#should I tag this as like a magnet drawing wait

[dancingtotuyo]

4. walk with me, i think we’ll find a way

Woman | Joel Miller

Series Rating: Mature/Explicit

Chapter Summary: It is time to rest.

Tags: Joel Miller X Female Reader. Age Gap (Reader is 42, Joel is 56). HBO Characters. Mostly cannon compliant for show & game. Timeline is changed.

Chapter Warnings: swearing, talks of & references to grief, death (child and spouse), and suicide. Anxiety. Reader has a minor panic attack. Angst. Hurt. Comfort. SMUT. Explicit sex (P in V). Unprotected sex. Oral Sex (M receiving). Let me know if I missed anything.

Note: THANK YOU TO MY BEAUTIFUL BETA READER @fhatbhabie

Words: 4840

Series Masterlist | Author Masterlist | Playlist

THIS CHAPTER CONTAINED EXPLICIT CONTENT AND IS INTENDED FOR THOSE OVER THE AGE OF 18. MINORS PLEASE DO NOT READ OR INTERACT

You’re not sure what to expect. Joel made it clear he would be waiting for you, but the voice in your mind buzzes with doubt, especially after the way you acted last night. You hesitate briefly before squaring your shoulders and stepping outside.

Joel is at the bottom of your steps, waiting with his warm smile and open posture. It catches you off guard for a split second before your limbs fill with warmth like you’ve been sitting on a sun-soaked beach all day. Then you see it stirring inside him, the simmering heat bubbling under the surface. He looks at you like someone who’s seen you naked, like someone he fully intends to see naked again. If you look in a mirror, you think your eyes would show the same story.

You should run from it. You know better, but the trap you’re on your way to accepting that tugs you deeper. His damn smile only gets brighter as you draw near. You can’t fight the upward tug of your own lips.

“Hi”

Joel chuckles slow and sweet like honey chasing away all the anxieties of the day. “Hi”

“You come here often?” You lean against the short banister, sliding in closer to Joel like two magnets drawn to one another.

Joel shrugs his shoulders leaning closer. You can feel his body heat spread across you. The scent of pine floods your nose. His lips lower to your ear. “Hoping to come around more often.”

A shiver sprints down your spine. You have half a mind to pull him inside right away and forgo the night’s walk, and you know that any chance you stand trying to resist Joel Miller has crumbled to shreds. He’s here and you’ll let him have you.

“I think that could be arranged.”

“Good.” Joel takes your hand in his, pulling you out toward your beaten path. Out in front of the whole town, he never drops your hand.

Neither of you brings up last night, but the tension is there, the good kind. It’s the kind that sits up under the surface, growing in anticipation as the conversation takes innocent turns. As you complete the first lap, you stare at your front door, your footsteps slow, but Joel drags you onward. He doesn’t say a word about it, but he knows.

Joel is going on about something he saw on Patrol when you complete the second lap, but you’re determined this time having made up your mind 10 minutes ago. There will be no third lap tonight. You tug him off the course. His eyebrows raise in question. You knock your head toward your door.

“We still have another lap, Sweetheart,” Joel says, but his feet put up no resistance.

“Not tonight.” The desire that’s simmered all night boils to the surface in the fading daylight.

Joel’s eyes darken as he lets it take over, his full form crowding yours. His touch burns across your skin. You fumble with the door knob distracted by Joel’s calloused hands that seem to be everywhere at once, clouding every sensible thought and motor skill.

The door finally gives way. Joel’s front warms your back up the stairs and into the safety of your bedroom. Joel’s shirt is off, his lips on yours before you’re turned around. He overwhelms your senses, teeth gnashing against yours, hands running over your sternum, your breasts filling his palms.

Clothes fly in rapid succession until you’re both free of clothes. Joel presses into your back, fingers slipping through your slick folds. Your head drops back to his shoulder as a loud moan leaves your mouth, arm hooking around his neck.

His movements are quick and precise, flicking over just the right place. He buries his head in your shoulder, lips sucking at the dip just above your collarbone. He mumbles deep encouragement into your flesh with each moan and catch of your breath. Calloused fingers drag up your bare skin, resting at the base of your throat. He doesn’t restrict your breathing, but keeps pressure just below your neck, pressing you against him. The hairs on your arm stand on end prickling with goosebumps and heat washes through your torso. Your mind is a blur in the best of ways. Joel’s name is the only coherent word that tumbles out of your lips.

His fingers keep pace, back and forth with each catch of your breath, back and forth with each hitch of your hips. His lips work up your neck, his heavy breaths ricocheting off your neck. His cock presses against your back.

His own smooth words start to drift through the fog in your mind.

Yes, Sweetheart

Just like that.

Your hips buck against his hand and he chuckles. “I know you like that.”

All too soon, it becomes too much, your breathing shortens, hiking in pitch. Joel ups the tempo of his motions and it all feels like a little too much just as he sends you shooting you over the mountain peak.

Before you can come down, you’re chest to chest with Joel, lips pressed to his. It’s like he’s thirsty in the desert and last night was only just a sip, doing nothing to quench his thirst, growing the need to be sated.

Your hands tangle in his hair matching his greedy thirst with your own. His hand roams down your naked body, squeezing your ass and caressing your thighs.

Slowly, your hand drifts down his hair-covered chest, lips following behind. The muscles shiver behind each motion, and it hits you that maybe you have the same effect on him that he has on you. You glance up at him, meeting his gaze. You see it flickering in his eyes behind the desire. He looks at you with awe as if he can’t believe you’re real. Before you let the implications of that thought take over, you sink to your knees, keeping eye contact with him as you drag your hands over the v of his hips. His muscles twitch again bringing a smile to your lips.

Joel continues to watch you with the same wonderment and curiosity. There are no expectations in his eyes. It eases something deep within you, giving the impression that he would find satisfaction with whatever you’re willing to give him. Then, you take his cock into your mouth.

Joel’s eyes roll back in his head. His hands tangle in your hair. He’s not holding you in place or restraining you. You’re anchoring him. You can’t take it all in your mouth and soon switch to licking it from base to tip. Joel’s words are the ones that aren incoherent now, spilling in a slur of swears and encouragements. When you look up, your eyes land on a single bead of sweat that drips from the top of his forehead. You follow it as it slips down the slope of his nose until it hangs on the tip, teasing you, its grip slipping with each heavy breath. You wonder when it will slip. Until it finally does, dropping onto your forehead.

Joel seems to see it too because the moment it lands, he’s pulling you up to your feet. The back of your knees hit the bed and Joel is carefully cradling you beneath him as you collide with the fresh sheets. Your laugh tangles with his and he’s smiling down at you. It all feels so much like-

“What romcom did you learn that move from?” You tease.

Joel shakes his head. “I haven’t seen a damn romcom in 30 years, Sweetheart.”

There’s the nickname again, making you squeeze your thighs together reminding you how empty you are and how full Joel made you feel last night.

“Get on your back.” You say. It sounds almost like a challenge coming.

Joel crosses his eyes. “Whatcha got in that head of yours?”

You push on his shoulders. Joel follows suit rolling to his back. You straddle him, stretching your arms above your head. Joel’s eyes roam your body, his hands shooting out to your thighs. You wink at him before positioning yourself over his cock and sinking down. You take your time, adjusting to the stretch again and taking in every twitch of his face and catch of his breath. You could watch it on a fucking loop.

Once you’ve taken him in fully, you wait. It’s almost like a game. Are you going to give him what he wants? Or are you doing to make him take it? Before you can decide, his hips stutter up, making you gasp. He quirks an eyebrow and does it again, hitting the place that makes your toes curl. When he goes to do it again, you pull yourself off of him, immediately missing him. “I’m supposed to be riding you.”

A wicked smirk crosses his face. You feel his voice in his chest. “Then ride me, Sweetheart.”

You sink back onto him, but this time you don’t waste any time. He matches your pace, one hand on your thigh the other slipping into your folds. The moment you clench around his cock he knows he’s found your clit. You lean into it and before you know it, he’s pulling you down toward his lips continuing to flick your sensitive bundle of nerves. In the heat of it all, you end up on your back. The slide of him against your walls and his finger on your clit is overriding everything else. You can ride him another day. The pressure builds and your second orgasm is knocking at the door.

“I’m almost there.”

“I’ve got you, baby. Let go.”

The spasms start in your abdomen and ripple down. You clench around him but he keeps going, working you through your release while chasing his own. You ride the high, fingers tangling in his sweat soaked curls. He’s not far behind you, pulling out before he finishes.

It’s like you get frozen in the high. He’s hovering above you as pleasure wracks his body and yours hums beneath feeding off of him. Your eyes meet hanging onto whatever floats between you. His lips meet yours, not sparking with desire as you’ve come to know the past two nights, but simmering with something else. Something that comes out of nowhere and catches you off guard. He presses another kiss to your forehead before he rolls out of bed.

Your mind is reeling, trying to decipher that kiss and stay in the post-sex haze at the same time. Then, Joel’s back with the warm washcloth, cleaning you up.

He expects you to shut down again, but tonight is different. You smile. You laugh with him and the two of you stay in that moment, naked and in bed it’s the only thing that matters. There’s a growing desire to keep him here and wake up to him in the morning, but instincts push it away. Joel seems to catch the fight behind your eyes. You wonder how he’s so good at seeing right through you.

He kisses your head. “I should head out.”

You force the smile to stay because you are happy. “I’ll walk you out.”

Joel looks almost surprised and tries to hide his smile as he collects his clothes from around the room. You slide on your pajamas, the matching ones, and when Joel is fully dressed, you slide your fingers into his, walking him to the door. He kisses you before the front door opens, a kiss that promises more if you want it, and you do.

The smile on Joel’s face makes him look like the Joel you knew in Texas. The world is cruel and funny. You never thought that 20 years and a pandemic that wiped out most of humanity later, Joel Miller would still live across the street from you.

Joel opens the front door, but before he’s across the threshold you grab his collar, pressing a solid kiss to his lips for all of Jackson to see in case they missed you pulling him into your home an hour ago.

His crow’s eyes crinkle and his chuckle is a melody you never want to forget. “Same time tomorrow?”

You shake your head, making Joel’s brow wrinkle in confusion. “Last I checked, Maria invited you to family dinner tomorrow night. Best not be late.”

“That’s right.” Joel cocks his head to the side, almost as if he’s memorizing you. “But I’m taking you for a walk after.”

“A walk? Or to bed?” A single eyebrow quirks.

Joel smirks. “Guess we’ll find out.”

He pauses. For a second, you think he might come across your threshold and take you back upstairs. You wouldn’t protest, but instead, he waits a minute and then nods.

“Goodnight, Sweetheart,” He says.

“Goodnight, Joel.”

And then he leaves your porch, crossing back to his home, but not before you catch him looking back over his shoulder.

You beat Joel to Maria and Tommy’s the next evening. You knew you would, going over early to help Maria with dinner. You have been trying to get her to let you make dinner as her pregnancy progresses, but she refuses.

To your surprise, Maria doesn’t say a word about Joel, and she doesn’t try to continue your conversation from earlier in the week. Oddly, it puts you more on edge than if she just asked. She has to know. She keeps an ear out for Carter until you get home. You overheard two separate sets of whispers about you and Joel today.

Nothing says you can’t open the conversation. It’s your sex life. You should be the one to do it, but Maria always opens these conversations. She pushed you toward Gabe. She approached you about Joel.

You glance over your shoulder for the fifth time in two minutes. Maria sits at the table, feet propped up as she sips on her tea seemingly unbothered and uninterested. Carter giggles from the living room saying something incoherent to “Uncle Tommy” because that’s what they’ll always be- Uncle Tommy and Aunt Maria. Your best friends. You glance toward the clock. It’s ten til six. Dinner will be ready in 20 minutes. Joel should be here in ten.

“I know you’re dying to talk about it.”

Your head snaps toward Maria who wears the all-knowing grin.

“You haven’t asked.”

“Figured you would tell me when you’re ready.”

“When have I ever done that?” You throw an old dish towel over your shoulder as you set to work on the pile of dirty dishes.

“I thought we were growing in our old age.” Maria sips on her tea.

You narrow your eyes at her before returning your attention to the soapy water. “Is that what Wednesday was?”

“No, that was the kick in the ass you needed.” Maria smiles, hand traveling over her swollen stomach, love shimmering in her eyes. “And it worked.”

“Maria Miller!” The soapy plate clatters back into the sink.

She laughs and you can’t help the subtle tip of your lips as you shake your head. “I’m not the one dragging someone across my threshold for the whole town to see.”

You open your mouth, but words fail you. There’s no witty comeback or rational reasoning for your actions, and the mere mention of your recent shenanigans has your body thrumming with electricity. Joel may have promised you a walk, but you would prefer a ride.

“When are he and Ellie getting here?” Maria asks.

“Whatever time you told ‘em.” She rolls her eyes. “I told him to be on time though.”

Maria grins over her mug. “Did he meet expectations?”

Once again she has you fumbling for words. You’re not sure where it comes from. You and Maria are like sisters. You’ve never held back the dirty details from her and vice versa, but this thing with Joel has you like a giddy schoolgirl, but there’s also a piece of you that wants to keep it to yourself. If you keep it to yourself, maybe you can protect it. Maybe the universe won’t take it away.

You inhale deeply. “Yes, and that’s all I’m going to say.”

Maria’s eyes shoot up in surprise. “You’re choosing now to go all conservative on me?”

You laugh, a smirk falling across your features. “Maria, I promise there’s nothing conservative about what happened… I just want to keep this to myself for now.”

She accepts the boundary and a comfortable silence falls between you. The soft sounds of Tommy and Carter filter through coupled with dishes clinking against each other. You savor these moments when things feel almost normal. They’re the moments you feel closest to Gabe surrounded by your son and closest friends.

The front door swings wide, welcoming Joel and Ellie into the family unit. You hear them before you see them, Tommy welcoming them in. You and Maria move into the front room. Your typically quiet and reserved son rushes toward Ellie, quickly grabbing her hand, pulling her toward the coffee table where his favorite book about space sits. The book he insisted on bringing in a cacophony of unidentifiable sounds and the few words he knew when he found out Ellie would be there. Mostly “space” and the closest he’s gotten to saying Ellie’s name yet. He’s been working on it. Asking to see her again

Ellie allows him to drag her over. He points to the book sitting on the coffee table and Ellie’s eyes go wide. “No way! That’s so cool, bud!”

Ellie grabs the book crashing on the couch. Carter eagerly climbs up, nestling in beside her. As they go through the pages, he rambles on incoherently about everything he knows. It makes you smile to see him come out of his shell. Tommy and Maria both take in the scene with the same awe as you. While the picture of Ellie and Carter warms Joel’s heart, he can’t keep his eyes off of you, smiling and relaxed in a way he hasn’t experienced yet.

It hits him that this is it. This is your family just as much, if not more than it is his. The people in this room are the few you’ve allowed within the gates of your heart and he just hopes there’s room for him within it.

The timer goes off in the kitchen pulling you away from the scene. Tommy says something to Joel but his eyes follow you. You pull dinner out of the oven and Joel excuses himself from his brother heading toward the kitchen without a second thought. Maria and Tommy share a knowing look.

Warm hands slip around your waist, seeping through your bones and you can’t help but lean back in the stolen moment. His breath is warm against your ear and there’s almost a sway in your movements. It comes so naturally that you don’t even think about it. “You look beautiful.” It’s sacred, intimate, domestic, and then Joel kisses your cheek and steps away.

You’re warm and hazy. You miss him immediately and once again you ignore the implications of that instinct. You look back at him and he’s smiling, grabbing the plates off the counter to set the table. You take a moment to admire his backside, knowing full well what’s concealed under those worn jeans. “You too.”

Joel chuckles. “Gotta look pretty for my admirer.”

Tommy clears his throat as he walks in, shit eating grin on his face. You flip him off before he can say a word.

He chuckles, hands up in mock surrender. “I didn’t say anything.”

“But you were going to.”

“Would it be dinner without me teasing you about something?”

“The world fucking ended and you’re still a gnat in my ear, Miller.”

“Gotta keep you smiling. I have promises to keep.” Tommy takes the ready dishes to the table. “But I think Joel is doing a fine job of keeping that smile on your face these days.” He waggles his eyebrows.

You smack him with the dish towel and he howls. Joel chuckles, shaking his head. “You deserved that.”

Tommy narrows his eyes toward Joel. “I’m not done giving you shit for this. Glad our chat helped, brother.”

“Chat?” You look between them.

“Ellie! Carter! Time for dinner!” Tommy calls.

You look over at Joel and he mouths, later. It’ll have to suffice for now, but clues you into the fact that you and Joel were definitely the talk of the town long before he crossed your threshold.

Ellie enters the kitchen pulled behind Carter. His babbling runs on a continuous loop as he clues Ellie in to his entire life story. Your jaw almost hits the ground at his outgoingness with her. He crawls onto the long bench patting next to him in signal for Ellie to sit beside him.

“You don’t have to bend to his every command. Let me know if it gets to be too much.” You smile toward Ellie, selfishly hoping that it never becomes too much for her.

“Nah, it’s cool. We’re friends. Right, Bud?”

Carter nods rapidly as Ellie offers up a fist bump which he obliges, making an explosion sound.

Smiling, you set a premade plate in front of him. He says something that vaguely resembles “Thank you, Mommy” and digs in. As you slide into your established seat, you encourage Carter to rest on his knees instead of standing on the chair, but with little success.

“It’s too bad phone books don’t exist anymore,” Joel chuckles, sitting down next to you.

“He probably wouldn’t use it.”

“Kid’s got the full sum of yours and Gabe’s stubbornness,” Tommy chuckles, passing the bowl of green beans to Maria. “And then some.”

Carter looks over at his Uncle Tommy like he fully comprehends the statement, and then gets distracted by the food in front of him.

Joel passes you the dinner rolls, fingertips brushing over yours in the process. You catch his eye. He winks at you. It’s all so- perfect- peaceful even. A slice of everything you ever imagined life would be before the world ended. The table feels so much bigger with two extra bodies, but it’s nice. Sometimes dinner feels cold and haunted by ghosts. Tonight it doesn’t. Tonight feels warm and full. For once, you dare to lean into it. Let hope seep in that maybe it won’t be taken from you this time.

And it works. Until you’re halfway through your meal and hits you with Joel’s warm palm on your thigh. He’s in Gabe’s spot, talking to Tommy how brother’s do, like Gabe and Tommy did. You’re eating dinner with your couple friends who likely conspired to talk the two of you into whatever it is you’re pretending you are just as you and Gabe had done to Maria and Tommy.

Who is next?

The thought shoots a chill down your spine. Your fork clatters onto the plate in front of you. Several concerned pairs of eyes land on you. You’re sure your face has gone pale as you struggle to keep the tight ache in your chest at bay..

Maria says your name, but you shove back from the table.

“I need some air.” You don’t wait for a response, making a B line to the front porch. You focus on your breathing, long slow breathes in and out. Your knuckles are white from gripping the railing. Even as your heart rate drops. You can’t quiet your mind. It’s never quiet.

You can’t do this. You can’t risk it. Your body can’t live in peace. So used to living in survival mode, it won’t allow you to come out of it. You’ve spent most of your life in this world. You’ve lost everyone from before. Everyone except the two men inside. You never really struggled to connect to Tommy. Things were just like before, light and playful. You know it goes deeper than that now, but Joel. He represents everything you have sworn off. Tommy and Maria are grandfathered into that oath, but Joel isn’t.

There is a warm hand on your shoulder. You spin around with blotchy cheeks, breathing barely evened out. Maria. You’re relieved, but your heart still calls out for Joel.

“It made me think of Gabe tonight.” She speaks. “Seeing him next to you. Seeing you smile like that.”

“I can’t do it.” You head shakes. “That’s all I’ve said this whole time. I told you that.”

Maria lets out a deep breath, her dark eyes search yours. “I told myself I could never mother another child.”

The quiver in your chest eases a little bit. She’s never told you this before.

“Losing Kevin was the hardest thing I’ve ever been through. It was like losing a physical part of me.” You nod along. You’ve both known tremendous loss in this lifetime, but if you lost Carter, you wouldn’t be able to go on. It would kill you. “And bringing a child into this world, even here, it feels selfish, wrong.”

Again, you understand it. You and Gabe had talked about having a family so many times. The pull was there for both of you, but this world seemed unfit. Nature or providence or something else had made the decision for you, but that hardly eased your conscience over it.

“Yet here I am, and…” A smile slowly overtakes her face. “And I’m excited and I’m happy.” She takes your hands in hers. “And I’m living. You’re living doesn’t have to look like mine, but I think your heart wants him.”

The tears start again. “It’s like there’s this war inside me, Maria. I’m afraid it’s going to rip me in two, and I’m just so tired all the time- but these past few weeks, I’ve felt..” You search for the right words. The weariness is still there, but it’s different. It’s bearable. “Fresh.”

She nods in understanding. “I know it’s a scary thought, but it’s time to rest.”

“I don’t know if I can anymore. Not really.”

“Let us help you.”

“Maria… I,” You choke on the words. “I feel safe with him. I feel myself opening up and then it just shuts back down. I can’t control it.

With the same understanding that Maria always has, the same calming presence, she says, “I’m sorry if I pushed you into this too fast.”

You cough on a laugh. A smile threatens your lips through the tears. “I’m a grown-ass woman. You don’t push me into anything.”

Maria raises an eyebrow. “Mhmm, keep telling yourself that.”

You roll your eyes, wiping the tears from your cheeks and drying your hands on your jeans. You take a single deep breath, letting the fresh air clear your mind. “How do I look?”

She smiles. “Like you just had a minor panic attack.”

You smack her shoulder, but you’re sure it’s true. It’s what happened. She laughs and then you’re following her slow waddle back inside.

Joel’s eyes are the first you meet, laced with care and concern. When you retake your place next to him, you press a soft kiss to his cheek, catching him off guard. Ellie’s smile grows wide. Tommy’s smirks, no doubt wracking his brain for something quippy. Maria acts like nothing happened, and Carter is blissfully unaware.

You and Joel walk all three laps after dinner. The urge to pull him inside is less pressing tonight, though it still lingers. He doesn’t hold your hand like he did last night. He’s pulled back from last night’s affection, giving you space. Space you despise, but admittedly need. On the third lap, you take his hand.

“I’m sorry if I pushed things too much,” Joel says. “We never said it was anything more than sex.”

“And walking.” You crack a smile making him chuckle beside you. “But I like it. I enjoy spending time with you.”

Joel smiles. “Me too.”

“I’ve been determined for years not to let anyone else in.”

“I know.” Joel squeezes your hand. It’s a small gesture but reassuring nonetheless.

“I can’t make you any promises, Joel. I can’t make any commitments to anything.”

Joel pulls you to a stop, tugging you in front of him. “I’m not asking you too.”

“I mean it. I don’t think I can even let you stay the night.”

“I’m perfectly capable of walking my ass across the street. I’ve got a perfectly fine bed there.”

You inhale shakily. Joel’s hands move to your shoulders and then your cheeks. “I’ll take whatever you can give. If it’s just these walks, I’m good. If it’s more, great. If you need an evenin to yourself, just let me know, Sweetheart. I’m no good at this stuff either.”

Your heart swells more than you want to admit. “Okay.”

“Good,” Joel kisses your forehead. His eyes flicker to your front door and back down to you. “What do you want tonight?”

Your eyes glimmer with mischief. “You wanna come to my place, Joel Miller?”

A grin overtakes his face and a chuckle settles deep in his chest. “I’d like that.”

#woman (joel miller) #woman (joel's version) #pedro pascal #joel miller #the last of us #tlou #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction

[eris-snow]

2. 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐱𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥

Tags: bakugou x fem!reader, juxtaposition, angst, fluff, even more confusion, oh izuku's here

You’re a puzzle that he can’t solve. It perks his interest, but irks him like the screeches of nails on a chalkboard.

“How can you see me?”

Katsuki thinks someone must have hit your head on the piano keys too hard.

Maybe that was the made-up ghost Kaminari was talking about.

“Are you fucking with me?” Katsuki blurts. “You show up here, waltz in like an elephant, and ask how I can see you?”

You frown. “I’m not an elephant.”

“Sure sounded like one.”

Your eyebrows furrow, lips pressed into a hard line like you’re choosing not to argue. In an instant, you brighten like a sunflower with rays of hope shining in your eyes. “D-Do you-um…do you know me—?”

Katsuki stares at you with his best ‘Are you serious’ face, which makes you deflate like a balloon.

“Of course you don’t.”

The silence thickens between the both of you as you shove your hands into your pockets and avert your gaze. Katsuki glances at the boxes, and then back at you.

“I’m leaving.”

“No, wait!” You reach out to him but draw back almost immediately like you’d get burned. You take one look at him again, but don’t meet his eyes. “Never mind. Sorry if I creeped you out or anything. Didn’t mean to.”

You breeze past him and jump down the stage, making your way to the double doors at the back of the hall.

His forehead crinkles. “I thought you—”

“Backstage door is locked.”

“Not that!” Katsuki puffs, glaring down at you. “Didn’t you just come, why are you leaving already?”

You mirror his look of confusion. Some guts you have, for looking at him like he’s the crazy one.

“I was here before you even came, Bakugou. You know, playing the piano?”

It takes some time for your words to piece together in his mind, but when he finally understands, you’re already halfway out of the door.

“Hah—?”

You flee from the hall like a spooked deer, leaving him alone in the hall with his colourful array of questions.

Brilliant.

He replays the last 10 minutes, scans through his memories like a hawk and becomes even more confused. He gets that his hearing has been deteriorating but that couldn’t be right. All your playing and not even a peep?

With words of ash on his tongue, he opens the door and is greeted with the rustling of the wind. You’re gone. Bakugou prods at his ears.

He should probably get them checked.

—

It is not stalking. Hell, he doesn’t even know your name.

He thought that finding you was a dime in a dozen, but what he got was a needle in a haystack. He mulled over the yearbooks, which you were conveniently absent from. He tore through the school and kept an eye out for you every opportunity he got.

It was stupid, just how invested he was in his search for you, but he couldn’t quell the curiosity.

Almost felt as if you were a magnet, pulling him towards you with his heart throbbing painfully in his chest.

—

“A ghost?” Izuku gives him a strange look, as if saying ‘I thought you didn’t believe in those’.

“I don’t,” He grits out. “I just wanna know—”

“If I’ve been hearing things from the hall? Yes,” His childhood friend confirms. Katsuki isn’t even surprised anymore that Izuku can read him like a picture book. “But it’s muted. All Might says that it’s a janitor, and honestly, I don’t know what else it could be—”

“I saw a girl in there yesterday. I don’t know if she’s messing with me, but she was apparently there the entire time playing the grand—quit looking at me like I ate your toenails.” He snapped.

Izuku makes a face.

“Visual.”

“Izuku.”

“I know! I’m sorry, I just, I didn’t think you’d take this so seriously.” He giggles, eyes sparkling in amusement. “I wanna see her too. Let me tag along the next time you decide to visit.”

Katsuki backpaddles and swerves to Izuku with the tips of his ears red. “I never said I’d—!”

“Kacchan, we both know you’re gonna go.”

Heat crawls up his face as Izuku hums in response, walking ahead of him. Katsuki shakes his head, strides to meet Izuku’s pace, and cools his blush.

“Fucking mind reader.”

