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eddiernunson · 10 months

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Really Drives Me Mad | Bfs Dad!Eddie Munson x Reader | 18+

Master List | Next Part

My best friend tells me that he's a keeper

I really like Dylan a lot But Dylan's dad He really drives me mad With his faded tats Sings in a cover band Yeah he's super hot with his ripped dad bod Oh my, oh my god I like Dylan a lot But oh god I love Dylan's dad

I know y'all weren't expecting this... Well neither was I. It like invaded my mind and begged me to write it. (this is the dirtiest thing ive ever written.)

Word Count: 7.5k

Summary: You've been dating Dylan Munson for a little bit, and it's going well, or at least you feel like it is. Despite everything right with Dylan you can't help but feel uneasy...then you meet Eddie Munson, his dad... and find yourself wet at the sight of him. (reader is in her 20s, Eddie probably in his 40s or so)

Warnings: masturbation (both), voyeurism (both), lot of perv!Eddie, reader ends up cheating, just some dirty stuff. MINORS DNI.

As you sit cross legged on your best friend’s garage couch mindlessly watching some Netflix while she took another hit, your phone dings, a text message you’ve been waiting on.

“Ooh, speak of the devil.” She teases you, putting the bong aside to peek at what Dylan texted you. You roll your eyes at her, answering him to pick you up in the morning. “What did he say?”

Her eyebrows were wagging over-exaggeratingly, and you narrow your eyes. “Just asked when I wanted to get picked up for our trip to the beach tomorrow.”

“Are you excited?” She asks, her voice suggestive and you can hear more excitement in her voice alone than you felt about the trip.

“Yes.” You lie to her, because if you told the truth, you knew you’d hear about it.

Dylan was a good guy. You met him through a singles mixer you went to for shits and giggles and ended up meeting him. He had no business being there, his league was not the type of girl to go to a Fajita style mixer even for laughs. He was so overwhelmingly better looking than every other guy in that mixer that scooping him up before anyone dug their claws in was the logical thing to do.

It wasn’t that you didn’t find him hot.

Dylan ended up being almost everything you said you were looking for. Stable. Ready for commitment. Willing to go the extra mile.

He was stable in every way it takes most men into their 30s to figure out.

You knew he was a rare find as someone dating in your 20s. Yet, there was just something missing.

It wasn’t anything you could describe, and each time you had expressed the feeling people seem to dismiss it, claiming it stemmed from every failed relationship you’ve had. Logically, you should be head over heels over this man who is so sweet and willing to do the most.

But the feeling just nagged at your skull.

For the sake of not feeling guilty and seeing that same bug-eyed expression on your best friend you lie. It felt weird to have to lie to her just to seem grateful for what life has provided to you on a silver platter. So, until an actual reason for this hesitancy presents itself, the dates and the heavy make out sessions and whatnot will continue.

The ego boost he provides when he sends you drooling emojis when you send a bikini selfie for what you’re wearing the next day certainly doesn’t help your case.

“I’m so glad you found him, he’s so sweet.” She mentions off-hand.

You nod, gritting your teeth.

Dylan is on time, as always, prompt and proper to pick you up from your apartment. He texts to let you know he was outside, and you grab your beach bag of snacks and your towel and do a final assessment in the mirror.

Cute pink bikini that hung by a string sitting high on your hips, barely hidden by the long cut out dress you wore. Your bag matched the bikini, and you wore some tiny sunnies to put the whole look together. If you’re gonna date someone as good looking might as well look the part.

As you approached his chevy truck he was animatedly bug eyed while looking at you, his brown eyes popping out of their socket while he drummed his steering wheel. His zest and energy for life was always so contagious. You smiled at him, your cheeks burning as you climbed into the passenger seat.

“Hi baby.” He greets you, kissing you softly. You find yourself grinning into it.

He pulls out onto the main road for the forty-five-minute trip to the lake most people go for a weekend getaway. About five minutes down the road, Dylan pats his cargo shorts down real quick and grunts in disappointment.

“What?”

“Forgot the parking pass for the beach lot. I literally got that for fifteen dollars so I wouldn’t have to pay twenty at the till.” He explains, making a sudden left turn.

You’ve been to his house before, and he usually takes you there when his dad is either at work or just not home. You weren’t sure why, his dad seemed like a decent dude.

(From what you’ve heard anyway)

Maybe, like you, he wasn’t ready for meeting the parents yet.

“Oh, I think my dad will be home around now. Hope that’s okay.” He says, as if you had just spoken aloud. “I think it was time for you to meet him, anyways.”

Shit. Nope. He was ready. You were no where ready for him to meet your mom, who already loved him just from your best friend’s descriptions.

“Oh. Sure.” You glance down to your outfit, something worn not knowing you were about to meet parents. “Are you sure I’m dressed for that though?”

“My dad has met girlfriends in worse positions.” Dylan laughs. “Trust me. This is a better meeting.”

This helps you very little.

Five minutes down the road he pulls into the starter home he and his dad have been living in his whole life, a sweet little bungalow with three rooms and two bathrooms. It was by no means anything to cough at, certainly impressive for a mechanic, but Dylan seemed to behave incredibly sheepishly every time.

Dylan pulls in, and your heart races as you see his dad’s truck in the driveway. As Dylan gets out to open your door, he can feel your nervousness. “Can I just stay here?” You ask him, unsure why he needed you to go in for a pass in the first place.

“Oh I promise he doesn’t bite.” He jokes.

You give him a weak smile, holding his hand as you walked to the front door. The door doesn’t need a key, swinging open and the bright sunlight giving you both a shadow against the hardwood flooring. Dylan walks in, calling for his dad’s name. You squeeze his hand tighter out of nervousness. Eventually the sounds of his creaky steps are heard from the kitchen where Dylan is scanning for his pass, signalling his father coming down the steps.

You were facing towards the stove across the island counter, watching Dylan go through the drawers for it.

“Woah, thought you’d be halfway to the beach by now, you were so damn excited.” You hear his dad’s voice, and there’s something about it, his tone leaning towards a tease that enticed you to turn your head towards him.

Your jaw dropped. Or it didn’t. Certainly felt like a moment for your mouth to open in amazement. In a split second you knew where Dylan got his good looks, and it was only a fraction of how mouth watering his dad was.

He wonders in with sweatpants low on his hips wearing a band t-shirt and his long curly hair was wet from a shower. As he shuffled by to the fridge, the scent of aftershave invaded your nose and somehow it just went straight to your core. He was certainly fit even for a dad, slight dad bod but nothing to poke at, you could tell he worked with his hands.

“Forgot my pass.” He mutters, looking through another drawer.

“I saw it this morning, so I put it in your bag as you were heading out.” His dad mentions off hand, getting the ingredients for a bowl of cereal out. As he lifted his hands over his head revealing a tattoo on his tummy and the treasure trail saliva entered your mouth like water bursting through a man-made dam.

“Seriously?” Dylan dead pans. He turns to you, and you switch your glance to seem innocent like you haven’t been eye-fucking his dad. “I’m gonna go double check it’s in there. Just stay here be right back.” He kisses you on the forehead and leaves without giving you a chance to protest.

“Nice, to meet you, by the way.” He says in a gruff voice as he pours the sugary cereal into the bowl.

“Nice to meet you, too, Mr. Munson.” Your voice sounded strained; you were hoping you were just imagining it.

He lets out a noise in disgust, his face scrunching up comically. “Oh god. Don’t call me that. Call me Eddie. Never Mr. Munson. Gross.”

You smile closed mouthed at his genuine disgust for it, and Eddie presents a smile as if your laughter was the long-term goal. “Nice to meet you, Eddie.”

“Much better.” He praises you, and it might be the closest thing you’ll ever get to the kind of praise you wanted from him, the kind where you find yourself on your knees in the kitchen, but you happily accepted it. Any crumbs you would happily take.

He could spit on you, and you would thank him.

Oh. That’s…new.

That wasn’t something you felt with Dylan at all. If Dylan had decided to spit on your face during sex, you would call the police. It would turn you off so fast you would kick him off you.

“Going to Lake Maureen?” He asks you, supposedly making small talk.

“Nope.” You tell him. “Museum.”

Eddie tilted his head, and from his shoulder’s shaking and the slow smile you could tell he was laughing.

“Yes.” You affirm.

“Where did you meet again?” Eddie asks as he puts away the milk, his voice seeming to extend from a thought he doesn’t share.

“Oh, a mixer.”

“Not the church mixer.” Eddie tilts his head, seeming genuinely fearful it was the truth.

You confirm that yes, it was the church mixer.

Eddie grabs a mug to pour the coffee you hadn’t noticed had he put on. As his hands cup a graphic mug you couldn’t see the comic for, you see the silver rings on his fingers and if your core wasn’t heated up before, it certainly was now. He leans forward, taking a sip of straight black coffee for a minute. “Sweetheart. You’re far too pretty to be going to a goddamn mixer. No wonder he was so fucking enthralled when he got home that day.”

You feel your face heat up at the nickname followed by him calling you pretty. Your thighs squeeze together as you attempt to force your heart back into your chest where it belonged. Somehow your extremities were freezing, and all the heat was centered in your pussy, just soaked from his presence alone.

He could tell you weren’t taking the compliment seriously. “Seriously. If he fucks it up and you end up single again no more fucking mixers for you.”

“Not like I had any more choices.” You defend yourself, not knowing why his insistence turned you on so much.

Eddie rolls his eyes as if he didn’t believe you. His mouth opens to tell you something, and the sound of Dylan bursting through the front door seems to cut him off. “Oh, you should’ve told me, we could’ve been almost there by now. Come on, baby! See you dad!”

The door slams, and you guessed you were supposed to follow him. “Um, you were gonna say something?” and the mystery is just too much for you.

“Oh. Was I? Totally forgot.” Eddie shrugs, putting his coffee mug down, having chugged that entire cup within the conversation. “Have fun.”

He scoops another spoonful of sugary cereal in his mouth, the dimples on his face prominent but the smile devious.

That smile would haunt you for the next twelve hours.

The trip with Dylan was alright, he swore up and down it was the best trip and it just brought you both closer as a couple. You probably would’ve agreed. A trip to the beach with Dylan Munson sounded enticing and sexy and adventurous for the most part until you met his dad.

Now thoughts of his flexed forearms has he gripped the counter while talking to you, wet hair smelling beautifully of the musk shampoo he used invaded your mind. Dylan fingering you on the beach under your skirt was yes, smoking hot, but as you imagined a certain someone else doing the same it brought you to your orgasm much quicker and much harder. Dylan figured he must be doing something right.

Guilt evaded you as you knew what the hell you were doing was wrong. You now had an excuse to get rid of him, you were far more into his dad than you ever were into him, and it should’ve been a sign.

