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maryangelex · 8 months

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Good for Me

Captain Price x f!Reader

Summary: You work in intel for Task Force 141 and work very closely with Captain Price. You’ve had a crush on the man for ages and he knows it. He’s turned you down many times knowing he’s way too old for you, except this time he give into temptation.

Warnings: nsfw, age gap, praise kink, p in v sex, fluff to smut, mutual pining, soft dom! price, creampie, smut with plot, unprotected sex, super long and not proofread, huge warning for extreme corniness.

A/N: me, personally, I’m a Simon ride or die bitch I literally only read Simon fanfics… but the abundance of price fanfics made me cave and now I finally get it, so I made this. Enjoy!!!!

You had been working as an intel officer for Task Force 141. This position granted you the pleasure of working with Captain Price very closely. The two of you made a good team and would even say you had a sort of friendship going on besides just being coworkers.

This proximity made things more intimate between the two of you, though. And you would be lying if you said you hadn’t sparked a crush pretty early on into your career with him.

Can anyone blame you, though? John was the full package; tall, handsome, occasionally made you laugh with what would be considered ‘dad jokes’, and he had a perfectly masculine and burly appearance that complimented his kind nature. All of which made you enamored, naughtily pining for him like a schoolgirl crushing on her teacher.

He knew this, of course. Not because he could tell but because you personally told him and continued to make passes at him, hoping he would change his mind and give you a chance. The first time you told him, he was taken off guard by it. A mix of surprise and disbelief, he thought you were kidding at first but you insisted you had no reason to lie. From then on, you two stayed on amicable terms and your crush became something he teased you about and that the two of you bantered together about. But you still clung to that crush, your feelings were never fleeting.

“‘Afternoon, Cap” you announced cheerily as you entered Price’s office with two mugs in hand “Brought ya tea!”

Price sat at his desk, head deep in paperwork, and returned the greeting with a sigh, barely looking up at you.

“Come on, lighten up and let’s take a break. Rome wasn’t built in a day and you sure as hell aren’t gonna finish that stack anytime soon.”

He plopped the file down to the side of his table, away from his sight as he let out a sigh and reclined in his chair, finally looking at you he said “Cheers, doll” as he took the mug in his hand. He took a sip of the contents in the cup and let out a satisfied hum along with a chuckle.

“Just how you like it,” you said taking a sip of your own.

“You just know me so well,” he smiled.

You chatted lightheartedly with him, the usual for how your conversations went with him unless there was a professional matter to discuss. Somehow the conversation came to be about how Price had never been married at his age and you playfully teased him about not settling down.

“I was almost married once,” he sighed, “but my work got in the way, she couldn’t handle the time apart and I don’t blame her for it”. He shrugged it off, a subject that was way in the past for him so no use dwelling on it.

“Well, I work with you so not much distance to worry about” you teased leaning forward to put your elbows on his desk sitting across from him on the other side of it.

“Plus I make you the perfect tea! I’m basically the perfect candidate to be your wife”

“You’ve got a point” he said with a light chuckle, followed by a sigh “I’m just too old for ya, kid”

The room fell silent as you looked down at your fingers rimming the now empty cup. You felt his gaze on him, as if he knew what you were thinking and was waiting for your response.

“Just give me a chance, John” you said looking back at him, meeting his gaze with your slightly pleading one. You knew you looked desperate and naive, but it had just been too long a game of cat and mouse and it wasn’t lighting up for you. You had tried getting over this crush for months, sleeping with other soldiers on the base, going out in various one-time dates. But all you could think about was Price, how it should’ve been him all along, how he’s the right one and all the others felt just so wrong.

Truth be told, Price secretly reciprocated the feelings. He had come to terms with it months ago after he realized you really were perfect and that a connection between the two of you very much existed. You had been occupying his thoughts a bit too often on a daily basis, and there had been times when he had given in on his late night temptations but felt guilty right after.

“It’s 10 years apart, love” he gave you a pained look.

“Who cares, John? I certainly don’t. Hell, my parents are years apart as well and no one gives a shit,” definitely not 10 years apart but you withheld that information from him.

“I’m your superior, doll, and I’m much older than you. It’s just not right.”

You stared at him with wide, beseeching eyes, as if you were gonna start tearing up. But you let out a sigh and shook your head at yourself. You smiled at him, feigning happiness and moved on from the conversation. He returned the smile knowing you were showing him a sign that you wanted to pretend that never happened, same as always, same as all the times he had turned you down before for the same concern about being too old for you.

The next morning was like every other morning. You had let the subject hide at the back of your mind, ignored it as best as you could. As always, it lingered and haunted you, but you continuously evaded it in your mind. Waiting for it to pass like a light cold.

You entered your office ready to start your day, to deal with papers upon papers, report to Price, and have the same chats and laughs with him as every other day that had gone by. Except as soon as you entered your office, an arrangement of flowers stood out like a sore thumb in the center of your work desk.

Asters, baby’s breaths, begonias, and dark pink carnations. You rolled your eyes as you approached it, thinking it was probably one of the soldiers you had most recently gone out with trying to get your attention after a mediocre date. You took the note that stuck out from the bouquet and read:

See you tonight at 8? Meet me in the parking lot.

Dress pretty for me, doll.

Check ‘Yes’ or ‘No’.

Return to sender.

-John.

You read it over and over again, feeling like your eyes were deceiving you. Well, you only knew of one John that called you ‘doll’, and you only knew one John who would do something this corny. But that same John was the one that had frequently expressed platonic feelings for you. Still, you clung onto hope that it really was from him. You ticked the box labeled ‘yes’ on the silly piece of paper, and couldn’t help the beat your heart skipped or the red staining your cheeks as you did so.

Later that day, you walked down the hallway of the base, heading to Price’s office to drop off the files you needed to report to him, and the note rested snug in your pocket. You debated whether you should bring it up, maybe it wasn’t him after all and you didn’t want to embarrass yourself to him more than you did on a daily occurrence. You entered his office and greeted him like always, placing the files on his desk. He greeted you and acknowledged you with a smirk plastered on his face.

“Thanks, love.” Price cleared his throat, “You got anything else for me?” He looked at you with raised brows expectantly.

So it was him, you thought. Your eyes lit up and your face turned scarlet. An involuntary smile crept up on your face, and you dug into your pocket for the note. You placed it on the table face down and without saying anything to him, you turned on your heels and walked speedily out of his office.

Price chuckled to himself and shook his head as he read the contents of the note.

You followed his written commands that night: dressed up at 8. You wore a satin slip dressed that hadn’t been worn to any of your previous rendezvous, as if it had been tucked away in waiting to be worn just for him. You waited in the parking lot like he instructed you and you were checking every second that ticked on your wrist watch, your breath hitching with each one. Until you saw him approach you, dressed in his civies; tight-fitting black shirt and jeans. The shirt contoured every bulging muscle in his body, solid and toned; his jeans fitting like a glove, a little too well in certain places.

He raked his eyes along your body in the light colored satin dress that clung to your body in all the right ways, eyeing you like you were a finely carved sculpture at a museum.

“You look stunning, love” he cooed, then extended his arm for you. “Shall we?”

You laced your arm around his bicep letting him escort you, your smile never leaving your face.

He took you to a bar you both had visited before with the rest of the team. This time it was just the two of you sitting in an isolated, dimly lit booth; a more romantic atmosphere than you had experienced previously the times you had been there with a group of drunken men.

The liquor you two ingested throughout the night was abundant, and it’s effects definitely reflected on you more than him. Your cheeks were burning red with alcohol and your movements were loose and fluid with him. You were carefree and loud and he loved every second of it, definitely getting a good amount of laughs from him. Although you two already had a fair amount of chemistry, courage was a real thing with you; you didn’t feel the slightest bit of shame or shyness with him tonight.

And he was enjoying himself just as much. The thought of how much he had been missing out on for rejecting you sporadically crossed his mind. He thought about how good you were as company, cherished you two’s daily routine, about how much he had been depriving himself of by not letting himself admit to you how he really felt.

Towards the end of the night your table was adorned with evidence of how much you two had drank and a sign that it was time you got back.

“Alright, that’s enough for ya,” he said sliding out of the booth, reaching his hand out for you to follow him. “Don��t want you getting too pissed, yeah?”

You laughed, taking the hand he held out to you and stepping out of the booth. You were tipsy but had control over yourself.

Once you exited the bar, you and Price idled outside before going back to the base, as he put a cigar to his lip and lit it. You watched him intently, observing how the cigar clung to his lips, how his lips wrapped around it.

“What made you change your mind?” You asked as you leaned against the wall next to you. He looked at you, taking a drag and exhaling it.

“Dunno,” he began “wanted to give you a chance, like you said.”

“What’s your verdict?”

He took a moment as he gathered his thoughts, taking another drag and looking into your eyes. He reached his arm to you, his knuckle brushed against your cheek. You leaned into his touch.

“Been missing out on how good you can make me feel. Denied myself the joy of having you around like this…closer than when we’re in the office” He spoke earnestly, taking the cigar from his lips and maintaining it in his hand as he gazed into your eyes.

You took a step closer to him, your eyes never diverting away from his. He stepped closer to you as well.

In his mind, a voice told him this was a mistake. He was your superior, he was much older than you, this would never work out, and you were going to end up hurt. But a louder, more indulgent voice told him to get closer and closer to you, to place his hand on your waist and pull you closer.

Your eyes were dilated in the dimly lit back of the bar and his were dark blue pools that drowned you. You were pulled closer to him, snaking your hand up the arm that pulled you.

“So what happens next?” You asked in a soft and anticipatory voice.

“Do you want this?” He asked, almost a whisper.

You nodded, still not breaking eye contact. Your bodies were flush against each other by this point and your palms laid on his burly chest.

With that confirmation, Price leaned forward and his lips graced against yours. They were plump and soft, his beard and mustache caressing your soft skin as he pressed his lips with yours.

The kiss was longing yet tender and shy simultaneously. He pulled back slightly and leaned back in, this time his lips were slightly parted, hugging yours when they joined again. Your hands slid up his chest to around the back of his neck, entwining into the hair on his nape. His hands tightened around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer, his body melding with yours, one of his hand snaked up your back as the other shifted slightly lower towards your hips, towards the small of your back.

He pulled back, face still centimeters from yours and his eyes meeting yours. The tip of his nose nuzzled yours. One of his hands came up to cup your face, thumb rubbing against your cheekbone, before his lips clashed against your own once more. This time, it was more filled with passion, more desire and less reservation. You held your breath as he kissed you, gripping his hair between your fingers and kissing him back just as fervently.

He took another step towards you, guiding your body against the wall behind you. His lips massaged against yours, opening your lips slightly as his tongue pried into your mouth. You welcomed it with the tip of your own, a pleased hum escaping your throat at the feeling.

His body was pressed against yours and your body was against the wall as he held you close and gripped your body, as if you would disappear if he didn’t hold you any tighter. The two of you broke away momentarily to catch your breaths before you leaned back in with force and desperation, this time he was the one letting out a pleasured groan. Both of his hands ran down the side of your body as if you were a piece of clay being sculpted on a pottery wheel, then reached for your ass, tightly gripping it, and making you moaned within the kiss.

The sound increased his desire for you, and you could tell not just by the force of his movements and his kisses, but because of the stiffness in his jeans. A hand now slid up your thigh and under the hem of your dress, slightly lifting it against him with a firm grip.

“John…” you moaned between his lips, your hand ran down his front and in between the two of you down to his crotch. You palmed his stiff manhood through his jeans and he let out a groan in response.

“Fuck, baby…” he exhaled, breaking the kiss momentarily “Not here.”

You looked at him puzzled, blown pupils and out of breath.

“You deserve to be fucked properly, sweetheart, not here in this alley. I need to fuck you right…in my bed” he whispered sultrily against your lips before planting a gentle kiss.

He took you into his room, barely able to take his hands off you on the way there. He kissed you deeply and sloppily, too desperate and hard by this point. You couldn’t complain, though, your panties felt soaked and uncomfortable, your pussy desperate for him to touch it.

You stood with him at the foot of his bed. His kisses were messy and wet, his hands groping every bit of your body. He kneaded your ass and slid up your front up to your breasts, cupping each mound of soft flesh in his large calloused hands. His fingers ran under the thin straps of your dress and he slid them down your shoulders and arms, letting the dress fall to the floor with ease, and leaving you in nothing but your white lacy panties. He pulled back to admire your bare body. God, the amount of times he had imagined what it looked like under your clothes, how many times he had fucked into his fist in the late nights that he couldn’t get the thought of you out of his head no matter how hard he tried. He devoured you with his eyes, then his hands returned to cup your breasts, gripping them with care and adoration, your nipples being taken between his index and middle finger.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous, doll. Your perfect tits…you’re so fucking perfect” he cooed, his words eliciting a moan from you and a palpitation in between your legs.

“Lay down for me, yeah?”

You complied, letting yourself onto the bed behind you. He palmed himself through his jeans as he looked down at you. He had you right where he wanted you, splayed out in his sheets ready, inviting him to fuck you. He crawled on top of you, your hands reaching to touch his torso. Your hands gripped at the hem of his shirt and hiked it up, silently signally for him to take it off, and he complied, kneeling over you as he tugged the shirt off his back.

Fuck, he was something else. He was godly and sculpted, he belonged in an art exhibit. As he sat back on his haunches and in between your legs, you ran your hands down his toned body, from his chest down to his abdomen and lower to his v-line, arriving at the waistband of his jeans.

“I need you, John,” you practically moaned. “Please”

“You need me, huh?” He smirked. “Go on then, love, ‘s all yours.”

You bit your lip and fumbled to unbutton his jeans, your hands shaky with a mix of shyness and excitement. He took your hands in his and helped you slide the zipper down, then helped you tug his jeans down and maneuvered himself out of them, now staying in his boxers. His length was explicitly contoured by the fabric of his underwear. It was obscene how big and girthy he was, your mouth and pussy watered at the sight. You stroked him through his boxers and he rutted against your hand.

“Come on, sweetheart, take it” he encouraged you, placing his hand on yours and rubbing it on himself, a low groan escaping his lips.

You pulled his boxers down, his cock springing free, and your heart skipped a beat. You had no idea how you’d be able to take that length. He smiled as if he could read your thoughts.

“Stroke it, love, go on.”

And you complied, wrapping your dainty fingers around his cock, making him sigh and cuss under his breath at the feeling of your gentle hands.

You tugged at it, stroking your hands up and down from tip to base. Your thumb rubbed the fat, leaking head of his cock, smearing the precum emerging from his slit. His eyes were on you the whole time, his breath ragged and his hips moving rhythmically with your slow strokes.

He reached down to you and took each of your thighs into his hands, spreading your legs open for him to accommodate himself between them. He leaned his body down, his face close to yours as he collided his lips with yours once more. He trailled his tongue from your lips, down to your chin, neck and sternum. His hands moved from your thighs to your breasts, kneading one in one hand, and took the other in his mouth.

He alternated between lapping at the sensitive buds and sucking the mounds, making you mewl and throw your head back at the sensation. The hand that was stroking him joined the other one at tugging the hair on his head to ground yourself.

His hands were all over you before they returned to grip your thighs; his mouth followed the same route, running down your abdomen before he settled cozily between your legs. He looked up at you as he left kisses and nips on the sensitive skin in your inner thighs. His eyes were dark and gleaming with pleasure. You looked like a mess wiggling under his touch, you couldn’t wait for him to finally take your panties off and taste you.

“You wore these for me, hm, baby?“ he rubbed your pussy through the lacy fabric as he looked up at you. “Were you thinking of me fucking you the whole night?”

You nodded shamelessly and it elicited a chuckle from him. “You’re a little slut, aren’t you? Wearing these for me, anticipating for me to fuck you.”

He tugged the panties down your legs, gripping them in his fist as he smelled and tasted the saturated crotch. He let out a satisfied hum before settling them on the other side of the bed. His hand now reaching for your bare pussy, running his thick fingers between your slick wet folds.

“So fuckin’ wet f’me and I’ve barely gotten started”

You moaned desperately at his slow and teasing touch, wiggling your hips to get more friction, but he stopped you by gripping your hips with his other hand.

“Uh-uh, sweetheart, you’re gonna be a good girl and stay still for me” he scolded you as he moved his fingers painfully slow, coating himself in your slick. You obeyed him, like the good girl he wanted you to be for him.

Because you were so obedient and docile, he rewarded you by rubbing his index and middle finger over your throbbing clit, making you suck in a breath and let out a moan. He rubbed the bundle of nerves with his wet fingers, slowly yet with the perfect amount of pressure, it made your eyes shut and your pussy flutter, getting impossibly wetter.

Price was watching every movement you made, his eyes alternating between looking up at you and back down at the sight of your glistening pussy and how his fingers looked on it.

He slid both digits inside your hole at a burning slow pace. The sensation of your hole stretching at the entrance and your walls clenching around them once he was in there made his dick twitch.

“Fuckin’ hell, baby, your pussy’s taking my fingers so well. So fuckin’ warm and tight.” He pumped his fingers in and out of your pussy, at first slowly and then increasing his pace little by little. It made you moan in blissful pleasure, your back arching off the mattress, making Price’s grip on your hip increase.

“Remember, doll; be a good girl for me and I’ll reward ya, ‘kay?” He warned, stilling his fingers inside you “Don’t make me have to punish you”

You nodded complacently. “ ‘M sorry, John” you pleaded.

He let out a small chuckle as he kissed your inner thigh again, whispering “that’s my girl” against your skin. He returned to pumping his fingers inside you, his pace increasing. His fingers curled inside you, pressing the spot within you that made you see stars. He played with your pussy so expertly, as if he knew his way around your body like a map he had memorized. He whispered praises as he fucked his fingers into you. You moaned like a madwoman overwhelmed with pleasure, your walls clenching and pulsating against his fingers.

He watched you unravel for a bit, before moving his face close to your pussy, sticking out his tongue to lap at your clit with his fingers slowing down their pace in and out of you. His tongue was flat, lapping at your stimulated clit at the rhythm of his fingers. It made you borderline scream and clamp down on his fingers.

“J-John, please!” You pleaded, not knowing at what, maybe pleading for him to have some mercy on you and grant you release. It drove him crazy to hear you say his name, sending a shock straight to his cock, motivating to lick and suck on your clit and his fingers fucked you harder and faster.

You were right there, right there, right at the verge of cumming. His other hand that once had a firm grip on your hip now loosened and let go, migrating to play with one of your breasts.

Now free, you rutted your hips against his mouth, his beard and mustache were coated in your juices that you smeared the more you moved on him. He moaned against your pussy and at the sensation of one of your hands tugging at his hair. Your other hand found itself gripping the sheets next to you. You were a mess of moans and begs for John to let you cum.

“Cum for me, darling, come on. Be a good fucking girl and cum for me, princess” he said against your pussy before returning to devour it.

You felt the pressure in your stomach well up, overwhelming you until you snapped and broke euphorically. You choked out a final moan as your back arched up against the mattress, your thighs closing around Price’s head; pussy clasping around his fingers and juices spilling out onto his face. You let out a sob as you came undone.

Price looked up at you, leaving kisses on your pussy as he removed his fingers from you.

“Atta girl,” he said softly. “You’re so perfect when you cum for me, love”

You were breathless and your mind was in a haze. You felt Price scale up your body and place his wet mustache against your cheek, planting a gentle kiss on it. You faintly heard him praise you, how good you did for him, how perfect you were.