“It’s why I can tell you’re secretly curious about this mysterious—”

“Not. Another. Word.”

—

Katsuki has taken music lessons since he was a brat.

Music was an easy enough language to decipher, and with his perfect pitch, his mother thought that it would be the perfect outlet for his…uh…outbursts.

He’d dropped it in the end but the background knowledge about the subject was handy for the most random situations (Year 1 was a good example when he had to play the drums).

Piano was about as dull as watching paint dry, with all its tiring scales, rereading, replaying and re-fucking memorising what and how he was supposed to play a piece. Why does he have to follow the interpretation of some dead man’s score? He’d play it however he thinks it’s best.

Speaking of, who decided to let an amateur play Chopin’s Ballade No. 1? The arpeggios were messy, the paddling sloppy and most of the sounds blurred together in a murky unpleasant harmony.

“Jesus,” Katsuki rubs his ears, “it’s like she really wants me to blast my own eardrums out.”

Izuku looks at the door’s steel handles, and then back at his childhood friend. “Kacchan, what are you talking about?”

The blond stares at All Might’s successor in disbelief, mouth opening and closing. He refuses to believe he’s the only one who can hear the unprofessional playing.

“Come on.”

Katsuki throws open the double doors and storms into the hall with the Izuku in tow.

“For the love of my ears, stop!”

The music ends abruptly at his voice as Katsuki climbs the stage and pulls away the curtains hiding the piano from view.

“Have you lost your marbles—?” Izuku makes eye contact with you, and his voice dies with its fire.

“Oh.”

You almost fall off the piano seat.

“Do you want to murder me?” You fire back, scrambling off the bench like it would bite your hand off. “Kill a girl for trying to mind her own business—”

“What the fuck did you mean by the ‘I was here before you came’ bullshit?” He snarls, weaving through the curtains to try to catch a proper glance of you. “You have t-minus—”

“Kacchan, you’re scaring her!” Izuku yelped, reeling him back. Good, because murder wouldn’t look too good on his track record.

“I’m so sorry about him. We didn’t mean to disturb you.”

You visibly soften at Izuku’s apology, your expression unreadable for just a second.

“I can see that,” You reply dryly.

“Is it your quirk? Or some sick joke?” Katsuki guesses, shrugging Izuku off. “I want answers.”

You mutter something Katsuki can’t quite catch, and it makes him almost rip the red drapes that you keep hiding behind.

“Why do you care? Don’t you hero course students have internships to go to and people to save or whatever you shiny celebrities have on your hands?”

Katsuki opens his mouth to answer, before he pauses. You’re right. You’re completely right. Heat roars to the tips of his ears.

“I don’t know.”

Behind his back, the green-haired haired rolls his eyes. “You intrigue him,” He translates.“Kacchan’s bored. No offence, you’re probably the most interesting thing to happen to him in the past year. He finds you—”

“SHUT YOUR PIE HOLE.”

You look thoughtful for a second, before you laugh softly under your breath. You pull the curtains aside, and that’s when he has a really, really good look at you. Your face isn’t memorable. In fact, if it wasn’t for your little stunt in the hall yesterday, he’s sure that he would have forgotten about you.

“Interesting, huh? How ironic.”

With a bow, you greet. “L/n Y/n. Honoured to meet the feared Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight and Deku.”

Izuku blushes all the way down to his neck. “Midoriya’s just fine.”

Y/n L/n. What a plain name. No wonder he doesn’t remember you.

But you do remember his hero name and addressed him as such, so you’re leagues ahead of all the other extras he’s met.

You give both of them a half smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “Are you gonna come back here? You know, so I don’t see heaven briefly every time you decide to visit.”

“What is this, your abode?”

“Hell.”

“Same thing.”

“I think what Kacchan means is yes.” Izuku jumps in.

Katsuki whips to his childhood friend with a glare that could kill. “You better sleep with one eye open, dipshit.”

The green bean smiles happily. “I’ll try my luck.”

The piano makes a small noise, and Deku visibly jumps out of his skin as the both of them whip to the instrument. You pull your hands away from the keys. “Sorry. Am I bothering you?”

“Your playing fuckin’ sucks.” Katsuki fires.

You don’t even flinch. Instead, your eyes dim as your lips upturned into a tiny, sad smile.

“I know.”

—

A day later, Katsuki makes an off-hand comment to Izuku about their trip to the school hall.

The greenette’s response was befuddled. “Kacchan, who are you talking about?”

#juxtaposition (Bakugou) #mha #mha fanfiction #my hero academia #bakugou katsuki #katsuki bakugō #bakugo x you #bakugou x y/n #bakugou katuski x reader #angst #bakugou x reader #bakugou angst #comfort

[thosewickedlovelies]

Press Play  |  Tim Rockford x afab!Reader

Rating: M for Mature

Summary: Detective Rockford’s ever-present tape recorder finds itself an unexpected use.

Tags: friends to lovers; non-explicit smut; workplace smut adjacent in that this takes place during a workday, but no one comes down to your basement work space so ur basically safe.

Word count: 1,875

Note: Welp. Here we are, writing for another character from a random commercial ✌🏼

Masterlist

“Hey Tim, is your tape recorder charged? We’re gonna need it to interview that guy tomorrow.”

“Ugh, I don’t know, the last few suspects have been so useless I haven’t bothered checking. You’d have to plug it in and see.”

Detective Tim Rockford peers around his computer- the one less than a foot from your own, on your two pushed-together desks. In the cramped basement and on a shared case, it had made sense to pool resources, so to speak.

“It’s, uh..” Tim half rises to search amongst the stacks of paper and evidence bags on his desk. A neon sticky note floats free from a stack lifted up and he snatches for it distractedly, eyes still scanning the cluttered surface.

“Oh, wait, I threw it in here after…” He drops back into his chair to open a drawer. His throat bobs. “...the other night.”

The words ignite between you like a struck match. Tim can’t seem to decide if he should meet your eyes.

One long arm deposits the tape recorder just across the boundary of your two desks. “I think you still have the charger. You might as well transfer the last few interviews to the drive, too, if you wouldn’t mind. To clear space on it.” Tim’s chair squeaks as he recenters himself, hiding behind his computer screen again. 

Right. You plug in the recorder, staring off at nothing while the software syncs. Moments later, Tim sets his glasses aside with a huff, a sure sign that he, too, is having trouble focusing. You hadn’t thought the other night would change things- had prayed that it wouldn’t, in fact. Yet here you both are, dodging and swerving the subject like two magnets of the same polarity. 

Your computer pings, and you begin the rote task with a sigh. After the first few transfers, your attention sharpens, and you frown at the list.

“Hey, who was the last person you interviewed? The recording is like an hour and a half long.” All the ones before it had barely lasted half an hour, but this one had continued until the storage space filled up.

“What? It shouldn’t be. Like I said, we haven’t talked to anyone that interesting lately.” Retrieving his glasses, Tim rounds the desks to stand behind your chair, bending to peer at your screen. One hand is braced on your desk, the other on your chair, by your shoulder. His chest is entirely too close to your face- the whole wide, strong breadth of it, faintly scented with familiar cologne. You swallow.

Focusing on the screen is no better. Tim's hand lifts from the desk, one thick finger following the line in question, from the duration, to the date, to the time of the recording. “But this was the day we…the other night.” Tim turns his head to you, eyes wide. His lips part at how close he finds your face.

Your brows draw together. “Did you…?”

“No! I mean, not on purpose. I might have knocked it on accident, when…when I moved everything else.” A scarlet flush is crawling steadily up Tim’s neck.

The wall clock ticks. The industrial air-conditioning hums. Silence builds and builds until it vibrates in the air between you, louder than the thought you’re both thinking.

“Should we play it?” 

Your question lands with all the tact of a live grenade. But the two of you have already blown up the boundaries of propriety between colleagues, so what’s a little more destruction? 

Tim straightens slightly, as if bracing himself. “We have to know what it is, I guess.”

You place your hand on the mouse. But for all your bravado- for all you will yourself to do it- something holds you back. 

Tim places his hand over yours. You look at him in question. 

“If it sounds anything like it felt, then…it can’t be that bad.” Tim has a half-smile on his face. A return of the agent you normally see; your partner, the one whose reassurance you trust when things seem uncertain.

Your smile mirrors his. Tim’s finger presses down on yours.

Click. 

The first sounds are an overlapping confusion- papers rustling, a scrape and a muffled clatter that’s probably the tape recorder being swept off the desk with everything else. It raises goosebumps on your arms to remember Tim’s impatience, his hunger- his disregard for absolutely everything but you in that moment.

The background noise settles, and human sounds become clear. Quiet moans and eager sounds, murmurs. Lips meeting and parting and meeting again. Cloth sloughing off skin. The deep timbre of Tim’s voice. Your face flames at the memory of some of the things he said- and how much you liked them.

A loud, hoarse groan- Tim’s. 

You slide Tim a sideways glance, still amused at the pure relief and volume of that sound. The flush on his neck seems to have gleefully expanded its territory: his ears look red enough to heat the room. But he cuts a look back at you with an unapologetic shrug, one eyebrow arcing.

You giggle and start to shush him, only to clamp down on the sound as it turns into a drawn-out whimper. The desk creaks. “Every day you wear these button-downs, and you bend to look in your desk, or kneel somewhere…it’s torture.” Tim groans in exaggerated anguish, muffled and wordless again as something else occupies his mouth.

More rustling and creaking, breathy sounds. You can’t look at Tim, more aware than you’ve ever been of the button-down stretching over your breasts. You don’t wear them every day- but apparently it’s often enough. 

The stiff fabric feels drawn abnormally tight over your chest. Tim, still above you, has the perfect angle at which to drop his gaze directly into the vee of your top, sliding it down, down, like a drop of sweat, until the slope of your breast meets your bra. Conscious of his attention, of your chest's every rise and fall, your breathing flounders.

“Fuck, and I thought you looked good with your suits on.” The stunned appreciation in your tone suggested that months worth of study were being upended in your head.

Tim chuckles, the sound echoing the one playing from the computer. He finally shifts, dropping to one knee beside your chair. Your lips quirk; you’re as unrepentant as he was earlier.

“Let me down.” A scuff of leather, a metallic clink.

“What..? No! No, baby, if you do that-” A low, pained sound. “If you do that, I will not last.” Tim sounds faintly embarrassed, but firm.

A high gasp. “I can do that, though. Fuck, if you knew how often I thought about it…”

His next words are too quiet to make out, but you remember them; the husk of them in your ear, sending shivers all over. “Let me taste you.”

You remember how gently Tim stopped you from diving, mouth-first, into his pants, and instead helped you back up onto his desk. You remember the slow, reverent way he knelt, maneuvering your legs apart, fitting his broads shoulders between your knees. His brown eyes, wide and glimmering between your thighs.

A nearly audible smack as your hand hits your mouth just in time to smother a strangled cry. 

And you remember, with the soundtrack ringing around you, just how talented that shapely mouth of Tim’s is.

Fabric whispering, the desk creaking alarmingly as you squirm, your whines barely contained. Tim garbles praise in between sounds of relish. All the noise you’re trying not to make rises overhead like steam, and another sound becomes apparent.

You’re wet. Dripping in a way that can’t be kept quiet. Heedless, Tim laps it up eagerly. When he adds his fingers it’s loud, an obscene squelching that he seems to delight in, using his mouth right alongside his hand to add to the sounds and sensations overwhelming you.

It’s a symphony of depravity unfurling on all sides. Tim was only partially right; that night had felt incredible, but listening to it now, with him right beside you, is an entirely different experience. Restless desire prowls in your blood. Your heart pounds and your hands twitch, but you can hardly tackle Tim to the floor in the middle of a workday. The pair of you are already lucky that no one has needed anything from the basement in the past twenty minutes.

You sit so rigidly that Tim worries you’ll snap. Decisively, he eases his hand from the chair back onto your shoulder, squeezing until your chest expands with a much-needed breath. You glance at him.

“You were so wet,” Tim murmurs. “It was...fuck, it was so hot. It turned me on to see you so turned on.” He swallows. “I never imagined…”

His confidence deserts him. You turn your head more fully as his gaze flits away, your attention dropping lower. It’s still turning him on, it seems, to judge by the swell in his trousers. Tim clears his throat, shifting as he reaches down to adjust himself. He risks another quick glance at you.

Even under the dingy basement lighting, he’s beautiful. Strongly sloping nose, full lips. Rich brown eyes, round and glittering under brows drawn together like a steeple.

“Never imagined what?” you whisper.

An ominous thud of wood, nearly lost under a long, muffled wail.

Both you and Tim startle.

As your recorded climax tapers off, you start to giggle; then Tim starts to giggle, and then you’re both laughing, shoulders shaking, relief rolling off both of you like happy gas. You clutch at the hand Tim had laid on your shoulder, holding it in your lap while your laughter subsides. His work-roughened fingers tighten around yours.

“I never imagined I’d get to do that to you,” Tim says. His smile is shy yet sure. A gleam of hope in the dim.

Tim makes a deeply satisfied sound. Breathless compliments and more kisses are traded for the next several moments. It’s obvious when you come to by the way your voice raises slightly, and although your words are unintelligible, the insinuation in your sensual tone is clear.

“Please, baby…” The rest of Tim’s response is lost, deepening to a rough whisper.

The rest of your exchange is too faint to make out, but it doesn’t matter.

You both remember what was said.

Tim glances at you, a muscle in his jaw feathering, his eyes darker than a moment ago. Your hand aches from gripping his, both still resting on your leg. 

“I like when you call me baby,” you murmur lowly. That hand flexes, the fingers stretching, splaying, digging lightly into your thigh. Your breathing stutters.

Tim reaches up to pause the recording. Still kneeling, he turns, and uses his grip on your thigh to rotate your chair as well. His other hand curls around the back of your knee. 

He inches closer, and your legs part without second thought. Tim nuzzles at your inner thigh. A wave of deja vu knocks the breath from you, your heartbeat quickening to a throbbing pulse between your legs.

Thanks for reading! ❤ Find more like this on my Masterlist

“Baby.” There’s a twinkle in Tim’s brown eyes, blatant begging in his tone. “What do you say we listen to the rest of this somewhere more comfortable?”

#tim rockford x reader #tim rockford x you #tim rockford fic #merge mansion #tim rockford/reader #tim rockford/you

[coloursflyaway]

That's so sweet of you to even reply! Um now that you've put me on the spot 😂..honestly I'm a bit clueless 😅. I'm not very imaginative. I just really enjoy reading zowens and so far the few I've read from a couple of you guys have been reallyy good reads!

All I know is that may be something where it's mutual pining and Sami's lost all hope but it's actually not unrequited?? May be a bit of possessive Kevin thrown in? Idk 😭 is what I just said even classified as a prompt??

PS. I know you said you haven't watched wrestling in a while but did you happen to catch the zowens moments at wrestlemania at all! ? 😍😁

Hi!!

So, first of all, great prompt, fits them fantastic, loved it. I just ended up overdoing it by a little, I think, so now it's not really a prompt fill anymore, but a whole fic 😂 really didn't expect that because writing has been Hard lately, so thank you for that!!

Here's the AO3 link, but I'll include the text here too.

PS. I have mainly seen the gifsets of them, but they are!!! so!!!! I love them ♥

There is a brand-new, shining belt in his hands and Sami is aware that this should be the happiest moment in his life. It isn’t. He looks down at the silver plates, the leather strap, heavy and solid and everything he worked for, and he’s happy, of course, but in the back of his mind, he knows that it doesn’t compare to - Well. No matter. Some things you cannot have; Sami has learnt that years and years ago.

Kevin’s face is shining with joy about the match he won and the beers he has had to celebrate it, and Sami’s heart aches at the sight, fierce and wild and beautiful. “The next time”, Kevin mutters into the too-short distance between them, and when Kevin takes another deep swig of his drink, Sami knows that he will have forgotten the words the next morning, “the next time, we’ll tag and we will take all of them out. Jus’ you and me, we’ll fuck them up and send them back crying to their mothers. An’ then we’ll do it again, and again, and again, until we’ll get a shot a’ the titles and then we’ll take ‘em too. An’ we’ll be unstoppable.”

He’s beaming and leaning in and Sami feels himself swaying closer, cannot stop himself. Kevin is magnetic, always has been, and Sami sometimes wonders how long he’ll be able to stop himself from giving in to his pull.

There is a knock on the door of his dressing room, which finally pulls him out of his reverie. Sami takes a moment to compose himself before he answers, wiping silly fantasies from his mind that he has known to be useless for most of his life now like he would wipe tears from his eyes. He’s used to both, after all. “Come in!”

The door swings open, and he shouldn’t, but Sami knows who is behind it before he sees Kevin standing there. “Shouldn’t you be celebrating?”, Kevin asks instead of a greeting, stepping into the room like he owns it. In some way, Sami guesses, he does. “What makes you think that’s not what I am doing?”, he asks back, getting up, because knowing Kevin, he’ll be pulled into a hug within the next thirty seconds. Knowing himself, he won’t ever be able to turn down a chance to be close to Kevin.

His words draw a laugh from Kevin’s lips that Sami treasures, and just like Sami knew he would, Kevin wraps his arms around him the second Sami has stood up. The edges of his belt presses into his stomach painfully, but that is a small price to pay for the comfort of Kevin’s thick, warm arms around him, the faint tickle of Kevin’s beard against Sami’s neck.

“To start with”, Kevin begins to answer while still pressed against Sami, only slowly pulling back, “because you are in here and not out there, where you should be. Also, because I have known you for more than half my life and this isn’t your celebratory face.”

“Sounds good”, he replies easily, then adds, “only that we’ll have to wait a bit longer with doing that, I’m booked to tag with Quicksilver the next show. But after that…” He doesn’t expect more than a scoff – Kevin isn’t that fond of Quicksilver, but then again, he isn’t fond of a lot of people – but instead, Kevin’s face darkens, his brows furrowing and his eyes suddenly glistening in the dim light of the bar. It’s a look Sami half-recognises from the ring, because the intensity is almost the same, but there is something else mixed into it. Something dark, something dangerous, something alluring.

He’s right, of course he is, but Sami still tries for a few moments to come up with an excuse, before he finally nods. It wouldn’t make a difference, saying anything else, when Kevin knows him so well. “It’s nothing”, he adds, because he can see Kevin starting to worry within half a second. “Just a bit of nostalgia. Reminiscing about the old days, you know the drill.” “How old?”, Kevin asks and, thank God, the smile is back in his voice and his eyes and Sami wants to luxuriate in it, wants to stay here forever. In any moment with Kevin, really.

“Ring of Honor old”, he replies with a wry smile, because it almost feels like a confession; to be here, at the pinnacle of his career, and thinking about being young and dumb and so, so hopeful. Again, it makes Kevin laugh, makes him clasp a hand on the side of Sami’s shoulder; a point of contact that is so warm it would be enough to sustain him through a winter. “That is old.” “I know.” “Anything special? Or just the general beauty of horrible hotels, being sixty percent bruises and having to put me in bed after I drank my weight in shitty lager?”

There is something about old wounds, the way their pain becomes familiar, almost an old friend. Sami’s lips tingle, remembering, his heart aches, dull and yet fierce, but he smiles nonetheless, too used to the pain for it to feel disruptive.

“All of the above, I’d say.”

“Quicksilver?”, Kevin repeats, and even his voice is different, rough and full of something that Sami doesn’t understand, yet desperately wants to. “Yes. You know, silver and blue mask, used to hang around with Scorpio Sky?” “I know who he is”, Kevin replies, but his voice hasn’t changed. Maybe Sami missed a fight between them in the past? “Why are you tagging with him?”

Sami self-consciously pushes a hand through his hair; it’s becoming too long again. “Well, he asked and I didn’t see anything wrong with giving it a shot. He seems like a-” “You shouldn’t tag with anyone but me”, Kevin interrupts him, and suddenly Sami does recognise what is dripping from every word he speaks: hunger. “Fuck Quicksilver. Fuck all of them. They don’t have what we have. They never will.”

“Doesn’t sound very celebratory”, Kevin states, but there is humour in his voice. “How about tomorrow, after I win the United States Championship, we’ll do it properly? I don’t think I’ll be able to give you the customary three dozen bruises until then, but if you really miss it so much, I am sure we can find some terrible highway motel we can crash in. And as long as it’s better beer, I don’t mind drinking too much of it.”

It’s a joke, of course it is, and a sweet half-serious offer to relive a bit of a time Sami misses dearly on occasion, and yet it’s suddenly too much. Because he has a title in his hands, because out there, there are thousands who cheered for him, and yet, it isn’t the happiest moment in his life, not by far.

The familiar ache in his chest breaks open like the earth cracking in half to spew fire, and Sami knows that he cannot keep the pain from his face even before Kevin reacts. But react he does, worry suddenly clouding his gaze, the hand he still has on Sami’s shoulder gripping harder.

“Sami?”, he asks, and his voice is too much, his gaze, his concern, his friendship that has never been all Sami wanted. “Are you alright? Should I get a doctor?”

“I’m okay”, Sami manages to force out, but he doesn’t sound it, not even to himself. “Just. Don’t say that, Kevin. Not with the… the shitty hotels and the drinking.” It takes a moment to get a reaction, which Sami understands; he isn’t making sense, after all. But then, all of a sudden, Kevin’s expression crumples, his shoulders drop like a burden, half-forgotten, has been forced upon them once more.

“I’m sorry”, he mutters, fingers tightening reflexively around Sami’s shoulder before they fall away. “I never… the last time, when I got so drunk you had to take me to my room, you never told me what happened, even if I have an inkling… I don’t think I ever had the guts to say it, but I’m sorry. For whatever it is I did.”

“Kevin”, he breathes out, unsure, because surely this cannot be happening. Sami has been aware of his own feelings for years, but there is no way they could be requited. And yet, there is a glint in Kevin’s eyes that looks like yearning; and yet, Sami’s heart picks up its pace, spelling out in morse code: pleasepleasepleaseplease.

A moment of silence stretches between them, thick and viscous, then Kevin knocks back the rest of his beer, before crushing the can and dropping it on the floor. “Fuck it”, he mutters, and Sami wants to ask what he means, but before he can get the words out, Kevin reaches out, one hand on Sami’s hip, one on the side of his neck, and pulls him in. He tastes of gas station beer and stale chips and almost ten years of quiet, desperate, hopeless longing, and even before he manages to kiss back, Sami knows that this is the happiest he ever will be.

“What?”

Kevin isn’t looking at him anymore, but there is so much pain written in clear, horrible letters across his face that it washes away the ache in Sami’s chest; how could it matter, when Kevin is hurting right in front of him?

A wry laugh escapes Kevin’s lips, which might be the worst sound Sami has ever heard, but then he speaks, still not looking at Sami, and makes it worse. “I’m sure you remember it as well as I do, that one night when we were still in ROH. Before you started tagging with Quicksilver. When Chuck, I think, got all that horrible beer from the gas station around the corner and I just didn’t know when to stop. I never had the guts to ask what happened either, but you were so different afterwards, didn’t want to be touched, to be alone with me… and the scribbling on my arm… tell me if I’m wrong, but after some time I figured that I probably, you know. Kissed you. Which I shouldn’t have, of course. Against your will. So, don’t worry, I won’t do that again. Ever.”

“Did you sleep well?”, Sami asks the next morning when Kevin opens the door of his hotel room, looking dishevelled and hungover and utterly beautiful. For once, they had splurged on two hotel rooms instead of sharing one, and while Sami wishes he could have woken up next to Kevin, maybe even wrapped up in his arms, this, too, is wonderful.

He hands Kevin one of the coffees he picked up at a nearby café, idly wondering if this could become his thing now, treating his… his Kevin to coffee in the morning. After all, he usually is up far earlier than the other.

“Ugh”, Kevin replies, taking a gulp of coffee before even trying to form words, and it might be the most enchanting sound Sami has ever heard. “Think so. Can’t remember much. About sleeping or last night. Did you get into a fight, by the way?”

“What? No, no fights”, Sami replies distractedly, wondering if that means Kevin doesn’t remember their kiss, wondering if that means they will get to have two first kisses. Almost smiles at how much he will get to tease Kevin about it if he really has forgotten. All but plans to start the story of how they got together with this from now on: you know, I was in love with Kevin for almost a decade and he kisses me and then immediately forgets about it! Can you believe that?

“You sure?”, Kevin asks again between sips of coffee. “I know my handwriting is awful and drunk it’s even worse, and the letters are really smudged, but I wrote Don’t fuck with Sami on my arm last night.”

It takes a moment to sink in through the layers of happiness and imagined mornings and afternoons and evenings together, but eventually, Sami learns what it feels like to have the world end while not making a sound.

Sami recognises the pain on Kevin’s face; it’s the twin of his own, the one that has been with him for so long that it has found its permanent home at the bottom of his heart, with him in every moment he spends with Kevin, every one they are apart. It’s old and it’s weary and it’s familiar, and Sami should hate it, but.

But if his heart houses the other half of it, then that has to mean something.

And then Kevin says kissed, and for a moment, Sami thinks that he remembers, before realising that, no, he doesn’t, and somehow that is worse.

“You did”, he answers, and finally, Kevin looks at him again. His eyes are wide and terrified and still beautiful, and Sami hasn’t allowed himself to think it for a decade at least, but he loves him so much it is tearing him apart. “You kissed me that night. And then you didn’t remember it the next day, only had that writing on your arm and I thought you were trying to warn yourself not to do it again. But. Kevin. I kissed back.”

Kevin stumbles into his room, his lips still tingling with the last kiss Sami pressed onto them before closing the door behind him. Smiling so brightly Kevin thought he would burn up just looking at him, so happily that Kevin wanted to burn. Sami. The name alone is enough to make something within Kevin break open and pour out six or seven or eight years of pure love into the space between his ribs. He can’t explain why he had the courage to kiss Sami tonight, when he had sworn to himself he never would again and again and again, but now, knowing how Sami’s lips feel against his, how his hair feels between his fingers, his body pressed against Kevin’s, he thanks every divine entity he might believe in or not that he did.

Sami.

The alcohol is making his movements sluggish and sloppy, but Kevin manages to find a pen at the bottom of his backpack anyway, stored away for – maybe, hopefully – signing autographs after the show. He didn’t, but not even that matters anymore, because he needs it now for something much more important.

Don’t forget kiss with Sami, he writes on his arm, letters sloping and curling into each other, a smudge across half of it.

Not that he thinks there is much risk of doing so. After all, hadn’t Sami kissing him back been the happiest moment of his life?

There is no answer for several seconds, Kevin just staring at him like he has changed his life and hung the stars and the moon and the sun itself, and Sami is stuck in place until he isn’t anymore. Because the first time, years and years ago, Kevin had been brave enough to take the first step, and afterwards, Sami hadn’t dared to do the same. But maybe now is the time to return the favour.

Trembling, he picks up Kevin’s hands, which are warm and familiar, have caused as much hurt as they have healed, and puts them on his own body: one on his hip, the other on the side of his neck. And he steps closer, until he’s so close he can read the hopeful disbelief in Kevin’s eyes, can feel that the other’s breath has stopped.

“It was just like this”, Sami explains, and Kevin’s gaze drops to his lips, shoots up again as if he has to make sure that Sami wants this. “You didn’t want me to tag with Quicksilver. Or anyone else. You said that they could never have what we have, and you were right, and then you pulled me in and-”

Kevin kisses him.

