her head tilted ever so slightly to look at you. “If you really do care for the kid, watch what you say to Miguel right now. Cause you might just give him the final push he needs to do what needs to be done.” You didn’t give her a response, and just simply kept walking. You felt Jess’ eyes on your back as you entered the elevator to get up to Miguel’s office.

The elevator ride up felt longer than it should’ve, as you tried to gather all of your thoughts and emotions together so even if he didn’t listen, your words would still stick with him in some way. You didn’t necessarily want to hurt him (though your fists were telling you otherwise), but you did want him to be aware of what he’s done. Once the doors finally opened, all of that work flew out the window as rage took over your body again, seeing Miguel up there looking at the scanners. The fact that he looked just as normal as he always does made you furious. It’s like nothing happened.

“You know, I could hear you coming in from the lobby,” he said, almost stopping you in your tracks. You hated when he did that. Claiming that he knew what your every move was going to be. Like you were under his control or something. “Yeah, well then you must’ve heard me talking to Jess, which means you know exactly what this is about,” you shot back, stopping to where you could see him perched up there. “Why don’t you just save me the conversation about morality and just come up here and kick my ass already. It’ll save both of us time,” he said, not even taking his eyes off the scanners to look down at you. This only added to your fury. “That’s not what I’m here for Miguel, so don’t you dare try to twist my words here. What you did to that kid was fucked up and you know it.” “Oh yeah, then why didn’t you try to do anything to stop me?” he questioned.

“Because I’m not stupid Miguel. I’m not gonna try to take down hundreds of Spider-Men at once.” “Oh, cause you’re so much better than that?” This wasn’t like him at all. That gentle, kind, and caring Miguel you once knew was gone, taken over by some sort of personal vendetta he had against Miles. “Listen, I don’t know what’s going on with you, but this all needs to stop before it gets taken too far. You’re getting into a fight you can’t win. That kid’s strong and so are his allies. And if you go any further into this, I won’t be here to help you.” He stayed still and only turned his head to look at you. “And what makes you think that you’re so important to my plan that it’ll fall apart if you leave? Have you really become that pretentious?”

Your body froze. Have I really? No no no, that’s exactly what he wants. If you begin to doubt yourself now, you’ll stay and nothing will change. You knew you were right. He was trying to crumble you down, but you wouldn’t let that happen. “And you really think that one kid is going to ruin something that you’ve been working for for years? How insecure you’ve become.” “You have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said, turning back away from you. You did the same, wiping off your face in anger. “I hate it when you do tha-,” you said as you turned back around, but were cut off to find Miguel standing there right in front of you. He was close. Too close to your liking, although in any other circumstance you would’ve found this attractive.

He tilted his head up, but his eyes were down staring daggers into yours. You hated how much he tried to make himself seem more superior to you. “You have no idea what you’re talking about,” he repeated, this time slower as if you were a child. “He’s just a kid Miguel,” you said in a low, quiet voice. “An anomaly. And a dangerous one at that.” “God Miguel, all he wants to do is protect his dad, do you know how insane you sound right now?” you said letting out a slight laugh when you finished. You backed away from him a little. “He doesn’t know how much damage he’ll do with this. Saving his father will only prolong the inevitable. His world will be gone within hours if he does this. All I’m trying to do is make him understand,” he tried to explain. “By trying to kill him.” “You always have to exaggerate the situation,” he said palming his face. “But that’s essentially what you’re trying to do isn’t it? Why not snuff out the problem entirely by taking him out!”

He signed and began to walk away while you were talking, bringing up your anger even more. “Yeah, use all the power you’ve accumulated over the years and just take out the small problem! Except this isn’t just a fly on the wall Miguel. This is a child! An innocent boy who didn’t ask for any of this to happen to him, just like how we didn’t. I get it, I’m sorry that this job is stressful, I really am. But that gives you zero right to act the way you are!” You were screaming at him at this point. You didn’t want to. You didn’t want your emotions to get the best of you. But he was being too stubborn. This was the only way you thought you could get to him. You might not have wanted to, but you needed to hurt him now. It was the only way.

“You can’t be so power blind that you refused to accept the fact that there could be a way around Captain Davis’ death. You said we saved Earth’s before, I’m sure we could do it again.” Your anger only kept rising when he kept walking away and didn’t respond. “This is a personal thing isn’t it?” you asked calmly. You knew it was working now when he stopped walking. “Yeah, it it. You won’t let Miles get his happy ending. Because why should he be pardoned of his burden while the rest of us have suffered so much. While you’ve suffered so much.” The answer to your question was confirmed when Miguel stayed silent. “Just because you didn’t get the life you wanted Miguel, doesn’t mean you have the right to stop other people from getting theirs.”

You knew you overstepped the line when Miguel turned around and started walking towards you, fury burning in his crimson eyes. “Yeah, so what! What if that is what this is all about! You should know better than anyone how much this job takes away from you!” he screamed at you, backing you up into a wall. “Why should he get to be let off so easily, while people like you and me have to suffer so much? Don’t try to turn me into the villain here when I know you’re thinking the exact same thing, y/n.” He wasn’t entirely wrong. You had wondered it at some points. “I won’t let you turn this onto me Miguel, this is about you,” you fired back. “Oh no, you’re not getting off that easily. I know you’re thinking it. And you’re right. Why should Miles get let off so easily when you’ve lost so much.” He held your hands in his, trying to connect to you. “And you have mi vida. You’ve had so much taken from you and it’s unfair. Why should he only have lost one person when you’ve had three taken from you. Your brother, Peter, your moth-.”

He was cut off by your hand striking against his face in a harsh blow. “If you’re smart, and I know you are, you’ll keep those three out of them. I won’t let you drag their names through the dirt for something as stupid as this.” You both stood there for a while, both of your eyes looking towards the ground, hoping it would open up to swallow you both as an escape from this god awful conversation. You never wanted it to come to this. In all honesty, you cared for Miguel. You might’ve even loved him, if you were even capable of doing such a thing. You hoped he felt the same way about you, but in a job like this, he always had at least one wall up around you. It just wasn’t worth it anymore. You were too tired to keep trying for something that was most likely going to fall apart in the end.

“You’re still going after him aren’t you?” you asked, finally breaking the silence. Miguel looked back up at you. “You can’t ask me not to. You know better than anyone why this is so important to me.” He moved his hand up to cup your cheek and kissed your forehead gently. You let it sit there for a minute out of habit before pushing it off your face. “And you must know why I can’t stay anymore then.” His shoulders dropped. “Whatever this thing between us is. It’s over. I can’t stay beside someone who can’t see what he’s doing is wrong.” Miguel’s dropped hand turned into a fist of anger. “Fine,” he spat in your face. “I don’t need someone like you in my way. You’re just a liability to this anyways.” He began to walk away from you back to his scanners. “Just don’t come crying back over to me when your little plan doesn’t work out, cause I won’t help you.” He used his webs to pull himself back up to the platform to keep looking for Miles. You stood there for a second, gathering yourself.

Five years. Out the door just like that. It bewildered you how easily a bond like you two had could be broken all because of one teenager. You began to make your way for the door before you said. “When this is all over…don’t try to find me.” He didn’t respond. Once the elevator doors opened, you rushed inside, desperate to get away from him. So many thoughts rushed through your head as the doors closed and you sunk down back to the lobby to leave. You didn’t have much of a plan. This could end up being a horrible idea. Your gut told you it was the right thing to do though. And that was enough for you. You walked out of the headquarters lobby with a new heart and a new mind, ready to take action for your new plan.

First though, you had to find Gwen.

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a/n: god that took longer than it should've. dw dw i'll do a part 2 if enough people ask for one. im not 100% sure how im gonna do a part 2 cause yk....idk how beyond the spiderverse is gonna go so tbh, we're just gonna make it go the way i want lmao. thanks for reading, ik this was kind of a long one lmao

NEXT CHAPTER

#miguel o’hara #miguel o'hara x reader #spiderman across the spiderverse #spiderman 2099 #into the spider verse #spider-woman reader #across the spiderverse #fem!reader #fanfic #fanfiction #spiderman #spider man #spider man: across the spider verse #spiderverse

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malewifeharem · 3 months

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CELEB JING YUAN?? ☁️

celebrity!AU jingyuan

彡- ,, a collection of my brainrots about dating jing yuan as diff types of celebs!

cw ⁞ none unless ur allergic to rich hot general fluff. not proofread.

an ⁞ this may be a little ooc, i apologise ehe. I TRIED PLEASE I PROMISE RGRGGRHRGHGRHG

imagine ceo!jingyuan picking you up from work at your office, patiently waiting for you in his car. he doesn't understand why you want to continue working when he's already mentioned countless times how he could provide for you. you'd never have to work a day in your life again! (lets pretend we're hardworking in this) he gets out of the car to greet you with a smirk before opening the car door for you.

"get in, princess."

you smile at him and thank him for sending you home again — this has become a habit of his, though he sees it more as his duty. you quickly arrive at his residence and were about to bid him goodbye when he suddenly stopped you — his hand gripping your wrist, reluctant to let go. you ask him what's wrong and he just has the saddest pout on his face, looking like a dejected, kicked puppy. (lion?)

"why won't you let me spoil you... i know how much you hate your boss, if you resign, you'll never have to deal with him again. i'll pay for whatever you'll ever want and need, darling," he murmurs sleepily, pulling you closer to him so he can rest his head on your chest. how are you supposed to say no to him like this?! you don't notice his smug smirk as he hears your heartbeat fasten rapidly — he already knows you'll give in to him this time. (sly mf)

imagine artist!jingyuan who sits in his studio everyday, painting his beloved lover onto countless numbers of canvases — his work forever preserved. they all lay untouched, scattered on the floor. he's displeased. you'd visit his studio occasionally and always find him grumbling and utterly frustrated with himself. usually, when he's hit with a creativity block like this, it passes within a couple of days but he's been in this state of discontent for weeks at this point.

"i've been painting for ages now but nothing is appealing," he groans.

you turn to look at the multiple canvases strewn all across the floor and you beg to differ but ultimately decided to stay quiet — you won't be able to understand an artist's grievances anyway. you comfort him to the best of your abilities and you can tell that he appreciates it a lot — the weight of his eyebags lifting slightly. you return to the studio a few days later to see it in a completely different state of mess, the canvases from before are now replaced by sludges of clay.

"oh, you're back. ah, so you've seen the ceramic statues. it's you, my love. it seems your beauty is so breathtaking that it must simply be portrayed in multiple forms of art."

imagine world renowned author!jingyuan who sits in his garden everyday, inscribing his poems on scrolls — the work forever preserved. he hums in satisfaction as he rolls up the piece of parchment, slotting it into a case before sending it off to you via his personal cycrane. you're already reading his first draft within a few hours and pointing out any mistakes he's made so carelessly — making sure to add sarcastic comments by the side to add salt to the wound. after a few days of corrections, the work is ready to be sold to the collectors — the two of you meeting up to thank them for the smooth transaction.

"must you be so cruel every time you mark my work, my love?"

"it's because you're so sloppy with your work, 'yuan. aren't you a famous author? hm?"

"sorry, i work best with a reward-based system. maybe you should give me a kiss for every grammatically correct sentence."

"if that's what will solve your problem then fine."

"don't act so cold, we both know you'd like that."

you notice that his writings have become longer and you haven't been able to spot any mistakes either. (rip your sore lips)

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radiant-reid · 10 months

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okay but dad!spencer taking paternity leave?! would that not be the cutest thing in the world?

the absolute cutest, i've got to expand

"I'm home!" You call out when you come through the front door, placing your bag on the side table and taking your shoes off.

Spencer comes down the hallway to meet you in the foyer, wrapping you in a hug. "Hi, honey. Missed you."

You grin before pulling back to quickly kiss him. "Missed you too, baby. And there's the actual baby." You coo, looking down the hallway at where she's making a fast crawl down across the hardwood floor.

She must have recognized your voice, probably sensed the excited tone in Spencer's voice, and came crawling.

You kneel down, reaching out for her. "My sweet girl, come here."

She crawls to you, using your legs to stabilize herself while she stands up. "Momma, up!"

"Maisie!" You cheer back, swooping her up into your arms. "You've been good for Daddy today?"

"You're always good for Daddy, aren't you?" Spencer says as he takes her little baby fingers and pretends to bite them. It makes her giggle in your arms at his playfulness. "You wanna show Momma our new trick?" He asks her, sounding more eager himself.

You love getting to see their new tricks, even if they're just Spencer pretending to chew at her fingers. "Okay, let's go."

"It needs extra equipment." He tells you, hyping it up with recognizable joy like whatever it is, is the most amazing thing in the world.

Maisie must realize what Spencer's rambling about because she starts babbling as you enter the living room. You notice the blocks on the floor, arranged in a tower that there's no way she could touch the top of.

"Come here, baby." He says, reaching out for Maisie. You hand her over, patiently waiting for their trick. He supports her with one hand on her stomach and the other on her legs like she's having tummy time. She appears to know her role in their rehearsed trick and holds out her arms in front of her with a mischievous look in her eyes.

Spencer pushes her forward and she puts all her force into knocking the tower over, blocks scattering over the rug.

Her laughter is instantaneous and so wild you'd believe it was the funniest thing in the world to her, and it's too contagious a sound for you not to also laugh. Spencer's laughing with you, clearly proud for inspiring such joy in her.

"That was amazing!" You say, clapping at her. "The best trick I've ever seen."

Spencer pulls her back upright, kissing her cheek to celebrate their victory. "I agree. That laugh is better than any magic trick of mine." He rests his forehead against hers while she puts her tiny baby palms on his cheeks. "You're just such a smart girl, aren't you?"

"So smart." You agree. "Just like her Daddy."

"I guess I am smart." Spencer shrugs, moving to sit down next to you with Maisie in his lap. "For marrying the most beautiful woman alive."

You grin at his compliment so he knows it's received, appreciated, and your next comment is just a joke. "And those three PhDs."

He chuckles. "Still, I think that being about to seal the deal with you is the most impressive."

You look around the room at the happy space you've created, where even the worst days don't feel too bad, and then back at him, the love of your life. "This is really the whole deal, isn't it?"

"It truly is."

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid blurb #spencer reid x y/n

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hairmetal666 · 10 months

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Steddie She's All That au????

Steve pulls up to the Munson's trailer, a secondhand acoustic across the backseat. Can't believe he's here; that he's actually doing this. He shouldn't. Absolutely should not; knows he let his still-simmering animosity with Billy Hargrove push him to this, to trying to date Eddie Munson, to proving that he's still popular enough to win prom king with the Freak on his arm.

Munson doesn't deserve it, is the thing. For all his weirdness, his off-putting behavior, Steve thinks he might be nice. Or kind, maybe? Steve's noticed how he gathers the freshman who have no one else, gives them understanding, a place to belong. And those kids, they remind him of Dustin, Will, Mike, Lucas, and he can't help but feel something warm towards the Freak, some kind of kinship.

He puts the car in reverse, can't go through with pretending to like this guy who did nothing wrong but be too much himself.

Before he gets his foot on the gas a head pokes out the front door.

"You came," Eddie shouts.

"Said I was." Steve surrenders to his fate and puts the car in park. Eddie watches him as he grabs the guitar case, hauls it up the stairs, only moving to step out of the way.

Steve's eyes scan the living room and kitchen, something in his chest loosening as he does. There are mugs and hats covering the walls, a worn sofa, clutter on every surface. It's home in a way Steve has never experienced. He loves it.

"Alright, let it out, Harrington. I'm poor, etc."

"No!" Steve startles; hadn't realized he'd been staring so obviously. "I like it."

Eddie makes a face, but offers him a beer and guides him to sit on the couch.

"How much do you know?" Eddie asks without preamble.

He strums a couple of notes, things he picked up at summer camp ages ago. Munson nods. "Better than I expected."

Eddie runs through notes and chords, helps Steve get his fingering right. He's patient, almost kind, and he laughs softly as he gently corrects Steve's mistakes.

And Steve's fingers, they won't behave, keep slipping off the strings. Eddie arranges himself to drape around his shoulders, fits their hands together. He's warm, fingers long and callused, his rings slightly colder than Steve's skin.

"Like this, Harrington." And he and Steve strum in tandem, and Steve is caught by the light glinting in his curls, the softness of his dark brown eyes, the fullness of his pink lips. He wonders how soft they are, what they taste like, if Eddie would cling to him or take control.

"You with me, Steve?" Eddie asks, shocking him back to the present.

"Yeah, yes, right here. Sorry." He throws himself into learning, but can't stop stealing little looks at the man teaching him.

And Steve, he knows it's not a bet anymore. He'll tell Hagan and Hargrove he's out, take whatever shit they give him, and Eddie never has to know.

---

A month in, Steve walks into the trailer and sees those little figurines, like the kids have for their game, scattered on the coffee table; sheets of paper with scrawled writing and doodles lining the floor; one of those weird manual things that Dustin always lugs around sitting open on the couch.

"Fuck, Stevie, I'm sorry. Lost track of time." Eddie's face turns pink as he gathers the looseleaf and slams the book closed.

"You play that dragon game?" He asks. He picks up one of the figures, studies the meticulous paint. It does something weird to his heart.

"What did you think Hellfire--Wait." Eddie pauses. "Why do you--Steve Harrington--know about dnd?"

"The kids I babysit play."

Eddie stares at him openmouthed. "Shit, sweetheart. You've been holding out on me. You ever join them?"

"Nah. To tell you the truth, they're pretty intimidating about it."