“Look at me, darling,” he said as his hand grasped your jaw and turned your face to look at him, your eyes fluttered open and gazed at his with blown, dazed pupils.

“Will you give me another one, baby? You gonna let me fuck you once more?”

You nodded drunkenly and exhausted, “Y-yes… fuck me, John”

He smiled at you kindly, stroking your face with his hand and whispering “you’re so good for me, sweet girl”

He reached down to pump his painfully hard cock with the hand that was coated in your slick, letting out a soft moan, and aligned the tip at your entrance. His body weighed on yours, the two of you perfectly snug against each other. Your hands rested on the sides of your head on the bed and your legs were spread open for him, his body nestled between them. Slowly, he pushed his thick length into you, splitting you open. Your mouth fell open with a slow moan emerging from you. He moaned in unison with you at the feeling of your cunt encapsulating his yearning cock.

His forehead rested against yours, and the hand on your jaw moved to your neck, comfortably resting on it as he bottomed out into you, slowly and steadily. Once he was completely inside you, his pelvis flush against your clit, he stayed still for a moment, feeling how your walls fluttered around his cock.

Then, he began to thrust and gyrate his hips into you, at first slowly and then picking up the pace. You were still high off the first orgasm and your cunt was overstimulated by the new intrusion of Price’s cock. You were in overwhelming pleasure, clenching your cunt with every thrust from Price. Your eyes were locked with his, listening to his soft panting breaths that matched your own. You laid there taking his cock, feeling like you had died and gone to Heaven.

As you regained more of your conscience and strength, your arms rose and rested on his shoulders, wrapping around his neck and holding him close. His free hand grabbed your thigh and wrapped it around him, granting him a deeper angle within you, making you moan as his cock hit that spot inside you once more.

You already felt the second wave washing over you. The feeling of him thrusting his cock inside of you was euphoric. The way his body moved against yours, how his hands held your body so tightly and bruising, the sound of his pants and choked out moans mixed with the sound of skin slapping against skin. This is all you’ve been wanting all this time. You had been waiting for him to fuck you silly since the moment you met him, since you realized how desperate and infatuated you were with him. And now you had him, chasing his release, fucking you perfectly and hungrily. It made your heart race and your ears ring, your skin covered in goosebumps, your stomach tying into a knot as another orgasm built up inside of you.

“I’m close, baby,” he moaned against your lips, hands firmly gripping your hips as he pound against you.

“Cum inside me, John” you begged breathlessly “make me yours, please”

It drove him crazy to hear you beg like this, making him ram his cock into you relentlessly.

“You’re mine, Y/N” he growled “You’re only fuckin’ mine, my perfect girl”

His words and the speed and depth of his fucking made you see white again. Your second orgasm hit you like a truck as you clenched around his cock firmly, moaning against his mouth, legs shaking in his grasp.

The tightness of your pussy made him snap, shooting hot shots of cum into you. He moaned in unison with you, trembling and hips faltering as he flooded your insides.

The two of you came in tandem, holding each other tightly as you came down from your mutual highs. He kept slowly and messily pounding into you, stuffing his cum into you.

“Good girl, Y/N,” he sighed “so full with my cum. My girl takes my cock so well, so good for me.” He said as he peppered kisses over your sweaty face, stroking your hair with the hand that once held your neck.

You hummed at his words “all yours, John, ‘m all yours”. You were breathless and cockdrunk, your limbs going limp on the mattress. He chuckled softly at your words, his cock falling out of you and his fingers reaching down to stuff his escaping cum back into you, making you wince at the sensation.

He got off the bed, heading to the en suite bathroom to clean himself and coming back to wipe in between your legs with a damp wash cloth. You let him take care of you giving him an appreciative hum. He smiled at you as he did so, whispering praises. When he finished you rolled into a comfortable position in the bed, feeling the bed sink as his body came to join yours. He big spooned you, embracing you tightly against him. His hand pet your hair, fingers tucking the loose strands behind your ear. You fell asleep under his touch and he watched you, feeling smitten with you in his arms.

A/N: this word count is fucking CRAZY!!! I’m sorry for the length yall I got carried away. But if you’re here, hope you enjoyed!!!! Love ya <3

P.S. for funsies, look up the meaning of the flowers in the arrangement for extra corniness.

2K notes · View notes

ghost-proofbaby · 1 year

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twenty four hours (modern!eddie munson x fem!reader)

HOUR FOURTEEN

in which eddie finally offers you an honesty hour. which is great, until you learn you've bit off more than you're capable of chewing. (oh, and we find out more of what happened at steve's infamous party)

→ tropes: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, slow burn

→ warnings: strong language, eventual smut, upside down does not exist, minors dni

→ wc: 5k+

→ a/n: there is still one more bit of the memory left for steve's party!! i broke it into three bits because otherwise it would be too long as one giant clump lol. sorry this is being posted so late... but hey! it's here! see y'all again thursday lol thank you to everyone for continuing to be so kind about this story and show it so much love

masterlist.

spotify playlist.

◁ previous part, next part▷

14:00 ────────ㅇ─────── 24:00

SIX MONTHS EARLIER

It’s Eddie. You only know because when Nancy opens the door, she greets him loudly, letting her drunken squeal echo down the hallway and into the kitchen.

“Munson! Finally!” her voice carries, and you fight the urge to try and move to peek through the doorway to see him, “Took you long enough!”

Eddie's voice is too quiet for you to hear his reply. He’s not drunk, not fueled by reckless decisions and overflowing affections like most of the other friends were already.

There’s a terrible twisting in your gut at his arrival, and you know it shows across your face when Robin looks at you apologetically. As if for a moment, they had forgotten they way you and Eddie avoided each other. As if for a moment, they had all pretended that the entire group could convene and it could be easy, and that was on them instead of you or Eddie. But it wasn’t on them. That blame could never fall on them.

It was on Eddie, you decided. He was the one who more ardently avoided you rather than vice versa. He was the one with a sharper tongue between the two of you, always snappy, always irritated with you. It was on Eddie. It should be on Eddie.

Except, you still felt bad about the Chrissy ordeal. He may have acted as if he disliked you for no reason before, but now he was hating you with reason. You can’t blame him; you’d do the same thing. If he ruined a date like that, stomped all over possible potential and threw it away without even considering your feelings involved, you’d be out for blood.

You sort of needed to apologize, and needed to apologize soon.

“Eddie, my man!” Argyle calls out from the couch. It captures your attention just in time to look over and watch as Eddie enters the room, his back facing you, his shoulders slack beneath his leather jacket.

He’s relaxed. You’re immediately sure that he doesn’t know you’re here yet.

“Hey, man,” he greets with a gravelly voice, an edge of fatigue to it you’re familiar with. It’s the kind of tiredness that follows long weeks, as you two had spoken about that first night. For a second, you wonder if he’s still having those. And if he is, how often they happen, if he ever comes home from them and thinks about that night, if he has anyone to call when it’s late and they haunt him.

You know you don’t. Neither Steve nor Robin are ever awake that late, or at least don’t answer the phone at that time of day, and you don’t feel close enough with the rest of the group to burden them like that.

There had been a time where you would wonder if Eddie could have become that person, if the type of conversation you two had at the bar the first night could ever translate over phone lines. But that time had been early on, and was long dead. It laid in an unmarked grave with all your other ponderings of what a friendship with Eddie might look like.

“We can keep you two apart,” Robin whispers, or at least tries to whisper. She’s loud, “He said he had work and wouldn’t make it. We… We thought he wasn’t going to come, so we invited you instead.”

Oh.

Oh, what a knock to your pride. Robin means nothing harmful of the words, they should be neutral and just an explanation offered to you. But your mind takes them in its grasp and runs, runs, runs.

“We thought he wasn’t going to come, so we invited you instead.”

You’re the backup plan. You see it now, and it sucks, but you press your lips into a cellophane smile that Robin can’t see through in her flurry to distract you with an offering of you two plus Steve having another round of drinks. You decide to take a straight shot of the nearest bottle of vodka, swallowing it down to drown your already sinking heart. You fake laugh when Steve tells bad jokes, you make up lies about your dates of the last few weeks, deciding you no longer care if you add in more details to look less pathetic.

You’re the backup plan. So you’re sure they won’t notice when you spin a new version of yourself.

This version of you that spews from your lips has gotten lucky more times in the last month than you have in the last year. This version of you is always the one having the last say in conversations, the one leaving men on read rather than the tables being flipped as they were in reality.

Robin says nothing, even when she notices some of the things you say not aligning with what you’d told her earlier that week. She only side-eyes you as Steve drinks in every detail, only disrupting to suggest another shot.

At some point, she gets too drunk to side-eye you.

“Fuck,” Steve sighs, throwing his head back as he glances out to his living room, where Nancy, Jonathan, Argyle, and Eddie have taken to sitting in an oblong circle around on his and Robin’s furniture, “I need some fresh air. Anyone else?”

“Me,” Robin responds so quickly, you would have made fun of her if you didn’t notice the sickly shade of green creeping up on her.

Steve looks at you, raising an eyebrow, but you only shake your head. It makes the room threaten to spin. Maybe, just maybe, you should have slowed your roll with the vodka shots. Maybe.

“I’ll stay in here, hold down the fort,” you promise, letting your eyes fall shut before you inhale deeply through your nose, exhaling softly through parted lips.

No way. You hadn’t drunk nearly enough tonight to excuse getting sick as Robin was seemingly about to.

Robin and Steve leave you be as you compose yourself. You think you hear them extend the offer to everyone in the living room, but you can’t make out who agrees to go and who stays. But as you listen to all the footsteps making their way out the front door, Steve calling out that they’d be back soon, you start to become convinced you’ll open your eyes to an empty apartment.

You open them to an empty kitchen. So far, so good.

But then a voice clears their throat from the living room, just as you pull your phone out of your pocket. You open it to find the cursed dating app still open, your messages with the bartender still staring you back in your face. The bartender you thought you’d hit it off with. The bartender that had stood you up the night before.

Fuck him, you think bitterly as you turn to find Eddie entering the kitchen. Because of course, given your luck, Eddie was the only one who stayed back.

“Those apps fucking suck,” Eddie notes, using the neck of his beer bottle to gesture in the general direction of your phone.

You look between him and the lit up screen for a moment, finding half the mind to click out of the private messages, “You’ve used them in the past?”

“Nope.”

You wait for a second, giving him the chance to elaborate. But he doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t, he’s Eddie. If he explained himself to you, that would just be too easy.

“Okay,” you sigh, squinting at the page and past the vodka, trying to fumble your way back onto the screen that would show you eligible bachelors in your area, letting you swipe and judge them by solely looks as if they weren’t actual people on the other side of the phone. As if they weren’t more than a reservoir of attention at your fingertips.

Maybe that had been your mistake with the bartender – you let him become a real person to you.

“Why are you even still on them? I heard you’ve been having a shit time with the guys on there – quite the opposite of what you’ve been telling Harrington tonight, might I point out.”

It’s something in the way he says it. One moment, you’re looking down, ignoring him. The next, you can’t help but lift your head in shock. The words all felt sharpened and poised for a kill, ready for an attack you hadn’t expected so early on in the night.

“I-” you don’t know how to defend yourself. You don’t know whether to stick by the lies you’ve told tonight, or to be concerned with who was telling Eddie about your love life, “You win some, you lose some. It’s the nature of the app.”

Eddie grins and leans on a counter across from you, “You haven’t made it sound like you’re losing at all tonight. I nearly started a drinking game with Nance where we took a swig every time you said you managed to pull another ‘fuck ‘em and leave ‘em’. Quite the body count you’ve got there, player.”

You’re drunk. You tell yourself that’s why you take his words straight to heart – you’re drunk, and therefore, you’re sensitive.

“You’re bluffing,” you snap, “You couldn’t hear me from all the way over there.”

“We could.”

“No, you couldn’t.”

“Yes, we could.”

“You’re lying,” you spit finally, crossing your arms defensively. Your emotions were rising too high, too quickly, and you blame the vodka. You blame the vodka and you blame the drink Steve had made you. You blame the bartender who stood you up. And most importantly, you blame Eddie.

“I’m lying? You’re the one who’s been telling Stevie nothing but lies tonight,” Eddie narrows his eyes at you, as if he expects you to shrink in cowardice when he stands up straight and takes several steps across the kitchen to be closer to you, “Why do you need to even lie about all that, anyways? It’s not like the truth would be any more pathetic than the act you’re putting up. Everyone strikes ou-”

“I’m pathetic?” you scoff and interrupt him, not even paying any attention to where he was going. The tips of your ears are starting to flame with a red tinge, “Just last week, you lied to the group. You were trying to avoid being where I’d be and told them you had to walk your neighbor’s dog.”

“I did!”

“Your apartment has a strict no pet policy, Eddie.”

He freezes up entirely, grin faltering before your eyes, “How do you know that?”

“I didn’t, but Nancy did,” you roll your eyes at the cracks in his composure, “It’s all I had to hear about the entire night. How she wishes we could get along, how she hates when you lie to her. Thanks for that, by the way.”

“It’s not my fuckin’ fault you go out with my friends,” Eddie grumbles, reserving himself back to his side of the kitchen. If someone came in and squinted closely, they’d find that imaginary boundary between the two of you, an invisible line that would not be crossed. Not here, not tonight. You wouldn’t touch Eddie Munson with a twelve-foot pole if you could help it.

“And it’s not my fault that you don’t.”

You can see his agitation spreading like wildfire across his face, in the tick of his jaw and the twitch of his eyes. You can practically see the words that linger on his tongue as he bites down on it – it is your fault.

“Whatever. Why are you lying to Steve?” his voice goes monotonous as he crosses his arms, and the muscles strain against his shirt. His leather jacket has long been discarded, probably thrown over the back of the couch or a chair in the living room.

You mirror him, crossing your arms, letting the screen of your phone press into your side, “I’m not lying.”

“You are. With Steve, and with me at this very moment,” his eyebrows furrow and you consider the consequences of chucking your phone at him.

Your irritation, your own agitation, is all bubbling beneath your skin. If it wasn’t for the vodka mingling with it, you would have been squirming from the discomfort. Usually, he doesn’t get to you. Normally, his off-handed comments come with a sting that can quickly fade.

None of the jabs are fading tonight. They only seem to linger. Because he’s right, and you hate that he’s right.

“How the fuck do you even know how my dating life is going?” you uncross your arms, waving your hands wildly into the empty air between you and Eddie, “We aren’t exactly friends. Did Robin tell you? Did Steve tell you?”

Eddie swallows hard, and you can watch the words wash over him, but you’re unsure of which of your drunken slurs specifically got to him. You weren’t wrong in any of your statements, you weren’t outlandish in either of your guesses. But your words have frozen him up all the same and you aren’t sure why.

“You’re right,” when he physically melts, the deathly chill remains in his voice, “We aren’t friends. But Rob and Nance are, and Nance and me are. See where I’m going with that one?”

It’s in the way he says it, confirms it.

We aren’t friends.

He hisses it out as if it were a painful reminder, as if saying those words burn him eternally. He says them as if they are capable of sending ice through his veins and bones alike.

You know why he froze now, and it’s too late.

“Well-” you pause, unsure of how exactly to respond. You’ll be having a talk with Robin, surely. But technically, Nancy was your friend, right? Surely, she was allowed to know the drama of your love life, wasn’t she? “You say that as if Nancy and I aren't friends.”

“Are you?” he tilts his head tauntingly, as if he knows something you don’t.

“We… are.”

He catches the hesitation; he runs with it. He finds the handle of the knife you’d tried to keep so hidden, and he twists as hard as he can.

“Would Nancy agree if we asked her?” he hums, as if he were seriously contemplating this, as if it were a mediocre debate rather than a question of if you had friends or not, “Do you even have her on Instagram?”

“You, her supposed best friend, don’t have her on Instagram.”

“Because I don’t have Instagram, full stop.”

“Instagram isn’t the normal gauge of friendship,” you defend yourself, “Some people can have thousands of followers and no friends.”

You don’t have Nancy on Instagram. You don’t follow her, she doesn’t follow you. The most she’s acknowledged your presence on the app was tagging you in a photo on a night out once.

“It’s not about follower count,” Eddie shrugs, “It’s about mutual followings. That’s how Hollywood dictates whether celebrity couples are still together these days, yeah? If they follow each other. If you’re friends, you’d follow each other.”

The vodka makes you bold. Bold enough to mutter out, “Oh, fuck you,” in response to Eddie’s prodding.

“Wait, I-” you watch an unfamiliar emotion pass over Eddie’s face, something kin to regret. But his words are already out in the air, he’s already twisted the knife in your gut fully. He’s already spilled your blood in the middle of Steve’s kitchen, with no one around to witness it. He did it for himself – he did it for his own pleasure, his own enjoyment.

He enjoys hurting you.

“Save it,” you mutter, slowly deflating as you turn your back to him, facing the counter to grab your drink to nurse your wounds.

If you looked close enough in the corner of the room, you would have seen the shovel you should have used to bury away your hope of a friendship with Eddie. You should have piled the dirt over the casket, should have put 6 feet of soil and earth and worms between you and that fruitless yearning.

But you didn’t. He hadn’t taken it quite far enough yet.

Yet.

But then he had to cross that invisible barrier. He just had to walk across the kitchen, come up behind you, and not mind his own business. He just had to look over your shoulder just as you opened the bartender’s profile again, if for nothing else than to further hurt yourself for the night.

You were so caught up in your own disappointment, you never saw the flash of recognition that crossed Eddie’s face. Only the anger that followed.

—

HOUR FOURTEEN - 5:00 AM

You don’t bother with putting pants back on, only Eddie’s sweatshirt. At this point, pants were just beginning to feel like a nuisance when it came to the two of you. A nicetie, as one might put it.

What were the points of niceties with him if he could never hate you?

You have the entire five minutes he spends in the bathroom to try and compose yourself. To try and desperately ruminate through these feelings and detach them from everything that was transpiring. The emotions didn’t belong here, there weren’t twists of guilt and sorrow of loss involved for Eddie when he was fucking you.

So why is that all you could feel right now?

He could never hate you, but he had spent the last year doing exactly that, hadn’t he?

“Hey,” he reappears in the entryway of the kitchen with the worst possible timing, right in the eye of the storm that had begun to cloud over your mind. He holds up a pack of cigarettes you can only assume he’d snagged from his room, “I’m, uh- I was gonna grab a smoke out on the balcony. Join me?”

There’s something of desperation in the way he asks you. All the words are casual, but his tone is an undermining plea; please say yes, please join me, please let me in. He knows something’s wrong, and he’s not just turning a blind eye and ignoring it this time.

You stare at the pack of Marlboro Reds for a few seconds before shrugging, “Sure.”

It’s certainly not as enthusiastic as you’re sure he was hoping for, but he smiles at the small victory nonetheless.

The first thing you notice about his balcony, aside from the clustered furniture, is the view. You’ve never thought your city to be very charming, always looking at it from a pedestrian’s view or through the lens of a tired, crabby college student embarking on another late night. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d step foot on a higher floor of a building like Eddie’s, one just tall enough to see over the rooftops of most of the mundane buildings, one that could peer right over the skyline and show a new dawn breaking. It’s a flourish of pink, orange, and violet, each shade stealing away another breath. The sun is just barely yawning over the horizon, just finally awakening.

God, you’re going to regret not actually sleeping during this time.

“What’s got you scowling?” Eddie mumbles the question out around a cigarette, pausing with his lighter in midair.

