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sincerelyneo · 1 month

Note

could i request a mark smut 😣😣 where reader and mark just had an intense argument but in the end, they cant be mad at each other for long so they just fck it out of each other 🤐🤐🤐🤐

mad at you | l.mk

“then i try to leave, but baby i just can’t stay mad at you”

💿now playing: mad at you by why don’t we

❯ summary: Mark learns that you’ve made a ‘selfish’ decision that’s bound to put a strain on your relationship. Next thing you know, you're knee-deep in an argument that somehow ends with you sprawled out beneath him; because, let’s be honest, he’s never really been any good at staying mad at you.

❯ pairings: idol!mark x fem!reader

❯ genre: angst, smut, established relationship, make up sex

❯ words: 4.3k

❯ tags: 18+ minors dni!, lots of arguing, swearing, reader is lowkey dramatic, makeup sex, unprotected sex (don't do this!), nipple play, dry humping, brief clit play, slight needy mark bc i can't help myself, creampie, reader uses she/her pronouns, reader and mark argue and resolve it by fucking.

an: i love writing angsty arguments (testament to my real relationships lol) so thank you so much for this request. it lowkey brought me out of writer’s block.

The honeymoon stage lasts approximately thirty months or two and a half years – which would make sense considering you and Mark were approaching your third year together and have argued more recently than you ever had.

But this time it’s different. You’ve never seen Mark like this, so angry that his face is bordering red and his jaw ticks so hard it might crack as the both of you drive in complete silence from your work dinner. He doesn’t even bother sneaking his usual glances at you when he pulls up at stoplights, the hand he likes to place on your thigh is gripping the wheel instead, and the only noise in the car is his rugged and frustrated exhales.

You could feign ignorance about why he's upset, but you know the reason all too well. And while a part of you acknowledges his right to be angry, another, more prideful part, resists the idea of apologising, especially when you think his reaction seems so disproportionate to your mistake.

So you sit in the passenger seat, arms crossed and body frozen, contributing to the cold silence settling between the two of you. You prepare yourself for the earful of a lecture you’re about to get when he pulls up outside your shared apartment.

He parks the car, slams the door shut, and strides towards your building without a backward glance. You scoff at his pettiness; he's never been so angry that he wouldn't at least wait for you to get out of the car with him. He doesn't even slow down when you trail behind. And when he nearly lets the elevator doors close without you, any chance he has of receiving an apology from you flies out the window, you think.

He does, however, show some decency by leaving the front door open for you as you both step out of the elevator and head towards your apartment – how chivalrous.

The chivalry doesn’t last long because the minute he hears you clasp the door shut, he’s glaring at you, arms crossed tightly over his chest, and you can't help but notice that he's rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt in frustration. If he weren't on the brink of yelling at you, you'd be tempted to make him do more than just roll up those sleeves — you'd want the fabric torn off and thrown on the floor in an instant.

“Paris, Y/N?!” Mark seethes, voice deep and uneven. “You signed a fucking contract to work in Paris?!?”

You pause, attempting to gather your thoughts, but the momentary silence doesn't offer much clarity. Eventually, you settle on, "It's just a six-month gig..." – a statement that seems to send him into a frenzy.

“Just six months?” He rubs his jaw repeatedly in disbelief, “That’s six months that we won’t get to see each other, did you even think about that huh?”

You scoff, “You’re one to talk, need I remind you that your job takes you away from me for months at a time.”

"That's not fair," he protests. "You knew exactly what you were getting into when you agreed to date me. I didn’t agree to not seeing my girlfriend for months because she’s gallivanting away in Paris without me."

Your eyes narrow and your nostrils flare, “So what? If you would have known, you wouldn’t have wanted to be my boyfriend?”

His eyes widen and he shakes his head. His hands fly to his hair and he tugs at the strands as he huffs out a breath.

“How the fuck did you get that conclusion from what I said?” He asks, voice sounding baffled. “The reason I’m so mad is because I like being your boyfriend, but I’m not going to see you for the next six months.”

“You’re being a hypocrite right now.”

He rolls his eyes and scoffs, “Right, because I’m always the one being unreasonable.”

“Yes, you are,” you scorn, “This job is my dream, don’t you see how selfish you're being?”

“I’m selfish?” He gasps, “That’s rich considering you didn’t even consult me when making this decision, I had to find out from your smug little co-worker in front of everyone. You were thinking solely about yourself, Y/N.”

You're on the verge of screaming. How is he not seeing things from your perspective? He's usually so understanding, so open to hearing your side. But the razor-sharp look in his eyes tells you that there's no getting through to him. He's convinced you're wrong, and nothing will change his mind.

“It’s for my job, Mark,” you cross your arms and shrug.

“And how many times have I told you that you don’t need to work? How many times do I need to tell you I can look after the both of us?”

“And how many times have I told you that I don’t want that? I don’t want to have to always rely on you!” You snap.

Your teeth grit as the words spit out of your mouth. They seem to hit Mark, deep, his eyes softening for a fleeting moment before sharpening again. He swallows thickly and blinks before running a hand through his hair.

“Then what are we doing, Y/N?” He asks deflated, “What are we if you don’t want to rely on me?”

You're not sure what compels you to say it – whether it's the way you're all worked up, the entire context of the argument, or some inner recognition that you're the one who's fucked up this time despite you both having stuff to apologise for. Still, you escalate the situation from zero to one hundred without a second thought.

“Oh, so you want to break up?”

He shakes his head and tongues the inside of his cheek, “When did I say that?!”

The fight only gets worse after that, the two of you blowing up after every sentence. You run around in circles, throwing accusations and insults at each other to the point the original premise of the argument is lost along the way of a thousand new arguments. It’s like every little thing you’ve both done to irk each other over the last month is brought up; and by the end of it, the two of you swear you’re done with each other.

Sure, you've had your fair share of arguments, but the biting finality of the word "done" as it leaves his lips sends a sharp pang through your stomach – it hurts like hell. You've reached your limit with this endless cycle of back-and-forth; you've had enough of him. Storming past him, you head towards your shared bedroom.

Mark sighs and reaches out for your arm, but you pull away. He doesn't like this, doesn't like the chilliness he feels from you. He doesn't want to end the argument like this; it's never gone this far without a resolution before.

“You can’t just storm away when we argue Y/N, it’s childish.”

“If you don’t like it then leave!” You slam the door shut after you and lock it.

Mark hates this more, not being able to talk this out because you’ve put a wall between the two of you. Then your words register in his mind and he’s the most hurt he’s ever felt. You want him to leave. Fuck that, he thinks. He’s not going to watch his relationship go down the drain over a petty argument.

He knocks on the door a few times, then jiggles the doorknob, calling out your name and pleading for you to let him in. But you remain unmoved, denying him even the satisfaction of hearing your voice telling him to go away. This only adds to his frustration. He's the one you've upset, and yet here he is, begging for you to open up so he can fix things.

After a few more tries he scoffs, your words echoing in his mind once more. Leave. It crosses his mind as he makes his way to the front door of the apartment. He swings it open, ready to clear his head and crash at Johnny's for the night. But just as he's about to step out, he catches sight of a picture of the two of you on the coffee table where he keeps his keys.

It’s from your honeymoon phase when it was easier for the two of you to say you’d never let anything come between you – when love seemed to blind you both. Mark picks up the photo, memories flooding back to the day it was taken. It was the day you met his parents and shared your aspirations of becoming a fashion designer. You reassured them that you had your own dreams and weren't just with their son for his wealth – though his parents wouldn't have minded either way; they would have been content with any girl that made their son happy. And you made Mark happy – you make Mark so fucking happy.

Which is why he can’t believe he’s even considering leaving you in this apartment on your own after a fight. He shuts the front door and makes his way to the couch. He's eager to resolve things with you now, but both of you are too caught up in emotions, spouting shit you'll likely regret in the morning. So he opts to grab a few sofa pillows and a blanket from the storage closet instead. He strips down from his dress shirt and pants, throwing them to the floor before lying back and resting his eyes with a heavy mind.

Regret doesn't hit you until 2:00 am the following morning, when you're met with the chill of an empty space beside you as you reach out to cuddle your boyfriend, only to find him absent. Sure you thought he was overreacting to the news, but you're also painfully aware that your own words were uncalled for. You shouldn’t have asked him to leave – you didn’t want him to.

As you heard the front door open and then close with a clink, a thick lump formed in your throat. The realisation that you had driven him away hit you hard, and you lost all motivation. You lay on your bed, makeup still intact, as you sniffled and sobbed quietly into your pillow. And even now, after tossing and turning from your mind running laps, you’d only managed to sleep for a few minutes.

You stretch your stiff legs and reluctantly leave your bed, unlocking your bedroom door with sleepy eyes. You're taken aback when you see Mark sleeping soundly on the sofa, his breath steady with his eyes closed. You thought he had left, but there he is, covered only by the blanket from the storage closet. It breaks your heart to see him like this; he's likely cold, and he'll probably have a stiff neck in the morning for practice. And you know it's all your fault.

The guilt eats away at you, and without hesitation, you rush to the bedroom to grab his pillows and an extra blanket. Realistically, you should wake him up and insist he sleeps in bed, but the fear of his lingering anger keeps you from doing so. Instead, you kneel in front of him, attempting to swap the sofa pillows for his own bed pillows.

However, your efforts prove futile because Mark is a light sleeper – a detail you foolishly overlooked in your worried state of mind. He blinks as he wakes up once, then twice, appearing confused to find you in front of him in the living room instead of beside him in bed.

“Baby?” He whispers, his eyes hazy as he tries to make sense of what you're doing. It doesn’t take him long once he spots the sofa cushion in your hand to put the pieces together.

You bite your lip and sigh, “I know you're mad at me, but I didn’t want you to wake up stiff in the morning.”

Mark's chest constricts. How could he possibly stay mad at you when you're so cute, fussing over him like this? He notices the smudge of black makeup beneath your eye, and his heart tightens once more – this time with sadness rather than affection.

His hand reaches out to touch your cheek, and you’re shocked at the touch. “You’ve been crying?” He asks and you bow your head.

"I thought you left..."

Mark wants to laugh at the irony. You asked him to leave, and yet here you are, upset at the idea of his departure. He swears if he weren't so in love with you, he'd rant about how much you mess with his head, pushing him to the edge only to pull him back again.

“Would never leave you, baby, you know that,” his voice is soft and comforting as the rough edge of his fingertips finds your jaw.

You can't control it; tears fall freely from your eyes. He's being incredibly considerate and gentle with you, even after you acted like a bitch. Honestly, you almost wish he'd just yell at you instead. But he doesn’t, his eyes widen and he immediately sits up straight letting the blanket fall to the floor as he pulls you up to sit on his lap.

He shushes you, his hands finding your waist where he rubs soothing soft circles into the fabric of your tank top, “Hey, why are you crying? I’m here…please don’t get upset, Y/N.”

His kindness only amplifies your guilt.

"I'm so sorry," you stifle in short sobs, your voice almost cracking. "I should've talked to you about the job offer before signing the contract... I-I didn't mean to act so selfishly. I just... I wasn't thinking."

Mark gives you a half-smile as he runs a hand through your hair. "It's okay, baby... You got caught up in your dream. I'm sorry for not realising that. I'm the one being selfish by always expecting you to put me first."

"No—"

He interrupts you to continue his apology. "You were right, you know. I always expect you to wait for me while I'm on tour. I never considered it from the other side, with me waiting for you... But I will. I'll wait because I know how much this job means to you."

Your face buries itself in the crook of his neck as you cry even harder, and he tuts gently while rubbing your back.

"Please don’t cry, Y/N," he murmurs softly. "I hate seeing you upset."

"Can’t help it," you muffle. "I hate that I upset you…"

Mark pulls you away from his neck, needing to look into your eyes as he speaks. "It's normal for couples to argue, baby. We just need to promise to communicate better, okay?"

His fingers stroke your cheeks again, and you lean into his touch. The warmth of his hand feels so comforting as if he was made to soothe your skin, the only person capable of bringing you relief. You bite your lip and nod against his palm, because you're more than willing to work on your communication if it means never feeling like this again.

"Now, give me a smile. You know, the pretty one I like," he says with a laugh. "If I'm not going to see you for the next six months, I don’t want one of our last moments together to be so... sad."

You smile at him and press your forehead against his with a whisper. "Me neither.”

You’re so close to each other that you’re practically sharing the same breath, if you had said that two hours ago you wouldn’t have believed yourself. But here you are, lips so close that your heavy breathing practically begs him to kiss you.

Mark feels it too, so when he does, it's like the softness of his lips is a bandage, mending the angry tension between the two of you. It patches up the last few hours that have transpired, and when he pulls away, it feels as if nothing even happened.

His hands grip your hips firmly, his fingers pressing down as he guides your body to grind against his clothed crotch. His lips find yours again, accompanied by a groan that escapes into your mouth. It's only when you feel him harden beneath you that you remember he was half-naked on the sofa – clearly after you locked him out of the bedroom.

Suddenly feeling suffocated by your own clothes, you pull away from him to strip off your tank top, tossing it over your head before discarding it somewhere in the living room. You yearn to meet his lips again – the only place you truly feel safe – but Mark wants to savour the way you look. Your clothed cunt eagerly grinding against his hard-on, hips chasing a high so eagerly that your bra strap has slid loosely down your arm.

You're a vision, Mark thinks, one that has him salivating and desperate to fuck you. He almost curses at himself for nearly ruining it all, for nearly walking out on the most beautiful person on the planet, the best sex he's ever had – and not only that but also the funniest, sweetest person he knows he'll ever meet.

He leans into your neck, his nose nuzzling into you as he whispers softly, "I'm sorry... so sorry, Y/N." His hand leaves your hips to cup your breast over your bra, massaging the mound with just enough pressure to elicit soft moans from your lips.

“‘s okay,” you whimper.

Your head falls back as his hand snakes around to unclasp it. He wastes no time brushing his intrusive fingers down your chest, wearing a filthy smirk because he knows just how sensitive you are there. The tip of his finger circles around your nipple until he’s right in the centre, feeling it harden under his touch. He pinches it, and you jolt forward on his cock, making his boxers tighten, and he groans.

He loves how responsive you were to him, watching you writhe over him as he touched you in torturous pleasure. Just the way you arch your back into his touch has pre-cum leaking out of his cock.

He leans in this time, sucking on your nipple and opening wide to get as much of the tender tissue of your breast in his mouth as possible. He holds your waist in place to keep you grinding on him to entice enough friction for him to feel good too.

And when he looks down to see where the two of you meet, he moans when he sees the wet patch leaking through your shorts onto his boxers.

“Fuck, so wet for me, baby. Just for me.”

You whimper, and his hand slips into the hem of your shorts. You’re glad you never wear panties to bed because his fingers find your clit immediately, relieving you of some of the neediness you’ve been feeling from grinding down on him. He rubs small circles as his mouth licks and sucks and nips at your bud.

“Mark…”

“Shhh baby,” he coos, “wanna make it up to you. Please let me make it up to you, let me make you feel good.”

You whimper with a nod of your head, humping into his hand, legs opening wider to give him easier access to the place you’re most sensitive. You let out mild pants, hips bucking more aggressively from the stimulation on both your nipple and clit.

And when Mark notices you getting close, he pulls off your tit to look up at your face. It’s his favourite part — watching your features contort when the bliss is at its highest. It makes his chest swell with pride knowing he’s the one making you cum, knowing his touch is enough to make you shake and moan. And if he wasn’t such a selfish lover, he’d think the sight is something everyone should see at least once.

As you come down from your orgasm, your eyes flutter open to meet him. Mark doesn’t know whether it’s from seeing your orgasm paired with the argument from earlier but he’s the hardest he’s ever been.

You notice it too, looking down and giggling. “Now it’s my turn to make it up to you.”

He lets out a soft huff, and a muscle in his jaw twitches with his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat before he nods. You free his cock from his boxers and shimmy yourself out of your shorts. You let out identical gasps when your bare cunt brushes against the tip of his cock.

Slowly, you sink onto him, fully feeling him inside of you. Your head falls forward, your forehead resting against his shoulder as you take in the size of him, the way he fills you just right — the way he always does.

The stretch as you take him in never gets old, eliciting the same whimpers and whines. You can feel his hands resting on your hips, then slipping to the bend of your waist, silently urging you to move as he presses you downwards.

You lift your hips, slow and steady as you let the sensations wash over you, drawing a low groan from deep in his chest. His grip on your body tightens as you sink back down, blunt nails digging into your skin. The sounds he makes only drive you further into finding a teasing rhythm because his voice is just so pretty. The sounds are soon muffled to your disappointment when his mouth presses into your skin, so his tongue can slide along the top of your breast — making the disappointment fade away real quick.

You let out a breathy cry, hands rising from where they’ve been resting, flattening against his chest, to wrap around his shoulders. The slow pace you’d adopted was becoming not enough. And you could tell from the way Mark is rutting his hips up to meet you, he shares the same sentiment.

Your mouths collide as you pick up the pace, using his shoulders to leverage yourself as you bounce up and down on his cock. When he breaks from the kiss, an unrestrained groan slips past his lips, low and rough, followed by another, and you have to bite back a whimper of your own.

Mark can’t help the noises, he just loves the way you swivel your hips in a way that makes him see stars. He loves watching you work yourself on him for pleasure – he loves when you ride him.

And right when you squeeze around him, he rewards you with a loud, obscene groan, a sound that makes you dizzy and limp. Everything about Mark is intoxicating and downright addicting, and you were in no hurry to kick that addiction. In fact, you craved more of it – needed more.

You grab his hands and guide them across your body. He squeezes them at your hips, smoothing across your thighs, your stomach. His hands were everywhere, eyes dark and desperate, wordlessly begging for you to give him what he needed, the same thing he’d been kind enough to already give you.

So you rock yourself forward, providing a new type of friction that makes you whine helplessly into his skin. Blunt nails mark into the plush of your thighs, a futile attempt at grounding himself. The upward thrust of his hips and the strained catch of his breath tells you that he's growing impatient. You know the pace was slow, but damn it, it felt so fucking good to feel him like this, every inch of him sliding into you, hitting all the spots that makes your brain stop working. It also felt like a sick little way to get revenge...

“Faster,” you hear him say. “Please baby, need it faster.”

You could feel his hips bucking up to meet you. Then his thumb finds your clit, working in circles and making you squeeze around him with a shrill, gasping cry. It was his attempt at bargaining with you, doing anything to make you speed up and shamelessly fuck yourself on his cock. Maybe if he pleases you, you’ll let him cum.

“Please fuck me properly baby, need it,” he rasps, “You want me to forgive you right?”

And then you remember what led you here in the first place. You’d upset him and now you’re teasing him – you suppose it’s only fair if you pick up the pace a little more, fuck him messily and desperately enough to have him dizzying towards his climax.

And once you do, his thrusts grow sloppier, and your thighs start aching. It feels too fucking good so all that you can do is cling to him and let him take the lead, strong hands guiding you as he sucks against your neck. And even though you’re supposed to be the one making him cum, you find yourself buried in the crook of his neck, gasping as your walls clench and nails dig into the skin of his strong back.

The slight stinging sensation is enough to work Mark over the edge, and you feel him twitch inside of you, sending shock waves up your spine as he fucks his cum inside of you with a final powerful thrust. You roll your hips to help him along, taking all you can get from him and he moans his appreciation as you do.