He tastes like chewing gum and Red Bull and love, and Sami drinks him in until it feels like he is drowning, and even before he manages to kiss back, Sami knows that this, now truly, is the happiest he ever will be

#kevin owens #sami zayn #zowens #kevin steen #el generico #steenerico #wwe #wrestlemania

[rangergurlgleek1211]

Hey everyone. So in July on the 21st I turn the big 30. So I want to challenge myself by creating 30.. 1000 worded tarlos Fics. But I need your help. I want everyone to send me a line and I’ll have to write the mini fic around that sentence or two.

So this was originally for my birthday. But now it’s gonna be a series of prompts which I will upload through the month. Don’t worry I will fill them all at some point it just won’t be all in the same month. I hope you understand and don’t mind waiting. These fics might be longer now I have time to write them in more detail.

Also you can send a tag with it so for example .

“ I love you, I’m proud of you” ( fluff/hurt comfort)

Suggested lines:

"Actually TK, he is my ex-boyfriend..." (petty/funny jealousy) requested by @xtltokio

"What do you mean your forgot to pack it?" (Angst with a happy ending) Requested by @chaotictarlos

That first night TK, that night when I saw you at the bar I told myself "I'm going to marry him" (fluffy) Requested by @tarlos-spain

“I could really use a hug” (emotional hurt/comfort) Requested by Anon

"Nope, that is the last straw. This is where I draw the line." (Fluff/Hurt/Comfort) requested by @sapphire11

“Will you marry me?” (Fluff/sweetness) requested by anon

“ I can’t believe your mine” (fluff/sweetness) requested by anon

"Well...that's not what I expected to happen." (any category) requested by @sapphire11

“I’m sick of being the one who always makes everyone miserable and worried” (angst, hurt/comfort) requested by Anon

You’re driving me crazy. (Uncategorised) requested by anon

“That wasn't funny. Why did you do that?” (Funny/fluff) requested by anon

“I’ve missed you so much” “it’s only been three hours” (fluff) requested by anon

Tyler Kennedy Strand, get back here!" (Fluff) requested by anon

"Why didn't you say anything?" "How could I? You never returned my calls." (Angst w/optional happy ending). Requested by @pretendtofly

"You may think differently, but I love this about you" - (angst/comfort with good ending) requested by @xtltokio

“I guess I thought you were different” (angst+happy ending) requests by anon

"Their eyes met, suddenly they were alone in the crowd." (Fluff) Requested by @bubblesandroses8

“I trust you” (hurt/comfort and lots of feelsssss) requested by anon

“Baby, I love you, but your a danger magnet” (hurt/comfort, fluff) requested by me.

“What is it babe?” “Nothing I’m fine” “liar. Tell me what’s wrong” / version 2? "Babe, I know you're not fine, tell me what's wrong." (cute, emotional comfort/fluff) requested by anon

“ I can't believe they forgot, guess I'm easy to forget" (Angst with a happy ending) Requested by me.

“We should never have agreed to let our parents help plan the wedding.” (Fluff) requested by anon

"I wish I could be brave like you" (angst with a happy ending) Requested by @bonheur-cafe

“Wait. Don’t go.” (Fluffy) requested by @detective-giggles

"and that's why I married you" (fluff) requested by @xtltokio

Please help me by rebloging with your friends as I don’t think I’ll get many suggestions otherwise.

#tarlos #tarlos fanfiction #tk strand #911 lone star #m:rangergurlgleek1211 #carlos reyes #send me suggestions #reblog #help a girl out please #ronen rubenstein #rafael l silva #rafael silva

[plaidbooks]

Cabin Life - Whittling Roses

A/N: Hello, I have lost complete control of myself and just keep writing this AU. I blame @berniesilvas, but I also love her and this AU so much. For now, this was all the concrete ideas I had--everything else is vague ideas that I don’t have a fic plotted for yet. I hope you all enjoy!

Tags: just fluff, the briefest mention of smut (only one line), and a little bit of a make-out session

Words: 1857

Taglist: @witches-unruly-heart  @beccabarba  @thatesqcrush @itsjustmyfantasyroom @permanentlydizzy @ben-c-group-therapy  @infiniteoddball @glowingmess @whimsicallymad @lv7867 @storiesofsvu @cycat4077 @alwaysachorusgirl  @glimmerglittergirl  @reading--mermaid  @averyhotchner  @mrsrafaelbarba @detective-giggles @crowleysqueenofhell @dreamlover31

As predicted, the snowstorm blocked off contact between you and Sonny for most of the winter months. As soon as the snow started to melt, it would snow again, causing a bigger buildup. He texted you when he could—when the cells had connection—but otherwise, he was confined to his cabin, as you were to yours.

He never once stopped thinking about you, especially when he was huddled in a pile of your blankets, the fireplace happily crackling in front of him. He remembered the night he made love to you right there on the floor, and he wished he could do it again, in his bed this time. Even the thought of your body in his embrace, your warmth and scent surrounding him, was enough to make his body flush with desire.

To help take his mind off you…well, to help control his thoughts—there was no “not thinking” about you—he took a block of wood inside, his whittling blade in hand. When he looked at that block of unimpressive, plain wood, he could clearly see what he wanted to make. But even with his skill, it was a complicated task. At least he had months to work on it.

He spent most of his time whittling. He only took a break to cook, eat, maybe watch tv if he could get a signal in the blizzard. He also brought in a separate piece of wood, to practice different techniques on; he wanted his gift to you to be perfect, to show his love for you.

Sonny let his mind wander as he whittled—as long as he paid attention to the details. His mind irrevocably went back to you every time. He wanted to ask how you felt about kids; though you had mentioned wanting them before, he wanted to see if that was still true.

Eventually, his mind wandered to him marrying you. He wanted to propose, with rings and everything, have both your families there. Maybe he could build an archway to go in that meadow or something, cover it with flowers. He was already building a bridge to go across that creek by his place. An archway shouldn’t be too hard.

Then he smiled as a thought struck him; what if he whittled the wedding rings? He’d have to get better, perfect his craft before he even attempted at something so important. He’d have to talk to you about that, too, make sure you were okay with it. He had enough money to buy a traditional ring, if that’s what you wanted.

 ***********************

About a month into his project, he finished the first of what he hoped would be a dozen roses. He gazed intently at the bud, the petals. Then, his eyes travelled down the stem to the leaf, the veins carved into it. Was it the best rose ever made? Absolutely not. But it was a rose, and it would be perfect for you.

It had taken him much longer than he had anticipated to make one rose. He had stopped frequently to practice petals and veins, though, which had taken up time. Still, he was afraid he wouldn’t finish them quick enough; he had never spent a winter in the cabin, and he didn’t know how long the storms lasted (he had to make a call to the Willis’s for how to cover his gardens). So, while he felt jubilation at finishing one rose, he didn’t celebrate, instead getting right back to it.

The second rose only took him two weeks, and the third, a week. Now that the stems were done, he was getting faster at doing the petals and leaves. He still took his time, made sure he didn’t mess them up, but he was improving. Some of them, he left as bulbs, the petals just opening, while others were in full bloom. He debated painting them, but he wanted to make his own dyes, and he had no idea how to do that. Plus, he kind of liked the light, wooden color.

Once he finished, he fought the urge to continue working on them. He did go back and fix up some details in the first flower that he learned to deal with by the tenth. Now came the question of what to put them in. Does he get a fancy ribbon and tie the stems together for a bouquet? Or should he whittle a vase for them? It’s not like they needed water.

Outside, the blizzard raged on. So, Sonny figured he could make a vase, and if he didn’t like it, he could toss it in the fireplace. Taking yet another block of wood, he got to work. This project, he had a little less of a vision than before. He thought about it as he pulled the roses together, measuring how big of an opening he needed on top.

Slowly, a shape began to form in his mind’s eye, and he started cutting. He wanted a long, skinny neck on top, and a wider base. He wouldn’t have to hollow the inside, only the top part enough to hold the roses. Still, he was doing it by hand, and it took him another month to have just the basic shape done. But he wanted to add details.

Taking his smallest whittling tool, he went to work on the design. Maybe it was corny, but Sonny was a corny guy. He carved apples and his best attempt at lavender flowers, the two things that drew you both together. And in the middle, he carved out a heart, both of your initials inside. He smiled when he was done, knowing that you’d love it regardless; it came from him.

He collected all the wooden roses and rearranged them in the vase until they were how he wanted them. He smiled proudly at the sight, and he wished the snow would stop so he could give them to you now.

 **********************

He only had to wait another two weeks before the snow finally let up enough for him to visit you. The sky was a bright blue, the sun making the fallen snow blinding. Sonny texted you that he was coming over, asking if you wanted to go with him to the local shops to restock on some food. You agreed, and he was instantly on his ATV, the roses zipped up protectively in his jacket.

Sonny parked, then came up to your front door, vase in hand. He knocked and then was suddenly worried that you’d hate the roses, that you’d think him childish. You had given him blankets, something useful, while all he made was wooden flowers—

You opened the door, smiling brightly when you saw Sonny standing there. You had missed him deeply, and you were happy to see his hair and beard longer. Then your eyes flicked down to the wooden vase clutched in his hand.

“What’s this?” you asked, voice hushed in awe at the bouquet.

He swallowed hard. “I, uh, I made ya these fer ya…. I thought, ya know, that I should get ya flowers. But they always wilt and die, so I thought if I made them outta wood, then….”

“You—you made these?” Your eyes tore from the roses to lock to his blues.

He slowly extended his arm, holding the vase out to you, and you took it, marveling at the details in the leaves and petals, then the vase itself. You chuckled as you recognized the apples and lavender, and you had to blink away tears when you saw the heart.

“Sonny, I love them. Thank you so much,” you breathed, smiling up at him.

He grinned nervously, shifting from foot to foot. “Ya do? I was afraid that they weren’t useful—”

“Of course, they’re useful,” you replied, and he tilted his head, brow furrowed. “They show me how much you love me, even when you’re not here to tell me yourself.”

The brightness of his smile could match that of the sun. “Plus, they’ll never die, like my love for you.”

“You sap,” you said, giggling. With your free hand, you grabbed his jacket and pulled him to you for a sweet kiss. His nose and lips were chilled from the wind outside, but you didn’t care. Besides, his lips warmed quickly enough against yours.

“Come on; let’s head to the market so I can get ya home ‘fore the snow starts back up,” Sonny muttered against your lips.

You snuck another kiss. “Why bring me home? Why not just take me to your place? I know we could keep each other warm”

He let out a low growl, kissing you deeper, his tongue in your mouth. Your bodies were magnetic, drawing each other closer. It was a struggle to pull away long enough to place the roses on a table before you were back, body melding to his, hand going to his hair. He pushed you against the doorjamb, hands exploring under the hem of your jacket.

Your father cleared his throat from inside the house, and Sonny sprung off you as if you had shocked him. “S—sorry, sir—” he stammered, face turning a bright red.

Your father crossed his arms, giving him a hard look. “Just close the door; you’re letting the heat out.”

You gave Sonny a sheepish grin as he came inside, closing the door behind him. You told him you needed to pack some things, and you took the vase, heading for your room, leaving Sonny and your father alone.

The latter studied Sonny intently, gazing at him from over his spectacles, and Sonny tried not to fidget under his scrutiny.

“I intend to marry your daughter,” he blurted out. He winced internally; why the fuck did he say that?! But now that it was out there, he was prepared to defend it to the death. He kept his face a mask of stone, not letting your father see his fear.

He continued staring at Sonny, weighing his words. “Does she know that?”

“She does; I told her last time she was over. From the moment I saw her, I knew that I wanted nothin’ more than to marry her.”

He nodded lightly; just a jut of his chin. “Have you proposed? Do you have a ring?”

“It’s only been a few months; I wanted to wait a lil, make sure it’s what she wants, too,” Sonny explained.

“Just don’t wait too long; I don’t want you leading her on or hurting her.”

Sonny’s eyes widened in offense. “I would never—”

You came back right then, a duffle bag in your hand, and glancing nervously between the two men. “Whatcha talkin’ about?” you asked uncertainly.

“Nothing dear. Have fun and stay safe,” your father said, and he came over, kissing your cheek, then headed to a different room.

You cocked an eyebrow at Sonny, but he just shook his head, moving to hold the door open for you. Confused at the tension, you went out into the crisp, winter air, taking a deep breath. You were sure Sonny would tell you the whole story later.

#sonny carisi x reader #law and order svu #law and order svu fanfic #fanfic #my writing

[lumosandnoxwriting]

Her Matching Pair of Socks - George Weasley

Title: Her Matching Pair of Socks Pairing: George x Fem!Reader, Adrian Pucey x Fem!Reader (ish, not really) Summary: George will always protect Y/N, even if it means confronting his true feelings . A/N: for the anon who wanted George being overprotective of the reader who was being teased!! The house of the reader is unspecified b/c it truly doesn’t matter but I pictured her as a Hufflepuff as I wrote, please do with that what you will haha. Feedback is always welcome!!! Tags: @feltondarling​ @pandaxnienke​ @raerae27​ @thefifthweasley 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

“George? George?” Y/N asks, waving her hand in front of his face. She giggles as his eyes seem to refocus on the world and he smiles at her. “Were you listening to anything I just said?”

George nods as he searches his brain, trying to see if any part of it retained any of the things Y/N had been talking about just a second ago while he’d been daydreaming. Y/N is magnetic. She has warm eyes, a kind smile and the biggest heart George has ever seen. She draws people in with one look, and once she’s captured them they have no chance of getting away; not that they’d want to. Unfortunately for George this means he rarely gets a moment alone with her, which is something he so desperately craves. Y/N has been the star of George’s thoughts since the first moment they met when she had quite literally saved his ass.

He and Fred had just pulled a prank on a few Slytherins and were running away from Snape. They had split up at some point, and as George ran away he could hear Snape gaining on him. George was sure he was about to be caught when a hand grabbed the back of his shirt and yanked him into an empty classroom. Y/N had simply placed her finger over her mouth and winked at him, and as soon as Snape ran by their hiding spot she’d burst out in a fit of giggles. George had never heard anything so beautiful, and he sat there with her for hours, sometimes talking, but mostly just watching her knit. Y/N is sunshine encapsulated, and George could have sat there for days, basking in her rays of light and warmth.

Fred had found him eventually and dragged him back to the Gryffindor common room, and George worried that he’d never see her again. But the next morning at breakfast the hat she had been knitting was sitting in his usual spot waiting for him, and when his eyes met hers across the Hall she winked. From that moment on George has been caught in Y/N’s magnetic field, constantly swirling around her but never quite connecting the way he wants.

“Were you? Then what did I say?” she questions with a grin, one of her eyebrows raising.

George’s heart melts and he leans in closer to her, resting his chin on his hand. “I’m sorry, love. I wasn’t giving you the attention you deserve. Tell me again.”

Y/N rolls her eyes playfully and puts her knitting needles down so she can ruffle George’s hair. “That’s okay, Georgie. It wasn’t that important anyway. What’s on your mind?”

“Just this Transfiguration assignment,” he lies. George isn’t quite sure why he hasn’t shared his true feelings with Y/N, and it’s not as if he hasn’t tried either. There have been quite a few times when his confession was resting on the tip of his tongue, but each time someone ended up being drawn to Y/N and stole her attention away. “McGonagall’s really giving it to us this term.”

“Maybe your assignments would be easier to handle if you didn’t wait until the last minute to do them?” Y/N suggests with a wink.

George’s heart flutters in his chest and he has to take a deep breath to calm himself down. “Ah yes, but if I didn’t leave my homework until the day before it was due then who would sit here with you and keep you company while everyone else is outside soaking up the last of the weekend?” George is sure that anyone Y/N asked for companionship would drop everything to sit with her, and he feels honored that she always chooses him.

“Now how can I argue with that?” she teases, picking her needles up once again.

Watching Y/N knit is one of George’s favorite pastimes. She’s tried to teach him a few times, but he always ends up just creating a big knot of yarn and using the needles as drumsticks. The way her fingers move mesmerizes George to no end and he loves watching whatever she’s making start to take form before his eyes. More often than not whatever she’s making somehow always ends up in George’s possession, not that he’s complaining. So far this school year he’s added two new jumpers, three hats, a scarf and half a dozen pairs of socks to his wardrobe. Every item radiates the same warmth Y/N does, and on days where he can’t have her to himself he puts something on and when he closes his eyes it’s as if she’s right there with him.

“Whatcha makin?” George asks, completely abandoning any attempt at finishing his homework. McGonagall will probably be shocked that he did any of it at all, and he doesn’t want to put her into an early grave by actually finishing it.

“A sweater,” she responds sweetly, not looking up from her work. “And before you ask, no it’s not for you,” she chuckles and gestures towards the skein of yarn she’s using. “Though you may recognize the yarn.”

The yarn Y/N is using is a soft lilac color with glitter interwoven throughout the soft strands and George recognizes it because he’s the one who bought it. He and Fred had ventured into Diagon Alley a few days before Christmas to check out the space they were thinking about opening their joke shop in, and the yarn had caught George’s attention from a window display. He spent quite a bit of money buying every skein the store had, but it was all worth it to him. Lilac is Y/N’s favorite color, and George would do just about anything to see her smile. He gave it to her on the first day back from break a few weeks ago, and he can practically still feel how tightly she had hugged him.

“Does look kinda familiar, I bet a world class bloke gave that to you,” he jokes. Y/N laughs, and it makes George’s stomach feel queasy.

“Best bloke I know anyway,” she compliments with a wink.

George can feel his cheeks heating up, and he’s thankful for the distraction when students start to pour into the Great Hall for dinner. He sighs heavily and starts to pack his homework up, disappointed that his time with Y/N is already coming to an end. “See you in class tomorrow?”

Y/N nods as she stands up, gathering her latest project into her arms. “Most definitely, Georgie.” She leans over and boops him on the nose, before turning away and heading towards her house table.

“Hello lover boy,” Fred greets suddenly.

George jumps, having been too focused on Y/N to notice his brother’s sudden presence. He glares at Fred as he plops into the seat next to George, and he smacks him on the chest. “Screw off.” Suddenly the tables in the Great Hall fill with everything needed for dinner, and George starts piling his plate with food. “You get everything we need?”

Fred nods as he does the same as his brother. “Oh yeah. We’ve got enough Chinese gun powder to level all of England. It’ll be delivered to the store next weekend. We can apperate to Diagon Alley from Hogsmeade to meet the delivery person.”

“Wicked,” George responds, a glint of mischief in his eye. Fred had used the secret passageway into Honeydukes basement to meet a guy who deals with explosives at the Hogshead Inn. They’re starting to put their plans together for their joke shop, and the first step has been to find decent suppliers so they can start producing some stock. “You take care of the other stuff I asked?”

Fred rolls his eyes and hands George a bag from Honeydukes. “Yes, you big softie. I got everything on the list, don’t you worry.”

“Thanks, prat.” George takes the bag from Fred and peers inside to make sure he actually did pick up everything George requested. Y/N’s sweet tooth is one of George’s favorite things about her and he’s always sure to have a stash of her favorites on hand at all times. “Where’s my change?”

Fred grins and pats his pocket. “Consider it my fee so you could spend the day staring at Y/N inside the warm castle, while I tread through a dark underground tunnel.”

“Whatever, drama queen,” George huffs with an eyeroll. He puts the bag down and starts to eat, turning his attention to Y/N. She’s sitting with her friends talking happily, and George can feel his heart rate increase as a smile spreads across his face. But just as quickly as it appears it vanishes, when Adrian Pucey comes up behind Y/N and taps her on the shoulder. He watches her nod as they talk, and when Adrian walks away he looks way too smug with himself.

“That didn’t look good,” Fred comments, nudging George with his elbow.

George shrugs, trying to seem like his stomach isn’t churning with dread. “You know how Y/N is. People like talking to her. I’m sure it’s nothing.”

-

“What did Adrian want yesterday?” George asks Y/N the following evening, trying to sound casual. They’re sitting in the library working on a Potions assignment, and it seems like there has been a never ending stream of people approaching them to speak with Y/N. He’s been dying to ask her about Adrian, but he wanted to wait until they were alone.

Y/N bites her lip as she looks up at George. “He asked me on a date, actually. To Hogsmeade next weekend.”

“Oh,” George says softly. His stomach has dropped into the floor and it feels like he was punched in the chest. “What did you say?”

“I told him that I would think about it.” Y/N gives George a look and there’s an unreadable expression on her face. “Do you think I should say yes?”

The tips of George’s ears feel like they’re on fire, and he has to put his quill down so he can wipe his sweaty palms off on his school trousers. What he wants to say is no, that she should go with him to Hogsmeade instead, and then lean forward and kiss her. But instead he shrugs and says, “If you want to, I guess.”

“Oh, okay,” Y/N responds quietly, twirling a piece of hair around her finger. “Thanks, I guess.”

George refocuses his attention on his homework for once, hoping that the sound of his heart pounding in his chest isn’t audible.

-

The next day by lunch time word has gotten to George that Y/N agreed to go on a date with Adrian. It makes his chest feel hollow, and he avoids her gaze at all costs. He avoids her in the hallways and when she asks to study with him in the library George brushes her off, claiming that he already has plans with Fred. He can tell that she’s upset, and it breaks George’s heart as he walks away.

He’s never been jealous over Y/N before. Even though he craves her presence and would give anything to spend every moment of every day with her, George has never minded sharing her with others. He’s spent countless hours with Y/N where they never even speak because her attention is captured by other people. Whether it’s people catching her in a casual conversation, or someone who takes a seat with them for a deeper interaction. George has always been content to just sit there and watch her face light up as she talks about whatever topic is at hand. Even if he’s not around Y/N, he loves to watch her from across the room as she talks to people. He finds everything she does absolutely adorable, and Fred often teases him for how hard he swoons.

But the thought of Y/N being alone with Adrian fills his chest with so much jealousy it feels like he’s drowning in it. He knows he has no right to be jealous, he’s never shared his romantic feelings with Y/N, and she isn’t his girlfriend or even a girl he’s casually dated. She’d even asked his opinion on whether she should accept. And instead of doing the smart thing and just telling her how he feels, he’d basically brushed her off.

As much as George wants to avoid Y/N, he’s still stuck in her orbit, so on Wednesday afternoon during break he parts ways with Fred and heads over to Y/N. “Got room for one more?” he asks, grinning down at her. Y/N moves over but doesn’t say anything. George frowns as he sits down. “What’s got you down, clown?”

Y/N cracks the faintest smile before she lets it fall from her features. “Just wasn’t sure you were talking to me is all. You haven’t been around lately.”

“I’m around now,” George points out, swallowing the lump in his throat. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I’ve just been a bit busy with Fred is all. You’re still my number one girl.” George’s heart feels like it’s about to beat out of his chest as he raises up one of his pantlegs. “I wouldn’t be rockin’ these bad boys if you weren’t.”

Y/N giggles as she looks at George’s sock, shoving him playfully. It’s neon pink and is truly the most offensive piece of clothing she’s ever seen. The yarn had been left over from a Christmas present she made for a young cousin a few years ago, and Y/N needed to use it up somehow. She originally planned on leaving them in her sock drawer for a few months before donating them to a charity, but the second George saw them he nabbed them from her, and he’s worn them quite a few times sense.

“They look wonderful, Georgie. Though I think it’s best you keep them hidden, they clash terribly with your Gryffindor tie and your fiery hair.” Y/N reaches up and tugs on a strand of George’s hair and he can feel his blood pressure spike.

“Well in that case.” George leans down and rolls up the cuff of both his pant legs, so a few inches of the socks are visible. “How do I look?”

“Ravishing,” Y/N says with a laugh.

It’s the most beautiful sound George has ever heard, and it sends a shiver down his spine. “Bet you wished you kept these for yourself now, don’t ya?”

Before Y/N can respond, one of her other friends swoops in to talk to her about her upcoming date with Adrian, and George sneaks away to avoid the heart break.

-

“Are you excited for your date?” Y/N’s friend Emily asks as they head towards the entrance to the castle.

Y/N nods happily, letting her eyes scan the crowd of people heading out of the castle. She gets her hopes up when she spots a shock of ginger hair bobbing above the crowd, but they evaporate when the person turns around and it turns out to be Fred. Y/N hasn’t seen George in three days, and his absence has been driving her crazy. She’s friendly with everyone but only has a few true friends, and she considers George to be one of them. She would even consider George to be her best friend, and it feels weird to not have spoken to him in a few days.

“What are you guys going to do?” Emily asks, pulling Y/N’s attention back to the present.

“Just have some butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks, hang out, talk. Nothing too super crazy. I don’t really know Adrian that well, so I think it’ll give us a nice chance to get to know each other.”

Y/N had agreed to meet Adrian there, so when her and Emily reach Hogsmeade a few minutes later, she parts from her with a wave and heads right into the pub. She grabs a drink at the bar before settling in at a table in the back corner. When Adrian is 5 minutes late Y/N brushes it off, figuring that he got caught up leaving the castle or lost track of time. When he’s 30 minutes late, Y/N has already ordered another drink, figuring that he’ll be there any minute. And when he doesn’t show up after an hour Y/N decides to throw the towel in and head back to the castle.

Y/N feels emotionally drained as she makes her way back up towards Hogwarts, and she blinks back a few tears. Even though she’s not particularly interested in Adrian romantically, it had felt nice to be asked out and she truly was looking forward to getting to know him more. She always gives anyone who wants it a piece of her day, and Adrian not showing up make her feel as if she’s been taken advantage of. Her plan is to try and forget this ever happened until dinner that evening.

Y/N turns around when she feels something hit her in the back of the head, and when she turns around she can see Adrian, Marcus Flint and Theodore Knott laughing amongst themselves. There’s a piece of balled up parchment on the ground, and Y/N tries to ignore their stares as she leans down to pick it up.

How was the butterbeer? Lonely?

Y/N’s cheeks feel like they’re on fire, and she quickly turns back into her seat, shoving the piece of parchment into her pocket. She forces her tears away as she tries to get back into the conversation going on around her, unable to stop herself from searching George out in the crowd.

-

For the next week it seems everywhere she goes Adrian, Marcus and Theo are following a few paces behind. They never directly talk to her, but they talk about her loud enough for her to hear.

“Can’t believe she actually thought I wanted to go out with her!”

“How pathetic. I can’t believe it took her over an hour to realize you weren’t going to show up! What a moron.”

“She’s such a weirdo, no wonder she has no actual friends.”

It doesn’t help that George seems to be avoiding her as well. He doesn’t pass her stupid little notes in class anymore and when their eyes lock across the Great Hall he immediately looks away instead of giving her a cheeky grin. Every time she tries to ask him to come sit with her in the library he turns the other way in the hall before she catches him, and when she catches a peak of him and Fred outside pelting snowballs at Ron, he’s wearing his Gryffindor beanie, instead of one of her knit caps.

She misses George like crazy. He’s one of the only people who doesn’t want something from her. Most people only spend time with Y/N when they need to vent or ask her a question. George is the only person who is content with just sitting there with her in silence while they do their homework, or she knits. She could sit in silence with George for hours and just exist, so having him gone while also being tormented by Adrian and his gang has left Y/N with a deep ache in her chest and a pit of loneliness in her stomach.