You turn your head, and- just like that, all the anger and confusion melts away. He’s painted in the same shades of the sunrise, in a golden light that almost seems to be emitted from him rather than the waking sun. He is all soft edges and tired eye bags, a stubble that you can imagine the itch of against your palm if you were to reach out a hand to hold his face. If you were to kiss him right now, you fear he might dissolve all over your tongue, leaving nothing but his sweetness behind to remind you it was all real.

It’s real. Even if it doesn’t make sense with what you guys projected before tonight, even if it doesn’t align with how your lives will continue on, tonight was real. You were here, he was here, and what happened…. Simply happened.

I could never hate you.

You get it now. Because in this lighting, with a soft breeze tugging your hair and mind alike, you know you feel the same way about him. And you know it contradicts all you have shown him in the past.

You could never hate him. He could never hate you. It’s unfortunate that that’s what you’d been calling it before tonight – hate.

“It’s going to really suck,” you breathe out half a sentence. Two endings before you: letting this night go or, “Not sleeping for a full twenty four hours.”

You don’t know how he does it, how he looks at you like he knows you had something else to say. But he gives you those eyes, and they almost elicit the truth from you.

Almost.

He throws his head back in laughter, and the pinks and purples and all the fights wasted are now trailing down his neck, “Yeah, it is, isn’t it?”

He’s much better at pretending than you are. You know that now.

“Seriously,” you turn and walk to the railing, crossing your arms against the metal grate before he joins you at your side, “I’ll probably ditch my classes on Monday. I’ll have to sleep twenty four hours straight to even the score.”

“God, I wish I could fuck off for Monday,” Eddie groans. He’s throwing his head back again, and you can’t help but wish you could replace the golden rays with your lips. You wish your warmth could sink beneath his skin like the sun’s does.

“You can’t?” your voice cracks with the question as he finally lights the cigarette between his lips.

He takes a long drag, shaking his head with the exhale of smoke, “Nope. I work Mondays at the shop.”

“The shop?”

“Myo’s,” the way his lips curl around the filter of his cigarette as he fights his grin burns a hole in the middle of your chest. Burning and erupting, yearning and longing, ignored and buried, “The auto shop on Main street.”

You know by the way he looks at you that the name should ring a bell, but considering you don’t own a car, you don’t have the slightest clue what his job is, “Oh, so you’re a mechanic?”

“I- Yeah,” he nods slowly, “Yeah, I’m a mechanic,” he pauses and you can see that he has more to say, it just takes him a moment. He looks off the balcony, shifts his weight between his two feet, takes another drag of nicotine. When he finally gathers his thoughts, you’re patient and waiting, biting back a small smile the moment he whips his face towards you, “Have we seriously never talked about that before? I swear I’ve told you I’m a mechanic.”

“Nope, seriously. Never.”

“There’s no fuckin’ way.”

“There absolutely is a way,” you laugh, letting your head fall backwards and not catching the way his gaze falls on you. The sunrise paints you in just as beautiful of a lighting as it had him. If someone asked you, you’d say that you doubt he noticed, but he did. He noticed. He always noticed, “Usually, by now, we’d be at each other’s throats.”

“We sort of were,” he shrugs, eyes still glued to how your collarbone peaks out from beneath his sweatshirt, “Surprised we didn’t leave more hickies.”

The topic you’d been avoiding. The topic he seemed indifferent about.

I could never hate you.

You decide to put his words to the test.

“Are we going to talk about it?” you ask, looking down now and picking at flakes along the metal railing, still not noticing him noticing you, “About…. what we just did?”

“Are you always this straight to the point?” he chuckles nervously. In your peripherals, you catch the way he leans and mirrors you, side by side on the railing. His light cigarette hung loosely between indifferent fingers. Indifference, indifference, indifference.

If you’d just look at him, you’d see anything but indifference written across his face.

“Only when it matters,” you reply, breathing in his secondhand smoke, “Only when it’s important.”

His pinky is within reach of yours once more, just like at the parking garage. Even after feeling the entire expanse of his bare skin against yours, you still crave more – you crave for the intimacy that comes from hooking pinkies as grown adults, from knuckles curling into each other like hinges of a door of possibility.

You don’t see the way he swallows hard, or how he nods subtly to himself before he says, “Alright. Let’s talk about it.”

Those words make you look at him quickly, taken back and not expecting for him to give so easily. If you had noticed him noticing you, it would have been the expected reaction; if you’d seen the way his eyes traced over the pink and orange shadows of your features, you’d know he can’t really say no to you. Not anymore.

“Yeah?” you only ask for the confirmation because you’re waiting for the other shoe to drop.

He won’t let it. He holds it tightly, just nodding, “Yeah. I… You deserve my honesty.”

You deserve my honesty.

I could never hate you.

“I’m starting to get a bad feeling of deja vu, Eddie. We don’t have to do honesty if you don’t want to-”

“Ask me anything. Right here, right now. I’ll answer with the full truth.”

You flashback to hours before, when he’d offered his honesty this willingly and you’d only thrown it back in his face. But right now isn’t that moment, the two of you aren’t in the heat of an argument, there isn’t an impending doom on the horizon and the weight of the night no longer rests on either of your shoulders.

You don’t care as much about why he hates you now, or what he meant by never hating you to begin with. You don’t care much about the porn magazines and you don’t care what changed that first night.

They’re all petty details that have had too long to gather dust.

You do care about his job, you do care to know why he chose to fix cars. You do care about if he still takes night classes, and if yes, which ones. You care to know his favorite color and you care to know how he takes his coffee in the morning. Maybe you even care to know if he has a favorite coffee shop.

You care to know all the new petty details you’d never uncovered about him. Miniscule bits and pieces of him you crave to hold in your hands, if only just for tonight- or today, at this point.

But you need a baseline question. Something that won’t throw him off, but really doesn’t twist around your heart as severely as the others. Something that does neither damage nor nurture to the vines and blooms still occupying your chest.

You suddenly remember a small detail that had been revealed to you by a third party tonight, “Okay, um, well…” you ponder on phrasing, and Eddie edges ever so closer to you, “At that bar we went to tonight, the bartender – Frank – mentioned how you’d been going there for about six months.”

Eddie pales, but he nods nonetheless. Maybe the question is more loaded than you’d anticipated.

“I guess... I…” you continue to stumble over your words and it only leaves Eddie more time to panic, “I’m just curious why you started going? Yeah, yeah. That’s… that’s my question,” you tilt your chin up, try to be seem more confident in your question.

Even in his panic and sudden blanching, Eddie looks ready to laugh at you as his eyebrows scrunch. Somewhere between the wrinkles, you swear you could find something like affection, “That’s your question? Why did I start going to a bar that’s conveniently close to my apartment?”

Maybe it is a good baseline question. Maybe he was just nervous from the other possible questions you could have asked about your time spent together at the bar.

“That’s my question,” you confirm.

The color isn’t returning to Eddie. His hand shakes when he brings his cigarette to his lips. His breath is evidently shaky on the exhale as the smoke puffs out unevenly.

It’s not a good baseline question.

“I…” he won’t meet your gaze, and all your gut can do is twist, twist, twist in anticipation, “I got kicked out of my last bar I was a regular at.”

“Got kicked out? Why?”

It’s ripping the bandaid off the wound of honesty, and neither of you even realize it. Neither of you notice the blood of your history catching up to you.

Eddie sighs and rolls his shoulders before looking at you, “I got into a fight.”

Your twisted gut stills. A fight? Why is he freaking out so evidently over a fight? Does he think you’ll judge him that harshly?

“A fight?” you echo your thoughts with a soft laugh into the morning air, “You… Why do you say that like it’s a bad thing? Jesus, did you go to jail that night? That would suck, but… Eddie, I won’t judg-”

“I didn’t go to jail,” he interrupts, “I mean, they should have called the cops on me, but they didn’t. They gave me a second option of leaving immediately, and being banned for life, effective the moment I stepped out of the building that night. I took the ban.”

“Well,” you relax your shoulders, looking over at the rising sun, “That’s nice of them, I guess, right? I’m sure whatever mean drunk swung their fist at you deserved to get their ass handed to them-”

Eddie interrupts you with a soft utterance of your name, making you look back to his hues of gold instead of the sky’s, “I swung first.”

Oh. Maybe that’s why he still looks so wrecked with nerves. Maybe he thinks that’s the piece you’ll judge him on – it has to be the reason you can see sweat gathering along his eyebrow, just beneath his bangs. “Then I’m sure whoever it was deserved it? I-”

“He did,” he interrupts one final time. You’re about to finally snap at you, telling him to just let you speak, to just accept that you weren’t going to judge him over some bar brawl, when he drops the final bomb of an answer. Here is the honesty, you both realize at the same time, as his words slice through you, “It was about you. I got banned because of you.”

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#twenty four hours #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fic #gotta blast off to the gym now lol

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psychedelic-ink · 2 months

Text

ㅤㅤㅤ✦ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐕𝐑𝐄

ㅤㅤmarcus pike x art historian!reader

genre: mutual pining, friends to lovers, forced proximity, smut, minors dni,

word count: 6k

summary: when a famous art collector is murdered, circumstances lead you to be temporary roommates with Marcus Pike.

warnings: oral sex (marcus receiving), marcus getting spoiled, some very mild angst, idiots in love

a/n: this work was commissioned by the lovely @sevillagrenada! thank you so much for your support and thank you so much for this delicious idea, I had a blast! ❤️‍🔥

** dividers made my the talented @saradika-graphics 💜💜💜

Another day, another handsome detective at your doorstep.

It’s been a few months since you and Marcus first got acquainted. He had visited you during one of your busiest hours, asking you for information on a recently stolen painting while you were desperately trying to sort out a curated disaster by one of the interns. It didn’t end well. You ended up shouting at him to leave you alone and even though you regretted your choice in showing how distressed you were, it was what it was. What surprised you later, however, was finding him in the early morning hours with two coffees and blueberry muffins. He apologized profusely and asked for a do-over. Something that you were more than eager to oblige.

And the rest, what most art historians like you would say, was history.

Now he visits you almost every morning if he can. Thanks to his charm, you were now considered the number one go-to person of the FBI when it came to art theft. A title you didn’t mind having.

“A bit early even for you, don’t you think?” you say, handing him the folders you’d been carrying. You smile as he lets out an exaggerated “oomph” and go to open the door. “Don’t be a baby, detective.”

“I just wanted to see you, what’s the harm in that,” he answers, following you inside. “I have the day off tomorrow so I won’t be visiting.”

“How thoughtful of you.”

“Good to see that someone appreciates it.”

He takes a seat as you head for the coffee machine. You’d got it a month ago, saving Marcus the trouble of waiting in line every morning before work. You appreciate having this as an excuse for him to stop by every morning. Luckily, the museum was on his way to work, meaning he was more than happy to visit you. Sometimes it’s hard to forget that this relationship between you two is meant to be nothing other than friendship, a platonic thing. But every day you find your heart swelling more and more at the sight of him. It’s been too long since you felt close to someone. It’s been even longer since you ached for a person you know you shouldn’t ache for.

“Are you working on something with Remedios Valo?” When you turn you see him hunched over your desk, his eye meet yours, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “Sorry, all these books were just sprawled here. I couldn’t help but look.”

The coffee machine comes to life, the aroma mixing in with the scent of books.

“That’s alright,” you answer, lips feeling numb. “And yeah, Olivier is adding one of her works to his collection so he wanted me to take a look.”

“Which one is he buying?”

You know he absolutely despises the idea of art being bought, hidden from the rest of the world to be a decoration. You hear it in the drop of his voice.

“Les Feuilles Mortes.” His gaze falls back to the table. “Dead leaves. The one with the woman with orange hair and green dress.”

He hums when he finally sees it on the page, “It’s a nice one.”

“It is. It’s one of my favorites.”

You bring the two cups of steaming coffee. His eyes find yours as you place them down, taking a seat. “You must be excited then,” he states. “To be seeing it in person.”

“I’m just happy it’s going to someone I know will take care of it.”

“I did meet him once. Seemed like a decent enough guy.”

A soft chuckle escapes your lips, “You really hate art collectors don’t you?”

“With a passion,” a soft smile touches his lips. “But I’ll make an exception for you.”

You shake your head, smiling into your cup as you bring the steaming liquid to your lips. He’s always like this. Making sure just how much you matter, making you feel cherished, it’s a contrast to how you feel most of the time. Your eyes fall on the painting printed onto the glossy paper. Everyone interprets art differently. In this particular piece, you see loneliness but also a peaceful serenity. The shadow bowing to the woman, them being connected with a piece of blue yarn that she’s holding. The fact that it’s blue and not read also piques your interest. It makes you think it’s not something that is forced, it’s not the fates that brought them together but something else. Something more intimate and free.

“So, when are you seeing this stunning artwork in person?”

“Tonight.”

Marcus already knows that today is going to be a long day.

He knew it as soon as he entered his office, all fellow agents gathered in one place, murmuring. They parted like the Red Sea when he came through. That’s when the captain told him that extinguished art collector Olivier Balmaceda was found dead. Murdered.

All he could think of was you. How excited you were to see him, and the painting, tonight. How Olivier was your friend and what would this mean for the investigation? Everyone here knew you, adored you. You being close to the murder victim certainly wasn’t good. He didn’t want you to be involved in any way, not even as a consultant.

He steps out of the unmarked FBI sedan, his leather shoes echoing against the pavement as he approaches the crime scene. His partner, Tim, follows suit, both agents taking in the scene that awaits them.

The art collector's mansion looms before them, an opulent testament to a life steeped in appreciation for creativity. The air carries a faint scent of antique wood and the unmistakable aura of the art world. As they enter the expansive gallery, it becomes clear that Olivier Balmaceda's passion for art extends far beyond mere aesthetics.

The crime scene, bathed in the soft glow of gallery lights, is surreal. Olivier lies in the heart of his sanctuary, surrounded by the very beauty that defined his existence. The juxtaposition of life and death against the backdrop of artistic brilliance is haunting.

Tim glances at Marcus, a silent acknowledgment of the gravity of the situation. Together, they navigate the intricate dance of art and tragedy. The paintings, sculptures, and tapestries bear witness to the final act of a man whose life was intricately interwoven with the world he cherished.

As Marcus approaches Olivier's lifeless form, he can't help but feel the weight of the art that envelops them.

The art collector's mansion is cloaked in an air of somber anticipation as Marcus's focused gaze is drawn back to Olivier's lifeless form, nestled among the artworks that had once been a source of joy. The forensic team, adorned in pristine white suits, moves with meticulous precision, weaving through the crime scene like careful curators preserving a delicate masterpiece.

"Bullet entry at the back of the head. Looks like a single gunshot," Marcus hears one of them say, his voice a measured cadence amid the artistic silence.

Marcus nods, absorbing the gravity of the information. The team proceeds, each member contributing to the careful orchestration of documentation. His path takes him to the abstract painting, now surrounded by the scrutinizing eyes of forensic experts.

"We're scanning for any hidden messages or anomalies. This painting could hold clues.”

"Keep me posted," Marcus replies.

His attention turns to the delicate sculpture, now cocooned in an evidence bag. Tim approaches, his words a whisper against the backdrop of the gallery.

"Looks like they're treating the whole gallery as a crime scene. Anything stand out to you?" Tim inquires, his voice a muted harmony in the investigative symphony.

"Not yet. We need to dig deeper, find the connections between Olivier and whoever did this," Marcus responds, his words a subtle melody of determination.

The investigation shifts towards Olivier's desk, adorned with sketches and notes – a tableau of potential motives. They meticulously examines the papers, unveiling a narrative hidden within the inked strokes.

"Possible motive here. Let's see if Olivier was working on something that could've angered someone," suggests the expert, their words punctuating the air with a promise of revelation.

Acknowledging their findings, Marcus's thoughts churn with possibilities. Just as the investigation prepares to move to another sector of the mansion, his discerning eyes catch sight of a sketchbook nestled on a nearby shelf. A flicker of curiosity sparks within him, prompting the donning of gloves.

"Hold on a moment," Marcus interjects, a pause that reverberates through the dance of forensic activity.

The team halts, their collective gaze directed towards Marcus as he delicately retrieves the sketchbook. Its presence is unassuming, a silent witness to the unfolding drama. As Marcus flips through its pages, the sketches reveal a familiar artistic style, each stroke a brush with recognition.

"Wait... these look like—" Marcus begins, his words a murmur to the sketches that come to life beneath his fingertips.

Tim glances over, an inkling of recognition in his eyes.

"Isn't that—"

"Yeah. It's hers," Marcus confirms, closing the notebook.

So much for not getting you involved.

“Captain, you can’t be serious.”

Your eyes are drawn to Marcus, his voice holding the tone of nothing other but disbelief. Your eyes turn to the floor. Olivier is dead. Murdered. And the only proper evidence to connect the dots of what happened is your sketchbook. The sketchbook you could’ve sworn you left in your office. The sketchbook that you only kept to yourself other than Marcus and a couple of more trustworthy people. One of them being Olivier.

You close your eyes. It’s exhausting to breathe. You focus on how your nostrils flare and let it all out through a small gap between your lips. Marcus inches closer, hand firm against the small of your back.

“I’m dead serious, Agent Pike,” Captain Lana answers, her voice calm yet cold as ice. “Until this entire case is solved, she’s on house arrest and under your care.”

“Just because we found her sketchbook does not mean she’s a suspect—”

“Agent Pike,” her voice cuts through the tension in the room. A sharp shudder crawls up your spine, your skin prickling with attention as you open your eyes. Despite her tone, she doesn’t look mad. “You will do what is best for our consultant. As of right now, she is linked to the case of one of the biggest art collectors for reasons we do not know. The best thing we can do is keep an eye on her and protect her.”

His mouth slams shut, his jaw clenched. His hand deserts your back and in that moment, all you can feel is guilt. Guilt of him being forced to do something he clearly doesn’t want to do.

To share his home.

“I understand,” he answers curtly, turning on his heel. “Let’s go get your things.”

It takes you a moment to realize he’s talking to you, shooting Captain Lana a glance, you follow him out of the office.

Marcus hasn’t said a single word during the entire drive. Even when you finally parked, he just took your bags and led you up the stairs to his apartment. Your heart felt as if it was shattering into a million tiny pieces. The poor organ was already weighted down by your friend's death, and now one of the closest people to you couldn’t even look at you.

He drops your bags to the floor and you slowly shut the door. You don’t even have it in you to look around, not that it would matter, you’ve already been here before. You doubt anything changed.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out before he can say anything else. “God, Marcus, I’m so sorry.”

“For what?”

His hands are on you in an instant, lifting your downturned gaze. You blink away the tears, breath catching in your throat as you meet his eyes. It’s so easy to get lost in them. You could live an eternity there. “For . . for having to stay here. I know it’s inconvenient.”

“Oh, sweetheart no, no. You could never be an inconvenience. I’m. . . I’m sorry I made you feel like that. I should’ve checked in on you. None of this is your fault understand. None of it,” his thumbs draw slow circles around your cheeks, the knot in your throat growing by the second. “And for all it’s worth, I’m happy that you’re here. I would be worried sick knowing that you’re alone.”

Suddenly you’re being pulled into his chest, your senses completely enveloped by his scent. He gingerly cups your head from behind, holding you there, allowing you to disappear from the world for a while.

The first tear escapes unexpectedly. It’s immediately absorbed into his shirt and the rest follows. He doesn’t try to hush you, doesn’t try to get you to stop. He allows you to break down completely. You cry and cry, until there’s nothing left anymore. Only then does he pull back, lifting your gaze to him once more.