But if you broke up with him now, you wouldn’t be able to see his dad. Yet as you took a walk down the shoreline into a cave and your eyes close picturing certain ringed fingers gripping your hips as Dylan did it made the sneaking off and the public sex that much hotter.

Seems you were sluttier than your initial sex life led you to believe. Turns out, you just haven’t met a man you wanted to be slutty for. Public sex seemed fun in theory, always so nerve wrecking in practice.

Public sex with Eddie felt like you wanted to get caught with him, fully enjoying his cock and letting people see. Voyeurism mixed with public embarrassment was suddenly hot and you got so into it that Dylan expressed how excited he was to fuck you on the next hike you took together, something he has expressed much interest in, but you denied bashfully every time.

Because with Dylan sex wasn’t all encaptivating. Sure he could make you cum, but you were never ready to rip off his clothes in a heartbeat. The moment you saw Eddie your fingers started to itch for that damn low sitting sweatpants for them to droop just a little…bit…more.

Dylan drops you off with a romantic wet kiss, and you walk into the door of your apartment in a daze. Before you can even think about it, you find yourself on your bed, your skirt around your ankles and two of your fingers down your bikini bottoms.

You start to take them off but there’s a voice you picture saying, “No, no. Keep them on like the whore you are.” It was not Dylan’s.

You listened to it, pretending to rub your clit in front of him watching. You could see a wild eye on his face, picturing him not being able to touch you driving him mad. The heat that expands into your pussy from that thought alone drives your hips for more friction. “Oh so fucking needy, yeah?” You imagine him saying to you, and fuck, you couldn’t not think of him being good at dirty talk. “Need this cock, don’t ya?”

The image of him slowly working the elastic waist-band of his sweatpants made you moan aloud, needily grinding on your own fingers.

“Too damn bad. You’re just gonna have to make yourself cum, like the slut you are.”

The slight foreplay you were accidentally given all day through your own imagination mixed with how fucking wet you were brought you to a quick orgasm, fluttering in your extremities as you continued imagining the wild eyes on Eddie’s face or the firm voice as he didn’t give you a choice on your dating pool.

This was the first truly earth-shattering orgasm you’ve ever felt in your life. One that you truly had to recover from…and it was from just picturing this man.

Something in you wanted the real thing, and you were terrified of how willing you were to go through with it, and equally as terrified of going through life wondering what it could’ve been like

If sex with Eddie Munson was as good as the orgasm you gave yourself, you might have to be Dylan’s stepmom, because you just found what was missing.

“Hey baby.” Dylan says, welcoming you as he opens the door.

You hold your pillow and a duffle bag sits on your shoulder for a sleepover, and the shorter shorts with a tank top you wear signalling you were ready for a night in. As you pass by him, Dylan gives out a low whistle to how well your ass is shown off in the pair of shorts you wore. They were so well fitting he could see you were either wearing a thong or nothing, but you could tell it turned him on. While this gave you a confidence boost, he wasn’t the target audience.

When you requested the sleepover Dylan warned you his dad would be there. Good. You assured him that would be fine. That was the goal.

“Hi, sweetheart!” Eddie calls down to you, and the smile invades your face before you could stop it.

“Hi, Mr. Munson!” You call out, and the sound of gagging is heard. “I meant Eddie!”

“Oh, I forgot he gets everyone to call him by his first name, like a lame youth pastor.” Dylan rolls his eyes, tugging on your hand to bring you to the couch in the living room. “Movie?”

You nod jerkily. Dylan works around you, getting a blanket, popcorn, and the movie all set up. He turns down the lights, winking at you suggestively as he does so.

Less than five minutes into the movie, the beginning credits still lingering on to the actors he leans in with an open mouth, his hand making its way to your hip. With the smell of him still fresh, being able to smell him on the couch you were on, it was easy to get eagerly into the kissing. This encouraged Dylan, of course confusing your eagerness for him. He reaches down, placing two of his fingers over your clothed pussy.

You moan lightly, and he shushes you softly. Mentally you roll your eyes, because he was telling you to be quiet because his dad was home.

You were hooking up with him on his couch because his dad was home. You listen to him anyway, and he starts to rub in small circles, you moan even higher, imagining he could hear you and getting off to it. “Shh, baby.” Dylan whispers. “Oh, you’re wet. Fuck.”

He slips his hands into your shorts, leaning you down to rub your pussy and attack your neck at the same time. “Pussy feels…mazing.” Dylan mutters between the slobbery neck kisses he gives you. It was enough for you to picture him, but suddenly Eddie coming downstairs right now without knowing what you were doing got you off even more.

“Eat me out?” You ask him, and ever the gentleman he smiles devilishly at you as he crawls down. He goes to place the blanket over his head, and you stop him. “Wanna see your face.”

Okay, you wanted to see Eddie see your pussy as his son went down on you, but it made Dylan eager enough to dig in in a way you haven’t seen from him yet.

You whine from the hot pleasure it gave you, you grind on his face, the heat focused on your pussy in a way that has never happened before. The idea of Eddie accidentally walking in on you but watching instead of saying anything gets you off so easily Dylan is feeling your juices wet his chin and your ass like it never has before.

“Greedy baby.” He mumbles, placing two fingers into you and giving kisses to your thighs as he pumps them.

“Gonna cum soon, Dyl.” You warn him.

Luckily, Dylan knows it means to keep doing what he’s doing. You were close, but the sound of footsteps upstairs followed by a door closing pushed you over the edge, knowing he could very well be going to his room from elsewhere, but hoping he was at the top of the stairs.

Just the possibility of him being at the top pushed you over. “Holy shit.” Dylan mutters, crawling up to you. “Must’ve been riled up, huh.”

“Yeah.” You tell him, suddenly feeling Dylan’s boner poking the inside of your knee. “Mere, I wanna help you.”

“No, I wanna fuck you, let’s go to my room.”

His room…down the hall…where there’s a better chance he could hear you. “Sure!”

Eddie Munson was sure there was something out to get him. The moment your pretty fucking face greeted him in his kitchen when he wondered down fresh from a shower he was sure there was something laughing at this pure misery.

The smile on your face, the smell of your sweet perfume, the way your skirt hugged your hips all melted him into one pot. When you told him you met Dylan at a fucking mixer, he wanted to shoot the person who made you feel like you were worthy of being ogled at by a bunch of singles at an awkward church mixer.

A church mixer.

He hated that Dylan liked them, always said only weirdos go there and was sure Dylan as exaggerating when he expressed how gorgeous and out of his league you were.

His heart freezing at the sight of you sit perched on one of his stools, shyly watching your boyfriend, even only from the back made him wonder if angels were real. Fuck, he didn’t ask for any proof of your beauty when offered to show your Instagram, but he wouldn’t have believed it.

He spent that entire first conversation doing everything he could to be a fucking father figure and remind himself you were dating his son. He was not hitting on you at a bar, he was your boyfriend’s dad.

Somehow that just made the forbidden part about it that much hotter.

He felt like a pervert as the scent of your shampoo jumped out at him when he passed by you for the milk, and he had wanted to stop in place and take a big inhale. Felt like an even bigger pervert as he saw the string of your bikini bottom sitting high on your hip peaking out of your skirt and he just wanted to get a shot of that underskirt.

Every thought he had about you as your wit came through the conversation, he wondered what the hell you were doing with Dylan. He loved his kid, but you deserved better than what he knew his kid would provide.

He knew about Dylan that he’d be a great husband one day. Someone reliable and trustworthy enough to build a life with.

He didn’t want that for you. He wanted you to have something mind-blowing and earth shattering, something intoxicating. Something that made you feel the way he felt just by smelling your goddamn shampoo. Your teeny tiny bikini with your hair up in a messy bun with cute little sunglasses all somehow went to his cock, and he was glad you were called over before he said something even more stupid.

Eddie rolled his eyes at your claim there wasn’t a bigger dating pool, opening his mouth to retort--“Oh, you should’ve told me, we could’ve been almost there by now. Come on, baby! See you dad!”

The door slams, and that concluded the end of that conversation. “Um, you were gonna say something?” you ask him, and he wondered if the intrigue on your face was something he just imagined.

“Oh. Was I? Totally forgot.” Eddie lies. I was gonna say I am proof there is a bigger dating pool than you would believe, sweetheart… but he knew it would’ve said something he couldn’t unsay.

Dylan told him you were coming over for a sleepover, and he and Dylan’s room were only separated by the bathroom. Eddie might use the basement for the night because he didn’t trust his perverted mind not to seek you out and look at what little pjs you have chosen to wear. He gave you space out of respect when you arrived, wondering if it was flirting when you called him Mr. Munson.

Suddenly a noise that Eddie could only describe as the doorbell to heaven (or hell with what his mind was thinking) reached the door he had kept open for this very reason.

He kept his tv playing and sneaked off to the top of the stairs, hoping to catch his kid getting you off while you moaned under the covers. The treat he was given was far better, the hand over your tight ass shorts feeling you up as you leaned back and whined all high pitched. Eddie’s cock was so hard at the moment not touching it would be like self-neglect.

He backed up against the wall by the stairs, listening to your moans as he got you off, desperately wishing it was his fingers in your wet heat. He imagined your scrunched up face as you made those stunning noises, starting to stroke himself. A pause occurs, your blissed out voice asking him to eat you out. He bites back a moan at wanting to taste you, wanting to get all up in those juices and to show him how much you turned him on. He leans over the wall into the stair entry, expecting the blanket to be covering you but instead being met with your pussy on full display.

A low guttural moan escapes his throat, fucking into his fist and pretending it was you bent over for him instead, whining the same exact way. He knew you would have a pretty pussy, but this was just un-fucking fair.

You warn Dylan you were about to cum, and that pushes him over his own edge, and he suddenly has a mess he needs to clean up all over his fist. God he wanted you to clean it, to suck it all up. He was making himself hard again and he had to flee to his fucking bedroom to wash up.

Suddenly the creak of the stairs erupts as he is cleaning himself up, and Dylan’s door closes. Oh. They’re…continuing.

Your moans are suddenly loud, and Eddie finds himself hard again as he realizes he’s hearing you being fucked. Oh, he knew you were a fucking dirty slut.

Just fucking knew it. Something that hasn’t happened since he was in his 20s, but he’s ready to jerk himself off within minutes of just cumming. “Yeah, my whore being fucked open, letting everyone hear how good she feels, oh shit.” Eddie mutters to himself, right next to his door.

He ends up finishing at the same time you did, which didn’t take either one of you very long.

The next morning you wake next to Dylan sleeping with a big smile on his face. To him, that was the best sex you’ve ever had together. Mixed with your adventure at the beach last week, you guys were doing better than ever.

To you, it was only amazing because you kept thinking of Eddie fucking you and it did everything for your core. You get up in the tiny pair of pajamas you had packed, something that barely covered your ass and headed downstairs for some breakfast.