Eddie laughs, drawing Steve's eyes to his slender neck. "You scared of children, Stevie?"

"You haven't met them, man. They're terrifying."

"You know," Eddie's eyelashes flicker. "I run a campaign with Hellfire after school every Friday. You could--if you wanted--you could come. You're probably busy, I know, but if you find some free time and you wan--

"Eddie!" Steve laughs. "I wouldn't miss it."

"Really?"

"Promise."

---

He shows up that first Friday to some mixed reactions from most of the Hellfire members, and Eddie's shy, pleased smile. They make eye contact and Steve's stomach swoops.

"You came," Eddie says when they get a second alone.

"I told you I would." Steve laughs.

"C'mon, you're going to tell me this isn't a hopelessly lame way for King Steve to spend a Friday night?"

"Maybe." Steve nudges Eddie's chest. "And maybe I wouldn't want to be anywhere else."

Steve watches them play and is transfixed. He's never seen Eddie totally in his element. His voice goes deep and rumbly, doing accents, shouting, jumping around, banging on the table. Steve can't pull his eyes away, doesn't want to, can't stop smiling.

"What'd you think?" Eddie asks when the session is over and they're alone. His hands shuffle through his notebook, eyes fixed firmly on the table.

Steve grabs his wrists, soft, careful. "Amazing, Eddie," he says. "You were amazing."

"Really?" Eddie's throat bobs. He finally looks up, meets Steve's eyes.

"Never seen anything like you." His eyes drift to Eddie's mouth. The space between them shrinks.

"Eddie?"

"Yeah?" his voice waivers.

"Can I kiss you?"

He thinks Eddie might pull away, freeze up, but instead his eyelashes flutter, his lips shaping into a gentle smile. "I'd be disappointed if you didn't."

Steve laughs, slips his fingers through Eddie's hair, closes the distance between them. It starts sweet and soft, until Eddie's tongue brushes his bottom lip and Steve opens for him, lets him take control, as easy as anything. For the first time, he lets someone else lead, sinks into it, into Eddie. It's perfect.

---

Prom court nominations come out with Steve number one on the ballot for king. The other nominees are Billy, Tommy, and some weirdo religious zealot junior Steve barely knows, Jason Carver.

He doesn't think much of it, having slipped so easily into a version of himself that sits at the Hellfire table at lunch, spends evenings at the Munson trailer and nights in Eddie's bed. Sure, he catches Hargrove glaring at him throughout the day, but pays it no mind. Billy Hargrove's always pissed about something, anyway.

So, he's unprepared when Hargrove and Hagan corner him that afternoon as he's waiting for Eddie to finish up a deal. There's a kick in his stomach, a swirl of nausea, at their presence. He didn't ever tell Eddie about the bet, figured it didn't matter since they were together, since they both started falling.

"Think you're hot shit, Harrington?" Hargrove asks. Hagan laughs like he's never heard a real joke before.

"I'm out," he says in way of answer. "Bet's over."

"Stevie-Boy, I don't think you understand," Hagan says.

"Nah, I'm not doing it." Worry prickles at his scalp. Eddie will be done soon, and he needs Billy and Tommy gone.

Hargrove pinches Steve's chin in his grip. "We made a bet, and you're seeing it through."

"Hey, hey, hey," the last voice Steve wants to hear right now shouts. "What the fuck is going on here? Get the fuck off him, Hargrove."

Billy's wrenched away, but he's laughing, and Steve is frozen at the train wreck unfolding in front of him.

"Harrington tell you about the bet?" Billy asks.

"Bet?" Eddie's nose wrinkles in the cute way Steve loves and he's terrified of what comes next.

"Uh-huh. Hagan and I bet Harrington here that he couldn't date the biggest dud in school and still wind up prom king. Little did we know, I guess."

Steve watches as the words hit Eddie, as he processes them, as his face falls. His gut twists as he watches his boyfriend go tense.

"What?" Eddie's eyes widen with panic.

Tommy's face contorts into a cruel smile."You didn't think Harrington was actually into you, did you?"

Eddie doesn't respond, won't look at any of them, draws into himself.

Hargrove snickers. "That's what I thought. Have a good night." He gives them a pageant queen wave as he walks away.

Steve's crosses to Eddie as soon as the other two are gone, but Eddie flinches, stopping him in his tracks.

"Was I bet, Steve?" He asks. His voice cracks.

"It wasn't like that, Ed, I swear. I swear." He grabs Eddie's shoulders, and again, he's pushed away.

"You didn't answer the question."

"It was real for me," Steve babbles. "It was all real for me. I promise."

"Answer me!" Tears limn his eyes. "Was I a bet?"

"It wasn't like--"

"Was I a fucking bet?" He yells and Steve can't take it. Can't take the hurt all over Eddie's face, the betrayal. Wants to erase it, to make everything okay, to get back to where they were last night, wrapped in Eddie's bedsheets, giggling.

"It started as a bet, okay? It did. I messed up by not telling you. I know I did. But I like you so much. I--I--" Steve loves him. He knows without any doubt, but he can't say it not now, not for this.

"Fuck you, Harrington," Eddie says. His voice is even but his face is a wreck.

"Please, Eddie." Steve begs. "Please. Give me a chance to explain. You're everything."

Eddie doesn't respond. He climbs into his van, drives away without a second glance.

---

He tries to apologize.

He tries to apologize, but Eddie isn't at school, not at first, and the death glare he gets from the Hellfire guys lets him know he's no longer welcome. When Eddie does come back he won't so much as look at Steve.

He goes to the trailer park where Wayne--Wayne who he watched sports with, Wayne who liked him--stands on the steps and says, "I don't think you have any business here anymore, kid. Not if you know what's good for you." And Steve nods and goes home and cries.

---

Steve stands on the stairs of the Munson trailer in his tux with a bouquet of flowers that are so purple they're almost black and a self-recorded tape in his hands. Prom is tonight but he has no interest in going to the dance that started all this bullshit.

Music pounds from inside; Judas Priest, he thinks. Eddie's van is in the driveway and Wayne's car is not.

The music quiets at his knock, and his heart pounds in the silence. Eddie frowns when he opens the door, but it morphs into something infinitely sadder when he sees Steve.

"Aren't you supposed to be at a dance?" Eddie asks.

"No, I--I didn't want to go. I wanted to say--Eddie, I'm sorry. I should've told you the truth from the beginning. I was afraid of losing you, and you learned the truth in the worst possible way."

Eddie doesn't speak or move, so Steve barrels on.

"I--uh--I ordered these for you. Before we broke up. And I just thought--you should still have them. That you would like them."

Eddie takes the flowers like he's in a daze.

"And uh, this too," Steve places the cassette in Eddie's hand. "It's um, stupid, probably? But I miss you and I'm sorry and just--take it."

---

Steve's been at the quarry for two hours, staring up at the stars from the hood of his car. He should go, probably. Eddie clearly isn't going to show. But he can't make himself. If he stays here, looking at the sky, losing Eddie won't be real.

He's dozing off, almost asleep, when the shine of headlights has him blinking alert. A familiar van trundles to a stop next to him, and Eddie climbs out. He's wearing a snug black button-down with a deep purple rose pinned to his chest, tight black jeans, and shining black boots.

"You came." Steve scrambles off his car, graceless in his relief, his gratitude.

Eddie nods. "Wasn't sure if I should but--" he shrugs.

"I'm glad you did. Thank you. I--" he swallows. "Eddie, I'm so sorry. I'll do anything, anything if it means you'll forgive me."

"Anything?" Eddie's mouth turns up at the corner.

Steve nods, firm. "I promise."

"You learned 'Rainbow in the Dark' for me."

"I did."

"That's a really hard song." Eddie smiles but tears track down his cheeks.

Steve laughs. "It's so hard."

Somehow, without Steve noticing, their fingers are entwined. Eddie lifts their joined hands, studying them. "Oh, baby, your calluses."

"Yeah." Steve blushes. "It was important I got it right."

Eddie's mouth drops as he stares, studying Steve's eyes.

"I know it took you a lot to trust me," Steve says. "And I know I broke that, but please, please try to believe me when I say that it was real for me. From the beginning. It was all real."

Eddie clears his throat. "When did you know?"

Steve's smile is soft. "That first guitar lesson. You arranged my fingers and you just--you were so beautiful."

"Oh," Eddie breathes.

"I was an idiot, Ed. I fell in love with you, and thought I could back out of the bet, that you never had to know. I never meant to hurt you."

"Wait...love me?"

Steve freezes. He hadn't meant to say that, not yet, not when things are so tenuous. "Yeah. I--yeah, I love you, Eddie."

"That's funny, sweetheart. Cause I love you too, and four hours ago I thought falling for you was the worst mistake I've ever made."

Steve's smile matches Eddie's now. "Dance with me?" he asks.

There's no music; just the whirr of early spring insects, the rustle of leaves, but Eddie still smirks, and pulls Steve close. They sway against each other, beaming, glowing, brighter than the stars.

"You're missing your prom, Stevie," Eddie says.

"Nah. I'm not missing anything. I have you."

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val-cansalute · 4 months

Text

PICKING UP THE ———- PIECES -———

ch.4

a/n - took ages cuz school is kicking my ass. somewhat sensitive content in terms of mental health but nothing that bad, nothing big really happens this chapter, creds to cafekitsune for dividers.

ch. 1

ch. 2

ch. 3

ch. 5

ch. 6

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Your body, mind and soul are pulsating, a nauseating wave of dread overcoming you with each heartbeat.

“Come on, just fucking do it!”

“I can’t! Shit!”

“Please! Fuck!”

“I can’t…”

“Bug… Listen to me… I know it’s cruel… But you have to do this-”

“No… No, I can’t, Soren. I can’t.”

“Please, Bug… Please… I’m so sorry…”

You can still close your eyes and picture the way back to the home you shared with him. It could be a million miles far out but you’d still find the way. You’ll go back soon, trace your fingertips over the walls you scrubbed clean - place fresh flowers where he lays, if you’re able to bring yourself to.

So, just breathe in, breathe out.

Clad in the rugged clothes you are now shakily fidgeting with the ends of, you walk through the open door and merge with the scattering of people across the bar’s floor.

First time going to one of these things.

Why did you come here? What, in god’s name, were you thinking?

It was supposed to be a farewell of sorts. A final look over the people of Jackson.

They are the ones you never felt compelled to get to know. The half-healed-wounds, cuts incessantly reopened by the fragments of all that was lost in the turmoil, beared deep within. None of you will ever stop carrying those shards with you, though they cut you up from the inside-out.

The one thing that keeps you all entwined, like the roots of an aspen tree, is love and loss, heart-wrenchingly deep. But these people were capable of letting themselves be free.

You do not want to forget. You do not want to stay here, where the edges become blunt with time and comfort; you’ve become a drunkard on the pain. To be without it leaves you with deafening guilt, and thoughts so dense that they consume your mind wholly, flooding out all else.

They buzz, faces livened by the gentle orange glow of the lighting. You watch from outside the harmony and stop your eyes when they discover, among the many clusters of people, three familiar faces.

Ellie, Dina and Jesse sat at a table on rusted foldable chairs, carrying glasses of alcohol and a rhythmic laughter. She looked undeniably breathtaking, Ellie.

Your recollection of her would present the least cracks. She is the one you spent the most time with, got to know the best - in more ways than one.

But she made your chest ache. You joked and giggled, but within the depths of the interludes, you felt the sinking dread that takes over when you let yourself forget the ache. And watching her from a distance, when she was so blissfully unaware of the effect she had on you, made you feel both empty and consumed with regret, because you should not be wasting your emotions and time on such an insignificant infatuation.

She could up and leave without a second thought only minutes after making you breathless. She gently lifted you out of your thoughts and then plunged you back into their murky waters like it was nothing.

You can sit there and pretend your eyes don’t sting as you chew at the flesh of your bottom lip, but they’re bloodshot, and you’re blinking erratically.

Fuck it. Might as well go over, right? It’s not like you’re gonna get the chance to again.

So, with hesitant steps, you exit the comfort of the shadowy corner and venture out into the open, making your way through the labyrinth of bodies to get to Ellie. Her face gradually comes into focus and you notice the endearing pink tinge in the freckle-spattered apples of her cheeks as she grins. She's tipsy. Maybe that will make this easier to push through.

Shaky hands - you focus on seizing back control over them before tapping her shoulder gently. And maybe it's the sentiment of this being your final goodbye, but the warmth that radiates through her hoodie, the soft wisps of baby hairs at the base of her neck, and the dazed look in her eyes when they meet yours, woven with fine forest green threads and dilated pupils, all make your stomach churn with longing.

"Hey," her voice is barely above a whisper against the deep sound of Jesse's laughter, gentle and inviting.

"Hey."

She pulls a chair closer and nods to it, so you sit quietly, pretending to ignore the glances Ellie sends your way. She clears her throat.

"Uh... Sorry, I left in such a hurry. I mean, I would've, you know, stayed, but- if that's what you would've wanted-"

"It's good. You're good."

God, her obvious nervousness gives you some sick sort of satisfaction.

Her lips part, and you know she wants to ask you something more, but the words die in her throat and she turns to face her laughing friends with a scratch of her neck.

“Would you have… Fuck, never mind,” she mutters, leaning forward, avoiding your gaze, but it’s okay because you’re avoiding hers too.

You hesitate, “… Wanted you to stay?”

And she finally looks at you, the quiet between you hanging heavy. She’s desperately trying to gauge your reaction.

“… Yeah… Would you?”

“… Sure.”

You wish you could talk to her about it, but talking about it is so fucking tiring - with no idea where to start or where to stop, and so much you know you’ll regret saying to the point of nausea.

She nods, a small smile playing on her lips, and you can tell she's trying to feign thoughtfulness despite her clouded mind finally being offered relief. That's a definite green light.

Between the lulls in conversation and bouts of laughter, a whole other world of unspoken affection builds between the two of you. Ellie's hand finds the hem of your sleeve and fidgets with it, fingertips grazing your skin too often to be dismissed as accidental before she eventually gives in and interlocks your fingers with hers.

Your stomach feels warm and your heart feels full, digging up the confidence to trace small, gentle circles into the roughened skin of her hand with your thumb. Maybe the blush that's deepening behind the mottle of freckles shows that the genuineness of this made it's way through your touch and to her.

You're going to miss her; you cannot deny that.

And, god, you wish that you could stay stagnant in this moment forever, but conversations drag on and the clock ticks tirelessly.

The thought of becoming attached to anyone again claws cruelly at your skull; it skews up your insides and churns up the acid in your stomach.

The thought of getting too close is terrifying; you can’t risk it, you cannot bear the loss. Never wanna go through it again. Never wanna feel this pain.

“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry, Soren.”

“I don’t- I can’t turn into them, Bug, please… Please don’t let me…”

You’re already panicking.

Staggered, you rise to your feet, and Ellie's widened, bewildered eyes shoot to yours when you rip your hand out of her hold. Maybe they remain on you as you rush haphazardly out of Joel's place and back to yours, but you'll never know because you don't spare her a glance over your shoulder.

Ellie’s nails are jagged and short, the skin behind them red and angry. It hurts, but she keeps biting, trying desperately to exert some of her fear.

She hopes others don’t notice her change in demeanour following your sudden departure, since even that went unnoticed amidst the festivities of the evening, and judging by the slack-jawed, barely-present faces surrounding her, she had no reason to fret.

The look on your face was deeper than discomfort, beyond the realm of any possible effects of her touch. It was pained. It was worrisome.

So worrisome, that she’s still sat in the same spot half an hour later, hunched over and chewing up her non-existent nails, in deep concentration. Maybe you felt overwhelmed. Maybe she was coming on too strong.

And she can’t bear it. So, she gets up almost as abruptly as you did and pats her jacket pockets in search of apology weed, in case she pushed a boundary earlier (it will make a piece of her die, but she’ll suggest staying friends), before she makes her way out in spite of the slurred sound of her friends calling out to her.

Ellie powers through the harsh cruelty of Jackson’s winter to get to your dingy little home. The sight of her warm breath whirling as it wafted up from her lips looks like a ribbon dance, but her mind is racing so intensely that she can’t admire it.

Eventually, she arrives at your doorstep. It’s always an unnerving sight - not a single sign of life escapes your home; from outside, it looks abandoned. Even more so than usual.

Three timid knocks to reflect her hesitation, and on the last thump, the door swings open upon contact with her knuckles.

Fuck. Still gotta fix that lock, huh.

The room is pooled with darkness that is tinged blue by the moon’s glow seeping in. But even amid the darkness, Ellie’s heart has dropped to the pit out of her stomach, because she can tell it’s sparse; all the trinkets and belongings once scattered around are replaced by designs imitating their shapes within the fine layer of dust clinging to each surface. It’s clean, too clean, and most of all, you aren’t here.

You are not here.

“Hey!”

She steps in, eyes darting around the room, hoping desperately to find you laying somewhere.

“I brought weed!”

An eternal whirring interlaces with the silence; the quiet rhythmic hum of your absence, and it’s jarring.

Then, she notices it, sitting crumpled, corner beneath the base of a book, upon your desk. A rough sheet of paper.

“ To whoever finds this,

sorry bout Star? Joey

Blossom Shimmer? the horse. ”

Fuck. You left Jackson.

And you still don’t know any of the damn horse’s names.