“Feeling better?”

“Y-Yeah. Thank you, Marcus.”

He shakes his head, “I’m not doing anything you should be thankful for. This…this is what friends do.”

That’s right. Friends.

Your eyes sting when you blink, a forced smile tugging at your lips, “Yeah, friends.”

You’re almost certain that you’re imagining it, but you swear the crease between his brows deepens with your answer.

The soft glow of the TV screen bathes the room as Marcus settles onto the couch beside you. “Really? That’s what you want to watch?”

Marcus raises a brow as he looks down at you. You’re wrapped in a blanket, looking as if the two of you have been living together for years. He loves how you’re already comfortable with the living situation. He wished he could have this in better circumstances without an ongoing murder investigation, but he’ll take what he gets.

“I haven’t started the new season yet, it’ll be fun.”

“It’s a murder mystery. Are you sure?”

You snort, “I know the plot of Only Murders In The Building, Marcus. No need to remind me.”

As the first episode begins, the room is filled with the intriguing soundtrack of the show. Marcus watches the characters unfold on the screen, but his attention keeps drifting back to you. The play of emotions on your face, the way you get caught up in the plot – it's more captivating to him than any murder mystery.

Gradually, you lean into him, seeking comfort in the shared moment. The warmth of your presence seeps into Marcus's consciousness, and he finds himself entranced by the way you become absorbed in the show. Unconsciously, his arm drapes around your shoulder, the gesture protective yet tender.

In the semi-darkness of the room, Marcus grapples with his own emotions. The line between friend and something more blurs as he navigates the uncharted territory of his feelings. As you snuggle closer, he can feel the gentle rhythm of your breath, the subtle rise and fall of your chest.

A flicker of uncertainty crosses Marcus's mind. Does this closeness mean the same to you as it does to him? He wonders if you sense the subtle shift in the dynamics between you. The arm around your shoulder, a silent invitation, speaks volumes, but Marcus Pike remains in that delicate space between uncertainty and the unspoken desire for something more. The murder mystery on the screen becomes a mere backdrop to the complex enigma of emotions unfolding between two souls entangled in the intricacies of life and love.

Marcus's heart races as he lets his hand linger on your waist. He can feel the warmth radiating through the fabric of your shirt, and he wonders if you can feel the heat of his touch as well.

He watches your face, searching for any sign of discomfort or hesitation, but all he sees is the same intensity and focus on the TV. It both thrills and confuses him – is it possible that you can be so oblivious to the way he feels?

But as he watches you, he notices the faint hitch in your breath when his hand moves slightly, as if you're aware of his touch but trying to hide it. It only fuels the growing attraction between them, and Marcus can feel himself getting more and more drawn in.

His mind is filled with images of how he wants to touch you, and he can barely contain the urge to lean in and brush his lips against your neck. He wants to feel your skin against his, to explore every inch of your body.

The tension in the room becomes palpable, and Marcus can feel his heart racing. He looks over at you, and for a moment, he thinks he sees a flicker of desire in your eyes. But just as quickly, it disappears, and you go back to watching the movie without a second glance.

His hand moves even closer to yours, brushing against your fingers lightly. He can feel the heat emanating from your body, and he knows that you're just as affected by the electric chemistry between them.

His mind is clouded with desire, and all he can think about is kissing you, touching you. But he knows he needs to be patient. He can’t just make a move and potentially ruin the friendship you have.

But as the episode goes on, Marcus can barely pay attention anymore. All he can focus on is you, and the way your body moves slightly with each scene. He can feel himself getting harder with each passing moment, and he knows he needs to do something to release the tension.

Without thinking, his hand moves to your thigh, tracing small circles on your skin. He can see your breath hitch and your eyes flutter closed for a split second before you regain your composure.

He leans in closer to you, his lips just inches away from your ear. "Is this okay?" he whispers.

Marcus relaxes when you nod, eyes still glued to the screen. He knows you want to turn to him, to witness his feelings lingering in his eyes but he also knows that you can’t for the same reason why he can’t tell you how he feels. Fear. Fear of rejection. Of loss of a friendship.

So, his hand on your thigh is as far as he’ll go. Soothing you with the simplest of touches.

The credits roll and the episode ends, Marcus can't help but feel a lingering sense of longing. He knows he needs to push these feelings aside and focus on the case, but he also can't deny the strong connection he feels with you.

As you stand up to turn off the TV, Marcus suddenly reaches out and takes your hand in his, surprising both of you. The air between them is heavy with unspoken words and tension, but they both know this isn’t the time or the place.

For now, they'll focus on solving the murder and catching the killer. But Marcus can't shake the feeling that this shared moment was the beginning of something more – something that could change everything.

It’s been almost two weeks now since you moved in with Marcus. And other than Olivier’s murder, things have been. . . peaceful. He’s been doing everything for you. You’ve never been taken care of to this extent before. It made you feel bad in a way, as if you were a burden to him and now he felt inclined to take care of you just because of the circumstances.

However, you couldn’t ignore the tension either, the chemistry. Almost every night you thought of when the two of you watched TV. How close the two of you were. You often find yourself thinking about how differently that night could’ve ended. Only if you were brave enough, then maybe the friendship could’ve escalated into something more.

While heating leftovers for the both of you from last night, the door clicks open. You expect to see his smile, the same question on his lips asking how your day was—but all you can see in his eyes is exhaustion. He forces a smile when he sees you, then silently heads to his room. Your lungs cave in on itself. Your body buzzing with worry, you look down at the barely heated leftovers. He deserves something more. Something fresh.

So, as you quickly head down the hall to check on him, you order his favorites. You come to a halt at the door, heart beating in your throat, you knock.

“I’ll be right there,” he says, almost apologetically, which makes you feel even worse.

“I just wanted to check if you’re alright. Can I. . . Can I come in?”

You’re about to head back to the living room when the door slowly opens. His tie hangs loosely around his neck, the first three buttons of his shirt wide open, exposing skin. You barely manage to tear your gaze away. He looks vulnerable, defeated.

“I’m okay,” he clears his throat. “I promise.”

You ignore what he says and take a step forward, forcing the both of you inside the bedroom. It smells of cinnamon. “I ordered us some food from that place you like. We have some time to relax.”

“Relax?”

You let out the breath you’ve been holding and trap his face between your hands. You want to make him feel good. You want to pamper him. At least this one time, you want to do something for him instead. You know what his answer is going to be if you ask him about his day—he’ll brush you off, because it’s the case you’re involved in. The murder of your friend.

“Let me make you feel good, Marcus.”

His eyes widen, lashes fluttering, his lips part, “You don’t have to do that.”

“I know I don’t have to but I want to.” You quickly add when you see the hesitation growing in his eyes. “Please.”

You notice the hollow in his cheek, the way his jaw moves as he chews on the inside. Your heart beats wildly in your chest. After what feels like hours, his head jerks in a small nod, “Okay.”

Marcus gently falls onto the bed and you drop to your knees, taking a place between his spread legs. You can feel his eyes on you. His gaze intense as you fumble with his belt. You tug down his pants along with his underwear, his hips slightly lifting to make it easier for you. His cock is still soft. It makes a certain type of hunger grow inside you. Placing both hands on his thighs, you dip down, taking him into his mouth. He sharply inhales, cock twitching over your tongue. It doesn’t take him long to grow in your mouth, and suddenly swallowing him down proves to be harder than you thought.

Your nostrils flare as you attempt to swallow him down, your nose brushing against the soft curls. His hand gently cradles the back of your head, and when you look up you see his head falling back, his brows furrowed as he breathes heavily through his nose.

Parting away, you suck the base of his cock, your tongue swirling. His hips jerk and a moan rips from his throat. “That—that feels good,” he swallows.

“You like it slow?” you say, lips moving against sensitive skin. “Tell me how you like it. Show me.”

“You’re doing great sweetheart, just do it how it’s best for you,” he lets out a breathy chuckle. “I’m not picky.”

Brows knitting together, you pull away and fix him a half-hearted glare. You wrap your fingers around and begin to stroke him, witnessing the flex of his thighs. “I want to do it how you like it,” you state. “Show me or I’ll stop.”

Your lips curl as you hear him whine. It’s such a beautiful sound.

“Fine.”

He drags you back down to his cock, your hand falling away. You open your mouth to take him once more, thinking that he wants to fuck your mouth, but instead, he presses your lips to the side of his cock. You feel the heat of him, the bulging of his veins.

“Wrap your lips,” he rasps and when you do, he starts to move your head up and down.

You let out a muffled moan, the vibrations sending shivers down Marcus’ spine. His movements are slow, almost as if he’s fucking himself deep into you—almost as if he’s been thinking about this for months. Your head bobs up and down, your lips pursed around him tightly. You hear him grunt above you, and you can tell that he’s struggling to keep himself in control.

“Put your hands back on my thighs,” Marcus commands, and you do so without hesitation. “I want to feel the bite of your nails.” His thighs are shaking beneath your touch, and you can feel the coiled tension inside him, just waiting to snap. You do as he asks, digging your nails slightly into the flesh. Another whimper falls for him, a sounds desperate and needy at the same time. He pulls up and finally slips himself into your warm mouth, your eyes water as he pushes you down, taking him whole.

“You’re gonna make me come,” Marcus grunts, his voice punctuated by the wet sounds of your mouth on his cock.

You keep up the pace, eager to please him. You can feel his cock growing harder and harder inside your mouth, and you can tell that he’s close. You swirl your tongue around him, pressing your lips even tighter around him.

“Fuck,” Marcus mutters, his hand gripping your hair tightly. “I’m gonna—”

Before he can finish his sentence, he releases into your mouth with a deep groan, his hips bucking up into your face. You eagerly take him in, swallowing around him as he spills, hot come trailing down your throat. He lets out a heavy sigh, his body going limp as he comes down from his orgasm.

You sit back on your heels, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. Marcus looks at you with admiration and slight embarrassment, his cheeks peppered with a faint shade of red.

“Sorry, that was quick,” he murmurs, tugging you up and pulling you to his lap. “Now it’s your turn.”

He leans towards your lips but you stop him by pressing two fingers, they’re soft. “We can think about me later,” you say, despite the inside of your panties being an absolute wet mess. “I just wanted to make you feel good.”

“I want to make you feel good too,” he objects, nipping at your fingers. “Don’t you. . . I thought you wanted me.”

The guilt in his eyes is back and your hand drops away from his lips. He’s holding you tight as if you might disappear.

“I do,” you answer tentatively. “But I don’t want you to jump into this thinking you have to. I don't want you to do anything you might regret.”

“Regret?” he shakes his head. “What does that even mean? I’m not jumping into anything. I’m not confused if that’s what you’re worried about,” his arms around you tighten, and with that, you know you’ve said the wrong thing. “You just sucked my cock—are you telling me that was out of pity? Gratitude?”

You cut him off, “N–No. . .”

“Then what was it?” his voice drops dangerously low, eyes flashing with a mixture of anger and hurt. “I’m one hundred percent here. It has nothing to do with the case. And for you to do something just because you felt bad for me. . . I thought we were finally getting somewhere after all of this.”

“Marcus—”

“I think I want to be alone right now,” he turns his head away from you but doesn’t do anything to push you off of him. Your apology dies in your throat, your mouth suddenly dry. You slowly move away, the taste of his come still in your mouth as you contemplate what to do. What to say.

But whatever you were planning evaporates with the ring of the doorbell.

You’re sitting on the couch when Marcus comes home and sits on the armchair right across from you. You’re eyes slowly shift from your phone to meet his gaze, he continues to stare down, his thumbs thrumming over his thighs.

It’s been an awkward couple of days after the argument you two had. Neither of you were brave enough to broach the subject, However, that didn’t mean what happened didn’t haunt you in the dead of night, both in a bad and a good way.

“It’s done.”

His words send a chill down your spine, your muscles tightening, “What’s done?”

“The case. We found who murdered Olivier. . . and how your notebook got there.” Marcus takes a deep breath, his eyes finally meeting yours as he begins to unravel the mystery that has been hanging over your heads like a storm cloud.

"Olivier's murder... it was someone close to him. Both rival and friend," Marcus starts, his voice heavy with the weight of the revelation. "Turns out, his friend had been eyeing the same collection for years. When Olivier outbid him for that prized painting, it pushed him over the edge."

You feel a knot form in your stomach, a mixture of shock and sorrow swirling within you. Olivier, with his vibrant personality and passion for art, didn't deserve such a fate.

"And my notebook...?" you prompt, needing to understand how your own belongings ended up tangled in this tragedy.

Marcus sighs, running a hand through his hair. "Olivier... he wanted to show your sketches to one of his friends. He thought you had real talent and he was planning on gifting you that painting."

Your heart sinks at the realization. Olivier, you’re going to miss him. Marcus wraps his arms around you, offering comfort and support as the weight of the emotions you've been suppressing finally spills over. You lean into him, the warmth of his embrace a soothing balm for the wounds of the past few days. His touch is both reassuring and grounding, reminding you that you're not alone in this tumultuous journey.

"I'm here," he murmurs softly, his fingers gently tracing comforting patterns on your back. "It’s over now. You can return to your life and begin to heal."

“Heal?” you blin at him, lips parting. “Return to my life? What does that even mean? We can’t go back to normal Marcus. Not after everything. . . I—” You swallow, the knot thick in your throat. “I care about you, Marcus. I care about you deeply and I just want you to know that. I don’t want you to think it was a one-time thing. Ot that I did it because of the circumstances. I did it because I wanted to. And I wanted to long before any of this happened.”

As your heartfelt confession hangs in the air, Marcus's eyes soften, his expression reflecting a mixture of relief and affection. Without hesitation, he leans in, closing the gap between you, his lips meeting yours in a tender kiss. It's a moment of shared vulnerability, a silent exchange of emotions that speaks volumes more than words ever could.

The warmth of his touch ignites a spark within you, a reassurance that despite the challenges you've faced, your connection remains unbroken. In this intimate embrace, you find solace and hope for the future, knowing that whatever trials may come, you'll face them together.

As the kiss deepens, the weight of the past few days begins to lift, replaced by a sense of renewal and possibility.

Marcus's hands move to your waist, pulling you onto his lap as he deepens the kiss. You feel his body pressing against yours, igniting a fire within you. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, pulling him closer as your fingers tangle in his hair.

His lips move fervently against yours, conveying the unspoken emotions that have been building between you for weeks. You can feel his heart beating against your chest and it's a comforting reminder that you're not alone in this moment.

He breaks the kiss, his lips trailing down your neck, leaving a tingle in their wake. You let out a soft gasp, arching your neck to give him better access. His hands roam over your body, his touch setting every nerve alight. “I’ve been wanting to do this for so long.”

Your fingers move to his shirt, desperate to rid him of the barriers separating your skin. His lips trail down your neck again, moving to your shoulder, his hands roaming freely over your body. You let out a soft moan, arching your back as his hands reach your waist, pulling your shirt off. The cool air hits your skin but it's nothing compared to the heat radiating between you two.

Marcus and you remove each other's clothes. Your hands roam hungrily over his bare chest, feeling the muscles ripple beneath your touch. He moans softly, a sound that sends a shiver down your spine.

His hands move to your back, unhooking your bra and gently sliding it off. Your bare chest presses against his, skin against skin, and the sensation sends sparks of pleasure through your body. Your lips meet again, his tongue moving alongside yours, his hands roaming lower to your waist and down to your hips, pulling you closer.

You push him down to the couch, your hands reaching for his jeans. With ease, you undo the button and slide them off, revealing his toned legs and the bulge in his boxers. Your fingers trail down his stomach, feeling his muscles contract under your touch.

He flips you over, his lips moving down your neck and to your chest. With a flick of his tongue, he takes one of your hardened nipples into his mouth, causing you to arch your back and let out a soft moan of pleasure. His hands reach down, unbuttoning your jeans and sliding them off your legs.

As his lips continue to travel down your body, his fingers slide into your underwear, eliciting a gasp from you. You can feel the heat and wetness building between your legs, the tingling sensation increasing with every touch.

In one swift movement, he removes your underwear, leaving you completely exposed and vulnerable to his touch. But with Marcus, you feel anything but vulnerable. In his embrace, you feel safe, loved, and desired.

And you know that is something that will never change.

#marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x fem!reader #marcus pike x f!reader #writing commission #the mentalist fanfic #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfic

259 notes · View notes

atinyniki · 6 months

Text

only mine.

group: stray kids !

pairing: idol!kim seungmin x f!reader

genre: fluff, a little angst

warnings + additional info: reader is referred to as y/n, crying, lots of fighting, possessiveness (seungmin), lots of jealousy (also seungmin), accusations/slut-shaming, seungmin is referred to as min, minnie, and seungie, unprofessional work ethics, seungmin is a real jerk, nonconsensual kissing, drinking, forced proximity (shared bed), drunk confessions, seungmin is TOXICCCC!

authors note: one of my least fav fics ngl, didnt have very great ideas for this one but i tried my best ! this is also not proofread. english is not my first language, so please excuse any grammatical or spelling errors. happy reading :)

wc: 4482

(pt. 2)

“i’m sorry y/n…”

you’re sitting on the couch, hands awkwardly placed in your lap. “it’s okay, i wasn’t expecting anything it’s just… i needed to get it off my chest.”

your relationship with jeongin is basically ruined at this point. things are going to be terribly awkward now, especially since you’re one of the makeup artists for stray kids.

the boys are all great friends with you too, so there’s not really a high chance of you getting put with another group.

jeongin stays silent, and you take it as a sign to leave. you quickly make your way out of the room to see seungmin on the couch, smirking at you. your eyes were already welling up with tears, you just wanted jeongin to say something.

instead, you’re met with seungmin, tears threatening to leave your eyes. “did you really think someone like jeongin would like you back?”

your heart plummets, you feel sick to your stomach. you don’t answer, walking toward the front door. “awhh, someone’s upset”

“not right now seungmin, i’m not in the mood.”

“you’re never in the mood. now get the fuck out.”

you quickly shut the door behind you, taking a deep breath and making your way home. it’s just a simple rejection, you know, but seungmins words still linger in your mind.

what were you thinking? jeongin would never like someone like you.

it was time to shoot their new music video, the whole atmosphere feeling incredibly awkward. jeongin did his best to avoid you, tending to another stylist instead.

you quickly finish up chans makeup, showing him what it looks like in the mirror. he practically beams at you, you know you’ve done well. “why aren’t you talking y/n?”

you swallow down the lump in your throat, you know you can trust chan. “oh nothing, just a little awkward now”

“why so?”

“jeongin didn’t tell you?”

chan looks incredibly confused, shaking his head with an eyebrow slightly raised. you give in, explaining the story vaguely to chan, making sure to leave out the interaction with seungmin.