As you were leant down to assess the cereals, you heard the stride of someone come in behind you.

Eddie walks in behind you, holding back a swear as he sees your pussy peaking out of your pajama bottoms. A gentleman, and not knowing you fully reciprocated every horny thought, he ignores it and hopes you sit up.

You don’t, leaning even more forward and making a show of wondering what to eat. Eddie inhales, allowing himself to watch you. You turn around to him jerking his head away, and you felt some pride in getting his attention. “Morning.” You greet him, offering a bowl for him.

He rejects it. “Not hungry.”

“Oh.” You pour cereal, and Eddie focuses on not staring at your beaded nipples peaking through the tiny silk top you wore.

“Fuck.” He whispered, the boner growing.

“Something wrong?” You ask him innocently, and knowing this was working to your benefit made you nervous but eager.

“Lots to do today.” Like jerk off another three times.

“Like what?” You asked, taking a spoonful of cereal even though you had no appetite from the butterflies in your stomach.

“Oh not much.” Eddie wonders to you, and by reaching over you to grab the cereal he wonder if he could sneak a smell from your shampoo.

You sit up as he leans away, and you are so close you can see just how gorgeous he is. God, those brown eyes. “Do you have any…one to do?” You ask, glancing back and forth between his pretty lips and his even prettier eyes. You didn’t even know which ones to focus on.

Eddie leans in a bit to you, just ghosting over your lips. “Are you sure…that you want this?”

You nod, your eyes glazing over in want as the arousal in your gut suddenly exploded into a need.

“Cause…cause if we do this there is no going back. If your pussy…” he inhales sharply, taking a breath of your hair. “is as good as I imagine, there’s no way I’m giving you back.”

This sentence turns you into gelatin, and you lean forward to finally kiss him, his lips rough as he seemingly forgets how to act for a moment.

His brain finally catches up and he grabs onto you, inhaling and messy kisses, and grabby hands all at once as he tries to do everything he’s wanted to. Your hands make their way into his hair, and it was as soft as you pictured it. His lips messily kiss down your jaw onto your neck and you let out a whine. He smiles widely at that. “Good. One I made. Needed that.”

“You heard me…yesterday?” You asked, wetter from the idea of it.

“Heard you? Fucking came to it.” He swears, as he continues an assault on your neck. You moan in response, your hips involuntarily grinding up. “Come on, upstairs.”

You almost wanted to get caught by Dylan, but to keep it going longer you follow Eddie giddily upstairs as he trips over himself and you felt like a goddamn teenager. You follow him into his room, and the curtains were blackout curtains, the lights turned off giving the illusion of everything being dark. “Can we turn on the lights?” You ask, delicately. “I wanna see you.”

Eddie turns on his dimmer switch light so it was low, and the look in his eye as he approaches you sat on his bed had a level of lust in them that drove you wild. He leans in to give you a kiss after sitting right by you, and it wasn’t enough touching for you. You crawl forward as you eagerly kissed him back, straddling his lap. “Fuck, sweetheart, you are fucking gorgeous.” He mutters, the silk pajamas you wore bunching up in his hands as he grabbed at it. “The little strap that peaked out of your skirt tied together was just tempting me to unwrap you like a present.” He huffs, still kissing your neck. You find yourself impatient, wanting his lips back on yours.

“Fuck, been thinkin’ about you on my cock ever…” he inhales your perfume with a deep grunting sigh of content. “ever since.”

You mewl to his confessions, and he’s a much better talker than you could’ve imagined. Your hips start to grind on their own accord and with the little fabric they have between your silk shorts and his thin pajama pants you felt his hard cock fairly easily. You let out a high moan of contentment, and Eddie watches as you grind on his cock and get yourself off so easily. “Oh shit, she’s a dirty slut, hey.” Eddie comments leaning back and watching you grind yourself. “Doesn’t even need a cock inside her, will just take anything I give her with a smile on her face.”

“I would—” you gasp, the material scratching your clit in the best way, “I would take any crumbs, fuck.”

You start to moan higher and grind faster, and Eddie wanted to make you cum by his hands or his mouth the first time but you making yourself cum against his pants meant he was now using this as a fucking cum rag to smell you when you weren’t near. “Take off those shorts, doll. Wanna see your pussy.”

“Ok.” They are yanked off without a second thought.

“Oh, good listener. What a good girl.” He comments petting your hair gently as you continued to grind again with your heat now directly against his pj pants, he could feel it against his cock. “Oh, fuck, you are soaked. My fucking horny slut.”

“Horny for you.” You whimper the edge just right there.

“Whoring herself out for the Munsons.” He comments, sort of bitter he had to hear you fuck his son before he could claim you.

“Pictured it was you.” You admit, your voice in a whisper as you confessed but the high you wanted almost there.

“Fuck, did you?” He asks, the idea you only enjoying it so much because you pictured him.

“Mmhmm. Pictured you watching me, too.”

“Fucking little voyeur.” He whispers, and you nodded. He rewarded you by grabbing your hips and rutting against you and hitting your clit even harder and your orgasm snuck up on you, and the extra attention Eddie pays you as he watches it wash through you only helps the high take longer to recover from.

“Oh my god.” You whisper, a last of the intense orgasm still running through you.

“Not done.” Eddie whispers, a big smirk on his face. He lightly pushes you down and grabs your legs and puts them over his shoulder. You watch him carefully, his face looking at your pussy at a way that would usually resolve in embarrassment. Instead, it only turned you on more because it meant he wanted you just as much.

He dives into your pussy with a level of expertise that only came from years of pleasuring women. You don’t know why but you knew he got off to pleasuring others from the moment you saw him and every moan you let out he absorbed it, getting better and better as your verbal ques direct him. The heat in your pussy intensifies as he continues, fucking two of his fingers into you.

You place your hands in his hair, grinding up when the feeling of wanting to be fucked takes over you. “No, patience baby. I need to see what you look like when you squirt.”

“I-I can’t—”

“Every woman can, sweetheart. Just means you’ve had no one show you yet. Feel that?” He asks you, the heat in your pussy expanding as he continued to attack your clit and finger fuck you.

You nod, the feeling in your gut like a tidal wave of pleasure.

“Focus on it.” You do, and as you do you look up at his eyes, already staring into yours as he assesses your reactions. The heat intensifies by a thousand, and the feeling of wanting to…pee…takes over.

“Fuck—” you start to protest.

“Let it happen. Let go. It’ll feel so fucking good…baby let go. Gonna feel so fucking good.” You trust him so you let go and a gush invades your ear as a red-hot pleasure makes home in your pussy. “One more?” Eddie asks you, his thumb now messaging your clit.

You twitch under him, your bud being so sensitive. “Oh fuck, Ed. Too much.”

“No, I think you can cum again. Wanna see that beautiful face all scrunched up. Wanna take a photo.” He holds out his phone casually, and your face heats up. “Not feeling all the sudden shy, are ya? You whored your little pussy for me how is this different?”

“Its…” you manage out, already close again. “Its hot.”

“She gonna cum again, all over my fingers?”

“All over your fingers.”

“You gonna lick em clean?”

“Can we share?”

Eddie groans audibly, titling his head back. “Of course, doll. Of fucking course, now cum all over them, please.”

The third orgasm takes over your body, and it’s so goddamn good you stop responding for a minute which causes Eddie to panic. “Oh shit, you okay?”

Giggles burst out of you, the kind of post orgasm giggles you’ve only read about in spicy novels. You thought they were fake. “Can I suck you off now?”

Eddie’s eyes bulge, and he realizes his hand is still on your pussy. He taps it lightly, causing you to whine. He lifts the finger first, inserting it into your mouth. “Suck this first.” You wrap your tongue around it, keeping eye contact as you taste yourself, and this is the only time it’s ever been truly hot to be able to taste yourself. Other times it was just perplexing.

Eddie takes the other finger when you let go and starts sucking on it, he closes his eye, enjoying the taste of your pussy on his tongue. Eddie crawls onto his bed and you basically pounce him, yanking his pj pants down as fast as they go, wanting to see his cock. His eyes watch you, blown and enwrapped in lust as he watches your eagerness.

As his cock pops out of his pants, an involuntary smile spreads across your face. The head to his cock was so pink, he must’ve been horny. “Oh, pretty cock.” You mutter, and he wasn’t even sure if you were saying to him or just saying it out loud. “Oh my god, look how pink your head is. Mmm..sure seem like you need some attention.”

You take the head of his cock into your mouth, sucking on it alone but getting used to his girth. Holy he was gonna hurt even with how wet you were. You start sucking on it, taking bit by bit more into your mouth each time, eagerly making sloppy spit sounds as you did so. It wasn’t hard to generate the spit you needed, the sight of his dick made your mouth water.

Your head bobbed up and down on it, illicit sounds being drawn out of him, only encouraging you more as the feeling of his rings harsh against your scalp making you wet. You pop off him, spit connected from your mouth to his dick. You lean forward to his treasure trail, licking the hair and biting at it, something you’ve wanted to do since you saw him. You find your way back down and passed his cock and he’s about to ask when take one of his balls into your mouth, sucking loudly.

“Oh fuck, do you know how to use that pretty little mouth. Holy shit.” You roam over it with your tongue, sucking it in and out repeatedly. Then you move on to the next one, giving it its own show as well. Your mouth moves back to suck on his cock but he tugs on your hair to bring him up to you.

“Want you to face fuck me.” You say to him, still not done sucking on his cock.

“Nother time. Lemme fuck you.” He mutters, tugging on the shirt you still wore. You crawl back up to straddle him, nothing between his cock and your pussy now, but he places his cock on it so the shaft slides in-between your folds, teasing you, and causing you to whine. “Oh shit.” He works on the buttons holding your silky pink shirt, the skilled hands working fast through each one. As each one reveals another inch of skin, he feels more intoxicated by you, especially how you’re begging him to put his cock in. Your tits fall out of the shirt, and he rips the back off you, and you let it fall to the floor. You grab onto his band shirt, attempting to move it off him. You barely do it, the feeling of his cock so close inside you causing your focus to fall apart in seconds. He laughs, nearly cruel, yanking the shirt off, revealing more tattoos you’ve never seen. Your hands flutter to his chest, moving to each tattoo and touching every inch you can.

Your mission to focus and analyze each tattoo is interrupted by him maneuvering you onto your back. You lay there, open and ready for him. “Holy shit, fucking smoking hot.” He mutters, like he couldn’t believe you were here with him.

It was you who was the lucky one, he was crazy.

“You’re hotter.” You mutter, as he starts to align his cock with your entrance. “Thought of you last night, made myself cum so hard.”

“Oh fuck. What was I doing?” He asks, still teasing you with it.

“Just watching me finger myself. Talking me through it. Calling me a whore.” He groans, tapping his cock on it. “Please, Ed need your cock.”

“Beg for it, you fucking slut.” He whispers, something taking over him.

