#(staring without blinking at fluorescent lights | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

celestie0 · 2 months

Text

gojo satoru x reader | oneshot smut [18+]

luxury & lingerie. a retail au

“𝐀𝐥𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭, 𝐝𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲’𝐬 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞. 𝐋𝐞𝐭’𝐬 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐢𝐭. 𝐈’𝐦 𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐮𝐧𝐜𝐡 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤.”

ᰔ pairing. retail au - rolex salesman gojo x victoria's secret associate reader (f)

ᰔ summary. gojo is the rolex watch shop's pretty boy & you're the victoria's secret lingerie store's new hire that works across from him. let's just say he's determined to get inside your pants.

ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, porn with plot (seriously that's all it is), smut, casual sex, possibly comedic, lots of terrible flirting, tiny bit of fluff if you squint, gojo's got a daddy kink that you really have no interest in entertaining, unprotected sex, semi-public sex, creampie, blowjobs, oral sex, praise kink, some degradation, sort of cum play, banter, suguru & choso are in it too (the hot-boy sales trio)

ᰔ word count. 6.5k

a/n. hellooo this started with this concept idea i had of hot retail worker gojo who just wants to flirt with you instead of actually do his job lmfao. this was seriously just a stream of my consciousness. hope you enjoy! and thanks to everyone that wanted to be on taglist for this. creds to @quinnyundertow for the sephora lipstick idea.

The sound of Suguru’s voice was the last thing going through Gojo’s mind right now.

“Anyways, I put the car in reverse, she’s on aux. I’m thinking, she’s gotta have good taste, right? She’s the one that suggested the Maneskin concert in the first place. But you know what she starts playing? Country music. Fucking country music. And I’m not necessarily opposed to a good— dude, are you even listening?”

Choso leans over the polished display case of the mens’ latest Rolex models, staring at the two idiots in front of him. “No, he’s not. He’s been ogling the tits on that mannequin over there for the past five minutes.”

Gojo finally blinks out of his trance, irritated. “I’m not staring at the mannequin, I’m staring at—”

You. New hire. Over at the Victoria’s Secret that was across from his turf at the mall. You were standing on your tiptoes on a mini ladder, wobbling a little, reaching up for a mannequin at the display window to switch out the corny yellow sleeping mask on its face for one that was a more sleek, satin blue.

The fabric of your uniform slid up slightly, skin of your midriff exposed, and he has to suck a breath in through his teeth.

“I called dibs on that a week ago,” Suguru says from where he stood, lazily leaning on the counter.

“No fucking way. I’ve got dibs.”

“Dibs? Really? I work with a bunch of prepubescents,” Choso groans, tipping his head back to stare up at fluorescent mall lighting.

Suguru’s voice sounds like he’s lax at the jaw. “Is anyone gonna tell her that’s the ladder they use to prop the door open, and not the one to flash Satoru’s horny ass while changing out a mannequin?”

“I’ll be the one to tell her,” Gojo says.

At the display window, you slowly peel the panties off of the mannequin without a thought in the world to use the store’s modesty curtain, and Gojo, Suguru & Choso are all staring. And probably every other man within the store’s radius.

“Holy fuck,” Gojo says, strained.

“Holy fuck, indeed,” Suguru marvels.

“She’s clueless,” Choso sighs.

“You can have the mannequin, I get the girl,” Suguru offers, something just to get under Gojo’s skin.

“Shut up. I’m going over there.” He stands up onto his feet from the leather client chair he had been sprawled across up until this point of his shift.

“Can’t wait for you to royally fuck this up,” Choso muses with a smirk, arms crossing at his chest.

Gojo grumbles something under his breath when he hears Suguru’s coo of agreement, and then he’s making his way across to the Victoria’s Secret entrance. He unbuttons the top two buttons of his black dress shirt, as if he expects the sight of the skin at his collarbone to have you seduced like a victorian man seeing a lady’s ankle for the first time.

He makes it through the welcoming glass doors that lead into the sultry & dark ambience that you would expect of a lingerie store, and he rounds to the right, stopping a few feet away from you.

You were combing through a rack now, lips pursed in concentration until he clears his throat.

Glancing over, your shoulders tense and you pull your retail headset earpiece down, leaving it hanging by the wire that was clipped to the neckline of your shirt. His eyes flicker to the nametag pinned above the curve of your breast. You look at him with wide eyes. “Oh, hi sir. How can I help you?”

“Oh, no, I’m not a customer,” Gojo quickly corrects you, although he liked the sound of sir from your lips, “I work over there.” He points with a jerk of his chin towards the obnoxiously gaudy exterior of the Rolex watch store facing the two of you.

You blink at him. “Ah, I see.”

“You new here?” Gojo asks, taking a step forward and resting his elbow up on the metal bar of the rack just to get more into your space. “Haven’t seen you around.”

The corner of your lip turns up slightly at his words. “Why? Do you keep a roster?”

“I—no, not really,” he responds, already a little speechless, “wait, a roster of what?” He’d say he does if it’s a roster of pretty girls he’s been fantasizing about tit-fucking all day long, with you being at the top—no, the only one—on that list.

You shrug a little. It’s kind of meek and cute. “Of new hires?”

He breathes in deep. “Yes. Yes, I do. I just like to make sure the newbies feel welcome around here. Y’know, taken care of.”

You smile, turn to face him and relax your posture. “Oh. That’s sweet. Yeah, I feel pretty welcome here, thanks.”

“That’s good.”

“I mean, everyone’s been really nice to me so far.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm, and I really like the break room on this floor. The last place I worked at didn’t have a toaster oven.”

“No way.”

“I wish the clock-in machine was easier to use though…”

“For sure.”

You glance at him suspiciously in the middle of your rant. “Why are you staring at me?”

“Cause you’re real pretty, angel.”

Your brow raises, the keys hooked to the loop of your jeans jingling as you place a curled hand to your hip. “Angel? Really? Cause of— cause of Victoria’s Secret angels?”

Gojo’s stiff, his elbow still resting on the cool metal pole, and he glances up at the ceiling before looking back down at you. “Uhh…sure? Yes.”

“That’s not very original.”

“Man, you’re really making me work hard for this. Unfortunately, that only makes me want you more.” He leans down closer to you, to catch the scent on your skin, and he can’t tell if you’re amused or annoyed from the way your cheeks round as you narrow your eyes at him.

“This is you working hard for it? You haven’t even told me your name yet, watch boy.”

He sees your fingers wrap around the cold metal bar of the rack, and he tries hard not to picture them wrapped around something else, but to no avail. You jut your hip out to bump him, pushing him out of your way, before you start rolling the rack down the store.

He trails behind you. “My name. It’s Satoru. But to you, I can be dadd-”

You stop in your tracks, turning around to face him with a scowl, but he was too distracted by the shape of your backside to be reflexive enough to stop himself in time, and he ends up crashing right into you. The momentum has you falling back with a gasp, tripping over the foot of the rack, and his arm flies around your waist to keep you upright, and then pressed up against him too just for good measure.

His face is just inches away from yours. “Shit. Sorry.”

Your arms are squished between his chest and yours, pinky tickling the skin at his collarbone, and the contact has him reeling. “I-It’s fine,” you say, lashes fluttering, “now let go of me, before I file a harassment complaint.”

He instantly retreats, releasing you, watching you stumble a bit before gaining your balance again. “God, no, please,” he sighs, “I really need this job.”

“You don’t act like it,” you mumble. You fix your hair in front of him and tuck the fabric of your shirt that came loose back into your jeans. He doesn’t have to touch your cheeks to know they feel hot, he can tell from the purse of your lips and the way you won’t make eye contact with him.

The voices of a couple women are heard from down the aisle, as well as the plastic clinking of hangers on racks as they peruse the sheer bralettes dangling in color-coded fashion. Gojo sees you struggling to pull the rack you were working with away to the side to let them through, and he comes up behind you, gripping the metal bar to do it for you. He catches the fragrance of your hair at the crown of your head, and he inhales slowly.

The women walk by, throwing a few curious glances at the two of you, and Gojo doesn’t move from where he’s holding onto the rack and has his arm pressed against yours, his only lifeline to find some reason to touch you right now.

You start pushing the rack forward again, and he continues to follow you, keeping a more respectful following distance this time. He’s distracted by the pair of crotchless panties hung over your shoulder. He picks them up by the string. “Who the fuck actually wears these?” he asks, dangling them in front of his face and turning them around in the air to inspect it.

Your eyes are set forward for your destination. “Middle-aged women that are desperate to seduce their husbands before those men ride the high of buying a $100k watch by fucking a twenty-something-year-old instead.” You snatch the pair from his hand. “I’m rooting for those women. The men at your Rolex store? Not so much.”

He’s on your heel until you round to a smaller section of the store, wheeling the rack over to a corner near the collection of lace panties sprinkled across cubbies under dim purple lighting. He glances over his shoulder and takes note that this area’s tucked away from the eyesights of the cash registers and storefront.

He hears you sigh, then say “Why are you following me?”

He meanders closer to you with his hands shoved in the pockets of his slacks. “Because…y’know, like I said, I wanna make the new hire feel settled in.”

“I literally feel so very unsettled by you right now,” you say to him with a wry expression as you start sorting through lace underwear, referencing some chart in your hand to get it right.

He walks up to you and peers over your shoulder at the illustration, and notices the way you stiffen a bit but also lean back into him. “Huh…so the cheeky panties go in the left top & bottom cubes. And they’re the ones with medium coverage and…” he squints his eyes at the chart, dim lighting doing him no favors, “and they have an alarming fit.”

You scoff through your nose. “It says alluring fit. Can you read?”

“I— shut up. Yes I can read.”

You twirl around to face him, a hint of an amused smile to your lips. His eyes widen a bit at the sight of it, until he registers it’s a cheeky one, like those panties.

“Watch boy is illiterate. Must be why you still work in retail.”

“Yes, keep being mean to me, new hire. It’s hot,” he groans, hands still in his pockets as he leans towards you. You don’t shy away, just keep on looking up at him in this little corner he has you in, a twinkle in your pupils now that he wasn’t seeing earlier.

He’s surprised when your finger hooks the fabric in between two of the buttons on his shirt. You play with the material, pinching it, but never tug on it. “What’s a grown ass man like yourself doing still working for commission at a mall?”

“Okay, ouch, a little too mean,” he backtracks, watching your tongue briefly swipe across your lip, “let’s be a bit nicer.”

Now you’re tugging on the fabric, hooked finger pulling him closer to you until his hands have to fly out of his pockets and his palms press against the wall, caging you into it. “Illiterate and can’t take a dig. Pick a struggle,” you say to him with a sweet look up.

He’s getting the sense that you’re into him too. He grabs hold of your waist, thumbs rubbing your torso over the fabric of your uniform just to get a feel. “Well,” he starts, bringing your hips forward to his, pressing the erection he was building against you, “this illiterate retail worker could fuck you real good if you’d just give him the chance.”

A small gasp leaves your lips, eyes widening and you tuck your bottom lip under your teeth. Fuck, he wants to kiss you. Wants to be the one biting your lip right now. Your hand grabs his forearm, over the veins strained from his grip on you, your nails sinking into the skin left exposed by his rolled up sleeve. “It’s…It’s real well, watch boy. You’d fuck me real well.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, I’ll fuck you real well,” he tells you, as his head tips towards your cheek, lips brushing against it. It was just a tease, so he pulls away but still looks down at you in closeness. There’s voices around the corner, but he doesn’t really care.

“You’re awfully forward,” you breathe out, and he almost goes insane at the soft whimper that leaves your lips when he can’t help but jerk his hips forward a bit.

“Y’know what? Fuck it,” he grumbles, pulling the rack across behind him so he’s created a covered haven for the two of you against this wall, and then he kisses you.

There’s a yelp that he muffles from you as his lips move against yours, slow, because you're new to him and he wants to savor it. His hand finds the small of your back, spreads across it, pushing you to arch towards him, and his teeth catch your bottom lip when he feels your breasts press against him. You’re pliant, opening your mouth for him, and he takes up the offer to taste you. Soft & warm pressed up against him, a subtle sweetness on your tongue, and he only pulls away because you squeeze his shoulder hard.

You’re breathing fast, cheeks shy, a little cutely cross-eyed from his proximity when you look up at him. “I-…okay, I’m a little mad that you’re a good kisser.”

He hums, tip of his nose brushing against yours slightly and you grip the collar of his shirt to keep him close. “I’ll kiss you nice in a lot of other places too.”

It doesn’t really take much convincing after that.

“Oh…oh my god—,” you mewl, back against the mirror of one of this fine lingerie establishment’s fitting room stalls, legs wrapped around his waist as he fucks you raw with the aim to please.

“Shit, knew you’d be tight,” he groans, pressing a kiss to your jaw when you tip your head back in pleasure, throat loose with a moan, “pretty little new hire. Just had to break you in.”

“S-Satoru,” you moan through a breath, the sound of his name on your tongue having his cock twitch inside your walls, mixed with the pain of the grip you had on the hair at the back of his head.

He has your shirt bunched up along with your bra, tits exposed for him. His head dips to pull a nipple through his teeth as he feeds you with a few slow, deep thrusts, and his eye catches the earpiece of your headset, still clipped to your shirt, bouncing around with every one of his movements inside you. “Really hope that thing’s off,” he mumbles against your skin, “but if it excites you to have it on, I—fuck, I wouldn’t really mind either way.”

Your hand flies to his bicep when he runs his thumb over your clit, legs wrapping around him even tighter. “More. Need more,” you say, head in a haze, and he really could’ve cum inside you right then and there but he holds out to enjoy some more time buried in the warm pleasure of your cunt.

“If you want something from me,” he grunts between thrusts, “you’re gonna have to beg me for it, love.”

“Fuck me harder,” you cry, eyes shut closed, and he almost feels sorry for you.

“That’s a demand,” he informs, pinching the flesh of your ass and enjoying the way you clench around him from the action, “I told you to beg.”

“Please, oh my god, please—,” you start, moving your hips against his now, and he hears the lewd sound of your flesh slapping more fervently against the mirror. “Please fuck me harder.”

“Good girl. Pretty girl,” he praises you, thumb finding your clit again as a reward, “see what you get for being so nice to me now.”

He bucks his hips harder, your arms wrapping around his neck in desperation, chin resting at the top of his head as his lips fall to your neck, and he kisses, nibbles, sucks, anything to get that sweet taste in his mouth while he draws stars over your sensitive bud, eliciting broken whimpers from you over and over again.

“Gonna let me cum inside?” he asks, feeling his balls jump at just the thought of filling you up, his thighs feeling hot from the anticipation of you giving him the permission. “All that shit talk earlier about me being a dumb mall worker, but you’d still let me finish in you, right?” His hips stutter slightly, vision starting to blur, and he feels your walls flutter tightly too, “cause I bet it turns you on that you’re letting this dumb retail man fuck you senseless in a flimsy little fitting room right now, regardless.”

“Satoru, please,” you’re begging, the crack in your voice hoarse like you’re about to cry from the pleasure.

“Answer me,” he demands, retreating the thumb that was toying with your clit. He pulls one of your arms from where it was wrapped around his neck to pin your wrist to the mirror. “You want me to cum inside you or not?”

Your hips press so harshly against his that he hardly has any leeway to thrust anymore, and it makes him hiss in protest, fingers digging into the flesh of your ass to let up. “I want—mhh, I want you to cum inside me, please, please,” you plead, desperate, grinding your clit against the skin above his cock, above the place he was buried to the hilt inside of you.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, the sweet words processing in his head, and he loses all sense of control, motions eager and desperate, chasing after his high and his thumb is barely considerate enough to chase after yours too as it rubs relentlessly over your puffed up clit. You shiver against him, walls clenching around his cock impossibly tight, legs wrapping around his waist possibly even tighter, and he feels every nerve as you come undone around him. The gripping sensation your orgasm had on him has him faltering with harsh thrusts forward, and he holds your hips flush to his as the first spurt of his cum spills into you, followed by more with repetitive juts of his hips until he’s emptied himself entirely into you, and you’re just pumped full of him.

You swat at his chest, squirming as he leaks the last drop from the tip of his dick, and he can tell you’re overstimulated.

“Sorry,” he says through a short exhale, pressing a kiss to your shoulder, and he slowly pulls out of you, cock falling limp over his thigh, and he holds you until you find footing on the ground, albeit a bit wobbly.

“Oh no,” you mewl, clenching your thighs together when you feel his cum starting to drip out, and he quickly bends down to hook your panties up back into place. You give him a pointed look.

“What? The easiest clean-up is not letting it out,” he says, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you to him so he gets to feel the plushness of your bare breasts against him and he kisses the top of your head. “You’re real good, new hire. Or whatever the fucking proper way to say it is.”

He can tell you’re rolling your eyes even though your face is buried in his chest.

“You’re a dumbass,” you say, sounding muffled.

—

Gojo spends about 90% of his shifts meandering across the shimmering tile floors of the mall to the Victoria’s Secret, and only spends about 10% of them actually being a watch salesman. His boss was starting to get real fuckin’ fed up with him, threatening to fire him yesterday for the two-hour lunch break he took because he was eating you out in a storage closet, but he really couldn’t be bothered to care. He was an addict, and he needed to get his fix. Not before annoying the shit out of you, though.

“Alright, daddy’s home. Let’s get to it. I’m on my lunch break,” he says, walking right up to you in the middle of your shift while you’re folding slip dresses onto a display table, his hand reaching for your waist but you retreat from him.

“For that, get the fuck away from me.”

He sighs. “I’ve been wanting to touch you all day long. Do you purposefully walk your gorgeous self across the front of the store that many times just to tease the hell out of me? I’m suffering.”

“I walk across the storefront because I’m doing my job,” you mumble to him.

“No, I swear, you do it to—”

“Sweets,” one of your coworkers calls out to you from the other end of the store, the one with a pink buzzcut that acts kinda scary. “Is that man bothering you?” she asks through a smack of her gum, “want me to call security?”

“Yes.”

“What—”

After a couple of minutes of vindicating himself to mall security that he is not a threat to public safety, which you watch in amusement with no help at all, he’s shortly back at your side in a different section of the store to annoy you.

“When are you gonna wear one of these for me?” he asks, holding up a pair of jaguar-print panties.

“Never,” you say to him, scanning the tags on the underwear in a box of new arrivals, “those are ugly.”

“Okay, how about these,” he says, pulling a pair out of the box. “They’re see-through. I like that.”

“No,” you say, snatching it out of his hand.

“Oh c’mon,” he groans, doing a quick glance over his shoulder to check if the coast is clear before taking a step forward, pulling you to him by a finger hooked through the belt hoop of your jeans. “I’ll buy them for you. Ring me up.”

You look up at him, hand placed on his chest but you weren’t pushing him away just yet. “Really? You’re gonna buy me panties from the store I literally work at? At least have the decency to shoplift them for me.”

He has a smile on his face when he leans down closer to you, both hands now playing with the loops of your jeans. “Ohhh you’re into criminals. Will you tackle me to the ground if I do?”

“Yes, to arrest you. Not to fuck you.”

“Why not both?”

“Satoru,” you chastise him when you hear footsteps around the corner, and now you’re pushing him away and clearing your throat before busying yourself with the box again as a few customers walk by. Gojo shoves his hands in his pockets, and then his eyes widen a bit when his knuckles hit something.

“Oh yeah,” he says, “I got you this.” He pulls out a small, shimmering black tube and holds it out to you with an up facing palm.

You lean forward to glance at it. “Is that…lipstick?”

“Yeah,” he says, “the lady outside Sephora was giving out samples.”

You cross your arms at your chest. “The lady outside Sephora was giving out free samples of lipstick to you?”

“Can you just take it already? My arm’s starting to hurt.”

You swipe it from him and inspect it. Popping the cap open, you twist the cheap plastic adjuster so that the tip of the wax peaks out. It was a deep shade of red. “Did she try to talk to you?”

“Uhh, yeah. Something about how this new formula is smudge-proof or something. Was hoping we could test that out.”

You roll your eyes. “She probably wanted to test that out. With you.”

“What, are you jealous?”

“Not really, no,” you say and hand the lipstick back to him. He looks at you puzzled. “Lipstick isn’t really for me, sorry.”

“I literally saw you wear some the other day. That’s what gave me the idea,” he says, “of turning my dick into the shade of your lipstick.”

“Could you be any louder?” you hiss at him, glancing at a coworker who could’ve potentially been in earshot.

He shrugs and pinches the tube of lipstick between two of his fingers, holding it up between the two of you. “You sure you don’t wanna?”

Turns out you were not too opposed to the idea, but he had to earn it by making you cum a couple times in the janitor’s closet at the end of the floor. He likes having to earn the sight of you on your knees, it turned him on way more than he had expected.

“My jaw is so fucking sore,” he complains, opening and closing his mouth a few times to stretch it out, then runs a hand across his jawline. “You were a lot less sensitive today. Took way longer.”

“Maybe you’re just not as good as you think you are,” you say, pulling the buckle of his belt loose, sitting back down onto your heels to get more comfortable while you undress him.

“Bullshit. Should’ve used that insult maybe the first or second time I gave you head. It’s too late now, after the filthy things you’ve said to me in your desperation to cum.”

He watches you flutter your lashes a few times, fingers stopping their movements, and you shift a little from where you were seated on the ground. You were aroused, but still committed to the attitude. “I don’t have to do this for you, you know.”

He shudders a little. “Wait, you seriously don’t want to? You don’t have to.”

You sigh. “You were supposed to demand me to do it anyways. Would’ve been hot.” You pull his belt loose and your thumb and index finger pinch the button open with ease. “You don’t wanna fuck me, though?”

“Of course I want to fuck you, I will always want to fuck you. But the last time we got rowdy in here, I almost killed you when I knocked the shelf over.” A chill runs down his spine. “Not taking any more chances.”

You giggle a little at the memory while zipping down the front, then your fingers dig into the fabric of both his slacks and his boxers, pulling them down until he’s sprung free, fully thick and hard, courtesy of the cute sounds you were making earlier while his tongue was playing with your clit.

“Are you not gonna put the lipstick on?” he asks.

“No.” You grab a hold of him mid-way, giving an experimental tug, and raise from your seated position onto your knees.

“But—”

“I told you, lipstick isn’t my style,” you say, eyes flickering up to him when you kiss the tip. He sucks a breath in.

“Damn, okay. I was genuinely curious if it was smudge proof. The lady was really hyping it up,” he says and he sees your shoulders drop.