“oh wow… and he said… nothing?”

you slowly nod, head hung low. chan can see the hurt swirling in your eyes, “it’s okay, at least that means he didn’t say anything bad”

you laugh a little at chans logic, thinking about what seungmin said. jeongin is too good for you. you know it. why did you even try?

you continue your conversation with chan, when all of a sudden, seungmin pops up behind you. “wow… first jeongin and now chan? jeez, talk about desperate…”

you try to contain yourself in front of the boys, swallowing down the harsh words that are so incredibly close to leaving your mouth.

you couldn’t get anything out, just simply mumbling a quick apology and darting out the door before the tears spilled. you don’t know why seungmin hates you so much.

as soon as the door shuts, you can hear chan yelling at seungmin. you don’t want to ruin their friendship, and you’re truly considering leaving for a bit.

you arrive home, quickly changing and flopping onto the bed. the heavy feeling in your heart doesn’t go away.

suddenly, you get a text. you check your phone, wondering who could be texting you.

minmin 🐶 : stay away from them, seriously. you’re making jeongin uncomfortable.

you don’t really know how to answer, so you just lay there with your phone in your hand. you don’t know how to gather your feelings about anything right now.

minmin 🐶: you can’t just go around fucking with every guy you find hot

another text breaks you out of your thoughts.

minmin 🐶: are you not even going to answer?

y/n: i’m not fucking around with anyone, seungmin.

minmin 🐶: then what is it for?

minmin 🐶: money?

minmin 🐶: attention?

y/n: no seungmin, it’s because i actually have feelings.

y/n: just leave me alone, please?

minmin 🐶: oh so now all of a sudden it’s a sensitive subject for you?

y/n: why do you keep bugging me about this seungmin? i’m trying to get over it

y/n: i’ll stay away from jeongin, just leave me alone.

you could see seungmin typing, and then it suddenly stops. you don’t get a message after that, and decide to just go to sleep.

you’re preparing for another filming session, touching up jeongin’s makeup. you make sure not to get too close, remembering what seungmin had said to you not too long ago.

seungmin seems to be giving you weird looks from across the room. you don’t think anything of it, and continue fixing up jeongin’s makeup. before you turn around to help changbin, you give jeongin a smile.

jeongin doesn’t return the smile however, instead walking over to seungmin to talk about the choreography. you don’t think anything of it, and just do your job. you’re not overstepping your boundaries, especially after jeongin established them.

or after… seungmin established them.

the room is dead silent aside from changbins vocal warmups. you quickly complete seungmins makeup, making sure not to say a word that could set his mood off.

you bring out the hair curler, slowly framing seungmins bangs around his face. you see seungmins eyes darting around, but you decide to focus on the task at hand.

once seungmin makes sure his arms are hidden from the camera, he tugs you by the shirt, pulling you in for a sloppy kiss.

before you can even manage to escape, he pushes you off of him. the curler falls onto you, burning a thick line onto your forearm. “what the fuck y/n?! why would you do that?!”, he exclaimed.

all heads are turned towards you now, “what do you mean?! you kissed me?!”, you replied incredulously.

the staff manages to get you as far away from him as possible. along with losing most of your friends, you also lose your reputation, as well as your job. it feels as if everything has suddenly shattered because of one stupid crush.

you knew that seungmin had hated you for a while, maybe you shouldn’t have pissed him off with jeongin.

the security camera footage didn’t show any signs of seungmin kissing you, so they took his word for it. you were no longer a part of stray kids’ team.

weeks passed. you didn’t want to bring up seungmin to the managers, it was pointless to ruin his career. it would be easier for you to find a new job, but for seungmin, the backlash would be incredibly overwhelming. you couldn’t do that to him.

you weren’t completely let go of though, only moved to work with itzy instead. if you’ll be honest, it’s a lot easier to work without having seungmin around. you’re more focused on your job now.

“is it really true that seungmin framed you?”, yuna asks abruptly.

you were taken aback by the sudden question, not knowing if you should answer or not. “umm…”

ryujin walks over to you, resting a hand on your shoulder. she leans over to whisper something into your ear. “we heard the boys arguing about it… i know you didn’t do it, y/n”

shit. your eyes stay on the floor, afraid to look up. “talk to him, please y/n”, yuna begs.

you jerk your head up towards her, “seungmin?”

“yeah? who else? dummy”

you consider it for a moment, maybe this was your chance to clear out the tension between you two. “i’ll think about it”

you weren’t lying. you thought about it all night. you know he wouldn’t want to, but maybe, just maybe, he’d give you one more chance.

you finish styling your hair and doing your makeup, flattening down the sides of your hot pink dress. you thought it’d fit the theme for the party tonight because of the comeback.

you’re not quite sure why you’re even invited, but a party is a party right? you quickly drive there, making a mental note not to drink at all. you need to be in proper condition to get home.

you finally walk into the room, all the girls rushing to you instantly. lily is squealing because of your outfit, while yeji is fixing the jewelry adorning your neck. you all have a blast. that is, until the boys noticed you.

you’re suddenly reminded of how you left the boys in the first place, a little discomfort visible on your face. suddenly, you’re dragged away from the girls by seungmin, unable to free yourself from his hold.

“ooa- y/nnie! you’re here?”, he slurs.

yeah. he was definitely drunk. since when did he start calling you y/nnie anyways? “you’re drunk, dumbass”

“well duh- you look prettyyy”

his words get more confusing by the second. why is he acting like this towards you? “thanks min”

he giggles at the nickname, a sound you don’t hear very often, until an arm grabs him behind. “oh gosh y/n, i’m so sorry, he’s been looking for you all night”, jeongin says with a nervous chuckle.

“all night…?”

“shhh don’t tell her”, seungmin pleaded with puppy eyes.

“tell me what?”, he’s piqued your interest now.

jeongin begins to speak, “noth-“

“that i’m in love with youuu”

your jaw drops, jeongin’s does too. you both share a look, then turning to look at seungmin, who’s already lunging towards you. he clings onto your arm, smiling and nuzzling into your shoulder.

“jeongin. how long did you know about this?!”

he looks at you, the expression on his face is one of guilt. “almost a year now…”

your eyes widen, and you stare at seungmin. his face is bright red, too wasted to comprehend what is happening right now. jeongin says a quick goodbye, leaving you to deal with seungmin.

“y/nnieeee can we go to your house? it’s too loud here”, he pouts. you consider it for a moment, but then you remember how he might react when he wakes up in the morning.

he grabs your arm, kissing over the burn that he gave you. you didn’t push him away though, but not because it felt good. of course it didn’t feel good. okay… maybe it felt good.

maybe seungmin would appreciate you taking him home rather than being stuck with seven drunk guys. you look down at him again, who’s hopelessly clinging onto your arm. “pleaseeee?”, he asks with puppy eyes.

how can someone look so cute doing that?

wait. what? what are you thinking? kim seungmin is far from cute. of course, you still gave in and agreed though. “fine, but you can’t trash my house okay?”

“mmph okay”, he slurs. you quickly drag him out of the place, saying your goodbyes and rushing him to your car before people can ask questions. he sits comfortably in your car, hands placed in his lap and soft hums leaving his lips.

his voice is laced with exhaustion, and even then it sounds so beautiful. you stay silent on the way home, not wanting to interrupt his singing.

“we’re here”, you say quietly.

seungmin quickly exits the car before you can even put your hand on the handle and opens the door for you.

what a gentleman.

you laugh at his silly antics, and a frown makes its way onto his face. “i’m sorry, i wanted to help you a little too.”, he spoke softly.

you look up at him while you exit the car, his lower lip quivering slightly. you don’t say anything, but you grab his hand and lead him inside to your room.

you grab a change of clothes for him and rush to the bathroom to get dressed for bed. when you’re finished, you walk out again to see seungmin sitting on the bed, crying.

“what’s wrong min?”

“w-who’s clothes are these? do you have a boyfriend? why do you have guys’ clothes?”

you couldn’t help but giggle at his jealousy, walking towards him to wipe away his tears. “they’re my ex’s, he left them behind.”

he looks at you, eyes still a deep red from crying. “n-no! i don’t want to wear these! i don’t want to remind you of your ex…”

the frown is back on your face, and you’re quick to comfort him. “they’re the only clothes i have, i don’t want you to be uncomfortable at night. please?”

he smiles at you again, “okay!”

he rushes to the bathroom to go change, you’re a little surprised at the lack of convincing it took for him to change as well. he comes out of the bathroom, a wide smile plastered on his freshly washed face after seeing you.

you grab an extra blanket from the room, “you can sleep in the bed”

the frown reappears once again, “what? where are you going? stay with me, please?”, he pouts.

you smiled at him again, setting the blanket down and laying in your bed. surely there was enough space for the both of you, right?

he lays down next to you, instantly spooning you. you knew there was no fighting it, and instead thought about how you’d explain all this to seungmin in the morning.

“don’t tell anyone about my secret please”

“i won’t, don’t worry seungmin.”

you wake up to warm breath fanning over your lips, seungmins soft hands holding yours. it takes a moment in your sleep ridden mind to process your proximity with seungmin, only a mere centimeter away from kissing him.

it takes everything in you to pull away as far as you can, but that doesn’t stop you from admiring him. there is no scowl evident on his face, nor is there a judgemental look. he looks like he’s at peace, you think he looks much better like this.

you quickly go back to sleep, wanting to avoid the awkward moment where seungmin realizes that he’s in your bed alone. you’d like to keep him some company.

only an hour later, seungmin wakes up, slowly taking in his surroundings. you’re still asleep, cheek squished into the pillow and lips puckered right in front of him.

he sits up abruptly, a blush covering his face and ears. what happened last night? “mmm seungmin?”

his head jerks towards your figure again. so, he’s not hallucinating. you’re actually there. “what am i doing here?”

“we were at the party last night and you got super drunk. you refused to leave me alone and insisted we go home because it was too loud in there.”

he thinks for a moment, before you cut off his thoughts again. “we didn’t do anything, don’t worry.”

a sigh of relief leaves his lips, “thank you for… uh- bringing me here.”, he says sheepishly. “mhm”, you mumble. you get out of bed, getting ready for the day and unboxing the spare toothbrush you have.

you finish freshening up, “the green toothbrush is yours, its new”

a small smile tugs at the corner of his lips, you don’t think you’ve ever seen sober seungmin smile at you. “thanks”.

he meets you in the kitchen not long after, and you drive him back to the dorms, meeting with jeongin before you leave.

“listen, i know that the whole thing yesterday happened but please don’t tell seungmin i know.”

“what? why not?”

“if anything, i want him to tell me… on his own terms”, you reply.

jeongin understands where you’re coming from, so he nods and decides to drop it. “thanks for bringing seungmin home”, he says with a smile.

“it’s no problem”, you smile back.

you quickly make your way down the hall and get in your car to leave. the past couple hours have finally began to process in your brain.

kim seungmin, the bane of your existence, has a cute little crush on you. how sweet.

“did you guys do anything?!”, lia asked excitedly.

“no, nothing happened. i just brought him home because he was upset about the noise”, you chuckle nervously.

“awh”, she pouts, “i was hoping for something when i saw you both leave together”

you shake your head, and continue doing her makeup.

all of a sudden, you get a call from

stray kids’ manager. “hello?”

“hey, is this y/n? we’re not quite sure why but the boys really need your help. we heard crashing but they wouldn’t let us in after the stylist rushed out. could you come over real quick?”

“i’ll be there in five”

you quickly finish up lia’s makeup and rush out the room, afraid that something bad has happened.

you knock on the door, careful not to startle any of the boys. “hello? it’s y/n”

before you can take a breath, the door swings open and you’re met with a disheveled minho. you peer behind him, locking eyes with seungmin. his hair was a mess, as well as the eyeshadow smeared across his face.

minho lets you in, locking the door behind you. you walk over to seungmin, who’s sitting in a chair in front of the mirror. the boys tend to themselves again, getting their own makeup done before leaving the room completely.

“kiss another one of your stylists?”, you joke.

you notice the upset look on his face and figure you should just shut up for now, quickly removing his eye makeup.

his eyes open again, watching as you open another pallette and grab a brush. his eyes immediately dart to the dark purple burn mark on your skin, guilt eating him away more and more.

why do you still care about him? why do you keep doing things for him when he ruined so much for you? seungmin never cries, he couldn’t let himself. not in front of you.

but the tears were inevitable, small droplets trickling down his face. you turn around, heart immediately plummeting to your stomach. “what’s wrong min?”

he quickly grabs a tissue, dabbing away the tears. “i’m sorry for um… the burn”.

you look down at your arm, the dark purple seared into your skin. “oh this? this is nothing, dont worry about it”

you approach him with the brush again, swiping away a stray tear before you dry his eyes and get back to work. you think about the time he kissed over the scar. even though he was drunk, you knew he felt guilty about it.

“im sorry i made you lose your job.”

wow. kim seungmin… apologizing? twice?

“oh it’s no big deal, i’m just with itzy now”

“no, it is a big deal. the boys all miss you now, they’re still angry with me. no stylist puts up with me anymore, you were the only one. i didn’t mean to make you lose your job, i just… didn’t want you crushing on my friends anymore”

you smile a little at him, his motive suddenly becoming clear. he kissed you because he was jealous. he didn’t want you crushing on his friends, he wanted you crushing on him.

“well, i can’t come back, that’s the managers decision, but if they let me… i will. i promise. it was a silly crush that wore off in a couple days anyways.”

you could see the faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips, but he hid it as well as he possibly could. you spoke a little more about upcoming plans, wanting to avoid the subject because it was clearly making seungmin feel guilty.

after finishing his hair and makeup, you admire the work youve done on him in only ten minutes. what you didn’t account for though, was the proximity between you two.

you’re only inches away from his face, eyes tracing every feature and outline. seungmins face flushed red, as does yours, but neither of you pull away. your faces inch closer to eachother, a nervous look on his.

“seungmin! are you two done yet?”, you hear chan yell from outside.

you quickly scramble to distance yourself, helping seungmin up from the chair, your faces still bright red. maybe you were too blinded by his attitude to admit your feelings.

you open the door to see chan, a smile on his face when he notices the blush on your cheeks. “what, did you two kiss or something?”, he teased.

“kiss her?!”, seungmin asked incredulously.

you just laughed. you didn’t need to be upset anymore. you knew it was all just an act.

“there’s really no need to punish seungmin. it happened a long time ago, and he’s already apologized to me personally.”

you’re discussing getting your job back with the managers of stray kids, finally joining back as stray kids’ stylist.

you go through the many formalities, a little upset that you have to leave itzy, but you’re glad you’re back. the girls understand of course, which you are incredibly grateful for.

“you’re back? like really?!”, jisung asks excitedly.

you nod your head, giving him a sweet smile. the boys begin to cheer, but your eyes are fixed on seungmin. his wide smile drops as soon as you look at him, and you pout.

he quickly turns towards the mirror, not wanting you to know what your pout does to him.

“whos… that”

“i’m not sure, but they seem to be very touchy”, yuna observes.

why is a random girl being so touchy with seungmin? and… why does it bother you?

the more you really comprehend your thoughts, the more you truly process to what extent you like seungmin. it’s difficult for you not to confess, to keep your feelings a secret.

you continue to stare at the girl, when ryujin finally snapped you out of it. “why do you keep staring hm? are you perhaps… jealous?”, she teased.

you look at her dead in the eye, unsure about how to respond. that’s when she realizes you’re serious. “wait… really?”

you nod lightly, finally coming to terms with your feelings now. your eyes avert their gazes, suddenly embarrassed. “well now we have to set you up!”

you jerk your head up to look at her again. “are you crazy? what if that girl is his girlfriend?”

“baby, i think you’re too focused on the girl to see the clear disgust on seungmins face right now.”, jisung chimes in.

you jump, a little startled, “jeez ji, how long have you been there?”

“long enough to hear that you have a little liking for my friend”

the girls sense the atmosphere of the conversation, quickly leaving you with jisung to talk. “sorry ji, i don’t mean to… intrude or anything.”

“oh not at all! i’m just curious about how you’re planning to confess.”

“i’m… not quite sure yet either”

jisung giggles at your nervousness, “word of advice, he likes his confessions straightforward”

you nod, smiling a little. “thanks ji”, you laugh awkwardly.

“no problem”, he replies with a smile.

you split off to find the girls again, only to be dragged away by jeongin not too long after. “when are you confessing?”, he asks abruptly.

you stare at him, shocked at how direct the question is. “soon… within this week most likely. why?”

“y/n, i shit you not, the boy is going absolutely mad in the dorms. his little crush on you has gotten like a thousand times worse since you brought him to your house that one night”

“oh jeez… okay i’ll- i’ll tell him soon, i promise”, you say with a smile.

“i’m not pressuring you of course, but god i don’t know how much longer i can stand hearing him yap about that shit”

you nod, laughing a little, “understandable”. you turn your head, almost immediately locking eyes with seungmin. it looks could kill, you’re almost certain you’d be dead right now.

your heart sinks to your stomach at the sight on him, and you quickly say goodbye to jeongin and walk off. maybe jeongin isn’t the best person to talk to about these things…

did they have to leave you with seungmin every time you’re styling them?

he averts your gaze, an angrier look on his face than usual. “seungie, what’s wrong?”

his heart flutters at the nickname, almost making him smile, but he focuses. “what’s wrong is that you keep flirting around with my friends.”

“who, jeongin?”

he nods, a little embarrassed after confronting you. “are you jealous i’m stealing your best friend from you?”

“no, i’m jealous because my best friend is stealing you from me”

seungmin quickly clamps a hand over his mouth, processing what he’s just said. “i- i didn’t-“

you stare into his eyes, urging him to go on. “fuck it”, he mutters under his breath. “y/n, i am fucking infatuated with you, you know? i…”

you grab his hand and smile at him, stroking over his knuckles gently. “i’m sorry ive been such a bitch to you recently, but you never seemed to really notice me before this. i thought that maybe if i was mean to you, it could help me hide my own feelings…”

he opens his eyes again to see you again, only centimeters away from his face this time. you inch closer towards his face, stopping right before your lips touched. “don’t push me away this time min… please.”

he closed the gap between you two in a soft kiss, smiling against him as he chased you even more. you pull away, “i like you too seungmin, a lot”

he chuckles, pulling you onto his lap, “i liked you first.”

your lips meet in a kiss again, and felix knocks on the door, opening it not to long after. “you guys okay in… oh- i’m- i’ll just-“, he stutters over his words as he rushes out the door, closing it again.

you and seungmin giggle again, and you quickly finish his makeup before bringing him outside. the boys all give you teasing looks, and you have to brush them off before you get too flustered.

on the other hand, every time it’s mentioned, seungmin has a big goofy smile on his face, one that you can’t stop yourself from admiring. he turns to you again, his eyes softening when he sees your eyes fixated on his smile.

the boys finish practice, and you meet with all of them later. there’s a frown on seungmins face, probably because he couldn’t focus at all and got all the moves wrong.

you walk over to him, wrapping your arms around his waist from behind him. “what are you doing?”

you giggle, “well, i can’t have my boyfriend being all grumpy in front of his friends can i?”

he turns around quicker than you can process, “boyfriend?”, he says with a hopeful smile. “obviously”, you chuckle.

he places quick pecks onto your lips and nose, completely forgetting that his friends are in the room with him, and if you’ll be honest, so did you.

you’re brought out of your thoughts when changbin finally speaks up.

“yoh! can you two get a room?”