You remain tangled up in one another as you come down from your respective highs with foreheads pressed close. You wrestle to find his hand, lacing your fingers with his as he rubs his thumb over your knuckles. He kisses your nose, then your lips, with a tenderness that makes your heart feel like it’s being squeezed.

You don’t want to move just yet, so you release your hands and wrap them around his neck, nuzzling your nose against his before you speak.

"Mark?" You mumble, your voice tired and hazy. He hums in response.

"I’m sorry," you say softly.

You feel his smile against your mouth before he kisses your lips. "It’s okay, baby. I don’t even remember what we were fighting for."

#🏷frompaige #mark lee smut #nct dream smut #nct 127 smut #nct smut #mark lee x reader #nct dream x reader #nct 127 x reader #nct x reader #kpop smut #nct hard hours #nct oneshot

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worriedvision · 5 months

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He ignores you after an argument - Dr Ratio

Gender neutral reader, angst with an ending that can be viewed as happy. Dr Ratio shows his immaturity, and he only realises how close he is to losing you when Argenti makes an appearance.

"What do you mean, 'can you try to be more considerate'? If you cannot comprehend a genius' words, you are not worthy of my time!" Your boyfriend huffs, turning around to place his mask on.

He always did that when you had arguments, but the words that were paired with his actions were what worried you. You had really stepped in it, trying to tell him that you weren't finished with your sentence. You were getting frustrated that he wouldn't stop interrupting you and, sometimes, filling in the statements incorrectly. You ignored your frustration in the past, but it boiled into this argument you just had with him. You were doubtful that he would think about your feelings even after he calmed down, so you mentally prepared yourself for the silent treatment.

Days became weeks, and weeks became months. He still wasn't talking to you, and you were heartbroken. You dive yourself into your work, the astral express themselves commissioning you because of Dr Ratio's words of praise of your intellect. Swallowing the temptation to explain he was likely exaggerating to help you with getting work, you go along with it. Your boyfriend, despite no longer talking to you after the argument, tags along. You both get separate rooms - something you are thankful for, considering how awkward you felt around your partner. You didn't even know if he was considering himself as your boyfriend or if he mentally checked out since the argument.

Now, Argenti decided to make an appearance. Turns out, he had an issue with his ship, so he had to request some resources from the astral express. You had tried to speak to your boyfriend, who was still playing chess by himself as he ignored your pleads for forgiveness - apologising for failing to communicate effectively. Struggling to keep yourself together, you walk to the other side of the room before taking a seat. Pulling out your folders, you get to work on other projects. Hearing someone walking towards you, you assume they'll just be taking a seat somewhere close, only for them to sit right next to you.

"A beauty as precious as one you possess shall not be under-appreciated by an unrequited love." He begins, Dr Ratio halfway through playing a knight, freezing up at this man hitting on you. "With brains to accompany your radiant and decadent beauty, I shall request that you consider flourishing under someone to cherish you."

Dr Ratio gets up from his seat, his mask literally starting to crack as he begins to storm over to you. He realised, through Argenti's speech, that he ought to treat you better since he truly loves you. He had to show you that he has been thinking of you, about how to apologise - he simply kept his mask on because he thought he didn't deserve to show his face until he thought about how to apologise to you for interrupting you. By the time he knows what to say, his mask breaks entirely, falling to the floor to Pom-Pom's distain.

In the middle of Argenti clearly scouting for you to join him on his ship, Dr Ratio walks behind the couch and wraps his arms around you, side glaring at Argenti.

"Apologies, but this is a prize I won." Dr Ratio growls, Argenti chuckling as he gives Dr Ratio a light warning that you were likely going to get snatched up by another man if he screwed up again.

Your boyfriend comes to take Argenti's place on the couch, pulling you in for a hug, he begins his apology.

"You didn't talk to me for months, you know?" You pout, your boyfriend scolding himself inwardly for being immature.

"You are the one who's more empathetic than myself. I need to put more effort into understanding your feelings, I'm lucky that you're still alright with me hugging you despite the argument." Dr Ratio sighs, squeezing you as he looks over your shoulder to read your work.

"...I almost forgot how amazing and intelligent my partner is." Dr Ratio smirks, you turning your head to look at him. "If I have to wait a year for compensation of my neglect to remain yours, I would gladly do so."

#dr ratio x reader #dr ratio x gender neutral reader #argenti #dr ratio #gender neutral reader #angst

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silent-stories · 1 year

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𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐀𝐅𝐀𝐑 - 𝟏

Pairing: Eddie x F!Reader

Summary: Dustin convinces Eddie, who is always watching you from a distance, to talk to you.

Eddie hated the way his gaze was always looking for you in the school parking lot, hoping you'd arrived a few minutes early so he could watch you from afar.

He couldn't stop it, he could try to hold back but it was useless, he always found himself looking around hoping to hear your laugh at something stupid that Buckley, who you usually drove to school in your car, had said.

Eddie wasn't the shy type: he walked the cafeteria tables making speeches and always said what he thought. But with you?

All he could do was watch you from afar.

"Dude, you're doing it again." Dustin's voice distracted Eddie from his usual search.

"Doing what?" he asked, sounding a lot more guilty than he intended.

He had been caught.

"You are looking for Y/N." The boy rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Why would I?" Eddie shrugged as if to dismiss the conversation before leaning back against his van.

"Because you like her."

"What? No, absolutely not. We're…I don't even know if she considers me a friend. We're acquaintances. We just know each other. We only have one class together and we've only talked a few times so-"

Three times.

It had been exactly three times you had spoken to Eddie, he remembered them all very well, as well as the way his heart started beating so much faster than usual.

The first time you bumped into him in the hallway. Eddie had initially thought it was someone who did it on purpose, as it usually happened with jogs, but when he heard your immediate apology and from the way you said it was your fault, he understood that you would never do it on purpose.

He quickly realized that you weren't like most of the others at school and that you didn't see him as someone to stay away from and that had only made Eddie fall for you even more.

The second time was during history class, the only one Eddie had with you, that day you arrived five minutes late, having to sit in the only seat left free: the one next to Eddie.

After a few minutes that he had spent sketching in his only notebook trying not to go crazy because of your proximity, you spoke, or rather, whispered.

"I like dragons."

Eddie raised his head as a shy smile appeared on his lips to find your gaze on the dragon he had drawn in his notebook.

He mumbled a "yeah, I like them too" before the teacher turned to you and glared at him.

He didn't say anything for the rest of the lesson but since that day he had always hoped you'd be a few minutes late so you would sit next to him.

It had never happened.

The third time was the only time you really had a conversation with him. You picked up Dustin after a D&D campaign and you spent ten minutes talking to Eddie before you left.

To Eddie's amazement, you two started talking about Metallica. You mentioned that your dad occasionally listened to them and you started the conversation by talking about which songs you knew and which ones you liked more.

Before you left, you talked about how boring math was and how much you enjoyed art class and during all the time you had spent talking a faint smile was permanent on Eddie's lips.

That was all. Only ten minutes.

It had been the shortest ten minutes of his life and Eddie wished you'd stay there and talk to him for hours.

Dustin laughed at the way his friend seemed to lose the ability to form meaningful sentences whenever you were involved.

"Holy shit, you're in love with her."

It wasn't a question. It was a statement.

Eddie sighed, he couldn't deny it anymore. "Henderson, if you tell anyone, consider yourself expelled from the Hellfire Club for the rest of your life."

Dustin adjusted the cap on his head. "Your secret is safe with me. Anyway, Y/N is cool. You should tell her."

Eddie let out a bitter laugh. "For what? To hear her say she wouldn't be with Eddie "the freak" Munson even if I were the last person on the face of the earth? No thanks, I'd rather keep watching her from afar."

"You know she's not like that." Dustin said. "She doesn't judge. Trust me, she was my babysitter for almost three years when I was in middle school, I know her well enough to know that she's a good person, she would never laugh at you and she's a completely badass."

And Eddie knew it. He knew you were kind and funny and so fucking pretty. And that was why the chances he had with you were almost inexistent.

Just as he was about to answer, he saw you.

You walked in his direction, wearing a leather jacket that was a few sizes larger but still looked perfectly on and Eddie nearly felt his heart leap out of his chest.

"Uuh... do you want me to leave you two alone?" Dustin asked with a smirk.

"Don't even try." He retorted, nudging the boy before you reached them.

"Hi" You smiled. "Have you seen Mike by any chance?"

Eddie shook his head. Why were you looking for Wheeler?

"He got into class early, he had to get something." Dustin said.

You rummaged in your bag and pulled out a book. "Nancy was at my house yesterday and she forgot this, could you give it to Mike so he can give it back to her?"

Dustin grabbed the book. "Sure."

"Great. Thank you." You said before a voice called you from behind.

"Y/N, we'll be late for art class!"

Art, right. It was your favorite subject, Eddie remembered that.

But it wasn't Robin who had spoken.

He was a tall boy, with dark blond hair long enough to show his soft curls. His eyes were green and glittered in the morning sun and he was wearing a clean, light blue jacket. His boy-next-door face annoyed Eddie, or maybe it was just the way he was interrupting a moment when he would have a chance to talk to you.

"See you guys." You said before walking towards him.

He put his arm around your shoulders as you walked side by side.

He was your boyfriend.

You had a boyfriend.

Suddenly Eddie was finding it hard to breathe. Of course you had a boyfriend, he'd been a stupid not to think of it before: a girl like you had to have a boyfriend.

And that guy seemed to be the complete opposite of Eddie.

He was also probably rich and had great grades in school. Because those were the kind of guys you liked, right? Certainly not the ones like Eddie. Those who were lucky if they didn't find the words "freak" or "devil" engraved on their locker. Those who had to park further away from school hoping that no one punctured their wheels. The ones who lived in a trailer and had to sell drugs to make ends meet.

"No." Dustin said.

"No what?" He raised his eyebrows, trying to hide his hurt expression.

"He's not her boyfriend, if that's what you're thinking."

"I wasn't thinking about anything at all."

Thank God.

"His name is Aaron Turner. He just moved to Hawkings and he's not Y/N's boyfriend. But he could soon be if you don't talk to her."

"What fool moves to Hawkings?" Eddie asked as his gaze followed your figure walking to school.

You were laughing.

You seemed happy with him.

"What fool doesn't ask the girl he likes out?" Dustin retorted.

Eddie glared at him.

"You said it yourself. 86, your year. Then make it your fucking year and ask her out. Or at least start talking to her and stop looking at her from afar. And try to say things that make sense when she's around."

"I say things that make sense."

Dustin raised his eyebrows.

"Okay, okay."

Since when did he take advice from a fourteen-year-old boy?

But he was going to talk to you.

He had to do it without looking like a complete idiot but he felt he could do it.

Eddie could feel it: 1986 was going to be his year.

Part 2

Tags: @jacklesdeanvessel @morning-sky7 @pipsqueakkitten @navs-bhat

#eddie x reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie x y/n #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie fanfic #eddie fanfiction #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst

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macabr3-barbi3 · 2 months

Text

DoubleTrouble No 1 🖤❤️

Myself and the delightful and talented @fraugwinska have been working on something tasty and present to you: a DoubleTrouble fic!

A single prompt from my Ao3, shared between two writers, one POV each ❤️

I tackled the reader's perspective, and you can find one from Alastor's POV right here! So many thanks for FrauGwinska for being an absolute superstar and working with me through this new and exciting experience <3

We hope you enjoy!

Tags: period sex, cunnilingus, mentions of blood (obviously), rough sex <3

Minors DNI🔞

The Blood is Rare 🩸

The fact that you still had a period in Hell was bullshit, but you suppose they needed to give people something to be miserable about. That was probably why people ended up in the situation you were in now, seated across from Alastor with a deal on the tip of your tongue; sheer desperation, because somehow the cramps were even worse than they had been on Earth and the only thing that helped was a good old fashioned orgasm. If it were anyone else you wouldn’t even consider asking- a lot of demons, except the really-weird-even-for-Hell ones, were still squeamish about blood being involved with any kind of orgasm.

If you were right though. Alastor would relish the opportunity you were about to present to him.

Fresh to the hotel just a few days after your last Hellish period, Alastor had startled you in the kitchen with a knife in your hand. The resulting jump had caused the blade to slip, gash in your thumb bleeding steadily over the apples that you had planned to fry up. Rather than allowing you to fetch a bandage, Alastor had chuckled, said “no need, dear,” and popped your thumb into his mouth. It was probably some ploy of his- strike fear into the hearts of new residents, give them a reminder that he was a cannibal and that he wouldn’t hesitate to eat them if they stepped out of line or caused any issues.

It backfired on him. At the taste of your blood his eyes grew black, staggering away from you with the shock of it, antlers extending so quickly they smashed the glass front of a nearby cabinet and he ended up trapped between the wooden dividers.

“More,” he had snarled, but his antlers stuck in the cabinet had been enough of a delay for you to make an escape.

He apologized, of course, a couple days later, explained his nature as a cannibal, a predator, had reacted before his mind, and that such a thing would not happen again. He had ended the awkward conversation with a statement of, “should you feel the desire to spare some of that tasty treat in your veins, do be a dear and let me know!”

And, well. Here you were. Letting him know. Ready to make a deal with one of the most powerful Overlords in Hell to get a little relief from the torture chamber that was your body in ovulation, even when there was nothing to fucking ovulate.

Alastor was tense when he phased into the hotel conference room to meet you as you had asked. His spine is stiff when he settles into the chair across from you, not having been alone in a space since that time in the kitchen. “What is it that I can help you with, my dear?”

“I want to clarify something- do you want to like, eat me?”

“Oh!” Alastor’s eyes widen with his smile. “I wouldn’t have been so blunt about it, darling, but if you’re asking- yes. That little taste that I had a few weeks ago was… inadequate, to say the least. But naturally staying here at the Hotel, Charlie would have been terribly upset had I consumed you.” He flicks his gaze over your form. “Why do you ask? Surely you don’t mean to let me indulge.”

A deep breath as you brace yourself. “Hah, not exactly. But uh, I do have a proposition of sorts for you. In regards to that. Kind of.”

He fades out of sight, rematerializing a couple seats closer to you. “Color me intrigued! What do you have in mind?”

You almost call the whole thing off- then a monster bolt of pain rips through your abdomen, nearly forcing you to double over the table with the ache of it. Any thought of embarrassment or hesitation flies from your head. Alastor is the only one that would be willing to help you in this way, you’re sure of it.

The groan of pain escapes you before you can stop it, and his eyebrows raise. “I have a deal to offer you that would allow you to- um. Sample my blood, if you’re amenable. Once a month.”

His head cocks to the side before his expression clears and he understands what you’re implying. “You’re referring to menstruation?” You nod, face red. “I see. Please provide me with more details of what this proposal would entail on my end then.” His claws are digging into the table, wood splintering beneath them and betraying his interest before even hearing what he would have to do.

“Right. I don’t know if you’re aware or not but periods can be crazy painful. Just on Earth too, but down here they’re basically unbearable when the cramps get bad. One thing that can help is having an orgasm.” You’re trying to resist the urge to hide in some way. You know this is what needs to be done. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, of course- just, you know. Uh, collecting on your benefit would probably do the trick.”

His eyes narrow. “I see. That is the… service I’m to provide, then?” A nod, flushed face dropped into your hands. “Well, I suppose I will simply have to endeavor to do my best! I’m never one to turn down a challenge- certainly not when the payoff is so enticing.” His eyes go dark, not quite black yet but the air between you changes, antlers going long and jagged. “I’m open to your proposal.”

“I need terms,” you breathe out, pleased that he’s still willing to help with the sexual nature of your request. “I need- just, something confirming that you won’t actually eat me for real. The blood is all that I’m willing to part with- no flesh.”

He sighs, eyes rolling. “Less exciting,” he says with a wave of his hand, “but not a dealbreaker. Anything else?”

“Only once a month- during this time. You can’t just be making me bleed whenever you want.”

“Done.” He’s in the chair next to you then, eyes black, grin so wide it threatens to split his face open, clawed hand held in your direction. “Do we have a deal?”

You take his hand in yours, green light filling the space between you and a screeching feedback sound assaulting your ears. When it fades Alastor is watching with hooded eyes. “Would you like to begin now?”

“Oh God. Uh, if now is a good time for you I guess. If you want to do it now.”

He laughs low and dangerous, his tall frame rising from the chair to tower over you. “Darling, I’ve wanted some semblance of what you’ve proposed for weeks. I’m not a man that makes a habit of denying himself a treat when it’s offered to him so sweetly.”

Your hand is still in his, and there’s a strange pull behind your navel as Alastor yanks you into the shadows with him, rematerializing in his bedroom. “Feel free to sit on the bed,” he offers, gesturing to the mattress and manifesting a large dark towel. “Or lie back- however will be more comfortable for you.”

He releases your hand once you’ve sat, and you stay upright as Alastor sinks to his knees in front of you, fingers coming to the top of your skirt and pulling everything down in one fell swoop, his expression darkening at the scent of you exposed before him before ducking his head. You can’t see what he sees with how close he has already come to your skin, his enlarged antlers blocking your vision, the muscles of his back flexing with the force of his inhale as he breathes you in. A jolt of pain hits you again, deep in your core, and your whimper at the feeling has him bringing his eyes back to your face.

His eyes are hooded and dangerous, feral smile on his face while your fingers dig into the bedsheets. “Feel free to hold on, dear,” he says with a gesture to his antlers, before dipping his head to your bare cunt and slicking his tongue between your folds, angling his head just so to slip into your heat.

You can almost forget that Alastor is only doing this to satisfy some carnal desire of his with the fervent way that he pushes his mouth against you, slick muscle delving deep into you and brushing his nose against the firm nub of your clit. There’s a reverberating rumble as he moans at the taste, clawed fingers coming up to grip at your thighs, spreading them wider so he can get even closer to the source of his obsession. You can feel where he flicks his tongue inside you, brushing against that sweet bundle of nerves with every strong push and pull. The pleasure curls in your gut, keeping the worst of the cramps at bay while your body tenses and releases in rhythm with the demon’s ministrations. Every so often he pulls out, brings what he’s collected back into the haven of his mouth and savors it, eyes closed and his throat rumbling with a satisfied groan.

“You’ve no idea,” he growls, “how I’ve thought of tasting you. Consuming you.” The sharp points of his teeth brush against your clit and your body jolts, hands finally flying up from the bed to clutch at his antlers, grip tight on the tines of them as he looks up at you.

The look on his face is nearly your undoing- more animal than man, and his claws dig into your flesh, tiny pinpricks of pain dragging you forcibly back to the moment. Your orgasm is just out of reach, not enough focus where you need him but you don’t want him to feel uncomfortable if you ask him for more.

“Fucking divine,” he whispers against you, and when his tongue brushes your sensitive clit with the words you shudder, the motion drawing his gaze to your face, flushed and hot. He smiles wide, expression smug as he leans in and does it purposely this time, licking up your folds and finally focusing where you need him to be. He circles it with purpose, pressure so sweet and sadistic, a light suck making you cry out his name and fist your hands on his antlers.

“Fuck! Alastor, yes, there- oh god, please, more…” He tenses under your hands and you worry for a moment that you’ve done something wrong. Then he’d sliding his hands under your thighs and dragging you closer to the edge of the bed, draping your legs over his shoulders.

“Say it again,” he murmurs, the vibrations of his voice sending heat flooding through you, overriding the painful ache of a cramp that tries to make itself known.