“Please, daddy. Want your cock. Want you to fuck me like a ragdoll. Please, pretty please fuck me until I’m a puddle. I just want your cock in me, so fucking bad.”

“Gonna be a good slut for me?”

“Yes..I will I promise.”

He chuckles darkly and finally…finally moves into you. Your eyes cross and a moan so erotic leaves your body and you had barely a single ounce of control over that left your mouth at that point.

Eddie puts his head into your neck, feeling your head tighten around him in pleasure as you got used to his girth and length.

“Move…please?”

“Thought you were gonna take the crumbs I gave you, slut.” He mutters.

“Fuck. Sorry.”

He smiles and your fingers fidgeting at your sides were a dead giveaway you were just needy for him to move. It made him feel fucking powerful just his cock could make you feel like this. He starts rocking, slowly and you whine from this resolve alone. “Oh what a fucking whore, just needed a good fucking.” He mutters into your ear, his hand finding its way to your neck. “Putting her pussy on display for me, showing she just needed someone to know how to fuck her.”

You say nothing in response, and his hips are starting to rock against yours harder. Your eyes reach the back of your head as you lose air, but you revel in the feeling of nearly passing out as he takes his hand off. “Holy shit, you really are just a whore.”

You nod, eyes half lidded as you looked up at his pussy drunk eyes. “Little…cockdrunk…slut…” he inhales sharply and a wad of spit hits your face and you find yourself opening your mouth for more. “Fuck—” his hips stutter at the sight of your smile when his saliva hits your mouth. He spits right into it as you open for more and you act like it’s the best thing you’ve ever tasted, cause it was.

Your tongue pokes out, gasping in more need. His hips are against yours so harshly you would’ve been afraid of bruising if it didn’t fucking turn you on so bad.

“Fucking slut, you want me to cum in you? Wanna be filled with my fucking cum?” You nod, too cocked out to speak, you’ve never felt this good from penetration alone before. “Cum with me, doll.” He mutters using his two fingers against your clit as he leans in to kiss you. Within moments you flutter around him, moaning into his mouth and he lets go of your kiss, stuttering his hips and letting out a loud moan as you feel him fill you up.

His body weight collapses ontop of you, and his hands are suddenly gentle as they sweep at your bangs sticking to your sweaty forehead. “Fuck.” He mutters, giving you a dazed-out look of pure adoration. “That was much better than anything I came up with.”

You nod in agreement, words still not coming to your mouth.

“You were such a good girl, yeah?” You smile, a heat coming up to your cheeks. “You listened to me so well. C’mere.” He wraps your lips in a kiss, his cock still in you, still hard and keeping all his cum in you.

“C-can we stay like this?” You ask timidly, not wanting his cock to leave yet.

“Ooh, baby wants to cock-warm? Sure. Wanna turn on a movie until 9, when Dylan usually wakes?” Eddie asks, already leaning towards the channel changer on his beside table.

Having to tell Dylan it was pretty much over the moment Eddie kissed you hadn’t even crossed your mind, and it would eventually twenty minutes into the movie when you got back to earth. Eddie knew the realization would kick in eventually so he let you watch a movie of your choice, sitting up on his bed with you straddled on his lap after a bit of maneuvering so you could both see the movie on his screen adjacent to his bed.

Eventually, Dylan was gonna wake.

Eventually, a storm would hit.

But for now, Eddie stayed inside you to pretend like it wasn’t over yet.

As always i Love reading comments, replies, reblogs <3 remember reblogging is the best way to support on Tumblr

Taglist: @pinkcowracing @yourthebrokengirl @skrzydlak @thirddeadlysin @sammararaven @bebe07011 @prettylovley @josephquinncore @forget-you-morelike-fuck-you

#eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson smut #eddie munson #stranger things fanfiction #older eddie munson #older eddie munson x you

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krisdreaming · 2 years

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Home

Pairing: Kuroo Tetsurou x f!reader (reader is "Mommy")

Summary: Tetsurou is away on a business trip, and it hasn't been easy for you or your daughter.

WC: 824

A/N: Can I write about someone other than Kuroo? Yes. Will I? No.

It's the evening of the fourth day of Tetsurou's trip, and secretly, you're glad that it's bedtime. You hadn't anticipated how difficult it would be without him around, but you and your daughter are both feeling his absence. She's been especially moody, and you've been struggling to keep things running smoothly on your own. Her nightly bedtime story is just one more thing that your husband would normally take care of.

"Mommy," She breaks in when you pause to turn a page, "When is Daddy coming home?"

You bite back a sigh. This must be the fifth time she's asked since you picked her up from preschool this afternoon. "In two days, honey," You remind her again. "Not tomorrow, but the next day. Okay?"

She nods slowly. "Daddy does the voices better than you do." This time, the sigh slips out. There's nothing like the brutal honesty of a four-and-a-half year old to put you firmly in your place.

"Well," You try to keep your voice level, "Do you want me to finish, or are you ready to go to sleep?"

She hunkers back against her pillows meekly. "You can finish," She concedes quietly.

"Okay," You give your head a small shake. It is a little difficult to give your all to the story, because you know that as soon as it's over, you'll be tucking your daughter in bed, and you'll finally have a little time to yourself.

Finally, you close the book. "Alright. Time for bed," You say, pulling the covers more snugly beneath her chin.

She gives you a sleepy smile. "Night, Mommy."

"Good night. I love you, Baby," You say softly, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

"Love you too, Mommy." She echoes sweetly. You can't help but smile, cupping her cheek in your fingers for a few moments. She may be a handful at times, but she's your handful.

"Sleep tight," You say as you get up, leaving her room and leaving the door cracked open.

In the kitchen, you fill the kettle, then sink down into a chair with a sigh. You'll have a cup of tea to help you unwind, read a chapter or two of your book, and then head to bed yourself. Tomorrow, you'll be getting up and doing it all over again.

You're just pouring the hot water over the tea bag when you think you hear the doorknob of the front door jiggle. Your eyes dart in that direction nervously, and your heart is suddenly in your throat. This is just another reason you've been on edge without Tetsurou here. Every strange sound makes you jump.

When you hear the door open, you still, instantly assessing just what you should do in a situation like this. You've just about made up your mind to reach for the rolling pin when a familiar messy head of hair pops into the kitchen.

"Tetsu!" You're instantly across the room and throwing your arms around his neck, sagging against him in relief. "I wasn't expecting you home tonight," You breathe out shakily, half reprimanding.

"Sorry," He laughs into your hair, "We finished early. I got the soonest plane I could. I wanted to surprise you."

"Well, it worked," You can laugh now that the terror is wearing off. You lean up and press a kiss to his lips. "Missed you," You murmur, letting him press back into a longer kiss.

"I missed you too," He finally pulls away to reply. The moment is interrupted by a shuffling sound behind you.

"Daddy?" Comes your daughter's bleary voice, then again, "Daddy!" When she finally catches sight of him, darting across the kitchen and into his arms.

"Hi, Pumpkin," He presses a kiss to her cheek. "Ooh, I missed you so much."

"I missed you too, Daddy!" She says breathlessly. "Mommy doesn't do the voices like you do," She pouts.

He chuckles. "Doesn't she?" He shoots you a glance over her head. "I think Mommy's great at reading your stories."

"Not as great as you," She insists. He gives an almost imperceptible shrug in your direction, and you press your hand over your heart in mock betrayal. Even that doesn't sting as much now that he's back home.

"Alright. Well, what do you say we get you back to bed? I'll read your story tomorrow night," He promises, pressing a kiss to her temple.

"Okay," She agrees, resting her head on his shoulder.

"I'll put her back to bed," He says in a low voice. "Just relax, okay? Finish your tea," He gestures to the still-steeping tea you'd just poured. "And after that, I'll have you all to myself." He shoots you a grin that, after all this time, still makes you feel a little weak to the knees.

"Can't argue with that," You reply softly. You can't keep the smile from your face as you watch him carry your half-asleep daughter back to bed. You know without a doubt that you wouldn't trade this for the world.

#Haikyuu #Haikyuu fluff #Haikyuu x reader #Kuroo Tetsurou #Kuroo Tetsurou x reader #Kuroo x reader

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the-normal-connaisseuse · 6 months

Text

Chapter 1: C is for Connaisseuse

The line at check-in isn’t as long as I expected, but I still keep my scarf high on my face while I wait on the street. People walk along the sidewalks, their Pokémon—Audino, Patrats, Pidoves, even the occasional Lilligant or Darumaka—following in the early spring chill. The many skyscrapers that make up Castelia City block the morning sun, making Mode Street even colder than it would be. While it keeps the cold at bay, the scarf is more to hide myself from my old coworkers than to stay warm.

There must be three hundred photos from the launch party. I sift through image after image of glowing, smiley models, influencers, and staff in front of a Gracidea-covered wall, with giant Shaymin statues flanking them. Of course, the people in the pictures are as much decorations as the flower wall and statues; Madame Freesia’s main concern is the oversized perfume bottle on the pedestal in the middle of each pic. I haven’t smelled Grace yet—my coworkers never bring me samples—but I know that the launch party turnout and the buzz on social media are good signs about the new fragrance.

Madame Freesia, dressed in a highlighter-green dress, sweeps her way into my office without knocking.

“Annette, how soon can you get those pictures online?” she asks sharply.

“Once I pull the best ones,” I’ll send them to you for review,” I reply, “just as you asked me to before. Once you approve everything, I should have them up by tomorrow.”

“And why can’t you put them out today?” I see her cross her arms as I look over my glasses.

I sigh. “Well, Madame Freesia, it’s two o’clock now, and I only received the images ten minutes ago. With our goals being ‘clean, pretty, joyful perfection’ for our social media, I need to analyze each image for symmetry, facial expressions, and other minor details that could make the guests look bad or that could mess up the view of Grace. I then have to narrow our images down and determine how many and which ones to put on each of our ten social media accounts, all of which I can’t schedule until you decide whether you like them and the caption, which I haven’t written yet.”

Madame Freesia snorts, but the sound of glass breaking on the floor keeps her from saying what she wants to say.

“Fine,” she huffs. “You have until tomorrow to get all of them up.”

The peach-colored wall of the store’s hallway disappears as she slams the door. I take my glasses off and press on my eyes until spots form.

“Just a little longer, Nettie,” I tell myself as I put my glasses on. “Just a few more days and everything changes.”

Back to the launch party.

“Hello, Miss,” the smiling woman at the check-in desk says. “Can I have your name please?”

“Annette Sweets,” I say, pulling my scarf away from my face.

She looks over a list of names, looking for mine. The Joltik on her shoulder waves a little leg at me, and for a moment, a faint pink glow outlines its fuzzy body. I wave back before a chilly breeze sends the Pokémon scuttling into the woman’s shirt collar.