#skz #skz x reader #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #stray kids x reader #stray kids #stray kids fluff #stray kids angst #atinyniki #skz fanfic #seungmin #kim seungmin x reader #seungmin x reader #seungmin angst #seungmin fluff #skz seungmin #kim seungmin fluff #kim seungmin #kim seungmin angst

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archiveofrasa · 3 months

Text

i see a lot of criticism about the friendships between the babel characters and how we were told a lot of things about their positive dynamic, yet shown barely any of it (but are instead mostly presented with the negative aspects). i don’t know if other people clocked this but i feel like it was intentional

rf kuang was commenting on friendships made through trauma-bonding: they were doomed from the start

tldr; the characterisation is (one of) the subtly(ies) people were looking for in the colonial theme. they criticise the latter but i love the fact colonialism is more of an upfront theme because lord knows i am tired of it being subtle so people can ignore it

robin says from the very beginning after they formed their little friend group:

“why had they been so quick, so carelessly eager to trust one another? why had they refused to see the myriad of ways they could hurt each other? why had they not paused to interrogate their differences in birth, in raising, that meant they were not and could never be on the same side?”

the next small paragraph goes into a raft metaphor about how they saw themselves in each other and that’s why they stuck together. they shared one thing they could not ignore – their otherness. their friendship was purely built on the fact they were discriminated against and that they had to spent the next 4 years with each other. their first pleasant conversation is them discussing how they were treated at oxford. of course, the characters didn’t see this because they had never really befriended people their age before. this feeling of belonging felt like love to them (considering their upbringings, ramy’s i will discuss in a bit)

it makes perfect sense why robin would repeatedly imply that they loved and cared about each other. in his eyes, they did. what was it they had if not love? robin, who has ignored so many problems in the past before babel as he knew it would cause him issues, wouldn’t address their friendship dynamic or how strong the arguments and animosity were. he, an abused child, would rather have this than nothing at all

in actuality (demonstrated, i think, through the photograph they took at the end of chapter 9), they were together because of academia’s and discrimination’s forced proximity. robin feels specific emotions about them that feel strong to him because he’s never experienced it before, but that doesn’t mean they are strong enough to keep them together, which is why when they see the photo, they feel weird about it because why isn’t it portraying their dynamic ‘correctly’?

it’s true that perhaps to get robin’s perspective across, it would’ve been good to see the positive aspects more but i think that would’ve made it harder for us to see how weak their friendship was. people wanted more positive to show that they loved each other, which isn’t the point rf kuang is trying to make

rf kuang chooses to show the negative aspects more because they show where their friendship will end up. when letty did what she did, i didn’t see it as a plot twist, i saw it as an inevitability. this was going to happen. honestly, i feel this with most of the ‘plot twists’ of babel except the end of book iii (i really didn’t see that coming). it was easy for letty to do what she does in book iv because their friendship had such unstable foundations. when they no longer benefitted her, she turned her back on them

the only dynamic i feel was actually strong was robin and ramy. i’m not just saying this because i think they’re queer lol. they were close not just because they were both men of colour and had similar upbringings – they actually liked each other. they admired each other and adored each other’s personalities, they bounced off each other and knew what the other meant when they spoke. when they argued, it was over something that actually considered each other’s beliefs and goals and desires, not over their differences.

(unlike letty and ramy, letty and victoire and maybe even robin and victoire, though i think they lean more to ramy/robin than they do to letty/anyone lol. ramy and victoire have a dynamic that i personally feel like robin didn’t really see because ramy understood victoire in a way robin couldn’t. you kind of see it when robin is the one who letty complains about ramy/victoire to, but that’s it i think?)

speaking of ramy, linking it back to their perspectives of love, it makes a lot of sense why he caused the most disruption in the friend group. he’s the only one with an actual family that he stays in touch with. he knows what love feels like. so of course he’s the one that is strongly anti-empire, compared to robin and victoire who have been emotionally manipulated in their childhood by said empire, the one who argues with letty the most. he still feels what robin and victoire feel, of course, but to a lesser extent

honestly i don’t know how to end this analysis, i just think rf kuang is a genius lmao but i may add more onto this as i continue to reread the book we shall see

#the way my most recent posts are abt babel i'm so sorry #i have hyperfocused on this book so hard #and bc my friends are still reading it i can't spoil it for them #i know sappho might read this and if he does...🔫#babel r f kuang #babel an arcane history #babel or the necessity of violence #robin swift #ramiz rafi mirza #letitia price #victoire desgraves

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phillippadgettwrites · 3 months

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So. Any chance of a Dropped Call 3??

Dropped Call, Chapter 3

Rated X / 4743 words / posted on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic

She thinks of it like a little toggle in her brain, like a switch. Or maybe more like a curtain that she can open and close at will. It’s something she developed as a teen, when her desire to remain pure of mind and body was in direct conflict with her desire to imagine what it might be like if Tommy Warner felt her up under her school uniform. Saturday night she’d stay up late discreetly discovering the hidden pleasure points between her legs, and then on Sunday morning she would simply flip the switch and go to Mass, her indiscretion so completely obscured behind her mental curtain that she felt no connection to Father Malone’s sermon on sins of the flesh.

Over the years, she’s found many uses for this mental trick. In school, in jobs, in relationships, she avoids being overwhelmed by her own emotions by simply setting them aside, behind the curtain, and pretending as though they don’t exist. It doesn’t always work, but she’s found that the more intense the emotion is or the higher the stakes are, the more effectively she can ignore it, at least until she’s alone. In a psychology course at UMD she learned that the term for this strategy is compartmentalization, and that when done to excess it can become maladaptive. Rather than examine whether her own compartmentalization was doing her more harm than good, she stuck that behind the curtain, too.

This whole bizarre situation with Mulder is taking up an increasingly large amount of space behind the curtain. So much space that she worries it could become uncontainable, that it could all burst through some Tuesday afternoon and ruin everything. She’s had to pull back on their friendship out of fear that the dam won’t hold, and the dichotomy of it all makes her feel like a stranger in her own life. She powers through each workday, counting down the hours until she can go home and stop using all her mental energy to hold the curtain closed. When she walks through her apartment door it hits her like a sneaker wave, and she spends the rest of the evening reading trashy romance novels, masturbating, or deep cleaning something just to keep herself distracted.

The worst part of it is that it’s just so stupid. She knows that they both want the same thing, knows it with absolute certainty, and yet she’s too cowardly to let it happen. She can cross all kinds of boundaries with a phone line between them, but the second his physical form is proximal to hers, the curtain swings shut and her walls go up, and she truly doesn’t know how to stop it from happening. As it turns out, defense mechanisms aren’t entirely voluntary.

It’s Friday, a week or so since their last sordid phone call, and Mulder is wearing his charcoal suit. He’s being excessively charming and she can’t stop smiling at him, despite her very best efforts not to. Not that she doesn’t want to smile and laugh with him, she very much does, but when he meets her eye and smiles at her like that, and she feels herself smiling back, the curtain strains against the weight of everything behind it and she begins to panic.

“What are you up to this weekend?” he asks when she starts to pack up her things a few minutes before five.

“Not much,” she says, not looking at him. “Grocery shopping. Maybe Mass with my mother.”

“Would it be okay if I gave you a call?”

She freezes. Mulder calls her all the time, near daily, and he’s never asked for permission to do so. The curtain bulges, threatening to split open, and she clears her throat.

“Sure, that’s fine,” she says, her eyes still downcast.

“Tonight?” His voice is so hopeful, and it makes her feel like shit.

“Okay.”

She puts on her coat and slings her bag over her shoulder. Before leaving, she forces herself to look at him.

“Have a good weekend,” she says with a polite little smile.

Mulder’s eyes narrow in that way that means he’s psychoanalyzing her, his head tilted increments to the side.

“Likewise,” he says, his tone unreadable.

She escapes into the hallway, holding the curtain closed with both hands.

Once inside her apartment, the weight of anticipation sits heavy in her pelvis and her ears tingle with the effort of listening for the phone. She changes into comfortable clothes and conveniently forgoes panties, barely registering the fact that she’s doing so to give herself easy access.

He could call at any time. It could be in five minutes, or five hours. When 8:00 pm comes and goes she entertains the idea of just calling him instead, but she doesn’t have any room for that behind the curtain so she decides to wait. Wait. Wait. Wait.

He finally calls at 8:57.

“Hello?”

“Hey,” he says brightly. “Long time no talk.”

Is he being facetious since they just saw each other a few hours ago, or is he referring to the last time she played the role of Electra?

“It’s good to hear your voice,” she says, then makes a face at herself. Electra is supposed to be sexy, not sweet.

“Ditto. What are you up to?”

She’s standing in the middle of her living room, piqued and nervous, but that’s probably not what he’s hoping to hear.

“I’m…talking to you,” she says. “What are you doing?”

“Well,” he says with a sigh, “I have a bit of a conundrum.”

“Oh?” Scully paces slowly around her couch and coffee table. Where is he going to take this?

“I was hoping you could help me out,” he says.

“Okay. What’s the conundrum?”

“Well, it’s about my partner,” he says.

Scully sinks slowly down onto the couch.

“Okay.”

She hears Mulder swallow thickly.

“So I think,” he begins, “that she might be interested. That she might…share my feelings.”

Scully’s heart leaps and begins to pound against her ears.

“That’s…that’s good news, right?” she says, reminding herself that she is Electra right now.

“It is, absolutely. Phenomenal news,” he says emphatically.

“So what’s the conundrum?”

“I think she’s too afraid to take the next step. I know she is, actually,” he says. She can hear the way the sunflower seeds in his mouth change the shape of his words, and she imagines him spending the hours leading up to this phone call munching on them and thinking about how to have this conversation. “And I think maybe she needs me to be the one to do that. But if I’m wrong, I run the risk of fucking things up between us.”

“That sounds difficult,” she says, her head spinning.

“So what should I do?” he asks.

Electra wants to answer the question, but Scully is frantically shoving things back behind the curtain, tugging at the edges in an attempt to keep it all hidden.

“I think you’re right,” she blurts out, closing her eyes. “I think she does need you to be the one.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“But should I wait?” he asks. “Maybe she’s not ready.”

“I imagine she’s as ready now as she’ll ever be,” she says, eyes still closed. The curtain is tearing right down the middle, the contents spilling out, and her stomach lurches.

“Okay,” he says. “Thank you. I appreciate your help.”

Scully sits up, opening her eyes. Was that it?

“No problem.”

“Hey, can I call you right back?” Mulder says, his tone much lighter.

“Sure, okay.”

Her heart pounds painfully hard in the roughly thirty seconds that she waits for him to call back. Maybe he’s going to call Scully this time. Maybe he’s going to put it all out in the open and force her hand. Even though it’s what she just told him he should do, she’s so terrified that she considers not answering.

“Hello?”

“Hey, me again, sorry about that,” he says.

So…she’s still Electra?

“It’s fine,” she says, then waits for him to speak.

“I was hoping we could try something different,” he says. “Bit of a role reversal.”

“Um, okay,” she says, curious but worried. “What did you have in mind?

“I’ve told you about my fantasies.” A pause. “I’d like to hear about yours.” Her entire nervous system short circuits, and she briefly loses touch with reality. “Electra?”

“Yeah,” she sputters, shifting around on the couch uncomfortably. “I’m here. Is that…allowed?”

Mulder laughs nervously.

“The arrangement is that I pay you to talk to me. There aren’t really rules beyond that.”

“Oh.” Her mind is going a million miles an hour trying to figure out how to sidestep this. “That’s, um…that’s quite private, though.”

“True. But I’d argue that you’ve been given unfettered access to my private thoughts, so it’s an equal exchange,” he reasons.

She can tell that he won’t push much further. He knows her too well to do that. But he does have a point, and she still harbors some guilt for not stopping him when he shared his fantasy with her in that first phone call.

“Yeah, that’s true,” she says. “What do you want to know?”

She senses his excitement, and she’s so conflicted between feeling excited herself and feeling terrified. There will be no coming back from this. The curtain is practically in tatters.

“I would be ecstatic to hear literally anything you’re willing to share,” he says carefully, tempering his eagerness.

Scully leafs through her mental file of fantasies, the ones she’s prone to revisit. Her cheeks get hot as she considers the idea of sharing any of them with Mulder, in no small part because he stars in every single one of them. But right now he’s talking to Electra, and Electra would be fantasizing about someone else. She finds an intact corner of the curtain and draws it up, separating herself from the situation.

“We’re in my kitchen,” she says, jumping right into it. “We’ve just had dinner or something and we’re cleaning up. He’s helping me with the dishes.”

“Who is he?” Mulder interrupts.

“He’s…a friend.”

“A close friend?”

“Yes. A best friend.” She can’t leave him to wonder if she’s talking about him. That feels too cruel. “A coworker,” she adds.

“What does he look like?”

Scully lays back on the couch, propping her head on the armrest. She pictures Mulder earlier that day at work in his charcoal suit, smiling at her over his desk.

“Tall. Dark features. Handsome.”

“You think so?”

She smiles and allows this brief break in their role play.

“I do. Very much.”

“So you’re in the kitchen,” he prompts her.

“We’re in the kitchen and we’re kind of joking around, laughing. He’s teasing me, but not in an unkind way. And there’s a moment where he’s looking at me and smiling, and something passes between us. Moments like that happen all the time, but I always look away.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m afraid,” she admits.

“Of what?”

She takes a moment to consider the question. As conflicted as she is when it comes to her relationship with Mulder, she’s never allowed herself to think too deeply about what exactly she’s conflicted about.

“Of being hurt, I guess. Of being vulnerable.”

“You think he’d hurt you?” he asks, maybe a bit wounded.

“Not intentionally,” she says. “But I think it could easily happen.”

She senses that he’d like to explore this line of thought, but that would completely derail the fantasy. She hears a beeping sound and then a soft thud. Maybe the microwave. Leave it to Mulder to get hungry at a time like this.

“I’m sure he’d do everything possible to avoid that,” he says somberly. “So do you look away?”

“No,” she says, jumping back to the kitchen in her mind. “I don’t look away this time, and it becomes…intense. He steps closer and I realize he’s going to kiss me.”

“And you want him to?”

“Yes, very much. He kisses me and it’s sweet at first, but quickly becomes more…intense. Sorry, I can’t think of a different word to use.”

“Intense is a good word,” he says, encouraging her.

His connection is a bit muffled, like the phone isn’t quite lined up correctly to his mouth. She wonders if he’s in bed, and what he’s doing.

“He picks me up and puts me on the counter, which makes things much easier because he’s quite a bit taller than me. And we just kiss for a while. I guess…I guess more accurately it would be making out.”

“Do you think he’s a good kisser?”

“Yes,” she answers immediately.

“You’ve given this thought?”

“Yes,” she says again.

“And then what?”

Scully swallows. This is where things go from PG-13 to explicit.

“And then he pulls me down off the counter so I’m standing on the floor, and he turns me around.” Mulder is silent on the other end of the line. All she hears is a mechanical hum. “And he, um, he pulls my pants and underwear down. And then he sort of pushes me forward so I’m leaning over the counter.”

Her heart simply cannot take this. It’s been in overdrive so long she’s starting to sweat, and she’s lying completely still on the couch.

“What does he do?” Mulder finally asks.

“I think he’s going to…to take me from behind, but he doesn’t,” she says, her voice shaking. “He kneels on the floor behind me.”

“Tell me.” His voice is commanding, not pleading, and it’s effective.

“He, um, he eats me out from behind. He makes me orgasm that way,” she says.

She hears the rush of Mulder’s sharp inhale through the phone.

“Is that where it ends?” he asks.

She barely registers another set of beeps and another soft thud.

“No,” she continues. “After that he does take me from behind.”

“He fucks you?”

The sharpness of the word, from Mulder’s mouth, in reference to herself, makes her clit jump. Scully slides her free hand under the waist of her pants and swirls her middle finger around it languidly.

“Yes,” she breathes. “He fucks me.”

“Do you come again?”

“Yes.”

“What about him?”

“He comes inside me.”

“You want him to?”

“I do.”

“Are you touching yourself?” he asks, his voice a near whisper.

“Yes,” she whispers back.

“Open the door,” he says.

“What?”

“Open the door.”

Her confusion gives way to horror as she recognizes the soft murmur of his voice in the hallway. She’s frozen in place, her hand down her pants and her widened eyes on her front door.

“Mulder, what are you doing?” she hisses, pulling her hand out of her pants as she slips down to the floor and attempts to hide behind the couch.

“Please let me in,” he implores, and she hears his voice in stereo.

“I can’t,” she whimpers.

It feels true. She feels physically incapable of walking to the door and allowing him to look at her after what she just told him.

“Then I’m going to let myself in,” he says.

He waits a beat to see if she’ll object, but she says nothing. She hears the scrape of his key in the lock and then the pop of the deadbolt. The door opens and she slowly stands up from behind the couch, the phone still pressed to her ear.

He’s standing in her entryway, his cell phone in one hand and his keys in the other, wearing jeans and a white T-shirt. He catches her eye and holds it for a beat, and she pulls the phone away from her ear, breaking eye contact to end the call. And then she just stands there, shell-shocked, staring at the phone in her hands.

She hears him slip off his shoes and pad across the room towards her. There’s nowhere for her to hide, physically or emotionally. The curtain is toast, and her fingers are coated in her own arousal, and Mulder is in her living room with full knowledge of what she wishes he would do to her. This is either the best or the worst moment of her adult life. She’s afraid to find out which.

He takes the phone from her and sets it on the coffee table. Next she feels his hands on her jaw, forcing her to look up at him. She complies reluctantly, and a few seconds tick by as the familiar intensity builds. She sees in his face how much he wants this, wants her, and it reaches that point she can’t bear where she always looks away. Just when she can’t take it any longer, when she’s about to avert her eyes to the fireplace, he kisses her.

At first it’s sweet. He presses his soft lips against hers again and again, a series of firm but chaste kisses that begin to devolve when she opens her mouth and he runs his tongue across the inside of her upper lip. He’s bent down and she’s on the tips of her toes, and it feels like she just can’t get close enough.

She squeals with surprise when her feet fly out from beneath her and Mulder tosses her down on the couch, quickly covering her body with his own. Their height difference compensated for, he kisses her deeply and intensely, and he is every bit as skilled at kissing as she imagined him to be. His hips are tucked between her open legs, and the more they kiss the smaller the gap between their bodies grows until she feels the hard ridge of his erection press against her clit. She whimpers into his open mouth, and he pulls back a little to look at her.

“Do you want this?” he asks breathlessly, and she nods. “You’ll tell me if you want me to stop?” She nods again.

He shifts his body to the side to free up one of his hands, then resumes kissing her. His hand drifts up under her shirt, and she feels like she could come just from the knowledge that he’s going to touch her, that this is happening. He kneads her breast, gently pinches her nipple, all the while grinding against her hip. It feels so deliciously forbidden, like they’re two teenagers necking in a basement, until his hand slides down her belly and under the waist of her pants.

He pauses, giving her time to adjust or object. She just keeps kissing him as his fingers comb through her pubic hair and then trace the seam of one leg, and then the other. She remembers his fantasy, and she shifts one of her legs to the side to let him know she’s ready. That she wants it.

“Jesus christ,” he mumbles against her mouth when his fingers slide down her slick lips.

His touch, his words, his presence, have her on the edge already.

“Mulder,” she breathes out. “I—”

He pushes a finger inside her and she gasps as her cunt squeezes it tightly.

“Oh, Scully,” he says, grinding against her with his face tucked into the crook of her neck. “You need this.”

She can’t stop it. She’s coming with hardly any warning, with hardly any effort on his part, and with such intensity that she stops breathing. Mulder whispers things to her that she will recall later and blush, gently fucking her with his fingers all the while. It is absolute euphoria, and she’s so high on dopamine that she can’t bother feeling embarrassed for being so easy.

Mulder slips his hand out of her pants and she turns her body so that they are face to face, somehow both wedged onto her tiny couch. She runs her fingers through his hair and then cradles his jaw, and he watches her face with awe.

“That was unexpected,” she says quietly, and a grin breaks out over his face. “Thanks for coming over,” she adds, averting her eyes to his mouth.