#Spotify #ellie tlou #ellie williams #ellie x reader #ellie fluff #tlou2 #ellie the last of us #ellie x fem reader #fanfic #ellie williams fanfic #ellie x y/n #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x reader #ellie x you #ellie williams angst #the last of us #tlou part 2 #tlou fanfiction #tlou

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seresinhangmanjake · 2 months

Text

Stolen Angel - Part 3

Demon!Jake Seresin x reader

Summary: You thought you were having a one-night stand with some random, normal guy. Turns out he’s a winged, demon-like stalker who has been obsessed with you for years.

Warnings/Notes: Jake is a little dark. Kidnapping. Manipulation. Obsessive behavior. I’m sure there are typos. This used to be a different fic for August Walker, so if you see it, it’s fine. I wrote that one too.

Words: 1426

Part 1, Part 2, Part 4

JAKE POV - (One Year Ago)

He can’t stop watching you. Smiling, laughing, serving customers caffeinated beverages on their way to work. The sunlight streams through the front glass window of the cafe, the rays illuminating everything of you that they reach. Your hair, your eyes, your skin. You’re bright, happy, healthy, stunning, and it does unreasonable things to his heart.

He’s been sitting there for two hours now, not even pretending to occupy himself with a magazine or newspaper or anything that will make him less conspicuous. You’re the only thing that has his attention. The only thing that ever has his attention when he comes to this world. He spends this time, each second of it, observing your every move, memorizing every feature of your face, and when you leave for the day, he follows. Just so he can be a little bit closer to you.

You’ve never noticed him, and sometimes he chuckles at your lack of awareness and how well it works in his favor. You have no idea that he trails you from the cafe to your apartment. You have no idea that he stands outside your building as night cloaks the day. You have no idea that he leans against the same lamppost he always does when he comes to see you, his stare latched on to your window—third floor, second from the left—as you strip yourself of your uniform and into your pajamas. He’d watch forever if he could, but he, and those like him, do not have that luxury.

The hand that lands on Jake’s shoulder is expected and he turns his head to his friend.

“Time to go,” Javy says. “In a month you can come back and stalk her some more, but we’re cutting it close. We have to get back.”

Jake sighs, giving your bedroom window another glance. The light clicks off. “I know.”

“She’s not going anywhere. I’ve kept an eye on her in your absence and she’s had the same routine for the last six months,” Javy reminds him as he rolls his shoulders, preparing for the weight of his wings to return.

Cartilage and bone materialize as his gray feathers, one by one, seek him out from the spot he had shed them. Each one returns to their place, layering themselves together until his wings are fully reformed.

Javy gives them a testing flap, scattering the fallen leaves at their feet. When he sees Jake has yet to call for his own wings, he huffs. “Seriously, it’s eleven fifty-six. Do you really want to spend six months in The Tower because you chose to stare at your little girlfriend rather than be punctual…again? You literally just got out.”

Jake stands from his leaned position and a moment later his black feathers find him. He spreads his wings out in a stretch.

“I’ll take that as a no,” Javy says with pride. “So let’s go.” Then he’s shooting up into the night, a speck in the darkened sky.

Jake takes one last look at your window, imagining himself in that apartment, holding you, kissing you, falling asleep beside you. He doesn’t want to leave you behind. Leaving you behind is leaving a part of his heart behind. But he has to do it. For the night, you’re warm and safe tucked in your bed, and that will have to be enough for him until his return next month.

“Good night, Angel,” he mutters. “Sleep well.” Then he follows after his friend.

—

Food everywhere. Grapes smashed in between the stones of the walls; plums dotting the floor, one having rolled under the bed; juice from apple slices staining the rumpled bedsheets; the silver tray, now dented in the middle, thrown across the room. All as if some bratty tornado tore through the place. Except now the brat is missing.

He’d guessed you would struggle to stay put once you regained enough of your energy, which is exactly why he'd planned to sit by your bed while you slept. But—albeit very reluctantly—he had listened to Javy’s advice about giving you some space for the night. A mistake, clearly, because now he has to hunt his little escapee down.

Shaking his head, Jake rubs the back of his neck and gives the room one last scan in case you got the bright idea to hide until he got close enough for you to whack him in the skull with something hard. When the assault doesn’t come, he jogs to the window and peers through it the way you were when he found you standing there the other day, your pearly wings in all their grandness cascading gracefully from your back.

Glancing to the nearby field many stories below, he spots you seated in the grass with your knees tucked to your chest. His pounding heart stutters in relief.

How the fuck did you get out, Angel? he thinks as he hurries from the room, down the multiple twisting staircases, and through the maze of halls. You’re the last person who should have the ability to leave this place. New residents of The Tower have been known to roam the halls for months at a time, trying to find a way out until they surrender to exhaustion and return to their rooms, and yet you walked right out the front door?

When he reaches the main floor, he stops short at the silhouetted figure leaning against the doorframe. He knows that figure well, and realizing that someone he trusts has been keeping an eye on you from a reasonable distance permits Jake to take a calming breath before he steps closer.

“She’s…content, I think,” Javy says, tucking back his large gray wings to provide enough space for Jake to comfortably stand beside him. “Doesn’t seem to want to run off.”

“Only because she doesn’t know where to go,” Jake sighs, running his fingers through his hair. And thank fuck for that. “How long has she been out here?”

“At least since four. That's when I found her,” Javy informs him. He looks at Jake, playfully grinning. “We watched the sunrise together.”

“Has she seen you?”

“No. She hasn’t so much as turned her head in hours,” he answers, then after a pause of consideration, says, “How do you think she managed to make it out on her first try?”

Jake shakes his head. He has that very same question. Anyone would. “I don’t know, but had I known she could, I would have locked the damn door.”

“Maybe The Tower felt bad for her,” Javy suggests. “You know she always made it easy for the unfairly imprisoned.”

Unfairly imprisoned. Yes, Jake supposes that is what you are. But it’s not for forever, and it’s simply to protect you while you adjust to your new life by his side. Surely, you can understand that. And then you can start accepting the happiness and love you’re denying yourself.

“She fucking scared me,” Jake says, and Javy snickers.

“Then I imagine you're even.”

“She's not scared of me, she just has to get used to me.” Jake watches the gust of air flutter your feathers. You still haven’t moved, save for one hand's fingers which continuously weave through the blades of grass. “She's taking her damn time though.”

“Don't be unfair. She's known you for a couple of weeks—a couple of very difficult weeks—which is nothing compared to the head start you had.” Also true, to Jake’s dislike. But he’s shown you how much he cares, and that should be plenty to help you catch up. Then Javy says, “You should take her back. Just for a few hours.”

Jake’s head snaps to the right, eyes just short of bugging from his head. “Are you insane?”

Javy shrugs. “The day is coming up. It might be easier for her to be here with you if she knows she has the option to visit her world.”

“That’s not her world anymore.”

“True,” Javy agrees. “But don't you miss seeing her smile?”

Jake swallows. He’d give anything to see you smile again; smile at him again. Though he was gifted one when he was deep inside of you, praising you, telling you how beautiful you were, offering the same compliment since he brought you here has not elicited the same reaction. If anything, you frown more intensely, with more effort.

“It's too soon,” Jake says. “She's still attached, and I can't trust her.”

“It's more important that she trusts you,” Javy counters. “And this could be your olive branch, my friend.”

tags: @wkndwlff @kmc1989 @sagittarius-flowerchild @dempy @oliviah-25 @rosiahills22 @xoxabs88xox @matisse556 @hardballoonlove @lynnevanss @pono-pura-vida @tgmreader @amgluvsbooks @ravenhood2792 @djs8891 @shakespeareanwannabe @penguin876 @tgmavericklover @athenabarnes @emilyoflanternhill @wretchedmo @shanimallina87 @crowsreadsarahjmaas @mamachasesmayhem @sky2nd @jessicab1991 @rosedurin @averyhotchner @horseshoegirl @roosteraloha @b-bradshaw @fandom-life-12 @hookslove1592 @buckysteveloki-me

#jake seresin #jake seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake seresin x you #top gun maverick #jake seresin fic #top gun #jake hangman seresin fic #top gun hangman #jake hangman seresin x y/n #demon!jake seresin #tgm #tgm fic #jake seresin fanfic #jake seresin fanfiction #hangman x reader

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carmillas-vampiric-rage · 5 months

Text

Mk1 but it's a Comedy

bi-han with a partner who's just a m e n a c e and makes his life a living hell. teases him. laughs at him. does not take him seriously. uggh i live for that shit.

warnings: crackhead post, wrote this in like 92 seconds (real), nsfw only towards the end but it's nothing sexual if that makes sense lmao, reader is out of their mind

bi-han x black biracial reader (gn!)

this bitch pretend dives off of furniture then says "guys guess who i am". kuai liang and tomas find it hilarious and bi-han threatens to break your hip flexor.

was there when he said "freeze where you stand" you actually gasped out loud and spun your head violently, nearly exposing the entire lin kuei attack as a test- liu kang literally needed to calm you down with how flabbergasted you were. kept whispering to bi-han as you followed him and the brothers down stairs to liu kang that you couldn't believe he made a fucking ice pun

absolutely appears out of nowhere behind bi-han and announces your presence by saying "freeze where you stand" now. bi-han has aged like 50 years with this.

you told kung lao -who naturally started to say it around bi-han too- and now he's plotted both your assassinations.

"obey your grandmaster!" is followed by loud laughter and patting the nearest person on the back as you walk out the room wiping a tear from your eye.

which is followed by an immediate ice block to the head.

you two are glued to the hip, leaning, cuddling or hugging at any given moment... which was quite the shock to kuai liang and tomas. if they mention the fact bi-han is sprawled out over you with your legs somehow resting over his chest, and his swept over the arm of the chair, he will flat out deny it.

"you look quite comfortable, brother"

"what nonsense are you speaking about?"

"it's not bad, bi-han, you two look cute!"

"i have no idea what you're talking about."

"..."

"obey your grandmaster!"

and bi-han flicks you against the forehead.

you're the only person who gives the same shit bi-han gives to everyone else. arguments aren't common between you two, surprisingly, (to the shock of all around) but when you guys do fight... somebody's ending up in a headlock.

raiden and kenshi remember training one day, noticing bi-han walking across the courtyard, and then hearing your loud, raging screams across said courtyard as you threatened to use his cryomancy as a dildo so he can go fuck himself. suffice it to say, raiden and kenshi called it a day- and decided to see what new video johnny was filming around the temple.

his brothers thought bi-han pointed a lot at them- babe- kuai liang and tomas have seen nothing! they see that finger pointing ↘️↗️➡️↙️⬆️⬅️↖️ at you at all hours of the day for literally any reason.

absolutely roasted this man for getting his ass beat by johnny cage- but then you gave him kisses and hugs and said "you'll get 'em next time champ" which resulted in bi-han tossing you in the nearest body of water.

the two of you sleep like someone tried to rob you in the middle of the night. sheets scattered, pillows on the floor, and the two of you lost in limbs and hair as your foreheads are pressed together. tomas barged in one morning to ask bi-han for something, and legitimately thought you'd both been murdered by the state of your bedroom. it took you scream laughing and bi-han throwing a lamp from his nightstand for tomas to realize you two were very much alive.

(you definitely wacked bi-han in the face and told him to apologize for throwing a lamp at his brother, to which he begrudgingly did)

you'll say something outta pocket, laugh in his face when bi-han orders you to do something, and he'll scowl at you, growl, then kiss you on the forehead and walk away. it never ceases to shock you, you're literally standing there frozen (hehe) no thoughts going through your mind, but that quickly turns into giggling and blushing. bi-han adores forehead kisses, and it's one of the few times he can get back at you and leave you flabbergasted.

#bi han x black biracial reader #bi han x black reader #bi han x reader #sub zero x black biracial reader #sub zero x black reader #sub zero x reader #sub zero headcanons #bi han headcanons #mk1 #mortal kombat 1 #bi han #mk1 bi han #mortal kombat 1 bi han #sub zero #mk1 sub zero #mortal kombat 1 sub zero #tan's tangents

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kangaracha · 7 months

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QUEENMAKER | CHAPTER 2

—

pairing chan x reader

genre ninth member au, enemies to lovers, angst, fluff, coming of age, social media, cancel culture, anxiety, depression, forbidden love,

summary To JYPE, the solution is simple; take the sole trainee that will not debut with your brand new girl group, and use her to replace the missing vocalist in your male group that insisted on starting as nine.

Unfortunately, to the fans and the members themselves, it isn’t that simple.

status ongoing

taglist OPEN

previous | masterlist | next

—

The first thing you hear when you walk in the room is yelling.

You first hear it from down the hall, really, though you don't really realise that it's coming from this room until you reach the door, and you don't appreciate the full volume of the voices until you knock and the door opens, letting the sound escape containment into the hallway. You don't have time to react either - because the face that opens the door for you is strikingly familiar, in the way that faces you see often in photos and on billboards are.

"Y/N?" he asks, pulling the door wider so that you can come in.

"Felix sunbaenim," you reply and bow, though it feels...awkward under the circumstances. You suppose you'll get used to it, now that this is your life. "It's nice to meet you."

He looks uncomfortable too, for a moment, before it is smoothed over with a graceful smile. "You better come in," he says, making room in the doorway for you to step through.

The room that greets you is achingly familiar - a dance studio, like any other in the building, though this one feels a little more personal that the faceless classrooms on the trainee floors. Boys are scattered across the space, practising on the far side of the room, counting out time to themselves, or sitting quietly on their phones.

Changbin and Hyunjin are the source of the noise; sat together in one corner, but they aren't what draws your eye - no, you look right past them to the lanky figure with his back turned to you, hunched over the laptop that he's connected to the sound system. You've already met Stray Kids' leader, in a way - he'd been there for that long meeting three days ago that had decided your fate, though there hadn't been an opportunity to exchange words then. There hadn't been many words to exchange by the end of the meeting either, not when he'd spent the first hour making it very clear that this was not his idea, nor did he think it was a good one.

You're trying not to be hurt by it. You don't think he really realised that you were in the room until the conversation shifted directly to you, and it wasn't really about you anyway. This is an insular, self-made group, and he didn't like JYP meddling with their affairs when they didn't have to, that was understandable.

It still makes you nervous to walk into this room and pretend to be one of them, though. There's no pretending that he wants you here, and both of you know that.

"Sorry that I'm late," you say to Felix, tearing your eyes away from the others before one of them can turn around and notice you.

"You're early, actually," he replies, closing the door behind you.

"Am I?" you question. "You guys are already practising." Your head tips towards the two on the far side of the room - Lee Know and I.N. You kind of wish you didn't know their names. It would be easier to fight off the feeling of intimidation then.

"They've been here for an hour already," Felix says, waving a hand in the air. "Come and sit down while Chan-hyung fixes the music."

Wordlessly, you follow him to the long couch that lines the wall, the same sort of place you'd sat with Minseo in Midnight's studio when she told you that you should do this. The louder boys are both sat here too - somehow, you end up right next to them, Felix slumping down on your other side. There's no avoiding how their eyes turn to you now, or the way their smiles dim as they do, their fun interrupted.

"Is this our new maknae?" Hyunjin asks without preamble, leaning forward to see Felix around you.

Felix frowns in confusion. "Isn't she older than us?" he questions.

None of the three know the answer, silence reigning until Hyunjin's eyes turn to you. "What year?" he asks.

"'98," you answer, and he blinks.

Between you, the sound that erupts from Changbin's mouth is almost loud enough to burst your eardrums. "Maknae-noona," he says, with a grin that gives away just how funny he thinks it is. Felix cracks a laugh, unable to help himself - Hyunjin just looks perplexed, caught up on some implication that you've missed.

"How old are you?" you ask the three of them.

"'99 and 2000," Felix supplies. "Only Chan-hyung is older than you."

"Lee Know is the same age," Hyunjin supplies. Felix shrugs like it doesn't matter, leaning back in his seat.

"This is Changbin and Hyunjin," he says just to you, ignoring the other two the way that you would ignore a pair of hecklers on the sidelines. "Do you know everyone's names?"

"I think so," you say, looking around the room - for each one of the boys you see, a name comes to mind that you're reasonably confident is correct.

"I can introduce you to everyone if you want," Felix offers freely.

"No, that's okay," you say, because you think about meeting all eight of them at once and your stomach kind of drops. "I'll meet everyone as I go...if that's okay." Not that you weren't already nervous walking in, but having to face them all one after another...

"It's a lot of people, huh," Felix says, as if he's reading your mind. You nod, grateful for the understanding.

"Not as many as a trainee class, at least," Hyunjin points out. It's hard to tell if he's trying to be supportive or just letting his thoughts flow straight to his mouth, but at least he's not being mean. You'll take not mean.

"If it's easier to meet everyone now-" you start to say, backtracking as fast as your heart starts to pound. Great start - a whole five minutes, and you've already come off as rude.

"Don't worry about it," Changbin answers you before you can finish, waving away any doubts. "This is weird for us as well."

"Do you have an accent?" Hyunjin cuts in when you don't immediately answer, leaning around Changbin.

"Oh." Unbidden, your eyes cut to Felix. "Yeah. I'm from Australia."

Felix's face lights up. "Hey!" he says, switching easily to English. "Nice!"

Hyunjin grins, his hands clapping together. "Aussie-racha," he says, pleased with himself.

"She's vocalracha too," Changbin adds. "Everyone has three now."

"Racha?" you question.

"That's what we call our units," Felix explains. "Vocal, dance, rap. And now we have three Aussies as well."