“Enough of the Sephora lady,” you mumble, pressing your lips against his tip again, but as less of a kiss.

There’s a sulk in your posture from where you look up at him on your knees. His heart does this weird thing where it aches a little, and he wants to get rid of the pout on your face with a few sweet words, but he settles for pushing the tip of his cock past your lips instead. Works all the same in the end. “Good girl,” he groans when you take him all the way to the back of your throat, and your fingernails dig into the skin of his thigh as you let out a muffled moan.

“Fuck…” He pulls his hips back slightly, allowing you to adjust, but when you swallow and his tip feels the roll of those muscles, he’s pushing into your mouth again. “C-Can you take more?”

You try your best to give him a nod and you bob your head once, tongue swiping over the vein that was throbbing the proof of his need for you right now.

“I’ll finish fast, baby,” he tells you, voice husky, fingers combing through your hair gently, “just take it how I want it, and I promise I’ll be quick, okay?”

You nod again, thumb rubbing the skin near his groin in reassurance. You squirm a little and press your thighs together when he grips your hair tighter now, encouraging your head to bob up and down on him, and you do as he wants. Your cheeks hollow out, sucking on him, and he swears he’s already close to cumming.

“Yeah…fuck, yeah,” he grunts under his breath, “good. Just—just like that. You’re so good. Pretty girl,” he juts his hips forward to see if you can take it, and you do, “on her knees for me.”

Your throat vibrates with a moan, and he sees you squirm even more. You take him all the way in, to a place deeper than the back of your throat, so well without a gag but there’s a prickle of tears in your eyes, and he rubs your cheek softly while he feels the sweat collect at his temple. “Oh fuck, I’m— shit, baby. I’m close.”

You drag your lips across his length, retreating with a thorough hollow to your cheeks, and release him with a pop and your tongue stuck out connecting a string of your spit to his tip. Your hand immediately starts to rub him up and down as you look up, and the soft panting leaving your lips and fanning across his cock has him swallowing hard. “S-Sorry, needed a break.”

“That’s okay,” he says, swiping at some of the saliva pooled at the corner of your lip. “Take your time.”

You kiss his tip in acknowledgment, then take him in again, this time both hands working at the base as you bob up and down, more free with your moans and the sensation of them reverberating in the canal of your throat makes him grip your hair with both hands, desperate.

“Yes—fuck, yes,” he grunts, head tipping back and hitting the door. “Real close. Your mouth feels so good, you’re driving me insane.”

You suck on him, hard, taking him in to his favorite place that’s at the back of your throat, and when your hand reaches out to play with his balls, paired with the sensation of fast exhales through your nose onto the skin of his groin, his eyes close shut and strained and he’s jerking his hips forward to spill his cum down your throat. “Fuuuuck. Oh my god.” He exhales, watching you swallow over and over again as he pumps into your mouth, then he slowly pulls out when he feels that he’s done.

You sit back down on your heels, hands now neatly folded on your lap, looking up at him and his thumb prods at your bottom lip for you to open your mouth. You do as he wants, tongue hanging out in the process, and he sighs in satisfaction when he sees you’ve swallowed it all. “Beautiful, baby. Come here.”

With a hand wrapped around your arm, he gets you up on your feet and kisses you. You hold onto the fabric of his shirt for purchase, and he pulls away to rest his forehead against yours. “Doing okay?”

“Mhm,” you nod, tightening your grip on his shirt, “I liked it. Liked it when you said I was good.”

He presses a kiss to your forehead. “More than good, angel. You’re perfect.”

—

“C’mon, it’ll be fun. You look like you could use a break,” Gojo says to you in Victoria’s Secret on a random Saturday morning. He usually always works on Saturday, but he’s never seen you here on a Saturday before. Apparently you were picking up extra shifts since you were going on vacation next week, something about a wedding in Spain. But you’d worked six consecutive shifts in a row, and the exhaustion was starting to show.

“I don’t know…your store scares me,” you respond back to him. You were behind the register, and he was pretending to buy forty-two pairs of panties just to talk to you.

“It’s not scary. I just want to show you around,” he says, standing up straight from where he had been leaning over the counter.

You eventually give in, toying with your name badge as you make your way around the counter to him, eyeing the smile on his face before he leads you through the aisles and eventually across the mall to the Rolex watch store.

It wasn’t horribly busy for a weekend, but there were still a few clients around. Choso was helping out a regular, a man who has bought four $200k watches within the past two months, and Choso’s been biting his nails worried he’s going to have to play witness in a tax evasion court case should that client eventually get caught by the IRS for fraud one of these days.

Suguru comes around the corner the second he sees you walk through the polished glass doors, and Gojo’s already annoyed.

“Hey, it’s the new hire,” he greets you, stretching his hand out and you accept it in a shake. “I’m Suguru.”

“Not really new here anymore,” you say to him after introducing yourself, “been here for a couple months now.”

“Oh really? Time flies. Thanks for all the shows, by the way,” he jerks his head off to the Victoria’s Secret store, “I’ve enjoyed watching the 101 ways you can remove a bra on a mannequin. Might have to incorporate some of them into my personal life.”

Gojo scoffs. “Yeah right, like a woman would let you within a hundred feet of her bra.”

Suguru raises an eyebrow with a sleazy smirk on his face, before leaning closer to you. “Should we prove him wrong about that, darling?”

Gojo hates the way he sees you blink your lashes at him and blush, so he’s grabbing your hand and walking you across the store, away from Suguru. He circles you around to the back near one of the display counters. Ladies’ new Datejust models, pretty classy and feminine. He walks to behind the counter, with you staying on the other side, like you were a genuine sale.

“See anything you like?” he asks, resting his elbow on the glass and peering down through it.

You blink at him. “Uh…of Rolex watches?”

“Yeah.”

“Mm…” you press your index finger to your chin and glance at a few. “I like that one.” You point with that same finger and he follows the line with his eyes.

“Hm,” he says, using his key to unlock the case, then slides the opening to the side to gently pull the watch out. “Oystersteel and yellow gold, 18 karat. Wanna try it on?”

“Sure.”

He releases the safety clasp, pulling apart the band, and slides it through your hand down to your wrist, then fastens the clasp until he hears a click. You immediately raise your wrist up into the air, twisting it to assess, and there’s a sparkle in your eyes.

“How much is it?” you ask.

“Thirty.”

“Thirty-what?”

“Thirty-thousand.”

Your jaw drops. “Oh my god. Get this thing off of me.”

He laughs and his hands find the clasp at your wrist, unfastening it and you’re trembling a bit as you shake it off before he catches it in his palm. “Not my fault you literally chose one of the most expensive watches we have in this section.”

“This is insane. How do people afford any of these?” you ask, feet wandering and now you’re clearly curious as you inspect the cases.

“We have more affordable watches available for lingerie store workers,” he tells you, clicking his tongue to get your attention and you turn around then follow him to the other end of the counter. He points at the glass. “These are all under three-thousand.”

“Oh…” you peer at them with interest, and he watches you. His eyes fall to your wrist.

“Here,” he says, sliding the display case door open, and pulls out another watch, “I think you’d look nice in this.”

He shows it to you for a second before releasing the clasp and holding onto your hand to slide the watch through it. After fastening it, he looks up at your expression, and his heart’s beating a bit faster. You turn your wrist in the air to marvel at the watch, and he thinks your eyes look stunning from the way the shimmer of the watch reflects off of them.

“Wow,” you say.

“I knew you’d look good in anything rose gold,” he says, both elbows on the counter as he watches you, “this one’s only a couple thousand.”

You’re still a little speechless as you look at it, right index finger tracing the dial. He wants to buy it for you. He could, it’s not much of an issue, he’d just have to kiss goodbye to that used gaming PC he’s been eyeing on craigslist for the past couple of months, but something in his gut tells him it’d be worth it. Something in the soft look in your eyes right now tells him it’d be worth it.

“What are you thinking?” he asks, his voice quiet.

“That it’s beautiful,” you say to him, swallowing and then extending your wrist out to him. “Sorry, wearing it for too long. Probably lost a few hundred bucks in value just from the two minutes it was on my wrist.”

He shakes his head. “I’ll buy it for you.”

Your mouth gapes. “W-What?”

“I mean—if you actually like it. Then, I don’t mind,” he says, suddenly a bit flustered.

“Satoru. That’s insane. This is a two-thousand dollar watch.”

He shrugs. “I know, but it looks good on you. I can’t shoplift this one for you, though. But I’ll buy it if you actually want it. And if you lie and say you don’t like it, just to be nice, I’ll read right through it. So be honest.”

“I…” you start, “I really can’t accept that.”

His eyes are level with yours, and something about your persistence in your refusal just makes him want to buy it for you even more. But he’s not gonna push it anymore. He’ll just try to work towards a day where you’ll accept it from him. Where it won’t even be a question to want to decorate you in something as pretty as you are.

“Alright. Then give it back, it’s probably only worth a couple hundred now.”

a/n. hope you enjoyed!! this was fun to write. it was supposed to be longer but i cut it short so maybe part two lol?? i also wanna write versions for choso & suguru in this au lol maybe like a multi in one verse kinda thing haha i like the idea of a hot watch salesman trio. thank you for reading 💕

taglist: @ohsehuniiee @lost-resonance @whereflowerswenttodie @horisdope @therealestpussyeater @satorminniett @tobaccosunbxrst @alekssashka7 @ritsatoru @angrychinchillanoises @shleepyking @crimsonmarabou @mxlktae @bloopsstuff @slut-4-gojo @lil-cinn @wateronlyhaha @strawberiicreme @wintertoru @mo0nforme @whispersofbeskar @who-can-touch-my-boob @quinnyundertow @ramluvr @anthastudios @sabokunsmalia @ninjaturtletoes @rylierev @dvarlinggg @heyitsmirae @sleepyyammy @lofasofabread @lolthatsnice @tetsuski @bakuhoethotski @sureconfused

3K notes · View notes

stevesjockstrap · 7 months

Text

@stcreators event 01: favorite

Ahoy Captain

“Jesus H. Christ.” Eddie stopped walking so sharply that Gareth ran into his back. He did a double take and his jaw was on the floor.

“What the fu-“ But Gareth followed his gaze and his jaw also dropped. “Is that?”

Jeff came to stand next to them, eyebrows raised. “…Steve Harrington in a sailor outfit?”

“That’s the Steve Harrington you won’t shut up about?” Drew said, especially loud in the crowded mall.

“Shut up!” He turned to hiss at him before rounding back to stare across the hall. “Did I die and go to heaven? Pinch me.” He pulled the sleeve of his leather jacket up and offered his arm to Gareth. He pinched his forearm roughly, without looking down. All of their eyes were locked on the figure in the brightly colored ice cream shop, now coming around the counter to crouch down to hand a cone to a small child. Doing so making the tiny shorts ride up his thighs, but Eddie’s eyes were suddenly drawn to where his v-neck hung open, getting a glimpse of chest hair.

“Buh,” he turned to Gareth to announce.

“Yo, we have to go in there. This is like once in a lifetime shit.”

Eddie adamantly shook his head and started backing away but Gareth and the guys shared a look before suddenly grabbing him under the arms to escort him awkwardly through the mall thoroughfare.

“Oh no. Oh no.” He chanted under his breath.

Back behind the counter now, Steve greeted them as they bodily pushed him into the store. “Welcome, fellas! Would you like to set sail on this ocean of flavor with me? I’ll be your captain!”

“Holy shit,” Eddie breathed. It’s so much worse, being this close. Steve’s eyes shine under the terrible fluorescent lighting and he can see the muscles in his arms flex as he leans onto the counter.

“If you need any help let me know. The flavor of the week is triple decker extravaganza!”

Eddie’s brain had stopped working. His arms were dropped as his friends went further up to the counter to look at the ice cream options. He continued staring stupidly at Steve as he leaned a hip against the back counter.

“You guys check out the new record store yet?” Steve Harrington was actually making decent conversation with them. What universe did he teleport to this morning?

“No, not yet,” Gareth answered. “That’s where we were heading actually, when uh-“ he awkwardly turned around to make eye contact with Eddie, still a few feet behind them and drawing Steve’s attention over to him.

“You don’t want anything?” Steve asked him. Oh he wanted something. Wanted to drop to his knees in front of him. Or the other way around. He wouldn’t mind either way. He would’ve done anything to have Steve’s undivided attention on him and now that he had it he was blanking on English. He opened and closed his mouth a few times. He finally forced his body forward, tearing his eyes away from Steve to send a panicked look at Gareth. He just smirked, the absolute asshole.

Steve frowned at him and he wanted to melt into the floor. “If you’re not a fan of ice cream we have cookies, too.”

Steve being so sweet to him finally rattled some brain cells loose. “Oh, um, no, that’s-“

Jeff chuckled from the other side of Gareth. “Eddie here loves ice cream. That’s why we had to stop in. Isn’t that right, guys?” The rest of his band laughed obnoxiously and nodded. Steve looked at all of them confused, but still with an easy smile when he turned back to Eddie.

“What’s your favorite?”

“Um, huh?” Eddie blinked at him. He watched as Steve pulled his bottom lip in to bite it, probably trying to figure out what was happening with him and the guys. Eddie’s gut clenched. He hoped he didn’t think he was doing anything wrong or they were making fun of him.

“Your favorite ice cream? We can talk about any of your other favorites after we get that out of the way,” he grinned at him and Eddie had to grab the counter in front of him when his knees threatened to give out.

“Rocky road?”

“Perfect. Coming right up! Cup or cone? Or waffle bowl? It’s like a big cone in a cup?”

“Cone please?”

Once he wasn’t under the heavy gaze of gorgeous brown eyes, he turned to his friends for help. But Drew just snickered at him and Jeff sent him a thumbs up. Dicks.

Steve handed him his cone and their fingers brushed. He dumped all the change he had into the tip jar and Steve fucking winked at him. The guys ordered their ice creams suspiciously easily, but Steve kept coming back to Eddie’s side of the counter. He tried hard not to hold eye contact with him as he licked across his ice cream.

“So was it worth it?”

“Wh-what?” He stammered.

“Coming in, for the ice cream?”

“Definitely. The ice cream is… great.” He looked around and realized his friends had gone to sit in the furthest booth by the door. Steve had only been sweet and amazing to him and he couldn’t leave without at least having a somewhat competent conversation. “But I- I really came in to see you.”

“Me?” Steve leaned further across the counter towards him. He turned those big brown eyes up at him and Eddie wasn’t sure if he could get any other words out.

“Couldn’t walk away from you in this getup.” His hand moved on his own accord to reach out and tug on the red tie in the middle of his chest.

“Oh,” he huffed. “Yeah. I wish I would’ve known before I agreed to work here. Not that I had any better offers.”

Eddie’s fingers itched to run along the blush that appeared across his cheeks.

“No, no, it’s- I mean, I like it.” He winced as it came out, but his eyes shot open when Steve chuckled. “Really. I really like it.” He cleared his throat because that couldn’t have been his voice. It was deep and gravely and sounded way too fucking hot to have come out of his mouth.

Steve’s wide eyes tracked his tongue as it came out to wet his lips. Fuck.

“Oh.”

Eddie leaned a bit closer, drawing on this unknown confidence that came from Steve Harrington hanging on his every word. “So what time do you get off, Captain?”

This was a benedryl-fueled thought but Scoops!uniform Steve was the only thing my brain wanted to give me for “favorite.”

@lighthousebeams

#mine #steddie #steve Harrington #Eddie munson #scoops ahoy outfit #stranger things #stranger things fic #event fic

986 notes · View notes

r1pp4r · 9 months

Note

Hello There! I hope you're ok, I was wondering if u can help me, It's my first time asking :( ...

Anyway, imagine being captured during a mission, the enemy results being someone from your past an ex boyfriend or something like that, and he's trying to break your spirit which is not an easy task, so finally he ask why are u keep high hopes and confidence, and you answer him with a smile and a "he's going to find me and that will be the end for you"

Would be so cool with König 🤞🏻 but u can decide that 🥺

i hope i did your idea justice!! <33 i tried my best :)) im sorry its a bit long, and not much of tha boys🧍‍♂️i kinda liked the idea of keeping it mysterious n not much of them

anyway!! here ya go <333 i’ll make a ghost version if y’all like this one :)) anyway this’ll be sfw!!

warnings: mentions of gore and violence :))

——————————————————————————————

you could feel the hair nearly ripping from your scalp as you were being drug a across the floor in a large, open warehouse room. you kicked and scratched, thrashing your arms like you knew how.

but you were like a caged animal, with no escape. thrashing and trying to run. but to no avail. you were on a recon mission with KorTac, and a few of you had gotten separated. including you. but that was their plan all along.

you grunted loudly as you felt you back thrown against a chair, your hands being bound to the back of the metal chair. you struggled once more but finally realized it was futile. so you closed your eyes and took a deep breath, before whatever cloth was over your eyes was removed.

it took you a minute to adjust to the bright fluorescent lights, blinking out all the dust which gathered into your eyes. but as you opened them, you could hear people around you. talking. it was loud, and you couldn’t think.

“oh, you’re awake huh.”

that voice was familiar. too familiar. you began to struggle almost worse, your eyes widening as you realized who it was. but the hand on your shoulder made your blood run cold. the weight was the same. the exact place he touched was the same. you knew it all too well.

“it’s been a long time, yeah? when was the last time we saw each other? was it- no no no. it was france. three years ago.”

the voice made you sick. it was disgustingly sweet, and the way his hand trailed over your skin made it crawl. your hands flexed against the zip ties and tape that were binding you down. you could barely breathe as he had taken all the air from your lungs.

the man came around to the front, squatting down in front of you. of fucking course. but how the hell did he get in to europe? especially here? those are questions you’d get later, but for now you kept eye contact. your gaze was cold as you had a mask which covered your nose down.

“let’s take off that little fuckin’ mask shall we?”

you threw your head back as the man reached out, a sinister grin on his lips. but as you threw your head back he grabbed your jaw and throat, nearly crushing it as he ripped your mask off.

the mask was more than just something to hide your face. it had become your identity and once the man ripped it off, you felt violated.

“there’s that pretty little face i missed.”

without thinking, you spat in his face, your chest heaving as you stared at the man with a deadly stare. your eyes were narrowed and you were clearly holding your ground. the man chuckled, shaking his head as he pinched his nose between fingers and wiped the spit off.

you didn’t care. you knew this man wouldn’t do anything to you or at least you thought.

and as you heard a deep breath, you suddenly felt pressure against your jaw and it was hard. it nearly knocked the chair over and of course he’d punched you. you coughed, spitting out blood as you sat back in your chair, staring at him.

“know your place, bitch!”

the man flung his hand slightly and it was obvious he’d barely thrown a punch before.

“you’re here to give me some information and then we’ll be on our little way. got it?”

you didn’t say anything. you didn’t even move a single muscle. you were trained for moments like these and you wouldn’t let a man like him break you. but you also didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. so you just didn’t say anything.

you didn’t have any of your gear on you. they’d obviously stripped you of everything but you could see it on the table. you didn’t know how long it had been since you’d gone missing and you knew it wouldn’t be long before he found you.

so you just knew you needed to hold your ground and keep composure. you were ready for this. you were made for this. you absolutely knew he was coming for you, and you’d be dammed if you were dead. you wouldn’t leave him like that.

but as the man tsked, it broke you out of your thoughts. you watched as he began walking over to you as he placed a hand on your jaw, gently tilting your head to look up at him.

“aw sweetpea. you’re not gonna talk? i’m sure you will soon.”

the man spoke. you didn’t move once again. but you looked over to the side where the door was. you were waiting. he gripped your jaw once again, causing you to look at him. you still didn’t say a word as you turned your head back, getting his hand in your mouth and you bit down as hard as you could. you could feel his bones flexing under the sheer power of your bite and you definitely drew blood.

but you didn’t care.

the man stumbled back, holding onto his hand as he screamed. you just sat there in the chair, blood running down your chin as you kept your hard and heavy gaze pinned upon him.

“you fucking cunt! fuck! you- oh you shouldn’t have fuckin done that!”

the man yelled at you. he held onto his hand, hissing at the pain but you just sat there with a dumb little smirk on your face. he obviously didn’t know what was coming and you wouldn’t give any evidence to what was.

but you knew he was coming. he had to. the tracker in your suit, walkie, and almost all of your gear proved that. and as if he’d ever let you out of his sight for that long.

you truthfully thought that would be it, but once the man had gotten his hand wrapped, he walked back over, placing a chair in front of you and he sat. the grin on his face truthfully sent a shiver down your spine. he was going to hurt you and he’d make it painful.

but you wouldn’t budge.

———

you were bloodied, bruised to a pulp. even though you were sobbing from the pain, you hadn’t given anything up. and you wouldn’t. you hadn’t said a word besides a few nasty remarks and retorts, which obviously just landed you more blows. you could tell the man was getting frustrated as him and his colleagues began arguing. you coughed, looking back at the door once more.

you could feel it. you could feel him. his presence was absolutely menacing and you knew he was coming for you. but did they? absolutely not. otherwise they never would’ve put their hands on you.

the man walked back over to you, and gripped your jaw once more, shifting your focus. you had a dead set look on your face and your eyes were numb. at this point you would’ve let them kill you, because the rage of him wouldn’t disappoint.

the man groaned loudly, narrowing his eyes.

“you were never this strong when i knew you. what happened to the little bitch i knew, huh? the little girl that tucked her tail between her legs at the sight of a man, huh!?”

he yelled, slapping you across the face once more.

you finally turned to look at him with a smile as you heard the sounds of men talking outside the building. you knew exactly who it was.

“you’ll be dead soon enough.”

was the only thing you said and the man scoffed, guessing you were referring to the obvious reinforcements that were coming to save you and of course the man didn’t think anything of it.

“we have this place surrounded little girl. no one’s getting in or out.”

he pfft’d. the other guards were laughing slightly. even with the radio chatter outside, they didn’t seem scared. but they should’ve been.

the man finally sighed and walked over to the table which had various weapons that had been used against you. but this time it was a gun. your eyes widened a bit, and you thought this was it.

but he was coming for you.

“those boys out there are the least of your worries.”

you finally spoke out.

you chuckled, leaning your head back against the chair as the man then pointed it at your chest. the man laughed with you, and of course it wasn’t for the same reasons. you’d let him have his fun and his moment. but this wasn’t ending well for one of you, and it wasn’t you.

“oh really? what could i possibly have to worry about besides them?”

and the smile which graced your face with was something beautiful. it was a real genuine smile as you began to hear the yelling. you knew exactly what was coming.