“Alastor,” you moan, and his tongue resumes its residence in the tight grip of your cunt, a hand coming up to brush a clawed finger over your clit. He works you quickly, his efforts paying off as your body tenses, invisible string inside you drawing tight and snapping with a force you’ve never felt before. “Alastor- A-” You try to say his name again, hear it come out as as a choked off whimper and a near scream as you reach orgasm, legs tightening on his shoulders and pulling him as closer, your walls clenching down on the length of his tongue before be pulls back and licks you through the remainder of it.

You release your grip on his antlers and fall back against the mattress, eyes closed while Alastor removes his face from between your legs, licking along the tiny pinpricks of blood from his claws before you shoot him a halfhearted glare.

Your abdomen is blissfully absent of any clenching of your internal organs seeking revenge. Sated, you sit up from the mattress to see Alastor still knelt before you, faint lines of dried blood- your dried blood, your brain supplies- around his mouth. He looks like a predator fresh from his kill of the night, antlers jagged and long, eyes still dark and frantic as he looks at you.

“Was that sufficient, darling?”

“God, yes, it was perfect. I- I really appreciate your help.”

“Hmm. Of course. Though I must admit, only part of my… appetite for you has been appeased.” He rises from the floor, knees perched on either side of your thighs now and leaning in. You can smell something metallic on him as he approaches, know that it's your own blood as he stares down into your eyes hovered over you.

“Oh?” You become aware of a hard length pressing into your thigh. “Oh! I didn’t think that was something you would be interested in.”

He shrugs, rolling his hips and hissing at the friction. “Nor did I, dear. That does seem to be a theme with you, though- having a taste and finding that I crave more against my better judgment, against all reason.” He places a hand on your hip and runs his claws along the bare skin. “Would you allow me to help ease your pain once more?”

“God, yes,” you breathe out, “please, Alastor.” He takes a moment to undress, trousers removed along with his boxers before he climbs back over you and presses against the still slick folds of your cunt. He pushes in, hot and hard length opening you up and settling deep inside of you with a harsh exhale of breath against your neck. “Fuck, it’s so good.”

Alastor growls, the sound reverberating through his chest as he thrusts into you. A pulse of arousal shoots through you, the thought of bringing such a well spoken man to his baser instincts, so thoroughly invested in you that he can do little more than snarl like an animal into your skin, pushing you ever closer to the edge again. You’re already soft and sensitive from your first release, the cresting wave of a second hustling towards you.

He buries his face in the crook of your neck, sharp teeth nipping at the tendon he finds there and moaning. “I could devour you,” he whispers, and you feel yourself clench down on him at the broken crack in his voice. He drags his tongue up the length of your neck, hesitates like he’s trying to savor it. “I could feast on you for centuries and never tire of the taste of your flesh, whether coated in blood or sweat.”

A whimper escapes you as he sucks on the skin of your shoulder, leaving a trail of harsh bruises along the path he takes. A hand comes up to twist into his hair, something to ground yourself, to draw this out as long as possible. Your other hand digs into the flesh of his arm pinning you to the mattress. “Fuck, more, please,” you beg him, and he pulls back from your neck to watch your face twist and contort in pleasure while he slams against the sweet spot inside of you.

“Say my name,” he demands, fingers on your hip digging bruises into the soft skin, his other hand tangled in the bedsheets, tearing them to shreds to avoid sinking his claws into you. “Say it. Tell me what you need.”

“Oh God, Alastor-” You angle your hips, the movement bringing him even deeper into your body, the length of him so sweet and sinfully delicious that a whine escapes your throat before you can think to stop it. “I need- I don’t know, Al, I can’t-”

“You must,” he commands, and he lets go of your hip to slip his hand between your bodies, fingers pressing against the taut skin of your opening where your bodies are joined. The stimulation is foreign and new and has your walls tensing and releasing rhythmically around him, release so close now that you were seeing stars behind your clenched eyes.

“Look at me.” Your lids fly open to meet the sight of Alastor above you, his face contorted in something like pain. “You must,” he says again, fucking into you with vigor now, sweat beading on his forehead. “I need it around me, I have to feel it. Please, darling, give it to me-”

Fuck. How could you deny him when he asked so sweetly? Not that you had any control over it- your body breaks beneath him, cunt wrapped around him like the softest of silk and tightening its grip. Your limbs seem to go numb for a moment, pleasure warping your reality for a few blissful moments, your vision focusing in a tunnel on Alastor’s face before it vanishes, burying once again in the space between your shoulder and neck.

With a final cry of his name he sinks his teeth into you, not tearing back as one might expect but content to simply let them rest there as he spills into you with a broken moan, hips bucking hard and fierce and then easing into something softer as your walls pull and push, wringing every drop from him.

A breath of silence as you both catch your breath, interrupted by a hiss of faint pain as Alastor pulls his teeth from you and licks at the wound he’s created like a satisfied cat. “You promised you wouldn’t try to eat me for real,” you mutter, voice soft from the strength of your cries.

Alastor hums against you, tongue still moving against you. “Hardly my fault.” He’s mouthing greedily at your skin, claws traipsing on the flesh of your hips and roaming wherever he can reach. “You’re delicious,” he groans, taking one final taste of your blood before pulling back and collapsing next to you, “a delicacy. How am I meant to live without this at every moment of the day? I think I shall starve.”

You huff out a laugh, stretching your muscles as well as you can without really moving. “Don’t be dramatic. You get it once a month, at least.” You roll onto your side, ignore the feeling of something slick and wet between your thighs and focus on the fact that your body is limp and pliant and not seeking revenge on you.

“You raise a valid point, my dear.” He throws you a sideways look, his antlers now having returned to their normal size and his ears relaxed against his skull. “Though I’m not at all opposed to repeating this aspect of the experience outside of your… monthly allowance to me. Deals always have room for negotiation, do they not?”

“Let’s get through this one first and then we’ll talk.” You yawn and try to rise from the bed, but an arm from the demon beside you is thrown haphazardly over your waist, pinning you in place.

“Stay,” he says, his eyes lidded and peeking at you. “There’s more to come yet, right? May as well stay where we can easily access one another for the duration.” His crimson eyes close the rest of the way and you settle back into the mattress, allowing your body to relax and slip into a peaceful sleep beside him.

#hazbin hotel #ao3 writer #ao3 fanfic #alastor #alastor x reader #alastor the radio demon #x reader #hazbin hotel fanfiction #alastor smut #hazbin hotel x reader #bloodlust <3 #title by Hozier

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localkiss · 2 months

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Screaming for attention!

manipulative brothers best friend re4!leon kennedy x fem!reader

cw: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT!! Mentions of past grooming by leon, age gap(~8 yrs), manipulation, guilt, dirty talk, p in v, afab reader, noncon creampie, slight anal/talks of anal, codependency, slapping, daddy kink, pet names, depressed thoughts in the beginning, chubby/thicker reader, manhandling, praise kink, degradation kink, talks of pregnancy (just a bit), oral (f receiving), virginity talk, controlling leon, obsessed leon, slight size kink if u squint!

note: hhh... read the warning lol before you comment. I was going to put more of leon being so fucking weird but erm, decided not to. not proof read btw!! but i do want to say i am a victim of SA and i used to heavily think about him and wished that he went further. lol idc what people say, i still struggle thinking like that, but ik it's wrong. so yes that's what this fic is loosely based on -_-

wc: 3.1k! tags: @rigorwhoring, @argreion, @xoxostarlet, @fairry1 bc I love u all :33!

Maybe it's for the best. No more surprises. This is nothing new. All you can hear is deafening silence, swallowing you up in a warm cocoon, suffocating you like a million years of guilt and thousands of weights on your throat and chest.

You can't help but wish he had done more. Maybe he would've if he could see your thoughts. Maybe he would've stayed.

But those sleeping pills really did a number on your body. You tried to overdose on everything you could, even your antidepressants. Yeah, it was dumb. But it was all just killing you from the inside anyway.

All you can do now is just sob violently into your pillows. Claw at the sheets and at your scalp, so pathetically. No wonder he chose you. So fucking easy to manipulate, to knead into someone he can use. No wonder he said he only loved you like a friend after he finally got caught in the act.

Whatever it was that he said, you can't remember exactly. You just tuned him out. White noise oozing into your eardrums like water does when you stand underneath the showerhead. He didn't apologize. Didn't explain. Didn't even try to. All you did was cry and plead for him to stay.

"Please don't leave me, Leon. Please, I can't live without you! I love you! Please!" You sobbed into the phone because, yeah, he broke up with you over text. It's not like you guys were even in a relationship. The age gap was too big and illegal to even be considered a real relationship.

You knew he was so much older than you. Liked it. Knew it was wrong, yet went forward with it. He should've stopped it. Should've. But he didn't, though.

You still love him deep down in your heart. He was your first love. First 'boyfriend'. First person to grope your body. You asked for a kiss, and he pressed his chapped lips against your forehead. He asked you for ass pictures, and you gladly sent them. Giggling happily whenever he complimented you and your body.

He's still your ideal type. A cuddly, tall, muscular brunette.

You wish you could stop yourself from comparing every guy to him or hoping they won't end up like him. Using you and throwing you away as soon as they got what they wanted.

But, now that you're legal, he reached out to you. Said some nonsense to try and get back into your heart. You didn't even care what he said. Just wanted to feel alive, to feel loved, and to be loved again. Even if it meant being loved by your abuser, you would let him drag you through hell and back if it meant he would love you like he did in the past. If it meant you could feel happy, free, and weightless again, you would march into hell with him.

As messed up as you are, you would do anything to make him stay. So that you can feel full again. Happy again.

"Wish you would've taken all of my firsts," you pouted as he pulled away from your lips. Swollen and red, so pretty.

Leon grinned and raised an eyebrow at your statement. "Really, baby girl? Damn," he bites on his lower lip, and his thumb brushes across the apples of your cheeks.

Taking in the way you look different but still the same as you were years ago, just a bit fuller in your hips, thighs, and stomach, he remembers when he gripped your thigh with both of his hands. Couldn't even manage to grab ahold of all of the fat. A few inches away from completely grabbing your thigh with both hands.

Now, he probably couldn't even make it so that there were a few inches between his hands; it would be a bit of a distance. That's how much you've grown width-wise. Length wise, you haven't really grown much.

"Yeah, daddy," you preen under his attention, shifting your weight from your heels to your toes, and back down flat on the floor. "I mean it."

He lets out a soft chuckle, and his calloused hands softly grab onto your shoulders, rubbing small circles into the fabric of your shirt. "Wish I could've taken all of your first too, baby. I know I would've made it all special for you. For my special girl." Leon coos, his head dipping down to lick into your mouth.

Hot spit trickles down the back of your throat and onto your chin. Making you squeeze your doughy thighs together, moaning as his hands squeeze down to your ass. Pressing you up against his built body. His hard-on throbbing against the confines of his skinny jeans, onto your soft, pudgy tummy.

He groans as you tug at the hair on the back of his head. Pulling back and squishing your cheeks together, and then tapping your face as you try to press your lips on his. His blue eyes darken as you moan when his hand makes contact with your face.

"Fuck," he grips onto your chin, forcing your mouth open to let a wad of spit hit the edge of your tongue, letting it slide down into your tummy. "Daddy knew you'd like that. I've got a slutty little princess, huh?"

It's a rhetorical question, but you answer with a few quick nods.

"Yeah, daddy, I'm your slutty little princess." Always so quick to repeat what he said. What he drilled into your brain years ago obviously holds up. You still want to make him happy, even if he ruined you for anyone else. Ruined you for life.

The corners of his lips quirk upwards, his hands giving your ass a quick squeeze before he pushes you down into the bed. He climbs on top of you like a hungry animal, licking his lips at the sight of his prey.

A whine escapes from your throat at the sight. He's gotten even more attractive and bigger, and it's making your brain all mushy. Shooting directly down to your core, feeling it gush out slick onto the gussets of your panties.

You lick your lips and wrap your legs around his hips. "Please, Leon."

He lets out a low growl, his veiny forearms coming up by the sides of your head. Firmly planting them on the mattress as he rocks his hips into yours. His bangs fall into your face as he teasingly grazes his lips against yours. Panting hotly against your lips.

"Relax, baby," is all he says before he moves his mouth, making a wet trail from the corner of your lips down to your jawline.

"Let me love you." Leon murmurs into your skin as he sucks a hickey underneath your ear, making you gasp and squirm beneath him.

You become pliable, easy to bend, and easy to please. Brain too foggy to clearly think straight. Leon's marking up your neck like you'll try to run away from him. It's like you're his property now. God, you've always been his, ever since that fateful day, right?

Just a few words, and he can do whatever he wants with your body. Maybe one day you'll let him take your first time with your other hole. Who knows.

"So pretty, fuck," his tongue dips between the valley of your breasts, hands grasping at your shirt to push it up, exposing you to his hungry eyes. His knee slots between your thighs, making you squeak and squeeze his leg involuntarily. Pressing your tits together to swipe his tongue across your perky nipples.

Bathing your tits in his spit, he suckles on them like a madman. Enjoying the way you mewl and gasp, using his teeth to draw out more noises from you. Obsessed with every single part of you, even the not-so-pretty parts. He has you mapped out in his mind, his sweet, supple princess.

"Has anyone ever eaten you out?" Kissing your areolas, soothing the small bite marks he left. He looks up at you through his eyelashes, brows furrowed in concentration. He's doting on you like it's the last time he'll ever see you again.

"No," you say, pressing your lips together in a flat line. Feeling your stomach tighten up with butterflies and hints of nausea.

Leon likes that. So much so that he smiles into your stomach, softly gnawing on the pudge around your belly button, earning some soft squeals and pats to try and push him away. He wants to make you crumble under him, submit to him, and never leave. Never want another man. Always comparing someone to him, wishing they did it like him. He wants to plague your mind and control you from the inside out.

He wants to tie you up in his bedroom and never let you leave. Live your own life? No. Leon wants to drill it into your brain and body that he owns you, no thoughts about anything else but him and his body.

He pulls down your shorts and panties in one go, watching the string of your arousal stick to the gussets of your panties. His large hands pry open your legs, pushing them up to your chest and holding them down with his weight.

"Remember this," he spits onto your pussy, watching it swim down to your holes. Squeezing your legs when you squirm a little too much for his taste, deciding to spit once more to make sure you'll have his DNA in you for the next couple of days.

Pressing chaste kisses on your clit because he knows it'll make your mind go all fuzzy and only think of Leon, Leon, Leon. And how good he's making you feel. Nobody else but him.

He dips his tongue between your folds and begins to languidly make out with it. Thrusting his tongue and swirling it upwards as his upper lip continues to make contact with your clit. Drawing out all sorts of pathetically cute noises from you.

Wishing he was recording this so he could show it to his friends and brag about how he has molded you to be his perfect girl. You're not a woman until he fucks a baby into you.

"You like that?" He suckles on your clit and gently bites down on it. Watching the way your face crinkles up and how you squeeze your eyes shut. Everything you do amuses him.

"Daddy, mmh... god, yes!" You grasp the sheets as you feel a warm, fuzzy feeling in your lower abdomen. Toes curling as Leon fucks his tongue into your drippy hole.

He shakes his head, pressing his nose into your sensitive bundle of nerves, trying to get you to cum quickly.

Your hands desperately try to reach for Leon for comfort as you stumble into an orgasm. "Daddy... Mmphh—fuck!"

Legs kicking out and vibrating as he coaxes you through your orgasm. Slowly swiping his tongue through your folds to slurp up all of your cum, he presses soft kisses all around your pussy. "Such a good girl," he sighs.

Leon spreads your legs, kissing his way up to your face. He licks his way into your mouth, forcing you to taste yourself on his tongue and gulp down some of his saliva. "So easy." He puts his hand on your neck, lightly applying pressure as he goes back in for more kisses. Make sure you never leave this cloudy state of mind, so he can do whatever he pleases with you.

"Maybe I can even eat you out here," he says, letting his hand wander down to your asshole and lightly tracing the rim of it. Feeling you tense up brings a sly smile to his face. "No? Okay. Maybe next time." He chuckles and pulls back to unbuckle his jeans.

Slowly undoing his belt and putting it next to you on the bed. Unzipping his fly as he makes direct eye contact with you the entire time. He makes you gulp nervously as he finally pushes his jeans down his muscular thighs.

Your eyes immediately jump to his hard-on. How does he even keep that thing in there? It's begging to be freed, and quite frankly, you want to run away out of nerves, not believing his cock can even fit inside of you! What the fuck did Leon even eat for it to even have grown that big and thick?

Leon sees the cogwheels turning in your head as he steps out of his pants. With each step he takes, it bounces against the slightly stained, striped fabric. "Baby, don't be so nervous. It'll be alright." His voice is soothing and convincing, almost hypnotic in the way it makes your body buzz and your mind go blank.

It is a bit terrifying to think about the effect he honestly has on you, your mind, body, and soul.

"Are you on the pill?" He asks, although he already knows the answer.

"No, I'm not." You mumble shyly. Embarrassed to not be on some sort of birth control.

Leon reaches down for his wallet and pulls out a condom. "Good thing I always come prepared, huh?" Chuckles as he pulls down his briefs, stepping out of them as he tears open the condom packaging. He slipped it on his drippy and flushed tip, sliding all the way down to the base.

Slowly kneeling on the bed to lead his dick to your hole. Sliding through your folds to gather more fluids to make the first push easier on you.

"Ready?" He grunts as he teases you by tapping himself on your swollen clit.

"Uhuh, 'm ready," you whine as he slowly eases himself into your pussy.

Moaning as you helplessly flutter and tighten around his shaft. Watching your face carefully as you scrunch and tense up. Stopping halfway and grabbing ahold of your hand, his other one grips the fat of your hip so tight it'll leave a bruise the next day.

"Almost there, baby girl, doing so well for me," he presses a soft kiss to your forehead as he drives more of himself deep inside of you.

You look down at your stomach and tighten around him as you notice the bulge from his cock being so big and deep inside of you. His tip is brushing against the opening of your womb.

"Nnh, Leon, too big," you gasp as he rolls his hips against yours. Legs squeezing against his waist as he slowly starts to thrust shallowly.

"Baby, relax. Can barely pull out of you," Leon rasps in your ear, sending chills down your spine as you try to force yourself to relax around him.

"Mnmph, sorry, Daddy. Please—" you pout, squeezing his hand tightly. Trying to signal for him to start pounding your needy cunt already.

He nibbles on your earlobe, slowly shifting his hips to thrust in and out of you properly. Soft plap, plap, plap, of his body hitting yours, making sure that he hits your g-spot.

You swallow a whine as he lets go of your hip to lazily rub his thumb on your swollen little button. Hearing the way your breath hitches and seeing the slight curve in your spine makes all his administrations worth it. Slowly speeding up his movements as he squeezes your hand, groaning low in his throat when you clench around him tightly like a vice.

"Tight cunt all f'me," he thrusts harder and harder, making it difficult to keep quiet. Soft punched-out cries leave your lips alongside Daddy, Daddy, Daddy's. "Fuck, daddy's gonna make you cum so hard around his cock, might even make you scream."

Leon slowly pushes your legs up, putting you into a mating press as he drives himself deeper into you. Fucking into your womb, which craves his thick cum. Ecstatic with the idea of 'accidentally' slipping the condom off and cumming deep in your womb. Get you pregnant and finally be his woman.

"God, wanna get you pregnant so bad, baby," he pants, bangs falling into your face with each harsh thrust. "Would take care of you and the baby. Mmhh shit—would suck the milk outta your fat leaky tits."