Overhead, music blares from the speakers followed by a cry of success from Chan. "He fixed it," Changbin says, pretending to be dejected even as he springs to his feet, stretching his arms like he's ready to dance.

"And broke my ears," Hyunjin grumbles, following along. Felix stands too, and you follow him to your feet - just in time to catch Chan's eye as he turns away from the computer.

"Y/N," he says. "You made it here okay?"

His voice is warm but his eyes are guarded; wary, of what you might say or do. "Yes, sunbaenim," you answer, bowing just in time that it is still polite.

"Oh, don't worry about honourifics," he says quickly, almost before the words are out of your mouth. "Has anyone sent you anything on what we're doing today? Or...the comeback? Anything?"

Wordlessly, your head shakes. His brow furrows.

"I've run over some of your choreography and songs, since-" The meeting, but you're hesitant to bring that up. No need to remind him that he doesn't want you here, even though so far he's been...nicer than you expected. "-well, two days ago."

"Yeah, the timing is..." a hand reaches up to rub at the back of his neck, "...not great. We're doing choreography for the comeback shows today so we'll run you through that and think about formation changes, and tonight I'll send you all the tracks for the new album and the old ones you'll have to learn? There won't be parts for you yet in any of the newer stuff, but I'll figure that out by next week, and then we'll figure out when we're recording and all of that."

"That sounds good," you reply, blowing out a nervous breath as your heart stutters in your chest. It sounds like a lot, actually, but you can't just back down in the face of hard work, no matter how high it piles up or how quickly it reaches those heights. The time for that was three days ago, when you decided to do this.

(The time for that was six years ago, when you decided to leave everything you knew and everyone you loved, but if you think that far back now, the amount of potential wasted time and the blank future ahead is paralysing.)

"I'll look after her for today," Felix offers, a hand patting Chan's shoulder. "I've got most of the song down anyway."

"Thanks," Chan says, and then turns as someone calls him across the room, pulling him away as quickly as he'd come.

"Come on," Felix says, gesturing for you to follow him.

TAGLIST

@kokinu09 @rainfallingfromthesky @lixie-phoria @mysweethannie @chlodavids @hanniemylovelyquokka @tfshouldidohere @lauraliisa @puppysmileseungmin @kalopsian-thoughts @puppy-minnie @readerofallthingss @dvbkie099 @kthstrawberryshortcake-main @acker-night @d-chagi @keepswingin

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emeritus-fuckers · 5 months

Note

I have only been having the WORST possible days at work recently. I would just love some pampering hcs for whichever ghouls you choose, please

Can you tell I’m fond of three specific ghouls? -Death

On that note I seem to have my favourites too XD - Nyx

Ghouls Pampering You

Alpha

He knows you’re having a hard day at work when he walks in and sees you hunched over your desk cursing at paperwork.

Once you get off shift you walk into his room to fresh sheets on the bed, rose petals across the floor, calming incense lit around his room and the fire ghoul waiting in an arm chair.

He immediately comes to greet you, guiding you to the chair across from his and revealing your favourite meal. Smiling warmly at you.

“You looked stressed when I poked my head in earlier. I thought this might help?”

He made sure you got a glass of wine and were comfortable as you ate, guiding you to the bed after you had finished.

Little known fact about Alpha: he took a massage course once. He’s very good at relieving stress.

He helped you undress before getting your favourite scented oil, massaging out the knots and kinks in your muscles. All of your muscles.

He doesn’t stop until you’re a puddle of very content partner. Then he’ll curl up to you to keep you warm all night.

Ifrit

He’s well aware the ministry is a very hard place to work, especially when you’re in the kitchens feeding everyone with special requests, allergies and more.

So when you skip dinner to get away from the kitchens and relax, Ifrit is waiting with a set of car keys and a smile. Telling you to shower so he can drive you somewhere.

Even though you’re pretty sure he has no licence, it gets you further away from the kitchens.

He takes you to your favourite spot to stargaze, a picnic waiting with all your favourite finger foods.

You both spend hours under the stars, just watching them.

He then takes you to see a screening of your favourite movie at a theatre that does food themed around the movie.

As well as the lovely little dates, you also get several gift cards for spas and other stores you love going to. So you can treat yourself on your newly acquired days off tomorrow.

Ifrit has some methods of getting you off shift occasionally. He’ll never tell.

Zephyr

Zephyr can’t spoil you as extravagantly as other ghouls can. Mobility issues and all.

Though he absolutely gives it his all.

You get a ride on his lap in his wheelchair from whichever part of the ministry you work in. The dork pretending like he’s taking you on a tour.

“And on your left you will see the shortest Papa the ministry has ever seen-“

Once back in your room (or his. Depends on their mood.) he’ll get you settled on the couch with a glass of your beverage of choice and grab a set of sheet music.

They might not be able to stand, but they can still play!

You get hours of a private concert, ranging from songs they played on stage to others he loves to play. Including your favourite song on the piano.

Though eventually, he curls up on the couch with you to spoil you with kisses and compliments.

Especially if they notice you frowning at the mirror more lately. Gotta hype you back up.

Zephyr spoils you rotten with sweet words and music, not that you want it any other way of course.

Swiss

Swiss cares you up a winding spiral staircase. At the top there is a wooden door, paint flaking off it. It creaks loudly as xey push it open. You expect some cobwebbed room and look at the ghoul confused. But when you look back at what is actually in front of you, you gasp.

"I found this place years ago, no one used it so I kinda made it my little hiding place." He says with one of his famous grins. He gently puts you down and kisses you on the cheek. "perfect place to pamper you, my gorgeous one"

You slump down on the comfy sofa with cushions scattered over it and a blanket folded at the end. There is a soft crackle, you look across to see a small log burning stove, glass door on it so you can see the flames dancing within.

Xey open a cupboard and pulls out an armful of your favourite snacks and places them on the coffee table, then xey go back and take out your favourite drinks.

He sits next to you and massages your shoulders, this guy just knows how to get all then tension out.

Accross from you is a window through which you can see the sun setting over the ministry gardens, it's beautiful. You gaze at all the stunning colours while snuggled in Swiss's arms.

He puts his vape on the table for both of you to use whenever you want.

Lots of kisses, lots of cuddles, anything and everything you want he will do for you. It's your evening and he wants to pamper you in every way possible.

Sodo

You woke up that morning with dark circles under your eyes and you couldn't stop yawning. Sodo knew, you needed a break. He gently takes your hand and leads you back to bed. He then tells you to lie back down, any arguement and he'll pick you up and place you in bed. Then he'll tuck you in with a kiss to your forhead.

He says he'll be right back and is gone, but only for 10 mins before returning and placing a bag of stuff on the bed. After a loving bit to your arm then starts pulling stuff out of the bag.

Facemaks, candles, your favourite chocolate, your favourite ice cream and a whole load of films (the Ministry still has a lot of DVDs lying around).

He's a little worried about you looking so tired so he just went for everything.

He puts your favourite film on and lies down on top of you and nuzzles your into your neck.

You pull him into a tight cuddle and he nuzzles you again while making happy Ghoulish noises.

Sodo makes sure that all the chores are done for that day, there is nothing for you to do except to relax.

Plays his guitar for you, he even wrote a riff for you. It's his way of trying to show you his love

Aether

Big arms. Big tits. Big hugs.

I have issues.

But yeah, Aether is a goofy, cuddly motherfucker.

So he starts by pretty much tackling you into a hug and carrying you to bed like a princess.

If you allow him to, he will lovingly rail you into the next day and then organize the most hilariously girly sleepover.

You do ridiculous make-up on ach other.

Nails, too. His are hot barbie pink.

He'll literally let you bleach and dye his hair if you ask.

(He looks really cool in dark blue and purple, by the way.)

You try to watch a movie, but end up in a snack war.

And then you both laugh it out as you cuddle.

Cumulus

She just wants to pamper you anyway, but today was extra special. She could see you had a very busy week and today was going to be a total day off.

She cooked your favourite meal for you. Before she started cooking she made sure you were comfortable on the sofa.

She wrapped you in blankets and put your favourite TV show on.

After you've eaten the amazing meal she'll hold you close and hum softly.

She showers you in kisses and makes sure your every need is met.

She'll encourage you to rest your head on her thigh while she strokes your hair.

You'll also end up having a mini spa day, massages (she gives really good ones), facemasks and she paints your nails for you. She's been practicing and she can now do some pretty awesome designs on your nails.

Alpha, Ifrit and Zephyr written by Death.

Swiss, Sodo and Cumulus written by Nyx.

Aether written by Nosferatu.

Taglist: @charlie-is-a-menace @copias-fluffy-asscheeks @randodummy @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @calliedion-dungeon @randominstake @callmeicaro @nuntia @dio-niisio @mamacarlyle @mybotanicaldemise @igodownjustlikeholymary @natoncesaid @bloodmoon-bites

#ghost band #ghost bc #ghost #ask #anon #ghost band x reader #ghost bc x reader #ghost x reader #alpha ghoul #ifrit ghoul #zephyr ghoul

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aflame4goinghome · 3 months

Text

Illicit Affairs

d.r.w x reader

chapter ii

Word Count: 7.2k

Warnings: THIS STORY CONTAINS SMUT, MINORS DNI!!! swearing, flirting, power dynamic; SMUT: fingering, touching, sexually implicit language, dirty talk, oral sex (m. receiving), unprotected sex, slight choking, sir kink, spanking, a little bit of degradation, praise kink, hint of dom/sub dynamic

A/N: This story is in collaboration with my wonderful, talented friends @gretavanstink & @childinthegardenn!! Go give them a follow and give @gretavanstink’s fics some love! Thanks for sticking with us! We’re so glad you like the story so far :) Enjoy!

Listen to the official playlist on Spotify here!

chapter i

· · ───────── ·𖥸· ───────── · ·

As you stand in the hall waiting for the elevator to open, you pull your phone out and see another text from Rose.

From: Rose🌹

HELLOOOOO? Are you alive?

The doors slide open and you step inside, pressing the button for the third floor and leaning back against the wall as you type a response to her.

To: Rose🌹

He made me stay back after everyone else left. CHECKED THE CLASSLIST LIKE HE DIDN’T KNOW MY NAME and told me to “hang back for a sec”

You press send and shove your phone back in your pocket as the elevator doors slide open. Stepping out, you turn your head to look down both sides of the hall and see a sign that points toward offices 311 to 321. You follow the sign, stopping in front of his closed door, and glance around for somewhere to sit. There’s an uncomfortable-looking bench tucked into an alcove across from his office and nothing else. Better than the floor, you think as you take a seat, plopping your bag down next to you. Your phone buzzes with another text from Rose as you notice the faux stained glass privacy shade Daniel has on his office window.

From: Rose🌹

Oh, he’s evil. What are you gonna do?

To: Rose🌹

I DON’T KNOW. He told me we should talk privately so now I’m just sitting here outside of his office waiting for him to get back from a meeting with another prof

From: Rose🌹

You’re insane, I love you. Keep me updated, I’m heading into another class🩷

To: Rose🌹

Love you too, I will🩵

You slip your phone into your back pocket and cross your legs, unsure of how long he is going to keep you waiting. Ten minutes pass with no sign of him and you let out a sigh, rifling through your bag and pulling out Dante's La Vita Nuova. You flip to your current page and set your bookmark on your leg, letting your back rest against the wall as you skim the page.

After about twenty minutes, you hear the clack of dress shoes on tile from around the corner and your stomach flips, recognizing the sound from class as Daniel paced around the room. You fix your posture and pretend to continue reading even though your brain is too scattered to absorb anything.

Daniel rounds the corner and sees you waiting, a smug grin forming on his lips as he approaches you. Stopping in front of you, he plucks your book from your hands and glances at it before looking down at you and winking. He leans down and lifts your bookmark off your thigh, slipping it between the pages and placing the book back in your hands. Your eyes follow his every move, focusing on his hands, as he unlocks his office and steps inside, leaving the door open. You slip your book back into your bag and stand, slinging it over your shoulder as you step into the doorway.

As you look in, you notice a black leather loveseat tucked between two bookshelves against the wall. The bookshelves are filled with different eras; the Italian Renaissance, the liberation of France, and the Industrial Revolution. Your eyes fall on a copy of Voltaire’s Alzire and a smile forms on your lips. The top shelf boasts a scale model of the Duomo di Siena and a photo of himself in his early twenties during what you assume was a study abroad program. Daniel clears his throat, snapping you back to reality, and you turn his way.

“Are you coming in or are you just going to stand there?” He asks, leaning forward on his desk. His eyes travel down your body before flicking back up to meet your gaze. “Because I’m fine either way.”

You feel your cheeks redden and you step inside, pushing the door closed behind you. You lower yourself into the seat across from his desk and set your bag at your feet. You’re unsure what to say so you sit silently, returning his stare as he looks right through you.

“Well this is certainly a different view than I had the other night,” he finally says, leaning back in his chair. You fight the urge to look at the floor, keeping your eyes trained on him as he stands and moves around his desk to your side. He leans against it and folds his arms across his chest, watching your face for a reaction.

“Daniel…” You say, your voice barely a whisper. He raises an eyebrow, waiting for you to continue. “We have to stop, right?”

Daniel shrugs his shoulders and lowers his arms, bracing himself on the edge of the desk and crossing his ankles. Your eyes leave his face and focus on how his fingers wrap around the edge of the wood, the way his forearms flex and his veins bulge.

“If that’s what you want,” he says, his tone bordering on indifference. A smirk forms on his lips as he notices you staring at his arms again and he pushes off the desk. He walks around your seat and places his hands on the back, leaning down to speak in your ear. “I don’t think that’s what you want though, sweetheart.”

Your breath hitches in your throat as you feel him brush your hair to one shoulder, his lips ghosting over your neck as he says, “No. I think you like this.”

You push yourself out of your seat and walk to the window that overlooks the quad, the closeness making your head spin. After taking a moment to collect yourself, you turn back to face him again, leaning back against the windowsill.

“I think you like it,” you say, bringing your eyes up to meet his as he crosses his arms, watching you.

“You’re right,” Daniel says, closing the distance between you. He places his hands on the windowsill, trapping you between his arms, and looks down at you. “But you didn’t deny liking it.”

He captures your lips with his, one hand moving to the small of your back to pull your body against his. You relent, returning the kiss, as if you were putty in his hands. You didn’t deny it because you couldn’t. Something about him made you feel like a live wire, dangerous. You feel his tongue run across your lips and you part them, letting him in. He breaks the kiss and places more along your jaw, his hand slipping under the hem of your shirt and resting on your waist.

“It’s wrong isn’t it?” You ask breathlessly as he continues down your neck. He lifts his head and looks into your eyes but doesn’t let go of you. You can feel your arousal soaking through your panties as he holds you tight to him.

“Says who?” He asks, raising an eyebrow. “We’re both adults.”

Daniel lets his hand wander down the outside of your thigh and then between your legs, pausing there and smirking.

“Look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t want this,” he says quietly, his hand drifting up to the button of your jeans.

“I do, but,” you sigh and place a hand on his chest, pushing him back slightly. “I’m your student.”

Daniel takes his hand off of you and backs up, giving you space to breathe. You return to the seat across from his desk and cross your legs, looking at your hands and picking at your thumb absentmindedly as you think. He takes your place, leaning against the windowsill, and waits patiently for you to continue.

“Like, morally, this is wrong,” you say finally, turning your gaze towards him. “And if we get caught it’ll be a world of trouble for both of us.”

“Guess we can’t get caught then,” he says, sitting back down. He leans forward, resting his arms on the desk. “Just think about it, okay?”

“Okay,” you say quietly, nodding. You stand and slip on your backpack and Daniel stands as well, walking you to the door. He pauses with his hand on the doorknob and looks down at you, a reassuring smile on his face.

“Don’t think too hard,” he says, twisting the knob and opening the door.

“I’ll let you know by the end of the week,” you say, smiling softly and stepping into the hallway.

You make your way back to the elevator and press the down button, standing back and waiting for the doors to open. When they slide apart, you step inside, press the button for the ground floor, and lean back against the wall, letting it hold your weight up as you take a few deep breaths. The doors open and you walk through the lobby and out into the afternoon sun.

You pop your earbuds in and start your walk home, your music picking up where it had stopped earlier. Fitting, you think, blowing a short laugh through your nose, as Should I Stay or Should I Go by The Clash flows into your ears. You hum along to the song, your mind replaying what just happened as you wander off campus.

You buzz yourself into your building and jog a little to catch the elevator that another resident held open for you. When you get into your apartment, you toss your bag into the chair at your desk and flop onto your bed, staring at the ceiling. You fold your hands on your stomach and close your eyes, realizing how exhausted you are as you start to drift off.

Your eyes open at the sound of the front door opening and closing, followed by Rose’s bedroom door closing, and you check the time on your phone, 4:57 pm. You let out a deep sigh and sit up, knowing you should at least try to read the syllabi for your classes tomorrow.

You walk to your desk and pull the chair out, moving your bag to the floor next to you as you sit down and slide your laptop out of its case. As you type your password in, Rose knocks on your open door and leans on the doorframe, peeking in at you.

“So,” she begins, drawing out the word. “What happened?”

Reading can wait, you think as you turn your chair to face her, pinching the bridge of your nose and sighing heavily.

“He kissed me in his office,” you say, feeling your stomach flip as you say it. “Against the window that looks over the quad.”

Rose’s eyes widen and she steps into your room, sitting on your bed cross-legged. She rests her elbows on her knees and her chin on her hands as she waits for you to continue.