-

Avoiding Y/N has to be the hardest thing George has ever done, and he once spent a week with his Great Aunt Tessie when he was 8. He craves her presence, but the thought of hearing about Adrian endlessly makes his stomach churn. Watching Y/N’s face fall every time he dodged her absolutely broke George’s heart, but he can’t stand to see someone else make her happy.

“You think she’s going to cry?”

George grimaces when he’s brought from his thoughts of Y/N and notices that Adrian and his goons are a few feet in front of him. Most of the school is in the Great Hall having dinner, but George didn’t feel like eating. Y/N had spent most of Transfiguration trying to get George’s attention, and ignoring her has left his stomach queasy.

“Reckon she might with how soft she is. Bet she’s cried herself to sleep every night this week.”

He has no idea who they’re talking about and he figures they’re tormenting some first year who is walking ahead of them. George is a little too far behind them to see who it is, but he decides to follow them anyway, in case he needs to intervene.

“What a stupid girl.”

Adrian’s words cut George deep. How could Y/N be interested in someone like him? George clenches his fist and starts to walk faster to catch up with them. He’s been wanting to smack Adrian and his smug face since the day he asked Y/N out, and this seems like a perfect excuse.

“Will you leave me alone!” Y/N shouts, and George’s blood runs cold. Her voice is shaky, and George knows that if she’s not already crying she will be soon.

Adrian, Marcus and Theodore stop in their tracks and cackle, and the sound makes George even angrier.

“Aw, poor pathetic Y/N has finally managed to stand up for herself. How cute,” Adrian taunts.

Y/N sniffles, and George can feel anger swell up in his chest. “Standing me up wasn’t enough for you, was it? Now you have to torment me about it too? Is that why you asked me out? So you could be mean to me?”

“Why else would someone ask you out? You’re not worth anyone’s time.”

George reaches them then, and he grips is wand tightly in one hand while the other grips the collar of Adrian’s shirt. He pulls him back sharply, causing Marcus and Theodore to take a few steps back as well. George takes one look at Y/N’s tear stained face and lets the anger in his chest consume him completely. “Leave her the fuck alone,” he spits, turning to face Adrian.

“Shove off, Weasley. Can’t you see we’re in the middle of something,” Adrian seethes, squaring up against George.

“Not anymore you prick.” George can hear Y/N crying, and he moves slightly to shield her behind his back. “Now get lost before I make you.” Adrian takes a step forward and George raises his wand, pressing the tip of it to Adrian’s throat. “Unless you want to end up in the Hospital Wing for the next three weeks I suggest you move along.” George’s jaw is clenched, and his voice is deep and dark. George doesn’t move until they disappear down the hall. Only then does he drop his wand and turn around to hug Y/N.

Y/N presses her face into George’s chest and lets out a few more tears. “Thank you, George,” she mumbles.

“Of course, love. I will always be there for you, you know that.” George squeezes her tighter and resists his urge to kiss the top of her head. Instead he rests his chin there, and his eyes flutter closed as he soaks in her warmth. “How long have they been bothering you?” George asks quietly when he starts to feel like himself again.

“Since last Saturday, after Adrian stood me up.” Y/N pulls away from George’s chest so she can look up at him. “How come you’ve been ignoring me, Georgie? I’ve missed you so much.”

George’s heart breaks, and he brings a hand up to wipe away the last few tears from her cheeks. “I’ve missed you too, Y/N. I was being an idiot, like usual.” He takes a deep breath to prepare himself for what he’s about to say. “I’ve liked you Y/N, for as long as I’ve known you. And after Adrian asked you out I got so unbelievably jealous that I couldn’t be around you, I couldn’t hear you talk about your date with him and how excited you were because just the thought of him being alone with you made me want to throw up.”

Y/N bites her lip as she considers what to say next. “You’d do anything for me George, right?”

“Of course, Y/N. Anything,” George confirms, cupping her cheek gently.

“Kiss me,” she breathes.

George hesitates for a second before he leans down and presses their mouths together softly. Their lips move together slowly, and George can feel his head spinning. His knees shake when they pull apart, and when George looks into Y/N’s eyes they shine brighter than the sun.

-

“Nice sweater,” George compliments as Y/N joins him in that Great Hall that Sunday. She giggles and does a little twirl for him and George feels like he’s soaring through the air.

“Thank you, my boyfriend gave me the yarn I used to make it.” Y/N leans over the table to press a kiss to George’s cheek before taking the seat across from him. She digs around in her bag for a moment before pulling out a pair of socks, knit from the same lilac material as her sweater.

“For me?” George asks, giving her a bright smile. He takes them from her excitedly and kicks off his shoes so he can pull them on.

Y/N laughs as George bring one of his feet up to show off the lilac sock, letting the glitter in the yarn shine. “Of course. What’s a sweater without a pair of matching socks?”

George leans over and kisses Y/N gently. “I’m always down to be your matching pair of socks.”

#George weasley #George Wesley imagine #gw #golden

[moonbeambucky]

Hey Neighbor (Part 16)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Word Count: 2694 Warnings: fluff

Summary: You had a plan and then life came along with one of its own. With your future almost derailed you worked hard to get yourself back on track and finally everything seemed to be going right… that is, until your new neighbor moved in.

A/N: Feedback is always appreciated!

PART 15 | HEY NEIGHBOR MASTERLIST

Six weeks. That’s how much notice Bucky gave you until the wedding. You said yes to being his date before you had actually confirmed anything with work. The wedding was on the first Saturday in June but you would need to take off of work that Friday as well.

Technically one day off from Stark Industries wouldn’t be so bad and as predicted you were given the day easily. Unfortunately, you would have to take two days off at Metro-General and you really hoped that would be alright.

You hadn’t taken many days off since you began; a day for when you had food poisoning, another on the day of Wanda’s museum exhibit, but the hospital was a busy place and Elena was notoriously strict. Plus the more days you took off meant the more hours you would have to make up, which meant the longer it would take to fulfill your final requirement before graduating.

Once again, Marya’s words come to mind. Life will not wait for you so you needed to live it in the moment. It’s only two days.

With renewed confidence you knocked on Elena’s door and asked for the days off.

“Vacation?” she wondered.

“It’s for a wedding actually.”

Her dark eyes lit up at your answer. “Oh very nice. Where is it?”

“I’m not sure exactly. Somewhere in Long Island,” you chuckled, explaining that you were asked by a close friend to be his date.

After all these months of working together you realized this was the most personal conversation you’ve ever had with Elena. You had always tried to respect the boundaries of her as your boss but it was surprising as she seemed to open up first, letting down the guard she had carefully built up to protect herself while working in this field. Her approach carried over with her co-workers up until now.

“Mack was a close friend of mine once...” she said, turning the picture frame on her desk around towards you.

The photo showed her in the arms of a medium-brown skinned man with a dark beard and shaved head. Her whole face was smiling as she stared into his eyes and he was looking back at her like she was the only thing that gave meaning to life. Judging by their clothes you realized this was a wedding photo.

“You’re married? Since when?” You may have blurted that out a little bit louder than you expected but it was a bit of a shock considering she doesn’t wear a ring.

“Since I asked him,” she laughed. “Two years now, but we’ve been together for six and friends for a lot longer than that.”

Ahh now you understand what she was implying. “It’s not like that with me and Bucky. Well…” You bit your lip with uncertainty. “I don’t know. We’re friends and we kissed once but he’s dating other people and–”

“Yet he asked you to be his date.” She smirked, giving you a knowing stare.

Elena had given you the days off but part of you wished she didn’t. On the surface, Bucky was just a friend asking another friend for a favor but the more you thought about your history the more conflicted you felt.

From the moment he’s come into your life you’ve felt something towards Bucky. Sure his looks were undeniable but there was so much more about him. The passion he had for music matched what you felt for social work, and you connected, both of you realizing that each field plays an important role in helping people.

The more your friendship grew it felt like you were always meant to be in each other’s lives and you couldn’t imagine life without Bucky since he had become such a huge part of it. But you weren’t anything more than friends. That’s all.

The warm sun shines directly into your eyes as you exit the subway, trying your best to hear Peggy over the increased amount of people on the street. New York was always crowded but warm weather was a magnet that seemed to pull everyone out of their homes, drawing them outdoors to enjoy the beautiful day.

With Wanda on your left the three of you talk plans for Memorial Day weekend; it’s two weeks away and you’re trying to organize something for everyone to do together.

“I’m not sure if Sam has off or not yet but I do have some news,” Wanda said enticingly, biting her lip to contain her excitement. So many thoughts ran through your head as you waited for her to drop the details. “Sam and I are gonna move in together!”

“Oh Wanda, that’s brilliant!” Peggy said, her red painted lips stretching across her face in a beaming smile.

“I’m so happy for you two! When are you moving? And where?” you asked.

“His apartment is bigger so I’m moving there, hopefully by the end of the month but we’ll see. It’s hard with his schedule sometimes but I definitely want to be out as soon as possible.”

You offered assistance to help her pack and Peggy suggested making it a night with girls, with wine as a little motivation. “Yes, perfect!” Wanda agreed.

If only finding a dress for the wedding was as easy as helping Wanda move. You had already made a few trips to the department stores, trying on the perfect dress that fit like a dream and made you look incredible. Unfortunately, it cost more than your rent so it went back on the rack.

Your disappointing trip was made a little better by the promise of your friends to help you which is what you were doing now. One more block to go and you would be at the boutique you’ve never heard of before where Natasha was meeting you.

Opening the doors made you a little concerned. The place looked like it was from another planet. The glossy black ceiling stood in contrast to the bright white walls that were made up of three dimensional geometric tiles.

Silver accented the space from the large framed mirrors that leaned against the walls to the velvet pewter asymmetrically curved couch outside the dressing room. The clothes themselves looked normal at least, dresses of all kinds displayed on racks within silver frames, making them look like they were encased in glass.

Peggy and Wanda spread out to look for dresses, trying to find ones that resembled the overpriced gown you had only taken a selfie of to remember it by. Immediately you were drawn to a rack of flowy pastel colored ones, draping a few different styles over your arm.

In the middle of your search you heard Natasha call your name, and turning around to greet her you didn’t expect to see an unfamiliar face. She stood next to a man that towered over her small frame. A shock of ice blonde hair and matching bleached eyebrows caught your attention first before you moved on to his outfit, a red vest, leather pants and fur coat that seemed to only have one sleeve.

“Y/N, this is Taneleer Tivan, owner of The Tivan Collection,” she whispered the last line in a way as if you were meant to know who he was.

“Oh, it’s nice to meet you,” you said, though his facial expression didn’t change.

Though his eyes were surrounded by a smudge of dark liner you were able to see clearly the way he looked down in disgust at the dresses you held.

“Carina!” he shouted, and a moment later a girl came running forward. She wore a white vinyl dress that looked more like something you expected the store to sell, although her outfit is much more subdued than her boss’s.

She waited in silence with her hands clasped in front of her, in what seemed like a routine she was quite familiar with. “These are all wrong,” Taneleer said to you and suddenly the dresses were being taken out of your hands by his assistant. “I have much better in my collection.”

To your shock Carina was beside you again, ushering you towards a different section of racks that had more appropriate gowns despite neither her or her boss knowing what event you were shopping for. Thinking back, the pastels might have been a bit too casual anyway.

As you perused the new section you found an assortment of beautiful dresses, some absolutely stunning ones that had you worrying about the price. Natasha can certainly afford a lot more than you but glancing down at the tag you were surprised to see how reasonable things were. You took out a few jewel toned ones to try on that caught your eye.

“Y/N, what do you think of these?”

Peggy’s soft voice made you turn around. The first dress she held up was a satin one shoulder gown in black.

“Oh I like the design,” you said, pointing to the ruffles falling from the shoulder.

The next one she held up was a shimmering emerald dress whose classic mermaid style made you feel like you should be going to the Oscars instead of a wedding.

“Peggy, that’s too formal!” Wanda chimed in, huffing as she came over with more than a half dozen sparkly dresses.

She made room on the nearest rack to hang them, excitedly showing each one off to you. The first was a gorgeous sequined dress, rose gold sparkling in the light. It was undeniably beautiful but you had reservations. You were a guest at someone’s wedding and didn’t want to draw too much attention.

“This one is similar but you’ll see the difference,” she added, holding up another rose gold sequined dress, this one with a plunging V-neckline and a low open back.

“Wanda, that’s…” You stopped yourself from saying anything, grimacing uncomfortably at the dress that was so wrong.

“That looks like a slutty prom dress,” Natasha laughed, saying the thoughts you didn’t say aloud.

Wanda scrunched her face at Natasha before continuing with the next set of dresses. They were less eye catching as the others but still in the sparkly realm. You set aside a shimmering off the shoulder dress in turquoise that looked more like the ocean glittering in sunshine. The neckline was still a bit low but the back was more appropriately cut.

Natasha handed you one dress, a stunning red gown of flowing chiffon with a beautifully embellished bodice of lace and beading. The high neck of the dress complimented the tasteful open back design.

“Okay I’m getting overwhelmed. I have to start trying things on.”

With dresses in tow you made your way inside the fitting room and closed the curtain. Natasha sat across from Peggy and Wanda, checking work emails from her phone despite it being Sunday.

“Nat, did you get your wedding dress from here?” Wanda curiously wondered as her eyes roamed the store.

Her lips pursed as she took a deep breath. “I haven’t found a dress yet. I think we might have to push off the wedding again.”

“What was that?” you said, pushing open the curtains.

Peggy’s face lit up with a smile as you stepped out in a purple dress with lace detailing on the bodice. “You look beautiful!”

Your head turned towards the larger mirrors for a second to admire how you looked in the dress before you remembered the muffled conversation you heard through the curtain.

“Wait, Tash, did you say you’re pushing off the wedding again?”

She huffed loudly, leaning over and covering the frustration on her face with her hands. When she finally lifted her head you saw the desperation in her eyes. “I’m ready to say ‘fuck it’ and go to the courthouse.”

With Natasha’s ever increasing workload you’re quite surprised she hasn’t done this already. It doesn’t seem like she and Clint have made any progress since you’ve known them.

“Forget me,” she said, waving her hand as if to push the burdensome thoughts away. “That dress is pretty but there’s no wow factor.”

You looked in the mirror, realizing she was right. The next dress you put on was the red one Natasha picked out and that one definitely wowed but not in a good way. The bodice of the dress had an uneven cut that exposed part of your sides making you feel uncomfortable.

The one shoulder dress Peggy picked out was too tight but even if there was another size you didn’t like the satin. Wanda’s sparkly dress was a maybe but you weren’t completely sold on it yet. After changing in and out of a few more dresses you started to sweat and all you wanted to do was leave.

While hanging the dress you just stepped out of back up you saw there was one more left and your eyes lit up. You don’t remember grabbing this dress but it was meant to be from the moment you slipped it on.

It was a beautiful navy blue gown, with fluttering ruffles down the modest V-neck that also mirrored the back. Compared to some of the others this was a much simpler dress but there was something about it that felt right. It fit like a dream, flattering every part of you while still allowing for movement. Weddings mean dancing and the thought of dancing with Bucky made goosebumps prickle all over your skin.

As you opened the curtain you saw everyone’s jaws drop, their eyes lighting up as you stood in front of them.

“This! This is it!”

“You really think?” you asked, looking over your shoulder to see how it looks from behind.

Peggy nodded her head, “Definitely. It’s perfect.”

“Bucky’s going to love it,” Natasha added.

You rolled your eyes, missing the knowing look the three of them shared. “Guys, this isn’t for Bucky. I want to look good for myself.”

“And you do,” Wanda said, “But he’ll also appreciate how good your ass looks in that, damn!”

Rolling your eyes as they burst out laughing, you admired yourself in the dress a little longer knowing this is the one. You went back into the dressing room with Bucky on your mind. Sure, he might stare at you all night in this dress but the truth is it doesn’t mean much more than that.

Bucky was actively dating and the only reason you’re going with him to the wedding is so he doesn’t spend a weekend with someone he really doesn’t know. Panic washes over you as you worry about the near future. What if he meets someone he really gets along with before the wedding and he resents the fact that he asked you to go. What if he uninvites you? What if–

“Hey I found a really cute clutch to go with the dress,” Wanda said through the curtain.

You finished getting dressed, grabbing the dresses you didn’t want first. Opening the curtain you found Carina waiting beside Wanda, ready to take the dresses from you. You thanked her and took the dress you were buying, holding it up next to the clutch Wanda found. It was glittering gold with a metal trim on the opening.

“Oooh I love it.”

Carina was waiting silently at the register in anticipation of you bringing everything up to pay. As you took care of that Natasha said goodbye to Taneleer, kissing him on both cheeks. You thanked him as well before leaving and his mouth curved into the slightest smile.

Late lunch with the girls went by faster than you expected and you were happy to finally be home, hanging up the dress in your closet. You knew you had shoes that would pair well with it somewhere in your closet, a search meant for another day.

Before bed you decided to text Bucky, even though part of you was hesitant about it. You typed away quickly, sending the text and turning off your phone before he could respond. From the other side of the wall Bucky smiled when he saw a notification with your name.

You: Hope your suit game is good because I just bought my dress and it’s 🔥🔥

He couldn’t wait.

PART 17

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes series

[softly-savage-mint-yoongi]

Heat Seekers II Genre: Dark Cyberpunk AU Pairing: Chanyeol x f.reader Words: 8k Fic Warnings: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat. I’m serious people. If any of the chapter warnings are uncomfortable or triggering for you, please do not read this. Do so at your own discretion. Lots of angst and hurt, eventual smut. Chapter Warnings are below the cut. Author’s Note: There are some specific things in this fic that I’ve personally experienced, and some that I have not. Please understand my intention with this fic is a way of healing not just for myself but hopefully for others who unfortunately have experience with these types of situations. I did a lot of debating about whether or not I should even post this fic, and have spoken to a few individuals about it. Ultimately, with the intent of healing and moving past such trauma, it’s been decided OK to post. Please take my warnings seriously.

Chapter Warnings: panic, anxiety & triggers. Mentions of sex trafficking. Political injustice.