“Ooh, it’s so cold today,” she says as she checks off my name. “I could’ve sworn today was supposed to be the first warm day.”

“I don’t think it’ll get much warmer until the sun is overhead,” I say. “I hope you don’t have to be out here for too long.”

“Thankfully, no.” The woman pats her dark hair back into place, then gets back to work. “Annette Sweets, here for the C-Class Pokémon Connoisseur Assessment, which will begin in half an hour. As I’m sure you know, there’ll be a written portion followed by an evaluation portion. The assessment will end at one o’clock at the latest. Your results will be listed an hour after the assessment is over, at which time, you may come collect your C-Class badge from this table if you passed. Hopefully it’ll be warmer by then.”

The woman winks at that last part, and the nerves slowly building up inside of me ease, but only a little bit. I smile as she hands me a folder full of information, most likely the dates for Connoisseur meet-ups and events in the area. Having already looked at the Castelia City branch’s website, I probably know all the dates anyway.

“Thank you,” I say, feeling myself shrinking into my dark coat. I stand up straighter.

“Good luck, Miss Sweets.” The woman nods at me as I walk around the table and into the Castelia City Connoisseur Association building.

“Are you still working?” Dye asks over the phone. It’s ten o’clock.

I stop typing on my work laptop, which I brought home. “No?”

I can feel the judgement through the phone, imagine her eyes narrowing and her lips pursing across from me. I can even picture her Whimsicott and Lilligant joining in behind her.

“Okay, fine, I’m working,” I say. “Madame Freesia sent me another hundred photos to go through, and the posts have to be ready by tomorrow.”

“Nettie, what are you doing? I thought you said you were gonna ease up on the work!”

“I know, I know. I just don’t want to leave anything incomplete, y’know? This is like the last bit of the Grace campaign, and then I can make changes to how I work without being right in the middle of a campaign.”

“Okay, but what good does that do? It’s not like you want to go into this kind of work again, and even if you do get back into social media management—like if you lose your memory and think you like this work—wouldn’t it be better to start putting boundaries in place?”

“I know what I need to do. If I can just make it to Saturday and pass the assessment, I can do all of that, with the knowledge that the next phase of my life is already in the works.” I finish up the captions for the posts. They’re all versions of the same thing: Thank you for joining us! Look out for Grace, exclusively at Madame Freesia’s! The details may vary based on the character count, but it’s the same sequence of information. There’s creativity in it—figuring out how to get all the information in, making use of varying formats—but it lacks anything remotely satisfying.

“Okay,” Dye says. “I guess that makes sense. How goes the assessment prep? I know nothing about Pokémon Connoisseurs.”

“I’ve watched videos, read the recommended books, taken the practice test—the only way I could be more prepared is if I had shadowed a Connoisseur beforehand.” I attach the captions to an email to Madame Freesia and turn back to the photo gallery and the new, sometimes blurry additions. “I think that the evaluation part of the test will be the hardest, just because it’s hard to practice that on your own.”

“What’ll that entail?” The sounds of a videogame go off in the background. Dye groans. “And don’t mind me. Mom just beat me in the new Battle Tournament.”

“Hi, Nettie,” Dye’s mom says. The clearness of her voice tells me that we’re on speaker now.

“Hi, Ms. Lynn,” I say. “Sounds like you’re getting better with the games.”

“I know! I’ve been on quite the winning streak! Now, what’s all this about your Connoisseur assessment?”

“I was going over the evaluation portion. From what I understand, we have to evaluate the relationship between a volunteer trainer and one of their Pokémon. Despite the fact that everyone’s a beginner, that part of the assessment is worth more than the written portion.” I attach the pictures I chose before to the email and send them to Madame Freesia before shutting my laptop. At this point, there’s no reason to keep plodding along; going through the others in the gallery would just mean staying up past midnight.

“That sounds like a difficult test, Nettie, but I’m sure your experience with your family’s Pokémon should help you get through it.”

“Yeah, maybe. All I know is that if I can get through this workweek, I’ll be good.”

“Well, take care of yourself at least,” Dye says. “You won’t make it very far if you don’t get some sleep and put those boundaries in place.”

“Yes, Mom.” I smile, practically hearing her roll her eyes. “I’ll let you two go then—you, too, Whimsicott and Lilligant. I’ll let you know how I do with the assessment.”

“Alrighty then,” Dye says. “We’ll talk to you later.”

“You’ve got this!” Ms. Lynn cheers. “We’ll be here rooting for you with the rest of your family.”

“Thanks. Bye.” I hang up and look at the clock. It’s almost eleven. I take my glasses off and pull the mattress out of the couch.

As I drift off to sleep, the gray walls of my little apartment fade into the darkness of night. A final thought crosses my mind: What happens if I fail? I’m too tired to think of an answer.

The written portion of the assessment is full of scenarios: a young trainer picking out a first Pokémon, a trainer and their partner working to get used to settling down after years of travel, a Pokémon getting used to a new trainer after the passing of their former. They’re situations I read about in books; they seem almost ubiquitous for Connoisseurs, although I doubt I’ll be handling them on my own anytime soon.

But what if I do have to handle them on my own? I find myself thinking as I write out my answers. What if the evaluation portion involves helping people in these situations? What if that’s why it’s worth more, because we have to put our written answers to the test?

The thought of trying to help someone so soon makes my heart race. As I train my eyes on my hands, hoping to keep myself from thinking too far forward and psyching myself out, a faint lilac light glows around them, ebbing and flowing like a tide. I squeeze my eyes shut, and it’s gone when I open them again. I sit up and look ahead. No one else has that light around them.

Why does that keep happening?

I shake it off and turn back to the assessment. I can’t afford to get distracted and fail.

Madame Freesia’s is as much a gossip mill as it is a perfume store. With my office being in the back, I rarely hear the rumors and news that get shared out on the floor, but I know my coworkers well enough to know that they share and speculate just as much as the customers. Too busy tying up loose ends—answering and getting rid of DMs and comments on our posts, checking the changes for our social media scheduler, ignoring the flurry of texts from my Castelia friends about not being invited to the launch party—it's only when the sound of voices and heels reach me that I realize that my door didn’t close fully after Madame Freesia came to approve the posts I made.

“When do you think Madame Freesia’s going to do it?”

“I heard that her niece is graduating in May. She should be here not long after that? Then again, there’s not even a guarantee she’ll want the job.”

“It’s so dirty of her to put all that pressure on Annette, just so she can fire her as soon as her niece is out of college. Besides, is she even any good with social media? Just because you have a personal account doesn’t mean you can handle a professional one and bring in new followers.”

“She’s her niece! I doubt she even cares if she knows how to manage a social media account. Madame Freesia would probably make up a new nonsense position for her if she asked.”

“I just don’t want to pick up the slack if she can’t do the work. Annette’s the only reason our online presence is what it is.”

“Look, at the end of the day, it’s not our problem. As long as I get paid at the end of the week and get free samples every month, Madame Freesia could hire a Trubbish for all I care. Annette seems like a smart girl. I’m sure she’ll find another job. We should get back out there. Why do you even make us gossip back here? Not like we’ll get in trouble for doing it on the floor.”

A pair of heels click down the hall towards the floor. The other pair stops at my door. Fey pops her head in, her shiny brown bangs slipping into her face. She winces at me.

“Just an FYI,” she says in a low voice. “I didn’t want Madame Freesia to know that you knew, in case it made her act sooner, but I also didn’t want you to think I wouldn’t say anything to you if I knew something.”

I nod at her, still not sure I heard her right in the hall. “She really wants to replace me?”

Fey readjusts her bangs under her headband and nods lightly. “She was out there talking to a regular about it, according to Miki. It’s almost April, so I thought you should know.”

I slouch back into my chair and press my hands into my eyes, not even bothering to take my glasses off. “Thanks, Fey.”

“I’m really sorry, Annette. Maybe you’ll be able to find a better job. Maybe your Aunt Lenora could give you a position at the museum, although I’m sure you’d confuse guests with how similar you look.” She lets out a nervous chuckle.

When I pull my hands away, my lenses are smudged enough that—it has to be—a peachy pink light outlines Fey’s upper body. I take my glasses off to clean them on my shirt and the light’s still clear, even as everything else becomes blurry. Maybe the lighting from the hall is stronger than I thought. The light’s gone when I put my glasses on again.

“I’ll figure it out somehow,” I say. “Thanks, Fey.”

Printouts from Madame Freesia cover my desk, alongside coffee stains, my endlessly buzzing phone, and my computers. When was the last time I cleaned any of this up? It feels as if all these things have been here this entire time. At the top of a short stack, my calendar sits on top, Saturday’s date circled. The assessment. I turn back to Fey.

“I…I think I know what I want to do next,” I say. “No, I know exactly what I’m doing. I’m just sorry you’ll all have to pick up the slack.”

Fey takes a big sigh, then nods. “I’ll understand if you do what I think you’re going to do. Just do me a favor.”

“What?”

“Make sure you don’t come back here.” She turns back into the hall, then back to me. “I have to go, but good luck with whatever your plan is.”

She disappears, and as her heels reverberate down the hall, I get to work.

It seems that a lot of people turn to Connoisseurship to restart their lives. Talking to the other assessment-takers during the break, so many are looking for new paths forward. One guy’s dream of beating the Champion of the Pokémon League fell apart after an accident. Someone else got laid off and wanted a job that wasn’t rooted to a desk in some poorly lit office (I can relate). An older woman in her sixties is looking for meaning in her life after her husband left her and the Scolipede they raised together for another woman. Another just wants to find a side hustle now that she’s an empty nester. It’s interesting how so many of us found our way here after big changes or realizations.

As I sip on some water and listen to their stories, I wonder how many of us will actually get to the next step. How many will take the assessment over and over again until they pass? How many will give up and go do something else? Do any of us really have it in us to do this, or is it just a fantasy that keeps us going, the hope that this will be more fulfilling and worthwhile than what we left behind?

I know that when Madame Freesia sees how spotless my office is, how the computers are reset and ready for new hands to use them, how the USB I left behind has everything organized for whoever takes my place—she’ll know that I really am gone. Perhaps it was too kind, clearing so much away and preparing everything for her niece, but it felt so good to write my resignation letter in a clean office, so good to be free of all the clutter. I feel light enough to skip through Central Plaza, especially since everything I had in that office fits in my purse. Funny that after three years there, I hardly had anything to make that box my own.

As I reach my apartment by Skyarrow Bridge, the sun taking the day’s warmth with it as it sets, I freeze. I don’t have a job anymore. I don’t have a plan beyond the assessment.

Oh no.

The evaluation portion begins. A sharp-looking Connaisseuse in a black, pinstripe skirt set walks up to me as I mill around the association’s gallery.

“Ms. Sweets?” she asks, looking over her clipboard. “You’re next. Please follow me, and we’ll get your evaluation started.”