His smile suddenly falls. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he says, and she lifts her eyes back to his.

“I know,” she says, and then she kisses him.

The kissing goes on for a delightfully long while, and she finds that she very much enjoys the way that Mulder kisses. At the realization that she has the long awaited opportunity to get her hands on the everpresent bulge in his pants, she runs her palm firmly over the front of his jeans, and he groans.

“You don’t have to do that,” he says, extremely unconvincingly.

“What if I want to?” she asks.

She feels him lurch under her palm.

“Then I’d say we probably need to take this party to the bedroom,” he says tightly.

They scramble off the couch, and he walks her backwards into her bedroom as he works her shirt off over her head. He removes his shirt as well, and they stand at the foot of her bed, his fingers tucked under the waist of her pants. A lamp in the living room is still on, but the bedroom is dark, giving them enough light to see without feeling exposed.

“I can’t help but notice that you’re not wearing panties,” he says, and she feels herself blushing.

“They just get in the way,” she admits shyly, and he makes a little sound that’s somewhere between a whine and a moan.

“Can I take these off?” he asks, and she nods.

She feels his eyes on her, but he’s very respectful. He doesn’t stand back to gawk at her or say anything lewd, he just kisses her face, the tops of her shoulders, anything he can reach without sitting down. Before he does so for the sake of getting his mouth on her breasts, she pops the button on his fly and he sucks in a breath.

“Easy, loaded weapon,” he quips.

“I’d be a hypocrite to judge you,” she points out.

“That’s, uh, not quite the same,” he says as she lowers his fly and slips her fingers under his boxers at his hips. “But I appreciate the sentiment.”

She pushes his jeans and boxers halfway down his thighs and then wraps her hand around his cock. Her eyebrows shoot up, and that’s before she runs her palm over the length of him.

“You know that I hate to inflate your ego,” she says, sliding her hand down to cup his balls, “but color me impressed.”

He chuckles and it dissolves into a groan. He sits heavily on the end of the bed, tugging her down with him, and she climbs into his lap. His cock brushes against her clit and she sucks in a shuddering breath.

“What do you want?” he asks, steadying her with his hands on her naked hips while he works his feet the rest of the way out of his jeans.

“...I don’t know,” she says, which is a lie.

“You don’t know, or you don’t want to say?” he asks, reading her mind as always.

She reaches between them and takes hold of his cock.

“I want this,” she whispers, feeling like she might burst into flames.

They start kissing again and she’s still stroking him, brushing him over her clit. She pushes up onto her knees a little and drags the head down over her lips and across her opening. She’s obscenely wet and Mulder is making all kinds of greedy, hungry noises: groaning and humming, grabbing at her ass and sucking on her breasts. He’s right there, and they both want this, and when she presses the head of him against her cunt and he starts to sink in, the energy in the room shifts.

“Oh, shhhhhhhhhhit,” he groans, his breathing suddenly ragged.

She feels proud, and sexy, and powerful as he stretches her open inch by inch. It hurts a little, but not near enough for her to even consider stopping. They’re both panting like they’ve exerted themselves and they’re only just getting started.

She lifts her hips again and sinks back down before she’s even managed to take him in all the way; she just can’t wait any longer. He has one hand on her hip, the other braced against the mattress behind him to keep them from toppling over, and his hips are eagerly flexing up to meet her. Each time she lowers herself back down she takes in a bit more of his length, until they are pressed tightly together and she feels the poke of his pubic hair against her swollen lips.

She stills and immediately he’s kissing her, sucking at her lips and humming noisily. She loves the sounds he’s making and how eager he is, how openly enthusiastic. God, she wants to make him come. Wants to feel him throbbing inside her, running out of her.

She starts to shift her hips forward and back, slipping him tightly in and out and running his shaft across her clit on each downstroke.

“Fuck,” he says under his breath. “You feel…incredible.”

His compliment goes straight to her cunt and she flutters around him, making him moan.

“I’m gonna come,” she whispers shyly against his mouth.

“Shit, you’re gonna make me come,” he says harshly, like this is bad news.

But the idea of him coming inside her is enough to send her over the edge. She digs her fingernails into the back of his neck and presses her forehead against his as she clamps down on him, her mouth open and her eyes squeezed shut.

“Oh my god,” she wails as a tsunami of pleasure crashes over her, sweeping her out to sea.

Mulder lets loose a stream of obscenities and she feels a hot rush deep in her belly. She rides him roughly as it just keeps coming and coming, and he falls backwards onto the bed, taking her down with him. He keeps thrusting up into her from below, and the wet slosh of both of them is almost embarrassing, had she the faculties for embarrassment. He finally becomes too soft to continue thrusting and there is a second hot rush when he slips out of her.

She collapses against him, her cheek pressed to his sweat-damp chest, and waits for the inevitable surge of shame and regret, even though she knows it’s not shameful and she certainly doesn’t regret it. Without warning, Mulder wraps his arms around her and rolls her to the side, which does nothing to contain the mess between her legs. He hovers over her, searching her face, knowing her well enough to predict that she’ll struggle in the immediate aftermath.

“You okay?” he asks, trailing the back of his knuckle across her cheek.

She gives him a weak smile and nods, though tears are pooling in her eyes. She’s not even sure why.

“Please don’t take my demeanor as an indication of anything,” she says, touching his waist. “It’s not about you, I just…this is difficult for me.”

“I know,” he says. “Take as much time as you need.”

She nods, waiting for the tightness in her throat to subside before she tries to speak again.

“I’m sure Electa doesn’t require this much emotional maintenance,” she jokes, swiping a finger under her eye to clear a way a tear before it has a chance to fall.

Mulder smiles at her and sighs.

“I haven’t called her in weeks, just so you know,” he says. “And I don’t plan to.”

“You can call whoever you want, Mulder, I have no right to an opinion on it,” she says quickly, panicking at the idea that he feels beholden to her.

He rests his head on her chest just above her breast and curls up around her, which feels a bit backwards but also feels very nice. She strokes his hair and he splays his hand out over the scar on her belly, and they are quiet for a beat.

“I’d like you to have a right to an opinion on it,” he says suddenly, quietly, and it takes her a moment to follow.

“...You would?”

“Doesn’t have to be right away, but yes.”

“Okay,” she says.

He doesn’t ask what that okay means, which she’s grateful for because she doesn’t really know. And even though she’s not brave enough to ask him to stay over, he seems to know that she wants him to, and he stays. She has absolutely no idea what she’s doing, but she trusts that they’ll figure it out together, like they always do.

#x files fanfic #the x files #xf fic #xf fanfic

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xhdream · 5 months

Note

ok last ask for a while bc I feel like I'm being annoying BUT I just had a really good thought.

what trope would you say each xdh member is? for example I'd say gunil is very fwb and maybe fwb to lovers. I hope this makes sense!

-🦈

xdinary heroes as popular tropes

cw: none

a/n: THIS IS SO FUN your mind amazes me with your ideas every time!! this is such an interesting concept, anon, where’s your writing blog huh??? also, do not EVER think that you’re being annoying even for a second <3 i looked up different tropes and picked out the ones i think fit the members in my opinion

♡ gunil

friends with benefits to lovers

what you said is so true, putting this one right here!! i think he’d be good at it in a sense that he’s a man of his word, so he’d be open with you about everything from the start - if you set some lines/boundaries he’d never cross them. i can totally see him gradually becoming more concerned if you see/talk to other people

fwb gunil = jealous gunil 🤤

insta love

i mean not falling in love, but feeling strong attraction at first sight, so more like insta lust. he sees you and there’s immediate physical connection between you, that pulls him in

♡ jiseok/gaon

enemies to lovers

not gonna lie the only reason i put this one is because i think banter with jiseok would be soo entertaining. it would lead into such a nice & hot tension - the build up would be insane!!

it could be just some small misunderstanding that makes you have the wrong impression of him (or the other way) so you bicker every time you’re together in one room and everyone’s like they’re into each other

♡ hyeongjun/junhan

forced proximity

he’s a shy boy when it comes to strangers or big crowds, so i have a feeling that being stuck somewhere with him would give you a better chance to get to know his personality, than having to be around him within a group of people. by stuck i don’t mean getting locked in a room or something like that, just getting to spend some alone time together before people start coming around you

it’s gonna make him anticipate the next opportunity he gets to have some privacy with you

the bet

you all know how the members say he’s very competitive and he never gives up? junhan confirmed it’s true, saying he chases the win even when it’s literally starting to get unhealthy, soo this trope fits him really well

you’re good friends that occasionally hang out whenever his schedule is free, until one day you bet on something that leads to daily messages and calls, strengthening your friendship and gradually turning it into something more

♡ seungmin/o.de

coworkers to lovers

seeing each other every day, chatting during breaks, helping with your tasks, sliding in some more intimate questions during work calls - i can see seungmin in all of this. he would try repressing his feelings at first, trying to convince himself it’s nothing - you’re just hot that’s all, but oh no! he’s whipped

♡ jooyeon

friends to lovers

do we all agree on this one? i think jooyeon would fall for a friend. i think in general he’s the type of person that finds it important that his s/o is his friend first, lover next. sharing the same humour, the trust you’ve built with time, knowing you can always count on each other would definitely add to his attraction to you

that’s why i think best friend’s sibling fits him well too 🤭

age gap

i see the possibility of him being with someone few years older than him pretty high. i see him finding intelligence & maturity attractive traits that also make him feel secure in a way

♡ jungsu

secret identity

here i’m not saying that i think he will lie or pretend to be someone he’s not, just that i can see him avoiding the conversation that he’s in a band for a while when he meets someone for the first time; he would not straight up say it

if you meet one day and start chatting, because you both felt an attraction, he would spark your interest with how easy going, but also a bit flustered he is. when you get to the questions so what do you do? he’d mumble shyly uhmm i make music… yeah, i’m in this band… do you gets what i’m saying? >< especially as the group gets bigger with time. he wants you to get to know him a bit as a person firsthand before telling you what he does straight away, so he has a sense of what your intentions are

love triangle

why do i see him falling for someone that’s already taken? i’m not talking anything toxic here, maybe you’ve been friends for a while, but you get into relationship and he’s forced to watch you being happy with another person… ok i don’t wanna get angsty, but the thought crossed my mind and i decided to share ><

#💌: xhdream inbox #🦈 anon #xdinary heroes #xdinary heroes scenarios #xdinary heroes imagines #xdh gaon #xdh gunil #xdh jiseok #xdh junhan #xdh jungsu #xdh seungmin #xdh o.de #xdh jooyeon

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outerspacebisexual · 2 years

Text

A Place in this World - Steve Harrington

Book A - Part One: Teardrops On My Guitar

This is part one of my new Steve Harrington series loosely based on Taylor Swift songs. Please let me know what you think!

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Reader

Summary: Steve Harrington was always there, just not for you.

*Set sometime in s1, i guess?

Word count: 2.04k

Warnings: swearing, mean king steve, best friend eddie, bullying, i think that's it?

Masterlist

“You know, the longer you look, the uglier he gets.”

You jumped at Eddie’s voice as he appeared beside you. Rolling your eyes, you smacked him on the arm and said, “Liar. And how many times do I have to tell you to stop doing that.”

“Doing what?” He smirked.

You gestured to him. “Just, like, appearing. It creeps me out.” Shifting your eyes back over to Steve, you could feel Eddie doing the same. From where you stood beside your open locker, you could clearly see him down the hall. Well, him and Nancy. Standing very close. Very, very close.

You’d see this happen many times before with many different girls, but this time, Steve seemed genuinely struck by Nancy Wheeler.

“Come on, Stalker, it’s lunch,” Eddie said, clamping his hand down on your shoulder, dragging you out of your slowly darkening thoughts. His sympathetic smile made you huff, but you followed him to the cafeteria anyway.

As a resident of Hawkins, you’d known Steve all your life. You’d even been friendly in middle school when your parents had gotten to know the Harringtons through some business deal. You and Steve had begun to see each other more and more outside of school. Your parents shoved you and Steve together in a room at dinners and the forced proximity aided in becoming friendly enough that you said ‘hi’ to each other at school. That had some-what awkward friendship had continued into high school, but when Steve was with his friends, he wasn’t the same Steve that you knew. He was King Steve, and you were definitely on the opposite side of the social spectrum. So, the casual chats in the hallways reduced and faded to tight-lipped smiles as you passed each other.

Your friendship with Steve had also probably been affected by your tiny, little crush on him. I mean, who didn’t have a crush on Steve Harrington at some point? He was Steve Harrington. But you knew that he was King Steve and you were little old you.

The fact that you lived in a trailer and were friends with none other than Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson, meant that you were labelled the same. Which didn’t so much bother you as it was inconvenient. There were so many times that you, Eddie, and your other friends were berated for your satanic cults and music taste and dress sense in the halls when you were just trying to live your life.

Plus, you’d been friends with Eddie for years. Neighbours first, then accidental run-ins collecting the mail, then casual hangouts. He’d even taught you how to play guitar, though while he preferred electric, you preferred acoustic. While he slacked off at school, you actually tried. That conversation had been a sore spot in your friendship for ages; you warning him he wouldn’t graduate, him not caring. Now, you’d given up. If he wanted to risk getting kept back, then it was his funeral.

By the time you’d made it to your table, the volume of the cafeteria combined with your late night at a gig last night had a headache beginning to take shape.

You zoned in and out before Eddie clicked his fingers in front of your face.

You blinked looking up to see everyone at the table’s eyes looking at you. “What?”

Eddie groaned and leaned back in his seat. “Are you serious? I just explained it all.”

“Explained what?”

“The basics for the new campaign. We were trying to decide on what afternoon to play.”

“Oh,” you said, shuffling food around on you plate with your fork. “I don’t mind. I—uh—I don’t even know if I’ll be able to play this one.”

Gasps and noises of protest started up, but you quickly shut it down. “All right, quit it. Some of us,” you said glaring at Eddie, “have jobs because we’re poor. The next few months have me working nearly every afternoon after school.”

Eddie scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Can’t Robin take some of your shifts?”

“Nope,” you said. “She’s cutting back her hours, hence me getting more.”

“You can’t take one afternoon off a week? It's just a job. This is our brand new campaign I’ve been working on for months.”

At that, you frowned. “Eddie,” you warned. You’d already talked about your job with him numerous times.

Eddie didn’t back down. “Come on,” he continued. “This is the only campaign where all of us are finally playing, you can’t be the only one who doesn’t. Just tell your boss you need one afternoon off a week.”

“I won’t tell my boss that I need time off to play a stupid new game when he’s the one paying me. I need the money. Just because your uncle lets you do whatever you want doesn’t mean everyone else can just accommodate for you.”

Immediately, you could see the anger building in his eyes, but between your headache and seeing Steve this morning, you couldn’t care less.

He leaned forward and sneered, “Glad to know my campaign is just a stupid new game to you. I’ll be sure to not bother you about it in future.”

The guilt was slowly starting to creep in, but you were too mad to even think about apologising right now. You stood up and started gathering your things. Your headache was building to a crescendo and if you didn’t leave right now, your head was going to explode.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“Away from you.”

He scoffed again, leaning back and crossing his arms. “Very grown up.”

You didn’t even bother to reply before turning and leaving. Your hands trembled as you got closer to the door.

But before you could make it through them and to your locker where your pain meds were, someone was standing in your way.

It took you a few seconds to recognise that this person wasn’t just standing there by accident. When you looked up from the floor it was Carol Perkins standing there, signature smirky smile plastered across her face.

You attempted to move past her, but she stepped into your way again. You heaved in a breath. “Please move, Carol.”

She tilted her head. “Where are you off to in such a rush, weirdo? Did you and your little boyfriend break up?”

“Carol, please,” you said again, but she didn’t respond. She reached up and wrapped her fingers around a chunk of your hair and pulled it. Hard. It instantly brought tears to your eyes, and you shoved her back, making her stumble. God, that fucking hurt.

You managed one step towards the door when Tommy H. was suddenly in front of you. “Did you just push her, freak?”

“What’s going on here?” Your head spun to the left to see Steve standing there. His eyes flickered between you and Carol and Tommy H. In your mind, you were relieved. It was Steve. Even though you weren’t necessarily friends still, he would help.

“What happened is that she pushed me for no reason,” Carol spat. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you to keep your hands to yourself?” She reached out and gripped your hair again. You tried pushing her away again until you felt a cold liquid running down your head. The sticky substance ran down the side of your face.

“What the fuck?” you blurted out, stepping back when she let go. One step back and then Tommy H.’s orange juice was thrown all over your shirt, making it stick to your skin as you blinked trying to see through the juice that had stuck to your eyelashes.

“Steve,” Carol said.

Your eyes shot to Steve’s.

He wouldn’t, you thought. It was Steve. It was still Steve.

You were wrong.

The drink in his hand was added to the mix of liquids already covering you. You swore you saw him grimace and a flash of something cross his face, but you were moving before you could even think about it.

The laughter from not just those three, but their friends and others in the cafeteria echoed as you race down the halls.

Your locker. You had to get to your locker.

Your hands were slippery as you tried to enter your combination, made harder by the tears clouding your vision. In the distance, you heard the doors slam again and you worked faster, finally getting it open and snatching your pills before slamming it shut and hurrying to the exit.

Fuck school.

Fuck them.

Fuck Steve.

The sunlight outside was almost blinding making your head pound worse. You needed to leave.

Your plan to escape though was foiled when you realised that you’d caught a ride with Eddie this morning.

Reaching up to touch your hair, you felt the disgusting way it had begun to dry.

The exit doors slammed open, and you heard your name being called. You didn’t turn to look at Eddie as he reached you, you just started to sob. He pulled you against him and you didn’t even have it in you to hold him, arms hanging by your sides.

“Hey,” Eddie said, pulling away and running his eyes over your face and hair, down to your ruined shirt. “Let’s go.”

The drive to Eddie’s trailer flew by as you sobbed into your hands.

When he helped you out of his van and into your house, your sobs had finally subsided to silent tears. He sat on your bed as you took a shower, and his own head was in his hands as you emerged, hair dripping onto the carpet.

He looked up and you were both silent as you stared at each other. The silence stretched until you couldn’t take it anymore.

“Eddie, I’m sorry—”

“Don’t,” he said, causing your breath to hitch. “Don’t you dare apologise to me. I’m the one who should be apologising to you.”

You shook your head as you settled back against your headboard. Your pain meds had already started working. “No, I am sorry. I shouldn’t have been so mean to you. I do want to play, but I have to work these shifts or I’ll lose my job.”

“Hey, it’s OK. I was an asshole. I’m sorry for making you feel so bad about working. I was just bummed because I really wanted you to play. It’s no big deal.”

You scoffed. “Don’t lie, Eddie. It is a big deal to you, and I’m sorry I can’t take part this time.”

Eddie shrugged and reached down to pick up your guitar from where it rested beside your bed. “We’ll do a One Shot sometime.” He strummed a few chords, and the sound instantly had your body untensing. “Are you OK?” he asked after a few minutes.

A few moments went by before you said, “I hate them. I hate him.”

Eddie just sighed. “Yeah.”

“I just don’t understand why they hate us so much. They’re so mean to you and me and Gareth and everyone who they deem not cool.”

“I mean, we do have the whole ‘satanic cult’ thing going on, to be fair.” You huffed and he chuckled, placing your guitar down on the bed beside you. “Do you want me to stay?”

He would, you knew. If you asked him to, he would stay for however long you wanted him to. But you really wanted to be alone right now.