“And all I could think was that I wanted him to keep going,” you add, standing and joining her on your bed. You rest your back on the wall and let your head fall back. “What am I gonna do?”

“What do you want to do?” She asks, raising an eyebrow at you.

“I want to crawl in a hole and come out when the semester is over,” you say, laughing and shaking your head.

“Well that’s not really an option, babe,” she says. You shoot her a look and roll your eyes, drawing a giggle out of her.

“What if I drop the class?” you ask, rubbing your temples. “Then I wouldn’t have to see him. I could just forget the whole thing.”

“Could you really just forget it all though?” Rose challenges, tilting her head to the side. “I mean…he’s really hot, Y/N.”

“I know, Rose,” you say. “I want him. But I’m his student.”

“Who cares,” she says, lengthening the second word. “It’s not like you have to fall in love. Just have good, hot sex.”

You burst into a fit of laughter at the idea, pushing Rose’s shoulder, and fall to lay on your side.

“Alright,” you relent. “Maybe you have a point.”

“What’s the harm?” She adds, shrugging her shoulders. You roll onto your back and stare up at the ceiling, resting your hands on your stomach. Focusing on the rise and fall of your stomach with your breath, you let your eyes fall closed and think quietly for a few moments.

“Just good, hot sex,” you repeat, opening your eyes and turning your head to look up at your best friend. “I told him I’d let him know by Friday.”

“See, you have time to think about it,” she says, patting your leg reassuringly. “Was he really that good?”

You prop yourself up on your elbows and smirk, feeling your cheeks turn pink as you replay the night in the bar in your head.

“Best I’ve ever had,” you say, tossing your head back. “Like…unforgettable.”

“I could just forget the whole thing,” Rose teases, doing her best impression of you. You snap your head back up and slap her arm.

“Shut up,” you giggle. “Get out. I have some things to think about.”

“Oh you mean Dr. Wagner,” she says as she stands, running out of your reach before you smack her again. “I’ll leave you to it.”

She winks and walks out of your room, closing your door behind her and leaving you alone with your thoughts. You sigh and sit up, your mind reeling at the way this semester was off to a start you couldn’t have imagined in your wildest dreams. Hopping off your bed, you grab your laptop and crawl under your covers. You give a quick skim over your syllabus for the rest of your classes, trying your hardest to focus as you add some important dates to your planner.

After an hour, your focus is shot and you decide to grab a quick shower, as you always do your best thinking in the warm steam. You strip out of your clothes for the day, deposit them in your laundry basket, and stand looking at yourself in your full-length mirror. Your hand finds the fading purple mark at your collarbone and your cheeks flush as you imagine Daniel’s lips on your skin. You turn your back to the mirror and look over your shoulder, seeing the bruises on your thighs and thinking of the pads of his fingers digging into your flesh.

You let out a shaky breath and slip your robe on before making your way to the bathroom. Shrugging the robe off, you start the shower to let it warm up before you step in. You sigh as the hot water hits your muscles, the tension leaving your body and flowing down the drain with the water. Your mind wanders back to Daniel’s office as you wash your hair and a chill runs down your spine, bringing goosebumps to your arms and legs.

I think you like this, you hear him say in your mind. Tell me you don’t want this.

You rinse out your hair and lean against the wall, your hand reaching down to massage your clit. A sigh falls from your lips as you set a quick pace of circles with your fingers. You imagine Daniel’s fingers working you, his strong hands bringing you closer and closer to release. The hot water beats at your skin as you let your head fall back against the tiles, moaning softly as you feel the familiar tingle in your abdomen.

Come on, sweetheart, give it to me, his voice echoes in your mind, sending you tumbling over the edge as your thighs quiver. You squeeze your eyes closed, his name tumbling from your lips as you ride out your orgasm. Once you’ve collected yourself, you finish your shower and slip your robe back on, wandering back to your room and slipping into your pajamas.

You crawl into bed and close your eyes, making a pros and cons list in your head as you try to find sleep. Pros: hot guy, hot sex. Cons: getting caught, trying to focus in class, morality.

You scoff at the last one. Can you really say you have morality about this when the only thing you wanted in his office was for him to keep going, right there against the window?

What’s the harm, you hear Rose say. Maybe she’s right, what harm could a little fun do?

· · ───────── ·𖥸· ───────── · ·

You wake up to your alarm early Friday morning and immediately feel a tight knot in the pit of your stomach. You have to face Daniel again today and finally tell him your answer. You feel slightly giddy over the prospect of getting him alone again, though you do hope that he isn’t going to treat you any differently in class now. You’ll find out soon enough.

The first half of your morning goes by in the blink of an eye. Next thing you know, you’re on your way to the other side of campus for his class. Despite the nervous energy, you still managed to get your assigned reading done. You’re nothing if not committed to academic success, regardless of the situation with Daniel.

Surprisingly, you rather enjoyed the assignment. Since you were taking the course as a core requirement and not as part of your major, you’d never studied art history before. The level of analysis behind different works of art and how they reflect the social and political climate at the time was fascinating to you. You were surprised by how it ended up connecting well with what you’ve learned in your philosophy classes before about politics, so the subject ended up coming rather easily to you.

You walk into the building and open the door to the lecture hall, thankfully not running late this time around. You have about five minutes to spare before the class begins, giving you a better choice of where to sit. You stand there at the top of the stairs for a moment, looking around for a good place to sit, not wanting to be too close or too far from the front. Finally, you decide to take a seat in the middle somewhere, hoping you might possibly be able to blend in with the rest of the crowd.

As you bend over in your seat and take your notebook out of your bag, you start to hear the familiar sound of Daniel’s shoes descending the stairs. Here we go, you think, trying to prepare for the awkward class that’s ahead of you. You place your notebook on the small pull-out desk attached to your chair, then decide to suck it up and look up toward the front of the classroom.

You watch as he sits down at the desk and pulls his laptop out of his leather bag. He doesn’t look up once, focusing on connecting his computer to the projector screen and pulling up his presentation for the lecture. After the presentation pops up on the screen, he pushes his chair back and stands up, finally catching your gaze.

One corner of his mouth turns upward into a half-smirk as his eyes meet yours. He goes to push the rolled sleeves of his black button-down up a bit further on his arms, causing your eyes to drift downward. His biceps peak out of the bottom of his sleeve and you can see the muscles flex slightly as he adjusts the sleeves. You bite your lip almost out of instinct, leaning your arm on the desk and resting your chin on your hand.

Figuring out that you’ve definitely been staring for too long, you look back up to see a full-on smirk across his face. When your eyes lock again, he shoots over a subtle wink before clearing his throat and getting on with the start of class. There’s a lot of chatter going on throughout the room, making it difficult for him to get their attention at first.

“Okay, everyone, settle down,” he says, projecting his voice loud enough to quiet down the room. “Let’s jump right into this first chapter, shall we?”

Daniel uses the remote in his hand to transition to the next slide of the presentation, which shows the first painting from the reading. He starts pacing around the room, walking over to stand on the first step of the stairs as he asks the class for their initial thoughts.

You take the opportunity to look at him closer, thanks to this new proximity. He paired his black shirt with dark gray slacks and his usual black shoes. Your eyes fall on the gold chain around his neck, wondering how much it might have cost, considering how high-quality it looks. He really knew how to put an outfit together, looking expensive yet casual all at the same time– yet another thing that made him annoyingly attractive. You’re still lost in thought when you suddenly hear your name being called, snapping you back into reality.

“Y/N? Are you still with us?” Daniel asks, standing with his arms crossed as he raises an eyebrow at you. You sit up straight in your sight, clearing your throat before answering.

“Oh, um, yes. I’m sorry,” you say, which comes across as almost a mumble.

“I was asking you about what you thought about Liberty Leading The People,” he says, leaning back against the side of the chair on the aisle across from you. “From last night’s reading, assuming that you’ve completed it.” His voice is very matter-of-fact, almost as though he’s catching you in a lie. You won’t give him the satisfaction of embarrassing you in front of the class, that’s for sure.

“I did do the reading, professor,” you answer, your tone having a bit of a bite to it unintentionally as a result of your frustration. “And I thought that the painting was a perfect representation of the heart of the French Revolution. They united as one and fought together to take down their oppressive government.” The smug look on his face immediately disappears as you continue sharing your analysis with the class.

“Liberté, égalité, fraternité, or liberty, equality, fraternity– the phrase that would end up defining the entire future of the French Republic. It represents the foundation of democracy in France and how it united the entire country, despite their differences. The painting symbolizes these founding ideas of democracy and freedom, which we know is still a prevalent theme in France today.”

You finish speaking, looking up at him as you cross your arms over yourself in your seat, waiting for his response. He wanted to catch you unprepared, which he has failed to do. A small smirk starts to appear on his face as he turns around and walks back toward the front of the classroom, pressing the button on the remote to switch to the next slide.

“Very good analysis, Miss Y/L/N. Outstanding, actually,” he says after turning around to face the class. If he’s feeling embarrassed, then he certainly isn’t showing it, but you’re glad to have been able to put him in his place. He uses the small laser pointer on the remote to point to the short bulleted list on the slide as he starts his lecture on the painting.

You hate how much this act of academic praise satisfied you, especially coming from him. You think to yourself that you’d do anything to have it happen again— to be the one that he compliments in front of the entire class. Despite whatever your relationship with Daniel may be, the desire for your knowledge and thoughts to be appreciated and acknowledged by him was intense. You wanted to please him, in more ways than one.

The rest of the class goes smoothly, thankfully. He manages to leave you alone, choosing to call on different students as you discuss other Romanticism paintings from the reading assignment. His eyes drifted to you every once in a while, but you could tell he was pulling his gaze away almost immediately. You knew that he was trying to give you space, which you appreciated. Finally, he dismisses the class and everyone starts to pack up and leave the hall. You’re putting your things back in your bag as you hear him say your name.

“Y/N,” he says, looking up at you from behind his laptop while sitting at his desk. “Good job today.”

You smile at him, picking up your bag and putting it on your back. “Thanks,” you say, approaching his desk at the front of the classroom. Most of the students have dispersed by now, besides a few stragglers. “Do you have time to talk, professor?” you continue, biting your lip afterward as you await his answer. You tried to sound as sweet as possible, knowing that it was unlikely for him to say no.

He smirks, closing his laptop and slipping it into his bag. “Sure, Y/N,” he says, standing up and putting his bag on his shoulder. “Let’s go up to my office, yeah?” He then walks around the desk and begins up the stairs, with you following shortly after him.

As you walk behind him toward the elevator down the hall, you can’t help but notice how much confidence seems to pour out of him as he walks. It was like he owned the place, walking around as though it was second nature to him. You hate to admit how attractive it was, but it was undeniable.

He presses the “up” button for the elevator and you both stand there silently for a moment as you wait for it to arrive. Standing on his left with still a couple of feet between you, you turn your head to look at him. As his head turns to return your gaze, the elevator dings and the doors open.

He walks in first, pressing the button for the third floor and then stepping back as you both watch the doors close in front of you. When the elevator begins to rise, you’re taken aback by his lips crashing onto yours. His hands are planted firmly on your hips as he turns you slightly, putting your back against the wall of the elevator. Your hands begin to tangle in his hair as you feel his tongue collide with yours, making you whine quietly into his mouth.

His lips turn upward into a smirk against yours at the sound of your pathetic noises, but you’re quickly taken out of it as you hear the elevator ding and immediately stop on the second floor. Shit.

You scramble to get untangled from him, stepping a few feet away to the other side of the elevator. The doors begin to open and a professor steps in, seemingly going up to the third floor as well. The professor stands between the two of you as the doors begin to shut.

“Ah, Dr. Wagner!” he says, turning toward Daniel on his left. “Good seeing you! How’re your courses faring so far?” Daniel is calm and composed as he turns to his colleague with a grin and answers him.

“Professor Thomson, it’s great to see you. It’s all going well, but it’s still early,” he jokes, making the professor let out a fit of loud laughter. You, on the other hand, are a total mess. The back of your hair has a slight bump from it being slammed against the wall and your cheeks have turned a deep shade of pink. You just try to avoid the interaction altogether and stare straight ahead until the elevator dings once more and the doors open to the third floor.

The professor steps out first, bidding Daniel a farewell before turning off to the left corridor. Daniel walks out next, turning right and heading toward his office. You can’t help but feel a bit of deja vu as you follow him to his office. This time, however, you were feeling much more confident. You want to show him that you weren’t just a timid, innocent student like he might think you are.

He holds the door open for you and allows you to walk in past him before shutting the door behind you and locking it. You turn on your heels to face him and see his eyes boring through you– you suppose your moment in the elevator affected him more than he let on. Daniel takes a step toward you, leaving only less than a foot of space between you as his eyes study you. The feeling of him looking at you like that almost takes over you and before you even know you’re doing it, you grab the collar of his shirt and pull him close to you, connecting your lips with his.

He groans into your mouth as your hands find their place within his curls and you push his back against the office door. His arms wrap around your waist and his hips connect with yours, bringing his hard, long cock to your immediate attention. Your hands leave his hair and travel down his chest, finally planting on his hips as you slowly lower yourself onto your knees– a position that both you and him were already familiar with.

You look at him through your eyelashes as your hands start to fiddle with his belt, pulling the end through the loop and unclasping it. “Fuck, I could get used to this,” he mutters, reaching a hand down to push some of your hair out of your face. You continue, pulling down his zipper and unbuttoning the top button of his slacks. He helps you the rest of the way, pulling down his pants and briefs just enough for you to be able to pull his cock out of its confines and take it in your hand.

You pump your hand on it a few times before lowering your mouth onto him, licking a small stripe on his tip. He groans, throwing his head back onto the door and using his hand to hold your hair back out of your face. Thoroughly enjoying the effect you seemed to have on him, you decide to take him completely into your mouth until your nose connects with the smooth material of his shirt resting on his stomach, taking him completely by surprise.

“Oh my– fuck!” Daniel mumbles, struggling to even get any words out. His hips thrust into your mouth roughly at the sensation of filling your mouth completely, hitting the back of your throat. You begin to move, taking the lead as you retract your mouth slowly and then push him back down your throat.

The sounds coming out of his mouth as you set a steady pace is enough to get you close to release just by hearing it. You swirl your tongue around his tip and then take him completely into the back of your throat again, gagging around him slightly. As you start to pick up your pace, his hands are pulling your hair back, yanking you off of him. He tucks himself back into his boxer briefs quickly, then brings you up on your feet and his hands cup your cheeks, keeping your attention on him.

“If you keep doing all that, this is gonna end before we even get started, baby…” he says sternly, starting to place hot, wet kisses along your jawline and then down the side of your neck as he pushes you back further into the room. The backs of your legs hit his desk and your hands grip the edge, bracing yourself. “We can’t have that, can we?”

Daniel continues his attack on your neck, beginning to suck on a sweet spot on your bare collarbone. The feelings are taking over all of your senses, overwhelming you so much that all you can muster up is an enthusiastic nod. He pulls his lips off of you, straightening his back as he towers over you, placing his hand on the back of your neck firmly.

“Words, sweetheart,” he says, scolding you. “You’re a big girl. Act like one.” Your eyes widen at his words, though you have to admit that it has you completely dripping wet.

“No, sir. We can’t,” you answer. His lips turn upward into a slight smirk as his hand moves from behind your neck toward the front. His thumb strokes your neck softly before his hand tightens a bit. “Good girl.”

His lips connect with yours once more and you moan into his mouth as his hand tightens a bit more around your throat. His other hand moves up your side to cup your breast, snug inside your tight ribbed tank top. He makes quick work of that, reaching into your shirt and squeezing your breast, then rolling your nipple in his fingers. You whine at the sensation, making him smirk against your lips.

“Yeah, you like that?” he asks, pulling his face back a bit, rubbing his nose against yours as his fingers pinch your nipple again, eliciting another moan from you. “Yes, sir, feels so so good,” you whine, as he places a few soft kisses along your jaw.

Suddenly, he spins you around and pulls you against him, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he presses his lips against the shell of your ear. “I’ve thought about doing this again ever since you walked out of that bathroom,” he mumbles, kissing your neck roughly. His hips buck into your ass as you brace your palms against the wooden desk to keep your legs from crumbling beneath you. “Fuck, so have I,” you utter, leaning your head back against his shoulder.

One of his hands moves from your waist and pushes your back down so that you’re bent over the front of his desk. He lowers his mouth to your ear briefly and whispers, “I’m not gonna be gentle… okay, sweetheart?” You let out a soft moan as his hips press into your ass and you feel his hot breath against your ear. “I don’t want you to be gentle,” you say. He smiles as he places a soft kiss on the shell of your ear. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

You whine at the sudden loss of his body against yours as he backs away from you. But that feeling soon changes as you feel his hands back on your waist and his fingers dip into the waistline of your leggings. He bends down and pulls them down over your ass, letting them sit at your ankles. You hear him groan and curse to himself when he sees that you decided to forgo any underwear, since you typically liked to avoid unflattering underwear lines when wearing tight pants like leggings.

His large hands grip your ass firmly, pulling your cheeks apart as he takes in the view. He starts gliding his fingers through your wetness with one hand as the other comes down and smacks your ass, hard. You bite your lip to stifle the loud moan that almost escapes your mouth, being mindful of the need to keep the noise down considering the location. He places a kiss on the spot on your asscheek, soothing the stinging sensation.

He stands up and pulls his briefs back down, taking his cock in his hands and pumping it a few times before towering behind you once again. He brings his mouth back down to your ear as his hips buck into yours and you can feel his painfully hard cock against your ass behind you. “You asked for it.”