We walk out of the gallery and into a white room off to the side. A fidgety guy about my age stands at the back of the room. I don’t see it until I’m farther in, but a Sandile is here, too, camouflaged on the light wood floors. The little Pokémon growls and huddles further into the corner, away from the guy.

“This is our volunteer Nathan, Ms. Sweets,” the Connaisseuse explains. “He and his new Sandile aren’t getting along well, and so he’s asked for an evaluation. You have an hour to provide some solutions to their situation. You may begin when you’re ready.”

I walk up to Nathan. He keeps his face straight, but his reddened ears tell me he’s nervous. My stomach shifts the closer I get to him. I blink and a red light envelops him, much like the lilac light I saw around my own hands. His feels harsh, though, like standing next to a heater on high, and yet the hairs on my arms stand up like the room is as cold as the outside. I force a small smile. No matter how uncomfortable I feel, I still have to pass this assessment.

“Hello,” I say, trying to keep the feeling I have out of my voice. “My name is Annette, and I’ll be taking a look at your Sandile.”

I put my hand out to shake, but his grip makes me wish I hadn’t. I don’t know who taught him how to do a handshake or what he wants to prove, squeezing so hard, but the full, constant eye contact that comes with the handshake makes me want to leave the room. I take my hand back and move over to his Sandile.

The Desert Croc doesn’t have the harsh redness of her trainer. Even as she sits defensively in the corner, a gentle silvery light radiates from her like moonlight. My sense of dread and fear fades in her presence. The feeling takes me back to playing with Aunt Lenora’s Pokémon at the Nacrene Museum when I was a kid.

“How long have you had this Sandile, Nathan?” I sit down on the floor next to her. How do I know she’s a her in the first place?

Nathan shrugs, his face unchanging. “A few days. A friend traded her to me.”

“It sounds like the two of you need more time, but let’s see if there’s something else going on.” I lay my hand on the floor in front of Sandile, making sure to give her room to come over if she wants. “Take your time, Sandile. I just want to know how you’re doing. There’s no pressure.”

Not entirely true—this is an assessment I’d like to pass right away—but with an hour to complete it, I know that I can be patient.

Sandile’s growling stops, and a little trill hums out of her. She creeps towards my hand, keeping her small black eyes on me. She puts a claw on my palm, and something shoots up my arm, although I do my best not to flinch away from her. Visions flash in my eyes: a small boy in the desert, a playground, Nathan, the boy fading away, tears on asphalt. I turn to the Connaisseuse, and the same red light around Nathan envelops her, although the edges are rigid and don’t come out in erratic waves, like her—her brother.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t help them,” I say as Sandile crawls into my lap.

The Connaisseuse blinks at me. “You only just started. You’re doing so well, too. What makes you think you can’t do it?”

“Because this isn’t his partner. He took her from someone else, not as a trade, but like a kidnapper.”

Nathan’s face grows redder with every word, and so is his sister’s. Before either of us can stop him, he snatches Sandile and runs out of the room. The Connaisseuse runs after him.

“Hey!” she shouts. “Stop him!”

Security blocks off the main entrance, so Nathan turns, looking for another exit amongst the crowd. I move in front of his sister.

“Sandile, use Sand Tomb!” I command.

The Pokémon releases a flurry of sand that envelops her and Nathan and makes everyone else back up and shield their eyes. In little time at all, the gusts of sand die down, and a trill pulls my eyes from my sleeve. Sandile stands on top of the pile of sand, her front claws on Nathan’s mangled hair. I sigh in relief. His sister doesn’t.

“How could you do this to me?” she hisses at him when she walks up to him. “I thought I made it clear that you come here with a Pokémon you didn’t steal!”

“Do you know how hard it is to find a Pokémon with Intimidate?” he asks at a normal tone.

The Connaisseuse groans, then turns her eyes to me. She stalks towards me.

“How did you know he took the Sandile?” she asks, loud enough for everyone else to hear. “How would you know that? Do you know him?”

“I-I don’t know,” I say, feeling eyes turning on me. “I just felt it, and I saw it when Sandile touched me. I don’t know who he is otherwise.”

“I’m sure. We’ll see what you have to say when the police get here.” The Connaisseuse pulls out her phone, but a slender, wrinkled hand reaches out and stops her.

A tall older woman in a mint-green cardigan and floral dress stands next to us, her ornately carved cane sloped between us. Her quiet gray eyes search my face, then crinkle with her smile.

“Now, now, Louise,” she says, keeping her eyes on me. “There’s only one thief here, only one cheat, and he’s already caught. Although, as his sister and the one who brought him in, you should’ve checked and made sure that was actually his partner before the assessment even began.”

“But Ms. Cyra—” Louise starts, but the older woman puts her hand up.

“She doesn’t know him. She is just like me, is all, and I know every Connoisseur in this building knows what I mean.” She turns to a man holding a clipboard. “Thomas, look through the written portion’s scores and tell me if this young lady passed.”

Thomas fumbles with the papers for a moment, then looks back at Ms. Cyra. “The tests were scored immediately after being turned in, Ms. Cyra. Annette Sweets passed with full marks.”

I stand a bit straighter, more out of shock than pride. I passed.

“She’s passed the evaluation portion, too, as far as anyone’s concerned. How often do we have candidates catching Pokémon-nappers? In all my years of helping the association evaluate potential Pokémon Connoisseurs, I certainly haven’t seen it before. Give the woman her badge, have the police collect our thief, and help Sandile get home. That’s all that must be done.”

Louise huffs, but she doesn’t argue with Ms. Cyra. “Very well. Sorry, Nathan. I can’t get you out of this one.”

Nathan tries to pull himself from the mound of sand, but Sandile only adds more, until it’s high enough for him to rest his chin on it. The little Desert Croc Pokémon trills and wags her tail.

As Louise walks away, the lights fade from everyone. Ms. Cyra turns back to me.

“You did lovely work, Miss. Certainly not the way Connoisseurs would do it, but with a good mentor, I think you can blend those skills with your gift in time.”

“Um, thank you—wait, what gift?” I take her arm when she offers it to me and walk her to the front door, too confused to question much of anything.

“You’re only just beginning, Miss. You’ll understand soon enough, perhaps with the help of a Pokémon partner by your side.” She turns to look at me and smiles. “Do come and visit me someday. You have much to learn on your own first, but I’ll be waiting to give you help when you’re ready.”

She walks out the door, and before I can process anything else, Thomas presses a C-Class badge into my hand.

“Congrats, Annette,” he says. “You’re officially a Connaisseuse.”

—

I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I've been stuck in writer's block for a long time, and I wanted to write something meaningful to me. I hope to write and share more of the story in the future. It's nice to have somewhere to share this work, even if it might not seem important or anything like that. Even if no one sees this, I've got the motivation in me right now to keep posting. I've got nine other chapters that I'd like to put out. I look forward to sharing with whoever reads this.

#fanfic #pokémon #pokeblr #unova region #normal type #wip

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itsdelicate · 1 year

Note

hey ojo!! okay so i realised that i completely forgot that we're both swifties lmao. so whats ur fav ts album/era? and do u love folklore or evermore more?

i heard the bp songs u liked and some of the musicals' soundtracks and i kinda really love phantom of the opera. def will watch that. also based off that i think maybe you'll find some songs u like in mitski's album "retired from sad new career in business"!! and from hozier, maybe try foreigner's god, would that i, shrike, and no plan? as for f+tm, i think you might like her most so just start w any album of hers!! i'm feeling very tentative ab recommending but i hope you like it ajkfjnjkm <3

AAHH i LOVE heartstopper!! i read the books before the show and im a major tao stan lol. have you read the books? also do you watch young royals (i feel like most ppl who've watched heartstopper, have also watched yr)? ive been meaning to watch anne with an e for ages cause everyone loves it and i love amybeth mcnulty sm too so i'll def give it a shot. my fav shows are all sitcoms. brooklyn 99 is my fav and i love modern family and new girl too!! im currently rewatching mofy for the millionth time lmao

it makes me so happy to hear you like these messages, i really love sending them and reading your replies!! it's been a bit of a slow week but tmrw im doing smth fun so i'm excited for that!! how ab you? hows your week been?

xxx ur secret santa <3

help agsjs that’s so funny my fav album’s rep! oooh era i think 1989 because being online on tumblr at that time was truly insane there was just So Much going on 😮‍💨 omg that’s so hard because as a whole album i think i like folklore more? but evermore has more individual songs higher up on my ranking, wbu!!

yee i’m so glad u liked it! omg no i’ll definitely check those out i always appreciate recs thank u!

YES omg!! ultimate comfort show i may or may not be on hstwt 🫣 i was at a convention recently and met kit, joe, will and bash they’re all so 🫶🫶🫶 a tao stan so true of you tbh!! ive seen so many people say he’s annoying which is just,,, anyway yes i have read the books! i used to read the webcomics years ago :’) omg i’ve seen one single episode of yr but i started it in the middle of my uni assessment period and i have to get back to it now that i’m free for a bit, have you seen it? yesss please do it’s such a beautiful show it makes my heart so 🥺 i love sitcoms! b99 and the good place were my top shows for some time! i haven’t seen modern family or new girl though! also speaking of shows i loved s2 of bridgerton sm kate and anthony <3 i wanna ask a question back if that’s okay! what are ur fav movies? 👀

stop that makes me so 😭😭 ooh what are you doing tomorrow? (if u wanna share!) my week’s been okay! the assignment was a bummer but i think i’ve come to terms with it LOL i’m going for a little weekend trip on sat (and getting another tat) so i’m excited about that!

#ask #anonymous #santaswiftie

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harveyhawkscripts · 5 months

Text

[F4A] Courting a Reef Giant [Reef Giant Speaker] [Mini Script] [12 Days of Scriptmas]

AN: So this was an abandoned script idea, but I’m behind on Scriptmas due to unexpected circumstances. I should be back in the swing of things tomorrow. Maybe one day I’ll come back to this script and continue it; I do really like the concept.

Google Doc

Usage:

- Okay for monetization

- Please credit me as Harvey Hawk :)

- Tweaks, improv, and pronoun changes are okay! Just please do not rewrite the script completely.

Synopsis: The speaker, Avira Aquamarine, is a reef giant and the eldest daughter of her late parents, Ona and Saulmen. She is heir to a great fortune and looking for a life partner. The listener, a human, wanders into her abode and instantly falls for her. And it just so happens that she’s holding a competition to see who is worthy to be her partner.

Key:

[SFX and Action]

Break - Listener response

(...) Longer pause

(Voice instruction)

Word Count: 383

---

AVIRA

Welcome suitors. I am Avira Aquamarine, eldest daughter of Ona and Saulmen Aquamarine and heir to the Aquamarine fortune. You are here today because you have been given the opportunity of a lifetime – the opportunity to earn my hand in marriage. You will be put through a series of rigorous tests to assess your physical, mental, and emotional capabilities as a partner. During these challenges, you – hold on.