You push your way through the heavy doors into Blue House, ticking your chin forward in greeting to the entertainers standing in the comforts of the lobby, familiar faces you once considered colleagues. The one you’re looking for is at the bar along the back wall, sleek black beneath your fingers, unable to help the way they fan and smooth across its surface as you address him. “Thanks for the tip,” you grin, pausing momentarily to chastise the man before you, “Can I have the info now? I know you were looking out for me by taking it to save, but don’t you think you should have a little more faith in me?” Chan, who is your sole confidant- grins right back. “We don’t believe in faith, remember?” he retorts, flourishing two fingers in front of him to awaken his Atlas, fuzzing to synthetic life between you. You laugh mirthlessly at his reminder because he is right. He flicks his fingers and turns his wrist in a smooth motion, then waits while you blink your own to life and accept the request for sync that takes up the main holo in front of you. He waits for you to collect the job from his inbox and read the description; watching you with a blank expression you don’t see. “In search of a female escort, early to mid-twenties for one night job. The escort must possess advanced skills with Atlas Tech, and hacking. Body measurements are required prior to the job. Deliver in-person to coordinates 94.0114” N 94.0412” E. Details to follow. Payment is dependent on job success. 1200c.” Admittedly, the job description is short but to the point. If anyone were desperate enough, which everyone is, anyone could have collected this job. Now you see why Chan called you for this. Even without the price tag, the requirements complement your skillset spot on. You notice the job expires in two days. Good thing you didn’t have any other plans tonight, you muse to yourself. “Thanks, Chan,” you say with a smile, disconnecting the sync between your Atlas drives. He gives you a warm, dimpled smile in return, “Don’t mention it, babygirl. Just don’t be a stranger, yeah? You know Blue House will always be here for you.” His affectionate pet name for you makes your stomach flutter, just the same as it always did, but you sigh and turn away with a nod, plugging coordinates into your H.I. Pulling up your GPS menu, your smart tech automatically asks you if you want to register the coordinates it recognizes from any recent files you opened. You tap the green ‘register’ button on your interface the moment you slide onto the smooth leather seat of your hyperbike. You pull the visor of your helmet down, giving your H.I a moment to complete the reaction and pop up in your helmet visor. When it does, you scan the map, telling your Atlas you wish to start your bike. The artificial chime of understanding is a comforting sound, as is the low humming purr of the engine starting within the metal between your knees. Intimate, like a heartbeat between a ribcage. The route isn’t terribly long, about thirty-six minutes through the city… if you go the speed limit. A ridiculous notion to still follow, if only out of principle for the older generations. Nobody uses the rule of it anymore, and most people who use the road these days consider it an insult to the growth of safe traveling anymore to have ‘limits’ on speed, and by extension, how well a vehicle moves. Why make such advancements if the restrictions placed on them refuse to evolve? You tick your head to the side with a slight scowl. The trip takes you two-tenths of a second longer than you initially gauged. To a tech hacker such as yourself, inaccuracy is a flaw you’re desperate to rid yourself of. It makes you green with envy of Artificial Intelligence. The coordinates take you to a jewelry store on the north side of the city, closer to the outskirts and the wilderness of the Old City beyond it. Despite the location, the street is lined with tons of high-end shops that glow in the night, open for business. Odd, considering the best shopping districts in the city are further toward the center, and none of them look as classy as this street. You enter the store, raising a brow at the large panel that reads ‘Cloak & Dagger’ in clean, bold lines in the window. A strange name for a jewelry boutique. It feels out of place for you to be here, but you march forward carefully regardless of the uncomfortable way the white polished floor shines back up into your eyes. “Hello?” you call, approaching the largest glass case- it appears to be the counter, with a small tablet resting on a stand in the center. A woman stands up from behind another case to your left, sliding the glass panel closed with her hand before she approaches you. “How can I help you?” Her accent is older, perhaps European, and she looks as if she could be in her sixties. Even at her apparent age, she is exemplary. Your eyes drift down to the items in the case, drawing out a hum because the contents of the case are not what you expected. Now the name makes perfect sense. The jewelry doesn’t just mean your typical rings and pendants. The case is full of self-defense jewelry. Defender rings, ring knives, and other small weapons that are worn. Without answering her, you round the case to the one she stood from, and notice an assortment of larger wearable weapons. From strings of magnetic senbon to actual daggers and piercing finger cuffs. “Find something you like?” she asks, trying to prompt you again. Part of you immediately dislikes the way she’s standing. She seems too proud of your reaction, and with her back straight and hands folded perfectly on top of the counter, she has an air of superiority. With narrowed eyes, you stand back to your full height, “I’m here about a job that’s due in two days.” Her face is unreadable, and she nods minutely, “Can you show me what you’re referring to, dear?” She makes a finger gun and points it directly toward you, tilting her fingers up with the motion of it going off. It sets your adrenaline running with panic until she smiles and her Atlas opens between you. Her motion for opening it is horrifying, and you’re bewildered as to how she came about making that her initiation sequence. You don’t want to close your eyes tightly for the full second it takes to open your own, but you hold you breath and do it anyway. She hums in approval and understanding when you twist your H.I toward her and show her the job posting on your personal assignment bulletin. “I see,” she says, letting her eyes rove you up and down. Nothing you’re not used to, having worked in a brothel for years. “Very well then.” She types something into her own H.I and motions for you to come back to the center of the shop floor. When you do, she presses a button on her interface that expands it around the room. Suddenly, you’re standing in the center of some program she’s running, and the security cameras in the shop come to life. A bright blue light beams from each, pointing at your feet as they scan up your form. Momentarily, you’re impressed with the way she’s made her tech work. Multiple programs running from the same cameras, she’s clever, and you like her a little more for it. Perhaps a bit unorthodox and fitting to her shop’s name, cloaked in mystery, but you’re interested in how she came to be in this moment. She stands in front of you, one hand on her hip while the other goes between touching her lips to touching her main holographic interface, or H.I for short. She’s mumbling to herself as she works, letting your now holographic form float into the space above you. Reaching out, she pulls you out of the center and away from your holoclone. “Fry, darling, give me measurements without her clothes, will you?” “Yes of course, dear,” a disembodied voice echos back. Albeit quite synthesized, it is distinctly male, with an American accent. “Pardon me for the intrusion, miss. Varian Fry, at your service.” the voice says to your holoclone. No clothing is actually removed from either you or your clone, but the AI brings up a separate holo screen for each piece of your clothing. It’s fascinating, to see how quickly he can tell everything about the items, from their thickness and fibers to how many millimeters they equate for in your initial measurements. “At your request, dear,” he says, and an upbeat chime rings on her main interface with your naked measurements. The woman looks at you over her reading glasses, smiling, “He’s impressive, isn’t he?” You realize she asked because you’re smiling at his handiwork. Simply, you nod at her. “Fry, take these into manufacturing. Rush order, number…” she trails off, pausing as she tilts her head at you, “seventy-two, please. In black and violet.” You have no idea what she means and part of you feels like this is some strange super-suit she’s making for you. “Right away, dear.” Fry says, and her H.I blinks into nonexistence. She sighs, glancing at you wistfully, “I think he’ll be most pleased.” You know you shouldn’t because it’s cliche and quite honestly, she shouldn’t tell you, but you ask anyway, “Who?” She laughs, “Your partner for the evening, of course. Don’t worry too much, he’s one of the good guys.” That’s all she tells you before she’s ushering you back toward the door. “Come by again tomorrow midday, it’ll be ready,” she assures you just as she lets the door shut between you. The encounter leaves you feeling a myriad of emotions, though most prominently was the anxiousness of such a mysterious job. You’ve only had a small share of jobs from outside sources, and none that appeared to have so much riding on them. Without anything else to do, you ride back toward Blue House, craving pizza. Smiling, you decide to stop for a quick payday and a free dinner at The Cave. It takes less time than usual to make your rounds of the arcade cabinets, easily earning enough credits to pay for a large pie to take back with you. Plain cheese, well done. Same as always. When you walk through the doors of the brothel with a smile and a pizza box, Chan knows, “Oh no, how many people’s day did you ruin?” “Just a few, I promise. I really just wanted the pizza.” you comment, admitting that a few extra coins in your pocket from beating out cheating gamers never hurt anyone. His eyes zero in on the box settled on your palm with a swallow, “Did you just bring that here to make my mouth water?” There’s a hopeful spark in his eyes, but you decide to enjoy the chance to tease anyway, “We both know this isn’t the kind of thing that makes your mouth water.” Your eyes float around the lobby with a grin. His smile slides off his face briefly, until you shake your head, “Come on. Got some time to spare?” Immediately, the guardian of Blue House morphs his stance- away from the imposing spread of his arms across the sleek counter to the boyish delight of the one person you’ve grown to trust in this world like a starry-eyed puppy. His childlike wonder brings a smile to your lips at the stark contrast of his nickname in the business, as the Wolf of Blue House. He doesn’t mind it, and most of his clientele pay top dollar to have the attention and affection of that persona. You know the way, and Chan follows you through the door on the right, ascending the stairs tucked narrowly between the lounges. The rose-colored light gives the cramped space an intimate feel, and part of you takes artificial comfort from this familiarity, and the memories of it you can feel permeate your consciousness. Of the way you grew up here, together with Chan. Of how thankful you are to him for teaching you and helping you survive. The embarrassment of teenage years made you closer, and you try not to smile, remembering once when you were drunk and nineteen, after your first official orgasm ever, at his hands, and the victory of such a thing made you so emotional you confessed that you loved him. Gently as ever, he brought you back down and reminded you that pleasure isn’t love. In the darkness of your personal room in this very building, your tears fell from the sudden fear of weightlessness that overtook you with such release, and he was there for every step of the way. Chan was there, keeping you grounded and guiding you on a path that would make you strong enough, smart enough, to stand on your own feet and never need anyone else. You could want to your heart’s content, but you would never need. That seems like a distant past, now. Somewhere after eating the whole pie with Chan on the rooftop, you fell asleep. You’re positive he carried you back down the stairs to his den and let you sleep in his bed. The only difference was your jacket had been removed, neatly folded over the open door of his armoire. You’ve woken up here before, sometimes alone, sometimes not when you needed to feel safe so you could sleep without screaming. Weeks or months between. Never more than 3 nights in a row. Today, only the familiar scent of Chan lingers in the room. When you rise, you notice he’s left you some of your old clothes, if you feel so inclined, and a fresh towel. The mirror of his bathroom has wispy remnants of condensation still, and the balmy humidity in the room feels relaxing. The warm water kickstarts your tired bones while you shower, giving you time to think against the white noise it provides. You wonder what time it is, but don’t bother with rushing the moment. As usual, you find Chan working in the office with his natural curls still damp atop his head. They’re unstyled, the dry strands a bit frizzy- mused from his fingers running through them no doubt. Even though you know he’s very busy, he looks comfortable. “I’m out.” you coo quietly from your position, leaning against the door frame with your jacket tucked over your folded arms. It’s a little awkward saying goodbye, knowing you’ll be back in a few weeks after you’ve rotated through your other caches. You can never stay in one place for too long. His head snaps up with the sound of your voice, and he gives you a dimpled grin, “Okay. Stay safe out there, babygirl.” It’s obvious your decision to even say goodbye makes him happy, although he has never judged you for disappearing without small talk. Neither of you owe each other anything. You remain as you both are, separately autonomous. The time you share together is a boon of respectful interest and allied friendship. It’s half past noon as you sling your backpack over your shoulder and head outside, inhaling a deep breath as your palm habitually runs across the leather seat of your bike. Mounting, you bring up the routes of your recent destinations and take in the swell of momentary bliss you get when the bike beneath you roars to life. The midday sun feels good, the heat of it through your clothes and on your hands warming you the moment you ride onto the city streets from the cool shade of the undercity. When you arrive at Cloak & Dagger, you’re whisked inside by the same older woman from yesterday, and she makes a lot of fuss over you. “We’ve got to get your nails and your hair done before you can wear that dress,” she’s muttering, pulling at your hair and your hands to see your fingernails. “Excuse me?” you ask. The job didn’t entail all of that fuss. Why is going to that extent necessary? She gives you a dazzling, perhaps a little overeager smile. “You’ve got to look the part, doll. You’re not bad,” she comments, standing back to assess you from head to toe with a twist to her lips, “but we’ve still got to even out your ends and do you up for the event.” You’re uncomfortable with this, but when she confirms it will cost you nothing, you remind yourself it’s all for the money. Plus, you haven’t had a haircut in a while. “Close the shop, dear, we’ve got important work to do!” she coos in excitement loudly to her AI. Fry’s voice answers her with amusement, “We never opened today, dear.” She laughs, “All’s well that ends well, then!” as she takes your hand and walks you back behind the counter and into a large space that appears to be a dressing room. Immediately, she guides you to a comfortable-looking chair stationed in front of an old-style makeup mirror and begins talking to her AI. “Mm, yes, I think this one will do.” she says as she flips through a couple of hairstyles from a menu you don’t recognize in her H.I. Two arms fold down from the center of the ceiling here, sleek and soundless as they move. Fry’s voice is directed at you, “This is happening to you, my dear. Which of these would you like? I can do either with the length your hair will be once I even it out.” A display appears on the mirror in front of you and four hairstyles are displayed. You’re still trying to wrap your head around this ordeal and all the fuss over you, but you blurt out “number two” anyway. “Excellent choice, my dear.” he says, gentlemanly as always in his American accent. The arms behind you start working immediately, folding out to comb your hair and part it, taking clips from a tray that’s been set up just behind the chair. It takes longer than you anticipated for the AI Varian Fry to cut your hair and style it into the selected choice, all while he comments how wonderful it looks on you. You’ve lost count of how many pins he’s put in by now. The quirky woman jabs often at you with small talk that you needn’t reply to, or she comments on the work Fry is doing while she tends to your nails. “I can do that, darling. No need to fret.” the AI says to her while she fusses over evening out your nails, but she waves him off. “No no, I want to. It makes me feel useful. We never get to have this kind of fun anymore.” Her words are cryptic and the way she says them tells you there’s a mountain of information behind the comment, but she says nothing else about it. Your nails aren’t something you get a choice with, as she layers gel onto them, building it up and evening the edges before she finishes. You watch, moving your fingers in all kinds of ways to get used to having longer nails, almond-shaped no less. Admittedly, you like the matte hue she chose as the color. Once she’s finished, she stands and walks to the left side of the room. There’s a long, rolling pole with clothes hangers adorning it, and a single garment is neatly folded in a black bag. She removes it and unzips it just as Varian Fry places the final bobby pin in your hair, covering your eyes with a metal visor briefly while hairspray plumes into a cloud over your head. “I can’t wait to see this on you,” the woman coos excitedly, “You might just be our best work yet.” When Varian finishes your hair, the arms spin your chair in the direction of the woman, and she’s holding up a black and violet dress, the heavy yet gentle shine of velvet catching light. Typically, you’re not the dress type, but again, money is money. At least it isn’t hideous, and the colors and style are gorgeous. There’s isn’t much you find that would annoy you with it, other than perhaps the inability to run if necessary. “We’ve only got your makeup left to do!” she chimes while she hangs the dress on a hook high off the floor, just beside the mirror. Another cart is wheeled over by one of Varian’s arms, full of high-end makeup brands you recognize from huge ads in the shopping districts of the city. She takes your hand with a laugh, “Up up up, come on now, let’s get you into this.” Ushering you into another room, you’re granted a moment of privacy to use the restroom and collect yourself before she’s knocking at the door and shamelessly stripping you of your outer clothes. Being naked in front of others stopped making you feel insecure a long time ago, and the benefit of it is the efficient speed of doing the task you needed to do instead of milling about in a flustered state of undress for longer than necessary. It doesn’t mean you enjoy being in the nude, but when duty calls you do what must be done. The older woman of Cloak & Dagger doesn’t seem to bat an eye either, assuming years of her dressing up others in her creations has kept the professional efficiency all the same. If she notices any of your battle scars, she doesn’t pause or comment on them. When you look at yourself in the mirror, you don’t recognize the woman staring back at you, except for her eyes and the color of her hair. The dress hugs your form like a thick and warm blanket, accentuating the lines of your body and appealing to the curve of your hips you hadn’t realized were so generous. You turn several directions, analyzing yourself. Perhaps it had been too long since you looked in the mirror at your body. You could appreciate the shape of your own ass, and the swell of your breasts, the gentle caress of line that was your own spine, clearly visible in the cutout back of this dress. Even the muscle of your own legs, visible from the mid-thigh down to the shiny black heels on your feet. For once, even with every sad story of the scars you know riddle your body, you couldn’t stop staring at yourself, liking the way you looked. Finished with fussing over yourself, the woman cracks a grin at you, cooing with excitement at the spectacle before her. “You look ravaging, darling.” She opens the door and takes your hand. Leading you back into the center of the prep room, she waits. Walking in heels is going to be the death of you- you’ve never worn any quite this high and pointy. In your mind, the only upside is the way you could stab someone with one if warranted. When Varian doesn’t respond and no movement is noticed from any of the things he can control, she asks, “Varian dear are you awake?” To which the hand-like ends of the limbs from the ceiling give her a single finger of silence, he whispers, “No, no please I need a moment to enjoy this absolute dream.” The woman barks a loud laugh, giggling to herself with pride. The joke does not go over your head, realizing with a smile that Varian was giving you a compliment. The entire ordeal has taken far longer than you think is appropriate, but if you try to think about your feelings, you can admit you enjoyed the pampering, and you feel good. You’ve never done anything like this, and there are small parts of you that had always wondered about why women fuss over their appearances so much. Now, you know. “The car has just arrived, dear.” Fry’s voice cuts in just as the woman finishes applying one more layer of lipstick to your face. She claps her hands together and smiles, “Right then! One last piece.” With a sway in her step, she leads you back out to the front of the shop and muses over the selection of handbags to her right briefly, deciding on a black leather clutch with a silver crossbody chain that she drapes over your body. You spy through the front window curiously, eyeing a man standing beside a car door wearing a black suit and tie with dark sunglasses. He’s not moving. “One more thing.” says the old woman, her finger raised in the air as she rounds the counter. She pulls a small 10mm pistol from somewhere below the register, checking it with a speed you find almost as alarming as the immediate panic that sets into your bones. You’re frozen as she checks the six spaces are all filled with bullets, snaps it shut and puts the safety lock on. Then, she’s standing in front of you, holding it out for you to take. Slowly, as if the gears of your body have been rusted still far too long, you shake your head. “What’s the matter dear, don’t know how to shoot? I don’t think you’ll need it, but just in case.” “No,” your voice quivers. She makes a sound of disbelief, misunderstanding you as she reaches for your bag, attempting to put the gun in it. “Get that thing away from me.” you command, wrenching the bag out of her fingers. She gives you a look, open-mouthed and taken aback a bit. When the pause between you grows too heavy, the man at the car breaks the silence by knocking on the door. The old woman blinks, “Oh, goodness okay okay, have it your way. Just be safe. I don’t want any idiots ruining this stunning creation.” she says to you with a wistful smile and a pat to your shoulder. Once she ushered you outside, you’re not sure why, but your head seemed to turn of its own volition, back to the front window of Cloak & Dagger, where you spied Varian’s metal arm whipping a handkerchief from an unknown place and offering it to his wife. The SUV in front of you is dark. Black paint, black trim and rims, and every window except the windshield looks deeply tinted. The man in front of you, painfully obvious with his secret and important aura, sticks out like a sore thumb. His only motion is opening the rear door for you. You’re desperate not to wobble or fall as you climb inside, already scowling at the heels on your feet. The inside of the SUV is more spacious than you gave credit for, with the seats rearranged in a way that opens the space like a lounge of sorts, complete with ice bucket and the glow of colored lights overhead. You perch yourself on the edge of an open section of the long seat across from the only other person in the back of the car, save for the sound of the man closing the door behind you and climbing into the driver’s seat of the SUV from the other side of a thick panel of black glass. The eyes of the person across from you are dancing along your skin, you can feel them, but it’s not in a way that raises the hair on the back of your neck. When you look ahead, you find a pair of dark eyes, crinkled at the outer corners and smiling at you, one hand extended in your direction. “Good evening, thank you for coming.” His voice is smooth. Neutral, with a hint of amusement. You say nothing, waiting for him to elaborate. He is handsome, you’ll admit, but in an almost too-pretty way. Hair swept up and to the side, in a full three piece suit that looked as if it cost an absurd amount of money to buy. His posture, with one knee over the other and his torso draped at an angle, with one arm over the back of the seat across from you. He raises his thick brows once when you say nothing, still analyzing him. “Right.” he chimes, placing the glass from his hand in the holder beside him. “I’m Suho, the one who posted the job.” he states matter of factually, in a calm and even tone. The first indicator that his request is legitimate, you think. His posture is too relaxed and he speaks too clearly to be afraid of being overheard by nothing more than an anxious or guilty conscience. He is not out to get you. “What is it exactly that you need my help with?” you ask, matching his tone. A small part of you relaxes into the seat at your back, adjusting to sit a little more comfortably. He smiles wistfully, “I’m glad you asked,” a pause, before he sits up and places his elbows on his knees, hands folded together in front of him so he can address you directly. “We’re headed to a Gala as we speak. The Medical Advancement Technologies Gala, to be precise. There’s a certain politician attending that must be dealt with, but there is information I need from him in order to deal with him appropriately.” Suho explains, skirting the details. Whether at your expense or not, it pisses you off. “You don’t need to sugarcoat it with me, just so you know. So what did he do and why do you care?” He blinks at you, then quickly collects himself with a smile, “Apologies.” There’s a brief moment where his brows knit together before he continues, “He is… someone who uses his political power to do unforgivable things. I care, because one of those things is sex trafficking.” You don’t flinch, you don’t move, you don’t blink. You want to ask why that’s what Suho cares about, but you remind yourself that’s not the most important line of questioning right now. It’s not about Suho, it’s about the politician. Nodding when you notice he’s waiting for your response, “How is it that you came to find out about it, and how do you know it is him? Does he use an alias?” Suho hums with agreement, “He does. I’ve been tracking his association with trafficking for months, and have done what I can to gather information, but it is that last missing piece he keeps locked up that I need help with.” He makes a distinct motion with his right hand, elegant and graceful, almost as if dancing, so subtle and strange you almost miss it. It takes you a moment to realize that was his initiation to awaken his own Atlas. He begins flicking his way through a series of locked programs and folders in his own archives. Bold of him to do so directly in front of you. He doesn’t know what you’re capable of, and although it isn’t easy to read some of his things both backwards and at a speed to see anything useful, it isn’t impossible to pick out the keywords ‘Olympus’ and ‘Tartarus’ from some of his files. “So you need someone to hack into his Atlas to retrieve the final key.” you assume of him, understanding now exactly why the job was so specific. The man in front of you motions for you to open your own, intending to share some files with you. Blinking it to life, you accept his immediate offer to link up after a brief moment of hesitation. You have plenty of safeguards on your own tech, and there should be virtually no way for anyone to hack and see anything of value since you are the sole creator and user of Ghost tech, but something else tells you this won’t be the last of Suho you’ll be seeing. Suho nods when you accept, “Yes. You’ll be with me all evening, and I’ll introduce you to him. I promise there will be no sexual favors or activities involved, whatsoever.” You tilt your head, puckering your lips for a moment. Your eyes trail him up and down through the glowing blue lines between you, gauging his reasoning for a woman rather than a man. “Why a woman then?” He blanches momentarily, before shrugging, “Just my personal preference I suppose.” He meets your stare but doesn’t express any other emotion, as far as you can tell. “Yet you wish for no acts of sexual service?” Suho nods, “That’s right. Just be my date. I won’t even kiss you.” Nothing here screams danger to you, no fight or flight instincts kick in, but you find yourself asking a question and playing a game regardless. A game your inner self loathes, and your survival self thrives on. The addiction of power that comes with winning in any form. You make a show of eyeing him from the dark hair atop his head, all the way down to the perfectly polished tips of his shoes. “That’s a pity.” Suho, who you barely know, blinks at you and surprise settles on his face, trying to hide the smile in the apples of his cheeks while he pretends to look out the window. You wait, openly watching him for any subtle signs of odd behavior. For any slip ups. This is where checkmate is called in the game. The part where your victory is certain but the game drags on. And yet, no such euphoric victory sweeps through your bloodstream. Instead, he murmur’s a simple phrase to flip the tables and lance you with the first striking blow of information. Information that is dangerous. “This is why it had to be you.” Quickly your dress seems to morph its shape into the most constricting piece of clothing you’ve ever worn. You can do nothing, sitting perfectly still. Suho takes a moment to realize your reaction was intense, a deep furrow in his brow when he understands. “You’ve got nothing to fear from me, though.” he attempts to pacify your anxiety, holding up his empty palms. “Explain. Now.” is all you can force from your throat. With a sadness to his expression, he tucks the corner of his mouth into his cheek and gives you a hard stare. Then, he sighs. He sags a little more along the bench seat across from you, letting his heavy head hang a little lower, shoulders a little looser. Relaxing his posture to appeal and seem less dangerous. “We need your help, Ms. Maneater.” he breathes at last, as if the face were plain as day. Your silence is heard everywhere like the command of a god in the small space of the SUV. “I’m one of the rare someone’s who gives more fucks to humanity than to money. I came from money, and lots of it. Until my humanity was handed over to a human trafficking trade by my own parent’s filthy hands.” For the first time in a full minute you take one small breath. Nothing in his posture or words or expression rings false. There is no tension in his throat, wrought tight with lies. “You could say I had my eyes opened. Today, I manage a team of others like me, with their own trauma and stories of how they’ve survived to rise from the ashes. Our scars are what keep us motivated to put bad people away in the deepest pits of hell forever.” He talks lowly now, just low enough to be more than a whisper. Your lips form a word, barely audible, “Tartarus.” This time, it is Suho’s turn to be taken aback with shock. “Where did you find that name?” His reaction gives you the strength to relax a fraction, fighting through the tension in your jaw to speak, “You’ve got nothing to fear from me.” He scoffs as you throw his own words back at him. “I just read it on your Atlas.” It takes him a moment to weigh your words, understanding how careful he should be. “I didn’t think that was possible, I moved through them so quickly.” You nod, folding your hands together, “Well, you did say it had to be me. I can only allude to that meaning of my technical abilities if you know my moniker.” His smile reappears, not too much, but just enough to curve his lips, “We need your help.” “How exactly am I supposed to trust you? You didn’t tell me how you knew it was me.” Suho pouts his lips, considering your question, “You’re not as stealthy as you think you are,” he begins. “Although we mostly went off of clues and a hunch, Mrs. Fry and her AI did their due diligence to confirm your identity through your Atlas.” You narrow your eyes at him, ready with a threat. “Varian is amazing, yes? There is so much he can do to go undetected if he only looks, but doesn’t touch.” Your rage is simmering, in part that you are impressed, “Why not have him do the hacking for you then?” Suho clicks his tongue, “AI are not allowed at the MAT Gala, and even if he were it would be incredibly suspicious to bring an AI for a companion to such an event.” “And you prefer women anyway.” you chide sarcastically. You sigh, “How did you know I would come?” At this question, he fixes you with a hard stare as if deciding what to say, “I didn’t, but I had hope that the price tag would catch the Wolf’s eye for you when I had Varian post it on the brothel’s board.” “Excuse me?” you growl, ready to whip off your heel and stab him if necessary. You push the shame down that you let your guard down with Chan. What if he is in danger because of you? Although no danger seems to come from Suho, it doesn’t mean there aren’t other targets on your back. You can only hope that Chan isn’t as stupid as you are. “Relax,” Suho says, “I’m not interested in that information, and I hope I’ve already established that I’m not in it for the money.” A tap on the black glass between you and the driver pulls Suho’s attention away briefly, “We’ve got about 20 minutes to talk about the job.” It takes you a moment to nod at him, “Fine. Tell me what I need to do.” He smiles at you, “Thank you.” It takes ten minutes for Suho to share the information he’s gathered with you so far, from pictures to audio recordings and statements of witnesses given to others and collateral information taken from various sources. All with the initials of CIG under something called ‘Project Zero’.

Suho gently tries to escape the horrific details that ‘Project Zero’ uses funds from taxpayers in order to feed, shelter and educate homeless persons and families in an effort to reduce the number to zero, and the fact that it more than likely means the funds are being used to eradicate or enslave them in the trafficking market.

In the last ten minutes, you think of how you’ll collect the piece of information Suho needs. An offshore account where his embezzled funds are kept and used, under the alias of one CIG. Suho shows you backdated statements of funds going to and coming from the account from another account, a tertiary, privately owned finance management company connected to ‘Project Zero’.

Suho has the login information for the accounts, and is certain the politician is the CEO of the finance company managing the whole thing. All you have to do is hack in and find the items necessary to link all three together.

The Gala is… impressive. Deciding to trust Suho for the evening, at least, you walk beside him, arm in arm down the velvety carpet rolled out between the street and the venue.

“How are you connected to all this?” you whisper to him as you pause, waiting your turn for the media and news outlets to take your photos. It makes you uncomfortable.

Suho hums beside you, smiling and patting your hand affectionately, “Do you know Guardian Hospitals?”

The name is not uncommon to anyone as a well-known chain of general hospitals across Korea and China.

He pulls you forward gently, walking to the center space between two glittering, fluorescent obelisks that frame the ‘MAT GALA’ backdrop for photos. Several cameras flash in succession, making you squint against the headache you receive by waving a hand and smiling, playing your part beside Suho.

“I own the Korean branch.” he says when you’ve passed the threshold into the venue, grinning from ear to ear at your expression.

You suppose that’s not too far-fetched an explanation. You know three things about Suho now, and although you don’t have time to consider the surely intricate way to link it, you idly wonder if his connection to the hospital chain is how he knew to find you. Once or twice you’ve had to go, for illness or injury and at Chan’s insistence.

He doesn’t freely give up any other personal details about himself or ask you any questions. Nor do you, and the fact that he is patient and doesn’t pry is something you accept with good grace.

There’s an excruciating amount of idle small talk fluttering around you and Suho where you’re seated. Other people of importance come to the assigned table and take their seats. Some leave and come back. The same conversation floats around the table over and over again, asking the same uncaring greeting questions.

Some, like yourself, are deep into their Atlas’s, reading articles or working to answer emails or draft important papers or speeches- even in the middle of an event like this, too preoccupied to leave their work alone.

You can’t say you blame them, considering you’re here doing the same thing, regardless of it being the sole purpose you’re wearing this ridiculous outfit in the middle of an uncomfortable situation.

Suho’s fingers gently caress the point of your elbow, subtle in the way he directs your shoulders to turn acutely to the right. His face leans close enough that only you will hear the words whispered at your ear, not that anyone else cares to listen.

“There, coming this way. Red suit.”

Only one person fits the description, and you reach for your drink on the table, taking a small sip as you watch to fit in with the movement of people around you. An older man, average build with a suit that looks just as expensive as the rest of the people here, a dark and bloody red.

You watch, leaning back slowly into Suho’s grasp as he slings one arm over the back of your chair and curls himself toward your shoulder to talk. A tactic you know to create a more intimate space and make watchful eyes turn away with discomfort.

Suho’s talking in your ear again as the man approaches. A slight moment of unexpected anxiety raises your heartbeat a fraction, wondering if you’ll have to speak to him. The tension dissipates as he stops at the table directly behind yours and pulls out a chair, talking immediately with someone he knows at the table. The breath you didn’t know you’d been holding escapes from your throat in a long, quiet exhale.

Suho notices your anxiousness, taking your hand and patting it gently as if it were the most natural thing in the world for him to touch you with such care. Somehow, the action quells you nerves.

You’ve hacked people before, but never someone who looked as powerful or important, and never in the presence of the public eye.

Your counterpart leans closer to your ear again with a smile, “Relax,” he says. “Nobody is paying you any attention.”

His words aren’t enough to hold back the wildness in your expression, and he chuckles softly, “Not that you trust me very much, but I’m not going to let anything bad happen to you. For once, you have someone literally looking out for you.”

This time, his assurance cuts deeper, but not in a painful way. There’s a sincerity in his tone you can’t dispel, and it helps ground you.

You blink, slow and purposefully, and the soft and familiar blue glow of your Atlas casts a wave of color on your skin that washes over you like a comforting touch. It steadies you to dive deep into your world.

Part of you is weary about Suho watching, afraid he may somehow know about your Ghost tech. You briefly consider this a test to see how true to its name your self-made program is, and the part of your conscience that wins is curious to see if you pass.

Refusing to let it weigh you down, you get to work.

________________________________________

Fourteen hours later, you’re sitting at a window seat table sipping strawberry milk and fidgeting with the in-ear piece you just finished outfitting with the latest hologlass tech.

The rays of sunlight warm your arm where its closest to the window, and the chattering of the bustling cafe helps fight your drowsiness. There isn’t a crowd here, and the noise is just the slow side of steady that its easy to pick up the conversation of anyone around.

So, you listen. To an older couple talking about the vacation they are on, although you’re not sure why anyone would vacation in this city. You listen to the table of young people in the corner booth talking about homework and research papers as they simultaneously watch a single tablet with a lecture playing at the head of the table.

You listen, when the middle aged man closest to your table laughs. “What a deplorable monster.”

The sentence piques your interest. Stealing a glance, you notice he’s commenting on the news.

News that shows a headline of ‘Breaking News’, and a video clip of a politician being walked down the wide and pristine granite steps of the city judicial building. He’s handcuffed, and there are tons of reporters and cameras in his face that the police are shoving out of their way as they descend.

Your blood runs cold the moment you realize it’s the politician from last night. You freeze, with a mouthful of strawberry milk you refuse to swallow, and wait for the rest of the information.

“Choi In Gyong will go on trial for the undeniable and anonymously leaked evidence of embezzling funds from Project Zero- a campaign he sired to help the homeless- and participating in the purchase, acquisition and selling of people in an American sex trafficking cartel.” explains the newscaster. Her expression of disgust is plain for all to see.

Her AI counterpart, wearing a suit and tie, gives further details, “Jumbotrons all over the city, as well as the police headquarters were somehow hacked, but only to blast the evidence of his connection to such atrocities. Details on who or how the information was obtained and who hacked into these secure networks are still unknown. Many have speculated it was the work of Maneater, but one detail snufs out that option.”

The woman anchor smiles, turning to her co-host, “Oh? And what’s that, Yeoguk?”

Anchor Yeoguk cocks his head to one side, a quirk all his own, “The only indicator from whom the evidence was sent was the letter ‘O’.”

You jump as your phone rings, facedown on the table beside your forgotten milk. When you turn it over, you recognize the first two digits of it as a payphone number.

“Hello?”

A hum from the other end of the line, followed by a familiar voice, “Have you seen the news recently?”

You’re still a little shocked, but snort at the obvious excitement in his tone nonetheless while you stand and make your way out of the cafe.

“I just happened to catch the headlines.”

“And have you checked into your collections yet?”

You smile, “Not yet. Why, is there 1200c sitting prettily in there for me?”

Suho laughs from the other end of the line, “Yes, and more if you’re willing.”

The meaning of his statement catches you off guard, “What are you getting at?”

He hums again, but this time there’s no excitable tone to his voice, “I’d like to make you an offer, Ms. Maneater.”

You pause, pulling your phone away from your ear briefly to look at it questioningly.

“Last night’s job was… a test of sorts. We’ve had our eye on you for some time and last night proved you are just what we needed.”

“Am I supposed to be offended or impressed?” you ask through clenched teeth. You feel uneasy about this, you’ve never worked directly with anyone before on your hacking, and certainly not with such high risk and reward.

Suho laughs again at your reply, “Consider this the official, cordial invite to join Olympus.”

You scoff, of course he would call it that. However, you can’t deny that it is worth considering. After getting past the shock of your work having such a huge, direct effect, you feel… content.

Content that what you did was important to a lot of people like you. Content to know that there is a little bit of hope out there. Content to know that Suho wasn’t all bark and that perhaps, you can learn to trust him and his crew.

“I’ll give you some time to consider. It’ll be in your inbox.” Suho says. “Thanks for everything.”

“Wait!” you try, hoping to get some more information, “What will be in my inbox? How did you get my number? Hello? Hello…?” To your frustration, the dial tone is the only response you receive.

#heat seekers #chanyeol x reader #exo fanfiction #exo angst #exo smut #exo hurt #exo dystopian au #exo fanfic #chanyeol fanfiction #exo dark cyberpunk au

[laketaj24]

Tolerance

Author’s Note: I think this onslaught of the Witcher has caused my Henry obsession to return. I don’t have a Henry Cavill taglist (except for those who asked)… so I tagged people who might be interested and went from there. If you don’t want to be on the list, it’s cool hit me up! If you do want to be on the list… also… hit me up!