“just him.”

your tone was flat as the man raised an eyebrow. and as if on cue, the door was busted down. and there he was.

of course könig had come for you. he was a bit farther away but you could see the rage in his eyes. you saw as he looked to you, his eyes widened with concern as he saw the way you were bloodied and bound to a chair. but seeing a man with a gun to your chest?

how dare he.

and as könig began sprinting towards the man who had just tortured you for god knows how long, you took comfort in knowing that this man would be dying at the hands of your lover. and god would he die.

könig wasn’t kind, nor merciful. but hell was terrified of him after what he did to the man who put his hands on you. you couldn’t keep your eyes on him, because you’d never seen him move this fast. könig would usually take his time, but for what they did to you? a fast death was merciful. and as silence rang loud in the building once again, your thoughts were broken by heavy footsteps.

“oh.. my libeling..”

könig’s tone was soft, but the rage in his eyes was still burning bright. with his stature, he had to get on his knees in front of you, untying the ropes in which bound your hands to the back of the chair.

“don’t.. don’t worry, i’ve got you. you’re safe i’ve got you now.”

and as you fell forward, könig wrapped you in his arms, holding you tightly to his chest. you knew he would come for you.

427 notes · View notes

letterstotheflre · 2 years

Text

𝐒𝐇𝐄’𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐋 𝐈𝐍 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐒𝐄 || 𝐄𝐃𝐃𝐈𝐄 𝐌𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐎𝐍

summary: tonight was supposed to be the night you finally fed, only somehow eddie munson manages to satiate your appetite without losing his life. [eddie munson x succubus!reader || jennifer's body au]

cw: smut || 18+ only [ft. oral sex (f receiver), virgin!eddie, switch!reader, switch!eddie, lots of biting/teeth,], there's some mentions about not eating for a long time but it's not ed related (you just haven't killed anyone in a month okay?), general mentions of killing (no gore), lmk if i missed any

a/n: this was born out of a conversation w @ringpop-poppy who asked me to tag her lol. thank her for getting me out of my writer's block <3

For someone who’s been obsessed with you since middle school, Eddie doesn’t notice you’re standing next to him until he closes his locker.

“Jesus Christ!” he exclaims in surprise, bumping his side against the row of lockers. The metal boxes clank at the impact.

“Hi, Eddie,” you say blankly, leaning your shoulder against the wall.

He frowns at the tone of your voice– dry and monotonous and devoid of the snark he’s so used to hearing. He scans your figure, the dip between his eyebrows deepening when he notices the sheen of sweat on your forehead and the dullness of your skin.

You look sick– your cheeks are sunken in, cheekbones protruding abnormally and dark circles under your eyes looking more like bruises. Strangest of all, you’ve switched your beloved dresses for a pair of baggy jeans and a purple sweatshirt that looks 2 sizes too big.

Actually, the strangest thing is that you’re talking to him. In public.

“Heeey,” he greets back, dragging the ‘e’ as he looks around the hallway. There’s a couple of people giving the pair of you strange looks, some jocks narrowing their eyes menacingly at him, but everyone seems to move on pretty quickly from this peculiar interaction.

He doesn’t even hear a gaggle of cheerleaders giggling behind manicured hands as they watch you talk to him. There’s only Chrissy Cunningham, standing alone a couple of feet away from you and giving him a small wave. He relaxes ever so slightly. “You okay?”

“I’m fantastic,” you say with a lack of excitement.

Eddie snorts. “You don’t sound very believable.”

“Oh.” You run a long finger nail down the plastic spiral of the notebook you’re cradling against your chest, raising an eyebrow when Eddie shivers at the sound. You stop. “Just hungry. I haven’t eaten in…” you blow some air as you pretend to think, cheeks puffing out. “I can’t even remember.”

“Oh, um, I got some pretzels. If you want. Here.” He unhooks one of the straps of his bag from around his shoulder and struggles to open the zipper, pulling at it with as much strength as he can muster without risking it breaking.

He almost jumps out of his skin when you place a cold hand on his forearm. He stares at it, confused. Why are you so cold? It’s almost spring break.

“It’s okay, Eddie.” He fights back the shiver that threatens to go down his spine at how softly you say his name. “I’m working on it, don’t worry. Besides, I wanted to ask you something.”

“Ask me something,” he echoes back. “Uh, sure. What do you need?”

You kick your foot against the dirty school floor, biting your lower lip. Eddie notices how chapped they are– what’s usually a pair of very smooth and glossy lips is now covered in dried, cracking skin. He frowns in concern even more.

“D’you wanna come over tonight?” You twirl a strand of hair between two fingers and smile at him. “I could rent A Nightmare on Elm Street and make some popcorn. Or The Shining, whichever you want.”

Eddie blinks owlishly at you, chuckling awkwardly and gesturing between your bodies with his index finger. His heavy cross metal ring glints under the fluorescent lights. “Us. Watch a movie. At your house. Uh…” He fleets his gaze back around the hallway and notices a significant lack of students walking around.

He leans closer to you, trying to be as quiet as possible when he asks, “Is this some sort of joke?”

“No,” you shake your head, tilting it to the side when you see a thin chain around his neck. Your smile is more natural as you grab it and bring it out from under his shirt, the corners of your mouth tilting up minisculely when the guitar pick dangles in the air. “Cute,” you say airily.

Eddie can’t take his eyes off you. He’s pretty sure he’s going crossed eyed as he watches you play with his necklace. “So you’re serious,” he pushes.

“As a heart attack,” you deadpan, still staring at the small plastic triangle and poking it with your middle finger. If you felt like your normal self, you’d be giggling at the sound of your nail hitting the guitar pick. “So?”

“Sure.” Eddie nods enthusiastically. This has to be a dream come true. “Sure, yeah.”

“Great.” Some of your usual brightness comes back to your face at his answer. You open your notebook and quickly write down your address, rip the paper and offer it to him with a sweet smile. The kind that Eddie never thought would be directed at him. “My parents leave on vacation at seven, so come around eight.”

“Ookay,” he slowly plucks the paper from between your fingers, almost dropping it when you press a kiss on his cheek.

You wink at him, walking backwards. “Can’t wait.”

He presses his fingers to the spot your lips touched, skin feeling hot, and stares dumbstruck as you walk back to Chrissy and hook your arm around hers, giggling at each other as you make your way to class.

–

Eddie slaps one hand on the steering wheel as he drives down the street, head banging in the air to the rhythm of Black Sabbath’s Evil Woman.

His heart beats a thousand miles per hour, blood pumping through his veins at a speed it never has before. He can’t stop the giddy smile from spreading on his lips, shaking his head in disbelief– he’s driving to the house of the girl of his dreams to watch a movie and… other stuff.

He hopes other stuff happens. You had said it so suggestively, making sure to mention your parents leaving you home alone and– and you had kissed his cheek! That had to be a sign, right?

He covers his mouth with his hand and exhales a breath out, sniffing the air. He grimaces and leans to the side, the van swerving with him as he struggles to keep control of the wheel at the same time as he looks for the pack of gum he kept in the back pocket of his jeans.

He manages to get it out right before he has to turn the corner on the right, hooraying loudly and the wheels screeching as he maneuvers wildly. Keeping his foot on the pedal, he quickly unwraps the gum and throws the paper on the backseat, popping it into his mouth. He chews it through his deafening singing, the fresh minty flavour exploding on his taste buds.

His singing turns into a quiet mumble when he notices that the streets get progressively darker until there are no lamp posts turned on. The hairs on the back of his head stand in alert and he turns down the music completely, his chewing slowing along with the van as he reaches the address written on the paper.

He picks it up from where he tucked in inside the overhead visor, his finger gracing over the smooth letter you wrote. He’s sick with love as he traces the tiny heart dotting the ‘i’.

He looks outside his window and to the row of identical houses across from where he’s parked. There’s only one house with a single light turned on and, effectively, it’s the right address.

Putting the paper back where it belongs, Eddie takes a deep breath and fixes his hair. He gets out of the car and stands facing the houses, adjusting his leather jacket and spitting out the gum. With a reassuring nod to himself he walks forward.

Everything is eerily quiet. He fastens his steps when he gets the feeling that someone is watching him, taking the short porch steps two at a time and comes to a sudden stop when he sees a plank of wood over the front door. Uselessly, he tries the doorknob anyway, jiggling it until it becomes obvious that the door isn’t going to open.

He takes a couple steps back and looks to both windows on either side of the door, noticing a sheet of plastic hanging over the glass like a makeshift protective curtain. His eyebrows scrunch down in confusion– something isn’t right.

There’s no way that the Queen of Hawkins High, resident Mean Girl, lived in a house like this. He had heard through the grapevine how lavish her house was, how big and deep the pool in her backyard was and how she had a room designated to store all the alcohol you could imagine. Everyone raved about how handy it came for the parties he had never been invited to and how they always ended in someone being thrown into the water.

His curiosity is piqued, though. He heads to the left side of the house, jumping off the porch and stepping on the narrow bit of grass between your supposed house and your neighbour’s. He looks up to the sky and notices a ladder out of the corner of his eye, right below an open window.

Making sure it’s sturdy enough, he climbs it, slapping the plastic curtain back and throwing himself inside the house. He groans in pain when he hits the floor with a lack of grace, holding his shoulder and rubbing the sore spot.

Even inside, everything is still pitch black.

“Hello?” He calls out your name, taking a hesitant step forward. “Anyone home?”

No one answers him.

He walks out of the room, quietly moving another plastic curtain to the side and starts navigating the house curiously. He thinks he’s in the living room when he finally hears something, a low and sugary sweet beat coming from up the stairs.

The steps creak under his Reebooks. He’s almost on the landing when a crow appears out of nowhere and flies past him like he isn’t even there, its wings flapping noisily. “Holy mother of God,” he curses, resting his back against the wall and clutching his chest.

When his heart rate is back to normal he keeps climbing, finally reaching the first floor. There’s a crack of warm light coming from the room the farthest away from where he’s standing, the music growing louder as he follows it.

His lips pull up when he sees the many lit up candles around the room, placed between planks of wood and construction tools. There’s a radio on a workshop table playing a song he wouldn’t be caught dead listening to but it fits his fair maiden to perfection.

“You made it,” your voice comes from behind him unexpectedly. He jumps in the air and screams, eyes wide when he turns around and sees how sick you look now. Even worse than you look at school.

Eddie twists one of his rings around his finger as you saunter towards him, hips swaying hypnotically. He gulps, “This– this isn’t really your house, is it?”

Eddie is hit with a wave of your perfume– dark, smelling of chocolates and wild berries– as you stand in front of him.

“No, baby,” you pout, shaking your head softly. You take his hand and place it over your chest. “This is our home. Just for us.”

Eddie chuckles, sounding uncomfortable. His eyes are glued to the chain that dips between your breasts and the heart locket that hangs from it. “What would we need a house for?”

Your giggle is sweet, your touch soft as you caress his chest and squeeze his shoulders. Eddie holds his breath as you lean forward and whisper in his ear, “To play mommy and daddy.”

Oh shit, he thinks. When did the air become so stuffy?

Your hands go to the back of his neck, long nails scratching his nape and almost making him purr. There’s goosebumps on the skin of his throat as you run your nose against it, bump his jaw up with it and nip gently at his earlobe. “Do you wanna play with me, Eddie?”

He’d do anything you asked of him. “Yes, fuck, yes.”

You pull him towards you by the hair and press your lips together, not bothering with taking it slow, slipping your tongue inside his mouth. He tastes good– minty and smokey and something else… something sweet. Not like the other boys you’ve kissed before to feed on them. They were salty with lust, greedy as they tried to control the kiss. Control you.

But not Eddie. No, he molds himself to you, lets you take whatever you want from his and is grateful for it.

You don’t like it.

Determined to forget about… whatever it was that made your heart skip a beat, you pull away and drift your kisses down his neck, biting him harshly while your hands work on the belt around his hips. You can hear his heavy pants as you stroke his cock over his jeans, adding pressure and feeling the hard and heavy bulge under your palm twitch as you run your tongue over the teeth marks imprinted on his skin.

“Fuck, fuck, wait.” He reaches for your wrists to stop you from lowering his jeans. “Jesus– that was… so fucking hot. Need a minute.”

You huff out an irritated breath, snarking, “I don’t have a minute.”

Being so close to feeding, to sinking your teeth into fresh meat and warm blood, and then having it stripped away from you has made you lose some of your charm. “Just let me suck your cock or something, Jesus,” you roll your eyes in annoyance.

Eddie laughs, holding your cheeks and kissing your still chapped lips that are now shiny with spit. “That’d defeat the whole purpose of taking a minute.”

God, why does he have to be so sweet? It’d be easier if he were an asshole that couldn’t wait to get his dicks wet and didn’t care about making it last. You can’t stand it. Can’t stand him.

“How about I eat you out, hm? To pass the time?”

You really don’t mean to, but it’s impossible to stop yourself from blurting out in surprise, “Eat me out?”

“Yeah.” Your stunned face shocks him. “Wait, you’ve never…”

You shake your head, mouth parted. Strictly speaking, you’re not being 100% truthful. Some of your victims have attempted to eat you out, giving you a couple of licks that did nothing for you just to get you wet enough so they could sink their greedy cocks into you without your body rejecting them. Like that would happen.

Still, it’s not like any of those boys managed to get you off with their mouths, so there’s no point in explaining all that to Eddie.

“Oh, baby,” he sighs. His hands that were cradling your face go down the sides of your body, stroking your curves and settling on your hips. He pushes you forward so your pussy can grind on his bulge. You gasp. “Baby, baby, baby, baby. You have no idea what you’ve been missing.”

You don’t like him having the upper hand. Forcing yourself back into character, you grip the roots of his hair until he hisses. “Show me, then.”

Eddie’s grin is wolfish. “As my fair lady wishes.”

He’s the one who pulls you into a bruising kiss this time, his tongue playing with yours as he deepens it. You traipse back towards the wooden table together, stumbling over each other’s feet.

Your hips reach the table first, the tools on it clattering to the floor and the radio shaking as it struggles to keep itself balanced. Eddie chuckles against your lips and helps you get on the edge of the table, pushing you backwards until you’re laying flat on the hard surface.

He trails kisses down your throat and chest, kissing the swells of your breasts that your tank top exposes, sucking on the skin until colourful splotches appear. You arch your back into his face, mumble a curse when his teeth graze your hardened nipple over the thin fabric of your top.

He peppers more wet kisses down your stomach, dampening your shirt with his spit. He laves his tongue his tongue over the exposed bit of skin of your tummy and flips your skirt up, mouth jumping from your hip bone to your inner thigh, completely neglecting your core in favour of feverishly biting marks into the softness of your thighs.

The closer he gets to your panties, the softer his nips become, turning into soft pecks that make you warm where his lips touch you. When he reaches your mound, he presses the gentlest kiss over the little bow stuck to your cotton panties, stealing a glance up at you.

You don’t think you’ve ever been looked at with such tenderness. Not even before you were turned into this monster. It makes you shiver, hips raising to help him lower your underwear.

Eddie’s dimples show when he sees the glistening threads sticking to the fabric, spreading thinner and thinner as he separates it from your pussy.

An involuntary moan comes out from deep within your chest when he wraps his lips around your clit, sucking it between his teeth and licking wet stripes up your clit, his warm tongue slipping between your folds eagerly. He chances another look up at you, watches you raise yourself on your elbows and brush back his bangs before tangling your fingers in his messy waves.

Your chest is already panting as you watch him swirl your little nub with the tip of his tongue, rising and falling in rapid succession with the quick, short breaths you take. There’s a thin layer of sweat forming on your hairline, Eddie inadvertently melting away the coldness that had taken over your body at the lack of nutrients and raising your temperature until it feels like there’s wildfire coursing through your veins.

“Eddie,” you whine when he pushes you into his mouth, forcing you to grind against his face. A whimper falls from your parted lips when he forces his tongue into your hole, tasting the deepest parts of you that have never been explored by any man. “S-so good.”

It feels more than good. It is more than good and you’re not used to it ever feeling this good. You tighten your grip on his hair and Eddie moans filthily against you, finally allowing his eyes to flutter shut as he makes out with your pussy like he’s been fantasizing about for years. You taste sweeter than he imagined– unnaturally so. He’s drunk on your taste, his mind becoming foggy, all and any thoughts he had other than you disappearing from his mind as he focuses on the feast in front of him.

You don’t understand what’s happening– your legs spam around his head and your body jerks up, muscles tensing then relaxing immediately as a tsunami of pleasure crashes over you and leaves you breathless.

You fall onto your back as you gush all over him, filling his mouth with your slick. With trembling hands, you force him away from you, hazy eyes blinking up at him.

He looks… messy. Hair mussed up from your fingers gripping it, lips red and swollen from eating you out like a starved prisoner, chin shiny and dripping with your release, pupils dilated and eyes glazed over just the same as yours.

He’s unfairly pretty.

“Are you okay?” He asks, crowding your body as he leans down and examines your face closely. Your skin returned to it’s usual glow, your hair no longer looking oily and thin. Somehow, your lips aren’t dry anymore– they’re plump and soft.

“I feel– I feel weird,” you slur. You had expected to return to normal after feeding on Eddie, but you haven’t even punctured an artery and the immeasurable hunger you’ve been feeling all of last month is almost completely gone.

Something isn’t right.

Eddie’s heart skips a beat at your confession. “Shit, did I hurt you? Was that too much?”

“Too much? That was… Where the hell did you learn that, Munson?”

He shrugs one shoulder bashfully, his cheeks growing pink at your disbelief. “College girls have a thing for struggling rockstars, apparently.”

Something ugly grows in your chest at the thought of Eddie fucking other people, of another girl keeping his cock warm. You’ve always liked the virgins– they were sweet like candy and desperate and let you take whatever you wanted from them. You milked their souls dry before they could even stutter out a “thank you”.

You had chosen Eddie on purpose and had been so very careful before approaching him earlier today. You had smelled him and sensed that honeyed aura virgin boys always had around them. And you knew he liked you, poor boy wasn’t very good at hiding it.

So you started being nicer to him: lending him your book in English class when he forgot his copy, whispering to him the answer to a problem in Miss O’Donell’s class when her back was turned to you, smiling at him when you passed each other in the hallway. You even stopped Jason from mocking him and his nerd group a couple of times.

It had almost cost you your reputation. But you were so hungry, and he was so pretty and smelled so delicious. To have him not be a virgin, have all of your hard work mean nothing, it makes you angry.

Your previously shining doe eyes grow dark and narrow into thin slits. Your canines elongate and you do your best to cover them as you say, “So you’re not a virgin?”

Eddie’s startled by your sudden change of mood. “Uh…” he swallows awkwardly, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down with the motion. “Uh, not– not completely. Couple of blowjobs here and there but– but I’ve never…”

“Fucked a girl?” you guess. He nods shyly and you relax your tense shoulders, returning to your mellow self from 3 minutes ago. You’re giving Eddie whiplash.

You wrap a leg around his hips and push them forward, pressing his hard cock against your wet pussy and gasping at the scratch of the denim. “You wanna fuck me, Eddie?”

His breath catches as you grind your hips against his, eyes rolling at the feel of the heat of your cunt seeping through his jeans. He’s pretty sure there’s a damp spot on his boxers caused by his leaky slit. “Y-yes, God, yes.”

You raise a hand to cradle his cheek, stroking his skin with your thumb. “Yeah? Want my pussy to be the first one you ever feel?”

“Uh huh.” He makes a broken sound, nodding repeatedly. Your voice is hypnotizing, your touch so gentle. “Wanna– wana fuck you. Need it. Please.”

You let go of his cheek and his head falls forward, forehead resting against yours and his hot breath fanning over your face. You reach forward and unzip his pants, lowering them enough so that his cock and his balls fall out.

“Shit,” he swears as you lick your hand, maintaining eye contact, and grip him, pumping your fist up and down his length. Eddie’s hips jerk forward.

You kiss along his jawline and whisper in his ear, “Tell me what you want to do to me.”

“Fuck, wanna spread your pussy with my cock,” he whines. You press his cock down to your mound and glide your pussy along his dick, puffy and wet folds spreading around his thick girth and bumping your swollen clit with his pretty pink tip. “Aw, shit. J-just like that. So fucking good.”

You kiss behind his earlobe. “What else?”

“Want to m-make you cum,” he stutters when you cradle his heavy sack in your palm, gently squeezing it. “Want to– to fill you up and watch it drip out.”

You giggle mischievously in his ear and Eddie’s mind short circuits. “You want to make me messy?”

“So messy– oh!” he moans when you push his cock into your weeping cunt. Only his mushroom shaped head is inside but that’s almost enough to push him over the edge. He bites his lip until he draws blood.

You lean forward to lick it up and hum dreamily as you get your first taste of him. He’s so nice and tastes so good, it’s a pity that you have to kill him.

“Holy shit.” Eddie stares at you with eyes as wide as saucers, then glances down to where your tight heat is welcoming his cock home, spread wide around it. If he thought he had been drunk on your taste before, he feels like he’s just chugged three bottles of the moonshine the older teens at the trailer park drank when he was younger. “Holy shit.”

“Come on, Eddie,” you encourage him, “Fuck me.”

“Y-yeah.” He draws back then forward again, slowly finding a strong rhythm. His hips slaps against yours with wet slaps of skin, his balls hitting your ass with every thrust. “Gonna fuck you. Been dreaming about it for years… thinking of– of making you cum all over me… putting my cum inside you… goddamn it.”

The table creaks as he fucks you, the radio tumbling to the floor with a loud clatter but Eddie can’t focus on any of it when he’s burying himself so deep inside you he can feel your throat contracting around him every time you moan. He wants to record your every sound, every little “uh uh” you make so he can listen to them at night while he touches himself to this memory.

His stomach burns and twists, fingers digging into your skin with bruising strength as he forces you back and forth on his cock. You can tell he’s getting close. Can smell his scent get sweeter and sweeter the closer the coil in his stomach gets to snapping in half.

This is your chance.

Your hands frame his scrunched up face as you force him to look at you. “It’s okay,” your tone is soft, gentle. “You can cum now Eddie, it’s okay.”

Eddie looks pained as he shakes his head, cheeks red from embarrassment. “Want you to cum, too.”

You kiss from his cheek down to his jawline, smiling into his skin. “I already did remember? Now I want you to cum. Can you do that for me?”

“Okay. Okay.”