Drools into your mouth as he kisses you with fervor, teeth clashing as his dick continues to fill up your sloppy pussy.

"Leon, please, 'm so close," you hiccup as he vigorously rubs your clit in tight circles. Your legs brush up against his head as you feel that familiar warm coil in your stomach.

"Cum for me princess." Leon's eyes darken; pupil's swallowing up his iris as he watches you unfold before him. Because of him.

Your body tenses up and convulses with each swipe of his thumb on your sensitive nerves. Letting out a silent scream, your eyes close tightly as you try to hold onto Leon as best as you can, feeling his hot breath on your kissed, swollen lips. His fat cock is hitting all the right spots, almost painfully good as he fucks you deeply. Constantly pressing up against your womb, making your toes curl.

Slowly rutting through your orgasm, he feels his own start to creep up on him. "Fuck, hold on, baby. Gonna pull out for a sec," he pants, pulls out of your heat, and discreetly pulls off the condom, letting it fall on his jeans.

He quickly puts it back in before you can notice, giving you a spine-chilling smile. Giving you a few pecks on your lips and on your forehead as he uses you like a fleshlight now.

Letting out soft whimpers and moans, he puts his head on your shoulder. The sounds of sex are his favorite sounds. Your crying is his favorite sound in the entire world. Nothing can top you crying out for him while moaning like a total slut.

"So fucking hot, Jesus Christ," he groans, hips rabbiting into your pussy. Your insides are so warm and so wet, he feels like it's the first time he's going raw ever. Orgasm on the fence with each thrust. That and you're making all these noises, it's hard for him to concentrate on not cumming so fast.

"G'nna cum, babe, holy fuck—" He lifts his head off of your shoulder and kisses you feverishly, spitting deep into your throat. Putting his forehead on yours, his nose touches yours as he grunts, pumping his cum into your pussy. Sticky white ropes straight into your womb.

Panting and whimpering as his cock slowly ruts into your messy cunt. "Fuck... So good," he chuckles lightheartedly.

Your pussy quivers around his shaft as it softens up. It feels so hot and sticky, and your mind is too fuzzy to even process that he came inside. A dumbfounded smile plastered on your flushed pink face makes his heart swell up.

"Such a good girl. My good girl, right?" Leon nuzzles his nose against yours. Driving the fact that you'll always be his. Even if you move across the country, he'll always follow. Always in your shadow.

"Uhuh," you respond shyly, giggling at the affection he's giving you. His eyes soften up, and you take in his face. The light stubble, small acne scars, and the way his hair is fading from dirty blonde to brown. "always, daddy."

#leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #resident evil smut #leon smut #resident evil x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon x reader #leon kennedy x reader #dead dove fic #dead dove do not eat #leon resident evil #re4 leon #re4r leon #leon scott kennedy #localkiss

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edgeray · 3 months

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“LATE NIGHT DEVIL, PUT YOUR HANDS ON ME

and never never never ever let go”- Teeth, 5 Seconds of Summer

Mafia AU! Arlecchino x Reader Oneshot

Author's Note: It's been a while since I've actually published anything on here. Well, my gay ass is back with another oneshot. This one has been in the works for at least a month. I'm considering making a Part 2, but that will definitely take at least a couple weeks for me to publish (if not months). I wish I was kidding. School literally hates me and my teachers are incessant on killing my GPA. This is also a gift for @megistusdiary because it'll be her birthday when I post this. Please go check out her blog for amazing genshin wlw content (especially Arlecchino content!) Would you guys like this on AO3 as well?

Content Warning/Info: This is a long af oneshot (6.3k words), long af descriptions and kinda long intro, Arlecchino is referred to with they/them pronouns, implied female but no usage of feminine pronouns for Reader, general dark-ish content, pet names, Arlecchino is a lil scary, I've never been to a club so I apologize for the very inaccurate information, nor have I ever been apart of the mafia so also inaccurate, a bit suggestive but otherwise sfw, if I'm missing anything feel free to tell me!

---

Monsters are said to have lied underneath beds–waiting to ensnare an unknowing victim–or stalk hidden among the depths of a closet–awaiting an opportune moment to strike its next prey. Monsters are fabled entities that are used to scare off children from bad behavior and are quickly eased from the mind by coddling parents. The mere notion of a monster shooed away like a pesky fly, swept underneath the subconscious like forgotten specks of dirt.

You know otherwise. Real monsters don’t lurk on the undersides of mattresses; no, they lurk both in the skies above and the depths below. They do not stalk dark closets because they instead stalk alleys in daylit streets. Monsters are very real, that you know is true since you’ve seen your fair share of them. You’ve met monsters in person–they’ve come to you before. Terrifying is an understatement for them, and each time one has appeared as a client, you’re no less scared shitless.

You’ve learned that even inhumane demons find themselves in need of entertainment; like the sinful creatures they are, they seek self-pleasure. And that is how you found yourself in this particular circle of hell, meant to serve and please demons, devils, and monsters alike. Perhaps it was a revolting job, working at a strip club run by a criminal organization but it paid decent money for being danced on the fingertips of whoever you were unfortunate enough to be assigned to.

If it was a regular strip club, being an exotic dancer would have been fine. It wouldn't be so bad. Lustful and prying eyes can be accustomed to quickly, and so are the flattering compliments and the awkward flirting by middle-aged married men. However, there was a difference between lecherous and predatory gazes. Here, you aren’t even viewed as a person, no, the clients here, those that come in reeking of smoke or blood (though sometimes both), armed with knives and guns on their person, see you as nothing more than a toy or prey for them. Even in the eyes of your employer, you're less than human in their eyes.

‘You harm our merchandise, you’ll pay for it,’ is the warning given to every guest when they first enter. Merchandise. That's what you are. And that single line of words is the only thing that assures you of your safety among mafia members, gangsters, crooks, and whatnot. You've heard that the organization behind this strip club does well in enforcing that rule according to other dancers, but you personally don't want to see if the statement is true. You've been here for a little over a year, and besides bruising grips and pulled hair you’ve surprisingly yet to be seriously injured in any way. So maybe monsters do have a little humanity in them.

You're quickly growing to be a fan favorite as of recently, which means more money goes your way, but you're not sure how you feel about all the attention on you. It's most likely because of how often you offer private dances and private rooms to clients. Whatever gets you the most money; the faster you make money the faster you can pay off your debt and be out of here.

Tonight is supposed to be no different from other nights. You perform on stage, you rile up the crowd, you get showered in tips, and if there is a customer that looks mentally sane enough not to murder you in private, you take them to the back. Except, tonight, you're approached by your boss, who informs you that the entirety of the club was reserved by the Fatui, a well-known mafia more powerful and larger than the one that backs you up, for some celebration. These kinds of occurrences in the club rarely crop up, but when they do, they're often the most opportune time to bag in an abundant amount of money. Big shots like the Fatui pay and tip well, but there's one unsaid risk that comes with this: as a mere dancer like yourself, your life quite literally dangles in the Fatuis’ hands tonight. The organization that owns this establishment can't retaliate against the Fatuis if they so choose to dismiss the warning. They can't even compare to the might of the Fatui.

Simply put, if a Fatui kills you tonight, no one could do more besides bat their eyelashes. You're not at all pleased with this predicament of practically bordering on death, especially when you know one wrong move with one too hot-tempered Fatui could land you at the pearly gates. Keep pleasing the crowd, keep entertaining them, keep racking in the money, you remind yourself as you continue your dance, twirling around the pole sensually, and the customers devour every movement with their eyes. The only comfort you're given is that you've heard the Fatui are quite reasonable and diplomatic most of the time. This is especially true for the Harbingers, you've heard, the twelve most elite members that serve under the Tsaritsa, and the ones that are the most exclusive customers this night. That doesn't mean the Harbingers are any more humane than the average crook. Having worked in a strip club run by the mafia and surrounded by criminal organizations, the more rumored something is, the more dangerous it is. They can be considered devils amongst demons even. That's simply how vile they're supposed to be.

The most concerning problem about the Harbingers is that you don’t know what they look like, only the occasional whisper has alluded to how to distinguish between the twelve. Perhaps, you can survive through the night if you try not to draw too much attention; let the other dancers shine instead and hope you don’t get requested for a private room or dance. That way, you can ensure you don’t end up dead.

Your time to go upstage comes sooner than you’re prepared for. Your hands are clammy, and your form trembles in a way that only happened during your first month. Both reactions don’t make for a very good combination when your survival relies on you not fucking up and disappointing criminal customers. As you approach the pole, just like every time you’ve done, you make sure that the crowd’s gazes are in the backdrop of your mind, and instead, fixate on repeating the movements you’ve been taught and have mastered with your experience. Bet your survival on the provocative sway of your hips, the practiced showcase of your legs, and the allure of your dancing form. Beguile the crowd, but not too much, just enough to wow them. From what you can tell by the volume of the crowd, you’re doing a good job pleasing the Fatui enough. Your body stops tremoring after a few minutes on stage, and with one last final push of courage, you focus your eyes on the crowd before you.

Unsurprisingly, the makeup of the Fatui are men, though there are notably quite a few women. Either way, all of their attention is on you. As your eyes scan across a crowd, for one reason or another, you stop at a particular set of eyes near the back of the crowd. Intent, pitch-black abysses stare back, like they were trying to bore into your soul and devour every single motion of yours. They don’t quite hold the same ravenous desire as many of those before you right now, you mentally note with curiosity. It feels like your form is being calculated, in the way a predator would cautiously observe their next prey, a sensation you’ve experienced a few times, but each is no less chilling. The weight of their engrossed gaze causes you to shiver momentarily, and you snap away from their disturbing gaze to prevent any fumbling or faltering while you’re on stage.

Tonight marks the first time you actively seek out the same viewer while on stage, or even, during your entire time here. For some reason, you feel awfully bold, or curious, whichever two comforts you more, and unlike the meek little rabbit you usually are, you instead search for the viewer’s gaze. You find the pair of eyes with relative ease, as you remember that above their eyes are distinctive snow-white strands with streaks as black as their orbs. You take a moment to study them, and they remind you of a lion–or lioness–among hyenas. The aura they exude varied quite a bit compared to the other Fatui in front of you: not rambunctious, or arrogant; it's apparent they held an aura of indomitable authority just from the way they held themselves. Perfect posture with their clasped hands nested in their lap, with one leg raised over the other. They’re an embodiment of perfected elegance, however, much like a porcelain doll, they’re also expressionless, their appearance unmarred. You don’t examine the Fatui’s form for much longer because their scrutiny on you pricks at your skin irritatedly.

You don’t look for them again throughout your performance. In fact, you hope you never meet those charcoal pits again. You’re afraid that if you do, you’ll be ensnared by whatever beastly claws or fangs you know that Fatui hides underneath that impenetrable mask. The moment your time on stage ends, you rush back to the changing room to shake off your nerves. You sit down at a nearby chair, taking in deep sighs as you attempt to forget how you were stared down like a you were cornered, defenseless animal. And that is what you are, as much as you hate it. There’s nothing that can protect you from the Fatui. Maybe if you hide, never show your face for the rest of the night, they’ll forget they ever saw you and they’ll target another dancer. Surely, that will work, won’t it?

You’re able to steady your breathing before you can delve into a panic attack. Tonight, you decide, you’re not going to take any customers to any private rooms or take any private dances. You’d be missing out on a lot of money, but your life is more of a priority as of currently; not after the ‘encounter’ with that individual, you don’t want to think about how many more are just like them, hiding in the crowd like they were awaiting an opportunity to pounce on your vulnerable form.

Unfortunately, it seems like someone else has other plans for you because your manager storms into the room asking for your whereabouts before his eyes narrow on you. You immediately sit up, stiff as a board when he practically marches his way towards you.

"Someone wants you."

You sigh and shake your head. You should have known. "Not tonight."

He clicks his tongue. "You know I can't allow that tonight."

You bite your lip. "Just pass them to someone else."

"They're not someone you or I can refuse."

"Who?" You question with a shuddering breath, your nails digging into your thigh.

"The fourth one. The Knave. Lord Arlecchino."

Fuck your life. You might as well pull the trigger now. You’ve heard faint whispers of each Harbinger from the customers audacious enough to speak of them. The youngest, the eleventh, charming and boyish. The ninth, money-obsessed but a pretty looker. The eighth, elegant and cold, yet no less alluring. The seventh, as human-like as their robotic creations, which to say isn’t very. The sixth, is hotheaded and mysterious. The fifth, unknown. And the fourth?

Insane. Ruthless. Bloodthirsty. That’s how the fourth is described. You shiver at the horrors that appear on the forefront of your mind when imagining what may come for you. If you're lucky, you'll be alive at the end of the night, more than likely clinging to the edge of living.

“Well? What are you waiting for? Get ready as soon as you can.”

And you do. It’s not long until you stand in front of the private room’s door, your guest is already inside more than likely. The Fourth Harbinger is waiting, you remind yourself, fruitlessly trying to swallow down your stress. You can be dead the minute you step inside, this room could be marked as your grave. Whatever he tells you to do, you’ll obey wordlessly to survive. Just nod along, smile, and do whatever it is that he tells you regardless of the demand. You inhale deeply, regaining some ease of mind, before you bring your knuckles to the door, knocking.

“Come in,” comes a deep, flat voice, slightly muffled by its distance but what surprises you is how feminine the Harbinger sounds. Maybe you got the wrong room. You glance back at the room number plate on the door, and it’s the room you remember your manager mentioning. It’s the right room. Maybe someone else? You don’t have time to wonder, however, as you enter the room, knowing that if it is the Fourth, it wouldn’t be wise to keep him (Her? Them? You’ll just stick with ‘them’ now.) waiting.

“Lord Arlecchino?” You inquire as you enter the room, closing the door behind you. Sucking in a harsh inhale, you instantly recognize their distinct hair. It’s them. Your sight is immediately greeted by the figure sitting on the couch before you, sitting in exactly the same way you discovered them–crossed-legged and lounging back with unfaltering confidence. The Knave wears a scarlet blazer over a black compressed turtleneck, with a matching set of crimson leggings. Upon closer inspection, you’re able to make out red irises in their jet-black eyes. Despite the blatant and literal red flag, something about their appearance draws you in even when they scream danger. They’re… you’re not quite sure how to describe them. You admire the unblemished and pale skin, their elegant and rugged demeanor is like the perfect balance between femininity and masculinity. Are they beautiful, or are they handsome? You think both.

Arlecchino stares back at you like they’re considering devouring you then and there. You can’t suppress the shudder that runs down your spine. You’re a sheep before a wolf. There’s something so chilling about them that even with your experience with other clients, none has ever made you feel this way with just their mere gaze alone. This is what separates the average crook from one of the most powerful mafia members you've ever heard of.

You wait for a response but they only continue to observe you. You take the silence as confirmation to your question and that they’re anticipating something from you. Biting back a sigh of resignation, your hands hook underneath the band of your bra top and you lift it just the slightest amount before a cutting voice makes you freeze.

“What are you doing?” the Harbinger demands, their tone chilling and apathetic, making you want to shrink in yourself immediately. Your blood pumps loudly in your ears and your hands tremble a bit. Something about how designing their gaze makes you suddenly self-aware in a way you’ve never felt before another client–you’re practically half-naked in front of them with your skimpy bra top, undergarments, and fishnets and now is the only moment that you've actually considered how little covering is on you.

Why are they stopping you? Isn’t this what they wanted you to do? Or maybe they just want to do it themselves. Those types of customers always have the most bruising of grips and suffocating of holds. You stiffen at the notion. How are you going to survive this night with a Fatui Harbinger of all things? How many of your limbs are going to be fractured and how many of your bones are going to end up broken?

“I…I’m undressing,” your meek voice sounds out and you hate the crack in your speech. The Harbinger continues to scrutinize you. You don’t dare continue disrobing yourself.

There are several beats of wordless response before they then stand up from the couch.

Oh shit. You’ve fucked up. Are they going to kill you now? Is this your end?

Every thought is telling you to run in the opposite direction as they stalk up to you, but you're petrified as you realize with a chill that they’re taller than you. You’re not short by any means, a bit above average height, but they tower over you, looking down at you from above and casting judgment on you like a god. Once they stride toward you, you avoid eye contact by looking straight, observing their neck and clavicle that protrudes from underneath the fabric. You tense when they raise a hand, their manicured fingers placing themselves underneath your chin and long, carmine nails dig into the underside of your jaw, making you wince. They forcefully tilt your head, raising your focus onto their face.

It’s like they plunged their hands down your throat and ripped out the oxygen from your lungs, leaving you unable to breathe. Up close, the first thing you notice is their lips, plump and red from their lipstick. Briefly, you wonder what color their lipstick would look on your skin. Then your eyes travel up, red-crossed eyes gaze back at you and you gape quietly at the distinct shape of their pupils. You swear that their pupils flash red as you finally lock eye contact with them.

“Did I tell you to?” Their tone is cold compared to the strange softness of their handsome (beautiful?) face.

Something in your gut coils inwardly and you want to look away, but their firm hold on your chin prevents you. You bite your bottom lip to repress a whimper. You’re delicate glass in their hands, and they can break you so, so easily.

“No, sir.” Only the numerous times you’ve said this phrase ensures you don’t stumble over your words. They don’t answer promptly, but as they observe your features, their lips quirk up the slightest amount.

“You know how to address me. Very good,” Arlecchino purrs after several beats of silence, in a low, oh-so-sultry tone, and oh. Oh.

You’re not sure why, but their last two words make your stomach churn, but not in a discomforting way. In the way that lights a fire underneath your skin and spreads heat to every part of your body. You’ve never quite felt this way with another customer. You couldn’t believe that your body reacts this way just from a single praise but it doesn’t stop the pooling heat in your bowels. The chill down your spine still remains in place, but there’s an off-putting equilibrium of iciness and fervor generated from the client.

The Fatui’s eyes stay fixated on you wordlessly until the hand on your chin turns your head, finally breaking you free of their intense behold. Their grip slackens so that they can trace their nails gently down your throat, every inch of surface their fingertips brush against ignites a blaze on your skin. A shuddering exhale leaves your lips and it seems like they take notice because from the corner of your eye, the small uptick of their mouth grows. Despite how sensual and probing the Harbinger’s touch feels, there’s nothing lecherous about it–purely just intrigue and fascination. It’s a touch you both have and never experienced before. Cold nails rake against your throat, not enough to mark or scratch, but enough to invoke shivers.

You’re aware you should be terrified, but for a reason you can’t pin down, you can’t jerk away from their touch. You try to reason with yourself it was only because you’re one upset away from getting yourself killed but that reasoning falls apart when their hand gingerly traces your jawline and you make the softest of groans, a barely audible noise of content. Unfortunately for you, the sound seems to have reached Arlecchino’s ears and their expression softens slightly: their eyes narrow less and their brows aren’t as creased. And that smirk–if you could even call it that from how faint it is–becomes a half-smirk.

They pull their hand away and your trance is broken, reality returning back to you as you remember that the person before you is still a Fatui Harbinger, no matter how bizarrely melting their touch was. They turn on their heel and walk towards the couch in front of you; the slightest bit of heaviness is placed on your heart. You remain stationary where you are, observing them as they seat themselves gracefully on the couch, and their attention encounters yours again. Their black pits hold expectancy in them. At first, you’re clueless as to what the criminal desires from you, but then their legs spread apart, an inviting gesture that beckons you and every rational thought leaves your easily swayed mind. Your heart skips a beat, and you're sure this time it's not out of trepidation.