[Giant Footsteps]

You. Human. What are you doing among my suitors? How did you even get into my mansion?

You found a cave while diving, and it led here? So much for a hidden sanctuary. Regardless, this place is not for the likes of you. Be on your way, and I will forgive you for trespassing.

No? What do you mean no?

You… Wish to court me…?

[Laughs heartily]

Oh, for a small thing you are just too much, aren’t you? But enough jokes. Scuttle on, little one.

You can’t be serious. You think I can’t tell when someone is just after inheritance?

What do you mean “what inheritance?” Don’t you know anything about Reef Giants?

And why, pray tell, would you want to marry someone you know nothing about?

Love at first sight… Is that a sort of human phenomenon?

That sounds ridiculous. I don’t even know your name.

Well, I think I’ll just call you Sea Bunny.

Because you’re small and cute! So cute that I almost want to humor you. Almost.

Listen, Sea Bunny, don’t get me wrong. You’re charming. But you’re just a tiny thing – if you get underfoot, it’s all over for you. Besides, how do you plan to make yourself stand out among a group of mighty reef giants? And if you do manage to do that, how do you plan to provide for me?

And what job is that, Bunny?

A baker…?

(Interested) A baker. So, you make cakes and things then?

Yes, yes, bread too. But more importantly – you make sweets, right? Cupcakes, cookies, ooh! What about cream puffs?

Hmm… You know what? Consider it your lucky day. I’ll allow you the privilege of fighting for my hand.

Yes, really. But! Don’t think I’ll take it easy on you because you’re a human. The first challenge is the anchor toss. Hope you’re ready!

END

#script writing #asmr scripts #f4a #romantic #fantasy #12 days of scriptmas

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thathusenfulhu · 2 years

Text

butchery in the islands

so, i'm trying to see how far i can go, gauging the reach of these little wings buoyed by their 200 odd followers. a couple of days ago, i messaged @island.butcher - i read a piece about them on lonumedhu.com and i just had to see what they were about. they were eager to collab. no funny stuff, i said. only utter and complete honesty. a guy called barry, who was handling their comms, asked me to come by their butchery to collect the meat the next day, and sent me a recipe for ginger beef. what a start. so, i told thakuru that i wanted to make ginger beef and asked him if he could cook it for me. but of course! was the enthusiastic response. bless the man. 'where's the beef from?' he asked. 'uh, sri lanka,' i told him. 'but from grass-fed cows.' 'as opposed to cows that root in the rubbish, eh?' thakuru said. funny man. the next afternoon, i have trouble finding the place, which is supposed to be near fathaha mall on maaveyo magu. as i turn my head about like an anxious owl someone says: 'you looking for us?' it's a well built sri lankan man. he must be barry, i think. because barry = well built. and into the butcher's we go. it's cold. goddamn frigid. two pink carcasses hang on hooks. the fridges hum quietly. it's like i've stepped into that episode of salad fingers. 'i like it when...the red water comes out,' i mutter. 'hmm?' says barry. 'oh! i'm husenfulhu by the way,' i say, offering my hand. 'i know,' says barry, his handshake firm. 'you look like one.' huh, how about that? 'here's the meat,' says barry after a guy weighs it. it's almost two kilos of silverside in a bright shade of red. vermillion? ruby? that has to be good, right? i think so anyway. i know my beef. 'keep it refrigerated,' says barry, handing it to me in a blue plastic bag. later, i message thakuru who turns up and takes the meat off my hands (ha). 'it'll be ready by lunchtime tomorrow,' he says and motors off into the dusk. i trust thakuru. he's like a slightly nerdier version of alibe. and i do mean slightly. like alibe, thakuru excels at everything whether it's gutting a fish or folding laundry or coding a website or composing music. one day the world will know thakuru's music, i think. and you can tell a lot about a man from his cooking. so i am drooling by the time thakuru sends me a photo of the beef simmering in a pot. it's around noon the following day. 'quick, get me the grub!' i text. 'take it easy, i'll be over in a bit.' i text my wife's cousin naseemaaththa and her husband firag, who live in the same building, saying i have something beefy for lunch. 'ooh, come,' they say. soon, the man is here and i snatch his tupperware like a famished thief and hurry back in. my people are waiting. 'looks good,' remarks firag as i pour the contents of the tupperware onto plates. and my god. it is great! thakuru is a meticulous man, his conscience free of turmoil for he has struck the balance between good and evil. everything is as it must, no flavour tries to subdue the other. the beef is slightly chewy, which thakuru says is because of the cut, and very flavourful. 'good meat,' remarks firag. 'does it have lemongrass?' 'ginger,' i tell him. 'i can taste it though. maybe your friend used some sort of paste?' asks firag. and we empty our plates, go for seconds and thirds before calling it quits. when thakuru messages i tell him my assessment. 'you know, i DID use a thai sauce, that's where you're getting the lemongrass. those tastebuds are spot on.' and who am i to turn down a compliment?

#island butcher #fresh meat maldives #beef #ginger beef

0 notes

starglow-xx · 3 years

Note

hello! may i request headcanons for chuuya having a crush on someone who's dense? like he could ask them out in the most straightforward way possible and it would still go over their head?

yes, yes of course you may!

sorry this took so long! my computer was out of commission for abt a week (or two..??)

but this is also my birthday writing piece for chuuya!! (4/29/21) i even added a small drabble thingy in addition to the hcs for the occasion hehe

from where i am, it is about fifteen minutes past midnight so it’s officially chuuya day here!!

happy birthday chuuya i love you! you deserve the whole world and everyone is willing to fight tooth and nail to ensure your happiness! we love you! 💗💗

anyways, i hope you all enjoy this! i kinda had some writer’s block but it was still a lot of fun to write! there might be some mistakes, but i’ll scan over it again later. reader is gender neutral! have fun!

chuuya having a crush on a dense! reader

nakahara chuuya x gn! reader

im cackling somebody help him

he’s frustrated bc you can’t take a hint or a thousand but he can’t even be mad bc he’s whipped

“look at you all dressed up today, wanna go out later? my treat?”

“oh really? thanks chuuya-san! you’re such a nice friend. i’ll go invite the others right now, i’ll see you later!”

“...”

fast forward to later in the evening and he finds himself at a little restaurant with the black lizard + higuchi and akutagawa

sigh

in unison all of them go, “thank you for the meal chuuya-san!” (except aku and hirotsu are quieter & and gin just a nods hehe)

“no problem” (ꐦ ´͈ ᗨ `͈ )

gin only pats him on the back in sympathy

he spends a lot of time trying to think of ways to make it absolutely and undeniably clear that he has feelings for you

he always fails

“(y/n) i like you”

“i like you too chuuya-san”

“really?”

“mhm”

“t-then will you—”

“you’re a really great friend! and superior too”

“...nevermind”

“oh were you saying something?”

“nah, just forget about it”

tachihara is laughing in the corner of the corridor

dont worry, chuuya made sure to get back at him

chuuya’s been pinning after you for years and frankly, his failed attempts to woo you has lead everyone to the breaking point

and i mean everyone

yes, even aku

hell even dazai

but dazai also thinks it’s funny, so he doesn’t mind all that much

okay bye bye dazai-san this headcanon set isn’t abt you rn

PLEASE EVERYONE FEELS SO BAD FOR HIM

they knew even if he kissed you, you still might not get it

so they decided to help him

super secret mission get chuuya and (y/n) together is a go!

they’re still working on a proper mission name, don’t mind them

they had a super secret strategy meeting!

you can bet your ass that they nearly got nothing done

akutagawa & kaiji weren’t much help, neither was higuchi, mori, or elise

tachihara nearly got killed for a thoughtless comment

“just tell them chuuya-san!”

“i already fucking did you ass!”

gin, hirotsu, and kouyou were the most helpful !!

hirotsu and kouyou both agreed on the idea that chuuya should try courting with bouquets of flowers instead of flat out asking you bc they knew you found them pretty

(even if you don’t identify as a female, flowers are for everyone no matter gender or sexuality! so let’s normalize giving flowers to everyone <33 )

gin didn’t speak but she used cards to communicate

everyone knew that you weren’t stupid (you wouldn’t have survived in the mafia if you were) but they did know that you were only stupid when it came to all this lovey dovey stuff

i mean, if chuuya gave you flowers every so often, there’s no way that you wouldn’t piece it together at some point

right...??

but kouyou assured him that even though you wouldn’t get it right away, you’d appreciate the gestures and that he’ll stand out more

she even said that if someone gave her flowers, she would appreciate it, whether or not she reciprocated their feelings

it takes guts to be so up front with your feelings after all

gin and hirotsu only nodded with her explanation

once again, this only provoked a reaction out of tachihara

“what do you know gin? i get the old man and kouyou-san, they’re grown, but you? what do you know abt courting? or flowers? what are you a girl?”

akutagawa choked on his cough, higuchi on air, and on the other side of yokohoma at the ada, dazai is cackling

yes, dazai somehow placed a listening device onto chuuya’s hat and was listening in

don’t ask how, it’s dazai

“DAZAI GET YOUR BANDAGED ASS OFF THE COUCH AND STOP LAUGHING”

anyways

the next day, chuuya did what was barely discussed and for once, things actually started to look up

until they started look to down again

at first, it actually looked like you understood his intentions after he gave you a bouquet of flowers

literally everyone was leaning against the opposite hallway you two were in and then they got excited !!

especially chuuya !

but then your expression sort of changed...??

and then in their heads they simultaneously went, “oh no”

they knew that expression

it was very familiar when you tended to friend zone chuuya

but boy let me tell you what you said next made them facepalm and or make their jaws drop

“ah, so you really are friend zoning me huh chuuya-san; what a shame, i really did like you”

LEMME TELL YOU WHEN I SAY THAT CHUUYA WAS DISTRESSED I MEAN HE WAS DISTRESSED

you liked him??

him of all people??

he wasn’t complaining, no of course not, but he still couldn’t believe it

but that wasn’t what he was really focusing on right now

what in any form or language did it say he was friend zoning you?!

flower language apparently

chuuya chose to buy the bouquet of yellow roses, pink carnations, and yellow carnations bc he thought you would appreciate the brighter colors, and so that you’d remember them better (because remembering them, meant remembering him)

but ooh boy

altogether, they meant the exact opposite message he wanted to send

someone help him pls

“you see chuuya-san, yellow roses mean friendship, pink carnations mean gratitude, and yellow carnations mean rejection; sooo in a nutshell, these pretty much say ‘thank you for being my friend, but im rejecting you”

no one can tell if tachihara is crying or wheezing

and dazai is having the time of his life

yes, he started listening in on him again

and chuuya is just stunned

like speechless and unmoving stunned

is he just bad at this whole courting/dating thing?? it’s only been one day and of it and somehow he was the one doing the rejecting??