Your back scratches against the wood with every thrust, splinters digging into the skin between your shoulder blades and making you moan at the pleasurable pain. You graze your teeth over his straining neck, allowing them to grow sharper and longer. You open your mouth wide but, right before you can sink your fangs into the vein that’s popping out, calloused fingers grip your chin and pull you into a desperate kiss.

You’re wide eyed as Eddie licks into your mouth, groans of pleasure mixing with whimpers as he spills all of his cum inside you. He loses his rhythm, rutting into you like a dog, cock twitching and painting your insides white.

“I’m sorry,” he pants, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t– you felt so good–”

You don’t know why you do it, really. You should just kick him off you and tear a piece of his side. But he did something to you, somehow managed to satiate your appetite without losing his life, so instead of twisting his arm and pushing him to the floor, you pet the back of his hair and repeat your previous words. “It’s okay.”

Eddie’s chuckle is muffled. “That’s the last thing a guy wants to hear after sex, you know. Or during.”

“W-well, it’s the truth,” you fumble. You’ve never comforted someone besides Chrissy, but she just cried and complained, not expecting any reassurances from you. “You can just make it up to me next time.”

Eddie wonders if you’ve always been this sweet deep down. There had to be a reason why Cunnigham liked you, after all. “Next time?” he asks, hoping his hearing was working correctly.

You’re going to grow hungry eventually. If you can’t eat him then you’ll have him do whatever he did to you tonight to keep you full.

“Yeah, next time.”

You’re going to keep him forever.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson smut #eddie munson one shot #eddie munson x you #stranger things x reader #stranger things imagine

4K notes · View notes

zeraaachan · 2 years

Text

ANGELS CAN'T FALL - CHAINSAW MAN

pairing(s): angel devil x reader

warning(s): angst/no comfort, major character death, ooc! angel devil, manga spoilers

description: there was once a princess who woke up from a true love's kiss. but all his tale can offer is a damsel who slept eternally for a first love's peck. maybe it happened because he was no prince charming. or maybe it happened because he's the angel devil.

he never intended to meet them.

it was purely incidental. similar to a stroke of luck, or misfortune, the devil caught a glimpse of them through the small window in their hospital room. he should've walked away when he still had the chance. should've ignored his curiosity for the pale, sickly hands that fidget anxiously. he should've walked away and never come back when it was painfully obvious that they were ill and that they were no good for them. but alas, the devil in him thirsted for curiosity and interaction. he took a few steps back, peeked at the little window, and ignored aki's call excusing that he'll only be quick.

and that's how the two met: the winged and the damned.

angel devil's entrance caught the room patient's by surprise. no, he didn't do anything special like appear in front of them wings fully spread and halo shining. angel devil entered their room like a normal person, open the door then close it. but somehow they're still too surprised. they bombarded him with questions such as how the hell they made it up when they were supposed to go down. did they somehow trick heaven's list and slipped in their name? did no one up there see how unholy their search history is especially on reading platforms? they asked questions that made zero sense to the tired devil.

“okay, when did i die? did i fall from my bed accidentally when i sneezed?” they asked him, and now he can understand the reason for their surprise. a misconception, at that time. but still a foreshadowing.

“no. you're still alive.” angel devil tiredly muttered, eyes darting on each corner of their room until they landed on a particular spot. “i'm devil first, angel second. you're not exactly going to heaven if i've come to fetch you.”

“hmm makes sense. you look like a twink but you can probably dom me.”

”no, you don't understand.” he said, barely registering their words. his eyes still focused on a certain spot. “say, will you still eat that ice cream?” angel devil finally asked. his eyes still trained on the unopened can of ice cream on the table beside their hospital bed. he now realize why he was so drawn to this room. it's not them. it's the ice cream.

“nope. take it. the doctor said i'm not allowed to eat it”

and he doesn't need to be offered twice to move. with a simple word of excuse, he picked up the clean spoon near the ice cream can and the can itself with a few swift movements. he even took the liberty to sit on the hospital bed uninvited, mindful not to touch its occupant. although they don't seem to mind his presence. they're too fascinated with his wings, he noticed, he just hope they won't touch them. nor him for that matter.

“don't try to touch me. it will shorten your life span.” he warned unemotionally as a spoon of ice cream landed in his mouth. he can't really care whether they touch him. but he warned nonetheless as a gratitude for the ice cream on his hand.

he caught the way they looked at him with those curious eyes that probably never saw the outside of the hospital for weeks. it was full of questions, the devil noted. but they didn't ask anything. they just smiled at him sweetly, brightly. brighter than the fluorescent light above their head or the convenience store lights that attract his eyes to buy soft serve.

”okay. i won't" they finally said. but the angel devil knows better than to trust them. he stared at them for a good minute which they reciprocated. if he didn't turn his head away, he can bet that the patient in front of him will just continue to stare at him without blinking.

well, if they touch him, it's not his fault anymore. he thought.

“so.... do you like ice cream?” angel devil heard them ask. and that was only the beginning.

***

“so what's heaven like?”

angel devil just shoved another spoonful of ice cream into his mouth as they continue to pester him. he can't understand himself. as if one time was not enough, today he still came back to the hospital room. it's probably the ice cream on his hand. it's the only reason why he'll come back to the hospital.

“i don't know. you don't need to know. you're not going there.” he answered rapidly followed by a short 'nom'.

”well that's rude coming from someone eating my ice cream.” angel devil only hugged the ice cream bowl possessively when he sensed the change in tone. then they giggled. only a little bit and it was nothing special. but he can swear that his ice cream is not the only thing that melted a bit faster when that happened.

that small giggle did something to him. it made him stop devouring the ice cream for a moment and stare at them. it's not the first time he saw a human make a joyous sound. but it's the first time he saw it up close. it was the first time someone made that tiny laugh concerning him.

and he would've probably savored the warm feeling if they didn't try to touch him in an attempt to pet his head.

angel took a retreat before they can even touch him. eyes wide with offense and surprise that woke them up from their trance.

instead of being offended by his attitude, they grinned sheepishly.

“oops! i remember.” they chuckled, almost apologetically. “no touchies.”

he warily looked at them. like a chick afraid to be stepped on again or in his case a devil afraid to be touched. but when they held up their hands in the air, grinned, and promised they'll not do it again, he let his guard down and returned to his spot. on their hospital bed. he sat down on the patient's bed, careful not to touch them even their clothed leg as always, and settled comfortably again. it's just him, the ice cream, and them again.

“so what is hell like?” they asked a bit too energetically after a moment.

and the angel doesn't need to think twice about his answer. “it is dark.”

***

“are we close enough for me to ask you a question?” they asked one day. it's the 15th time he came back. or is it the 51st time? but it doesn't matter. their hospital bed mattress still feels the same on his bottom. the ice cream on the side of their bed is still the same flavor and still taste the same, angel can even say that the temperature is the same as always. there're still a few cobwebs in the corner of their room. some flowers. a basket of fruit. and they're still there.

for some reason, they're still in the same hospital, same hospital room, and in the same hospital bed. it's as if they always belonged there and won't be leaving anytime soon. and the angel devil doesn't know if he is comforted or bothered by that fact.

“you bombarded me with questions when we first met.” the angel answered nonchalantly, feeding himself with ice cream and not bothering to share.

”well yes, but that's different.” they elongated the last word almost into a whine. “are we close now for me to ask, you know, questions for close people.”

he merely shrugged.

”eh? is that a yes in your language?” they asked. confused but light-hearted nonetheless. it may just be angel's opinion, but every time he returns, they seem a bit brighter. like today. they have more color than yesterday. even a red on their cheeks. it looks lovely, he admits.

”well i don't know if you said yes or no but just don't answer if we're still not close. because we're open.” they laughed at their own joke. angel questioned their sanity but didn't have the time to do so when they revealed their question. ”why can't i touch you?”

he should've expected this moment. he interacted with the human far more than he expected and can imagine. there will be a sense of kinship, of closeness as they term. they should've expected their curiosity and the question.

but he still doesn't like the fact that he has to say it. he doesn't enjoy the fact that they have to look into their happier eyes and reveal an unhappy fact.

angel finished the last drops of his ice cream before he met his eyes. full of wonders. just like when they first met. just like when he first became drawn to it.

“i'll absorb the little life you have with just a touch.” he muttered. his voice void of emotion but not cold. never cold. ”i don't want to kill you.”

---

”you must be a pretty strong devil, no?”

they initiated the conversation as usual. and like any other visit, he sat on their bed which now also recognizes them as their owner. he can't remember how many times he came back already. he stopped counting when reached 100. but he never stopped eating their ice cream.

“yes.” he answered shortly.

“must be because many are afraid of angels.” they concluded in which he only nodded. “then is there a ‘hot people devil’?”

“a what?”

“a ‘hot people devil’. the type of devil that grows strong from the fear of hot people?”

“i don't know any devil like that. is there even any human who's afraid of that..?”

“how dare you...!” they gasped quite dramatically. the angel devil, who noticed the change in intonation panicked. ”how dare you invalidate my fear!”

“but i—”

“i am deathly afraid of hot people. whenever i look at my mirror i scream out of fear!”

angel's panic was short-lived when he finally realized their point. he sighed, disappointed, and picked up the spoon they dropped earlier. so much for being concerned about a human's feeling. ”funny.” he muttered, not an ounce of joy in his voice.

they just laughed and resisted the urge to slap his back. it was a habit that he noticed. they always want to slap something whenever they laugh. angel doesn't know if he's more afraid of them accidentally touching him due to this habit or if he's more afraid of being slapped. he decided to eat soft serve ice cream instead.

after their laughter died down, they wiped the corner of their eye and angel is once again ready for another antic of theirs. except now, it's different.

”is there a love devil?” they asked, their tone a bit too serious for a joke. ”many people are afraid of love and being in love. many are afraid of losing their loved ones. is there a love devil, enjeru?”

it's the first time they called him, he noted. ”i'm not sure.” he answered which is rewarded by a smile.

“well it doesn't matter. because i, for one, isn't afraid of love.” they vowed confidently. a voice full of pride and certainty. and maybe because of their goofy tone, the devil was caught off guard by their next words. “but you, angel devil, must not make the love devil stronger.”

he wants to say something. anything. he's sensing the conversation going to a path he doesn't mean to take. he never meant to step in that territory.

but he can't stop them. he can't stop the next words that came out from them. especially when they look at him with a gaze full of conviction and sincerity.

“don't be afraid to fall in love with me, enjeru.” they answered sincerely. “because i don't plan on making a love devil stronger.

i love you.”

that's when the angel devil realized that he entered the path of no return.

---

“why do you always have an ice cream when you can't even eat it?”

today is different. he'll be the one starting the conversation instead. the angel devil, for once, is starting the conversation between the winged and the damned. and he must admit, he's pretty horrible at it. but at least he didn't start with ‘how's the weather?’

“hmm... maybe because i expected a winged devil to enter my humble hospital room one day?” they answered cheekily, finger on their chin as they fake to think. ”what do you call it again? fate?”

angel devil merely stared at them and completely forgot about the conversation that strayed to a different direction. for the numerous times he visited, there are many moments where he'll just stare at them absentmindedly as they seem to sparkle whenever they talk. it's amazing honestly. especially as how it sometimes feels that he's viewing them on a glitter and sparkle filter. and maybe due to that particular filter, it made them ache to touch them.

”sometimes i wonder if i'll feel something when we touch.” angel murmured in his drunk state. unaware of his words until it finally hit him. of all the foolish things he can say, he picked the one that top it all. ”ignore it. i don't mean it—”

“then why don't we?”

if the angel devil was still capable of rage, he would've surely felt it. it angers him, just the thought of it, that they'll even think about something so foolish when they know the heavy weight of it. he's quite the hypocrite when he thinks this way, but he knows better.

“i'd rather stare at you every day than touch you once and never have that every day again.” he confessed. eyes more tired than usual.

that day, the ice cream on their bedside was left half-eaten.

---

it was quiet in the patient's room after that conversation. there was no sign of huge white wings in the small space of the hospital room. the ice cream tub remained on the table, untouched until it melted. but it doesn't matter. it will always be replaced tomorrow. but like the day before, no one came to eat it.

the room returned to being a lonely typical hospital room. with one lone occupant. alone, sick, and always staring out the window on their door.

until that door swung open.

and revealed a doctor in a white coat.

---

“you didn't come back for two weeks. i was obliged to dispose of 14 ice creams.”

“sorry.”

it was funny how it was the first thing the angel devil said when they met again after weeks of not seeing each other. it's not that they're not busy. they were. but despite that they always find the time to visit them before and claim dibs on the ice cream that is always on the table beside their bed. he just took his sweet time gathering his thoughts this time. and it was a mess.

”i made some thinking.” he confessed, eyes on them. ”they're about you.”

”i'll be jealous if they're not.”

angel ignored their small quip. ”i realized i'm happy with just eating that ice cream over there.” he stated and looked at their table. even pointed the single tub of ice cream.

it was pretty horrible of him to bring up ice cream when the mood is not really one for eating. but he can only hope that he knows what he is doing. he can only hope that they know what he is doing.

the devil was not sure if he conveyed himself properly. if he conveyed his thoughts properly. he's not sure if they understood that they're putting a wall between them but at the same time letting them enter his untouchable life. he's not sure if they understood that he's telling them that he wants what they want, that they want them the same, but there are limits.

he wants to know if they understand that it would've worked if only he was not him. if he's not the angel devil.

but surely they understood. for they offered him that gracious smile once more and gestured the tin near the bed. “oh hush. just eat this stuff.” they commanded in a jovial tone. ”i know you only come back for this.”

---

maybe he was too happy that he forgot a little bit of everything. maybe the angel was on clouds that he forgot many circumstances. he forgot his own demons. their demons. he was too relaxed, happy and satisfied, that he forgot some circumstances. and how he wish he didn't.

“do you wanna beat the system?” they lightly joked and looked up to him with bright eyes that spent years staring at a hospital's ceiling. for some reason there are two cans of ice cream today. one for him, which is already on its last scoops; and one for them that rests on their lap, still almost full. angel plans on asking for their share once he's finished with his.

but he have to listen to them first. “what system?”

“do you wanna beat the system?” they repeated. smile full of jokes but eyes clear and serious. ”your whole ‘we touch, i deduct years from your life’ situation.”

angel remained silent and didn't say anything. he can feel that something is off aside from the two tubs of ice cream.

and there must be something extremely wrong. his heart is pounding to the extremes. the bowl of ice cream on his hands is a bit colder than usual yet his palms are still sweating.

and then he heard it.

“i'm dying.” they said as if to curse him. a curse he should've expected. a curse that he put on himself when he walked to their hospital room for the first time. “a month from now. or maybe a few weeks. or maybe even tomorrow. i won't last that long.” they continued. their eyes avoided his and the emotions swirling in them. “so i thought, why not make it today.”

”let's talk about other things.” angel can already see the direction of the conversation. and he wishes to avoid it.

however, they only smiled at him and returned their gaze. now they're the ones who ignored them. “i want to feel if your hands are warm, angel. or if they're cold from the number of bowls of ice cream that you held.”

he was speechless. it's been so long since he felt something like this. since he felt something this humane. and of all the things that he can feel again, why is it this certain emotion. why must it be betrayal and sadness. even regret.

“i'll come back tomorrow.” the angel devil said and prepared to leave. his bowl still has a few scoops of ice cream left.

it was cowardly, he admit. he's such a coward for running away in this situation. for not facing it when he should've known what he is dealing with when he chose to eat ice cream with them and sit on their bed. he should've been prepared to face this when he came back time and time again to see them.

”how can you be sure that i'll still be here tomorrow?” they asked the question he feared.

but like a coward, he decided to turn his back on his fear. on them.

”i'll come back tomorrow.” he repeated and closed the door to their hospital room.

---

the last time he entered their hospital room, they were not alone. the door swinged open just as he was about to turn their knob. it's their doctor. like usual, she have a forlorn look on her face. and angel can't help but look over them. they haven't noticed them yet and maybe that's why there was a bothered look on their face.

“what did your doctor said?” he asked and picked the ice cream on the table. the same ice cream that by each time he returns get blander and colder.

they just smiled at him. it was a sad one.

“i have until tomorrow.”

the angel devil was right in his decision to just hold the ice cream tub in their hand and not open it. it was funny. because he cannot blame anyone but himself for his situation.

“won't you kiss me goodbye, angel?” they added, the sad tone of their voice being an octave lower.

but he can only wallow in self-pity and hate. it was his choice. from day one, he was the one who choose to take a step back, peek and enter their hospital room. right from the start, they were the ones who turned the old door knob to the room. they choose to open the 58th hospital room, their hospital room. and he opened himself to the possibility of being hurt. but he didn't brace himself for it. all he did was fall deeper and deeper for a human that is not even healthy. to someone who seems as if the last time they saw the sun outside was last year. it was his choice to enter their room. it was his choice to sit in their bed. it was choice choice to hurt himself and them.

they were his choice. he choose them.

and he also chooses to eat the bowl of ice cream on his hands in their current situation. he chooses to scoop a spoonful of soft serve into his mouth mechanically. he can barely register its taste. he can barely recognize the ice cream's flavor. but he made sure that it left a mark on his tongue. it might be his last after all.

a smile graced their lips, probably the last they'll ever see, and angel etched it on his memory. “right. you loved ice cream.”

he can see them resist the urge to cradle his head and comb his hair. he can understand them. since for all the times they are together, they kept their word of not touching them. they never touched them even once. just as how he resisted to just fall on his knees and drop his tired body on them. they both resisted the thing that they both wanted.

the angel devil was first a devil, an angel second. and the devil in him finally made a decision.

”do you only have until tomorrow?” he confirmed, tongue still coated with ice cream.

“yes.”

“and do you still want to know whether my hands are warm, just like how you made me feel? or if it is cold, just as how i feel right now?” he added. “do you still want to part with me with just a shallow kiss?”

”yes.” they answered, head still relaxed on their pillow and back on their comfortable hospital mattress. they've been laying down since the time they told him they were dying.

the angel devil asked his final question. one he'll always remember. and one he never got an answer.

“do you know how soft serve ice cream tastes like?”

his cold hands met the warm flesh of their cheeks and his own eyes witnessed how their eyes widened with surprise. is it due to the temperature of his palm? or his palm itself? angel can never be sure. he never got the confirmation. but he saw how their cheeks became painted with different shades of red and how their eyes locked on his, with certainty and conviction. they're not one to back out. they have nothing to return to from this point on.

as he caress their face, he's also taking the last of their life.

with one dip of his head, the angel devil landed his lips on the human damned to a hospital bed. of the human he only saw through a small door window before, fidgeting with their hands anxiously as they stitch an angel rag doll.

it was warm. angel finally realized what he is missing in all those times. their cheeks are warm. so is their forehead were his own forehead rest. and their lips. it welcomed him warmly. the same warmth that they made them feel. even warmer.

angel doesn't have to say the word. they slightly parted their lips and invited his tongue inside to explore the mouth that laughed when he lazily lick his ice cream. angel's tongue probed the same mouth that told him daring words and sweet nothings, his everything(s). he passionately kissed the lips that dared him to do the last thing he thought he'll do to the person he love: to touch and to let them go. it's ironic how much he wants to touch them yet can not. it's ironic how much he held back just for this moment.

angel is not sure whether they tasted the remnants of ice cream still on his tongue. or whether they felt the warmth that they so desired. or if it was the opposite.

but the healing dying kiss was different from the cold soft-serve ice cream that is always on the table beside their hospital bed. everything about them and their lips is warm and comforting. and he wants to bask in it. he wants to bathe in the sunlight that they provide in the four corners of the enclosed hospital room. angel finally realized how it feels to hold the sun and the stars. but even the sun can lose its rays. even the stars can lose their light. the sun can be destroyed and stars always die leaving a cold black hole in its wake. summer can easily become winter in the blink of an eye. and like all the warm things in the world, it became chilly. he can feel their lips slowly lose their warmth.

until all that was left was cold.

END.

”what happened to the patient that you always visited? in room 58?”

“they left.”

a small nod was made by aki who cannot see the sullen look on the angel devil's face. the fine man in suit added. “about time. they were supposed to be discharged weeks ago. why are you surprised? you didn't know?”

author's note(s): it's been a year since i last read the manga and i haven't started the anime yet but i just realized the angst potential of my favorite chainsaw man character, angel devil. expect to see more contents like this soon. bye bye~

#chainsaw man #chainsaw man angel devil #chainsaw man x reader #chainsaw man fanfiction #chainsaw man angst #chainsaw man aki hayakawa #angel devil #aki hayakawa #angel devil x reader #manga #anime #chainsaw man manga #chainsaw man anime #csm #csm angel devil #csm aki hayakawa #csm x reader

874 notes · View notes

willowser · 10 months

Note

bodyguard au + bathtime fic for kiri ?

oooooh, this is fun !!! i'm thinking of like, some situation in which you are the child of someone who is big and wealthy, maybe owns a few different multi-million dollar corporations and perhaps doesn't do it all legally 👀

kirishima has always been in the service of protecting your father !! you know him because he is a forever shadow in your home, quiet and large, peeking out windows and making sure doors are locked. he only speaks if you speak to him first, but his answers are always cut short when your father is around.

— so on a night when he has to go out of town, you're a little delighted to see kirishima sitting at the kitchen table when you get home from work.

"hi," he tells you, rising to stand leagues above you. his face is sweet, despite his wide stature. shy. "your dad asked me to stay with you until he comes back, i hope you don't mind."

oh, you don't mind at all.

it's probably really fun !!! and you make the two of you dinner and he relaxes a bit after eating, even takes off the dark jacket he's always in. his forehead shines a little, like he's sweaty, and he hikes the sleeves of his white button-up to his elbows underneath the fluorescence.

he's still is a bit hard to talk to, but he listens as you prattle on about your day, scooting around the kitchen as you clean up. he offers to finish for you, but you shoo at him to sit back down and after a little bit of insistence from you, he finally agrees to have a beer. or two.

that loosens him up enough that the conversation flows a bit easier; you learn his first name, and his cheeks go red when you repeat it with a grin. he tells you a little about his mom, that he's an only child, that he never went to college: very basic stuff that paints a vague picture of him.

you know your father does some shady things, deals with shady people. why else would he need a giant for a bodyguard, that could probably snap a man's neck without even trying ?? kirishima tells you little things, but he doesn't go too deep. doesn't reveal what twists and turns he made in his past to put him here.

eventually you leave to get ready for bed, and the soft look on his face ALMOST has you sitting down for more with him. he shifts his eyes to the table, then, like he knows he's been caught staring too long and you wonder — when the last time was that he did anything for himself ?? not for your father, or even for you, but. for eijirou.

regardless, you slip on up the stairs and take your time making a nice bubble bath, putting on some light music. there's a bar on the second floor and you steal a bottle of wine from it and two glasses before nestling in the warm water, spreading your legs out to test how much room you have in the gigantic tub.

and then you call for him. a little more urgently that necessary, but it brings him to you quicker, suddenly appearing in the open doorway of your bathroom with wide eyes, flushing down his neck when he sees you.

you lean against the edge of the tub, smiling as you prop your chin in your hand. "i was wondering if you could help me wash my back."

the question seems to buffer in his mind for a long time before he's finally blinking, adam's apple bobbing. and then he's bringing the bathroom door behind him as he begins to unbutton his shirt.