Even if you didn’t command them to, your legs would take you to their seating figure. You stand before them, feeling blatantly disrespectful to look down at Arlecchino, but you await their order. They lean back, lounging laxly against the couch, their posture never lacking their usual self-assurance. It only ties the knot in your gut tighter. You’re aware of what they’re instructing you to do, but the absent confirmation makes you hesitant. It seems like the Knave picks up on this because the room echoes with one definitive spouted word from their lips, authority and dominance ringing through their husky voice.

“Sit.”

Your legs buckle underneath you from the one-worded response, the demand only stoking the consuming fire inside you. Eager to please, you perch yourself on their lap, straddling them, your knees pressed into the furniture below you and encasing both of their thighs between your own.

Oh, you think to yourself as your legs make contact with their thighs. They're firm. And for some reason, that provokes your stomach to churn in itself even more. You're so close to them, enough to feel their breath cascade against your skin.

As you seat yourself, you nearly clumsily topple over, instinctively grasping onto their shoulders for support. Their shoulders are remarkably broad, you regard, well-muscled as well. Their hands creep up on your hips, steady but gentle hands grasping on each bare side of yours to stabilize you. The heat that radiates from their hands is infectious, regardless of the nails that burrow into your plush waist. For the first time, you flush considerably, a sweltering inferno forming in your cheeks and your head fills with dizziness. Their touch is gentle–something you rarely experience with customers–so, so gentle that you would describe it as heavenly. How can someone so inexplicably vile have heaven on their fingertips?

It's not a position you never found yourself in. In fact, it's far from the first time you've been like this with another client. But here, as you're sat on top of the Fatui Harbinger, and red x-pupils search yours, a foreign feeling passes through you. Placing your finger on it, you dubiously think it's bashfulness, but the heartbeat that sings in your ears and pulses underneath your fingertips tells you otherwise, tells you it's something more. Against that, you remove your grasp on their shoulders and place your palm flat against the couch’s surface behind the Knave.

You squirm a bit, nervousness in your form as you remain as still as you possibly can, waiting for any more instructions. All you need to do is act like an obedient doll for them in order to survive; compliance is the best way of ensuring survival with people like these. You feel like you're merely eye candy from the way that their attention flits across your body, but you're immobile throughout the entirety of their observance. Being looked at is much better than any physical interaction. Their hands still cup your hips, but slowly, they descend to the side of your thighs, making your skin feel tingly.

Impulsively, you mumble out a quiet "Sir…" as strange sensations brush against your skin.

The sound surprises you and you feel on edge as their eyes travel from your lower half to your face. You gulp considerably. From their stare, they expect more of a response, a reason for their addressment, but even you don’t know yourself; it seems like an unconscious calling that just rolled off your tongue. You cow underneath their gaze, even when the two of you are at eye level. When you linger in quietude, their hand releases one of your thighs and lifts to your face, supporting your chin while their thumb rests on your bottom lip, unfurling it just the slightest amount to implore an answer from your now parted lips. Gleaming scarlet pupils grip your regard sternly, piercing into you and instilling you to spew something out. Except, you still can’t, now too entranced and lost in the crimson.

“Doll.”

Despite the pet name, it's devoid of any affection or warmth. It's a word that drips of command, a reminder of your place: simply a toy that they can play with however they want, a manipulated and decorated plaything for their amusement. That means you answer to them, and so when they request a response, you're under the obligation to please them. Your survival is in their palms anyway, if they wanted you to dance, you would just so they wouldn’t strangle the life out of you.

However, its implication doesn’t prevent the tingling shudders that wrack your body nor the involuntary clenching of your thighs around theirs. Was it the gravelly voice that aroused your behavior? Your cheeks flare at the knowledge that Harbinger sensed the physical reaction. It shouldn't be possible. It shouldn't be possible, your thoughts repeat, but then they're interrupted by:

"Oh?" Arlecchino inquires to themselves, a stark amusement in their speech. Their red glare illuminates slightly, replacing the lost darkening with a faint glow in their pupils, and the corner of their mouth curls up. It is only then that you discover something entirely new: that monsters can be sinfully, cataclysmically, terrifyingly beautiful and the sight before you is the most exquisite example. A devil has you wrapped in its claws and its fangs readied for devouring but it’s disguised as an ethereal angel; blinded by their perilous allure, you mistake their snow-white hair, their lustrous piercing rubies, their flawless porcelain skin, and their burning, fleeting touches as traits of a seraph. From a measly smirk, you forget the atrocities lying underneath their fingertips and dismiss the hazard their presence holds.

The hand on your thigh rakes its fingers up, red nails trailing across the surface of your fishnet, wrenching out a breathy gasp from you as they travel inwards. Tingling pleasure injects into your veins as you subconsciously lean in, imploring for further sensual contact. A plea sits on your tongue and nests in your eyes as you beg them through your pitiful expression. They drink in your desperation with a slow swipe of their tongue over their lips, and that single action is debauched enough to elicit a soft groan from your throat.

“Well, aren’t you an amusing toy?” They drawl out with a preposing rasp and dark abysses glint with an insatiable hunger.

They smirk enticingly, their thumb running across your bottom lip and smearing your lipstick on their thumb pad. Their grip on your chin tightens a bit, pulling you even closer to them before a shadow casts over you when their face nears. Before you can even fathom their intentions, they descend upon you, closing the distance between the two of you. Your lips are greeted with something pillowy soft and fervently warm, and you sharply inhale from the sensation. Every one of your nerves sings frenziedly, your muscles tense all over, and your heartbeat drums deafeningly in your ears–all of this as your body is engulfed in a fervid tornado of heat that makes you lightheaded with pleasure. It takes you several beats to realize the reason for this is that Lord Arlecchino, the Fourth Harbinger, the Knave is kissing–no, kissing is far too intimate, devouring–you voraciously like they're trying to rob you of any air, trying to imprint themselves on your mouth. Their mouth dominates yours, pushing against them with a deep fervor and famished urgency, eager to swallow every bit of shocked noise you make.

You close your eyes and allow yourself to indulge.

You first taste lipstick with a waxy flavor hitting your tastebuds. It’s cold against your lips, yet warm at the same time. But the physical texture and flavor of their lips are irrelevant; there’s only one true manner you would distinguish their taste:

They taste like sin.

The type of sin that’s chocolate coated and sprinkled with colorful toppings; depravity so sweet and charming it makes you reconsider the bounds of right and wrong. Degeneracy is far, far tastier than anything you’ve indulged in before. How can something so evil be so heavenly? Cushiony soft, placidly warm, flatteringly zealous, it’s like having a dance with a devil; so unequivocally immoral but no less gratifying. You question if they really belong to the Fatui because how can something like this come from such? You want to engrave the texture of their mouth onto your memory, feel this faux intimacy even when you’ve long parted. The Fourth Harbinger, you surmise as you surrend your will to them, is decadent–the only word that can be defined as both wicked and delectable at once–the perfect word to describe them.

The last remaining bit of reasoning comes to the backdrop of your thoughts and begs you to not be swept away in the heavenly embrace. You discount it in favor of accepting this godsent gift by leaning further with a weak imitation of their ravishing lips and pressing back. It’s a feeble attempt to match their insatiate nature, far too domineering and forceful than you can manage but they display a token of appreciation when they squeeze your thigh, indenting your skin shallowly with the burrowing of their nails. The action exposes just how sensitive you’ve gone underneath their touch and you reward them with the sweetest of sounds.

“Arlecchino,” you mumble with half-lidded dazed eyes in between ravenous exchanges and it evokes a depraved throaty growl from the Fatui, like provoking a call from a starving beast. They lean deeper to indulge in your taste. The gruff sound reaches your ears and it’s like a psalm–you shudder from its musical melody.

Their clutch on your jaw releases and their fingers outline your jawline before snaking to the back of your head. Well-manicured digits entangle themselves in your hair, and there’s a gentle shove against your skull that forces you deeper into the kiss. Your hands clutch onto the couch underneath you as tight as you physically can for any sense of grounding and your knees attempt to close in even more to feel more of their body against yours. The hand on your leg, in turn, caresses the length of your thigh.

Every graceful touch, stroke, and brush exudes an unyielding and infectious warmth that only adds to the stoking fire in your gut, and you’re bathed in so much swelter from the ecstasy that you feel dizzy. Yet, you never want it to end, you grow more addicted and drunk with each encounter of their lips. That, paired with your strained breathing, prompts your stamina to falter much sooner than the Harbinger’s. You let out a soft whine to signal your depleting oxygen, and their mouth unlatch with yours, pulling away despite your ache for more. With the separation comes a small string of saliva attached between the two of you, evidence of the shared intimacy that’s snapped when they lick their lips. The hand behind your head detangles from your hair and you silently mourn over the loss of contact.

You heave for air, your chest rising and falling rapidly. You’re a little perturbed when you notice that they’re not even out of breath, a small but firm reminder that they’re as inhuman as humans can be. That knocks a sense of reality back into you. Customer, mafia, Fatui, Harbinger, it comes back to you like a train. Here you are swapping spit with them while in the lap of potentially the most dangerous criminal you could ever meet, but fuck were they a good kisser–you’ve never experienced anything that came close to this in your lifetime.

Any foolish doubtful contemplation of the morality of this interaction is swept away just like that when you hear:

“Greedy little thing that you are,” they regard with the most cunning and handsome of smiles, discrete amusement dripping from their words. Their dark pits behold you entirely, the same way they have always done when it seems like they were contemplating what part of you to savor the most. Only this time, you’re not so disturbed by the notion. If anything, the swirling heat in between your legs suggests the opposite.

Greedy wasn't a word often associated with you, yet you couldn't more correctly describe yourself in that moment. Greedy. Greedy for a Fatui Harbinger no less. As ashamed as you should be, there's no use denying that you crave for their touch, for their gaze, for anything and everything they're willing to give you. You want everything and more. The more you contemplate, the more it seems obvious why you wouldn’t. Are they a devil disguised as an angel, or are they an angel that fell from grace? Regardless, they bring nirvana to you. An incessant desire bubbles inside you, your throat swelling up with an urgent request on the tip of your tongue. Would they allow such a thing if you plead? Would they be offended by your impudence? Would they punish you for such? But the necessity outweighs any reconsideration of your insolence and the supplicant beg tumbles out of your loose lips.

“Can I… touch you please, my Lord?” You croak out, wincing at just how wretched it comes out. The response from them is not immediate as the two of you stew in silence, a building sense of dejection inside of you. The expression on their face noticeably contorts, smile lessening, their brows furrowing, and their red x’s glinting dimly. Their free hand raises to near your neck and you suck in a harsh breath as their fingers enclose around your throat. The mere action sends a stinging reminder to your lust-dazed thoughts about their position, and a chill pierces you.

Mafia, Fatui, Harbinger, the Fourth Harbinger, the Knave–the labels cycle through your thoughts. Though their grip is lax, not exactly suffocating and giving ample space to breathe, their fingertips does acutely jab into your skin, a display of their impressive grip strength. You have no doubt that they can suffocate you with one hand alone, snap your neck, or, as your mind ventures into more harrowing territories, crush your skull. Those thoughts alone has you breathless with anticipation. A heavy weight suddenly appears in your gut, so heavy that you feel like you can’t move so much as a muscle.

Did you just go too far? Was that too much to ask? Was this how you were going to die?

The reflex to gag and inhale combat each other in your throat, a discomforting sensation that crawls up your spine while you tremble. You’re almost certain that the nails have penetrated the layer of skin, drawing beads of blood that’ll trail down your mark. You whimper at the prickly pain. Yet, in all your unease, the most masochistic thought arrives briefly at the forefront, and you can’t help but consider: this position is just as intimate as all the other interactions. You’re already so vulnerable in their lap, does the hand around your neck change your peril in any way? No, you’ve been a defenseless lamb to a slaughter the moment you’ve stepped into the domain of a menacing wolf.

Ah. Even now, you can’t dismiss the warmth of their fingertips.

“Do you still want to touch me when I do this?” They demand callously, their voice harsh and reverberating through the room. Their grasp closes more around, and you feel your supply of oxygen inhibited. Tears begin to brim your eyes, but you’re undeterred. Unlike Arlecchino’s, your answer is instant and breathless. Your eyes intently lock on theirs, the hardened expression enough to satisfy their question. There’s no need for contemplation. Danger, you determine, is addicting.

“Yes.”

The previously small smile stretches across their lips considerably. Content, or dare you say it, thrill writes itself over their face and the boulder previously pressed against your shoulders is lifted. Your throat is freed from their hold, but their touch doesn’t halt there. Instead, they rotate your head for you to face to the left, exposing your side profile to them. From the corner of your eyes, you watch as their face draws closer to your skin, hot breath cascading across the small dents her nails created. The one on your thigh finally leaves, moving to one of your hips, tender strokes across your flushed surface. They lean forward, and moist, plush skin meets yours. Lips traverse over the length of your neck, teeth scraping against, making you weakly groan. It takes all of your will to still your body, only allowing for the Harbinger to do whatever they desire to your form. Their touches are burning, burning, burning–so hot that you wonder if you’re experiencing a heat wave. Peppered kisses follow the edge of your jawbone, all the way up to your earlobe. A wet kiss graces your ear and then the most sinful of statements dignifies your eardrums, like a devil whispering hymns directly into your ear.

“I think I’ll keep you to myself after this.”

A short hum follows afterward.

“If you want to touch me, you’ll have to work for it. You’re only mine for tonight, aren't you? Entertain me. Give me a private dance, doll. After all, you have me for all night.”

---

Link to M-Alexa's amazing art and how I imagine Arlecchino to look like in this oneshot.

#arlecchino x reader #arlecchino x you #arlecchino #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin impact fanfics #guys I'm so tired it's 2AM rn #i have school tomorrow guys #i chose to finish this tonight despite the shit ton of homework I have to do #arlecchino brain rot does that to you #def worth it #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin impact arlecchino #genshin arlecchino #genshin fics #arlecchino smut #edgeray.writes #edgeray.blog

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wonkixo · 5 days

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GOOD GIRLS — y. jungwon

pairing badboy!yjw x goodgirl!fmr genre situationship to lovers (?) synopsis jungwon is your getaway from your highly adorned status as your parents' perfect little girl. warnings suggestive, v rushed angst, fluff (kind of), mentions of sex (although there is no actual smut), mentions of alcohol/drinking, grownup adults being strict/have high expectations?, not proofread :p

AUTHOR'S NOTE one of my favorite tropes ever tbh except i did nawttt do it justice :// i kinda wrote this sporadically as i just wanted to try out a written fic lol. i promise my next written work will be better 🫡 ofc inspired by good girls by 5sos :3 (listened to that banger at least 10x while writing this) likes n reblogs would be greatly appreciateddd <3

"We apologize YN could not make it to tonight's dinner. She informed us late last night that she was unable to make it due to a prior commitment with her tutoring job."

Your parents were ecstatic to be speaking so highly of you to your father's coworkers. Tonight's dinner was intended to honor your father's promotion at his work, but all your parents could speak about was you.

As their only daughter (actually, their only child for that matter), you were their pride and joy. The end of your senior year of high school was approaching, and you were set to attend your top university on a full ride scholarship. Your parents could not have been any more proud of you.

"That's no problem whatsoever. It's lovely to hear how dedicated your daughter is to her studies. It's quite a shame to admit that such children like yours are rare nowadays." Your father's boss chimes in, smiling softly at the two parents.

Little did they know that the little girl they were speaking so highly of, was off somewhere in the backseat of a certain somebody's car.

Your parents left you home alone, anticipating that you would drive yourself to your tutoring session moments after they left. However, there you were in the backseat of Jungwon's car, who had picked you up and drove to an empty parking lot by a nearby beach.

You sat prettily atop his lap, quietly kissing at his Adam's apple while his one of his arms circled your waist with his other hand holding a soju bottle. "You know I love you, right?"

You pulled away from Jungwon, staring at him with adoration after his statement. "Of course I do, and I love you more." Jungwon responds with a small smile, showing off his dimples, before taking a quick swig of his soju.

With the way Jungwon was acting tonight in comparison to other nights, as he was acting less feverish and more so solemn, you knew something was up. "You look like you have a lot going through your mind, pretty boy. What's wrong, Won?"

He slid the soju bottle into the side compartment before resting both his hands on your waist. "Don't forget about me when we graduate."

You tilted your head in confusion. "Why would I ever?" But you knew more than anyone why, especially now, he would be doubting your relationship... if you could even call it that.

For one, there was no clear label between you two. You were not boyfriend and girlfriend. Heck, students around you at school do not even associate you together.

You two ran in different crowds — Jungwon was apart of the popular kids; constantly getting into trouble at school (and occasionally with the law), while you were considered a student of poise and leadership with your top grades and excellent extracurriculars.

The only reason why you two even got to know each other in the first place was truly because of fate.

You two had been assigned as chemistry laboratory partners your junior year. Although your dynamic started off sour at first for obvious reasons, having spent more and more time together brought you two closer.

Restroom breaks during class became steamy makeout sessions in the janitor's closet. After school study sessions turned into having sex in the backseat of his car or in his bedroom.

All that aside, you knew Jungwon was doubting your relationship now because your time together was coming to a close. With graduations came goodbyes, but neither of you wanted to think about leaving each other just yet.

But Jungwon knew you had a bright future ahead of you and he did not want to get in the way of that. "YN, we're graduating soon. You're going to be so successful. You don't need me anymore."

You shook your head in disagreement, placing your forehead against his while you cupped his face in your hands. "Respectfully Jungwon, shut the fuck up."

Your blunt honesty brought upon a slight chuckle from Jungwon and you smile to yourself for lifting up the mood at least a tiny bit. "Jungwon, I couldn't care less as to how my future plays out. All I care about is that you are apart of it. You are my present and you are my future."

Jungwon heard the pure sincerity in your voice and his heart could not help but flutter. "Let's just enjoy each other right now, in this moment. Okay? We'll figure out all our shit later. We'll figure it all out together, Won. I love you."

"I love you so much, YN." In response, you kiss both of Jungwon's cheeks, then his lips, then you reattach your lips to his neck. You suck at his skin harshly, bringing out a moan from the boy under you.

"You're such a vixen, pretty."

"Hmm, you think so?" You pull away from him, admiring the mark you left as the moonlight hit against you two perfectly.

Jungwon turned his head to you and kissed your lips, giving you a taste of the soju's green grape flavor. "You're my vixen though." He mutters against your lips, before pulling you in once more.

The kiss quickly became hot and needy, with the way one of Jungwon's arms wrapped tighter around your waist while the other reached up to your neck, where his hand applied the slightest amount of pressure.

You responded to the gesture with a light moan against his lips and your hips began to move against his. "I want you so bad." You mutter against lips as your hips moved faster against him, indicating your desire.

Jungwon pulled away from your lips and began to trail kisses against your jaw. His hands moved underneath your shirt and as his hands began to play with the clasp, your phone loudly dinged. You groaned as you pulled away from Jungwon and took your phone out your pocket.

Mom <3: Hey sweetie! Sorry to bother.. Are you still tutoring? Wanted to let you know Dad and I will be home soon.. Love you ❤️

"That was your parents, wasn't it?" You nod as you returned the phone to your back pocket. Jungwon's hands returned to your waist and began to fiddle with your belt loops.