You shook your head and he nodded once. “I’ll be home, so just come over whenever.” And then he was gone.

The silence was deafening as you closed your eyes and laid down. You mind wouldn’t stop replaying the fight with Eddie and the incident with Carol and Tommy H. and Steve. The tears threatened to start again as you thought about it.

You knew that you weren’t close. You knew that he was King Steve and popular and those guys were his friends.

But you thought he was your friend, too.

You pulled your guitar closer as you finally let the tears go, fingers flicking over the strings quietly.

Steve Harrington wasn’t a nice guy.

He was just as bad as everyone else.

#steve harrington x reader #stranger things x reader #stranger things imagine #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #eddie munson x reader #steve harrington angst #steve harrington fanfiction #outerspacebisexual

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witchthewriter · 1 year

Photo

𝐁𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐉𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐫 𝐅𝐚𝐡𝐞𝐲'𝐬 𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐬/𝐨 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

⤷ female, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ

🌿ESFP 🍁Hufflepuff (Although I really think he could also be in Slytherin) 📜Chaotic Neutral 🔮Gemini Sun, Aries Moon, Leo Rising

𝑺𝑭𝑾🌿

・Having a significant other that’s a pirate is very, very convenient for not only Jesper, but the rest of the Crows

・It means a get away, extra hands and a way to get things from A to B. But you don’t do it for free -

・Doing things for your boyfriend only goes so far. And Kaz pays you handsomely so that your crewmates aren’t loose-lipped

・Unlike Nikolai, who calls himself a privateer, you’re happy to call yourself a pirate.

・And that’s why you’re one of the most feared - you’re not only dangerous, but very, very determined. If you want something, you will do anything and everything in your power to get it

・That’s why Kaz trusts you - he sees a bit of himself in you. You’re just as ambitious.

・Constantly being wooed. Even though you’re still in a relationship, Jesper likes to make you blush

・You hand-pick your crew, and have a strong friendship with each of them.

・If someone is hurt, you give them the best of care

・Your ship is called ‘The Disgraced Princess’

・Your background and family are a secret, only Kaz, Inej and Jesper know who you truly are. Because if word got out about the truth, everything would come crumbling down and the King of Ravka would retrieve you himself

・You have a close relationship with Inej especially. You both know how it feels to be trapped. Especially somewhere you hate, with people who don’t see you as a person

・You much prefer to be at sea, than at port.

・Although you do love jewellery and wear rings on your fingers, with large jewels and earrings that are pure gold

・Your reputation grows and grows. And you have been in a few battles. Your swordsmanship is getting better, but you’re great with a gun.

・That’s one of the things that Jesper fell in love with - you were almost as good of a shot as he

・Always blows you a kiss before leaving

・There’s always a present for Jesper when you see him. You specifically plunder something he’d like, and ‘surprise’ him when you see him next

・Jesper is so proud of you though, he thinks you’re incredibly impressive and loves to tell people that you’re together.

・You’re very close with your Quartermaster (who is the second-in-command and supervises the crew). You had originally asked Inej to be your Quartermaster, but she had to decline - she couldn’t be away from the Crows for too long

・Jesper is incredibly jealous of your Quartermaster, who he thinks will steal away your affections

・Big adrenaline junkie, and if you’re going on a dangerous misison, he wants to be there

・Constantly gives you a mischievous grin, and you know sh*ts about to go down

𝑯𝒊𝒔 𝑷𝒆𝒕 𝑵𝒂𝒎𝒆 𝑭𝒐𝒓 𝒀𝒐𝒖: ‘Sweetums,’ ‘Honey-pie,’ ‘Sweet-cheeks,’ ‘My Little Murderous Pirate.’ Jesper is the type to come up with incredibly embarrassing pet names, but completely mean them.

𝑯𝒊𝒔 𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝑳𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒖𝒂𝒈𝒆: Gift Giving and Physical Touch. My boy MISSES YOU when you aren’t together, and makes up for it the next time he sees you. Like he’s saved all his affection and couldn’t use it on anyone but you. He also buys you a lot of things that match with things he’s bought for himself.

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆 𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈:

Sex On Fire by the Midnite String Quartet

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔:

・The idiot number 1 and idiot number 2 that are smarter individually but share 1 (one) braincell when put together

・Would Die For Each Other

・Rivals to Friends to Forced Proximity to Lovers

𝑹𝒐𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒄 𝑷𝒍𝒐𝒕 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆:

Seemingly Impossible Love But It’s Destiny

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deadlysoupy · 7 months

Text

Watching Paint Dry

Rating: General Audiences Relationships: Bumblebee & Starscream (Transformers), Bumblebee/Starscream (Transformers) Tags: Developing Relationship, Enemies to Friends, Forced Proximity, Autobot/Decepticon Cross-Faction Friendship, Autobot/Decepticon Cross-Faction Romantic Relationship Series: Part 3 of I can tell just what you want (you don't want to be alone)

"Bumblebee, get in here! It's urgent! Um... Jawbreaker is stuck in a pipe!"

Mo stifles a laugh as she runs into the Dugout, changing walkie-talkie's channel to local.

"He's coming! Is Starscream in yet?"

"Oh, he's so in," Hashtag answers, static in the background from a bad connection. "They'll be best friends after this, I guarantee it! The TV cannot be wrong!"

For @trashhole

Read on AO3 or under Read More:

There is no emergency at the Dugout, Bumblebee realises way too late. When he runs into the room his optics land on a frowning Starscream, servo on his tilted hip in irritation. And not a Terran in sight.

“Sorry, Bee!” he turns around to a not-very-guilty Mo punching the button on a remote – and the door separates him and the rest of the family, to leave with a maniac of a mech.

Bumblebee should have known better when it comes to kids. It’s just like them to force anyone they wish to try talking it out – even if no one wants to.

He can’t blame them, exactly, but he will make sure they know he won’t let it slide that easily, too.

“Of course they would trap us together. How typical of them. You let them watch too much TV, Bumblebee, it’s rotting their brain circuitry.”

Bumblebee dreads the next hours of shutdown.

“It’s not their fault you can’t work with us for a change instead of being a complete aft.”

“And now it’s my fault? Why am I not surprised?” Starscream turns away with panache to watch the clock count down one second at a time. “At least pretend to not be a jerk. It can help, you know.”

“I don’t see how it would. Compared to my glorious self, you look like you could use a talking-down now and again.”

He arches a brow. “Was that a height joke?”

“What do you think?” a predatory smile makes its way on Starscream’s face and Bumblebee can barely hold his gun to not blast it away. Instead, he sighs.

“You know what? Fine,” he shrugs. Making his way to the control panel, Bee spots a relatively peaceful spot on the ground to spend the next two hours on. Starscream’s gaze darts between the tightly closed door and the countdown illuminating the room.

Propping an arm on his knee, Bumblebee keeps his optics to the ground as Starscream sits a few feet from him. Time doesn’t seem to pass when he checks the countdown on his internal clock synced with the Dugout.

Of all the mechs to be stuck with. Of all the mechs to befriend – or be befriended by, more like – the Terrans, it just had to be Starscream.

Starscream, who offlined an Autobot right in front of him, only to laugh at his face afterwards and boast about his great achievement to Megatron. Starscream, who held a gun to his spark to bargain with Optimus Prime. Starscream, who loomed over the skies on the lookout for non-affiliated Cybertronians, who only search for a way to survive in a world where you either have to be a killer, or be killed.

He is vaguely aware of the dent in his palm from his clenched fist.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Starscream’s sharp voice cuts through the silence. Bee pats himself on the back for not flinching. "I'm a vicious Decepticon bent on destroying everyone I set my eyes on. And you would be right, of course," he dismissively shugs.

When the rest doesn't come, Bumblebee is forced to walk into Starscream’s carefully set up trap. "There is a "but" coming, right?"

"But I don't do it senselessly, my dear Autobot. Picture this: your people see you as nothing more than a scheming rodent, someone below them and their superior rule. It’s nearly impossible to earn respect amongst those monsters."

And Bumblebee definitely sees something there. For more cycles than he can count, Bumblebee had been viewed as a bot who needed to be supervised, not to be trusted with important missions. Or missions Bumblebee at the time considered important, anyway. It’s why he still feels echoes of the times long gone, when the need to prove his worth overrides his brain to the point of recklessness.

He’s no Decepticon, though.

“That’s no excuse. Don’t justify your actions and twist them into survival. There’s always a way.”

Starscream snicker is not kind. “And who taught you that? The Terrans? Who have seen no war?” his frame turns to face Bumblebee, one servo pressed to the ground for balance. “You know what was at stake. I don’t regret my decisions even for a nano-second, but if you think that I didn’t at least try to find a better way, then you’re just as stupid as the rest of them.”

The silence that follows has Bumblebee in a chokehold. His gaze travels on Starscream, analysing his drive to make sense of his crimes, of his killings, of his betrayals.

“I’ve said too much. Enjoy the rest of these painful hours in silence, little Autobot, and we’ll see who comes out the same when it’s done.”

Sympathy does not come easily these days – and Starscream makes it that much harder.

#transformers #maccadam #transformers earthspark #earthspark #earthspark bumblebee #earthspark starscream #starbee #bumblebee #starscream #transformers fanfiction #my writing

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hyperfixatedfandomer · 7 months

Text

I said it before and I’ll say it again; we NEED Superboy Conner and Lois Lane found family content

HEAR ME OUT!!!

We all know that usually, Lois and Superboy would meet in a period of Clark’s "death". He’s one of several supermen who are trying to fill the gap Clark left and is a clone of his, lab-grown and about 14-15 years old at the time he and the famous journalist meet. Now let me explain my vision.

Lois, usually sassy and blunt in her approach, becomes even more cold and short-tempered after her lover dies. Conner has been briefed on her close friendship with Superman however, so he tries to get into her good graces as she was always Supe’s #1 supporter and gave him good media-coverage.

At first, the woman is obviously done with him. Conner is being his teenage, edgy self and she is grieving over Clark and can’t take much of his bullshit, so after brutally shutting down his half-hearted flirting and correcting him to not call himself "superman", she promptly leaves whatever event she’s even invited to.

However, as Lois is having her little investigation arc, getting to know other supermen and observing how they deal with villains and emergencies, Conner appears on her radar more and more and through forced proximity, she begins guiding him, although roughly.

“Being a hero is not about fame. If that’s what you’re looking for — give up. This is volunteer work, and you’re doing it for the sake of keeping the innocent people safe. You wanna be a hero? Drop the bravado.”

Conner dislikes it at first, but Lois’s tough love quickly grows on him. He likes her honesty and the legit advice she gives him in spite of the dark place she’s clearly in. At the same time, the boy comes to resent Luther more and more every day, with how dead-set he is on treating Superboy like a product, and investing zero of his time into actually raising the kid who very much needs a parent at this age.

So Con just kinda…starts showing up at the same spots Lois is, even outside the hero work. At the cafe, at her job, at the park. Wherever she goes, the kid will most likely appear, and after listening to him talk about Lex, she minds him less and less.

“I’m, like, an investment y’know. I need to keep Mr. Luther happy or..”

“Or…?…”

“…Nothing. Forget it.”

“…”

“…here.”

“What’s this?”

“My number. If something’s up, if you need someone to talk to, if you need…help, call me.”

Lois doesn’t miss the way Conner’s cheeks redden and eyes sparkle. Do grown-ups never offer him support? She wouldn’t be surprised.

Anyway, now Conner texts and calls her daily. Sends her memes, funny Tik toks, and Lois dryly responds to them, yet never ghosts him. In other words — they’re constantly in contact now.

At the same time, Conner, through Lois’s advice, really starts getting into the whole superhero thing, doing it for the civilians instead of media attention. He gets good publicity but rarely shows up at LexCorp anymore. Luther feels his leash slipping and knows why. He wouldn’t let the kid have a phone without putting trackers to track his investment, and he knows that Conner holds Lois close to his heart; that he really wants her approval.

“I think it’ll be best if you stay away from Lane, boy.”

“What?! Why!?! You were the one who said I needed to get good media coverage!”

“Getting too buddy-buddy with journalists and not knowing when to keep your mouth shut will bring your downfall.”

“Mine? Or yours? Who’s really gonna be in trouble if I "don’t keep my mouth shut"?”

Lois gets anxious when Conner stops texting and answering calls. Something’s wrong, and Lex must be the reason. Her heart lurches.

Conner is just a kid. She can’t let him get hurt. Can’t loose someone again.

So she goes to LexCorp and interrogates Luther right off the porch.

“Where is he? What did you do to him!?”

“Conner? Nothing that is of your business, miss Lane.”

“I swear to god if you touch a hair on his head—“

“He’s my legal property, Lane. I created him, and I know better than anyone how to take care of him and keep him in line.”

Luther’s words send a shudder down her spine. He really didn’t see Conner as his own person? Then what was he capable of doing with him? How far would he go to keep the boy in line?

Long story short: she comes back with her special reinforcement (take a pick of whichever superman, or Batman).

They find Conner kept in a cell, surrounded by strange red lights and there are dried tear-tracks on his face. The door is broken/hacked open, and the three run away. The kid hugs Lois and sobs into her shoulder, and she holds him just as tightly.

“Oh Con, kid, did they hurt you?”

“*sob* I-that asshole said I’d stay there until I learned how to behave…”

“Well you’re definitely not coming back to that shithole. Ever.”

“Where…where do I go then?”

That evening, Conner ends up sitting in front of a TV in Lois’s apartment, eating noodles with her and watching action movies. For the first time since first waking up, he feels like he has a safe space, somewhere to call home. The legal battle with Luthor is going to be tough, but Con can rest assured knowing that Lois won’t let him go. She can get real scary when she wants to.

For now though, those worries are far away as he falls asleep on her shoulder, wearing an oversized sweater that used to belong to someone Lois loved, and she smiles, feeling, for the first time in months, that things will be okay…

Because they’ll have each other.

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bleach-boyz · 8 months

Text

Chapter 1: The Chick Next Door

So your family moved next door to Dico when you were six years old, and although he was two years older than you, you became fast friends. This was mostly due to proximity and your parents' strong encouragement of you two spending time together (they were scared of you not making friends, which you admittedly had trouble with). Outside of that, though, you actually had a lot in common: you liked to watch the same cartoons and movies and loved to roleplay with your toys in each other's front yards. You were pretty inseparable until Dico’s first year in high school.

It wasn’t that you two made a conscious effort to stop hanging out; it was just sort of a natural side effect of getting older and going through your awkward phase. You both just became too aware of the way your friendship was perceived by others, and it made you insecure. There was no ill will, though, and you’d still stop and say hi to him and even occasionally go to a movie together if neither of you had plans.

At some point, he started hanging around this group of boys; some of them were skaters, but if you ever saw them, they were usually just being loud and recording each other with a camera in Dico’s yard. Every time you had to interact with them, a ball of anxiety would form in your chest, mostly due to the fear of being the butt of one of their jokes but also because you were at an age where you couldn’t talk to a boy without blushing.

Over the years, you grew to recognize all the members of Dico’s group and had your own assumptions and impressions of each of them based on the little interactions you had. The group gave off an air of immaturity, but there was never a time when they appeared to not be having fun. It made you a bit jealous that you weren’t part of a close group of friends like that.

When Dico graduated, you assumed that that would be the last you’d see of those boys outside of school, but you found out from your parents that Dico wasn’t going to college and was going to keep living with his parents. You didn’t want to admit that you were actually glad to hear this.

Your junior year was extremely uneventful. The boys used to provide occasional entertainment for you and the rest of the student body at school, but after Dico and a few others graduated, one of them was kicked out, and another dropped out, day to day became even more boring. You’d still see them messing around at Dico’s, but the visits became less frequent.

At the end of that school year, Dico stopped you in your yard one day to tell you he was having a party at his house while his parents were out of town that weekend. You spent the days leading up to the party debating whether or not you should go. You stood in your kitchen an hour after the party started, staring at Dico’s house through your window. You only managed to force yourself out of the house after taking two shots of tequila from your parents liquor cabinet.

Walking out your front door, you can already hear the sound of the music blasting inside Dico's place. You worry about whether or not the sound would be enough to drive one of your more ill-tempered neighbors towards calling the police, but figure if that happens, it’s a short dash back to your place so you could probably avoid getting in trouble.

You walk slowly over to Dico’s front door, following a group of girls whom you didn’t recognize, giving them a small, friendly smile when you accidentally make eye contact. They lead the way inside and seem to immediately bump into some people they know, leaving you alone in the entryway.

You have an impulse to immediately turn around and leave, but then you see Dico and one of his friends rounding the corner and heading towards you.

"Hey dude, did you just get here? You haven’t seen a tall guy with ginger hair running around here, have you?" Dico asks, stopping in front of you.

"Uh yeah, I just got here, and no, I don’t think so.." you respond.

"No worries, you need a drink?" Dico gestures back towards the kitchen. His friend elbows him and clears his throat.

"I’m Raab, by the way. Geez, Dico, don’t you know how to introduce people?" The friend says, and Dico elbows him back harder.

"Weren’t you the one who got expelled for smearing shit on someone’s locker?" You ask without thinking. Dico laughs and looks at Raab, who has a smug look on his face.

"Your reputation proceeds you." Dico teases and then invites you both to follow him to the kitchen.

In the kitchen, you see a few more people that you know are from that same friend group. Dico introduces you to each of them, and they all surprisingly recognize you as "the chick that lives next door."

A couple drinks later, Dico corrals everyone to the basement, where a band has set up to play. The drummer was a tall, ginger guy who you realize must be the person Dico was looking for before. You also realize that he is in your grade, and you two have had a few classes together in the past year, but you can’t quite remember his name.

The music is rock/metal in genre, so all the boys start moshing in the center of the room, which causes you to stay close to the back wall. At some point, a blonde guy comes up to you and wordlessly offers you another drink. After finishing it, you can say with absolute confidence that you are officially drunk.

Following the set, a bunch of you go outside to smoke cigarettes and weed. You refuse the weed, knowing that you are already a little too far gone, but when that same blonde guy who gave you a drink earlier offers you a cigarette, you feel compelled to take it.

"It’s Ryan, by the way." The blonde says while lighting your cigarette. You take a substantial inhale and, surprisingly, don’t cough despite never having smoked before.

"I’ll try to remember that." You say and he raises his eyebrows at you.

"Oh no, I just mean that like.. I’m drunk, and I’m not good with names." You backtrack, and Ryan chuckles.

"You’re good."

The rest of the night is filled with cheerful conversation, and you end up going home feeling giddy over how well you got along with these people that you’ve been too scared to talk to for years. The entire night just put into perspective how silly you were to be intimidated by these guys.

You wonder why Dico suddenly decided to invite you to a gathering after you two had drifted apart. Part of you felt like he avoided having you around because you wouldn’t fit in or would embarrass him, though you knew that that was probably just your insecurities talking. Whatever, it was a conversation to be had with him some other day.

Right now, you just need to go to bed.

——————

Hello! So this is the beginning of my CKY fic 🤭. I wasn’t expecting anyone to be interested but I already got a few follows which is so dope. I know this chapter is short but I just wanted to get something out there. The first few chapters are probably going to be similar to this in that I skip through some big periods of time and then drop in on events I want to show in more detail. If you have any thoughts or just wanna chat hmu! Thank you :)

#ryan dunn #bam margera #brandon dicamillo #jackass #cky #cky imagine #cky crew #cky x reader #chris raab #raab himself #jess margera #viva la bam #my fic #fanfic #rake yohn

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