✨️ trope game ! ✨️

#WAAAHHH big huge bodyguard kiri how seet #*sweet #i'm really screwing myself with this game bc now i want to write all these akfbdjakal #but if i treat all these like drabbles then i will NEVER FINISH #i've had to scrap two of them and start over ALREADY TODAY bc they just. get too long akfbdjsjakal #so this is short and quick but !!!! here you go !!!!#akdhsjakam i want bodyguard kiri 🥺🥺😭#he's been in your father's employment for a little while now 🥺 has watched you through the years 🥺🥺🥺🥺#always tried to keep his eyes down 🥺🥺🥺#WHEW HE'S SO CUTE BYE #✿ ask willow #✿ thoughts: kirishima #✿ ask game

177 notes · View notes

nanamimizz · 1 year

Text

tags: fluff, after the 4th great war, reader is described as being shorter than shikamaru, smoking, drinking, reader wears shikamaru’s clothes - let me know if i missed something!

synopsis: love is seen in the smallest of moments, when its just you and the other - alone.

loving shikamaru is built upon the smallest of moments.

when he murmurs into your ear at the table - “going out for a smoke, i’ll be back.” his box of cigarettes and his lighter tap against the table. you can’t help but shiver from his breath dancing along your neck. you smile, cheeks bitten and hot but he blames it on the cold outside and the warn inside. he gives a blushing smile when you tell him you’ll save him a plate.

his cigarette is half way out when you find him, stumbling past the door a slight stumble in your step. he’s at your side faster than you’d expect asking what’s wrong, hands griping your shoulders to steady you. in return you only laugh, rubbing your temples.

“kiba challenged me to chug a pint but then my head started spinning so sakura said to get some fresh air.” you explain and he sighs, exasperated but fond. you’ve always had a habit of not being able to say no when asked to do something. he shakes his head muttering about how kiba is a bonehead and you giggle breathlessly.

his gaze softens at the sound, eyes fond at how you smile softly if not a little wobbly. happiness looks lovely on you, shikamaru can’t help but think.

he blinks as he mulls over his recent thought, tucks away its implications and focuses in the light conversation you begin - you hiccup slightly in between each couple words and he fonds that rather being annoyed by its interruption; he can’t help but find it cute.

he bites the inside of his cheek and marks the tally.

you shiver as a brisk breeze passes over - its fall and heading into winter. he recalls how you’ve always been sensitive to the cold. he calls your name without thinking and before he can rationally process it, he’s zipping off his vest and handing it to you. you’re eyes are wide and shining under the fluorescent lights of the restaurant sign.

“here, i don’t want you freezing on me.” he keeps his tone light but even he sweats under the weight of your stare. smiling bashfully and tucking your chin to your chest, you take the vest and sling it on. the dark green material is warm from his body heat - despite his lean build shikamaru has always run warm. its long on you; he can’t help but huff amused at how the bottom of the zipper hits lower than your waist. he comes closer to you, brings his hands to the collar and pulling out the large pieces of your hair that had gotten stuck underneath the thick collar of the vest.

it’s oddly intimate - he’s smoothing your hair down, and zipping up the vest. he lets his hands run down the slope of your shoulders and his hands come to rest on your biceps. shikamaru swallows. realizing he’s so close to you that he can see the faint mole at the bottom of your lip, the birthmark on your nose and the small gap of hairs in your left eyebrow.

“how do you feel now?” he asks, voice tentatively and soft. he feels like a kid again, seeing the deer of the nara woods with his father for the first time. he can see how your lashes link together when you blink and you look back up at him, he’s grateful for the height difference between you to in this moment. shikamaru can see everyone of your most defining features - he finds them all to be as beautiful as the reflection of the night sky found on the top of a lake.

“my head feels clearer, and i’m a lot warmer now.” you reply, honestly and your eyes flicker away. you are like a doe he thinks, gentle in your approach and demure in your observation. he nods.

“that’s good. want to head in now?” he asks. he half hopes you say no so he can stay here with you just for a little longer. he can smell your perfume - like how you hands smell like the oranges you peel on a hot summer day, and he wonders if you’ll be as sweet as those memories.

“y-yeah, we should. they might be wondering where we are.” you say and he can’t help but agree. he lets go off you, letting his hands trail a little longer and he coughs into his hand. when you go to unzip his vest he stops you.

“it’s okay. keep it until you feel warm enough.” he tells you, looking away and scratching at the back of his neck. shikamaru wonders if you can see his pink cheeks and fights back the embarrassment he feels in his chest if you can.

“besides, it…it looks good on you. just give back at the end of the night.” he finishes with a thin smile and you laugh into your hand at his sheepishly given compliment. you nod, agreeing and watching him with warm cheeks as he heads in first. as he enters back into the restaurant you thumb at the dark green material of the vest.

against your better nature, you bring your nose to the collar and sigh at the scent of pine wood and the hint of cigarette smoke. you walk in shortly after, ducking at the raised eyesbrows of ino and choji, smiling carefully at shikamaru and remove the vest easily. you hand it back with a thank you and he nods, slipping it back on with no comments or complaints.

later in the night, shikamaru does something unlike himself.

when shikamaru lies in bed, he holds the vest up to his face, nose buried in the collar just like you did when left alone. his head spins surround by the scent of citrus and jasmine - a note he didn’t pick up on when he was next to you. with his pounding heart and cheeks red, he realizes something that had been reaching its conclusion since his academy days.

shikamaru nara is in love with you.

#lamb.writes #shikamaru x reader #shikamaru nara x reader #shikamaru fluff #naruto x reader #naruto fluff #finally. gave in and wrote for this guy that ive had a crush on since elementary school

747 notes · View notes

fruitcoops · 1 year

Note

just had a tornado blow through...(we're okay, it's kinda normal here). but could we get another blackout/big storm fic? (if you're up for it?)

Glad you're alright! We've got a big storm here tonight as well <3 Have some Lions working through life to distract. Character credit goes to @lumosinlove!

TW mild/ medium relationship issues, Sirius' bad habits, and previous people not being very nice to Leo

There was something in the water. Remus was sure of it.

“Put—stop it! Put it down!”

Maybe carbon monoxide was leaking into the rink. Plus all of their houses and apartments.

“I told you, it’s not about the rutabaga.”

Or, fuck it, Mercury was in the microwave again. In the Gatorade? Something like that. He wondered if Marlene would know.

Arthur knocked on the doorframe and the mass of grumbling died down; the air still tasted like sour sweat and irritation and Remus wrinkled his nose at the mats. After a cursory look around the room, Arthur raised a brow and gestured with his clipboard. “Y’know, I’ve got a lot of notes—a lot of notes—but none of you look like you can handle them right now, so we’re doing the short version. Cap, come see me. Lupin, Moody’s waiting for you, don’t give me that face. Olli, figure your shit out. Kuns…Kuns.” He shook his head. “We’ll talk tomorrow. Tremzy, stop being mean, and Harz, stop being stupid. Bliz, Layla gets the honor of having you this afternoon. Do your cooldowns without biting each others’ heads off, please, and then go home and sleep this off. Goodnight.”

“Night, Coach,” came the mumbled chorus.

Remus chewed the inside of his lip while he stripped his shin pads off. Sirius was already halfway out the door, still in his under armor—the rush of endorphins that usually accompanied the sight of his gorgeous fiancé was notably absent. He closed his eyes and took a breath. Recenter. It was a rough day, rough week, rough whatever. It would be best to just let it go now.

A hand clapped his shoulder and he nearly jumped out of his skin. “Jesus!”

“Woah, hey, easy.” Talker held both hands low, palms down between their stalls. “Just saying hi.”

“What—” Breathe. Recenter. Remus blinked a few times to clear his head. “Fuck, no, you’re good. Sorry. Hi. Sorry.”

Talker’s gaze turned dark with worry. “You okay?”

“Just…in my head.” It was a shit answer, but his vague wave seemed to get the point across. Talker nodded slowly. His hands remained on his own side. “You?”

“Been better, been worse.” He tipped his head back and forth, making his small earring swing. A gift from Noelle, if Remus remembered correctly. He watched it catch the fluorescent light for a few seconds before Talker spoke again. “Weird energy in here.”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah.” Remus turned back to his pads with a humorless laugh. “No kidding. We should crack a window or something.”

Talker hummed, tucking his hands beneath himself. One knee bounced incessantly and Remus tried not to let it bother him. “Reminds me of the you-know-whats.”

Remus’ hands itched to knock on wood. “Yep.”

“But we’re not there. Yet,” Talker added after a pause.

“Nope.”

“Cap’s being…interesting.”

“Tell me about it,” Remus muttered.

Something like relief rippled over Talker’s expression. “So it’s not us.”

“When is it ever?” Remus offered a wry smile. “He gets like this. You know that. Heavy is the head that wears the crown.”

Talker’s shoulder relaxed against his own, warm and solid. “Yeah, I guess.”

“It’s really not you, man.”

“I know.”

“T.” Remus waited until he looked over, and ducked his head slightly. “It’s not you.”

The kicked-puppy look in Talker’s eye made his chest hurt. Remus knew he had a tendency to put it all on himself—to think he was solely responsible for maintaining the team’s happiness. They were friends for a reason, after all. A missed pass wasn’t the end of the world, but…god, in the NHL? It sure felt like it.

Leo blew past them, not quite stomping, but certainly not pleased. Remus followed his path and found Logan staring at the floor with the same mournful gaze that plagued half the room. His stomach twisted. For a group of guys with everything in the world, they were a bunch of fucking messes, sometimes.

He patted Talker once on the shoulder before standing; he didn’t bother with shoes. It was a quick enough trip to get by in his socks. Moody’s office door was already open when he arrived, and he had barely raised his hand to knock on the frame when a grunt invited him inside.

The door closed with a faint noise. Silence thickened the air, save for the scribble of Moody’s pen. “Coach said you wanted to see me?” Remus prompted awkwardly. He didn’t like this stiffness. They had never been like that before.

Moody clicked his pen shut and leaned back in his chair with a long sigh, rocking back and forth. “Layla says you’re favoring your bad side.”

Tattletale. Remus bit the instinctive thought back. That wasn’t fair. “Probably.” Moody raised an unamused brow at him. “Yeah,” he admitted, scuffing his foot on the floor. “Yeah, I think so, too.”

“Why?”

“ ‘Cause.”

“The league doesn’t like it when I’m not nice to you boys.” Moody fixed him in place with a look. “But you’re not a snitch, so cough it up, you little shit.”

A scowl tried to claw its way onto Remus’ face, but he kept himself steady. Moody had done too much for him and saved him from too many bad places to be iced out. He kicked at a dust bunny. “Nine years.”

“Since…?”

“Since.”

“Ah.”

He sniffed, dry-eyed and nauseated. “Next Monday. Nine years. I still remember the day and time it happened.”

“We’re not playing Vegas next week.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

Moody went quiet, and stayed that way for a long time. His chair creaked as he rocked in slow, maddening patterns. He’d have his leg off, tucked beneath his desk; he rarely left it on when he didn’t need to. Something about sweat. Itching. The works, he’d grumble if Remus asked. The ‘World’s Best Grandpa’ mug—a gag gift from last year’s Secret Santa—sat undisturbed on his desk, filled to bursting. Pens, pencils, a spoon, a screwdriver, an inexplicable parrot feather, all interspersed with his steadily-growing collection of flags.

Remus remembered the day the first one had appeared. A simple rainbow with a wooden stick, no bigger than a postcard. Moody hadn’t said a thing, but he knew it was for him. It wasn’t the only one anymore. The sight of it still made his throat tight.

“Come see me if you need to,” Moody said at last. He tapped his pen on his stack of papers, then nodded. “For the record, I’m not worried. Out of my office.”

“Have a good night, Moody.” Thunder rolled overhead as he turned to the door. “Get home safe, okay?”

He got another grunt in the affirmative and turned the doorknob, hoping the squeaky top hinge would muffle his sigh. The door swung open, Remus walked face-first into Sirius’ chest, and everything went black as night.

“I don’t know why you’re angry.”

“I’m not angry.”

“Don’t pull that bullshit.”

“My feelings aren’t bullshit.”

“Mon dieu—”

“I’m serious, I’m not angry.” Leo shut the drawer a little harder than necessary. The salt shaker rattled on the counter.

“Then what are you?” Logan demanded, keeping his voice low.

“I’m—” He pressed his lips together and tilted his face up to the ceiling. Upset. Hurt. Stressed. Frustrated. Angry. “I don’t know.”

“I already apologized for the rhubarb—”

“Rutabaga.”

“Jesus, Leo.” Logan’s tone was sharp; he flinched. Okay, maybe he deserved that one. He heard Logan’s unsteady exhale and felt a gentle touch on his arm. “I’m sorry. I should have listened better, or texted you when I wasn’t sure.”

And there it was again, that burning flare of annoyance. Leo shrugged him off and turned to the coffee maker. Someone had left their disposable cup in the machine the last time it was used. The sight made him want to take the entire thing and slam it on the floor.

“Leo?”

“I don’t want you to text me when you aren’t sure.” His voice came out shaky and he silently cursed himself. At least his hands didn’t tremble while he swapped the cups. “I—Logan, I shouldn’t have to be your food dictionary.”

“Hey.”

Leo bit the inside of his cheek at the genuine hurt in Logan’s voice and dug through the mug cupboard. “Look, it’s fine, just…look it up if you’re not sure. It’s not like I hide my cookbooks.”

Or, better yet, be a capable adult. Logan’s sneakers shuffled on the linoleum. Where was his goddamn mug? “D’accord,” he finally said. “Yeah, I’ll—I can do that.”

Was it bad that Leo wanted him to push harder? Maybe he was just jonesing for a fight, but Logan’s instant buckling made him feel even worse. They had been waspish with each other earlier, enough that Finn outright refused to be in the same room until they figured themselves out—perhaps Logan had worn out his ability to argue for the day.

Leo snorted humorlessly. That would be a first.

Pastel yellow caught his peripheral vision. He clenched his hands on the edge of the countertop and took a deep, fortifying breath. Throwing a mug at a wall would get him fired. Throwing things at Logan would never be something he did, in this life or the next, no matter how angry he may or may not be.

Leo plucked the Me-Wow! mug from it’s place—dirty—in the sink—also dirty—by its tail-shaped handle and dropped it in the trash, then walked out of the kitchen, leaving Logan and his coffee behind. Thunder rumbled overhead and guilt bubbled up. He shouldn’t leave like that, not when the storm was only going to get worse. Logan didn’t do well alone and upset. He had almost certainly left his headphones at home, too. Leo was never the one to leave but he just couldn’t take it—

He made it ten feet down the hall before the lights went out and silence doused the building.

Fuck.

James was not live, laugh, loving in these conditions. First of all, his best friend/ best man/ adopted brother was imploding with self-loathing for approximately the seventh time this week. Second, his wife’s best friend/ best man/ adopted brother was a nervous wreck despite his best attempts to keep himself together. And third, two of the rookies had worked themselves into a tiff that made Finn look like that.

Finn watched Logan leave after Leo in utter misery. Poor kid belonged in an ASPCA commercial.

In truth, James didn’t know what went wrong, exactly. Sirius had these cycles—he’d ride high and be so firm in himself, in what he loved and worked for, then crash so hard James expected it to leave visible wounds. It was far more frequent in the early days. Since Remus entered the picture, Sirius hadn’t spiraled more than a handful of times. It was like he needed a pressure-release valve to make sure all those internal works didn’t melt or rust over. Remus was better at getting Sirius to talk than just about anyone. It was shitty that Remus’ wan smiles and sickly pallor had to align with the exact time Sirius most needed someone who wouldn’t put up with his nonsense.

James did his best, but he wanted them to be happy more than anything. More often than not, it meant he didn’t push nearly enough. They all had bad habits.

He knew Coach would bring it up today. Sirius’ dark mood had set them all on edge, caught in that place between wanting to prove themselves and wanting to stay out of the way. Whatever was happening between Leo and Logan had brought the scrap of good mood to rock-bottom. There was only so much slack James could pick up without exhausting himself, and he was already at the end of his rope.

Talker was still fussing with his sock tape when James looked over. The stickiness was dead from his rhythmic wrapping and unwrapping, but he didn’t seem to care. James nudged his toe with the front of his skate. “ ‘Sup?”

Talker half-shrugged. “Not much.”

“You were good in the scrimmage today.”

His hands stuttered on the roll before evening out again. “You, too.”

James scooted over into Remus’ stall and lowered his head, turning slightly away from the center of the room for an iota of privacy. “You wanna talk about it? If this is about the pass—”

“Noelle can’t make it for my birthday.”

Oh. Oh. James’ heart sank. “Aw, buddy.”

“They’re in the playoffs and someone rescheduled.” His lips pressed together in a tight line. “It’s dumb, I just…”

“Miss her,” James finished when he trailed off.

Talker nodded. “Distance sucks.”

“I know.”

James tried not to be offended by Talker’s immediate skepticism. “You do?”

“Lily stayed in Boston for three years before transferring up here.” Worst three years of my life. “She wanted her BS in chemistry. I wasn’t going to be the schmuck to hold her back. We called, and FaceTimed, and texted when she was at school, but it—”

“Wasn’t the same,” they said in unison.

The ball of tape fell pathetically next to the trash bin. “I want to hug her,” Talker said. “It sounds so stupid, but I want to hug her. And—I don’t know, it’s been rainy today. She likes it when it rains.”

“Yeah.” James leaned over to bump his shoulder. “I hear if you cross your fingers and jump in a circle three times, your wishes come true.”

Talker was halfway through a laugh when the lights went out.

Oh my god, I went blind. The thought was wild and harebrained and ridiculous. So, precisely how Remus was feeling in every other aspect of his life.

“Oh.” Sirius sounded surprised. His hands were firm on Remus’ upper arms. “Bonjour.”

Remus blinked a few times to let his vision adjust to the sudden darkness. The remnants of the team’s shouts of surprise echoed briefly before going quiet. “Uh, hi,” he managed. Sirius was nothing more than a blob of shadow, but he felt along his arms and chest until he found a shoulder to pat. “Sorry. Power’s out?”

“Looks like it.”

“Huh. Did you…did you need something?”

Sirius shifted from foot to foot. “Uh. No, not really.”

Liar, but okay. Remus patted him again, and let his hand linger. The rink felt different like this. Low murmuring had started up again in the locker room, but everything else was grave-quiet without the familiar buzz of electricity. It felt like the heartbeat had stopped. Like they had paused in time. “We should—should we go back to the locker room?”

Sirius’ hands pulsed where he held Remus. “Sure,” he said with the reluctance of someone being asked to walk headfirst into the ocean.

Lightning cracked outside and Remus caught a glimpse of Sirius worrying at the inside of his lip in the brief light. “We can stay here,” he offered after a moment. “Or, like…go somewhere else for a bit.”

“Can we?”

The relief in Sirius’ voice ached. They had been so pent-up lately, neither willing to break the ice first but both suffering from their shared bad moods. Remus knew he had been more lost in his thoughts than down on Earth for days, and Sirius was being so…so Sirius. But not his Sirius. The Sirius that was twitchy, the Sirius that tossed and turned all night. The Sirius that barely finished his dinner.

Remus rolled the sleeve of Sirius’ shirt between his thumb and pointer finger, and pulled him in for a hug. His stiffness dissolved in an instant.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled into Sirius’ collarbone. He smelled good when Remus took a deep inhale, laundry soap and cologne. His arms were strong and solid around Remus’ back—he felt a few deep breaths come and go under his palms and inclined his head to let Sirius’ bury his face in his neck. His hair was damp from his post-practice rinse. It tickled Remus’ nose along the wings he liked to play with when Sirius was sleepy and cuddly. He sighed again. “Sirius, I’m so sorry.”

“I wasn’t there for you this week.” Sirius’ breath warmed his neck. His hold on Remus tightened. “You don’t need to be sorry, loup.”

“Okay,” Remus said softly. “But I am.”

“If you’re sorry, then I’m—” Sirius broke off with a tired laugh and nuzzled further into his neck. “I don’t know. Throwing myself at your feet and begging for forgiveness.”

Remus snorted at that mental image, but held him closer anyway. “It’s okay. I know you don’t like feeling like this.”

“I don’t,” Sirius agreed. “Doesn’t mean I should stop paying attention to you.”

“I’ve been doing the same to you,” he reminded him gently.

“You had a reason.”

“And you didn’t?”

Sirius fell quiet. His fingertips slipped along the divot of Remus’ spine while his palm warmed the small of his back; Remus felt a bit silly, standing there in his socks in the dark, but it didn’t really matter when he could feel Sirius’ heart beginning to even out at last. Someone padded out of the locker room and down the hall. Red hair stood out for a half-second when lightning struck again and his worry eased. If Finn was going to check on his boys, everything would sort itself out.

“I hate that this still happens.” Sirius’ voice barely cleared a whisper. “It sneaks up on me, and then I can’t sleep and I’m not hungry—or, I am, I just can’t—and I don’t know when it will stop.”

“I know, baby.”

“I want to sleep next to you and not be thinking about the next game, Re.”

Remus slipped his hands beneath Sirius’ arms and pressed their bodies together like he could press reassurance into him. If he could take that burden, he would. If he could fix it, he would. If he had the right words to tell Sirius that he didn’t care whether he was perfect or a wreck, he would. He pushed his nose under the soft spot of Sirius’ jaw and kissed him there. “I love you.”

A small sound stuck in Sirius’ throat.

“Je t’aime,” he repeated with another kiss. Just because he could.

The rise and fall of Sirius’ shoulders was steady now. “Je t’aime aussi. Whatever you need for this week, I’m here, okay? I’m in your nook.”

“My…nook?”