"Let's get you home, pretty. We can't let your parents find out just how bad my good girl is." Jungwon looked at you with starry eyes, which were quickly taken aback as you suddenly grabbed his hands on your waist and placed them above his head. "How about no?"

You felt Jungwon shuffle underneath you, clearly turned on by your assertion of dominance. "Good girls are bad girls that just haven't been caught anyway." You gently whispered into Jungwon's ear before your lips reattached to his and your hands made its way to the button of his jeans.

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suashii · 4 months

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— 𝒽𝒶𝓃𝒹𝓊𝓁 ౨ৎ

haitani rindou x reader. 2.1k wc. ﾉ sfw ﾉ fluff ﾉ mentions of alcohol ﾉ explicit language ﾉ suggestive ending

something’s off.

rindou has been awake for no more than thirty seconds but he can tell—something’s off. there’s no dip in the mattress beside him. your warmth is absent from his hold. he can’t smell your shampoo, can’t feel the plush of your skin beneath his fingers. your spot is empty and cold. you’re gone.

he shoots up into a sitting position, fingernails digging into the threads of the sheets, strands of lavender hair sticking to the beads of sweat on his forehead. the sudden jolt sends a piercing throb through his skull.

“ah, fucking hell,” he swears, a hand coming up to hold his head. he squeezes his eyes shut and snarls at the uncomfortable sensation. every pound that strikes his cranium is heavy and loud as if they are beats of a drum. why is his head throbbing?

“are you okay?”

soles of slippers drag against the carpet, the soft sound accompanying that of your voice. it’s loud enough for rindou to hear but quiet enough so as to not aggravate his ailment. his pulsating headache persists but hearing your voice gives him a different sense of relief.

“where’d you go?” he ignores your question, choosing to ask one of his own. rindou drags his eyes up from his lap to meet yours.

“the store,” you wave the plastic bag out in front of you as you make your way to join him on the bed. stepping out of your slippers, you take a seat on the mattress at rindou’s feet, tucking your own beneath your thighs so you are sitting cross-legged. “had to pick up a few things.”

“i told you that i don’t like you leaving without telling me.”

his statement comes off as possessive and overbearing, but you know that it’s far from it—in fact, you consider it to be the opposite. though it may not seem like it to outsiders, rindou’s insistence on knowing where you are at all times stems from a place of love; it’s his way of protecting you. your known association with rindou makes you a target for enemies of bonten—and they have plenty. he worries for your safety and in an attempt to not bombard you with security details, rindou’s one ask is that you keep him informed on where you travel without him.

“would you rather i have woken you up?” you ask, picking out the items from the bag and setting them beside you. you hadn’t planned on going to the store but it was clear that you needed to pick up a few things, all of which were for rindou. pain relievers, a green smoothie, and honey graham crackers because you know he prefers them over the saltine ones.

“yes, actually.” he runs a hand over his forehead to brush all of the hair pasted there away.

you smile at his bluntness. in the time you’ve been with rindou, you’ve grown familiar with his direct way of speaking; you’d even go as far as to say that you enjoy it. you never have to wonder what’s on his mind when he speaks so freely.

your nimble fingers work at opening the cardboard box housing the crackers. you grab a sleeve, tear the plastic, and carefully pull out one of the brown rectangles. you hold it out to rindou as a form of apology. “i’m sorry. i just thought you could use all the sleep you could get after last night.”

“about that,” he says, accepting the snack from your hand. he takes a bite from the corner. crumbs fall from his mouth down to the sheet covering his legs but he can’t be bothered to clean up the mess. “what exactly did i get into?”

rindou is having a hard time recollecting the events of the previous night. if you asked him how he spent the rest of his day after work, he wouldn’t be able to tell you much. one thing he is sure of, though, is that he and most of the executives of bonten went out to celebrate a successful arms deal. everything after that is fuzzy.

“mm,” you hum, stealing one of the crackers to take for yourself. you mimic his actions, biting a small piece off from the corner and chewing thoughtfully. “i’m not too sure. ran called me saying that you were drunk off your ass and kept asking for me. so i went and picked you up from the bar.”

he swallows thickly, your words sparking recognition within him. most of it is still unclear, but rindou can piece together a vague picture.

“c'mon, rindou, don’t be a pussy.” sanzu sang from across the man while holding out another shot.

he ignored the glass, opting to flick his pink-haired associate off instead.

“what’s the matter? you lost your touch or something?” koko spoke up from beside him, throwing back a shot of his own. a grin pulled at his lips as he narrowly eyed rindou.

rindou scoffed, practically snatching the drink from sanzu and taking it down in one motion. he turned to koko with a smirk of his own. “fuck you.”

the seemingly never-ending drinks continued to pile on for the remainder of the night. rindou prides himself on having a heavy tolerance, and he does for the most part, but as memories of him calling out for you flooded his brain, it was clear that he had overdone it. not once before last night could he recall a time when he’d gotten so drunk that he was virtually begging to see you.

your lips curl upward at his silence. it’s not often that you find yourself in a position where you hold something over his head. after the events of last night and his uncharacteristic behavior, it would be a waste not to poke some fun at him.

“y'know,” you start, reaching for the pack of hangover relief pills. “i could barely drive home because you kept trying to climb over the console.”

a smirk lingers on your lips as you tear open the small package and shake the medicine out into your hand. you hum and point to rindou’s closed fist resting on his thigh. he catches on quickly, turning his hand over to receive your offer. the tablets drop from your fingers into his open palm.

“i didn’t do that.” rindou denies, tossing the pills into his mouth and promptly swallowing. his throat is parched and he wants to blame it on the fact that he had just taken pills without water but in reality, it’s because the information resurfacing is difficult for him to believe.

“okay, maybe that was an exaggeration,” you laugh. his adamant rejection of your claim only makes you want to tease him even more. “but you’re totally a clingy drunk.”

lilac eyebrows furrow as rindou thinks back to the ride home from the bar.

“rin, cut it out or i’ll crash the car.” you quickly slapped his wandering hand away before returning yours to the steering wheel.

a loud, whiney groan filled the otherwise silence of the car. “why don’t you want to hold my hand?” you glanced over to see rindou’s head rolling back and hitting the headrest of his seat. his eyes were squeezed shut but it was clear that he was frowning at your refusal of affection.

you bit the inside of your cheek to hold back a giggle. was this the same stoic man you had come to know? it looked like a shot too much was all it took to turn him into a nearly unrecognizable and touchy variant of your boyfriend. “i do, but we have to do it when we get home. i have to drive now.”

rindou turned to you with narrowed eyes but there was an uncontrollable grin of excitement tugging at his lips. “promise?” he asked.

you nodded. “i swear.”

as if it weren’t bad enough that you reminded him of that awkward conversation, rindou is beginning to piece together the moments afterward, specifically, when you pulled into the parking garage. if he looked down at his hand, he’s sure he’d be able to feel the ironclad grip he had on you as soon as you two got out of the car. the thought sends a shiver down his spine.

“i am not clingy.” he shakes his head, partly to disagree with your words but also to rid himself of the embarrassing memories.

“hmm, maybe not.” you play along although you have a clear recollection of last night. you figure that his denial must stem from a place of pride because if he had been in your shoes, if the roles were reversed, you're positive that he’d be pestering you about how handsy you had been.

“you’re pretty dependent, though,” you continue. there’s one more interaction you’re itching to bring up. “i’d even go as far as saying needy.”

rindou falls back to lie on his pillow. he has a feeling your statement only means more humiliation for him. despite that, he can’t ignore the tiny bit of curiosity that’s nagging at him. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

a knowing smile creeps its way onto your lips as you crawl to sit beside him. amethyst eyes meet yours, the brows above them raising in question. “you don’t remember me having to brush your teeth?”

“open,” you instructed rindou, poking his cheek with your index finger. he sat on the lid of the toilet, head lolling from side to side.

your simple direction went in one ear and out the other as rindou ignored your request. instead, he puckered his lips and leaned forward.

“we can do that later,” you assured him, gently pushing him back into his former position. “say ah.” you opened your mouth hoping that he would follow your example.

thankfully, he mimed your actions this time around. tipping his chin up, you began to brush his teeth. the process went smoother than the prep and the man stayed still as you cleaned each of his teeth.

“c'mon, time to spit.”

you helped him up from his seat and led him to the sink. too busy turning on the faucet, you didn’t notice rindou quickly approaching. his lips pressed to the side of your face in an open-mouthed kiss.

“rindou!” you pulled away, snatching the nearest towel to wipe the foam he left behind on your cheek and the corner of your mouth. he’s going to be the death of me, you thought as you tossed the towel into the hamper. you spun on your heel to face your drunk mess of a boyfriend. “i said later.”

“it was later.” his words came out jumbled due to the toothpaste lingering in his mouth. the froth was starting to drip down to his chin.

you sighed. “just rinse, please.”

rindou covers his face with his palms. his cheeks are burning hot; they must be visibly red. he would have been better off remaining clueless about the previous night’s activities.

“i’m never drinking again,” he said through a groan.

“aw, i thought it was cute.” you pull his hands away and flash him a smile. his rapidly beating heart calms at the sight. “but you should probably set a limit for next time. you’re kind of a handful.”

he huffs out a laugh. based on everything he pieced together and your first-hand account, “handful” is an understatement. he didn’t think it was possible for him to act in such a way but it seems that even the inconceivable was achievable.

you pat rindou’s shoulder. “you go shower while i make breakfast. unless you think you’ll need my help in there, too.” you jokingly wiggle your eyebrows.

he smirks. “are you offering?”

“god, you’re shameless.” your hand comes down to playfully smack his bare chest. you jerk your head in the direction of the bathroom. “go.”

you make a move to get off the bed and start toward the kitchen, but rindou catches your hand before you can leave. you look at your joined hands and then to him. a glint of mischief passes through his wisteria eyes. “are you really going to make your clingy, needy, handful of a boyfriend shower all alone?”

the flustered rindou who might as well have been wishing the earth would swallow him whole only minutes ago is nowhere in sight. as cute as that unexpectedly soft and affectionate version of your boyfriend was, you’d be lying if you said you preferred it over the side you’d grown accustomed to.

“fine.” you click your tongue. a beat of silence passes before you accusingly point your finger at him. “but i’m not doing all the work like last night.”

rindou drops your hand, opting to hold your cheek instead. “of course you aren’t. i’m going to make it up to you.”

thanks for giving this a read! comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated :3

#₊˚ପ⊹ signed: tokyo revengers #rindou x reader #tokrev x reader #tokyo revengers x reader #rindou fluff #tokrev fluff #tokyo revengers fluff #rindou drabble #tokrev drabbles #tokyo revengers drabbles

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its-your-mind · 2 years

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“oh clearly jon feels no emotions and is in complete control of himself at all times. this man is a logic machine.”

did we??? listen to the same podcast?????? this man feels first, thinks later. there is a strong emotion? get ready for jonathan jarchivist sims to act on it with little-to-no second thoughts. rational thinking who. we throw ourselves full force at the first thought that comes into our head. like, we are talking about the man who:

busted into the office of a guy he hadn’t talked to more than twice since he woke up from a six month coma, sincerely offering to gouge out his eyes and run away with him, and was Absolutely Gobsmacked when he was refused

was prefectly ready to let a face-stealing monster live… right up until it reminded him that it had killed his friend without him realizing (that “…what did you say” is one of the lines that gives me GOOSEBUMPS every time)

dove headfirst into a pile of evil sentient worms to grab a tape recorder bc he was so determined to not die as aNOTHER GODDAMN MYSTERY

let his survivor’s guilt from when he was eight drive the major decisions he made for the rest of his life

threw himself into a fear dimension of evil loneliness to save the man he loved (who had refused to speak to him for months) at the probable expense of himself who knows

had so much MALICE in his voice when he killed peter lukas like damn girl you do not get that emotional when you’re just killing someone bc they’re evil or whatever. there was Hatred there. go off queen.

literally was willing to sacrifice an entire WORLD so that no one would ever f e e l what he had to feel when jonah voicesnatched him

LITERALLY speedran a love story in like six weeks in scotland. this man was SO READY to be in love it’s ridiculous. so was martin. I love them sm

heard his predecessor was dead

came to the conclusion that he was next

what should we do with this?

oh I know

stalk every one of my coworkers bc clearly one of them is out to get me

committed himself to living in the archives forever bc he didn’t want to put georgie or “god forbid the admiral” in danger (has his priorities STRAIGHT he does)

oh annabelle caine has martin? and an artifact that completely knocks me on my ass and takes away all my powers? off to hilltop road we go come on basira we have spider ass to kick

threw himself into a coffin to save a woman who LITERALLY was ABOUT TO KILL HIM bc he just wanted to HELP and everyone around him was HURTING SO MUCH

was insulted when a statement giver called the institute stupid and immediately discarded all professionalism and clapped back by calling her wildly successful youtube series dumb

also immediately discarded all professionalism when disgusted by a teeth apple “we do NOT want it.” like damn bro this traumatized doctor brought this bone apple teeth proof in for you and you are too grossed out to grin and bear it

was slightly annoyed by the fact that martin was not the Ideal Assistant. Offhandedly mentioned on an official recording that he wanted an evil flesh witch to slowly kill his literal employee by a series of freak accidents that resulted in the loss of one body part at a time. this man has no chill whatsoever.

took so much satisfaction in killing jonah magnus. like jonah told him not to be dramatic and jon PROMPTLY started monologuing while stabbing douchard directly in the chest.

“I don’t want to die”

“Neither did they.” FUCK YES QUEEN GO OFF GET HIS SMARMY VICTORIAN ASS

sounded so SMUG when he told the eye he was gonna go apologize to his boyfriend. like yeah stupid all-powerful fear god I have a BOYfriend and I LOVE him suck on THAT

remember when he decided to doom his whole world bc he wanted to stop anyone else from feeling like he did? yeah that plan went out the window fuckin imMEDIATely as soon as his beloved martin walked into the room. oh, he’s in the world I’m going to be dooming? well fuck didn’t consider that part. welp guess he’s just gonna have to stab me. and then we will hold each other and declare our love and kiss and hope to still be alive and together somehow as the world collapses around us. our love didn’t save us but it was here and that mattered. okay list cancelled I’m gonna go curl up in a ball for a little bit. ty for your time.

#jonathan sims #the archivist #tma #tma spoilers #the magnus archives #jonmartin #listen martin got a list of unhinged actions #now jon gets his own list of no thoughts head empty only vibes #balanced #as all things should be

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bagopucks · 3 months

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J. Drysdale - Blind Dating

✄————————————

Jamie Drysdale x Fem!reader

Requested✨

Word Count: 2.5k

Warning(s): alcohol consumption.

The end is pretty fast paced but I’m considering making a part two if enough people like this!

—————————————

This had to be a joke.

I tapped my foot impatiently against the floor beneath the table. Watching the man across from me fidget with his menu, peeking over it occasionally with a wide grin to ask some sort of question. Was he five? His hair was parted down the middle, looking as if it was still drying from a shower. He had wide blue eyes.. doe eyes, warm and welcoming compared to my scowl. He was handsome, but I couldn’t get past his behavior.

“What do you think you’re gonna get?” His voice was soft, but curious. I wanted to reply with, ‘whatever I can finish the quickest to get out of here,’ but I held my tongue. “The shrimp Alfredo looks really good.. I’m just afraid it won’t taste the same.” I would admit he was mostly talking to himself. I wasn’t being very open. But his statement piqued my interest.

“The same as what?”

“I used to live in California, right next to the beach. All of the seafood was so fresh.” I watched his broad shoulders rise and fall in a shrug.

“That’s nice.” I looked down at the glass of water I held between my hands. This man was not very impressive. Nor did he seem overly confident. Or confident at all.

Could he sense my distaste?

“You can get something other than water.. I don’t want you to feel like you need to save my money.” His words brought a good reminder as to why I hadn’t walked out already. He was covering the whole meal.

“Thanks, but I’m avoiding much else at the moment.” I spoke, watching his big blue eyes look back up from the menu.

The fact that the man had been late was probably the driving factor that made me not want to give him a chance. I was never one to take to people who had a bad internal clock.

“So.. what do you do for a job?”

“I’m a journalist.” I answered his question briefly, my eyes wandering toward the window by our table.

“Nice! You must be pretty smart then.” An awkward chuckle fell from his lips. “I’d say I was okay in school.. but I never went to college. Just wasn’t my thing.”

“It’s not for everybody.” I shrugged, watching cars pull into the lot of the restaurant.

“Is this the first time you’ve done the whole.. blind dating thing?”

“No.”

“Oh.. this is my first time. I gotta admit I’m pretty nervous.”

“You don’t say,” the sarcastic phrase slipped ruthlessly from my lips. My gaze returned to the man to assess the damage, a momentary empathy filling my gaze. He simply chuckled again.

“I know.. my best friend always says I’m easy to read.”

“I’m sorry,” I apologized softly, leaning back in my seat.

“It’s okay.. I get it. I can imagine I’m the last person you expected to show up..” his voice trailed off into silence before he shrugged once more. “You are very pretty.”

Finally. A compliment. I smiled. He seemed to loosen up slightly at the sight. I had been raised on the ideal of returning a compliment with a compliment, so I indulged his words kindly.

“Thank you, Jamie. I’ll admit you have beautiful eyes.” I watched his cheeks flush, my disinterest morphing quickly into a twinge of attraction. He was cute when he blushed.

“Thanks..” he whispered before his head seemed to duck behind the wall that was his menu again. What was once annoying slowly turned into amusing. Maybe I could cut him some slack. “Do you have any idea what you want?” He asked once more.

“I really love clams.” I glanced down at my own menu, at the item I had picked out the moment we entered the building. This was one of my favorite restaurants.

“Ew,” I heard Jamie mumble from the safety of his side of the table. My brow furrowed.

“You don’t like clams?” I leaned forward.

“Never had them.”

“Then how can you hate them?” I quickly reached out to pull his menu down, catching Jamie off guard. He immediately sat up. For the first time since he sat down, he was exposed, having to sit with no barrier between us. I refused to believe someone as beautiful as him had confidence issues.

“They look gross.” Jamie reasoned with a nervous grin.

“You’re trying one.” I demanded, smirking and folding my arms across my chest.

“Absolutely not.” I drew in a breath to insist before our conversation was cut short. Our waitress waltzed by with a grin, pulling a notepad from her apron as she greeted us kindly, informing us of the specials and the house alcohols.

“What can I get you two?” She glanced between the two of us, and Jamie’s eyes settled on me as a silent signal to go first.

“Can I get the garlic butter clams with a side of fries?” The woman nodded kindly and jotted down the order before turning to Jamie, who happily requested his own meal.

“Shrimp Alfredo and a side salad with Italian dressing?”

“Anything else for the two of you?”

“Can we get a bottle of wine?” I asked swiftly, “not too expensive, but whatever you think is best.” I had told Jamie I didn’t need anything other than water, but he certainly needed to loosen up. Wine was always a good way to take the edge off.

“Of course. I’ll be right back with that!” The waitress gathered our menus and swiftly turned to leave. My eyes settled on Jamie.

“I hope you don’t mind,” I spoke.

“I don’t mind at all.” He smiled, “as long as you share.” Though it wasn’t the best of jokes, his attempt still made me chuckle.