Daniel lines himself up with you and pushes himself into you fully. You can feel yourself stretch around him, the sting of it feeling almost welcoming. He grips your waist in one hand as the other holds firm against the small of your back, keeping you still on the desk as he sets a relentless pace inside of you.

The movement of his hips is quick and harsh, the only sound in the room being the sound of his hips smacking against your ass, loud and wet. He’s hitting your cervix repeatedly, and you start to have no control over the noises you make. His hips slam hard into you, causing you to curse loudly. His hand moves from the small of your back to the back of your neck and pushes your head down, making you have to turn it sideways with your cheek flush against the wood. His hand then slides over to cover your mouth, pushing two of his fingers past your lips.

“As much as I love those sweet sounds, you gotta keep it down, baby…” he says as he slams his hips into you again. You groan around his fingers and catch his eye from behind you, seeing a smug smirk across his face. You suck on his fingers as he continues his quick pace inside you and your walls flutter against him, eliciting a moan from him as well. “Goddamn, you are so fucking tight,” he groans, removing his hand from your mouth and moving it to grip your hair tightly, pulling you up from the desk as he slides out of you.

He turns you around and captures your lips for a moment before pulling away. You watch as he quickly rids himself of his pants and boxers entirely, dropping them on the floor and then stepping out of them. He lowers himself to remove your pants from around your ankles then attaches his lips to yours again. His hands grasp your ass and lift you up, wrapping your legs around him as he carries you over to the far left wall of the office, directly in front of the window. Your arms wrap tightly around his neck as his lips stay attached to yours and he places your back against the wall.

You have half a mind to get self-conscious about the proximity to the window but you’re too intoxicated by his touch to care. With your back now flush with the wall, he lifts you up for a moment then pushes himself back inside of you and picks back up on his relentless pace.

His hands grip your ass so tight that you’re sure it’ll leave a mark come tomorrow. You’re genuinely surprised by the strength he must have to be able to hold you up as he fucks into you, which makes your head spin. His lips leave yours and work their way down your neck. When they reach your chest, he halts his hips to bring one of his hands up to pull your breasts from your shirt and bra, allowing them to spill out of the top of your tank top and giving him full access.

“Fuck, what are you doing to me…” he mutters, holding onto you tightly as he starts pounding into you again even harsher. His lips wrap around one of your nipples, sucking and biting on your skin and completely taking you over the edge. You can feel yourself getting close as his hips slam up into you, his tip hitting your sweet spot over and over again from this new angle. He can feel you tightening around him, making him groan against your skin.

“Come on, baby. Make a mess all over my cock, I’m right there,” he urges, attaching his lips to yours again as one of his hands moves from your ass and slips between you, starting to rub quick, rough circles against your clit. It sends you over the edge and Daniel swallows your moan in his mouth as his tongue collides with yours.

He fucks you through it, his pace never slowing as he reaches his own climax shortly after you. He moans against your tongue as you feel his release coat your walls. His hips start to slow, fucking his release into you before lowering your legs to the ground and pulling out, allowing you to stand. Your knees buckle as you get your bearings, but you quickly recover and wrap your arms around his waist pulling him in for a short, soft kiss.

“I guess I got my answer then, huh?” he jests, pushing a stray piece of hair behind your ear as he looks down at you with a smug smile. “You’re such an idiot,” you laugh, shoving his shoulder softly, walking past him to pick up your leggings, then sliding them back on. He follows, pulling his briefs up over his hips and then picking his pants up off the floor. As he pulls his pants on and starts to fasten his belt, you decide to speak first.

“I want to do this with you. I do. But we have to set some ground rules,” you say, leaning against his desk and looking up at him. He raises his eyebrows at you as he tucks his shirt back into his pants and then walks toward you.

“Oh, yeah? Like what?” he asks, cupping your cheek with his hand and rubbing his thumb softly against your skin. You almost melt into his touch, but you want to stand your ground before you get too soft on him.

“Well,” you start, “First of all, this should be no strings attached– purely physical. I’m not gonna be your girlfriend.” He chuckles to himself before crossing his arms and leaning against the chair next to him. “Who said I wanted you to be my girlfriend?”

“Shut up,” you say, rolling your eyes at him. He laughs again, then answers, “Okay, okay. No strings attached. Shouldn’t be a problem. What else?”

“No telling anyone, besides people who already know. My best friend knew about you immediately after we left the bar last weekend, so it’s too late now,” you continue. He hums and nods his head. “Mine too. Can’t hide shit from Sam even if I tried.”

“Okay, so we keep it a secret. No one else has to know,” you assert. He stands up and puts his arms on either side of you, leaning onto the desk behind you.

“Okay. One more thing,” he says, towering over you. “No falling in love.” You take a deep breath just at the thought of it– falling in love. Yeah, right. As you look up to meet his gaze, you smile softly and nod. “No falling in love.”

After a few more minutes of sharing kisses and continuously attempting to say goodbye, you finally peel yourself away from Daniel and leave his office, heading out of the building and walking in the direction of home. You can’t help how flustered you feel after leaving him, almost not even believing that it even happened. You exchanged numbers before you left, promising to see each other again soon.

You’re feeling anxiously excited to fill Rose in on today’s events when you get home. There were a lot of details that you fear you may need to leave out, things that were too vulgar to even speak out loud. This idea makes your cheeks flush as you think about it on the walk home. You know that you’re way in over your head but hopefully, with the boundaries you’ve set, you won’t get caught up in it all too intensely. As long as you both follow the rules, no one will get hurt… Right?

· · ───────── ·𖥸· ───────── · ·

chapter iii

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undercoverpena · 9 months

Text

the day frankie came home

frankie morales x f!reader

he’s been gone for ten days, and don’t you both know it.

wordcount: 3.2k themes: smut. p in v. fingering. cunnilingus. mirror sex. frankie talking dirty. an: this is in the same world as resurrected chances, but you don't need to read it. it does follow on from long distance - but again can be read without.

written for the #hauntedhoedown kink: mirror sex. be kind, i do not write smut, but this idea was ✨

Restfulness has become your new friend.

It encasing its hands around you, sliding its long fingers up and over your shoulders as soon as your eyes had opened. It tightening its hold when you had sipped your morning coffee—the bitterness mixing with the sweetness of your excitement.

Because he‘s on his way.

Your eyes landing on the boots you hadn’t had the heart to move.

The ones abandoned, him having promised to put them away the night he’d been packing. You purposefully choosing to leave them there, allowing yourself to live a fantasy that he hadn’t gone anywhere to begin with.

Those boots, and the hat he left behind, making you feel less lonely, even if he called, texted.

You’re just grateful that soon you wouldn’t need to play pretend.

Sweeping your eyes over the place, you gnaw at your bottom lip. Weight shifting from leg to leg, toes curling against the wooden flooring. Your heart hammering, knocking on your ribs and vibrating through your body—

Then you hear it—the sound of soon arriving.

The noticeable grumble of his vehicle, headlights splaying light through the partially opened blinds and curtains, shimmering light over the life the two of you had begun building.

It flutters through you, that excited apprehension—all quickly, more forcibly. Beating into your bones as your fingers twitch at your side—thighs pressing together—dancing the tips of your nails over the new lace and silk bought for his return.

You hadn’t known how quiet your home could be without him, until you slid open the tissue paper that housed the lingerie you’d chosen with him in mind. The purchase you’d kept a secret, burning a hole in your chest when he’d asked about your day—voice dripping, husky and sultry, down the phone as the surprise curled furiously on your tongue. Even more so when he slid the intensity up on the app—your moan falling with so much ease, you’re sure he could have made you confess to things you’d never even done. Asking you in a low whisper, have you been a good girl?

The sound of his door slamming shut makes you move—not quite a jump, but it isn’t a flinch either. Your throat is dry, suddenly unsure what to do with your hands. Your body.

Do you pose?

Do you lean on the sofa for him to come into the house?

It was new, this—it all foreign.

Previously, Frankie had only ever been gone a few days since the two of you had bought the house. Even then, there had been little point (or time) in building up his return with whispered phone calls and long-distance apps that turn your knickers from something practical to something that makes your thighs shake, and your toes curl.

“Bet you look as pretty as you sound, baby.” “Can’t wait for you to see for yourself, Frankie.”

You’ve dreamt of him. Waking up, hand stretched out, greeted only by cold and ensnared in disappointment. A temptation, a need—one you ignore if only to keep your promise.

But now he’s here.

Your eyes spot him, noticing the outline of his broad shoulders and loose curls in the glass of the front door. His key sliding in, catching, your heart all set to thump out your chest, tongue heavy, thick—

Then you’re swallowed by his eyes. Brown and soft—before shifting into something instantly devoured by lust as his duffel meets the ground with a thump, the door shutting with a slam.

“Fuck.”

Shifting on the spot, your fingers brush against the top of your thigh. “You like, baby?”

From the smashed photo frame, (likely) chipped key bowl and takeout menus scattered across the entryway floor, Frankie likes you in this lingerie.

His mouth is hot, slanting over yours as the roughness of the sideboard scratches against your skin.

You don’t complain—you’d never complain. Demanding him closer, desperate to have him flush against your body; wishing to feel every inch of him, against every part of you. All the things you’ve missed, the laughter, the body heat, slams into the desire that’s ebbed and flowed since he’d left.

He must be thinking the same. His pulse quick, racing—fluttering against your palm as your legs wrap around him. Fixing him here, keeping him in place. Words such as ‘Don’t leave me, don’t go anywhere ever again’ wanting to fall. Instead, they’re spilt behind his teeth, never heard by his ears.

Frankie answers you in the way he knows how.

His mouth descending, tongue swirling and sliding over lace, silk and cloth, until he’s staring up at you from his knees. Mouth latching over the fabric which covers your pussy—hungry, desperate, needy.

With a movement and a tug, he brings your legs over his shoulders. Your underwear being slid to the side, already soaked—ruined.

His eagerness fuels you, making you arch, finding leverage on the wood as you grip the edge—feeling his fingers slide the lace from your skin before he licks a long stripe up your seam. But it isn’t that which makes your toes curl, but the noise he emits when he does.

The air thinning, tightening—warmth pooling in your stomach as something loosely ties, begins to knot. You gasp, fingers finding refuge in his hair, clutching his curls as he spells something against your core.

One thing you’ve learnt, is when his tongue is on you, he can move it like it’s made of liquid. Frankie rolls and flicks—lapping up all he can as he silently begs you for more. Each movement done with the aim to crack you open—all desperate to find the prize hidden inside of you.

The one Frankie always finds.

His lips latching to your clit, sucking, fingers slipping in—spreading you as you moan.

He’s determined like that, made from grit and shaped by orders and missions. Something to prove ever on his mind. They’re set by him, expected by him—aiding and guiding—to drive him as he replaces his fingers by plunging his tongue inside you. Your head flips back, eyes open—staring at the light fixture he’d been so proud to fit, canting your hips, riding his face—

“Shit, Frankie—fuck, there, please.”

He knows.

You know he does. It’s why he’s being relentless. It’s a reward, and a thank you—both for waiting and reminding him he’s something worth waiting for.

It’s why you’re sure you can feel him smiling against you, it broadening when your vision goes white—spots in the corners, throat spraying his name against the entrance hall of your home.

You also suspect it’s why he doesn’t remove his face for several seconds, seeing what more he can coax from you.

A breather is barely given before you’re being led—more dragged—from the hallway to your bedroom.

He’s wearing a grin, all mischievous and hungry.

If you didn’t want to have him inside of you, you’d ask why. What it was he’s thinking of, let him draw it out—map it, so the two of you can make it a reality. Instead, you decide to allow him to show it to you. Let suspense build where restfulness has carved a hole in you.

You are not someone who likes the unknown, but with him, you surrender. All trusting without question, something he knows, sees. Enjoys.

A thing he’s whispered against your skin plenty of times when the two of you have caught your breaths, limbs tangled and peppered in sweat.

I love that you trust me, querida.

It's a dance now. One the two of you excel at, forever performing at the top of your game. You know to leave your need for control at the door—surrendering it to him; he knows to take the baton handed to him proudly—brow cocked and smirk evident—as he guides you to where he needs you.

He created words, pinned them to the corner of your brain—a place never blown away by pleasure or need. Just in case, he had said, mouth brushing over your neck. Want you to always feel safe, Cariño.

The word had only been whispered once—a while ago. You’d watched how his act went, dissolved, vanished, pulling you close and providing you all the comfort he could give as you apologised and provided whispered explanations.

It’s why it was easy to give him control, you knew you could trust him—with your heart, body and soul.

He pulls you back, demanding your entire attention—likely realising he’s lost you to your come-down and your thoughts. His fingers under your chin, forehead pressing to yours. “Te he extrañado, baby.”

“Missed you more, Frankie.”

If it sounds childish, you don’t care. Lips catching him, ghosting over his, wearing a giddy smirk as the back of your knees press against the mattress, folding with all the ease he needs.

There’s a dull ache blooming—even after your orgasm. It weaves with the warmth still thrumming in your thighs from his antics in the living room. This time, you’re admiring him from below him. How his hand grasps the back of his t-shirt before it’s rid from his body in one swift movement, revealing him, displaying how broad he is—all soft, toned, golden and carved.

You steal his earlier sentiment, letting ‘fuck’ roll from your swollen lips in a sharp puff—watching his lips slide into his cheek, burying itself in dimples and cockiness.

Then he’s following you down, encasing you, locking you between his forearms as his mouth slants over yours. The taste of you is evident, all sweet on his tongue as you reach for him, palm against his hardened cock, earning a groan, a vibration that travels through your tongue to your soul.

Frankie is all heat, the weight pressing down on you in a way you hadn’t known you’d craved until it was heavy on you. Pinned, nowhere to go—not wanting to be anywhere but here, anyway.

That is, until your hand shifts, rising up, sliding to the place that keeps him from you freely. You’ve become a seasoned pro at belts, one-handed—able to free him with relative ease when he isn’t able to aid you. When opportunities have forced you to be discreet and quick, those stolen moments that have prepared you for moments such as this.

He’s taking pity on you today—all desperate and hungry in his movements to shove his jeans down, before you feel him against your thigh. His fingers lift your chin to his face.

“I’ve got an idea, baby.”

His voice honey, dripping. Sultry.

“I wanna see you. All of you.”

Your brows lift, eyes widening—mouth finding him as he captures and steals any momentary protests. As if you’d have any.

Least of all, when he’s rocking his hips against you, alleviating pressure, so hard against you that you want to wrap your fingers around him. Let him fuck your fist, spill against your stomach and forearm—coat you in him, leave you sticky and content.

Frankie has other ideas.

Seemingly having tuned in, radioed into your mind—he takes your wrists, pulling them up, pinning them with one of his.

“Thought we can show that mirror you bought a thing or two,” he continues, dropping his mouth, latching it to your jaw, your fingers curling. “The one from Amazon—can put it at the bottom of the bed.”

Your response is embedded in a depraved noise, his weight having shifted, his hips rolling—the head of his cock rubbing against the lace between your thighs.

He’s waiting, staring. Nervousness set to bloom across his features, ridden only by your smirk, doused by your nod.

“Go fetch it, Frankie.”

He makes you stand before it as soon as it’s in place. Your eyes try not to linger or fixate—not wanting to lose the confidence you mustered to welcome him the way you did.

Because a part of you wants to hide, curl away, now that you’re bare.

Your underwear is lost, discarded in some darkened corner of the bedroom. Frankie hadn’t ripped it from you, he’d slid it from you. Unwrapped you from head to toe like you were a gift—carefully peeling, delicately removing, kissing along your exposed skin before throwing it to the side.

“Look how pretty you are, baby.”

You don’t look at yourself, even under his praise. You look at him. Watch how he drags his eyes up and down your frame, drinking you, hungrily swallowing the view he had in front of him.

His mouth latches to your neck, before his cheek is next to yours. “Gonna fuck you with my fingers, and you’re gonna watch, aren’t you, baby?”

It’s hard not to hold his stare, silently accepting. Your hand moves, grasping for him, only to feel one of his slide down your arm, leaving goosebumps in his wake, as he moves, shifts, until your palm is on the wall next to the mirror.

“Eyes on your face or your pussy, baby. Your choice.”

You opt for the latter. Watching, yet feeling, his arm snaking, sliding, before he teases two of his calloused pads over your slick folds. Teasing, taunting. Teeth nipping at your neck as he buries them in you.

His name falls, slicing through the air as your eyes lift to his face. The look of bliss smothered across every inch of it. Before you drop your gaze again—wanting to be good, needing to be. His fingers fucking into you–soaking them, him, his palm collecting your slick.

“Keep your eyes open.” Flipping your lashes up, you swallow. Finding purpose on his face. “There she is, fucking look at the mess you’re making, baby.”

“Frankie…”

“I know,” he croons, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Such a good girl letting me fuck her with my fingers.”

You shudder as his thumb catches your clit, eyes struggling to remain open—fixed, watching him as he observes you. The corners of your sight blurring, engulfing in tears that threaten to spill from how good he treats you, how kind he is, how—

“Want you to fuck me, Frankie.”

He groans, hard and low, all deep. Vibrating through his chest—through your back—as a hand remains on your hip.

“Want you to fill me, baby,” you whine, latching your eyes onto him. “Need you. Please.”