Summary: Bratty reader thinks she deserves more attention than she’s getting, and Henry gives it to her.

Pairing: CEO!Henry Cavill x Reader

Warnings: Just Smut okay. SMUT.

He’d warned you not to come to his office while he worked, but you had called him seven times, and then on top of the fucking calls, you’d left messages with the secretary. The frosted glass doors to his floor opened after you entered the pin. He would answer you one way or another. “Ma’am, he’s not taking visitors.” The secretary said to you.

Your heels clacked along the marbled floors, and you shoot her a look. “Do I look like a visitor?” The words slipped off your tongue like venom, and she backed down. You watched as she hit the small button and whispered something into the intercom. You knocked twice and then rattled at the doorknob. “Open the fucking door!”

You listened as the weighty footsteps moved closer to the door, and it swung open.  “What the fuck is your problem?”

“My problem?” You swing the door closed, but the fancy hydraulics stop it from slamming. “I don’t have one. I’ve called one hundred times.”

“Seven.” He corrected.

“And left messages,” You hissed.

“Three.”

“So you fucking got them, and you weren’t going to answer?”

“You need to calm down.” The door finally closed, and he turned to face you. His arms folded over his chest, and lips formed a smug tight line. “I have been tied up.”

“Sure.” You perch yourself at the edge of his desk and look at him. “It felt like you were ignoring me.”

“I would never.” Henry grinned. “But this bratty behavior your exuding does make me want to.”

You rolled your eyes. “I am leaving.” Seeing him in this state made you forget why you had even bothered to come here. He always left you, weak and unable to think. His very presence hazed your thoughts.

“That you are not,” His hand clasped around your wrist and whirled you over to his hard chest. You inhaled him, the masculine smell of the sandalwood and bourbon.  “Did you think that you would get off that easily?”

You swallowed, and your eyes met his slate green ones. “I have a meeting.” How could his voice alone make you wet, you clenched your legs together and tried to act as if you weren’t falling apart?

His hand moved in slow circles down to the slope of your buttocks, and you moved from him sneakily. You picked up your purse. “I had meetings, too, Y/N. None nearly as important as your time with me, therefore you should take it while you have it.” He pressed some button beneath his desk and locked the door before you could reach it.

It was hard not to have some underlying jealousy with Henry, he was a god as far as physique went, and the prowess of other women was like a magnet. He slyly undid his tie, and it hung from his neck. “Now, we can do this the easy way or…” His low voice gave the warning.

“I do not take kindly to your threats, Mr. Cavill.” The weight of his gaze on you drew tension in the air. It was clear you were not leaving, not in the state you arrived at least.

“Good, they were not meant to be taken kindly. I have the mind to take you over my knee. To make sure you understand that your behavior will not be tolerated, but then there are so many other things that I want to do to you. You understand?”

“and what will be tolerated?”

“A little order,” he moved closer to you and cleared his throat. “Some sanity for god’s sake and punishment.” He grinned.

The word punishment should have scared you shitless, but instead, you felt your nipples harden against the soft fabric of your dress, begging to be set free. Henry’s steps are fluid; he moves you to the white couch and gently tosses you over his thigh. His hand smooths up your legs to the curve of your ass, and then he hits. His thick fingers slap your ass, and your feet intertwine. He noticed. He pushed them apart, spreading your legs, so with each blow, a gust of the air hit your sex.  

“Have I ever told you?” He smacked again. “How perfect of an ass you have?” You could feel the smile on his lips as he smoothed over his blows and then administered another. You hung helplessly over his thighs,  whimpering as the soft sting of his works soothed over you. He knew precisely how to make you weak, shatter, fall apart. One more blow to your ass, and he sends you to your feet. “You can leave now if you want?”

“And if I don’t want to?” you asked.

“Then, take a seat.” He slapped his legs, and you did not waste a moment moving over him and draping your arms over his head. “I have fifteen minutes before my second meeting starts… what do you want to do?” He mumbled into the nape of your neck. His teeth scrape lightly over your skin while his fingers coax the dress up to your waist and reveal you are wearing nothing. You never wore panties around him; there was always a chance you’d end up naked somewhere.

“My pleasure.” You moaned. Your hips attuned to his behavior; you wind them on his thigh, persuading a small moan from him, and then you move to his belt buckle. “I guess that we have to be quick.” It takes a few seconds to unsheathe him from his pants. Henry sprung from his pants veined and thick in your hand. You grip instinctively, stroking him from hilt to the crown and swiping the precum with your thumb. He groaned aloud with his head falling back onto the couch. His mouth opened as he inhaled deeply each time you pulled at him.

“If you don’t stop,” He bucked in your hand. “I will cum from this alone.”

He fucked into your hand, coating your hand so that his thrust would be sleeker, faster. Then you stopped slicking yourself over him, teasing with the smooth opening of your cunt. “How much can you tolerate?” Your teeth nip at his ear. You sink on him and lift yourself from him all the way, feeling empty just from the two seconds he was inside of you.

“Are you teasing me?” He asked with a cocked brow and tinge of amusement on his face.

“Is it working?”

“Barely.” He laughs and secures your hips over him, and with one stroke is inside of you. His fingers dig into your hips as he pushes you down to meet him at every thrust. Your mind raced, wondering if the secretary could hear you? Were the board members he was expecting already out there? And then it hit you; you didn’t give a damn. Your head tossed backward in the moment, and you enjoyed the ride. Your toes curled, and nails dug into his silk shirt, clawing for the skin beneath. You didn’t want to stop, fuck fifteen minutes. You bounced on his cock, feeling yourself grow wetter for him.

Henry watched in excitement; his eyes wandered over what he could see. His cock buried deep inside of you, disappearing as you bucked wildly on him. He could see the pink of your folds and the way they glistened each time they hit the light, and immediately he wanted more. He pulled you from on top of him. Most of your body dangled from the back end of the couch while your pussy rests on his lips. He wasted no time plunging his tongue into you. Quick fast strokes got you to where he had just left off with his dick in seconds. Your hands clung to the couch for balance, but Henry didn’t give two shits about your balance. He was absorbed in the way your pussy tasted.

Seconds bleed into minutes of pleading to cum, and finally, he allowed you. Your body slinked back down to him, and his lips met yours. There was something erotic about tasting yourself on his lips.  He moaned into your mouth; his tongue playfully danced with yours in the afterglow of you cumming.

“Mr. Cavill, your guests have arrived.” The voice sprung from the intercom.

Your hands move back to his cock. “Fuck me.” You stated simply.

Henry’s face was flushed, the brown curls clung to his neck. “They’ll have to wait.” He mumbled, and he wrapped the tie over your neck. He tightened it, and in response, you lean into him. Henry places you on the couch and hovers over you. His weighted frame, as always, takes the breath from your body, and he slips back into you.

This time he isn’t taking his time; his thrusts are planned. Each time he hits your g-spots, causing you to bow into him. Your toes dig into the couch while one of your legs falls to the ground, and the mewls meld into pants for more. “Please don’t stop.” You beg.

“I ca-,” his words halted. He squeezes the grip on the tie, drawing your breath.

He couldn’t, which was great, you didn’t want him too. Henry slammed back into you, over and over. His gaze caught on yours, making everything hyperaware to you. The slow blink of his eyes as his back spasmed and the warm coat of his cum oozing out of you.

Henry yanked the handkerchief from his desk and swiped at your sex, causing you to jolt before sitting back up. “This room smells of sex.” He laughed.

“Cancel your meeting.”

“I have an empire to run.” He laughed. “But, I will be over tonight.” He kissed your lips once more and helped you stand.

“Are you going to have the meeting here?”

Henry laughed and fixed his hair. “I wouldn’t be able to think properly if I did.”

 Taglist: @oddsnendsfanfics​ @taytayize123​ @crushed-pink-petals​ @titty-teetee​ @sparklemichele​ @imgoldielikehawn​ @therandomthoughtsofmsparker​ @therealcalicali​ @rhys108​ @shut-up-broccoli​ @peculiar-monstar​ @sincerelysinister​ @xxpapasfritasxx​ @sheismycherry​ @justgrits​ @antoheartit​ @angelic-kisses13​ @ikeepforgettin​ @bitchwhytho​ @ryuzakiackerman1​

#henry cavill #henry cavill imagine #henry cavill smut #laketaj24 #laketa j writes #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill x you #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill fandom

[lovelucybradford]

I Pretend You’re Mine-2

Chapter Two: We Learn to Live with the Pain (Mosaic Broken Hearts)

Masterlist

A/N: Thanks so much for all of your support on Chapter One. I’m so excited that you love it as much as I do! Please let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list for this story. Also, not sure how I feel about this one. Be warned: I hate Jennifer Blake.

Derek and Rose’s ‘engagement’ was supposed to stay a secret between the four of them. So, naturally, all of her friends knew about it. Even if she tried (and she really, really wanted to) Rosalie couldn’t push the thought of the upcoming ruse to the back of her mind. Her friends wouldn’t let her.

It started out innocently enough. A ‘Hey Rosie, Derek looks hot, don’t you think’ here or a ‘Friends to lovers is the best, right Rosalie’ there. Rosalie was used to it. Ever since she returned to Beacon Hills and became close with all of Lydia’s friends, who had somehow become Derek’s in the span of years, they’d been relentless with their teasing of Derek and her.

The joking she could handle.

It was when they used Rosalie’s feelings for Derek for their own amusement that it really started to bug her.

Wednesday had been the day from hell. It all started in Rosalie’s first period class. One of her more bold students, captain of the lacrosse team, had greeted her not with his normal, ‘What up, Miss H?’. No, the boy strutted right in, stopped at her desk, and said, ‘How’s it going, Mrs. Hale?’ with a shit-eating grin. Alex Layhue was normally the last to arrive to class, right before the late bell rang, so, of course, all of Rose’s other students had heard him. And began to refer to her as Mrs. Hale. Which had spread like wildfire, and then all of the kids called Rosalie by Derek’s surname.

 It only stopped once she’d threatened detention. By the time eighth period was over, Rosalie was fuming and ready to stomp right out onto the lacrosse field to give her good friend, Assistant Lacrosse Coach Scott McCall, a piece of her mind. Instead, Rosalie raced out the door as soon as she was allowed to leave, forgoing her normal after-school visit to Derek’s classroom.

Rosalie’d reached her apartment, eternally thankful that the shitshow was over, when she had spotted it: a poorly taped rose on the front door, with a sign next to it. A rather crude sign.

Congrats on the D(erek). Love, Isaac. The words were bad enough. Isaac had to go and include a rather accurate drawing of Derek as a, um, d.

She had ripped the sign off the front door, threw it into the wastebasket under the kitchen sink, then punched the damned thing a few more times for good measure.

Then, Rose had called and screamed at Isaac. She couldn’t remember what was said in her anger, but Rosalie knew that a few choice words were thrown in, along with ‘obscene’, ‘tasteless’ and ‘terrible friend’.

Isaac showed up at the woman’s front door an hour after the ‘conversation’ holding a bottle of wine in one hand and takeout in another, a guilty smile on his face. Rosalie forgave him. Eventually.

That night, she’d had a very vivid dream about Derek’s dick. Rosalie woke up the next morning, covered in sweat, and knew that if she saw Derek she would spontaneously combust, and, well, other things that she didn’t want to even ponder.

So, Rosalie spent the rest of the week eating lunch in her car, leaving right after the final bell, and basically avoiding her best friend at all costs.

Until today. Rosalie had been waiting all week to watch this movie, and she would be damned if the deafening bang of construction across the street from her apartment building would keep her from Peter Kavinsky.

The door to the loft slid open, and Derek sauntered in, hands full with grocery bags. He paused at the sight of Rosalie, his face contorted in disgust.

“Get that shit off my TV!” he grumbled.

Rosalie paused the movie, looking up at him with a sharp glare. “It is not shit, Derek Sebastian Hale. It is romance. You wouldn’t know romance if it bit you in the ass.”

Derek scoffed. “Oh yeah? Remember, my senior year, when I showed up in front of my ex’s house all John Hughes-like and quoted Shakespeare at her like a total douche?”

“Mmm, yeah. And that went over swimmingly, didn’t it, Romeo? I specifically remember having to clean the cut on your forehead from the rock that she threw at you.” Rosalie snorted.

 Derek ignored her, hauling the bags into the kitchen and shoving items into cabinets. Rose joined him, grabbing a bag of refrigerated foods. As she pulled out the milk, a slip of paper flittered to the ground. She reached down to grab it, stopping short when she found that a phone number was written on the back of the receipt.

“Elena Soto gave you her phone number?” Rosalie asked Derek.

Damn. Rosalie suspected that Elena was after Derek since the day that the new Spanish teacher started at BHHS. Two weeks ago. Girl had game, Rosalie gave her that.

Derek put down the box of noodles in his hand and scratched the back of his neck, looking everywhere but at his friend. Rosalie could see a hint of pink on his cheekbones and wondered if the man had actually gotten a sunburn after years of making fun of her for her lobster-tone skin in the summertime.

“Yeah. She, uh, asked me out to dinner next Saturday night.”

Rosalie straightened herself back up and busied with putting food in the fridge. She feigned nonchalance, asking, “And what did you say?”

“I told her thank you, but I’ll be in Hawaii… with you.”

The woman hid her smug smile in the inside of the refrigerator. Serves Elena right. “I thought you’d forgotten. Since you haven’t, you know, even brought it up since Disneyland.”

“I didn’t forget. And it’s not like you brought it up, either.”

True. Rosalie was avoiding that discussion like the plague. She knew that she’d be able to pull of fake fiancée. She’d had feelings for Derek that were successfully repressed since she was sixteen. But Derek… he’d made it very clear that he felt nothing more than familial love towards Rosalie. How could he convincingly play madly in love with her?

“I’m sorry I cockblocked your hot date with Senorita Soto,” Rose confessed, tone sounding more harsh than intended.

“Rosalie.”

She pulled her head out of the fridge and shut the door. The BB-8 magnet her  niece bought him at Disney was displayed proudly towards the top. Rosalie studied it as an excuse to not look at Derek, lest he catch onto her jealousy.

She was losing her touch. Rosalie had built an excellent poker face over the years, and she let her friends’ suggestions and one bold woman break it. Rose had to up her game.

“Rosalie, you know I didn’t mean it like that. It’s why I didn’t bring Elena up. You’re my best friend. You know I’d do anything for you.”

Rosalie smiled deviously up at him, all thoughts of Elena Soto gone and replaced again with Peter Kavinsky. “Does that include watching my romcom?”

Derek rolled his eyes with a playful smile. He eventually gave in after Rose told him she would buy them a pizza.

___________

 Rosalie tried to enjoy the movie, but one thought plagued her mind like some annoyingly catchy song.

 Fake dating contract. It was so cringey she didn’t want to bring it up. But she did anyways.

 “Hey Derek? This sounds so stupid, but since you and I are two adults playing pretend, don’t you think you and I should, you know, come up with rules for our charade?” Rosalie shoved pizza in her face to distract herself from any comment that would come next.

Derek laughed. “Yeah, ok, Lara Jean Comey.”

“It’s Covey, not Comey… and I’m serious, Der. You and I have both been shit on by our significant others. Don’t you think it would be good for us to come up with some kind of guidelines, so this doesn’t get out of hand and neither of us get hurt?”

Derek sighed, putting his plate down on the coffee table and giving Rosalie his full attention. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

Rosalie bit her lip, thinking. When she came up with nothing, she asked, “Do you have any dealbreakers?”

“I’m not making Drew jealous,” he swiftly announced.

Rosalie’s eyes shot up to his. “I’m not in love with Drew anymore, so there’s no need to make him jealous.”

“Thank God. What about you?”

She ignored the former comment. Rose did have a dealbreaker. She knew it would sound totally prudish on her end, but Rosalie knew her limits.

“No… No kissing.”

“What do you mean no kissing? Like, I can’t kiss you at all, or no tongue? Because I sure as hell know that we won’t be believable if I can’t kiss you.”

“And how would you know that?”

Derek pursed his lips. “I remember having an in-depth conversation with your brother about how gross you and Drew were together.”

Rosalie gaped at him. “And you didn’t stick your tongue down Jennifer’s throat at your engagement party?! It was like witnessing some messed-up porno. And, in my defense, Drew initiated every public—”

“I did not have my tongue down Jen’s throat!”

“Then why did Laura tell you two to get a room?”

Derek scowled. “Moving on…”

“Ok, rule 1: yes, to kissing. No tongue.” Rose ticked on her finger. “Two, no checking out other women. Like, at all.”

“You think I would do that when I’m engaged? I’m not a total dick.”

“I know that Derek. I’m just saying, when you were younger—”

“When I was younger. I’ve matured a lot since I was eighteen.”

She smacked his shoulder playfully. “You sure about that, Mr. I-throw-a-tantrum-every-time-I-lose-to-Scott-at-pool?”

“Shut up.”

“You can’t deny it, Hale. I know you too well… anything else to add?”

“No sex,” Derek said so suddenly that Rosalie about fell out of her spot on the couch.

“I…” She started, but couldn’t formulate a sentence, so she just nodded her agreement.

They sat in silence for a while, Rosalie processing what the hell happened.

“Let me warn you now. I don’t know how to be a good fiancé,” Derek added so softly that Rosalie might have missed it if she wasn’t so in tune with him.

“Derek…” She looked up to meet his green eyes, full of turmoil, of ghosts of past hurts. A haunted look that Rosalie knew too well. Only because she wore it too, late at night when she was alone with her demons.

Rosalie’s heart broke for him, and she pulled him into a hug. Derek was rarely vulnerable, preferring to keep those emotions locked tight. Rosalie was thankful that he opened himself up enough to let her see that side of him.

“You were a good fiancé, Der. It wasn’t your fault, that it ended. Jennifer was a bitch… I knew she wasn’t good for you,” Rosalie whispered into his shoulder, squeezing him tight so he knew that she meant every word.

Derek’s hot breath fanned over Rose’s neck as he spoke. “Then why didn’t you tell me?”

She pulled away from him, leaving her hands on his shoulders. Rosalie set him with an unimpressed look. “Would you have listened?”

Derek shook his head, a small smile overtaking the once hard line of his lips. “Nah, probably not.”

___________________________________________________________

Tags: @wolfarrowepz​

#derek hale #derek hale fluff #tyler hoechlin #derek hale x reader #teen wolf

[youbloodymadgenius]

Yours (Vampire!Ivar x reader)

A/N: This is my entry to @geekandbooknerd​‘s Birthday Challenge. Happy Birthday, Hayley 💝

The prompt We are all someone’s monster (Leigh Bardugo, Six of Crows) is in bold.

@bluearchersstuff​ - Thank you for beta reading this for me 💖 It was the first time, it won’t be the last 😉

Let me know if you want to be tagged 😊

Moodboard made by the talented @gearhead66 ♥️

Summary: You hate Halloween and of course you hate Halloween parties. But who’s this handsome guy who’s looking at you?

Warnings: not my best work, I’m sorry.

Words: 1821

You roll your eyes, sighing at your own stupidity. For the umpteenth time tonight, you're wondering what you were thinking about when you agreed to come. Of course, Sofia is your best friend, and she is the one who asked you to go with her.

 Yet, you should have known better.

 You dislike Halloween. Scratch that. You hate Halloween and everything about it with a passion. You hate dressing up. You hate cobwebs, fangs, zombies and skeletons. You even hate squash soup, and that's saying a lot!

 But yeah, your friend can be convincing when she has a mind to be. And that's why you're here – almost against your will, so to speak – at Ben's house. Ben with whom Sofia slipped away over an hour ago. Probably upstairs. You don't even want to think about what they're doing right now.

 Anyway, you're here, and that's all that matters…

 The pounding music is too loud, the people too drunk, the place too crowded. If it wasn't for the handsome stranger who hasn't stopped looking at you since you showed up, you wouldn't be here anymore.

Nervously pulling and tugging on the little black dress borrowed from Sofia – oh no, not a simple black dress, a black dress with fucking skeleton print – you make up your mind and head toward the makeshift bar. You need a drink if you intend to stay. Something strong, possibly.

 A 'Vampire Cocktail' in hand, you slowly cross the room. With every step, you can feel the stranger's gaze upon you; and you know with unsettling certainty that if you look back at him, he wouldn’t lower his eyes.

 He was apparently alone, does not talk to anyone, or dance, and didn't look at anyone but you.

 You should feel embarrassed, or even upset, but you aren’t. Knowing that his eyes are staring at you like that is surprisingly pleasant. And you can't help but feel hopelessly drawn to him, almost magnetically, or magically. Because strangely, wherever you are in the room, the man is there, never more than a few steps away from you.

 The room may be dark, but you still can see the otherworldly blue of his eyes. You're entranced, fascinated, mesmerized.

 Giving him a shy smile, you quickly avert your gaze, blushing. As you raise back your head, the man is gone, but when a gloved hand brushes against yours, you know it's his, without a doubt.

 "Shall we go out?" He asks with a sultry voice that sends shivers down your spine. Even if he gives you a questioning look, his hand gesturing toward the large patio door, you know it's a rhetorical question. You don't have a choice and you don't mind it. The stranger wraps a strong arm around your waist, leading you toward the backyard.

 You follow him willingly, almost obediently, a small smile playing on your lips. He leads you without saying a word, and as soon as the patio door closes behind you, the only sound you can hear is the thud of his cane on the gravel.

 "Better here, right?" He takes a seat on a porch swing, inviting you to do the same.

 "I have been dreaming of this moment for so long." His voice is hoarse as he slightly leans toward you, boldly resting a hand on your knee.

 Confused, you want to ask him what he means. After all, you met for the first time less than two hours ago. But you don't get the chance, since he speaks again. "Very nice dress, by the way."

 Scrutinizing you in the bright moonlight, he looks at you shamelessly, his gaze stopping first on your neck, then your cleavage, your breast and finally your fishnet stocking-clad thighs.

 Intimidated, you blush and say the first thing that pops into your head. "Your… your Halloween costume is a piece of art. It's so… real…"

 "My… what?" Quirking a brow, the man looks at you in disbelief.

 "Your…," your shaky voice gives away your nervousness, "Your Dracula costume is… magnificent."

 You're not lying. His clothing is stunning. From his three-piece suit – obviously made of luxury fabrics – to his silk cape of extremely high quality, everything suggests that his complete outfit is undoubtedly very expensive.  As for his cane, you're willing to bet that its snake-shaped handle is made of… gold, no less. In any case, it's impressive and the handsome stranger makes a vampire truer than nature.

 Visibly taken aback by your last assertion, the man just stares at you with wide eyes. It's as if what you just said didn't make sense to him. When an icy wind swirls suddenly around you and makes you shiver, he eventually speaks sternly, almost as he were scolding you, his jaw tight. "This is not a costume."

 You're baffled, puzzled, confused. 'This is not a costume?' What does he mean?  

 "What… I don't… Wha–" You sputter, unable to gather your thoughts. Your heart hammering in your chest, you feel a knot growing in your stomach. Something feels wrong. Something feels very wrong.

 His piercing blue eyes staring into yours, you want to avert your gaze, overwhelmed and slightly scared. But when he speaks again, it's with a velvet like voice that soothes you immediately, erasing your discomfort. "Shh… It's okay…"  You wonder for a brief moment how someone can change their mood so quickly. You don't dwell on it though, because when he gives you a closed-lips smile, gentle and sweet, it melts your heart and you realize that, as if by magic, your fear is gone, replaced by desire and attraction.

 What strange power does this man have over you?

 Slowly, one finger at a time, the stranger takes off his gloves and places them on the swing next to him, while staring at you the whole time.

 As he reaches out, his hand just inches from your face, you can't resist, and you don't want to. The pull is too powerful, the longing too strong. You want him to touch you. You need him to and so you lean forward, craving for his skin against yours.

 But as soon as his fingers graze your cheek, you freeze, bemused and appalled.

 They are cold. Abnormally cold. Ice-cold. Colder than… death. You swallow loudly and then get up hastily. "I… I sh… should… go…" You stammer, panic flooding your body. You want to run away but the man doesn't give you the chance as he grabs your wrist, squeezing it tight. " That would be extremely rude when we've only just met, don't you think?" His voice is a whisper, his tone soft but you know you don't really have a say, nor a choice.

 Slowly getting up, he leans on his cane, wraps his free arm around your waist and draws you closer. He's so unnaturally strong, you can't even move as a cold wave washes over you. "I'll be gentle if you do as I say." He mumbles, his mouth against your ear.

 Questions plague your mind suddenly. Why is he so pale? Why can't you feel his breath on your face? Why are his eyes bloodshot? Why didn't you notice anything earlier? You're terrified now, aware of the danger with absolute certainty.

 "Who… Who are you?" You don't even know how you manage to babble those words. You feel weak and unsteady on your shaky legs. If it wasn't for his firm grip, you would certainly have fallen down by now.

 "It's okay, Y/N…" He says once again, and you want to believe him, despite your fear, despite the… cold. A little voice in your head whispers that you never told him your name, but it doesn't matter, not when he's looking at you with so much tenderness.

 What is he doing to you?

 "I'm Ivar." His reassuring voice is gentle, as is his smile. "Ivar Ragnarsson." He doesn't say anything else but it's enough. That's all you need to know. You're relieved. He's Ivar. Of course. Who else – what else – could he be? You've been so silly. All those strange things… The cold, his eyes, his breathing – or his lack of – there is necessarily a pragmatic explanation for each of them. The truth is you don't care. He's Ivar. A handsome and very considerate stranger that you want to get to know better, and that's enough. Everything is fine. It's okay, he's right.

 "Ivar…", you eventually repeat softly, and you love the way his name rolls off your tongue. Chuckling, you can feel yourself relaxing in his embrace. "You're going to think I'm dumb, you know? I wondered for a moment if you weren't a…", you gasp, feeling shy and embarrassed, but Ivar just looks at you, patiently waiting for you to carry on, and that's what you do. "… A vampire, you know. But obviously you're not. You're just a guy my age, with a fantastic Halloween costume, and it seems that I can't think properly, because who would think you're some kind of monster? That's insane, and I'm so sorry, and now I'm going to shut up because I'm pathetically rambling and if I continue I'm sure you won't want anything to do with me and that would be a shame because I– Oh my god, sorry!!" Covering your mouth with your hand, you blush as you realize what you were going to say. 'Because I'd love to kiss you, touch you, feel you…'

 What is he doing to you?

 Ivar keeps quiet, a semi-amused smile on his face. Eventually, he closes his eyes and then tilts his head back. "So, you thought I was a… how did you say?... a monster…" You can almost hear his grin.

 "I know," you say shamefully, "that's stupid! You're allowed to laugh at me, you know? I won't get mad, really. I don't know what went through my head. A monster! What a ridiculous thought!!"

 Ivar giggles while keeping his eyes shut. "Maybe not. You know what they say… We are all someone's monster…"

 And then, he opens his eyes. And everything goes faster.

 His eyes turn black. A feral growl escapes his lips. His smile is a predatory one.

 You can clearly see his pointy fangs.

 And you feel weirdly calm. You're not surprised, and you're ready. You need him, all of him.

 "I don't know if it's true…", you don't recognize his voice, hoarse and raspy, but you don't mind, as you don't mind when he pushes your hair away, his teeth already grazing the delicate skin of your neck.