“Why are you so nervous, Jamie?” I folded my arms atop of one another on the table, leaning forward against them,

“Oh god… where to start?” He laughed at himself, reaching upwards to brush his hair back. “Well first of all I was late… which really wasn’t my fault, and I’m sorry. I had to- stay over time at my job. Then I had to run home and grab a shower real quick. It threw off my whole plan. Then I came here and find you sitting all alone- and I just felt bad. But you look- like.. amazing. I feel like I could have dressed a little nicer. And you’re kinda intimidating. When I lived in California I usually had a wingman, now I’m flying solo.. it’s kinda scary. Not to mention I’m new to this whole area. I don’t know why I thought it was a good idea to go on a date so soon,” he seemed amused by his own misfortunes. A nice refreshing attitude to the usual of people whining and complaining. He drew in a deep breath only to sigh. “It’s been a long day, and I really didn’t want to mess this up. I still don’t.” It was the only explanation I needed. The judgement was lifted from my shoulders fairly quickly.

“It’s okay.. you haven’t messed anything up yet.” Less than minutes ago I would have had a different response. “Hopefully this wine’ll take the edge off too, yeah?” I watched Jamie’s anxieties melt away, nodding with a wide grin.

“Yeah.. that would be amazing.”

And it certainly was. The minute the wine came Jamie and I dove in. We opened up far more, and I learned a lot about the man in front of myself. He told jokes, he spoke about what he loved and what he was passionate about, and he asked a million questions about me. When our food came the conversation slowed but it didn’t stop. I was taken with his smile, his glow, his tentativeness. And just like he promised, when we finished eating, he paid for everything. I hadn’t planned on spending any more time than necessary with the man, at least not at first. But I’d admit the turn of events made me sad to think of the fact that I’d have to say goodbye. Or would I?

“I had an amazing night,” Jamie spoke as he stood from his chair, grabbing his coat off the back of it.

“I did too.. but it’s not over yet.” I watched his brow rise in surprise as I stood too. “We have one more stop.” I walked around the table and reached for him. Jamie had no problem with letting me take hid hand. We walked side by side out of the restaurant, and he made sure to hold the door for me. “We should get an Uber,” I suggested, reaching for my phone. Though Jamie was quick to argue.

“No, they take too long. I’ll call a friend.” We sat down beside one another on the bench outside of the building. I leaned into Jamie’s side for warmth, and he was swift to wrap his arm around me while he dialed a number on his phone.

“Hey…”

I tuned out the conversation as I watched cars drive in and out of the lot. I relished in Jamie’s warmth, though I also told myself I was crazy for giving in to him so easily. I usually wasn’t into men like him. But he was certainly an exception.

“My friend said he’ll be over in five minutes.” I nodded as Jamie spoke.

“That’s pretty fast.”

“He’s really supportive.” Jamie laughed softly. “Where are we headed?”

“Cant say.”

“As long as you don’t axe murder me.” I rolled my eyes and laughed at the brunette’s words.

“You’re safe with me, Jamie.”

“That’s good.” I looked up at him, only to find him staring back. His blue eyes held questions I couldn’t decipher.

“What?” I finally asked, breaking the silence and recognizing the closeness.

“Nothing,” he whispered. “Nothing at all.” I smiled at his words. “You’re very pretty.” My heart fluttered and I looked away.

“Jamie,” I scolded, not wanting to be flustered.

“I’m serious,” he insisted with a giggle. I felt a cold hand touch the side of my neck as he moved my hair. I shivered. “Your beauty is more intimidating than your scowl.” He teased, causing my head to whip back in his direction. I swatted the man’s chest, laughing along with him as he found humor in his own joke.

“You’re mean,” I pouted.

“Please tell me where we’re going.” I laughed, watching his baby blues adopt a puppy dog stare.

“No way. Quit asking.” I pushed myself away from him, only to have him snatch my arm and pull me right back. I laughed, standing to try and get away before he followed suit. Jamie scooped me up into his arms, holding my back against his chest. All I could focus on was his beautiful laughter.

“Please-“ the honk of a horn cut him off. We both looked to see a bright red truck pulling up to the entrance of the building. “Oh wow.. that was fast,” Jamie mumbled before releasing me. He walked to the edge of the sidewalk and opened the back door of the truck. “Ladies first.” He held my hand as I stepped up into the vehicle, and Jamie was quick to follow suit.

“Seems like this date’s going well.” The man in the front seat turned to look at us. “Where are we headed?” I stood up and leaned over the middle console to speak with the man. We eventually settled on typing the address of the location into his phone before I fell back into my seat. The man let out a long whistle that I could tell intrigued Jamie. “Seems like this date is going really well.” The man teased.

“Where are you taking me?” Jamie insisted on asking. I ignored his question, and each one that followed for the entirety of the ride. His focus shifted from myself to the scenery out the window when he noticed we were leaving the city. It wasn’t a long drive, but it was far enough out of the suburbs to be intriguing. We crossed a few bridges, and found ourselves in the midst of a riverside neighborhood before Jamie started to put two and two together. The calm, ‘you have arrived’ of the GPS caused him to look back at me.

“Is this your house?”

“Surprise?” I pushed the car door open and slipped out. “Join me.” It wasn’t a demand. More so a request. Jamie had no issue saying yes. He followed me out of the car.

“Be safe!” The man in the truck called.

“Thanks Ty!” Jamie waved as his friend left, and I was quick to begin rummaging through my clutch for my house keys.

“You live on the river?”

“Wait ‘till you see my back deck.” I guided him to the front door, opening the glass door and unlocking the deadbolt of the actual door. I stepped inside and kicked my flats off as Jamie followed, toeing off his dress shoes. My home was a patchwork of decor. My walls were lined with a fresh yet old looking floral wallpaper, I had China cabinets full of old glassware my grandparents had passed down to me. Somewhere I had knitted quilts and a shelf full of inherited thymbols. The scent of fresh flowers was the leading smell in the home, and Jamie was quick to find the source of that scent as I closed the door. I turned to find him sniffing the pot full of dahlias seated on a stand by the window next to the door.

Why had I never been into men like this before? Whatever uncertainties I had about bringing him home slowly melted away.

“Want anything to drink?” I asked softly, catching his attention.

“What do you have?”

“Fresh iced tea, pop, water.”

“Tea would be nice.” Jamie followed me into the kitchen, taking in the decor as I poured two glasses of tea. When I was done I led him out of the kitchen and into the dining room, giving him his cup. I walked past the table, opening the sliding glass doors to the back deck that stretched out over the riverbank. The fairy lights strung on the roof of the deck glowed in a comforting way. I opened the window next to the glass door where my record player sat.

“You have a beautiful home,” Jamie spoke softly while I searched for a record. I found one and set it up to play before turning the device on.

“Thank you. I don’t like too many modern things.” I stepped outside with Jamie, and sat down on the swing at the edge of the deck. Jamie sat with me.

“Is there a reason you brought me here?”

“It’s private. Intimate.” I shrugged, eyes settling on the river.

“You trust me?”

“Asks the man who hid behind his menu when he sat down. I’d say there isn’t much to be cautious of.” I teased, laughing softly. I turned to face him, draping my legs over his own and leaning my back against one of the arm rests of the swing. “I don’t like to bring men home.” I admitted before taking a sip of my tea. “But that’s because many of them aren’t like you.”

“Thanks?”

“You’re more than welcome to stay the night.” I peeked at him, watching his lips turn upwards into a smile. “I’d hate to make your friend drive back out here this evening.”

“That’s the only reason?” Jamie asked teasingly, resting his free hand on my shin. I laughed.

“Maybe I have more.. but they’re secrets.” I shrugged. “Let’s just say it was a good first date.”

✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾

#nhl imagine #nhl x reader #jamie drysdale blurb #jamie drysdale imagine #jamie drysdale x reader #jamie drysdale #ella’s updates #trevor zegras

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alexiethymia · 1 year

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Listen, book!Lockwood who is so repressed that it just translates to beaming smiles has a special place in my heart, but at the same time I cannot stress how much I appreciate the live action series for showing us unbelievably exhausted Lockwood who’s so obviously scared that Lucy and George will eventually leave (willingly or otherwise) but still has the gall to push them away. My boy was barely pulling it together. And ofc he would be so tired that the bags under his eyes are so prominent because we’re outside of Lucy’s POV now. Lucy who’s always had rose-colored glasses when it comes to him.

Speaking of Lucy, I really do love how she calls him out. She’s so aggressive with her love. It’s like she’s demanding that George and her will love and care for him and there’s absolutely nothing Lockwood can do about it so he just better shut up and take it. Peak found family right there.

How that scene where Lockwood comes to apologize to Lucy in the kitchen had so much ‘husband in the doghouse’ vibes, and how ultimately what Lucy is really mad about is just her wanting Lockwood to value his life more. And for Lockwood to outright admit that yeah he was a bit suicidal but it’s a bit like he found a new reason for living because of Lucy and George, again I say PEAK FOUND FAMILY, this is my jam. The ease of which Lucy being Lucy calms him down. (Ugh, again the domesticity of choosing egg cups). He can’t stand when she’s mad at him and he learns about apologizing properly this time around, but when she wordlessly forgives him, you can see on his face how he could fall so quickly and deeply in love with her. That’s one thing I love so much about the live action series. While the book showed us more of Lucy’s feelings for Lockwood, I actually think the series highlights Lockwood’s feelings more in that if I hadn’t read the books beforehand, I could have easily seen it as Lockwood falling first. His abandonment issues are so prominent in the series and while they play it with humor with Fittes and Kipps, you can just see that desperation behind the lighthearted tone, and for Lucy to say that she chooses Lockwood and George anyway….!

This is basically an excuse to ramble about the little things they add in the series that I love so much, which works because we’re not restricted to Lucy’s POV, in no particular order:

How Flo can immediately see how Lockwood feels about Lucy because of the effect she has on him. Prior to that statement, she’d only met Lucy once before, but that brief meeting told her everything she needed to know. She probably knew Lockwood in the aftermath of his family’s death, so for her to see Lockwood just buttering someone’s else toast for them and being all domestic and smiley, treating another person like a family member especially considering how guarded he is, she must have thought (and rightly so) that meeting Lucy made him have an appetite for life again.

We actually get to see Fittes’ and Lockwood’s side of the fight! And it was awesome. “I’m Anthony bloody Lockwood.” I can no longer remember if that line was in the book or not but idc I love it.

George and Lucy’s scene was in the book, but the acting in the series just really sold it for me. How Lucy’s heart just broke hearing George talk about himself, especially everything he said then were feelings I’m sure she’s also had about herself. I seriously loved that last episode. George and Lucy were adorable. Again I say, found family ftw.

The rise of the Flo x George ship! “You, me, and herons!” Again I say, adorable.

There are some elements that work better in book format, but in many ways the tv series really did elevate this beloved book series. It was a wonderful, wonderful adaptation. As a reader, I couldn’t be more satisfied. As a shipper, I couldn’t be more ecstatic.

#lockwood & co.#lockwood and co #locklyle #lucy carlyle #anthony lockwood #george karim #george cubbins #flo bones #books #tv #I loved it so much #I thought pining lucy was bad enough #but pining lockwood??#omg I can’t believe we’re in the best timeline #if he’s already like this at this point #I can’t even imagine him should we reach The Hollow Boy and the aftermath of lucy leaving #he already had a death wish #he will no doubt end up unhinged at this rate when lucy leaves

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sky-scribbles · 8 months

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(A draft of a latter found discarded in the Sword Coast Couriers’ office. Addressed to a Morena Dekarios, but apparently never sent.)

Dearest Mother,

I can only extend my most profound apologies for the unpardonable length of my silence. A true conspiracy of circumstances has kept me from sending word to you, but my filial duty shall be neglected no longer, now that I may at last avail myself of a courier service again (and have ensured that a certain tressym shall not consume the appointed pigeon.)

First of all, an explanation is both deserved and due. Be assured, before you read on, that I am perfectly well

I am not in any immediate danger

the statement ‘I was abducted by an illithid vessel, spirited far from home and deposited in the untamed wilderness of the Sword Coast’ is far less frightening in practice that it might appear on paper

I have simply been away from civilisation for a spell. But I now have the fortune to find myself in Baldur’s Gate, and able to avail myself of the exquisite pleasure of fresh parchment.

Your first question, I imagine – and a most justifiable one it is! – is when I shall return to my much-missed Waterdeep, and to you. Rest assured that I fully intend

I wish for nothing more than to do precisely that. The pain of being so far from home is an ever-expanding and insistent grief.

Yet, sorry to say, the situation in Baldur’s Gate is a delicate and complex one at present, and I mind myself obligated to remain until the city is at no longer at imminent risk of annihilation

until I’ve made a decision regarding an artefact I became aware of lately

I know where my path onward might lead, and what might be required of me. There is a possibility mere inches from my grasp, one that holds the promise of change, of rewriting so much for the better. But if my road should lead where I hope it might, I do not know if I will be able to

I will be changed

I wish I could promise

it may not be in my power to return for some time.

It breaks my heart to be so evasive with you. I am sure you are about ready to tear this page up with frustration by now, and my only pitiful excuse is that this has been the most difficult letter of my life. Every day, every hour, I ache to Teleport myself straight to your side and let all that I have concealed spill from me, like a sealing rune shattered, a wound torn open.

Once there was a time when a word from you, a single touch, could resettle the world on its axis and mend all the brokenness there was. Regrettably, I fear what eats at me now is beyond any power to heal, even that of your boundless love. Knowing that does not stop me from wishing I could go to you, and be small once more. All these years, and I fear your golden child has yet to grow up.

The histories say that Mystra was a mortal woman once. I wonder if she remembers her parents. I wonder if she ever longs for them.

I wonder if I will.

I have stayed away for so long, knowing that you were safer far from me. Now, when I consider how you may feel when I become something you can no longer hold, I wish distance were enough to protect you. I have no choice

I could do so much

I can think of no way to soften the pain of what is to come, other than weaving time itself anew so that you never had a son at all. Perhaps that would have been better for you, ultimately. For everyone.

I don’t know what to do

I love you

I know I’m going to break your heart

I’m sorry.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios #bg3 gale #just... having thoughts about where his head might have been at #before tav talks him down from the godhood thing (or where his head might've stayed at if they don't)#sky's writing #bg3 spoilers

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pandorasprongs · 1 year

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JAMIE TARTT | if it weren't for second chances, we'd all be alone.

PAIRING: jamie tartt x fem!reader

WORD COUNT: 5.5k

SUMMARY: in order to advance her career, reader has to write a profile about her usual subject of interest: jamie tartt. if he'll let her.

WARNINGS: language

A/N: hello! this is one of my shorter one shots and not much to say about this one, but i hope you all enjoy and the title is from 'second chances' by gregory alan isakov!

"There is no fucking way I'm working with her!" You hear Jamie Tartt say from a distance, as Keeley looks past his shoulder with an apologetic look. You give her a small smile, but let out a long sigh.

You knew doing this wouldn't be easy, but you didn't exactly have a choice. You left your job at the Sun after finally coming to your senses when Trent Crimm left the Independent. If the execs were willing to let go of arguably one of their best sports journalists, what would that say about your own career?

It's been half a year since then and so far, you weren't having much luck. You were doing freelance work in the meantime — to be able to afford your rent at this point, — but you couldn't just let yourself wallow in pity.

You decided to contact a popular sports journal, asking if they had any openings for writers. Your work experience helped boost your appeal, but they said they needed a solid portfolio to consider you. Since the Sun never really let you write actual sports-related articles and few of your tabloid articles were of substance, you asked if there were any articles you could join as a freelance journalist to prove your skills.

The only one they had was one titled, "Rocky Road: Careers of the Premier League's Up and Coming" and they had a particular player you wanted to write your section on.

Contacting Keeley Jones was the easy part. You've had enough interactions with her that your name was recognizable, so you were able to organize a meeting. Your first move was apologizing for every article you've ever mentioned her in, and then quickly explaining your predicament. The KJPR owner — having been in your place of being looked down for things out of your control, — was very willing to help you get your article done.

The missing piece was just the subject of your article: Jamie Tartt. Your relationship with him was similar to the one you had with Keeley, but you doubt he'd be as forgiving.

Your suspicions were confirmed by his reaction to Keeley organizing all of this for you. You had hoped that maybe he'd forgotten all the stories you'd written about his one-night stands, scandalous statements, and failed football plays, but obviously not.

You continued to sit quietly in Keeley's office, pretending not to hear her trying to calm the football player down. After a few minutes, the pair returns and Jamie begrudgingly agrees.

For a moment there, you're ecstatic and you start organizing your schedule of events. You’ve already written a short introduction, but the rest of the article is meant to come from the player and close sources. You're also supposed to shadow him for a week to get a feel of his current state as a player in the league.

You try and explain this to Jamie, but look up to find him taking selfies on his phone. Keeley grabs his attention, but a few moments later, he's back at it, hiding his phone under the table this time.

You finally have enough. "Look Jamie, if you don't want to do this,—"

"You're right, I don't." He finally looks straight at you and you hold yourself back from smacking his smug face. You don't care how many articles say he's gotten better; you still think he's the same prick you wrote all those tabloids about.

"Jamie, we talked about this," Keeley interjects. "It'll be good for your career and Richmond's standing for next season, if you do this profile."

"Yeah, but you couldn't get any other writer?" Jamie turns to face her instead.

"Look, she really needs this article," The KJPR owner pleads with the footballer, but that only gets him more riled up.

His gaze lands on you once again, with a smug look on his face. "So her career is in my hands?" He lets out a laugh, before standing up from his seat. "Message me if you find a journalist who’s more than a mediocre tabloid writer." Jamie leaves the room without another word and you slump into your chair.

Keeley tries to get up and chase after him, but you grab her arm before she does. "It's alright, Keeley. I didn't expect him to say yes," you admit.

"Well, I can try and ask the other players if they're willing to do it. I don't suppose you've written anything for the tabloids about them, right?" She asks jokingly, but you shake your head. The journal was very specific about which player they wanted. It's Tartt or nothing.

You get up to leave, but not without thanking Keeley for trying. She says she'll send Jamie the introduction you wrote, and you appreciate the act but aren't hopeful. As you leave the office, you decide not to go back to your flat just yet and let your feet decide where you're going.

Of course, you end up at Crown & Anchor. It's nearing 6 pm by then and you decide to just have dinner there. You send a message to your roommate about it, before ordering two beers and fish & chips from Mae. You really shouldn't be eating out given how you're already scrounging for jobs, but after the second beer, it didn't seem like such a bad idea.

It's 9 pm the next time you check the clock and finally decide it's time to go home. You see Mae walking over to your booth, so you pull your wallet out of your bag. "I don't have it in me to look at the bill, just grab whatever from here and let's call it a day, yeah?"

"Someone's already paid for your meal." She responds, dropping the receipt in your palm instead. You scrunch your eyebrows before she points at someone walking towards the table. You look up and focus your eyes to find Jamie Tartt standing there. He slides into the other side and takes the receipt from you.

Before you can say anything, Jamie pulls out his phone and reads off his screen. "After aiding in AFC Richmond's promotion back to the Premier League, it's clear as day that Tartt — like his hair with the blonde highlights — is changing for the better."

You perk up when you realize what he's reciting. The football player continues, "Keeley sent the first few paragraphs you wrote. I'm not much of a reader, but this is alright."

You give him a small smile, still trying to sober yourself up for this conversation. "Thank you," is all you manage to say. “How’d you find me?”

“I didn’t. Just ended up at this pub and saw you.” You shrug at that explanation before Jamie continues, "I'll consider doing the profile," Your eyes widen, but he adds, "Only if you explain why the fuck you were so obsessed with me at the Sun?"