For a moment, you don’t think he hears you. But then he stops. Suddenly empty, his tongue swirling over his fingers before his mouth is on yours, lips consuming you, tongue kissing the back of your teeth. Leading you, moving you, until he’s nudging your legs up, fabric grazing skin, until you’re on your knees at the foot of your bed.

The mattress groans as he joins you—placed right behind you, leaning back on his knees. He envelops you from behind, looking every bit like he’s been crafted from an imagination.

His hair is all wild, skin all flushed—all of him looking as handsome as ever, his eyes sweeping up and down you through the mirror.

Your eyes drop to your waist, finding his fingers—long and stretched—over your hip. Can see it, the evidence of your earlier spend glistening between your thighs—the low light from the hallway casting a glow, all amber and delicate over the two of you.

“Anyone tell you that you’re beautiful,” he whispers smoothly.

Guiding you to tilt at the hips, before rubbing the head of his cock through your folds.

“You—mainly.”

He smiles, all drowsy and heart-stuttering. “Let me tell you again,” he says, lining himself, lifting his hips. “You’re beautiful.”

You sink down on the last syllable. Taking him inch by inch—doing it so well—right to the hilt. It’s all you’ve thought about—him filling you. Him being buried so deep inside of you that you feel him for days. You crave m bruises and soreness, just so in the brief moment between sleep and awake you knew he was really here, home.

Because you imagine tonight you’re going to sleep well.

His teeth running along your shoulder, nipping at your skin. Frankie grunts as you lift, a drawn-out hiss greeting your ear as you sink back down, taking all of him again.

You like how your name sounds falling from his lips, how he presses it into your skin, stamping it there. A needier murmur of your name, a silent plea.

Then he begins to move.

Rocking into you, dragging his cock in and out as a strangled cry leaves your mouth. Because it wasn’t a plea, it was an announcement—a courteous heads up.

You meet his stare in the mirror, heat flooding over you, before you drop your eyes to where you’re connected.

It’s a sight to watch. Because Frankie is big, thick. He has always made you feel full, stuffed—practically spaceless—just like he is now. Clutching you close, skin rippling as he fucks into you and steals the air from your lungs as he picks up his pace, finding a new rhythm.

“Frankie—fuck, baby.”

He makes more of your hisses and whimpers fall, each one painting the room, dousing it in what he’s doing to you—how good he’s making you feel. His hand rising, fingers spreading. Calloused pads dancing right across your abdomen, likely feeling your muscles contract under his palm as you meet him with all you have.

Then, your attention is drawn to his other hand. The one which cups your breast, and pinches your nipple between index and thumb—making you cry out his name. Only to be rewarded by the sight of his lips having spread into his cheek, hungrily staring at you—before his palm finds a home on the base of your neck.

“Made for me. Dios mío, your pussy is tight, querida. So perfect. Fuck.”

Your lashes flutter, squeezing him as he finds that spongy spot that makes your knees feel unsteady, and licks heat up your spine.

“Y’look so good takin’ me. Don’t you? You see it?”

You do, you see. Nodding dumbly. All uncoordinated as your arm loops around the back of his neck, hips trying to maintain his rhythm as he whispers more into your ear. His eyes on you, staring like you’re a gift from the heavens. His eyes all blown and pupils swallowed by his irises—and you’re not sure he’s ever looked so good.

“So full, Frankie.”

His eyes lift from where the two of you are conjoined to your face, finger brushing, removing the tear from your cheek—the one caused by him and how good he fucks you.

“I lo–, fuck, ‘love you,” you cry.

Shifting his hips, you’re suddenly breathless, fingers tightening ever so slightly on the base of your neck. Just enough to make your lungs burn from how much you’re gasping at the new angle—whimpers falling like glitter, all shimmering—as your hand grips the one over your abdomen. Nails bedding down, half-moons left in his skin.

Because you need to come. Need to crash or fall, descend or ascend.

“Please, baby. There, right—there. Please, ple—“

You’re not sure if the last plea escapes. It’s muffled. Robbed. It rips through you, slowly—torturously. It beginning somewhere deep, snarling and fuelled with white-hot flames before it splits through barrier after barrier, curling toes and making you tremble before your body is even aware of the intensity of it.

It’s liquid. You’re liquid. All bursting, nerves sparking, all-electric and gasoline as your pleasure engulfs you—sound gone, sight gone. Senses ticked off one by one as your skin goes hot, feeling him still, all overstimulated and trembling against him as you hear murmurs of him begging, pleading against your skin.

The first thing your eyes are able to decipher between the spots is him. Mouth parted in a silent moan, brows furrowed, body sheened with sweat as his muscles flex as he grips you tight. Then you hear it—the way your name curls from his tongue, greets your ear with both a kiss and a punch, his hips stuttering, white ropes coating your walls as you feel yourself become boneless—weightless.

Time slows, barely ticks. Blinking, seeing—for the smallest of moments—what it was he was seeing in the mirror as you stare at him, watching him lose himself. All because of you.

Then, the moment shifts—finding yourself slowly being laid down, face turned, finding him—finding soft brown eyes and his sloped nose. That kind smile and flushed skin, and you break a bit differently than moments before when his lips lazily brush over yours—little sniffles, eyes filling with tears as you watch his eyes widen.

Because he’s here, he’s home.

No waiting for a phone call, no need to make do with a toy he can control. He’s just here, staring at you, body so close you can feel the heat rolling from him.

More so, when a tear escapes. Him grasping, pulling you close—an answer needed, it hanging on the tip of his tongue, but you answer before he says it:

“I really love you, Frankie.”

“Oh, querida,” he whispers into your hairline, your arms wrapping around his back as best as you can. “I love you too.”

as always, thank you to G for telling me I can do this. to A for telling me how hot this is and to @psychedelic-ink for giving me a mini-pep talk that I can totally do this - and here we have it 🧡

#hauntedhoedown #frankie morales x reader #francisco morales x reader #frankie morales x f!reader #Frankie morales x reader smut #frankie morales x you #frankie morales #triple frontier x reader #francisco morales fanfiction #triple frontier fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #francisco catfish morales x reader #catfish morales x reader #francisco morales smut #frankie morales smut #triple frontier smut

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ashlingiswriting · 10 months

Text

do i know you? chapter one

"that's mikey's girl." richie jerimovich x reader, past mikey berzatto x reader, slow burn chapter one, 3.2k words

two in the morning. he's on his stomach with moonlight fall through the window on his bare shoulders, the arch of his thick dark hair hiding his eyes in shadow. not even a gleam.

why do you keep calling me that? he says. used to be every now and then, like a joke, but now it’s just all the time.

it’s your name.

mikey’s my name.

michael’s on your birth certificate. that makes it your name.

everyone calls me mikey.

you lift an empty palm. and?

oh my god, don’t be so fucking mysterious, come here. c’mere. his hand's on your hip, clumsy. hey. talk to me.

let it go, michael.

when sweetness doesn’t get him what he wants, he reaches inside and produces more energy from god knows where.

don’t you ever get tired of being so goddamn mysterious? don’t you get fucking exhausted? from wheedling to kindling, you never tell me anything, just tell me one thing, okay? just one thing, what’s the big deal, straight shooter? huh? c’mere, hey. oh, now you’re not looking at me now? like what am i, a cop? i’m just fuckin curious, man, it’s my name, and if you’re—

okay! fuck! just. fucking calm down, i’ll tell you. i’ll tell you.

i am calm. he is. ruffled, but calm. he’s clean tonight, you can always tell the difference.

everyone calls you mikey.

he turns over onto his back and lets the light reach everywhere. doesn't have to say a thing. his face is deceptively open, waiting, the full weight of his attention on you, and that's more than enough.

you say, maybe i don’t want to be everyone.

his face melts into that expression you love and hate in nearly equal measure, a little pitying, a little tender, completely fucking magnetic. he stretches out one arm across the tops of both pillows in mute invitation, and you know that you’ll crawl into his arms in a second, give in the way you always do.

oh, baby, he says. you’re not everyone.

yeah?

you've never been closer to him than you are right now, with all the red lights sped through a long ways back, and yet. and yet. you still can't read him. maybe you never will.

you say, then who am i?

when you go to the beef for the first time, you set yourself some rules. first off, don't talk to the staff. don't talk to the staff. don't talk to the fucking staff.

don’t stare.

don’t say his name.

and as soon as you get your sandwich, you gotta go.

there’s rules. that’s your excuse for breaking your promise: if you act like any other customer, what harm can it do?

well, this.

you’ve done a decent job of pretending you don't know enough english to converse, but you’re still trying so hard not to look at carmy standing behind the counter that you let your gaze drift, go unfocused, as you anchor yourself by two fingertips barely grazing the counter. waiting for your mortadella like all the other schmucks. suddenly, your drift snags on a sound, a certain note in the voice of the guy behind you, and you turn before you have any idea what it is. your heart jumps. of course he’s got a gun, of course he fucking does, and carmy’s trying to calm him with shouting and everything else just happens.

you wedge yourself between the guy and the counter don’t you fucking touch him back the fuck up at least the crowd’s smart enough to scatter or hit the floor and you smack the inside of his wrist knock the gun to the side where at least the only ones who could suffer would be the wall or you. bang, stupid loud. flinch. the picture frame on the wall right behind you shatters and falls, sting in your arm don’t touch him but one more twist and the gun is yours now and the guy is running, running, gone. which makes you just a person getting gawked at by strangers while your mouth is running behind. don’t you fucking —

you thought you forgot how to get scared a long time ago, but that’s obviously not true. you notice it as you pop the magazine and shake them out with a metallic tinkle in your hand, then pull the slide to clear the chamber too. yeah, you're scared.

the bullets are slippery in your sweating palm, and it's early chicago fall and no enemies left, nothing to sweat about. you slip bullets in your pocket, don’t want to give anyone a loaded gun, especially not a fucking berzatto. the shop hasn't cleared, it's louder than ever, and you're not looking at anybody, just the gun, mind on autopilot. somebody's asking you if you're okay and you're pointedly ignoring them. you say, gimme the trash can, carmy.

he does.

do i know you? he says.

the gun lands in the trash with a thud, and only then do you realize your mistake. you can’t even look at him as your stomach drops. you just fucked it for yourself. this is gonna be the last time. you turn and try to leave quick as the line re-forms beside you. chicago, god bless, still wants their fucking lunch. what happened to the rules protecting you? what happened to—

she’s bleeding, don’t let her—

it’s richie who gets to you first, which is somehow worst of all. you don’t know how he does it, you were nearly home free, but now he's right here and you’re still not looking at him as his hand closes around your good arm. you’re not looking at him but you recognize the voice, matched it to his face on your first visit to the beef. the face you matched to many photos you've seen, most of them blurry.

hey, sweetheart, let’s just—

and that’s what breaks it for you. you lift your eyes and look at him dead on and bullshit with the ferocity you only get when you’re in the middle of losing something. you don’t want any of this asshole did you think i learned to disarm a guy in kindergarten what the fuck do you think is going on here unless you want this place to be fucking mob associated then get your hands off me wasn’t the c enough or do you really need cops up your ass too—

richie’s not as stupid as he needs to be, or he’s not as smart.

sure, yeah, he says. that’s very impressive and shit but we’re already kind of a mob joint, we owe a guy three hundred grand off book and that’s not even a joke, this is chicago, baby, and you’re bleeding. just come over here and don’t be a pain about it—i got it carm—don’t be such a fucking pain, come on.

it’s the voice that does it, and not the way he’s manhandling you back into the kitchen, it’s not the same but it’s a cousin and you just really fucking missed this shit. even though your heartbeat has slowed, you’re still dangerously stuck in that place where it might rain any moment.

you’re still fighting him but it isn’t much, kind of autopilot, run on. it’s fucking nothing don’t be a baby what do you think this is i’m not gonna die i’m not even gonna go to the hospital richie it’s like a couple pieces of glass who cares plus the cops are gonna show up and then what.

in the kitchen you look around hungrily. this is the place. those are the stoves, the knives, that’s the fucking mop and all. feels wobbly. you’re not used to being sentimental.

i mean jesus i just wanted a fucking sandwich, you say.

we can make you a fucking sandwich.

well i don’t want it any more!

what is your fucking problem, richie says, but he doesn’t say it right.

here’s the office door, here’s the office, here are the piles of paperwork that used to be the bane of his existence. god but you’re weak. and as richie reaches for a first aid kit hanging from a nail above the filing cabinet, you give in one last time and steal a photo that was taped just above the desk. swift swipe. first crime you’ve felt bad about in a long time, and also the first crime that’s felt necessary.

i don’t want a fucking sandwich, you say, without skipping a beat.

fine, richie says with the air of a martyr. sit down.

he all but shoves you onto a chair. you let him, but you’re not gracious about it either. you have to resist touching your back jeans pocket where you slid the photo in, to check that it’s still there.

ebrahim’s at the door now, bearing the first aid kit.

give me that and get me a trash can and both of your fuck off, you say, and you only get three out of the four things you asked for, go figure. richie stays.

you shouldn’t even be here, so you rush it, snap open the kit, go for the tweezers, pinch the first shard and yank it out with a wince.

richie, gore might be your top pornhub category but i don't see you tipping my onlyfans, so fuck the fuck off.

words having failed, you try ignoring him, but even once all the glass is out, he hasn’t fucked off. seriously, stop hovering, you say.

do i know you? he says, but not like a proper question. like he’s on the verge of making it a statement.

no you don’t, i’m just one very observant motherfucker. now fuck off, don’t you have salami to slice or some shit?

you’d straight up flee, leave it all behind, except now there’s carmy in the doorway running his hand through his mess of hair with those wide eyes, richie standing behind him, and god yeah you do see it. how could carmy ever be anything other than a kid brother?

you okay? carmy says.

it’s not like a scratch, it’s literally a scratch. it’s literally a scratch.

no, i mean. you know. he’s struggling for it, and bless him but you’re not helping him, not one bit. that is not your job.

richie says, if you’re fine, then why are you such a fucking creep, man. why do you know our names.

carmy smacks him without looking, back of his hand to richie’s chest. what we mean to say is thank you. thank you, and do you want peppers on y—

and that’s when he sees it, over your shoulder, the empty spot over the desk.

the regret crashes into you so hard and immediate you think you might be sick. you never should have come.

carmy says, slowly, did you take mikey? and there it is. you think with a slice of biting clarity that this is probably why he never wanted you to come here, he probably saw this one coming from miles and years away. you had one job. you fucked it.

sorry, you mutter, and you take the photo out and put it on the desk, one last look, and then you’re dodging them on the way out. you’d have shoved, but carmy just stepped aside as you charged forward, too taken aback to fight, just as innocent as ever.

but then there’s richie right behind you and he was never innocent.

you’re charlie, aren’t you, says richie.

as you try to navigate through the kitchen whirlwind, you can feel it behind your breastbone, like a detonation. that old game, that old thing. charlie and tommy, secret agents.

no, you say, too quick.

no but you fucking are, and there’s a note of triumph in it, he’s sure of it now, you can’t convince him otherwise. still keep trying, though.

that’s not my name, is just, how do i—how do you work here the place is a fucking maze i just want the door for crying out loud thank you marcus jesus christ.

behind you: who’s charlie?

that’s mikey’s girl.

fresh chicago air which means grimy smoke and wind and you’re in it and you’re gone, hands shoved deep in your pockets, bullets cool against your fingers. thank fucking god. just soon enough to not hear what carmy has to say about it. escape means you’ll never know.

it’s a real short story: you were two fucked up people with two fucked up lives and even worse sleep schedules. you liked smoking at the same spot, sheltered from the wind by a crevice of the apartment building where you both lived. talking shit. one thing led to another. he was good with your rules and you were good with his lack of anything to bring you except, occasionally, himself. and that was it. you liked that story. it was a good one. simple. very nearly clean.

unfortunately, it’s made you incredibly easy to track down.

when you come down for your nighttime smoke, half-hoping you won’t get called that night, half-hoping you will, there he is, waiting for you outside the double doors: richie.

at the sight of him, you try to retreat, but he's still got a key card, must've been a spare that mikey gave him. he yells at you, stupid loud for the time of night, HEY, and holds up the picture. he really can’t be the stupidest man in the world, not quite, because that bait you'd always fall for no matter the gleam of the hook.

wordlessly, you come back and you take the picture from him. you look at it for only a second before you realize you can't look at it anymore, not in front of him, so you just hold it in your hand, careful. the only photo of michael that you have, and a good one. he’s got a big grin in it, the classic, perfect, flop-haired and glowing.

my name's not charlie, you say.

yeah. you're a big top secret whatever whatever booty call, i get it, he says.

you can’t even muster the words to respond to that because everything feels too embarrassingly much, or too inadequately little. you just burn.

look, richie says, with what you might think is a pang of actual conscience if you haven't heard so much about him already. carmy just thought you would want the thing.

i do. there's a pause. neither of you quite expected you to say that, and neither of you quite expect you to say what comes next, either. or at least, not this simple. thank you.

i could text you some more if you want, he says after a second. not cool with silence, this one.

you shake your head. i cycle through old ass flip phones. because. you shrug and you make no effort at your lies. i'm just very clumsy and i tend to drop them and break them like once every two weeks, so there's no point in buying anything expensive.

uh-huh, he says dryly. makes sense.

the corner of your mouth lifts, and then you look away, willing him to fuck off your mind to fade out, or both. it doesn’t happen. he almost says something more than once, you can feel it, but whatever inside him hates silence, that thing isn’t as strong as his fear of saying whatever he’s got to say.

and your fear, it turns out, is not enough.