 "However,” He mutters as you arch against him unwittingly, "there is one thing that I can say for certain. I'm definitely yours."

 And right after that, sharp fangs piercing down into the flesh of your neck, a burning pain lances through you, fading soon into an aching pleasure. You release a gasp, bucking your hips.

 "Please, unravel me, Ivar."

 What did he do to you?

🛡⚔️🛡

@geekandbooknerd​ @waiting4inspiration​ @honestsycrets​ @lisinfleur​ @saldelys​ @gearhead66​ @readsalot73​ @milkkygirls​ @xbellaxcarolinax​ @shannygoatgruff​ @zuxiezendler​ @a-mess-of-fandoms​ @hecohansen31​ @lonewolf471​ @ivarthebloodyking​ @fuckindiva​ @tgrrose​ @didiintheblog​ @inforapound​

#hayley'sbirthday #ivar #ivar x reader #vampire!ivar #vampire ivar #ivar ragnarsson #ivar the boneless #ivar lothbrok #ivar fanfiction #ivar fanfic #ivar fic #ivar imagine #ivar vikings #vikings ivar #halloween is coming #so why not

[nyoschief]

Heart Of The Darkness

This was a Secret Santa that I never posted for @Nikki!

Rating: Mature Characters: John | KryozGaming/Jaren | SMii7Y, Eddie Gluskin Tags: Outlast, Panic Kisses, Secret Santa Warnings: Violence, Minor Character Death, Creepy Motherfuckers Words: 2,135

It’s only when John turns around, looking as though he’d been in a dozen fights and is still ready for another, that Jaren feels hot tears spill over reddened cheeks.

“I’m sorry, I’m so fuckin’ sorry! Are you okay? I—No, you’re not okay.”

{Read here on AO3}

Three simple words keep Jaren quiet. They repeat like a broken record, a mantra that increases with every blood-curdling scream and fresh wave of iron-laden air that floods the damp room. He’ll return once the exit is clear. Shaky hands flatten against rusted metal, taking comfort in the cool chill as he peers into the gloomy area, straining to see human-shaped demons in the shadows.

“Darling!” a sultry voice crows from the right, singing sweet lullabies.

‘No, fuck, not him.’

Every muscle tightens, lungs clenched and breath held, but frantic eyes refuse to close. Pleading cries respond to unnervingly saccharine words. A dull thump preludes a sobbing groan, hoarse and crying with desperation as nails scrabble against moldy tiles.

“What did I say about keeping your stress levels down? No child can be borne like this.”

The stomach-churning memory of mangled bodies cut apart and sewn together, a mockery of a carrying woman, has Jaren silently gagging, a palm covering his mouth and nails cutting into his cheek.

They should never have come here. ‘Abandoned’ mental asylum, his ass! No power doesn’t mean the crazies inside are gone.

“No, no, no, please, please!”

“I warned you and you didn’t listen!”

A wet squelch spills into the air, Jaren choking at the possibilities. His eyes grow wet, face turned against his torn and muddied sleeve.

“Oh?” the man purrs, a childish laugh bubbling beneath. Jaren freezes, swallowing and peering between the metal slits of the locker. “Have my followers… brought me another bride?”

He’s a deer in headlights, a hare hypnotized by a stoat, a hen frozen in fear of a fox. Fingers twitch, useless when his arms can’t even push the door open.

He has no chance when a body slams against the front, jostling him within. Manic eyes stare back at him, lips pulled into a grin. Can’t breathe, can’t scream, can’t move.

“There you are, dear! The perfect gift after… a terrible tragedy.” Yeah, tragedy. He can only imagine the leftovers, the body slit and covered in gore and blood, still warm. Something metal tracks across the front of the locker. “But don’t worry, I’ll fix you up, make your body a welcoming vessel.”

Voice cracking, he lets out a shaky, “Fuck you.” A crazed laugh echoes through the grotesque room, head thrown back as he smacks the rusty locker. Barely illuminated, he looks like a dirtied man from the mall, covered in blood and grime, bowtie falling off. Palms sweating, Jaren smacks his hands against the door, only for the rattle of metal to trap him within. “Let me out!”

“Nooo, no, no, my love, I can’t let you out in this state, you’ll only hurt yourself!” Blood pounds within his ears, rushing like a torrent, an uncontrollable stream. Jaren slams his fist harder against the metal, the growl in his throat fading into a desperate whine.

He’s not getting out of here alive.

A blade scrapes across the locker, barely glistening in the light shining through the window. Jaren shrinks away, knees buckling, ducking down from the slits in the door. He’d rather not have a scalpel in the eye.

“Now, I don’t want to ruin your perfect body,” he begins, voice dropping with warning, “but I will if you keep fighting me.”

Tongue dead weight, Jaren swallows and scrunches his eyes shut. ‘Where is he?’

“Why would I fight you?”

A coo spills forth, hair standing on end and spine rigid. “Much better, sweetheart,” he hums, taking a step backwards. Metal scrapes again on the locker, hinges squealing and revealing the crazed man’s horrifying appearance. It takes every single ounce of self-restraint to stop from running, hands shaking and gaze darting, searching for an escape route. “Look at you, the perfect vessel, don’t you think?”

Jaren’s stomach twists over itself, tightening up like a knotted rope. A shake to every word, he whispers, “Okay.” His stare lingers on the blade in the other’s raw-knuckled grasp, the weapon raising when he takes a shaky step forth.

“You want this, don’t you? Want to become beautiful, to pave the way for our loving family.”

‘No,’ he thinks, ‘I want to leave with John.’

He refuses to let this psycho know of the other’s presence. Fingers crossing behind his back, Jaren hopes to at least have his body recovered before it’s mutilated beyond recognition like the corpses of earlier.

“Okay…”

The hand against his elbow has him jumping, strung taught and on edge. “Come, my love, I’ll show you the way, the truth…”

Movement catches his eye, moonlight glistening against silver.

Jaren snaps his gaze away, movements slow and steady, gaze tracked onto the blade. He needs to get the weapon away, get the scalpel out of his white-knuckled grasp, so John has a winning chance. They won’t get out of this alive if this fucking maniac still has his weapon.

He stumbles.

The man’s face twists into a grimace and he lunges.

Jaren yelps and finds himself slammed backwards against the wall. His head pulses, skull smacking against the tiles as metal stings at his throat.

“Wait!”

“You scared me, darling, you shouldn’t try to escape like that,” he pants, leaning in closer. Nostrils flared, dark eyes soak in his appearance, leaning closer. His stench alone has Jaren swallowing bile, flinching at the hand caressing his cheek. Shaky hands grab hold of the man’s elbow, struggling to keep him at bay, to squirm his way to freedom. The blade digs into his throat, bringing him to a halt as a strangled cry spills forth. “Maybe it’d be better if I just cut out your voice box. Wives are supposed to be seen, not heard.”

Frantic, Jaren rushes to say, “I’ll be quiet, I’ll be quiet, please, I promise.”

There’s a flicker of movement over the man’s shoulder.

Jaren looks for a moment too long.

“What—”

The man twists in time for a grazed elbow to slam into his unsightly face, flinging him aside.

Jaren jumps away, grabbing his own throat, feeling a thin line of blood beneath his palm.

The stumbling form snaps his head up, scowling and frothing with broiling hatred. “How dare you—”

“How dare me?” John spits, backing up and glancing over a shoulder at Jaren. Upon realizing the other isn’t in immediate danger, he glares at the crazy man and huffs, “Stay the fuck away from him!”

“You can’t come between us!” he shouts, posture menacing and looming. The blade in his hand draws attention like a magnet, dragging their eyes towards it as he flicks the weapon within gnarled fingers.

Jaren flinches when the man steps closer, hip bumping into a table laden with jars of intestines. A whimper slips out, capturing both of their attention for a split second.

John positions himself between them, shoulders hunched and fingers clenched, shielding Jaren. The blade raises. John flinches, balancing on the balls of his feet, teeth clenched and eyes narrowed.

“No, no, nothing is as strong as… as the bond we form—”

A boot slams into the man’s shin, dragging a shriek from raw, bloodied lips. Jaren’s head whips to the side, spotting a door and quickly running towards it. He freezes in the crooked doorframe, looking back, spotting John grappling with the bedraggled man, mouth pulled back into a sneer. The silver scalpel wavers, tip nicking at John’s clothing, held back like a snarling dog.

No warning, the man yanks himself away, pulling his arm free, only to slam the blade downwards.

A scream tears free of Jaren’s hoarse throat, the metal sinking into John’s arm, drinking rich scarlet blood.

Wild eyes scan the room, flicking between the garishly cut body on his right to the mess of broken furniture to his left.

Jaren latches onto a metal rod, breath rapid and uneven, yanking it free from the wooden debris.

No hesitation, he runs closer and swings, a sickening crunch filling the air as it connects with the man’s skull. He tumbles to the side, leaving John scrambling free. When he freezes up again, staring at the blood already dripping from the damage he’d caused, John takes the weapon from him and wastes no time in bringing it down directly on the deranged man’s neck.

He falls to the ground and goes limp. Air slides free from rattling lungs as haunted eyes grow dull.

‘Oh god.’

Jaren hiccups, eyes locking onto John, on the fucking handle still embedded in his bicep. Tears well within green-blue eyes, brows furrowed and lips parted. “Your arm,” he gasps, stepping closer, hands raising, only to freeze when he realizes he doesn’t know what to do.

A yell reverberates through the dusty air, a low growl following, filled with hunger and desperation.

John grabs him by the elbow, already yanking him away. It doesn’t matter where they’re going, as long as John’s with him, they’ll be fine.

They’re red-faced and panting by the time the shouting dies down, inaudible. John shoves them both into a shadowed room and slams the rattling door shut. A metal cabinet serves as the perfect blockade, stopping any unwanted visitors from entering their makeshift safe room.

It’s only when John turns around, looking as though he’d been in a dozen fights and is still ready for another, that Jaren feels hot tears spill over reddened cheeks.

“I’m sorry, I’m so fuckin’ sorry,” he whines, stepping closer and staring through bleary eyes at the weapon still in John’s arm. “Are you okay? I—No, you’re not okay.” Every inch of John is tensed, frozen as he keeps glancing at the door, breathing through his nose. He flinches at the hand on his shoulder, finally meeting Jaren’s watery stare. He’s still ready for a battle, on edge, antsy to keep them both safe. “Fuck, John, your arm, oh god…”

“It’s fine,” he grits out, still standing there with a doctor’s scalpel sticking out of his sleeve, careless of the blood soaking his shirt. Jaren’s instincts are screaming to run, to get away, John’s a threat. But every other part of him is desperate to help, to ease his pain, make him better, and repay his kindness.

Jaren takes hold of his good arm, leading him towards the unsteady table against the wall. “Let’s just… fix it up, yeah? Make it better. We can fix this—” A loud crash from outside has John jolting, pushing himself to his feet, despite Jaren’s attempts to get him seated. “It’s fine, they can’t get in, let me—”

“They’re close—”

“Don’t worry about them—”

“How can I not worry when they’re—”

“You’re bleeding!”

“I can make more blood.”

Fingers snatch hold of greasy hair, snapping John’s gaze towards him for long enough that he can press a desperate kiss against his bloodied mouth. The wildness in his eyes fades, returning to his familiar stare.

Jaren relaxes his hold, eyes flickering to the side.

“You can’t make another you,” he counters.

John licks his lips. “What was that for?”

Jaren backs up, mouth twisting to the side, failing to hide his embarrassment. “You weren’t listening and I—” He swallows. “I’m scared we won’t get out of here and I just—I just wanted to, just once, sorry, I shouldn’t have…” The silence that ensues has Jaren’s fingers itching, staring at the blade which, now that he looks at, isn’t all that deeply embedded into John’s arm. Swallowing, he clears his throat and says, “Let’s get this—”

“Better be more than just once.”

A frown embeds itself on Jaren’s face, blinking at John. He’s met with surprising determination.

He doesn’t even ask before John’s explaining, “We are getting out of here. That better not just have been a once off haha joke.” Jaren doesn’t have a response to that, letting slip a confused little noise followed by an awkward laugh. When he says nothing else, John asks, “You gettin’ this knife outta me or what?”

“Wh—Yes! Yeah, hold on, I…” Jaren fumbles for a moment before shedding his overshirt, figuring it’s cleaner than anything in this place. “Can you—” John grabs hold of the scalpel and yanks it out, a grunt and hiss following. Crimson spurts out, seeping quickly. Jaren gasps and hurries to wrap the fabric around the wound to stop the bleeding. “Fucks’ sake, John.”

A bloodied hand against his chin has Jaren freezing, allowing his head to be tilted upwards until he can meet the other’s gaze. “We’re gonna get out of here,” he states firmly. His hold shifts, resting against the side of Jaren’s face. Warm concern and conviction replace the earlier rage. “We will, I promise.”

The knot of unease wrapped vice-like around Jaren’s heart unwinds, loosened by trust and belief. On his own, no, he wouldn’t believe that, but with John here…

“I know we will.”

#krii7y #kryozgaming #kryoz #smii7y #bbs #writing #fanfiction #outlast #secret santa #nikkitheduck #listen i love horror and stressy times!!! #:D

[narrators-journal]

The most dangerous game

I know I’ve been hella dead, but I return with my usual! Stano smut! I dunno why I adore writing these two so much, but I guess I’m attached, so yeah. Ya’ll get content.

CW: Predator/prey vibes, Xeno gets chased but there’s no real big acknowledgement of it.

It was likely because Xeno had developed a persistently wonky sleep schedule that he got so many night time jobs. That, he supposed, was why he was once again out at night hunting another Vampire, despite having told his boss of his run-in with a particularly pretty vampire. However, at the moment, Xeno somewhat wished he was dealing with Stan instead. At least with him he could rely on his need to flirt and toy with him to give him away. But no, the scientist wasn't hunting Stanley, but instead a completely different vampire who was proving his dislike for hunting the blood sucking monsters. Taking advantage of how dark the night was, the human's weaker vision, and whatever ninja techniques he had learned from the internet, the young vampire had hidden annoyingly well in the thick blanket of shadows and clutter on the streets. So, the white-haired college graduate was poking around at every rock and thicket of grass or bushes along the sidewalk before the boiling irritation in his veins got to be too much and he let out a mix of a groan and a scream like a tea pot. Stomping over to one of the few flickering street lights on the road, the hunter stood in the light and dug out his knife, then used it to slash at his stomach to fill the air with the alluring scent of fresh blood. With a pained hiss and the new wet feeling of blood dripping sluggishly down his pale skin, the trap was set, and all the hunter had to do was wait for the shallow cut to work its magic. Which, didn't take long. All Xeno had time to do was get one of his metal stakes from his pocket and extend it, then he was set upon by the vampiric ninja-wannabe. However, despite his skill at stealth, the vampire was young in both a human and vampire sense. Freshly turned at a young age, he'd become a problem because he had yet to grow out of his pubescent hormones quite yet, and giving him a predatory draw and increased strength had only encouraged him to turn hard into the bad boy persona. Sadly, being a new vampire wasn't all improvements. It also meant an increased hunger and little control of your newfound strength. Which is what had led the young man to be targetted by the monster hunter association, and swiftly wiped out by a stake through the throat via Xeno Wingfield. With a grunt, the monster hunter threw the freshly dead young man to the sidewalk, wincing at the burning and itching sting bending down to yank the stake from his throat brought to his stomach. For a moment or so, he felt bad for the creature. He'd been young, and he'd let his newfound powers obviously go to his head after a lifetime diet of anime and movies, the silver haired hunter could understand his over excitement, but he also had little to no patience for dumbasses who couldn't register that they weren't in Naruto. So, his sympathy was brief, and he was soon just dragging the young creature's corpse into some bushes and calling the cleaning crew to come collect him. Then. He spoke.           "God damn, Doll. You're quite attractive when you're being lethal." Stan hummed, hopping down from his hiding spot in a nearby tree and giving the hunter a charming smile that he refused to admit brought a little heat to his face.         "Oh, so you're just gonna become a full blown stalker now? Did you follow me from my house, or was this another 'coincidental' run-in." Xeno's words dripped with sarcasm and venom, but the vampire simply rolled his glacial blue eyes,          "Actually, I'm here because I smelled fresh blood," At the mention of fresh blood, the scientist glanced down at his work shirt, spotting the tiny stain of blood his cut had left,          "Oh." He inwardly winced at how disappointed he sounded, but tried to recover with a sniff, "I had trouble luring the bastard out. It was quite the shock for me to find out that not every vampire would want to chase me down and prowl around my house for the entire fucking night." Stan simply snorted, fishing out a pack of cigarettes and lighting one before he spoke again,          "Nah, that's just my thing, doll,"         "Quit calling me doll! You have my name now, fucking quit." The vampire put his hands up in mock surrender, though his smirk didn't falter under the scientist's withering glare. For a moment, they simply stood in the cool night's darkness, the hunter with his arms crossed and dark eyes narrowed, and the vampire returning his malicious look with his own nonchalant, half-lidded one while he breathed whispy smoke from his dark mouth. Both men seemed to dare the other to say something or do anything, each looking for an excuse to make some sort of contact until the smaller male spoke again,           "Are you expecting me to run away? Because I told you the first time we met, I'm not likely to do that," He huffed, but Stan simply shrugged,           "I'm just messing with ya, doesn't matter to me if you run or not." He grinned more at the lightning fast moment of irritation on Xeno's face, but the hunter schooled his facial features back into their usual disdain-filled glare, only broiling with frustration on the inside. He hated this man's relaxed demeanor. He was a monster hunter, the tall, hypnotically pretty predator should be avoiding him at all costs. Yet here he was, needling at him as if he couldn't end him just as quickly as he had the younger blood sucker. Okay, well, not as quickly. Stanley had a good four inches on the monster hunter at least, and had a body that had been frozen at the prime of his life, toned and pruned like an artfully shaped shrub through the years into a gorgeous, powerful example of why humans were the apex predators of the world. Or, well, they were, but with his change into the more monstrous his status as the perfect predator had only increased. Stan was perfectly built to hunt humans. Not only did he have a supernatural magnetic beauty to him, but he'd been human, so he knew how humans behave first hand. He was a nightmarish wet dream. Xeno gave his head a good shake to banish those thoughts from his mind when he realized he was looking the vampire over with the hunger of a sugar baby sizing up their next piggy bank.           "Hey, Xeno," Stan hummed, but the hunter refused to look back at the man, which he simply took as a greenlight to continue, "you wanna play our little game tonight?" The hunter snorted in response, staring off into the darkness while his cheeks cooled,           "I thought you were only here to bother me, not play a game of fucked up tag," He said calmly, only looked back at the man when he heard him walking closer, only stopping when he was about two feet away, maybe within reach, a grin on his pretty face,           "Well, I thought it'd be a bit more polite to offer that rather than just asking if I could drink your blood outright." he reasoned, amused at the edge of poutiness that he seemed to sniff out through the veil of aloof indifference the hunter spoke with.            "No thanks to either offer, I don't want to be chased tonight." Xeno sniffed in response, simply adding a thicker layer of ill temper to cover how excited he was at the thought of being pursued a second time. The first time had, admittedly, given him a thrill, but he wasn't ready to voice such to the annoying vampire in front of him. However, Stan seemed to have picked up on his kryptonite from that first round,              "But aren't you curious to see what happens when you add the scent of blood to the mix?" The purr in the man's voice annoyed Xeno immensely, but the thought of maybe learning just how sensitive vampire instincts were, and how quickly one would succumb to them. Obviously young vampires are more prone to being controlled by their need to feed, but Stanley isn't a new vampire, that curious voice mused, already setting Xeno on a very likely stupid and dangerous path, It'd be immensely helpful to know just how easy it is to bring out those base urges in him. If he's going to follow you around it's best to know what to avoid so he doesn't go feral. It further encouraged, stoking the flames of the scientist's natural curiosity until he hummed,              "I suppose it would be useful for the association to know exactly what triggers a vampire to go into a frenzy of some sort. Fine." The vampire grinned at that,             "You do know that I can't promise my feeding instinct is the only one that'll come to the surface," he pointed out, making Xeno blink and raise an eyebrow at him,             "What? Why would any other instinct come into play?" turning red as Stan laughed,               "Well, in simple terms, I find you too attractive to promise that when I catch you I'd only want to drink your blood~" Xeno's face warmed up more at that, getting huffy and tripping over his words in his rush to snap at him.               "You can have a five minute head start, just like last time," he simply assured, "Just need a bit of blood, because your original scratch has closed," He laughed more when Xeno pulled up his shirt to see that his shallow cut from earlier had in fact begun to heal, no longer bleeding and instead beginning to scab over. The hunter only responded with a glare at that point as he plucked his knife from the sidewalk where he'd dropped it and wiped it off before leaving another cut along his stomach, this one a bit deeper than the first, but not enough to linger for more than a day or two. With that, Stan gave him a charming smile that showed his extending fangs, his blue eyes already getting a hungry gleam to them. So, without further conversation, Xeno took off down the street. The cuts on his stomach stung and itched more from his running, but he pressed on. His main concern was regulating his breathing and energy so that he could get as far away from the vampire as he could in his small window of time. Naturally, his plan wasn't to just run in a straight line and wait to be caught, not only would that likely be dangerous, as a vampire in a feeding frenzy was much more violent, but was less likely to fulfill the goal of bringing those deadly instincts to the surface at all. So, instead, he sought out other people, a crowded area, maybe a shop, that way it wasn't as easy for the predator to catch up to him. This is insanely stupid, that voice of reason finally spoke up, not only am I playing with fire by instigating an instinctual reaction, but I am woefully under prepared to run from Stan. He realized, filling his veins with icy terror when the weight of his situation fully sunk in, The first time we did this I barely survive on pure panic and him toying with me. If he really loses his shit and goes into a frenzy, I can't outrun him. The reality of the thought hurt, but it was sorely true. Despite all of his training as a monster hunter, Xeno had never been one for good cardio, namely in the stamina category. He relied on his wits and pure speed, not his ability to maintain those speedy response times or pace for long periods. but it's too late now, he reminded himself, thinking back to the way the vampire's fangs had extended so soon after he'd given him a fresh source of scent. Nope, he couldn't chicken out now. He had no choice but to stick to his plan and push the panic and fear aside. Instead, he simply focused on the route ahead of him and locked onto the light of a store further down the street, which he headed for instantly. The bright, artificial light blinded the pale scientist for a moment when he stumbled into the store, but he was swift to regain his barrings and dash down the aisles and through the crowds of night owls and whatnot that were still up at this hour. He knew that his five minutes had ended a minute or so before. Meaning he didn't have long before the vampire would be on his ass. So, thinking quickly, he swiped his hand over his wounds, then smeared the blood on his palm onto the tile flooring in an aisle. Once he had that down, Xeno ran off deeper into the store. He had very few places to hide. The bathroom was basically a dead end with no windows and only one door, he couldn't climb up the shelves or to the rafters in a timely manner, so he forwent that plan. Instead, he did the next best thing. leaving as distracting a trail as possible before bolting out one of the fire exits.            "Shit," he wheezed when the fire exit triggered a screaming alarm through out the store. If Stan was in there, he'd definitely know he got out now, but that only meant the scientist had less time to think of such things. He had to focus on running. So, Xeno ignored the way his legs throbbed, and his lungs ached from gulping down the cold night air. He focused entirely on getting home, or at least to a more residential area. He could feel his limbs getting heavier, threatening more and more to give out with each step, but his grit his teeth and bared it until the threat became reality and the asphalt bit into his skin. And there he laid for a few seconds, gasping for air and scraping up as much energy as he could to push himself to his feet. As he did, he glanced back down the street, and sure enough. Stanley was coming out of the alley Xeno'd run out of, his glowing blue eyes locking onto the scientist in an instant. With another curse spat out through gritted teeth, Xeno took off again. His legs still screamed from exhaustion, and now his hands stung viciously from the fall, but he kept going. He could hear Stan closing in on him, which gave him a final burst of frantic energy that carried him to at least the park near his home before the vampire finally tackled him to the grass. The scientist could only wheeze in response, letting the vampire crush against him and push his face into his pale neck with a growl. That seemed to snap him out of the exhaustion cloud, and in an instant, Xeno was squirming and forcing himself up once again. The only way he managed it was because the vampire was taken by surprise, so he was able to slip from his grasp and scramble up, but he only got a few more steps before he had to lean against a tree for support so that his legs didn't crumble a third time. Then, just as quickly as he'd gotten away, Xeno was back in Stan's luke-warm arms, trapped against his needlessly heaving chest with his fangs hovering over his jugular once more. However, he didn't bite down. To the contrary, the feral vampire seemed to hesitate for a moment, seemingly weighing his options of what to do with the hunter before settling on a choice and swiftly switching to almost slamming him against the nearest tree.           "S-Stanley!" The hunter wheezed, more surprised then anything, pushing back so that his face at least wasn't forced into the course bark and he could look back to try and see the blonde behind him. Said blonde was keeping him in place with a hand on one of his shoulders, looking Xeno in the eye and almost relishing the dawning realization that painted his pale cheeks before he used his free hand to hook into his pants and tug them down pretty roughly. Then, he was back at the man's neck, but this time he bit with his blunter teeth, sucking at the skin until Xeno's mewls and hums were pulled out and he was satisfied with the hickey he'd left. The scientist, meanwhile was a bit ashamed of how quickly he accepted the turn of events. He tried to save some face by muffling the noises bubbling in his throat, but Stan's mouth at his neck, paired with the way he ground his groin into his now-bear rear drug a few noises out. Though, it also bat back the fog of hormones and lust long enough for the hunter to realize that he was very likely to get hurt if he didn't intervene. So, he whined and reached up to tangle his fingers in Stan's messy hair, tugging at it until he finally relinquished his throat from the second hickey he was dedicated on leaving. Carefully, Xeno turned himself around with what little room he was permitted between the vampire's muscular chest and the much-less-forgiving tree. Once they were face to face though, the college graduate's brain no longer seemed to work, so, the two simply stood there, panting a bit from the chase, before he finally gave up on using words and instead simply sunk down to his knees. Keeping his eyes glued to the glowing blue pair above him as he went. Luckily enough for him, his actions at least intrigued the vampire, because he was allowed to tug his bottoms down just enough for his member to spring free, which earned him a noise somewhere between a growl and a hum. With Stan's pants down and his member now standing erect in front of him, Xeno hesitated. Should it matter if I'm any good at this sort of shit? I just need some sort of lubrication, and he shouldn't really care about anything beyond...mating, so surely he won't give a shit, right? He asked himself, puzzling over the predicament before Stan reached down to grab onto his shirt, reminding the scientist of his lack of patience. So, Xeno threw his insecurities to the wind and grabbed onto the base of the shaft so he could slip Stan's impatient member into his mouth. The vampire moaned in response, and Xeno took that as a sign that he'd bought a bit more time for himself. So, he slowed down, bobbing his head at a medium sort of pace to work himself up to taking as much of the length as he could, which, thankfully for him, was almost all of it thanks to years of speed-drinking coffee and energy drinks and eating at record speeds in college. He also found that once he actually got to moving, the embarrassment of his lack of skills faded away, and part of him simply enjoyed the groans he got out of Stan while he moved his lips up and down him at a steady pace. He simply continued to work him as much as he could until the vampire let out a little hiss and gripped onto the scientist's shirt until he pulled away and let his throbbing member go with a coy 'pop'. Suddenly, Xeno was yanked back to his feet and whirled around again to be slammed back into the tree. His pants were tugged down once more and his feet were kicked apart in rapid succession so the monster hunter only got a moment's break before Stan pushed into him. And while it hurt still, the white-haired man found that he didn't mind as much. As the vampire began thrusting into him, one hand clawing into his hip, the other on his shoulder, Xeno moaned out curses and did his best to grab onto the tree or Stan's neck to keep steady under the merciless thrusts of the blonde. It was shameful how hot his body got, but with how Stan was hitting that sweetspot within Xeno, his face back to being buried in his neck for more marks, Xeno couldn't care less.        "Mmmm, fuck! ah, r-right there, please!" he plead, tangling his fingers back into Stan's hair as he moaned, giving another lewd noise when his pursuer did as he asked, swiftly learning that doing so got more needy noises from the hormone-addled hunter. With that, Xeno lost all coherency as euphoria further fogged his mind, and soon brought him to his peak with a whine of the vampire's name. Though, Stan didn't stop when Xeno came, he just kept thrusting into him, still flooding his pale body with more and more pleasure while his hot puffs of breath tickled his hickey-littered neck. The continued rough treatment was beginning to sting, but the edge of pain only seemed to bolster Xeno's pleasure back to its peak, pushing a second orgasm from him before Stan finally grew sloppy with his thrusts and soon gave one final movement before emptying himself into the hunter. After that, the monster hunter let himself melt against the tree, relying on Stanley to hold him up because he was on the verge of passing out after that night's activities. The last thing Xeno remembered was giving a thumbs up to what he assumed was the question 'are you okay'. Then, he let his exhaustion take him into dreamland.