“Your—” Sirius huffed a laugh. “I’m on your side. Whatever the saying is.”

“In my corner?” Remus suggested around a smile. Sirius grumbled something vaguely agreeable and swatted at him, but never loosened their hug for a second.

Leo was holding him, and he wasn’t even angry anymore. Not like he had been. Thunder rattled a distant window and Logan’s grip twisted in the front of his shirt. “I’m fine,” he said.

Leo kissed his temple. “Yeah.”

They lapsed back into silence. He was usually so good at problem-solving, but every time he tried to speak, his tongue got stuck on the words. The anger had burnt itself out. The frustration and annoyance were still there, alongside the hurt. He wished Finn was there. Finn always knew what words to use.

“I’m sorry,” Leo said haltingly. Logan shifted in his arms. “I was shitty to you. Earlier, I mean. I should have talked to you.”

Logan didn’t answer. Somehow, that was the worst outcome. Leo knew how to match him in a verbal fight.

Lightning flashed. Logan flinched. Leo held him like he alone could stop the light from taking his boyfriend by surprise. That was it, wasn’t it? Even pissed off, he’d still hold Logan rather than leaving him in the dark with a thunderstorm.

They didn’t speak, just swayed in place. Footsteps echoed down the hall, growing closer each second before coming to a halt in the doorway. “Babes?”

“Here,” they chorused softly.

“Um.” Finn audibly hesitated. “Okay, give me a landmark. I’m so blind right now.”

“By the countertop,” Leo offered. Logan burrowed deeper into his chest. He was fever-hot the way he got when he was upset. Finn’s noise of sympathy when he found them and felt it somehow made it worse. “Hey, Fish.”

“Hey.” Leo heard the sound of a soft kiss. “Lo, you good?”

“Ouais,” came the murmured answer.

They lapsed into silence for the length of another roll of thunder. “And you…” Finn faltered. “You figured yourselves out?”

Leo looked away despite the darkness. They remained silent.

“Right,” Finn sighed.

“I don’t know what I did,” Logan blurted. “You said this wasn’t about the rutabaga, but it is, and you said you’re not angry, but you are, and I’m confused. And I’m really sorry for whatever I did to upset you, Peanut. I’m being so honest right now.”

“That’s the problem,” Leo said helplessly.

Logan clutched at his shirt, as if the answers were hidden in the fabric. “What?” he asked. “What is the problem? Stop doing that, I told you, I’m confused. Are you angry?”

“A little,” Leo choked out. Ugh, honesty was sawdust in his mouth.

“Is it about the rutabaga?”

“No.”

Logan made a frustrated noise, but Finn cut him off before he could continue. “What is it about, sweetheart?” he asked, so gentle it burned.

Leo let out a long breath, unwinding one arm from Logan’s waist to wrap it around Finn instead. He was nice and cool from his shower. They had all been running too hot lately.

“I’m not your mom, Lo,” he began. “We’re all grown-ups here. You know what food looks like. You know how to google things.” He felt the feelings ramp up again and rather than swallowing them back, let them siphon out on an exhale. Everything inside him was a miserable, knotted mess. “You don’t need me to come to the store with you all the time, and it pisses me off when you keep asking because I’m—'better at it’, or whatever. It’s not my job to shop for you. I’m sick and tired of it.”

Logan’s chest caved against his own. He mumbled something under his breath and Leo closed his eyes.

“I can’t hear you when you do that, c’mon, please—"

“I said, it’s not because I need you to shop for me.” Logan’s voice shook slightly, but not with anger.

“Then why would you ask me to walk to the store with you for the ‘right garlic’?” he sighed.

Logan raised his head, leaving a cold spot on the left side of Leo’s chest. “Because I want to spend time with you.”

That—was not the answer he had been expecting. You’re better at it, Logan would say. You know the foods better than I do. The realization came in waves; he had been teasing. Joking. Making it a bit. And Leo thought he was dead serious the whole damn time. All the frustration he had built up around himself cam down with a rush and a clatter. His heart made a break for hell with a pit stop at his stomach. He stared into the dark nothingness of the rink break room and tried to remember how to breathe.

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.”

“I…” He broke off. Words had gotten him into this mess. Were they both that terrible at communicating properly? Finn bumped his arm and he took the hint (for once), wrapping Logan in a hug. By some miracle, Logan hugged him back. “That is the sweetest fucking thing, and I’m so sorry,” he managed, hoarse. “Oh my god. Oh my god, Logan, that was such a fucked-up thing for me to think.”

“I do actually like you, you know,” Logan said, muffled in his shoulder.

The remnants of Leo’s heart went for another spin through the shredder. “No, I know, I know, I’m so sorry. I like you, too.” He pressed a hard kiss to Logan’s temple and squeezed him tighter. “I like you so much. So much.”

“And I know what kind of garlic you like.”

Tears made Leo’s eyes sting and he violently wished them back. He had no right to cry over this. None at all. “Of course you do.”

Logan scratched lightly between his shoulder blades. “I don’t want to think about the type of people that made you think I’d do that, though. But if you want to give me names and addresses…”

Leo laughed weakly and felt Finn huff against him. “No, none of that,” Leo said with a kiss to Logan’s messy curls. He kissed his cheek, too, and his lips for good measure. Slow and easy, the way they both liked it. He wanted to make sure Logan was paying attention. “I’m sorry,” he repeated. “You did nothing wrong. I love you so, so much and I never should have thought that about you.”

In the hallway, the whir of generators kicked up. Soft light cast Logan in gold and dull shadows, just enough to make out the conflicted look on his face. His thumb was rough against Leo’s jaw. “I wish you thought better of yourself,” he said quietly. “You’re fun to be around, even walking to the store.”

I wish I had thought better of you. Leo pulled him close without a word and caught Finn’s gaze over Logan’s shoulder. His expression told him everything he needed to know, and he shut his eyes as Finn’s arms came around them both. A kiss lingered just above his ear. Leo kind of wanted to cry all over again.

The generators were a masterpiece of mechanics. The emergency switch flipped the moment the building lost power from the main grid, pooling energy around the rink itself to keep the ice solid. The rest of the lights would come on within fifteen to twenty minutes, beginning with the stadium seats and ending with the more fringe areas, like locker room and kitchens. They were top of the line, the best you could buy for a massive space that relied heavily on electricity to keep it functional.

They were no match for the Lions.

Ice cream, popsicles, and enough beer to cover the team twice over were liberated from the various refrigerators in less than five minutes. The team gathered on the floor of the locker room with iPhone flashlights and glowsticks (also ‘borrowed’ from the adjacent rooms) to enjoy their haul in peace and to play stupid, silly games like middle schoolers at a sleepover. They played games for a living, for crying out loud. Their favorite game. Why on earth would they take it too seriously when an opportunity like this presented itself?

Equal cheers and groans went up when the lights came back on. Moody was the first to leave, having only stuck around that long because the space outside his office door was occupied with an apparently necessary conversation. Arthur was next. The general consensus among the players was that the weather was simply too bad to risk driving. For their safety, they should stay and enjoy their goodies.

The morning security shift found them right where Arthur left them, puppy-piled by their stalls and surrounded by joyous havoc.

227 notes · View notes

hufflepuffwritingstuff2 · 1 year

Note

Ooooh #6 #2 & #10 for the ask game! (Hero x villain + fluff please)

Good combination, Anon! Thanks for requesting this, and for your patience, here you go!

from this ask game

“Hero, look at me,” Villain said in a soothing voice.

Hero wasn’t listening. They were too busy staring at the gaping hole in their abdomen. Their breathing was short and labored; despite the pressure Villain was putting on their wound, Hero still felt blood seeping out of it.

“I’m gonna die,” Hero said, “oh gosh, I’m going to die! Villain!”

“Hey, hey,” Villain said, “shh, you’re not gonna die, I promise. I won’t let that happen. But you need to calm down. Take a deep breath.”

Hero tried to do as they were told, but the deep breath they tried to take turned into a shuddering cough, and they were back to hyperventilating.

‘Villain, I don’t wanna die,” Hero said, tears forming in their eyes, “I don’t wanna die!”

A car, Villain’s car to be exact, screeched to a halt in front of the pair, and Sidekick jumped out. Sidekick and Villain exchanged words Hero couldn’t hear, and looks Hero didn’t see. Before they knew it, Villain scooped them up and deposited them across the backseats. Villain sat down on the floor of the car, still putting pressure on Hero’s wound.

“Hospital?” Sidekick asked, already in the driver’s seat.

“No!” Villain and Hero yelled in unison.

“Take us home,” Villain said, “we’ll patch them up in the med bay.”

Hero was hyperventilating through all of this, and their vision was growing dark at the edges.

“Hero, you gotta calm down,” Villain said softly.

“I can’t!”

Within minutes, Sidekick pulled into the garage of Villain’s base. Villain carried Hero inside and laid them down on an operating table in the med bay.

“It’s gonna be okay,” Villain said, “Medic!”

Villain’s medic ran into the operating room.

“What happened?” Medic asked, “why are they here?”

“Not now,” Villain said urgently, “they’re bleeding out. Save them.”

Medic nodded, snapping on latex gloves. They came over to Hero.

“Shhh,” Medic said, “you need to calm down.”

“Why does everyone keep saying that!?” Hero sobbed.

Medic whispered something to Villain as they prepped disinfectant, a needle, and surgical thread. Villain nodded and opened a drawer, procuring a syringe. Without warning, Villain injected the contents into Hero’s system. Hero nearly screamed from the sudden pinch.

Medic didn’t wait for Hero to fall asleep, they got to work straight away, cleaning the wound and stitching it up.

Hero felt their body relax against their will.

“Wha…?”

“Shhh,” Villain said, running a hand through Hero’s hair, “you’re gonna be okay. Just go to sleep.”

“What if-” Hero blinked heavily, “-what if I don’t wake up?”

“You will, I promise,” Villain said.

Hero didn’t get the chance to nod. They drifted off just as Medic finished the last stitch.

…

Hero stirred on a soft surface. Instead of the harsh fluorescent lights of the med bay, Hero opened their eyes to soft light and a plain ceiling. They were lying in a bed, somewhere in Villain’s base. They felt a weight on their hand and turned their head to see that Villain was holding it.

“Hey,” Villain said, “how are you feeling?”

Hero noticed Villain’s eyes were red and puffy, almost like…

“Have you been crying?” Hero asked quietly.

“No,” Villain said quickly, “well, maybe… a little.”

“Why?”

Villain ran their thumb over Hero’s knuckles. It felt soothing to Hero, they almost fell back asleep. Villain speaking roused them from drifting back off.

“I was worried for you, that’s all,” Villain said, “you were so… afraid earlier, I’d never seen you like that before.”

Villain was also scared Hero wouldn’t wake up, but Hero certainly didn’t need to know that.

Hero’s memories came flooding back, as though a dam in their brain had been destroyed. Tears sprung into Hero’s eyes as they remembered the stabbing, the car ride, the med bay, and how they were so afraid to go to sleep. Hero let out a high-pitched, choked sob.

“Oh, Hero…”

Villain climbed in the bed, sitting Hero up and holding them close from behind. Hero expected the movement to hurt, considering the state of their side, but they didn’t feel anything except some dizziness when Villain sat them up.

“It’s okay,” Villain whispered, rubbing Hero’s back gently, “it’s all over now. You’re okay.”

Hero nodded and leaned back into Villain’s chest, savoring their embrace. Hero looked up when they heard the door to the room open. Medic stood in the doorway with a syringe in hand.

“Boss, it’s almost time for more painkillers-” Medic looked up, “-oh. Well that certainly explains a lot.”

“Y-yes, well,” Villain started, Hero had never heard them so flustered, “you can administer the medicine now.”

Medic came over to Hero’s bedside. Villain gently took Hero’s arm and extended it in front of them. Hero’s breath hitched. They hated needles.

“Breathe,” Villain commanded softly, “it’s okay. It’s gonna help you feel better.”

Medic took Hero’s arm and, upon finding a vein, injected the contents of the syringe into their system. Hero barely felt the pinch thanks to the last dose they had been given.

“There, see?” Villain rubbed Hero’s arm, “all done.”

Hero closed their eyes, relaxing in Villain’s grip. They heard Medic’s footsteps echo across the room until they faded down the hall.

“Thank you,” Hero said drowsily.

Hero felt Villain plant a soft kiss on their head.

“Of course, Hero.”

Hero drifted off in Villain’s arms, and Villain eventually followed suit. Elsewhere in the base, Medic and Sidekick chatted in hushed voices. How long had Hero and Villain been a thing?

ko-fi

tags: @mythixmagic @infinityshadows @fishtale88 @thelazywitchphotographer @the-beasts-have-arrived @princessofonwardsworld

176 notes · View notes

lightandheatao3 · 5 months

Text

The Bunker - Criminal Minds

Chapter 1: The Bunker

Summary: Spencer Reid wakes up in a locked bunker to find half the current BAU and two of its departed members unconscious on the floor. The old team is back together but the reunion is not what any of them would have wished for. An Unsub from their past has decided it's time they all stop keeping secrets, even if it means exposing them by force.

Hotch and Derek have been pulled back into a world they tried to escape. Emily, Rossi, and JJ are doing their best to keep it together. Spencer is falling apart.

AKA a found family is reunited and forced to go through the most nightmarish version of family therapy imaginable.

Set months after the end of Criminal Minds: Evolution. Evolution referenced, but not necessary to understand the story.

Read chapter 1 on AO3 or under the cut. All comments and reblogs are so appreciated <3

Chapter 2 link

Spencer cracked his eyes open, flinching from the white fluorescent light and blinking hard against the groggy, dull ache in his head.

His mouth was dry, body heavy. A familiar wake up. He reached his hand out blindly for the relief waiting on his bedside table.

No- wait.

His lights are all yellow toned filament bulbs, not white fluorescents.

The smell was wrong. The dull electrical buzz in the air was louder, pitched higher.

His eyes shot open wide and he scrambled to his feet.

This wasn’t home.

He surveyed his surroundings, fighting the wave of dizziness that came with standing too abruptly.

“Oh no,” he said out loud. “Nonononono…”

The room was large and square and made entirely of concrete. Up the top a small vent, too high to reach and too small for a person to fit into. A heavy door with a double walled chamber for someone to put things into without having to interact with the person on the other side. The kind you would find in a maximum-security prison cell. The whole room felt like a prison cell, a place he’d hoped to never be again. At the back of the room a small en-suit that was completely stripped bare but for a metal toilet with no seat and a sink that was bolted into the wall. There was a door that could be shut, but there was a gap under it and a hole where a doorknob had clearly been removed.

A camera. There on the roof, drilled in and protected by a plexiglass dome, blinking its little red light at him. He stared at it for a moment, then closed his eyes.

He slowed his breathing. Now was not the time to fall apart. Not now. Not yet.

Not when there were 5 of his friends prone on the ground around him, unconscious as he had been only moments ago.

Each was laid out on a thin foam mattress, the kind with no seams or springs that could be fashioned into tools.

His first stop was the door. He knew before he tried it that it wasn’t going to open, but he had to make sure. As soon as that was confirmed, he turned his attention to the people in the room with him.

He rushed over to Emily first, rolling her onto her side and checking her pulse. It was slow, but steady. He looked around at the rest of them, noting the gentle rise and fall of their chests. All alive. He sighed audibly, clasping his hands together in thanks and relief for a split second before turning back to Emily.

He gently shook her, putting his hand on her cheek in what he hoped was a comforting way. His hands were shaking. He wasn’t sure if it was the adrenaline or the comedown. “Emily," he said gently. “Emily, it’s me, Spencer. Wake up Emily.”

After a few more repetitions her eyes fluttered, then opened. She looked up at him hazily. “Spencer?”

“Hi,” he said sadly, knowing there were only a second left until she realized the danger they were in and wanting to let her experience that second in peace.

She glanced behind him where JJ lay unconscious. He looked at her pupils. They were constricted, confirming his suspicions.

“Oh my god,” Emily gasped, her hand reaching up to clutch his shoulder. She leveraged herself against him to drag her way up into a sitting position. She rubbed at her eyes blearily, then opened them again and cast them around the entire room. “Fuck,” she breathed.

“Yeah,” he agreed.

Her eyes snapped back to him. “Are you alright?” she asked urgently, looking him over. “What happened?”

“I’m fine,” he assured her. “And I don’t know. I woke up a minute ago. I don’t remember how I got here. I think we were all drugged.”

She hummed in agreement. “Last thing I remember I was outside my apartment on the way home from the gym. I still feel a little out of it. God, Spencer, you look awful,” she said, putting a hand over his. “What did they do to you?”

“Same thing as you, most likely.” He looked away. “Emily, that’s Hotch over there,” he deflected. “And Derek.”

Emily looked to where he was pointing. Her expression was solemn, professionalism kicking in even in these dire circumstances. “Yeah. And no sign of Tara, Matt, or Luke. And no Penelope, thank God. Whoever did this, they’ve got a grudge against us that predates the others joining the BAU. Someone who met all of us but never had direct interaction with Penelope. This is good. If the others are free, they’ll find us.”

Spencer nodded in agreement. “This is someone with the skill to find Hotch in witness protection. If he wasn’t dead, I would have said it was Scratch. The logistics of kidnapping 6 highly trained federal agents takes an enormous amount of planning and ability. There are only handful of people we’ve encountered with the capacity to pull something like this off.”

She rubbed at her temples. Her eyes were losing the glassy sheen as the adrenaline counteracted the effects of the drugs. “I assume you tried the door?” He nodded. “I guess we should wake the others.”

No sooner than she said it, JJ stirred. They both crawled over to her. Her wake up process went much the same as Emily’s, but for the fact that the first thing she asked about was if her children were safe, before she’d come to enough to realize they had no way of knowing.

“Whoever this is likely targeted you while you were alone,” Spencer assured her. “It’s much safer to take a victim without witnesses, especially a victim who is trained to defend themselves and needs to be physically incapacitated.”

Next, they woke Rossi, who responded immediately by swearing up a storm and threatening to rip the head off whoever was responsible for this.

“Hey, Dave, it’s okay,” said JJ in a calming voice, even as she looked about to cry. “There’s nobody in here but us.”

He breathed. He nodded. He cursed again. He nodded again.

“At least I’m not alone this time,” he said with a world weariness that Spencer felt in his gut.

They had all been in situations like this before, but Rossi was barely recovered from the last time only a few months ago. Spencer still regret so deeply that he wasn’t there to help with Elias Voit.

“No, you’re not alone,” agreed Emily emphatically. “On that note, look who else is here,” she said.

“God fucking dammit,” cursed Rossi as his eyes swept over Derek and landed on Hotch.

Seeing Derek there was upsetting, but it wasn’t as jarring as Hotch’s presence. Derek still came along to the occasional social event, though less and less recently, as he was busy with the birth of his second child. Spencer personally still saw him once a month or so, though the past year their contact had been more limited to phone calls. They were all dreading having to watch him learn he’d been pulled into this nightmare, but if nothing else they could offer him the comfort of familiarity and camaraderie.

But Hotch… none of them had heard so much as a whisper from him in years. When he disappeared, he did so completely. It’s the kind of thing that would have wounded Spencer deeply under any other circumstances, but after everything Daniel Lewis aka Mr Scratch had put him through, he only ever hoped that Hotch had found every semblance of peace that life could give him. He’d missed him badly at times, but he would have rather they never meet again than have to meet like this.

They decided to wake Derek first.

Rossi nearly got a fist in the face before Derek pieced together what was happening. Then, he put a fist directly into a concrete wall instead.

“I’m going to regret that when the drugs wear off,” he said sheepishly once he’d calmed down just a bit. “Whatever they dosed us with, they did not skimp. The comedown is gonna suck,” he said, side eyeing Spencer, who pretended not to notice.

The question and answer was the same as with the others. Do you remember anything about who took you? No. Has anyone tried the door? Yes. Derek threw a shoe at the camera for good measure, but of course it just bounced off the plexiglass and landed pathetically on the floor.

The bang of it hitting the concrete was enough to make Hotch finally stir. They all turned to face him, staring helplessly.

His hair was longer than Spencer had ever seen it. Still short, but more relaxed, skimming the bottom of his ears and starting to curl a little at the base of his neck. He was still lean, but some of the muscle had been replaced by fat. He looked just a little softer. Healthier. His face was peaceful. Spencer always remembered him looking tense, even in his sleep. His hair was streaked with grey but somehow this was the youngest Spencer had ever seen him look.

He stirred a little more, blinking at last.

Ah, there was the familiar tension creeping its way back across his face.

Rossi was the one who finally knelt down beside him. “Aaron? I’m so sorry my friend,” he said sadly as recognition flashed in Hotch’s eyes.

“I’m dreaming,” came the familiar voice. Spencer had missed that voice more than he'd known.

Hotch closed his eyes tightly, then opened them again. He looked past Rossi at the rest of them. Spencer raised his hand in a polite greeting, then immediately felt like an idiot for doing so.

“I’m not dreaming,” he said, no trace of emotion in his voice.

“I’m afraid not,” Rossi confirmed.

Hotch fixed his eyes on Rossi again, pushing himself up so he was sitting against the wall. He looked like he was staring at a ghost, trying to figure where the projector was. “When did you get so old?” he said, reaching out a hand to Rossi’s face and poking at it.

Rossi grabbed the offending hand and clasped it between both of his. “Careful. You’re no spring chicken yourself,” he joked.

“No,” said Hotch, still expressionless. “Peter Lewis is dead. This isn’t my life anymore. He’s dead. They told me he died. I saw photos of the body.”

Spencer didn’t know that, but judging by Rossi’s lack of surprise, he pieced together that the older man had likely made sure the witness protection people had passed the photos along.

“Scratch is dead,” Rossi confirmed. “Whoever did this, it’s not him.”

“This. Isn’t. Real,” Hotch insisted, the first sign of emotion entering his voice in the form of hysteria as he pulled his hand away from Rossi and scrambled to his feet. “All of you stay away from me!” he yelled, looking at each of them in turn.

JJ grabbed onto Spencer’s arm. He flinched at first, then put an arm around her and gave what he hoped was a comforting squeeze. Derek took a step towards Hotch, but Emily held him back.

Hotch backed into the corner, looking at them like a caged animal. They were all caged animals now, Spencer supposed. An unfortunately familiar role.