it's not my fault, you know? and now you're zero to a hundred, outright. why he...i mean, we broke up two months beforehand. so, like. i know you're all. i know everyone thinks.

and now richie’s still looking at you while you're talking, same as before, but there's a weight to his eyes on you that you don't quite want to squirm out from under. he's actually listening. that's the thing.

just, whatever it was, it wasn't me, you say.

there's a silence long enough that it starts to get bad, and then richie says, we never thought it was you.

what can you say to that? it's not believable but he's trying to be kind, so okay, you'll believe his blatant lies like he tacitly agreed to believe yours. it’s the type of kindness you give to a child and it sticks in your throat, but you force yourself to swallow. good manners.

you want to say thank you again, but you can't. you're not gonna thank him twice like some kind of asshole.

so you just look at him for a second, really and properly. he is michael, he's a piece of michael, he's a thousand stupid stories you both laughed over under streetlights for a couple years, annoyed and hated and felt for from afar. his hair is lighter than you expected and his eyes are bluer, he's a little shorter and there's a tiny mustard stain on the neckline of his navy shirt. this is it. another piece of the endless ending.

see you around, you say, when what you mean is the opposite.

but then he says, yeah, and you thought that was just a word, but you were wrong.

you were wrong and it’s actually really funny.

cause of course you go upstairs and you have your little whatever-you-call-it, up there with that picture, and then some leftover mac n cheese and the picture and the knowledge you can’t fall asleep, and the picture and going back downstairs because after all that a cigarette just makes sense.

motherfucker is chain-smoking in your spot. at least he has the grace to look vaguely embarrassed to still be there when you arrive.

jesus, you say, looking at the little heap on the flat-headed metal post that serves as the unofficial building ashtray. you’ve done worse than that, but that’s not gonna stop you from saying it.

ah, fuck off, he says in welcome, and then you pull out a pack and he pulls out his lighter. you, uh. you see the bulls the other night?

can we not talk? you say as the lighter goes click, withholding your cigarette like he'd give a damn.

he blinks, pauses.

yeah, he says. you hate the sound of his voice. it’s too raw weary, like he just came out the funeral wearing a borrowed suit. yeah, we can not talk.

only then do you let him light the cigarette.

no words after that, as promised. you’re very tired. he might be even more tired than you. you lean against the building, but he won’t do even that. every now and then, you look at him, and rarely—just a few times—you see that he’s glancing at you. but you always look away. at some point you become convinced that he’s gonna say something, or you are—something about the eyes—but weirdly that fear drains away after a bit and you’re back to comfortable silence, which feels different even if it sounds the same.

he runs out of cigarettes pretty early on, but you’re so self-absorbed that it takes you a while to figure out that he’s not gonna leave. he’s just not. so you’re gonna have to be the one to do it.

you push off the wall. night, fuck-o.

he laughs, and that’s it, that’s all, just a laugh, ragged at the edges. but you won’t forget it.

come to find out, neither will he.

[ chapter two ] [ the bear masterlist ]

@garbinge, @narcolini, @drabbles-mc — if anyone else wants a tag, let me know.

#readerfic #the bear fanfiction #richie jerimovich #richie jerimovich x reader #the bear imagine #the bear fic #the bear fanfic #the bear fx #mine #do i know you?#diky

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wishluc · 1 year

Note

More thoughts on the Obey Me Shared Darling Au (OMSDAU?). This has a focus on the demon brothers—the beginning of it all. -🧵

There was something...odd about the brothers' behavior lately.

Flickering glances following your every move. Hushed whispers behind closed doors. Sounds of something heavy being moved about...And a potent cloud of magic hanging in the air.

You are only able to imagine what they are planning, but that alone was enough to have the hairs on the back of your neck sitting at high alert. Inquiries were pointless. Conversations looped back to where they began. Time was spent wasted in this purgatory of back and fourth. Of questions and non-answers.

Paranoia began to weigh on you. Weary and exhausted, it came as no surprise when fatigue finally caught up to you. As you drifted off into a deep and tired slumber, you began to wonder if perhaps that was their plan all along.

You had waken in your own room. Your own bed. Everything was perfectly normal; nothing was out of place. Your shoes, which you had kicked off haphazardly the night before, were still scattered across your floor. The book you had been reading was on your nightstand right where you had left it. Everything is as it was.

But this is not your bedroom.

It was Lilith's.

If it weren't for the densely packed magic in the air, perhaps you wouldn't have noticed. The room had been augmented with a variety of spacial enchantments. Lucifer's handiwork, no doubt.

A nauseous sensation washed over your body as you attempted a teleportation spell.

You tried a different spell, and a splitting headache tore into you.

Another spell. You felt something crawling under your skin.

You try again. Phantom water pools in your lungs.

Again. Tremors shake your body.

Again. Your leg cramps and you fall.

Again. Footsteps?

Again. A door creaks open.

Again. You look up blearily at the seven shadows in front of you.

Again. Your vision begins to fade.

OMSDAU I think works? Yeah? I'll make a tag for it! I stuck to detailing more with Mammon, Levi and Beel here! Will delve into the others next time :D

Initially, you believed their increasingly concerning dependency on you was because of their lack of...social connections. There's only so much they want to tell each other, and so much they could tell Diavolo and the other exchange students, right? You just happened to grow closer with them than the others, and obviously, having a new friend would entail them telling you about all their issues and dragging you along on every little misadventure. Surely, this wasn't as unhealthy as you fear?

At first, Mammon's whining and Levi's poorly hidden jealousy was almost cute. Flattering, even, that two of Hell's most infamous demons would crave your full attention so badly. Mammon's pouting and prodding while you were getting ready, asking if you "really have to go?" instead of staying in with him, then him changing tactics and huffing, pretending like it doesn't bother him at all made you smile, when he first started. It was fun to squeeze his cheeks and coo at him, promising he was still your favorite and that you'd be back very soon, fun to placate him and watch him suddenly grow bashful under your affectionate attacks. You had no idea that you were feeding this habits, that he thought you always playing along and giggling was a good thing. You don't find it overbearing until it's too late, until you have to shake him off every time you step outside without him, or worst yet, with one of his brothers instead. You think he would understand, if you explained yourself a little more clearer, but with every attempt, nothing changes.

And you don't know which is worse now—Levi's passive-aggressiveness or his blatant displeasure—whenever you spent time with anyone that isn't him. The days you spend over at Diavolo's castle, for instance, though beyond your control, never fails to frustrate him. He broods in his room until you come in yourself and flatter him with reminders of how much you missed him and how terrible the days without him were (you hold your tongue when you go to praise Barbatos's cooking or Diavolo's hospitality when he's around, too). It’s difficult to appeal to him constantly, to keep in mind if Levi’s around and choose your words carefully. You have to pretend like his actions don’t frustrate you, lest you vex him further. It’s a terrible game of tiptoeing around his feelings, and you’re tired of it. Before, his enthusiasm about his games and mangas also excited you, happy to have something vaguely familiar in the unfamiliar world you found yourself in to help bide the time and keep yourself occupied. And, you thought, it could help you get closer with Levi. However, after receiving innumerable recommendations, to the point you were struggling to even keep up with him, you started losing interest. You got used to feigning excitement whenever Levi detailed every scene he liked, though you couldn't remember anything he actually said, started searching up the basic summary of all the games he recommended so you could pretend like you gave it a try; though this lost it's efficiency quickly, and he started demanding you play in his room.

And Beel, who, though you'd never admit it out loud, was easily your favorite to hang out with these days, was...acting strange. Usually, he'd never partake in the rule enforcing and the stalking (you'd long figured out it was the brothers, though you weren't sure if they knew).—at least not outright, but recently, things had been different. Beel is uncharacteristically clingy, asking to follow when you go out alone, starts working at the same place you work at part time, and consequently gets you both fired after almost destroying the building. He's always been observant, you know, but these days, it feels like he's searching for something in you, and it frightens you as much as it unnerves you. You should do something about it, but what? What could you do to stop him looking at you like he can see through your words (it sounds crazy, especially because this is Beel, but you swear his eyes harden when he catches you in a lie) and dissect your every movement? It's Beel, you tell yourself, Beel, who's never had ulterior motives. He's always had your best interest in heart, and he loves you, not the kind of love that fills you with dread and despair, but something more genuine. But it's also Beel that blocks the door without being urged to when you try to bolt out after realizing just how deep of a hole you've landed into, and it's also Beel that looks away when you plead with him for an explanation.

You wonder if it's Lucifer that casted the spell that keeps you in here, or if Satan helped him, too. How ironic would that be? You wonder who else helped with the planning, if it was Asmo who ordered all the identical furniture and if it was Belphie who kept an eye on you most often, checking in on your dreams to attempt to sway your view of them. Barbatos likely had a role in it, especially if Diavolo asked him to, but the betrayal doesn't sting nearly as it does when it concerns the brothers. The rest, you could, perhaps, explain, but not the brothers, who you devoted so much of your time and energy to. Who you put before yourself and entertained despite your simmering anger. You practically walked into the twisted web of a trap they slowly wove around you, because you trusted them.

And all you got in return was this miserable room.

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xxstraymoonchildxx · 25 days

Text

This Couple is Unusual

Prev./Next (WiP)

Chapter 6 This couple, beneath the mask

tw: violence, blood, and a bit of nastiness

In the dead of the night, the smell of rain lingered in the air; a layer of mist crawling over the ground and slipping through the cracks of the shabby houses of Whitechapel.

He shivered in his modest set of clothes, thoughtfully picked to avoid drawing attention from any unfortunate soul stumbling around the alley. Ciel tried to keep himself warm by wrapping his arms around his torso while he leaned against the wall behind him. His butler was more fortunate being dressed in a black coat and white gloves. Ciel looked around the corner, blue eye fixated on a wooden door at the blind alley. It was the only entrance to the room belonging to the future victim. No one could get inside without them noticing.

“Does this person really live in this room?” Ciel asked for the ninth time, wishing for the perpetrator to arrive before he caught a cold in this unforsaken weather.

Sebastian refrained from rolling his eyes, giving him the same answer “Yes, my Lord, she does.” The tabby cat, which silently approached him on soft paws, was far more appealing compared to the monologue of his master. The ravenette gently picked the feline up. A round face with large eyes, soft paws, the gentle swiping of its tail… His pets at home weren’t these charming, alien creatures that were domesticated by some demons. So adorable, so perfect.

“Are you even listening to me?” Ciel broke his butler’s reminiscence with a loud hiss and a short argument ensued, reminding Sebastian of the one earlier this day, or what he liked to call it: throwing a tantrum.

Silence fell over them when Sebastian let go of the feline.

Ciel stared at the house across from him, unaware of two sets of eyes hiding in the shadows.

“Ahhhh!”

The bloodcurdling outcry of a woman cut through the night like the blade of a sword.

“How is that even possible?!” Ciel called out, sprinting around the corner towards the scream. With Sebastian right behind him, he pushed the wooden door, smashing it against the wall.

Sebastian quickly covered his face, feeling his master trembling underneath, and moved them backward into the open.

But it was too late. Ciel saw it all. His head felt like it was burning as all color left his face.

Shredded flesh and fabric were scattered across the room, drenched in the blood that was spreading out across the floor, crawling toward the door.

Ciel threw up.

Sebastian moved himself and Ciel backward. Amidst the sea of red, a shadow emerged.

“This was a bit over the top, don't you agree, Jack the Ripper?” Sebastian chuckled “Or should I say…”

Its steps smacked against the floor when it entered the moonlight outside, revealing the person behind it all.

“...Grell Sutcliff.”

He stared at them with empty eyes, red splatters dotting his face, hair, and suit.

“Oh, that wasn't me,” they said, adorning an innocent face. “I heard a scream, so I went inside and-”

"Oho? How would you have done that? We've been here the entire time, watching the only route."

Grell said nothing, looking pitiful with strands of hair clinging onto their face when it started to rain; like an attempt to erase the evidence of their sin.

“You can stop pretending to be innocent with the state you're in. If this isn't enough, you faked your whole persona, right? I must admit, I've never met someone of your ilk.”

Grell’s mouth split into a wide, inhuman grin, baring their shark-like teeth.

“That so? I sure hope you never met someone like me ❤”

Grell put off their costume as they spoke.

“I am the greatest actress this world has ever had the joy to witness. So don’t stop there. Flattery must be served in large quantities❤,” Grell flipped her long cherry-red hair and winked. “Albeit you’re one to talk ‘Sebastian’”

Sebastian chuckled, “That’s the name my master gave me - for now.”

“Oh, a faithful dog yet such a handsome stud - A man after my own heart! So, Sebby-darling, let me re-introduce myself,” Grell swooned, cheeks flushed “I’m the butler of the Burnett Household: Grell Sutcliffe, at your service ❤!”

She blew him a kiss. Sebastian cringed.

“Now I can finally show you my true colors! Little ol’ me never expected a demon posing as a butler, so, of course, I was shocked at first, y’know?”

“I return the sentiment. Aren’t you supposed to be a neutral party between gods and humans, Grim Reaper? So why would you break the natural order of things?”

“Oh, don’t be such a sourpuss, darling. You could say I fell head over heels for a certain woman. And as they say, all is fair in love and war~”

“That woman is,” Sebastian started, but before he could reveal anything, footsteps were clattering closer until they rose from behind the shadows.

“There is no need to hear him out,” a familiar voice said coldly “You already knew, didn’t you?”

Ciel, finally breaking out of the initial shock, moved Sebastian’s hand away from his eyes. It hurt seeing her step out. “Madam Red.”

“I was careless,” she said with a bitter smile on her red-colored lips “I never dreamt of having someone by your side who could see through Grell’s disguise.”

“Madam was on the list of suspects, naturally, but had the perfect alibi. The further we investigated, the clearer it became that no human being could be the killer. You included. But your grim reaper accomplice over there…If he can enter Mary Jane’s room without being seen, I assume he can instantly transport himself lengthy distances without trouble. Who would pay any heed to a butler disappearing from a noble’s party, even for a couple of minutes?”

Ciel explained calmly. It helped ground him to reveal his deductions.

“There were more connections that linked you to the murders - the victims being prostitutes and their wombs being missing aside: All victims went to the Royal London Hospital, your workplace, to undergo surgery. The order in which you killed the victims corresponds with the order they went under the knife. Mary Jane was the last person on your appointment list. So we lied in wait in hope of you running into us. Even if it turned out to be futile.”

Madam Red let out a disappointed sigh “How tragic. My lovely nephew. The son of my beloved sister. I wish you hadn’t insisted on taking on that case so that we could play chess again. However…”

She clenched her fist, determination dwelling inside her chest.

“I won’t hold back even if it’s you, Grell!”

A roaring noise followed her call.

Within the blink of an eye, Sebastian rushed forward, blocking the chainsaw directed at his ward with his hands, pushing Grell backward.

“What the hell is this thing?!” Ciel shouted, hiding behind his butler.

“This is the grim reaper tool to capture souls. Although I’ve never encountered something like this before, it’s said to be able to slice through everything. How troublesome, even for someone like me,” Sebastian explained, yet despite his words he felt a wave of excitement.

“A normal scythe is way too old-fashioned for someone as amazing as me. Had this beauty custom-made. I’m a bit out of shape, so how about we do some vigorous exercise together? Just the two of us ❤”

Sebastian narrowed his eyes “Stop putting it in such a revolting way.”

Grell sighed with contentment, laying a hand over her chest with flushed cheeks, “My, how stoic you are - so irresistible! Let me paint you even more beautiful just how I did with those ugly women; with the red of your blood when I tear you up inside~”

Sebastian clicked his tongue, pulling off his coat. “A grim reaper should quietly harvest the souls of the dying. A butler should follow his master like a shadow. Your vulgarity violates the aesthetic of both,”

“You wound me,” Grell mocked “I’m still a butler of death~”

The demon draped his coat over Ciel’s head and glared at Grell when he turned back around.

“And I’m still a Hell of a Butler.”

Ciel pulled off his eye patch, revealing a purple eye with a white sigil imprinted like a tattoo:

“In my own name and in the name of the Queen I order you: put an end to this farce.”

Sebastian’s eyes lit up against the darkness, his eyes a sparkling shade of fuchsia. Grinning with sharp teeth with which he pulled his glove off with practiced ease, he gave the only proper answer a butler should.

“Yes, my Lord.”

The roaring of the chainsaw disturbed the pitter-patter of rain yet somehow there was no one brave enough to investigate.

From a narrow rooftop, you watched the scene unfold with growing distress. You clung to Satan under the umbrella, observing the fake butlers playing a disturbing game of tag. Sebastian must've underestimated his opponent, barely avoiding being shredded into tiny pieces. The chainsaw cut through the brick walls like they were butter.

How was he supposed to protect his charge from the danger right before him? The knife in Madam Red’s hand glistened in the spare light, ready to come at him any moment.

Your fears were confirmed when the chainsaw nearly cut off the entirety of Sebastian’s left arm, having him retreat further away from the child, resuming the deathly dance.

Perhaps…

…you should get involved.

Manga-heavy chapter this time😊 Hope I did it justice. I'm not sure when I'll be able to write this month because my new job requires me to learn many new things (some in my free time, I wanna do good at work to keep it). Mild spoiler but I definitely plan on disrespecting Sebastian 😋 Critic is appreciated.

Oh, before I forget: If I were to write a sequel for the Campania Arc (I do have a base idea and a title), who would you rather see on Satan and MC's side? Solomon or Simeon?

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