#dr stone #drst #stanXeno #Stan x Xeno #monster au #scenario #vampire!Stan #Monster hunter!Xeno #not sfw

[imo-chan-imagines]

『 Waking up and finding you on your period | FKBU Headcanons 』

Characters: female!reader, Kambe Daisuke, Kato Haru

Tags/warnings: Fugou Keiji Balance: Unlimited (anime), 15+, mild sexual references, fluff, so much fluff, teensy bit of a daddy kink implied for Daisuke, bit of breeding link implied for Haru *COUGH*

⚠️ 15+ CONTENT! MINORS: PLEASE DO NOT INTERACT ⚠️

A/N: Guess who came on her period and was in dire need of some comfort from her best boys? That's right. Me. So I freaking wrote it. Here you go.

Despite the tags, it's like, 95% fluff, and even the sex is fluffy, and it's not even described. This is just pure wholesomeness. Thanks for reading! Please enjoy! Imo~

Kambe Daisuke

At first, when Daisuke sees the blood in the bed, he thinks you might be injured and worriedly wakes you up, asking if you're hurt with his hair down because he's been sleeping

As you wake, you feel the crushing pangs in your abdomen and shake your head

"That's not is," you say, embarrassed about the amount of blood staining the sheets

"I see," he says, deducing that you must have got your period in the night

He sounds as calm as ever, but he's actually genuinely relieved you haven't injured yourself

But he can see that you're in pain and he hates it serious daddy vibes

He carefully picks you up and carries you to the ensuite bathroom princess style, baby

"I'm sorry," you whimper into his chest

"There is nothing to be sorry for," he says firmly

His voice rumbles in your ears that deep, sultry voice, omg

When you reluctantly ask him if he's grossed out, he gives you a blank look

"Why should I be?" he asks. "It's perfectly natural."

"Yeah, but…"

He senses that you've experienced unpleasant situations with boyfriends in the past and can't help but feel fiercely protective and angered that they hurt you like that

"Any man who is 'grossed out' – as you put it – by something like this," he continues, entirely seriously, "does not deserve to be called a man."

He sits with you and helps you clean yourself as he draws the bath for you, having got his servants to fetch pain killers, sanitary products, and clear up the mess in the bedroom

You keep apologising for ruining the incredibly expensive, luxury bedding like so expensive, you want to die

But Daisuke keeps telling you not to worry about it, insisting that it can easily be replaced

He's literally already got HEUSC to order some new stuff

After you're clean, he helps you into the bath and gets in with you, sitting you between his legs, his arms around your body, and pulls you back against his chest

He insists you use all your favourite scents and products, planting little kisses on your neck and shoulders as he caresses the bubbles over your skin

He helps you get dressed into some of his comfy, oversized clothes and sits you down on the sofa he bought some after he wore Haru's, lmao

Come to the comfy side, we have hot guys

You grab hold of the back of his shirt when he turns to leave

When you ask him to stay with you, he immediately has tells HEUSC to clear his schedule for the day, calling in sick for work so he can do just that he must look after his princess

He can never say no to you

Hoodies and sweatpants all round

He has his chef make all your favourite foods and orders in whatever chocolates and treats you want

He even purchases a giant, expensive teddy with same-day delivery when you showed even the slightest interest in it we're talking a 2 metre plus bear, here

You spend the day curled up next to him in a cosy room, watching whatever movies, TV shows, K dramas, etc. you want

He probably has a cinema room in his house, okay? Don't @ me

Lots of cuddles and spooning hnng

He ignores any sexual urges he gets if he knows you're not in the mood

When you say you want a massage, he immediately goes to get HEUSC to call his private masseuse

When you ask him to do it instead, he's caught off guard and doesn't really have any idea what to do

He's hesitant and nervous, worried he might hurt you

But he eventually gets the idea, and feels proud of himself when you say it's helped relieve your cramps a little

Lots of hair stroking and back rubs

While you're asleep on his lap, he researches into dealing with period pain

He hates that his money can't buy you out of your pain entirely, but he's going to do the absolute best he can this sweet man, I can't

He makes sure he orders all sorts of high quality products, like super expensive heat pads, magnets, the best quality pads and tampons etc. so he's properly prepared next time best boy

While looking this stuff up, he reads that orgasms and sometimes even penetrative sex can help relieve cramps and pain, and immediately starts looking up how to go about it

When you wake up, he gets you some water and goes to ask you about what he read, but ends up a little too shy to, and vows to himself to bring it up next time

Which he does and it's adorable and hot at the same time??

And he really goes all out, focusing on you completely

You're glowing afterwards as you come down from your high, and he rests his forehead on yours

I'm dying, this is so cute. Why can't this be real?!?

Kato Haru

You wake up first, feeling your stomach sink at the all too familiar sensation of blood between your legs

You nervously turn to Haru and wake him up, but can't manage to get the words out

Haru knows exactly what's happened as soon as he sees it

He gives you a hug and a kiss and tells you it's okay, and to get out of the bed

He fetches you pain killers and hurries out to the convenience store to buy any other products you need

A range of different pads, tampons, a hot water bottle, more over-the-counter pain killers and medication, chocolate it's necessary, okay? Haru knows what's up

It's dishearteningly early in the morning and still dark out brave boy, best boy

He returns with the items as quickly as possible, smelling of a fresh, crisp morning, still panting a little from hurrying to get back to you I freaking can't, it's too cute

He starts cleaning the sheets as best he can, soaking them in the tub while you clean yourself up in the bathroom

He also prepares a quick meal or two for you in advance because he knows you'll feel too awful to do anything yourself today he's so knowledgeable and practical

#boyfriend material

Lots of small smiles, hugs, and forehead kisses to remind you that he's not mad, because he knows you're worrying about it

When you're all clean and the bedding is changed, he puts you back to bed with a hot water bottle and a blanket, kissing your forehead

He has to get ready for work

You want him to stay, but you know how strong his sense of duty is, and don't want to put him in the position where he has to choose

He kisses you softly before he leaves, saying he'll call you later on his break

You spend the whole day missing him while enjoying the food he lovingly prepared

You wait with your phone by you, watching the clock

When he calls and you hear his voice come though on the other end of the line, you sink under a wave of relief and finally start to relax

He asks you how you are, if you've been eating, tells you to eat that particular food you always leave, because it's good for you, damn it, and reminds you where things are in case you might need them, etc.

He says he loves you soft boi

You can hear Kamei in the background, poking fun at Haru – who pointedly reminds him who has a girlfriend and who doesn't rip Kamei

Daisuke's voice briefly drifts down the line, and Haru says he has to go

He says he loves you again, and you say it back

When he hangs up, it's suddenly very empty in the apartment

You hug a pillow all afternoon in place of him

It's late when he gets back, laden with groceries, the ingredients for your favourite meal, and a bouquet of small, pretty-looking flowers from the supermarket

You're immediately feeling better now that he's home, getting some colour back in your cheeks

You watch him cook up a storm in the kitchen he's so hot when he cooks, I can't

You always love his food, but it tastes so much better now that he's with you

After eating, you curl up together and watch TV

Lots of goofy grins and raspberries on your neck and tummy – anything to make you laugh and smile again

When you finally laugh, he leans in and says, "There it is."

Spooning yes, both of them

I like spooning, shut up

He can't help but get hard, and he apologises bashfully when you notice

You tell him it's okay wink wonk

He grins

"You know, I think I have a remedy for this affliction of yours," he says, nuzzling your neck with his nose

"Oh yeah? What's that?" you ask sceptically, sensing something mischievous is afoot

"I could always put a baby in you, free of charge," he says, only half joking as he nibbles on your earlobe getting steamyyy

"Babe, we're broke," you say, breaking out into a giggle

But you get down to it anyway because he freaking loves you and knows that you needs to be reminded of it right now

© imo-chan-imagines 2020

#imo chan imagines #fugou keiji balance: unlimited #the millionaire detective balance: unlimited #fkbu #imagine #headcanons #fkbu imagine #fkbu headcanons #kambe daisuke #kato haru #fkbu x reader #fluff #fkbu fluff

[world-of-aus]

Behind the Screen - (Part 7)

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 

Warnings: 18+

Author’s Note: Is anyone else confused on there days, because i literally thought today was Monday and i thought i was on schedule only to realize it was actually wednesday! So sorry for the delay, i’m debating moving around the day updates for Behind the Screen to Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday & Family Matter’s will be Monday, Wednesday and i’m also aiming for Fridays, im thinking if i make this change it may help me feel caught up! With finishin up our year, and being a fulltime mom updates are a little hard, but im trying! As always tag-list are still open for both BTS & FM, so if you’d like to be added just send me a message or ask. Thank you all so much for reading and enjoying the work i put out!

Part 6 / SERIES MASTERLIST

“How bad is it?” Bucky groaned head resting in your battered hands.

“I’m pretty sure it’s broken, I don’t think I can set this,” you sighed gnawing on your bottom lip in worry as you assessed his injured nose, “Buck I really think we should get you to med bay, why didn’t you go there first before coming here, I'm not a medical professional.” You muttered applying more pressure to the soaked cotton hanging from his nostrils.

“take my nose between your fingers will you,” he grunted nasally.

Bucky was having trouble breathing, through his more than likely broken bloodied nose, the hot air from his mouth fanning over the palms of your hands where they rested on his cheek, “buck seriously this is broken, let me get you down to m-”

His fingers looped into the tops of your leggings, pulling you into the slot between his tense thighs, “stop with the med bay, I'm not going and you're not taking me,” he wheezed, “set it for me, you do it to Steve all the time,” he murmured.

You stared at the bloodied man before you in bewilderment, “Buck that was once and it was his shoulder, we’re talking about your nose here,” you voiced exasperatedly, “what if I break it more than you’ve already managed to do!”

“Sweetheart,” he grunted, the word going straight through you, “will you just straighten it up, I can’t fucking breathe.”

You knew you shouldn’t, but you also knew how stubborn Bucky could be when he was this badly messed up after a mission, and man was his brooding showing through, and where there was brooding his stubbornness was sure to be as well. There was just simply no arguing, you would be here longer than needed if you didn’t just do what he was asking.

“count of three?” you questioned.

He nodded his head, his fingers holding onto your waist as he pulled you in a little closer, “alright,” you took a breath, “one, two, th-” your thumbs pressed into the sides of his noise, fingers pushing on his nose, a crack sounding below your fingers as you pushed it back into place.

“Son of a bitch!” he growled, “what the fuck doll, I said three!” he grunted his fingers pressing harder into your skin sure to leave a mark. His head fell to your shoulder, his breathing labored, “Buck had I counted to three you probably would have moved away at the last second.”

“I wouldn’t have, should have just done it myself,” he muttered.

You couldn’t help the chuckle that slipped past your lips, “m’sorry buck, but if you had gone to med bay like Steve had advised when you guys landed instead of catching me in the hallway maybe they would have been gentler with you,”

Bucky lifted his head up from your shoulder then, “maybe I wanted you to be the one to tend to me, have you not read those types of fics of mine?” he questioned a teasing tone to his voice.

Laughter fell from your lips, “I'm regretting ever letting you find out, I mean how long has it been now and you still tease me about it?”

A low chuckle fell from Bucky’s lips as his eyes looked over your face, you felt so exposed in that moment, “Wouldn’t say I'm teasing you in that way doll, but I am teasing you in another way,” he replied his voice dropping to a whisper.

You cocked your head, eyebrow raised, “Buck” you warn, “don’t you star-”

His hands are cupping your face then, thumb running over your lips silencing you. He’s staring at you in a way that has your heart stalling in your chest, your knees going weak. He’s leaning forward then, bringing you in closer, his breath ghosting over your parted lips.

His name falls from your lips in a silent whisper, his lips close the distance between the two of you. The kiss is slow, un-rushed like the two of you had time. His tongue runs along your bottom lip, coaxing you to let him in. Your fingers are curling, looking for something to bury themselves in, you push further into his open legs your hands sliding up his chest where they weave their way into his long locks. You’re pushed against his warm broad chest, lips magnetically drawn to his as your tongues continue to dance, delicate moans spilling from your lips into his.

The need for air becomes too much in the wake of your heated kiss as you draw your head back, a gasp falling from your lips as you suck in a lung full of air. Bucky nuzzles your neck then, placing delicate kisses along your awaiting skin. His hands have found their way to your hips, fingers gliding along the hem of your shirt slipping under to feel the soft skin that lays there. Your hands still weaved in his hair, are pulling his head back to you, your lips connecting with his again. The kiss is not like the first, this one is fiery, demanding, your senses having been clouded over with want, a need building up within.  

He speaks your name into your lips, you heart fluttering wildly in your chest from the sound, never had your name sounded so wonderful falling from someone’s lips as they did his. Your leaning in again when three sharp knocks to your door have you both jumping apart from one another,  

“y/n,” Steve's voice calls out, your head falls against the wall, a silent groan falling from your lips.

“is Bucky still with you, he’s needed for a debriefing,” his muffled voice adds through your closed door.

From where your leaning against the wall, your eyes look over to Bucky his face unreadable, and you wonder if Steve has managed to do it yet again. A gentle sigh leaves your lips as you push off from the wall, “Just finished Steve,” you lied not daring to look in Bucky’s direction, “I’ll send him right out to you,”  

No words are spoken as you move around Bucky’s unmoving form from where he sits on your bathroom vanity.  You can feel his eyes on you as you pick up the bloodied cotton and wrappers thrown around him. You want to say something, but your words are failing you, all that you can think to speak is “Steve’s waiting Buck, you should go before he comes looking for you again,” you murmured continuing to clean the already clean counter. The sigh that leaves Bucky’s lips has you looking up at him, your breath catches in your throat at the storm on Bucky’s face. Not wanting to stick around to be caught in it, you did the only thing you could think to do in that moment, you walked away to busy yourself and your racing thoughts.

Bucky wants to reach out to you the second he sees your face falter, he wants to stop you, make you stay, tell Steve to fuck off, but he knows you, he knows what you’re doing inside that head of yours. So he lets you go, let’s you walk away from him, even though he wants nothing more than to pull you back into his arms. Walking out your door to go to the debriefing with Steve was the last thing that he wanted to do.

He shouldn’t be thinking about you while Steve babbles away of the disarray of today’s mission, but he can’t get you out of his mind. Bucky’s mind is solely on you, on how you look, feel, everything about you, and he’ll be damned if he gets an earful from Steve on not being focused, which it does.

Bucky can’t get out of the meeting room quick enough, waiting for everyone else to leave the room before he does so as to not throw them off when they see him run off in the other direction. He’s quick to walk the halls, feet pounding down the slick tile like a man on a mission.

He stops in front of the door, his mind and heart racing wondering if he should just turn around, tuck tail, and go back to his room. He doesn’t want to though, he wants to put himself out there, he wants to put himself in arms reach for you, he wants to do these things with you, he wants you. He doesn’t allow himself to over think as he turns the doorknob, pushing your door open.

Bucky freezes door open midway as he spots you standing in the middle of the room a single white towel wrapped around your wet skinned form. Your eyes are wide, finger clutching the towel tightly, his name is falling from your lips but he doesn’t quiet register it in the haze of his mind. He’s moving forward then, the door swinging closed behind him, as his feet carry him to you.

“Bucky,” you whisper in question stumbling back slightly from the intensity of his gaze. He’s watching you, the rise and fall of your chest, you shouldn’t have this effect on him, but you do. He draws closer to you, his hand rising up to push your damp hair from your face, his fingers curling behind your head, keeping you there. The smell of your body wash lingers on your skin, the scent of coffee and coconut tickling his nose. He’s pushed against you now, his body turning yours as he backs you up into your bed. The back of your legs hit the bed first, your form stumbling, Bucky's hands are gripping the towel as it falls from your body, your back hitting your sheets.

Your cheeks are burning as you look up at him like a deer caught in head lights, your hands scrambling for your sheets to cover your naked form, but Bucky’s voice stops you.

“buck what are you-” he silences you with a finger to his lips. His stare alone causes a shiver to roll up your spine, his gaze predatory.

“buck” you try again.

There’s too many things going on through his mind, he needs to calm himself before he does something he might regret, “fuck” he whispers his eyes trailing your naked form, you’re so beautiful he thinks as he eyes rake over your curves.

“Buck,” you repeat, your eyes looking at him with concern, he can see your restraint in leaning up to check on him, the caution. He's swooping down then, his body fitting over yours, pushing you deeper into the mattress below you. He's caught you off guard, an audible gasping falling from your lips, his head is ducking down, tongue trailing your clavicle, drawing a low moan from you. He braces himself with his left hand, his thighs slotting with yours as his right hand finds its way to your face, thumb tracing along the plump of your lower lip.

“Bucky,” you sigh, his name falling from your lips in a breathy drawn out plea.

“You’re so beautiful sweetheart,” he murmurs into your skin, his nose running along the underside of your chin, leaving a trail of open wet mouthed kisses, till his lips are finding yours. He lets himself relish in the sounds he pulls from you, the way you feel under him, saving it for later when he’s away from you, something that he can think back to. When he pulls his lips from yours, he can feel the rise and fall of your chest, your plump lips parted slightly, your warm breath fanning across his face.

He really can’t bring himself to look away from you, he had always thought you were beautiful, but having him underneath you like he did now, it was almost to much, almost.

“You know,” he murmurs “when I first went through the tag on my own after I had left your room that first night, I didn’t know what to think, but the more I read through some of these stories the writers wrote, I began to imagine myself doing these things, and do you want to know who I imagined myself doing them with?” he questions. Your nodding then, your breath hitching as you feel his right hand descend down the curves of your body, “you” he whispers, words ghosting over your lips, “I’ve imagined you in every possible scenario that was drawn out for me,” he murmurs nipping at your chin.

Your writhing; back arching as you feel his hand drift to where you need him, “I’ve pictured you on your knees for me, on your back legs spread, arched, as your hands drift down this beautiful body, finger dipping into your warm heat,” the statement is accompanied with his fingers dipping into the slick of you warmth, your mouth falling open in a gasp. “I have pictured you every time, and you never disappoint,” he grunts index finger circling your entrance before he’s dipping in your back arches head thrown back at the pleasure that surges through you.

Your making those noises Bucky loves to hear spill from your lips, the sweetest sounds bubbling from your throat. He’s adding a second finger, curling them in a beckoning motion, grinning against your skin, when he feels how your body reacts. He pushes in deeper, fingers curling quicker, “fuck” you breath out, and Bucky's grinning again knowing he’s found that sweet spot within you.

He loves to see you like this, loves to see how your body reacts to his. His lips are making their way up your face to find your lips, only for you to be seeking out his as well, the action causing you to jostle his nose slightly a low hiss falling from his lips. “Buck your nose,” you gasp breathily, “you really should have gone to med bay.” Bucky can’t help but chuckle, “you really want me to go to the med bay?” he questions his fingers curling again, causing your head to fall back into the sheets.  

“you know what would be better than med bay,” he murmurs kissing along your skin, “to see you come apart underneath me,” he whispers, teeth nipping at your skin, “you think you can do that for me angel, you think you could cum for me,” he questions huskily thumb swirling around your clit.

Your mouth falls open in a breathy moan, back arching as he builds you up, fingers thrusting faster, deeper, thumb swirling quicker, harder working you up to that immense pleasure only he can bring you. He feels the moment you fall over the edge, your pussy clenching around his fingers, a loud moan falling from your lips. He continues to thrust his fingers into you, only for you to reach down and take a hold of his hand halting his movements. He glances up at you through his lashes, a grin pulling at his lips as he pulls his finger from your wet slick.

You're watching through hooded eyes as he brings his fingers to his mouth, sucking them clean. A shiver rolls through your body at the action, you don’t get the chance to utter the fuck that wants to escape your mouth with Bucky’s lips crashing onto yours. Bucky licks into your mouth, tongue tangling with yours, letting you taste yourself, a low moan falling from your lips.

“Bucky,” you moan tearing your spit slick lips from his, “please,” you plead.

And Bucky swears he’s never heard sweeter words than those that spill from your mouth, “what do you want sweetheart, tell me what you want,” he replies in a low whisper, his fingers trailing over your lips. He watches in awe as your tongue peeks out, licking the digit, your lips closing over it as you suck it into your mouth.

“Fuck look at you,” a moan falls from your lips, “the things I want to do to you,” he grunts, “I want to fuck you, fuck you so hard you won’t be able to leave this bed, be buried so deep inside of you that you’ll never forget what it feels like, would you like that, do you want me to fuck you?”  

“Yes please,” you moan, “please fuck me Bucky,” you beg.

Bucky growls low in his throat, his lips capturing yours in another heated kiss of teeth and tongue. You have no idea what you do to him, how riled up you get him. Your innocent to the reactions he has because of you, though he thinks you know with how hard he is in his tactical gear, his cock straining against the confines of his pants.

Needing to feel your skin against his he slides off of you, a whine leaving your lips as your fingers reach out for him. You watch him peel his shirt off tossing it to the side, his hands going for his jeans next, but your hands are stopping him, pushing his hands away as you work the button and zipper off.   Your hands are hooking into the waistband of his jeans and boxers pulling them down swiftly, a low moan falls from your lips as his cock springs free from the right confines of his pants.

He’s kicking them off the rest of the way, his body covering yours once more. Your perfect he thinks, so fucking perfect, and you’re with him like this, in a way he never could have imagined having you. His hand is sliding down the side of your body where it hooks underneath your leg pulling till it’s wrapped around his waist his hips falling into place between your legs.

Bucky’s mind is hazy with pleasure,  as he feels every inch of you against his, like you were for him. “Fuck sweetheart,” he murmurs with a roll of his hips, “you’re so fucking wet, did I get you this wet?” He questions his cock nudging your clit.

A moan falls from your lips, “use your words sweetheart, did I make you this wet?” He grunts thrusting his lips shallowly  

“God yes,” you whine needing to feel more, “please Buck,”

“Please what, tell me what you want,” he whispers lips ghosting just over yours.

“Please fuck me, please I need to feel you,” you begged back arching, your chest pressing into his.

Bucky wastes no time as he lines himself up with your slick entrance, his hips thrusting forward, teeth gritting as your heat welcomes him. He stops when he’s fully sheathed, breath coming out labored, as you flutter around him, clenching. “Fuck sweetheart,” he grits, “feel so good around me,” he murmurs.

He pulls back to only the tip, before surging forward, the thrust jostling you beneath him, earning him a throaty groan of pleasure from you, “Fuck, yes,” you hiss, “please don’t stop,” you moan.

Bucky grins into your neck, nipping at your sweat slick skin, his thrusts are slow, hard, and deep, a buildup that has you writhing and whining just for him. Your fingers are winding through Buckys hair, tugging the harder his thrusts get. Your pulling his hair bringing his face to yours, your lips meeting his in a breathy kiss.

“Fuck right there, right fucking there,” you moan into his mouth when he changes the angle on you hitting that pleasurable spot within you.  

Bucky’s left-hand catches under your right thigh, lifting till it sits high up on his hip, it changes the angle further, a broken gasp falls from your lips as it drives him in deeper, “fuck it feels so good,” you groan, you feel so good,” you sob clenching around him.

Bucky wants to reiterate your exact words but with the way your warm wet heat is clenching around his aching cock, he can only manage a low moan of your name. Your it for him he thinks, the way you take him, the pleasure you bring him and he knows he can bring you; he doesn’t think he could ever go tired of this.

“Shit,” he breathes his hips slowing slightly, he wants to drag you out a little longer, wants to rebuild that pleasure. He moves again fucking up into the wet heat of your cunt, drawing low moans from you, your breath hitching as your pleasure builds up. Bucky feels spurred on as he continues to fuck into you, bringing you back to that sweet edge, he can tell your close by the way your pussy clenches around him, and he knows the thing to send you right over.

His left hand is leaving your thigh to slide in between your bodies, delving in the warmth of your heat, index finger seeking out that sweet little bundle of nerves.

“Come on baby,” he murmurs finger picking up speed around your aching clit, “i know you want to cum for me, are you going to cum for me?” he questions finger swiping a little quicker. Its enough to send your over the edge, as your body tenses, thighs shaking, low moans of pleasure ripping from your mouth.  

Fuck Bucky thinks, if that isn’t the most beautiful sound he has ever heard.  

His name is falling from your lips in a low chant, the pleasure is too much, you need him to cum, you want to feel him cum. And he does, he cums with his lips pressed to yours a low groan of pleasure falling from his lips and into yours as he loses the rhythm, his body thrumming with pleasure.

Your both laying there bodies lax, Bucky’s head nestled into your neck, your fingers absentmindedly running up and down his back drawing the occasional shiver from him. Its quiet, but its comfortable, you’re the first to speak up, “Bucky where did this come from you,” you murmured quietly.

He peeked his head up looking up at you, “you complaining,” he teased earning a laugh and a swat to the arm from you.

“No i’m not complaining but,” you paused mulling over your words, “it was just unexpected, I thought you might have been thrown off with Steve again,” your murmured looking away from him.

Bucky didn’t like that you did that, that you felt you needed to hide from him, “i told you I wanted to do these things with you, and I meant it,” he spoke taking your chin in his hand so your eyes would meet his again.

“so, is this part of the new agreement?” you questioned not really knowing what this new agreement had entailed since you and Bucky had never actually sat and talked about it.

“You could say that, there’s things I want to try and like I said, I only want to try them with you, if you don’t want to do this you can always tell me to just go and I won’t hold an of this against you,” though those were the words that had fallen from his lips, his mind was saying something entirely different. Bucky could only hope you would agree to this new agreement, because while he felt he couldn’t have you the way he really wanted if he could have you like this, well this would be enough.

Part 8

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