That's enough to shake you awake. "I was not obsessed with you!" You protest, a little louder than you intended, with Mae sending a glare in your direction.

You take a drink of water and take a deep breath before finally putting it out in the open.

"I have a degree in Journalism from Leeds," you start, prompting a confused look on the football player's face.

"The fuck does that have to do with all this?" He asks and you hold your hand up to stop him. He rolls his eyes but doesn't say anything, so you take the chance to continue.

"I have a proper degree from a good school. I have watched and played football all my life. My dad helped me join a league as a kid because of how much we loved the sport." You lean into the table, emphasizing the last part of your statement. If Jamie had arrived five beers earlier, you doubt you'd be admitting this to him.

"I played the game up until secondary school when I started getting serious about my writing. I decided to focus on that more, but I only knew how to write about football." You look up to make sure Jamie is still paying attention and find him looking at you intently.

You take a breath and continue, "I started writing for my school's paper about our team's games and when I went to university, I did the same thing. I've practically been a sports journalist for a decade, so I can proudly say that I'm a fucking qualified writer. I initially applied to be a journalist for the Independent,"

"What, like the Trent Crimm types?" Jamie interjects and you nod.

"But they decided to refer me to the Sun instead. The only things they'd let me write about were tabloids. As in, if I wrote anything about football or sports, it'll get rejected like that," You smack the table, startling Jamie a little, and sigh.

"The closest I could get was writing about rumors about the players, but even then, I'd only really get a small part at the back of the paper. The first time I got a section on the front page though, was when I wrote that article about you. The one about you getting caught with two girls in a karaoke room?" You remind him and he flinches at the reminder but doesn't say anything.

"Well yeah, that one. Anyway, I realized that if I wanted a chance to become an actual sports journalist, I had to get my stupid articles on the front page first and my most popular ones were always about you." You try and gauge Jamie's reaction to that, but he's doing a good job at keeping a straight face now. Or maybe you're just too drunk to properly determine his features.

"So I kept writing about you, whatever bullshit rumor or story I could get my hands on. I'd usually add some things at the end about your football performance thinking that an editor would see it and say 'Oh, she knows what she's talking about,'" You drop your voice an octave to try and mimic one of the executives you knew back then.

"But after a while, you started cleaning up your image and I started to realize that no matter what I did, no one fucking cared. I'd never get a chance to write what I actually wanted there, so I left." You lean back into your seat and let out a huff. "And now you're all caught up."

It takes a minute before Jamie finally speaks up. "I'll do it." A part of you still doubted that he'd agree, but with verbal confirmation, you allow yourself to internally celebrate. "But you better make me look good, yeah?"

"Yes, I promise," you reply, nodding your head furiously. "Oh, and thanks for paying for my dinner."

"Sure. I'll ask Keeley about our schedule next week." Jamie moves to get up but pauses for a second before jerking his head towards you. "Also, my hair is walnut mist, not blonde. You better change that in the article."

You wonder why this is what Jamie chooses to raise his voice about, but you agree nonetheless. He leaves you be and you sit there for a moment, still in shock. But once one of the servers comes to clean up your table, you finally get the sense to call your roommate to pick you up and share the news.

—

After a rough hangover the morning after, you check your phone to find a message from Keeley telling you Jamie changed his mind about it. You guess he decided not to tell her about what you said last night, much to your relief. You find another message from an unknown number.

I'm usually at the clubhouse by 10, so best to be there by then.

You were still too groggy to properly comprehend the message when another one pops up.

It's Jamie.

You save the contact on your phone before getting up and starting your outline. You already had a few questions lined up when you were planning the article, mainly topics that only he could comment on. One of those things is his career in the recent year.

After losing Lust Conquers All and being kicked out of Man City — arguably your biggest article, — there were fewer and fewer stories for you to write about the footballer, so your last few months at the Sun were pretty lackluster. You didn't have any reason to keep following Jamie's career, so you still had to fill that gap through your interview. But you decided to keep that till after you shadowed Jamie for the week since you also wanted to get the input of his teammates and coaches.

Over the week, you'd received mostly the same stories about the player. Massive prick, got sent back to Man City, came back and redeemed himself, and is now both a better player and teammate. It's nothing you hadn't heard before from second-hand sources, but at least you had direct quotes from his teammates for the article.

Watching training was the more exciting part of being at the clubhouse, especially getting to watch the improvements of the Richmond team as a whole. They seemed to be more united than before, probably because of the promotion high.

Your main focus was Jamie and you could tell that his teammates were right. Gone were the days of hogging the ball and only allowing himself to score a goal. He still had slight vibes of his old prick self, but you learned from the coaches that it was more of a tactic than anything. You even learned about their "signal," which they once did in a match a few months ago, you remember.

For the most part, you had avoided Jamie, still sensing a sort of resentment towards you. You couldn't blame him; he was already doing you a massive favor and it would be rude to get mad at him for justifiably being pissed off at you. It was only ever slight nods and greetings in the halls, and occasionally glances during practice.

Only at the end of the week did you finally have a conversation with him again to plan your one-on-one interview. Well, more of you enumerating your ideas and him only responding in nods.

"Is Sunday okay? Keeley said we can use one of the meeting rooms in KJPR for it." You're double-checking the message from the CEO as Jamie fixes himself up in front of his locker.

"Nah, too stuffy," is the first thing the football player says during the whole conversation. "How long's it gonna take?"

You had already lessened the number of questions for him based on the information you gathered from the team so that only left a select few. You didn't want to underestimate it though, so you tell him around 1-2 hours, depending on his answers.

"Then can't you find a restaurant or something for it? So I'm not starving the whole time." He asks, and you bite back from commenting on his tone. This is for the greater good. This is for the greater good.

"Sure, I'll find a quiet cafe for it, so no one will disturb us." You already had a few in mind that you used to go to when you needed a space to write.

"Okay, sounds good," Jamie responds and there are a few quiet moments before the footballer says his goodbyes. "Have a nice night."

"You too," You move to the side and the football player leaves without another word.

You exhale deeply and wait for a beat before heading into the hallway yourself. You start walking out of the building when you hear someone call out to you.

"Hi! I didn't know you'd be here today," You greet Keeley, who's rushing down the stairs.

"Oh, I'm just visiting Rebecca." She explains, pointing upstairs. "How's the article going?"

"It's going fine." You answer.

"Just fine? If Jamie's being an arse, you can tell me." You laugh but shake your head. Keeley seems to believe you and instead tells you, "Also, I've already contacted a photographer for Jamie's shoot. I'll send you his email, so you can plan it out with him. And, if you need any additional information, I'm sure I can help fill the gaps."

"Yes, thank you," You smile at her when a question pops into your head. "Do you know if Jamie's dating anyone right now?" Your first thought is to ask his possible partner for an interview, but you instantly realize your fault. "Wait, never mind, I shouldn't ask. That's way too invasive. Old habits die hard, sorry."

"It's alright," Keeley's quick reply relaxes you. "But no, I don't think he's seen anyone in a while."

That was more or less the end of the conversation with Keeley as Rebecca finally appeared and the two ladies went back to the latter's office.

—

The afternoon you're supposed to meet Jamie started rough. First, you realize you didn't charge your laptop the night before and now, it was completely dead. Next, your roommate had used up all the hot water, so you had to power through the freezing temperatures. Now, you're running late to the interview and sprinting through the street.

You finally get to the cafe and as you expected, there was only one other person there aside from the barista. You wave at the person at the counter, already familiar with them before approaching Jamie.

"12 minutes late," is all he has to say, as Jamie glances at his watch.

"Sorry, I just," you stop yourself from going on a whole monologue about how shit your day has been. "I got delayed, okay?"

Maybe he could sense you weren't in the mood to deal with his attitude, — when were you ever? — so Jamie instead informs you, "I ordered some food and the guy said he knew you, so he made whatever you usually get."

You try not to show your surprise at him paying for your lunch, but it wouldn't be the first time. "Thanks," The football player only nods, before crossing his arms.

You open your notebook and the voice recorder on your phone, "Okay, let's start."

You didn't expect this interview with Jamie to be so... fun?

You decided to start with the more surface-level questions like his expectations for the season, so it could break the ice a little. But after a sip of your tea ended up in the wrong pipe and launched you into a coughing fit, the tension was immediately broken.

Jamie started giving you more substantial answers and was more open about talking about his return to Richmond. How it really changed him, specifically Ted Lasso's effect on him and the club as a whole. You notice how soft his features had become talking about his coach and the team and you react with a smile.

After that and finishing your sandwiches, you shift the topic to his childhood and how it shaped him as a player now. You notice the sudden change in Jamie as if he's hesitant to start, so you reassure him, "If it's too much, we can change gears a bit. Talk about something else."

He shakes his head, "No, it's fine. There are just some things that I don't really want to share."

"That's fine. You don't have to. Just stick to the general stuff if you want." You pause the recording for a moment, trying to make Jamie more comfortable.

He pauses for a moment, before letting out a chuckle. "Do you think old you would be happy with letting me keep my secrets?" He changes his tone towards the end and you roll your eyes.

"Obviously not," you answer. "But I've been trying to bury that version of me."

"Why? You probably could've taken down the parliament with your skills." Jamie jokes and you finally break into a smile.

"Well, I never really used my skills for bigger and better things, did I? Just finding dirt on football players to make some money and build a mediocre reputation as a journalist." You answer honestly and the football player's expression changes.

"I didn't mean to be such a prick during the meeting." Jamie starts, but you shake your head.

"Nah, you had every right to. I wrote some pretty shitty things about you back then."

"Well yeah, but your life's kind of gone to shit since then, so now I feel bad." Your jaw drops and your eyes widen at his explanation and lightly punch him in the shoulder. Maybe the two of you weren't close enough for that kind of thing, but Jamie just laughed at your reaction.

"Fucking prick," you say in a joking manner. "Let's get back to the interview." You start the recording again, as Jamie recounts the first time his mum bought him a pair of boots.

He starts telling you about all the significant milestones over the years, and while you can tell he's holding back some things, — specifically about his dad, — you say nothing. It's the least you can do.

Maybe it's the fact that this has been the best part of your shitty day, but you started to see Jamie in a different light. Yes, everyone talked about how much he had changed, but this was the first time you saw it directly. You didn't even notice how late it's gotten till a brand new barista approached you about cleaning out the table.

"Shit, this is way past two hours now." You exclaim and check your notes to see that you've covered all the needed areas at this point. "But, I think we can end it now."

"Actually," you look back up at Jamie, who pauses to think. "Do you wanna get dinner? You pay this time,"

You don't have time to wonder about his reasoning for this and let your hunger take over. "Sure, but if I'm paying, I pick the place."

The two of you stand up and Jamie directs you to the door, "Lead the way," you playfully roll your eyes and start walking, with the footballer trailing behind you.

You head to a nearby Japanese restaurant, — one of the many perks of your flat's location — and settle down in a booth near the back. There were more people in this place and you weren't sure how comfortable Jamie would be being seen with you. You knew better than anyone how easily a scandal could be made from a simple picture.

The two of you pick out your meals and thank God it was an older lady taking your order who didn't recognize the footballer across you.

"Okay, why'd you want to eat dinner together?" You finally bring up.

The player just shrugs and leans on the table, "Thought I'd give you a chance to pay me back." You can't help but agree with that statement, so you let it go. Jamie continues, "Also, I'm interviewing you now."

"Oh God, don't tell me you're doing a profile on me." You joke and the player rolls his eyes.

He doesn't respond and goes back to his questions, "What got you into football?"

It was the first question you had asked him earlier. While he had given you a general answer initially, he added to it afterward, saying it was one of the few things he was sure he was good at as a kid. You decide to give him an honest answer.

"My brother and I don't have a lot in common. Didn't even feel like I had a sibling for the first part of my life. Till he realized I wasn't half bad at football. It was the only way to get a decent conversation out of the guy, and after a while, I ended up actually liking it." The moment you finish your answer, you realize you've never actually said it aloud to anyone.

For a brief moment, you think Jamie would say something serious, much to your dismay. You hated having to be emotional in front of other people. It was your job to pry at people's thoughts and feelings, not the other way around. But after building your writing career around the guy, you should've known he doesn't fare too well with feelings either.

"Think he's a fan of me?" He asks instead.

"Fuck no, not anymore," you're quick to reply and Jamie looks offended. You elaborate, "He's a Man City supporter. Fucking hates your guts now, honestly."

Jamie lets out a small laugh. "Runs in the family." The lady comes back with your food and that puts a hold on your conversation.

After a few minutes of eating, you finally break the silence. "You know I never actually hated you, right?"

Mid-slurp, Jamie looks up with a look of disbelief. "Really? You wrote all those articles and still don't hate me?"

"Yes!" You defend yourself. "I told you before. I did it for the job, nothing more. And objectively, you were a great player. You honestly have more of a reason to hate me than I do."

Jamie scoffs. "I don't hate you either. Annoyed? Yeah. Pissed off? Most of the time, but I never hated you."

You had already gotten pretty good at hiding your surprise about these revelations. "Well, I guess that settles it. We don't hate each other." You stick out your hand and Jamie looks at you in confusion for a section, before shaking it. The two of you laugh and continue your meal.

After paying, you end the night there and wave goodbye to Jamie outside the restaurant. If you from a year ago saw you hanging out with the footballer, she would've thought you'd lost your mind.

As you head back home, you have this weird feeling in your chest. Your whole job was finding ways to express things through words, but even then, you couldn't figure this one out. It's only when you get home and re-listen to your recording filled with jokes and exchanges that you realize.

You may or may not be developing a crush on the football player.

—

You hadn't physically seen Jamie since the photoshoot a few days after your interview and dinner with him.

You didn’t have a reason to anymore, since you had pretty much finished the whole article and already handed it to the editor for proofreading. They sent it back with minor notes, — just some grammar slip-ups and possible rephrasing, — which gave you hope that you might end up with a job when this is all over.

Getting the profile approved also gave you a chance to message Jamie after weeks of no contact, just to ask for his opinion on things. You didn't know if it was nerves or excitement making that pit in your stomach waiting for him to reply. All he had to say about the article was that he was glad you changed the "blonde" line in the introduction. Luckily though, it didn't end there. After that, he asked you what you thought of his new locker set-up.

That was the first of many times he would shift the conversation to random topics. You started spending your mornings and nights just messaging the football player. Sometimes he'd send pictures from training, saying it's extra material for the article and sometimes you'd send pictures from the cafe where you're writing, joking that you had new ideas for Jamie-related articles to send to the su!z

And when the rankings about the upcoming season came out and put AFC Richmond last, your first thought was to message him.

Fuck the pundits, honestly. You knew he didn't need any context, but you didn't expect Jamie to answer so quickly considering he was supposed to be at training.

I'm not worried. It's just poopy. You're not entirely sure what that meant, but at least it didn't seem to affect him so much.

I'm glad, then. You wait for a beat before sending another message. I know you'll do great this season. Why were you so nervous sending that? God, it felt like you were 15 again.

Thanks. Pretty sure 'tabloid writer you' is rolling in her grave.

You laugh to yourself as you reply. God, her head would be spinning knowing how I'm contributing to your already massive ego.

Jamie just sends a picture of him looking mad and you send one back sticking your tongue out.

A few days after, you send the published article to both Jamie and Keeley, along with a thank you for all the help. The latter answered sincerely, partnered with an invitation to the first game of the season, but of course, the footballer decided to answer jokingly.

Over time, you'd gotten over being so worried about interacting with Jamie. He was just another guy, even if he was an incredibly fit footballer for his day job. And now, you'd get to watch him play in the first match with Chelsea.

Despite your presence being welcomed by Keeley, Rebecca, the owner of Richmond, and Higgins, the Director of Football Operations, it didn't take a genius to realize how tense the three of them were at the match. Their club was the underdog of the season, so it was understandable to be nervous about the match, but you soon pick up on a different vibe involving an ex-husband and internationally famous football player.

"What do you think, then?" Keeley asks you when Rebecca leaves to try and convince Zava to join her team instead. "Do you think Zava's worth it?"

"Yes," you answer honestly, from the perspective of a sports journalist and a football fan in general. "Zava's objectively one of the best football players in the world, and his track record of wins outweigh his track record of diva moments."

"Well said," Higgins responds and you smile at him, before turning back your attention to the game.

When Rebecca comes back to your seats and explains the disastrous interaction, your reaction is the same as the rest of them: pure disappointment.

But as the game ends with a draw, you can't help but celebrate along with the rest of the Richmond fans. It may not be a win, but it was more than most people expected of the club, so that was something.

You join the other three briskly leaving your seats and avoiding the press conference of Zava until you hear him utter the name 'Richmond' in his speech.

"Holy fuck," you celebrate with Keeley and congratulate Rebecca since whatever she said to Zava seemed to work out in the end.

It was then that you felt a ping from your cell phone. You open it to find an email from the sports journal offering you a slot as a feature writer. You end up repeating, "Holy fuck," drawing the attention of the others.

Keeley glances at your screen and exclaims in happiness, "Oh my God. Congrats to you, too!" She goes in for a hug and despite still being in shock, you're quick to reciprocate it.

"Thank you, Keeley. Truly." Your face is just an expression of pure joy as you let go of her. As you continue to walk out of the stadium, you end up excusing yourself. Of course, you had to thank the main person for all this.

You find your way to the guest locker rooms and even from the hallway, you hear the cheering of the Richmond tram. They must've heard the news. You don't bother knocking and walk in to find what you expected: celebrating and rather sweaty football players. Well, there was one person who stood out.

"Jamie!" You call out to him from the door and the moment his somewhat solemn eyes landed on you, he made his way through the crowd to you.

"What're you doing here?"

"I just wanted to tell you that I got the job! I'm going to be a proper sports journalist." You inform him and his expression immediately changes to match yours. Catching you by surprise, Jamie envelopes you in a hug and you decidedly ignore his dirty kit as you reciprocate it.

"That's great," Jamie says, as he lets go of you.

You smile, before remembering the news earlier. "Oh and congrats, too! On the draw and getting Zava." The footballer's expression noticeably drops at the mention of the other player, and you finally get it. "You're not happy about getting him, are you?"

Jamie inhales sharply. "Rather not talk about that right now."

"Okay, sure," You back off. "But if it helps in any way, you'll still be my favorite player on the team."

Your heart skips a beat when Jamie gives you a cocky smirk, one that you used to despise. "Yeah? And you'll keep writing about me too at the new job, too?"

"It is my specialty. Plus, you're infinitely more interesting than Zava and his avocado farm." The two of you let out matching chuckles.

The cheering from the locker room seems to have died down and there were fewer and fewer people in the hallway. That's when Jamie takes a step forward closer to you.

When you don't pull away, he finally staets. "I was wondering, if you weren't busy,—"

"Yes," You interrupted him and hope you didn't do so prematurely. "If what you're about to ask is what's I'm thinking, then yes."

"Oh, you're fine giving me dirt on the other teams when you start your new job?"

You stop your expression from dropping and force a smile, "Yeah, sure."

But your disappointment doesn't last because Jamie starts chuckling, "I'm joking! I wanted to ask if you wanted to go out sometime."

You're not sure if you should be annoyed or ecstatic, so your reaction is a mix of both. "Oh fuck you, Jamie!"

The footballer's prick side is practically second nature. "If the night goes well."

You lightly shove his shoulders before answering, "Sure. As long as it's a private place. Those tabloid writers can be so annoying sometimes." You flash a playful smile at Jamie, which he's quick to mirror.

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