“Hotch,” Spencer said, surprising himself by speaking. They all turned to look at him. He couldn’t back away now. “This is real. I’m so sorry this is happening to you, but Penelope and the rest of our team aren’t here, which means they are out there looking for us. I know it doesn’t feel real. We have all been drugged and you are probably still feeling the effects. I’m sorry. I wish it wasn’t real, but it is,” Spencer said kindly but emphatically.

“We’ll get out of this together,” said Emily. “It’s going to be okay.”

Hotch’s eyes were looking just a little clearer.

“Listen man, I know what you’re feeling. I got out, too, remember? I have a family and I don’t know if they’re alright. I’m right here with you. We’re all on your side. Do you believe me?” asked Derek, and this time Emily let him take a step forward.

Hotch looked around at all of them again. He assessed them carefully. Then, he turned to the corner, putting his back to them and his hand over his face. It was the closest thing he could get to privacy and Spencer was suddenly grateful to have woken up first to process all of this without being watched.

Well, except for the camera.

They all looked at the floor and did their best to give Hotch space. It was almost a full minute before he finally tuned back around.

There was that stoic expression that Spencer remembered. All that youth and peace was gone from his face in an instant. Spencer hoped so badly that it wasn’t gone for good.

“What do we know?” asked Hotch, crossing his arms.

A moment of silence passed and Spencer wondered if the rest of them felt their hearts breaking into pieces at this cruel facsimile of a reunion.

“Why don’t we start with the last thing each of us remembers?” said Emily, stepping up beside Hotch and looking back at the rest of the room, two natural leaders doing what they do best.

Each of them recounted the details they knew before they woke up in this room.

They had been going about their lives, nothing special. The only common thread they could find was that each of them was alone when their memories stopped.

Derek had been at a picnic with his family and the last thing he remembered was leaving to use the park bathroom. Emily on her way back from the gym. JJ heading out to get groceries. Rossi walking home late from a bar.

“I was driving to work,” said Hotch shortly.

“We’re going to need more detail than that if we want to put together a timeline,” prompted Rossi. "Where do you work?"

Hotch pursed his lips. Spencer could see him strategizing in his head. He wasn’t back in their lives by choice. Spencer understood.

He didn’t get it back when Gideon left, but he got it now. Once you let people in the door, it can be impossible to fully extricate them. Hotch’s old life was filled with trauma he was trying to leave behind and the team were living representations of that past. Spencer couldn’t bring himself to be hurt by the other man’s reticence.

“A legal consultancy in a small town in Kentucky,” he said reluctantly, like divulging the smallest part of his personal life meant inviting the entire FBI right back into it.

“That’s an 8 hour drive,” said Derek. “No wonder you were so out of it compared to the rest of us. You must have been dosed multiple times to keep you under that long.”

“I think you’re right,” he said. “I’m still a bit foggy, if I’m being honest,” he admitted quietly. “What about you, Reid?”

Spencer blinked. “I feel fine.”

“No, I mean what’s the last thing you remember?”

Oh. Right. “I went to sleep in my apartment, then I woke up here,” he said honestly. It wasn’t important what he was doing before he went to sleep.

“Since we can be fairly confident whoever this is took Hotch first,” said Emily, “That probably means they got to you last, Spence. They hit all of us in one day. They must have known the BAU had a day off after closing the last case. They would have had to hit us quick to avoid raising alarms.”

“And the fact that we were all grabbed at different times indicates we’re likely dealing with a single Unsub. Someone highly organized and familiar with each of our routines.”

“The Unsub must have been planning this for a long time. Finding someone in witness protection, especially a former profiler, would take an incredible amount of skill or resources,” said Spence. “They stalked us, learned our routines, then used blitz attacks to stop us from being able to fight back.”

It didn’t take long for them to get into the flow. He felt his panic slipping away as his brain shifted into work mode. At some point they all went from standing to sitting in a circle on the floor.

It felt ridiculous to think about, but Spencer couldn't help but be mildly self conscious being the only one of them in his pajamas, as he was taken in his sleep. He was just glad it was a cold night so he'd been wearing nice, full length ones and not boxers and a shirt or something to that affect. Derek, Emily and JJ were all dressed in comfortable day wear. Rossi and Hotch in suits. Hotch was interesting, though. Spencer had rarely seen him outside of a crisp black suit characteristic of an FBI agent. The one he wore now was navy with a striped tie. It looked good on him.

They put together a more detailed timeline and looked back on the past few months of their lives to discuss anything that could have possibly been out of the ordinary.

The more they talked, the less cagey Hotch was about his life. It was strange to learn more about the day to day he had been living in the years since they’d seen him.

None of them talked about their kids or partners beyond a simple acknowledgement of their existence. They were all acutely aware of the camera on the roof. Whoever was doing this didn’t need to know any more about their families than they already did.

Their phones had been taken and none of them had anything to write with, so they were relying on Spencer to catalogue and compile the information in his brain. He did just that, and after a couple hours they had what was likely a fairly reliable timeline, including geographical information.

Whoever was doing this, they were extremely organized, meticulous, and quick. Not one of them saw it coming. None of them could point to any strange interactions they had over the past months, any red flags, any signs of being followed.

When it came time for Spencer to recount the details of the last months of his life, the others stared at him intently. “I haven’t seen you in person in months,” said Derek. “You don’t look so great, pretty boy.”

“I don’t know how to tell you this, but the bunker we’re currently locked in isn’t making the rest of you look at your healthiest, either.”

“You know what I mean,” said Derek with an affectionate eyeroll.

“You know I was doing some classified work for the bureau. That’s why I couldn’t be there for what happened with Voit,” he said with an apologetic look to Rossi, who waved his hand dismissively. They had already been over this when Spencer first got back. He noticed Hotch raise a curious eyebrow. “I can’t talk about the work since we’re currently being recorded,” he said, nodding up at the camera. “Emily knows the details. It was nothing bad, just research that kept me out off the grid for a while. But if the Unsub could find Hotch in witness protection, then it’s possible they could have been tailing me for that long.”

“That finished months ago,” pointed out Emily. “What have you been doing while you’re on sabbatical?”

“A few guest lecture series at Virginia Tech and spending time with my mom, mostly. I just needed a break. I’m sorry I haven’t been around much. I guess I’ve been a bit distracted. I haven’t seen or experienced anything unusual, though.”

“I hope your mom’s doing okay,” said JJ comfortingly, prompting the rest of them to nod sympathetically.

He just nodded back. She was doing fine, honestly, not that he’d been visiting as often as he should. Easier to let them assume she was the reason he had been absent.

“Why are you doing this?” said Hotch, standing up and looking directly at the camera once they realized none of them had any more details to share at this point. “What do you want from us? Tell us what it is and maybe we can give it to you.”

The camera blinked its red light at them, showing no care for their presence.

Hotch sighed. He looked down at them all helplessly. His eyes stopped short on Derek. He knelt down, staring at something on the side of his head. “What?” asked Derek, leaning away in concern at Hotch’s suddenly very close face.

“Hold still,” said Hotch. He waved Emily over, who shuffled round to his side. “Right… there,” he said, hovering a finger just behind Derek’s ear.

Her eyes widened. Hotch looked at her questioningly, then turned his own head and tucked his hair away so that she could see behind his ear.

“You have it too,” she said. She did the same as him and he checked her over. They looked at each other again and he nodded.

They all stared at them expectantly, though Spencer was pretty sure he knew what they were seeing.

“Puncture marks at the top of the neck, just behind the ear,” Emily explained. “That’s where we were injected.”

Spencer, Rossi and JJ all checked each other. Sure enough, same thing.

“That means we were likely attacked from behind,” said Derek.

“Do we know what we were drugged with?” said Hotch, shooting an almost imperceptible glance in Spencer’s direction.

His skin crawled at the way none of them wanted to look at him, to just come right out and say it. He didn’t particularly want to talk about it. Not really. But they always acted like the subject was poison and it made him feel like he had to walk on eggshells too. Like the reality of his life was harder for them to hear than it was for him to live.

“I am fairly confident it was some kind of opioid,” he said, careful to keep the irritation out of his voice.

JJ put her hand on his and he felt the irritation dissipate.

They cared about him. He knew that. It’s not as if they were wrong to worry. They had talked about it a little over the years, but not enough that it had stopped being awkward every time it came up.

“Are you certain?” asked Rossi. “Could have been a tranquilizer.”

“I’m certain,” said Spencer. “Trust me, I know the feeling.”

Derek reached a foot across the circle and bumped it against Spencer’s knee in a supportive gesture, like saying ‘I’m here with you.’ Emily smiled at him softly, reassuringly.

“It could have been cut with something,” pointed out Hotch.

“The totality of the blackout indicates it may have been cut with a sedative of some kind, as a high enough dose of opioids to include that kind of memory loss reliably could be unsafe and none of us are suffering significant enough side effects to indicate that’s the case. Whoever did this knew exactly what dosage to use,” he explained. “But… I am quite sure it was predominantly an opioid.”

Of course he was sure.

“Jesus,” said JJ. “I’m sorry, Spence.”

“I don’t believe in fate but the universe does seem to have a strange way of conspiring to get you high,” deadpanned Emily.

Derek shot her a harsh look, but Spencer cracked a smile. “I think ‘an Unsub made me do it’ is going to start sounding like ‘a dog ate my homework’ to my sponsor,” he joked back, relief washing over him that they weren’t going to dance around it the entire time they were in here. Not that he’d spoken to his sponsor in more than a year. They didn’t need to know that.

The others smiled too. “You’ll be alright, kid,” said Rossi. “If you kept it together after Mexico, you’ll get through this.”

That would have been a comforting statement if not for the fact that it was completely false. It didn’t matter anyway. Penelope and the rest of the team would find them and get them out before any of this became an issue.

Or they wouldn’t. But he couldn’t think about that yet.

A crease sat deep between Hotch’s eyebrows. “Mexico?”

“You don’t know?” said Emily. “I just assumed you were across everything to do with the Scratch case.”

“No,” said Hotch. “I accepted proof of his death and told the liaison I didn’t want to know anything else.”

“It’s complicated,” said Rossi. “There were other players involved, but the short version is Reid was drugged and framed for murder. It wasn’t pretty.”

“We don’t need to go into the details,” said Spencer, oddly embarrassed at the idea of Hotch knowing just how prone to being victimized he apparently still is. He knew it wasn’t rational, given the things that had happened to Hotch and the fact that all of them were in this locked room as victims together.

Hotch looked at him. Spencer couldn’t read his expression at all. Eventually he just nodded and let it drop.

Before any of them could say another word, there was a banging at the door. The hatch on the other side of the door chamber opened.

Derek got to the door first, trying to rip the hatch on their side open. He shouted at the door “What do you want?! Talk to me! Just tell us what you want!”

There was no response.

The only thing they could see was a hand covered in a thick leather glove sliding a piece of paper in. It was a smaller hand than expected.

He continued pulling but the panel didn’t budge until the other one had closed completely. Derek stumbled backwards as the panel suddenly released.

“It’s soundproof,” Spencer said, despairing. “There was no sound of footsteps on the other side.”

Emily grabbed the note from the chamber. They all whipped around to watch her as she read the words aloud.

“Hello, old friends,” she started, all of them frozen in place and hanging off her every word. “I know you are wondering why you are here. It is simple. You dragged my secrets into the light and then put me in a cage. At first I wanted to get revenge. Then I watched you for a long time and I learned all about you and I learned that we are the same. I saw how you are suffering. How you are scared. All hiding. I remember when I had to hide. For so long I hid even from myself. Now, because of you, I am free. Even when I was in a cage, I was free, because I had no secrets anymore.

I want to give you the freedom you gave to me. Soon, you will not have secrets. You will see that in this room you cannot hide and that when there is nothing left to hide, you will be free.”

Emily looked up from the letter, meeting all of their eyes in turn. There was a painful lump in Spencer’s throat.

If he was being honest with himself, he knew it as soon as he woke up in this room and saw them all there. He knew they weren’t going to make it out in time. He knew the Unsub must have watched him closely enough to know what was going on with him. He knew he wasn’t making it out of this without all of them seeing him for exactly who he is.

Now, he thought, might be the time to fall apart.

41 notes · View notes

huntingingoodwill · 2 years

Text

waitress! (r.f.)

masterlist

pairing: robert fischer x waitress! reader

desc: in which you’re intrigued by the important looking man with a froot loops addiction who goes out of his way to eat at the diner you work at every morning.

“I will have…” His voice had trailed off pensively as he flipped the sticky, peeling menu over in his hand. “Froot Loops.” He said decisively.

Your jaw had paused its movement, hanging a little slack as you stopped chewing your gum, blinking at him in disbelief. His pale pink lips turned up into an unassuming smile.

You had raised your eyebrows, chuckling a little as you scrawled the order down onto your notepad.

“Okay.” You had muttered through your lopsided smile, fingers ghosting his as he handed you the menu. “Froot Loops.”

That was the first time you met him. He intrigued you from the start.

A man like him, in his sharp suit and expensive car, looked far too important to be smiling at you gratefully as you poured milk into his little plastic bowl, leaning forward to avoid staining his pristine dress shirt while slurping up the neon rings.

He looked far too important to even be in the dingy little diner you worked at, a quiet place on the outskirts of the city. It was far out of the way of anything exciting, its purpose usually reserved to serving travellers who were just passing through.

So, it was even more intriguing to you that he kept coming back.

It had been a week since your first encounter with him, and he arrived every morning at the crack of dawn.

Now, you braced your hands on the counter, restlessly tapping your fingers against the surface as you narrowed your eyes, staring at him curiously. You hardly got any regulars, but he showed up every morning, disgustingly early, just to have a bowl of the same cereal in the same squeaky vinyl booth. You couldn’t figure him out.

You watched him take the last, dribbling sip of coffee from his mug, and you took the opportunity, picking up a fresh pot and hopping over the counter.

You refilled his mug full of the black, steaming liquid as he thanked you, scanning through the newspaper.

“You know we serve real food, right?” You smirked, picking up his now empty bowl, the colourful dust from the cereal clinging to the bottom of it.

“Froot Loops are real food. Breakfast of champions, right?” He reached a finger out, tapping on the bowl in your hand. “Besides, your real food probably isn’t served on dishes with kangaroos on ‘em.”

You laughed, shaking your head as you looked down at the childishly designed bowl, a tiny cartoon kangaroo hopping along the bottom of it.

“No respectable place should serve food on plates without cartoons on them.” He said in mock seriousness.

“We’re not really a respectable place.” You raised your eyebrows, nodding toward the drab interior of the restaurant, all dull fluorescent lights and greasy linoleum. “But, next time ‘round, you order an omelette and I’ll get the chef to serve it on whatever plate you want. Does you no good, eating that sugary crap everyday.” You laughed.

“Thanks.” He grinned, peering at the little metal badge pinned to your uniform, your name spelt in looping cursive. “(Y/N).”

“You’re welcome…” Your voice lilted questioningly.

“Robert.”

“Robert.” You repeated.

“Would you like to sit down? I’ll buy you a coffee.” He offered.

“The coffee here is shit.” You blurted, eliciting a laugh from him as you gestured with the pot in your hand. “And I can’t, sorry.” You said, giving him a rueful smile, eyebrows furrowing. “My boss would kill me if I do.”

“And you’d break my heart if you don’t.”

You bit your lip, eyes flickering around the diner, noting that your boss was still in the back, probably thumbing through his phone and staving off sleep.

“Well,” you said, sliding into the booth across from him as you set the bowl and pot back onto the table. “We can’t let that happen, can we?”

You leaned forward conspiratorially. “Can I ask you a question, Robert?”

He looked at you amusedly, nodding.

“What’s a man like you doing in a shithole like this?”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.” He chuckled, feigning innocence.

“Oh, you know!” You exclaimed, jabbing a finger into his arm, prompting his laughter. “We never get any regulars. But you-” You waggled a finger in his smiling face. “Come here every morning, right at the break of dawn, driving all the way up here from the city just to go right back down. Why would anyone go through all that trouble just… for a bowl of cereal and some bad coffee?”

“Maybe…” He drummed his fingers on the table in contemplation. “I just really like Froot Loops.”

You shot him a derisive look.

“Okay, okay… well, there’s just a lot to like here.”

“Oh, really?”

“Sure… I mean, the service, for one. There’s this really great waitress here.” He mumbled, lips turning upward.

“Oh, really?” You smirked.

“Really.” He laughed. “She caught my eye the first time I came here and well... she works all alone during the morning shift. She’s pretty, and always looks at me a little weird whenever I come in. I’ve been wanting to talk to her for a while now, but I just haven’t got the guts.” He gave you a shy smile. “So I wake up early, drive up here from the city, eat, build up the courage to talk to her, lose it, then drive all the way back down just in time to go to work.”

You felt a blush creeping up your neck, and you knocked your scuffed sneaker against his polished dress shoe.

“I don’t like cowardly men, Robert.” You joked, picking up his mug and taking a sip.

“I’ll have to work on that, then.” He replied, holding out his hand as you placed the mug back in it.

“(Y/N)! What the hell are you doing?!” You jumped as your boss appeared in front of you, his harsh voice an unwelcome interruption.

“It’s alright, sir, I asked her to-” Robert began, only to be cut off immediately.

“Look buddy, I don’t pay her to sit on her ass out he-”

Robert dug into his pocket, pulling out a couple of bills. He placed them on the table, sliding them in the direction of your boss.

His eyes widened. It was more than what both of you would have made on your shift. Your boss cleared his throat, sheepishly tucking the money into his pocket.

“...Carry on.” He coughed, walking away with his tail between his legs.

You turned to Robert, laughing incredulously. “You like me that much, huh?”

He raised his eyebrows as he held his coffee to his lips, obscuring his smile.

The two of you talked for ages, laughing until the sun peaked over the hills, shining bright golden rays through the windows and illuminating his bright blue eyes, highlighting the freckles on his cheeks.

Your eyes widened, grabbing his wrist and looking at the face of his watch as you snapped back into reality. When you were talking to Robert, it was like you were in your own little bubble, time trickling by without you noticing. “Don’t you have to get to work? You’ll be late!” You exclaimed.

“No one cares if the boss is late.” He said, causing relief to wash over you.

“Brag.” You teased.

“But I could go for a coffee.” He said. “Somewhere you actually like. And, maybe somewhere that also has cartoon kangaroos on their dishes. Y'know. A respectable place."

You laughed, hurriedly untying your apron, tossing it over the counter, and ignoring your boss’ annoyed expression as the balled-up cloth thwacked him in the face.

The bell on the door sounded overhead as he held it open for you, making your way toward his car.

You tucked your hands into your jacket pockets as the gravel of the parking lot crunched below your feet, letting out a low whistle as you laid your eyes on his no doubt expensive car, the model looking out of place in front of the lacklustre restaurant.

"You like it?" He asked.

"Sure I do!" You replied, admiring it. "Who wouldn't?"

"You wanna drive it?" He offered.

You gaped at him. "Seriously?"

"If it'll make you happy." He said. You nodded eagerly and he grinned, tossing them in your direction as he rounded the car, sliding into the passenger seat.

You drummed your fingers against the steering wheel as you settled into the seat, whooping as you revved the engine, feeling the car rumble to life.

"Where to, sir?" You flashed him a gleaming smile.

"To the city!" He exclaimed, causing you to let out a joyous cheer. He turned to look at you, his lips quirking upward. "Together, this time."

#robert fischer #robert fischer x reader #robert fischer imagine #robert fischer imagines #robert fischer fic #robert fischer fics #robert fischer fanfic #robert fischer fanfiction #robert fischer x y/n #robert fischer x you #inception #inception fic #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy imagines #cillian murphy #tom hardy

827 notes · View notes

motocorsas · 2 months

Text

Maverick is small and has large eyes like a girl, Jack thinks, but then it's been a while since he's seen a girl really, so maybe he's grasping at straws. He thinks about girls, tries to imagine soft hair and thin waists without just looking across the room. He closes his eyes in the shower and thinks only about lithe frames, shorter than him, looking up -- not Spanish, not low-voiced and creeping away, no, no, and then he has to hold his face under the water until he's not thinking of anything at all. It's not gay, not like this. It's like prison, which is almost a comfort, except that he knows their proximity is optional. He keeps on choosing Maverick. Jack continues to believe the story anyway; that he's got a couple wires crossed in his brain and is treating his roommate-turned-awkwardly-intimate-guy-friend like some kind of... like a girl.

Like, he doesn't think about it anymore, when they're sitting on the narrow couch of the motorhome, and someone's arm is around someone else's shoulder. They don't even need to be talking about anything, but when they are, it moves quickly from oh good race to and that's why I'm worried I'll never be enough in a way that reminds Jack how alone he is, was, how much he needs connection. He tells Maverick about the years in CEV, living in a trailer, lost in a whirlwind of speed, countries and names flickering by too fast to count. He tells Maverick about living in Spain even though Maverick knows what that's like, has lived there his whole life. He thinks maybe they could have been friends, if they grew up together. If they spoke each others' languages.

They're staring at the ceiling with the lights out. This is normal now, Jack thinks, both of them stretched out on the twin couches that line the minuscule living room of the motorhome. They won't sneak back to their bedrooms til midnight, and 11:30 is blinking on the analog clock on the counter when Maverick asks, "What are you thinking about, you know, after?"

"After?"

"For Moto3, will you stay, or...?"

Jack looks at Maverick. His pale skin looks blue in the dark, not fluorescent, but the greyish blue of a rough sea. Jack thinks that he hasn't seen the sea for a long while.

"No, I won't," is what Jack settles on. He's trying not to sit up, start moving his hands. "I want to move up. I thought -- I mean, KTM is so good, so I'd work with them in Moto2, and Aki said it was a good idea, but," he drags off there, unintentionally.

"But what?"

"Well you know I said I talked to VDS, and they said I'd be a good fit, they believe in me. In MotoGP."

"In MotoGP," Maverick repeats, and it sounds small, the way he says it. His voice is like that, too gentle for the rest of him.

"Yeah,"

"With me?"

"Yeah,"

#i never post drafts let's see how long this lasts before i take it down lmao #motogp #motogp rpf #jack miller #maverick viñales

26 notes · View notes

giggly-squiggily · 6 months

Text

Doodle Boy (Blue Lock)

AND BOOM! We've got ourselves some good ol' Bachisagi! :D I was talking to a dear friend of mine (you know who you are :D) and the next thing I knew- here we are! It's not exactly how we discussed it (honestly it's been so long since we really talked about it I forgot what the original idea was) but I'm proud of it and I think you're gonna like it too!

Cloud 9 (Taglist Peeps):

@myreygn @cupcake-spice13 @chibisstuff @imjusthere07 @riisada

Summary: Bachira has a knack for drawing and doodles away in his notebook. For all his talent in drawing the people around him however- he can never quite capture his boyfriend.

Bachira grew up surrounded by paint.

The smell of acrylics. The faded stains on his mom’s fingers and clothes when she finished up for the day. The endless paintings of monsters and fields alike she created in her studio. Growing up, he loved sitting by as his mom worked, leaning on his soccer ball with wide eyed wonder.

“You know, Meguru. I have extra supplies- why don’t you join me?” She invited him once, warmth in her smile and green splashed across her cheek.

“Really? I can?” He was on his feet in seconds, running over to her as she pulled down an old sketchbook and pencils, all varying shades of the rainbow.

“Of course you can, baby. Come on- let’s draw some pictures.”

~~~

The pack of gel pens seemed to call to him when he looked- glittering in the fluorescent lights of the drug store.

“Hm? What is it?” Rin blinked, raising a brow when Bachira seemed frozen to the spot. “Do you want them?”

“What? Oh- Oh no. Nah, I just…” He looked at them again, brows furrowed. “I don’t…”

“...” Rin looked at him, then at the pens. Then- with a sigh, he walked over, picking up the pack and a pad of paper sitting below. “If you can’t afford them, I’ll pay.”

“Huh? Oh no- I can-”

“And if you can, I’m still paying. You want them, even if you're too stubborn to admit it.” Without looking back, Rin carried on his shopping, grabbing a bag of chips on the way to the cash register.

Bachira stared after him, eyes feeling strangely wet. Then he smiled, shaking his head and following. “I’m gonna draw you extra pwetty, RinRin~”

“Call me that again and I’m keeping the pens.”

~~~

Bachira tapped an ocean blue pen against his cheek, tongue poking out as he looked down at the paper. Isagi looked back at him.

Well- doodled Isagi. He didn’t quite capture the other boy right- the hair looked smooth and glossy, and his features were all in the right places. There was just something so…lifeless about it. The face was there, but there wasn’t any soul behind it.

Surrounding this particular doodle were others- poses of his fellow and former teammates alike. Chigiri, a human lightning bolt, streaks of pink flying behind him as he dashed across the page. Kunigami, standing tall on the Blue Lock building, a cape fluttering behind him as he struck a superman pose. He even drew Nagi, curled up in a gray futon with purple checkered print.

Aryu striking one of his magnificent poses. Tokimitsu’s nervous but kind expression. Rin melting into water. They all came so easily to Bachira, like he could pluck the image of them out of his mind and smooth them on the page.

And yet…

The door slid open. Bachira shoved the notebook beneath the pillow just as Isagi walked in, a towel around his neck. “Man, if there’s one thing I like here, it’s the baths! I feel so…refreshed.” He spoke between a yawn, cracking one of those impossibly blue eyes open to watch Bachira. “You good? You look like a deer in headlights.”

“Isagi~” Bachira schooled his features into a relaxed expression, grinning as he rolled onto his back, securing his notebook beneath the pillow. “Come cuddle with me.”

~~~

Isagi wasn’t one to pry. If he noticed Bachira’s sudden shyness around his notebook, he didn’t say. None of the team seemed to, if the dribbler were being honest. He’d get a few curious looks his way as he scribbled, but no one formally asked what he was working on or for a peek. It was something Bachira appreciated and grew bummed by. There were other pages he was willing to show, just…not these.

Another Isagi. Another frustrating attempt. He just looked so wrong! Every sketch had something amiss; his eyes were dull in this one, his nose was shaped weird in that, his smile was missing that versatility in it all around. It was just…off!

“Bachira, we’re heading out to dinner-” Isagi poked his head in just as Bachira nearly tore the paper out. “Whoa, what are you doing?”

“Huh? Oh!” Panicked, Bachira tried to shove the notebook away, but it was too late. Isagi was already across the room, resting his hands gently over Bachira’s.

“Dude, relax. I’m sure what you drew isn’t-” Isagi looked down and- paused. Staring. Bachira felt his heart rate accelerate as Isagi took in the slightly crumpled paper, eyes following every line and shape and block of color. His face was unreadable, further worsening Bachira’s anxiety.

“I-Isagi…”

“Bachira…these are incredible!” Isagi looked up, eyes shining as he grinned. “I didn’t know you could draw so well!” He looked back down, smoothing out the paper as he took in the doodled version of himself. “Dude- I look so cool! That..sounded kinda vain, huh?” He flipped the page, blinking when he found more of his face. “Oh wow…”

“D-Don’t look at those!” Bachira tossed himself over Isagi’s lap, hiding the notebook under him as his face burned. “They’re all wrong! Every single one!”

“Wrong? What’s wrong with them- I think they’re great.” His boyfriend poked lightly at his back, trying to peek around him. “And I’m not just saying that cause it’s my face.”

Bachira made a soft noise of distress, burying his face in Isagi’s thigh. Isagi frowned, noting the mood. “Bachira? Are you okay? Oh jeez, was this one of those private notebooks? If so, I'm sorry for prying-”

“No, it’s not…it’s not that.” Bachira sounded muffled, but Isagi could make out his words when he leaned down. “They’re terrible, all of them! I can’t draw you!”

“...I mean, I only got a glance but, Bachira, they look good.” Isagi offered gently, playing with the strands of hair along Bachira’s neck. “I don’t understand- how are they terrible?”

“They don’t look right! None of them really look like you!” The strokes seemed to calm him down some, but Bachira still sounded so…sad. “I didn’t want you to see them until I had you down pat, but…I don’t know why- you’re just too perfect!”

“Pfft!” He hadn’t meant to laugh, but Isagi found himself snorting at the word choice. Bachira gave him a mild pout as his boyfriend pressed his free hand over his mouth. “Sorry- sorry; I’m just not used to hearing someone call me that.” He dropped his hand, smile remaining. “But seriously- you don’t need to draw me perfect. The fact you drew me at all is such an honor! It’s perfect as is.”

Bachira didn’t look convinced, turning away and keeping his pout. Isagi reached up, gently poking his shoulder blade. “Bachira.”

“No.” Bachira huffed, pouting more even when he squirmed. “I don’t want it.”

“Do you really mean that?” When Bachira didn’t respond, Isagi poked him again, making him squirm more. “If you don’t want this, roll out of my lap.”

He paused, waiting. Bachira didn’t move.

“Figured.” He teased, switching to gentle clawing, running his hand across Bachira’s shoulder blades. The dribbler twitched in response, starting to smile despite himself. “You love it when I tickle you. Now- I’m not gonna stop until you let me see that notebook of yours!”

“Noohohohohoo! It’s ehehhembaahhaharassing!” Bachira whined, kicking his feet as Isagi carried on his tickly touch. “Iihihiihihiisahahahahgi!”

“Don’t try to lie- I watch you, you know? I see how pouty you get whenever none of us ask about your drawings! You want to show me!” Isagi pressed in, earning a proper bout of laughter from the smaller boy. “You want to show everyone your work!”

“Ahehahhahhaha! Dooohohohohn’t saahhahahy it ohohoohohutloohohohohud!” Despite his protests, he felt his heart do a little skip knowing Isagi was watching him. He tried fighting back, poking at the brunette’s ribs with quick fingers. “Thahahhake thahahaht!”

“AH!” Isagi yelped, nearly falling over. “Oh you’re slick! Come here!” He wrestled him on the bed, tossing the notebook out of the danger zone as he dug a hand into Bachira’s armpit, earning a squeal. “You’re really gonna get it now!”

“EHEHEHEHEHHEHHEHESAGIHIHIHIHIIHII!” Bachira howled, flailing on the bed beneath his boyfriend. Isagi just HAD to go for the spot right along the back of his pits, tickling both them and his dreadful shoulder blades at once! He’s too knowledgeable- Bachira unintentionally awakened a monster. “PLEAHHAHAHHASE IT TIHIIHIHIHCKLES!”

“That’s the point, buddy.” Isagi cooed, leaning in and pressing a loud smooch into Bachira’s cheek. “You gonna keep shitting on your amazing art or am I gonna have to destroy you?”

“AHEHAHAHHAHA! DOOHOOHN’T THRHEHHAHAHTHEN MEHHEHE WITH A GOOHOHOHOD TIME!” Bachira squeaked out, making Isagi guffaw. It wasn’t long before they were both laughing, side by side in the messy bed as they gasped for air between giggle fits. “Yohoohu’re toohoohohoo good at that!” Bachira fake whined, pinching his boyfriend’s side.

“Ehe! I learned from the best.” Isagi smiled at him, eyes soft and warm and god he looked so kissable right now-

“Mmph!” Isagi made a noise of surprise when Bachira leaned in, capturing his lips with his own. It didn’t take long before Isagi returned the favor, melting against him. “What was that for?” He asked when they eventually broke apart.

“Felt like it.” Bachira grinned before his smile dampened, a shadow passing over his eyes. “Do you…really mean it?”

“About? Oh.” Isagi blinked, shaking out of his brain fog. “About your art? Absolutely!” Reaching back, he pulled the notebook over, handing it to Bachira with a patient smile. “You don’t have to show me now- but I do think your work is amazing. There’s so much…you in it, you know? Like- just that one piece alone- that’s what the artsy folks call it right? A piece? Anyway- looking at it, I could feel you in it- like you were using your soul as ink. I know it’s me- but I felt like we were one in that moment.” He smiled a bit awkwardly, scratching his cheek. “That sounded really pretentious now, didn’t it?”

Bachira couldn’t speak. He couldn’t find his voice. His vision suddenly grew very blurry.

“Bachira? Oh my god- I’m so sorry! I meant it in a good way! Please, don’t cry.” Isagi sounded panicked, reaching out and wiping the tears falling down his boyfriend’s face with his thumb. “I’m sorry.”

“N-No, no it’s not-” Bachira sniffed, smiling through the tears. “I’m so happy…I’m just-really, really happy right now.” Isagi’s face relaxed, and he leaned in to kiss Bachira’s wet cheeks. “That means more than you know, Isagi. Thank you.”

Isagi smiled, cheeks warming with pride. He leaned in to kiss him properly before starting to sit up. “We should get dinner before they close the cafeteria. Care to join me?”

Bachira laughed, sitting up and putting his notebook back in its usual place. “I’d love to.” He took Isagi’s outstretched hand, letting himself be pulled up and escorted, hand in hand. “And I love you, Yoichi.”

The other looked back at him, eyes dancing. His smile nearly split his face from how happy he looked. It never failed to take Bachira’s breath away. “I love you too, Meguru.”

Later that night, Bachira finally drew his perfect Isagi- smiling the way he did in that moment.

Thanks for reading!

#blue lock #tickle #tickle fic #fluff #bachira meguru #isagi yoichi #bachisagi #rin being soft for Bachira #he's got a soft spot- but who honestly doesn't for the dork?#we all love him!

43 notes · View notes

superblysubpar · 5 months

Note

Ooh I have to ask about Wave!

Love you, have the best day! 💕

Ask Me About My WIPs

Have the best day too, my love!

Hmm, "Wave" she's had quite a few different names. This is a one shot I started back in April, and I just haven't quite ever finished it or gotten the exact vibe I want down? It's a 90's -ish kind of AU? One where Steve is cut-off from his parents finally. So here's a bunch of info on it, cause I have no set date, and inspiration is far and fleeting lately 💛

summary: He's just a sad, rich boy, who doesn't know how to do his laundry - but he certainly knows what he's doing with his tongue.

the tune: Waves by Miguel, feat. Kacey Musgraves

and here, what the heck, have the beginning of the fic haha:

The familiar clink and ting of zippers and buttons against the metal spinning drum harmonize with the rush of water as machines start their rinse cycles. The buzz of the flickering, overhead fluorescents on their last legs strain to be a part of the melody too. Shouts of joy, flashing lights accompanied by obnoxious buzzers and the clicking wheel of The Price Is Right drift out of the TV in the corner. All of it almost in tune with the rhythmic blink of the red neon sign announcing the hours of Surfin' Suds.

The noises of your every day routine fade in and out, and if someone gets close enough they'll hear soft lyrics spilling from your cheap headphones. Britney sings of being afraid of love as you fold your laundry, your brain a happy blank canvas as your hands move through the motions without thought.

Despite the stinging of your nose from the owner's new 'not-quite-lemon' lemon floor cleaner, Saturday night shifts are your favorite. Usually, you get the entire place to yourself, allowing you to catch up on your own laundry needs. Everyone else is always too busy having a life on a weekend evening.

That is, everyone except for Mr. Clueless it seems.

This is the third Saturday in a row he's ventured to your little oasis. The neon reds and blues on the glass windows highlight the lines of his jaw and sharp nose. They add a warmth to his caramel hair that has to be as soft as it looks - though it seems to get more disheveled each time he comes in.

The first time Mr. Clueless arrived, he was empty handed and looked very lost and confused. When you glanced up from your magazine, and asked if he needed help, he gave a quiet and curt, "Nope, thanks," turned on his heel and left.

The second, you weren't quite sure if it even counted, because he never actually made it inside. He had a bag this time, and as you watched through the glass windows, he walked up to the door and turned around three times, before he got in his car and left.

Today, the annoying chime of the door rattles, and you look up to find him dragging a bulging, black garbage bag and a bottle of what appeared to be fabric softener. He has a plain white shirt on that reflects the neon softly, rumpled, though still nice light blue Levi's that you glance away from as he bends at the waist.

His Nike blazers that have seen far better days squeak against the linoleum floor, coming to an abrupt stop in front of the dryers. The heat on your cheeks receding as you bite your cheek, holding back a smile. When you glance up, he runs a hand through his hair, messing it up further, before he meets your eye. His head dips in a small nod, hand raising in a short wave, before he places both on his hips. He stares at the dryer in front of him like it was the hardest puzzle he's ever encountered.

His mouth moves and you slip a head phone off in curiosity, catching the end of his annoyed and frustrated, "...what the fuck is permanent press?"

Your mouth opens, ready to explain that, number one, that's a dryer and he should probably start with a washing machine, and number two permanent press is-

"Oh, jesus, Harrington. Wash your clothes first before drying them." He spins, dragging his bag across to the washers.

Mr. Clueless taps the top of the machine with two fingers, eyes narrowing as he takes in the dials and buttons. His face starts to twist, hand reaching up and rubbing at the back of his neck, fingers catching a silver chain and hair that's just a tad too long.

"Quarters? Fuck."

Your snort has his head whipping up to face you. His eyes narrow but his cheeks turn pink and you slide your headphones down to your neck as you clear your throat.

"Sorry, I..." you wrack your brain for a polite way to tell him his cluelessness was actually more endearing rather than pathetic.

"I'm laughing with you, not at you?" Your shoulders raise in a wince, shaking your head, "I mean...I...first time?"

His shoulders fall, but he laughs, dragging his hands down his face as he mumbles behind them, "That obvious?"

#taylor's asks 💋#wip game #pastel 💞#steve harrington #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader

25 notes · View notes

fullofgutsndopamine · 10 days

Text

i'll wake (with coffee in the morning)

Having a late night with hasan, where he breaks down about how much stress he is under with work and Amelie and stuff so you both go to bed super late. Letting hasan sleep in the next morning cause he doesn't have work or a morning skate and to be honest he doesn't get enough sleep. Him freaking out about trying to get breakfast together for amelie and him coming downstairs to you having made breakfast for both of them, just trying to do small things to help because you care about them both so much omg I'm so soft for this series sorry I'm rambling

tw/angst (genuinely, this is all angst), curing, mention of past abuse/toxic family,

FITPS verse, not necessary reading, but more in the same verse here if you're interested

"Hasan."

it's the third time he rolls over in bed with a huff, that you realize sleep won't be finding hasan tonight.

The light from the shitty convivence store the next block open with the fluorescent OPEN sign that blinks and hums in the dark shines in your eyes, no matter how you reposition yourself

He huffs, doesn't answer, scoots up in bed so his back is against the bedframe.

And you sit up, turn the light on and illuminate the small room, your hand on his chest, voice is borderline pleading: "hasan, talk to me."

this happens, ocassionaly.

it's been awhile, since he's been like this, when the anxiety hits and the sleepless nights find him.

But when they do find him, it's usually after a long week, him struggling to juggle Amelie, her school and hockey practice, and him-with his job; business has picked up, and while it's good for paychecks, you can't ignore the dark bags under his eyes and the groaning of his bones when he goes to pick Amelie up, throw her in the air, the missed dinners he's passed by, sleeping on the couch, too tired to even walk up the stairs-

he doesn't answer.

stares straight ahead, runs his hands through his hair, shaking, unsure of himself, his voice cracks, and he doesn't look at you, like this has been on the back of his mind for a while-

"What if all of this was a mistake?"

He laughs, but it's without humor, his eyes dark:

"Like, what if she's actually fucked by me raising her? What if she turns out like me?"

this is heavy, especially for a Thursday night, but you know this song and dance, are an expert in it-

"hasan, come on."

"No," He shakes his head, "You come on-"

He's spiraling, and there's only one fix.

You throw the old quilt off your body, wiggle your toes against the cold wood floors as you pad to his side, hold your hand out:

"hasan, come on-"

He doesn't say anything back, but allows you to tangle your hand into his, to pull him out of bed, and lead as you slowly lead down the creaking steps, to the couch where you let him fall onto, curl next to him:

"hasan," You try, your voice borders on pleading, "What's going on?"

You pull him closer, against his chest, your hands tangled into his hair, pulling at it gently, something he usually likes, finds comforting-

His voice is weak, like he's thought about this all week, tossed and turned, lost sleep over it-

"I don't want her to end up like me," His voice breaks somewhere in the middle, "Like, to be fucked up like me? Didn't even fucking finish school, working at a shop like a fucking loser. Maybe my Dad was right."

He snorts, but there's no humor, his eyes dark.

"hasan, come on. You just need some sleep." Your voice borders on pleading.

instead, his voice is dark: "Like, this is the kicker, right?" he snorts, "You grow up and your family is shit, dies early, leaves you alone to raise a kid, right?"

He laughs, shakes his head, "And the whole time, you're terrified you're going to fuck her up. Turn out like her Father, or even worse, like you, right? And you can't do a damn thing about it."

"hasan," You plead, "You aren't a fuck up-"

"And it's all going to be my fucking fault," He shakes his head, "I can't blame anyone but myself."

Sometimes, when he gets like this, there's no talking him off the ledge.

instead, it's laying against the couch, pulling him into you, gently ruffling his hair, letting him rant into your pajama shirt, goes from borderline yelling, to sobbing, whole body shaking weeping that leaves wet stains on your shirt that you both ignore, holding him close, praying for it to be over-

by the time he's exhausted, when his eyes are drooping and low, from lack of sleep, and from crying, he leads you by the hand up the creaking stairs, to the old bedroom-

the only saving grace, you can think of, as you lay in the bed, is that tomorrow is his only day off after a full week of working late, showing up to Amelie's practices just in time, peeling his grease stained shirt off in the parking lot, trying to look presentable after a long day, the world beating his ass day after day-

Birds outside the powerlines wake hasan up.

Which is unusual, since usually, his alarm has him up at 4am, when birds dare sing yet, still trying to sleep in for five more minutes-

this causes him to panic, naturally.

"Fuck!" he all but screams when he rolls over, the alarm clock says 10:06 in red, as if mocking him.

You aren't in his too small bed, and your spot on the mattress is long cold, which also worries him-

one thing at a time your voice comes through his head, the gentle voice you use on him when he's spiraling, when you hold either side of his face in your palm, making him look at you: one thing at a time, hasan. Just one-

a deep breathe and he nods, hops around on the floor as he gets into his old work jeans, worn with age and from working, covered in a mix of grease and who knows what fuck else-

he's buttoning his work shirt, which he's 90% sure smells and he'll need to Febreze, as he runs down the stairs, to the kitchen, yelling to Amelie:

"Aimes!" He yells, running his hands through his hair, is going to have to skip a shower since his alarm didn't go off, "sunshine, we got ten minutes, baby girl. You gotta get up!"

Breakfast will have to be quick, instant, something that will make the mothers in the pick up line clutch their necklaces and lean their heads in to whisper about that brother, the one who's raising his kid on a steady diet of store brand poptarts, instant oatmeal, and most days-pleading and begging with whatever god exists to stop making him a fucking joke for the love of god-

"hasan," Amelie giggles as he rounds the corner into the kitchen. "We're up already, silly."

she's giggling, a smile on her face as she wears one of his old shirts from marching band, far too big on her, down to her knees, is kneeling on an old mismatched stool as she helps you pour flour into a mixing bowl-

"We're-" he pauses, his shirt buttons fucked up, "Late?"

It's a question, not a satement.

"It's Sunday, honey." You smile warmly at him, walk over and fix his shirt for him, "Come on, breakfast will be ready soon."

"hasan," Amelie giggles, "We're making pancakes."

She giggles like it's a secret, when in reality, it's just a rare treat. Panckes are money and time consuming-and he has neither.

"I see, sunshine'." He smiles as he sits down next to you, "With chocolate chips?' He tickles her side, kisses the side of her face, fond on his face.

"Here." His head looks up, and he's immediately handed a warm mug of coffee into his hands. He inhales it deeply; smells perfect-

"You didn't have to do this." His voice is gentle, small, like he's scared, isn't use to this kind of treatment-

"I know," You shrug, as you grab the bowl of batter, "But it's what you do for people you love."

and you say it so simply, so matter of fact.

the first i love you he's ever gotten, that's ever meant something, isn't matched with the rug being pulled out from under him, without the kiss of a fist-

"Yeah," Amelie parrots, "For people you love."

and you ruffle her hair as she helps you pour the batter, the love is said with the same mocking siblings do, but the smile says she loves having you around, another parental figure, someone to help hasan-

Your eyes slowly drag up, as you realize what you said, afraid he'll be upset, or not feel the same, will yell or kick you out, scare him off-

instead, he comes into the kitchen, drags his finger through the bowl to taste it, another dip to touch it to the tip of Amelie's nose, before his hands go around your waist, his chin on your shoulder-

"Yeah," he says gently, into your ear, before he nuzzles his nose into your neck, his voice is low and deep, how you know he means it: "I love you too."

#caroline writes #hasanabi #hasanabi x reader #hasanabi x y/n #hasanabi x you #hasan #hasan piker x you #hasan x reader #hasan piker fanfic #hasan piker fanfiction #hasan piker fic #hasan piker imagine #hasan piker x reader #hasan piker

10 notes · View notes