“thank you for the flowers chuuya-san, i’ll be going now; i’ll make sure to let this affect our friendship. i’ll see you tomorrow!”

you passed by the not so subtle group of people

“tachihara-kun..?? are you alright?”

just for context, he was leaning his forehead against the wall using his forearm

again, it was hard to tell whether he was crying or wheezing

“i-im okay (y/n)-san...i think c-chuuya-san has it worse than me”

“...okay..?”

BACK TO CHUUYA

he’s still frozen poor baby

but it’s okay bc after like 5 more seconds he’s chasing you down the hallway you were walking in

kouyou, with a knowing smile on her face, ushers everyone away towards the opposite direction

she received some whines (ahem, tachihara and mori) but silenced them by summoning golden demon

but it’s okay

if they run fast enough, they can see what happens through the security cameras

chuuya caught up with you and tried to explain everything but he was exhausted

emotionally, physically (bc since when did you walk that fast??), and generally just tired with the whole situation

he just wanted to call you his; was that too much to ask??

as explosive as he can be, he can be calm and collected too

and he really did try to be that way as he talked with you but it was very difficult at the moment

the dumbfounded and confused look on your face his face twitch with annoyance and his heart started beating faster bc god you were cute

BUT THATS BESIDES THE POINT RIGHT NOW

thank goodness after what seemed like years, you finally somewhat understood what happened

you didn’t understand completely but it was something

The two of you stood in the middle of the unusually empty hallway facing each other, you with the bouquet still in hand. It was quiet as you and Chuuya assessed the situation.

You looked at him skeptically and he stared right back you with his gorgeous blue eyes.

“...So you do like me Chuuya-san??”

“Yes”

“And you were trying to court me just now, not friend zone me??”

“Yes”

You got most of your questions out of the way, but there was something that you’ve been wondering about for quite a while.

“...So you’re not gay for Dazai-san??”

“Yes, im not wait—GAY FOR DAZAI?? THAT MACKEREL??”

Chuuya did a double take. What in heavens name made it seem like he liked that suicidal maniac?? Why would he choose him if he had you?

Like he would choose him anyways; or ever consider him as a possible romantic partner.

“Oh, so you are?”

“NO! I SAID I LIKED YOU DIDN’T I?”

“Well yeah, but I thought you liked Dazai-san too. As annoying as he is, he can be quite charming—”

He was out of patience at this point (nope definitely not because you were talking about Dazai who told you that?) and just decided to kiss you.

You immediately melted into the kiss and kissed him back with the same amount of love and feeling.

Letting the bouquet fall to the ground, you wrapped you arms around his neck and his put his on your lower back and brought you closer to him. After a few more moments, the two of you broke apart for air.

The two of you, slightly out of breath, leaned your foreheads against each other and just basked in each others presence.

Chuuya looked into your (e/c) eyes and asked you just a little bit above a whisper, “Now do you get my intentions and feeling?”

You blinked at him before breaking out into a grin, “Hmm I’m not sure; do you wanna do that again Chuuya?”

The red head only blinked back at you before rolling his eyes, a smile present on his handsome features, his heart fluttering at you using his name with the honorific.

“Dumbass”

Smiling cheekily at him, you pressed a kiss on his cheek and started dragging him towards the lobby to take a walk around the building perimeter, knowing that the two of you can’t be too far from work.

The way down to the lobby was mostly in comfortable silence until you said something that made Chuuya want to bash his head against the wall.

“You know, you could’ve just told me you liked me Chuuya. It’s not like I would’ve said no.”

Once again, as the rest of the more power mafia members watch from security cameras, it is hard to tell whether Tachihara is crying or wheezing of laughter.

omake !!

The two of you just started making your way around the building when suddenly a very familiar voice came from Chuuya’s prized hat.

“Chuuyaaaa!! It was about time you stopped being a chicken, Chibi!”

Removing his hat from his head, he started yelling at it not knowing exactly where the listening device was planted.

“TEME! HOW DID YOU—”

“And (y/n)! I would congratulate you, but I think I would rather offer you my condolences. Why him?! He’s just a slimy slug. OOH OOH how would you like to join me in a double suicide?! A shame it won’t be a lover’s suicide but it’ll annoy Chuuya so I think it’ll be worth it! ”

“YOU—”

“And please don’t kiss while I’m listening in. You made me lose my appetite! And it was such a shame! I was eating crab using Kunikida-kun’s money! Do you know what you’ve cost me?!”

“DAZAI YOU PIECE OF—”

“Ah! Kunikida-kun is here! I have to go!”

You can hear something is the background that vaguely sounds like, “DAZAI YOU WASTE OF BANDAGES STOP USING MY MONEY”

“DAZAI DON’T YOU DARE LEAVE IM NOT DONE WITH—”

*Click!*

The click sound from the hat revealed that Dazai disconnected.

Chuuya twitched and glared furiously at his signature hat hating that the voice he hated the most came out of it.

“Aww, I didn’t get to talk to Dazai-san”

Chuuya whipped his head towards you, a look of mock (or real) betrayal showing on his features.

You laughed at him before taking the hat out of his hands and placing it on his head.

He shyly looked away before muttering a thanks making you smile wider. Just as the two of you were about to start walking, a small explosion erupted from his hat; it was likely that Dazai made the listening device self destruct.

“DAZAI YOU BASTARDD”

At the Armed Detective Agency, a certain suicidal maniac hid from the wrath of his current partner as he thought about the wrath his old one.

“Hmmm I wonder if Chuuya would finally stop wearing his ugly hats if I blow all of them up...”

as always, reblogs and shares are appreciated! i hope you all stay safe! and just in case nobody told you they loved you today, i love you! you are enough! <3

writing belongs to me! please do not plagiarize! the reblog button is there for a reason

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sour--disposition · 3 years

Text

Bad Girlfriend

harry lewis x fem!reader

@ketamineharry suggested a harry imagine based off of Anne-Marie’s Bad Girlfriend and voila

please check my pinned post for request/prompt info and my masterlist

You cancel plans for me - I cancel ours on you - Say I'd be back early - I don't get in 'til 2 - You ask me where I've been - I tell you something vague - Think I messed up again - What can I say

You were sick and tired of Harry and his behaviour. When you first got together, you chalked his actions up to being young and dumb. And then to getting used to having more money. Then you blamed it on having to deal with so much at such a young age.

The excuses piled up, one on top of the other. You knew one day it would all come toppling down around you, drowning you and Harry in a sea of problems that you doubted you’d be able to survive. You’d excused cheating, been by his side during hangovers from hell and comedowns that took too long to make Harry realise that the high really wasn’t worth the pain. You’d rubbed his back and handed him bottles of water and paracetamol and nursed him back to health, only for him to go and get in the same state the next weekend and expect you to help him gather the pieces back together again.

You’d tried to patch things up. Every time that you went to Harry to air all your concerns, tell him that if he doesn’t get his act together that you’d leave, and he always promised that things would be better this time. But something would always happen. There’d be plans he’d forget or cancel. He’d get too drunk and end up with hands over another girl’s body.

“Ooh, you look nice”, Harry commented as soon as you answered his FaceTime call. “What are you doing?”, he asked you.

“I’m off out with some girls from uni tonight”, you told him as you stood up from the sofa and started gathering your things together.

“I thought you were coming over?”, he said, a small pout forming on his lips.

“Sorry”, you said nonchalantly. “I’ll make it up to you, yeah”, you told him half-heartedly.

“Yeah, whatever”, Harry huffed. “Come back here after?”, he suggested.

“Sure”, you said, a small smile on your lips. “I’ve gotta go, their taxi just pulled up. Love you”, you rushed out, hanging up and shoving your phone into your clutch, along with your keys, card and some cash.

Harry 💕: where are you it’s 11?

Harry💕: y/n c’mon i miss you

Harry💕: am i waiting up for you or not?

Harry💕: its 2am

You didn’t read the texts until you were swaying on the spot in the lift of Harry’s apartment building. Your vision was fuzzy as you tried to find the right key for their front door. “Y/N?”, Harry asked, opening the door.

“Hey”, you slurred, stumbling towards him. “I couldn’t see your key”, you told him.

“Where’ve you even been?”, Harry asked, voice dripping with distaste and disappointment.

“Here, there, everywhere”, you giggled.

“Come on, go to bed”, Harry said sternly. “I have a shoot tomorrow and Josh will kill me if I’m late or lacking”, he told you.

“Oh, I am so very sorry”, you drawled, exaggerating all of your words, much to your own amusement.

“I’m not being funny, Y/N. Go to bed or go home”, Harry said sharply.

Your face dropped, the small square inch of your brain that was yet to be drenched in vodka and whatever else you’d been drinking lit up with anger. “Fine”, you snapped. You stormed down the hallway, sure of your footing this time and not stumbling once.

“Where are you going?”, Harry called after you.

“Home!”, you shouted, wrenching the front door open and slamming it behind you as hard as you could.

You shivered in the cold, late night wind of London as you waited on the curbside for your taxi. As soon as the car pulled up, you slid into the backseat and rattled off your address. The street lights and neon signs of London passed by in a blur of alcohol and anger and regret. “Thanks. Keep the change”, you muttered, handing a note over to the driver and getting out of the taxi.

Once you’d got back into your apartment, you changed into some pyjamas and took your make-up off as quickly as possible. You crawled under the covers, pulling them around your body and getting comfy in the middle of your bed.

Part of you felt a little guilty for how you’d treated Harry, but a bigger part of you couldn’t find the effort to care. You’d put up with Harry acting like this for 6 years, he could tolerate you doing it once or twice.

You wanna meet my friends - I say another day

“Another day, Harry”, you sighed, heavily, turning back to the work you were trying to get done for your classes.

“You always say that. You’ve been on this course for, like, a year”, Harry whined.

“I know but I really need to focus on work at the moment, Harry”, you told him. “I started my degree later than I wanted to anyway and then I didn’t commit to it like I should have last year because of…”, you trailed off. “Another day”.

“Because of what?”, Harry asked, voice taking a combative edge as he sat up straighter.

“Harry, I don’t want to get into this again”, you sighed heavily, slumping into your chair.

“Well, you started it!”, he argued. “So finish your sentence. Go on!”, he goaded.

“I couldn’t commit to my degree because I was too busy looking after you!”, you shouted. “Is that what you wanted? Me to lash out? Fucking well done”, you spat. You gathered up your things as quick as you could, closing your book and shoving things into your bag.

“Where are you going now?”, Harry asked frustratedly.

“Home. I have an essay to do for next week”, you muttered as you shoved past Harry.

Things between you and Harry were only getting worse. You knew about the other girls, but the both of you just pretended that you didn’t. All of his friends saw Harry as some sheepish kid with a loud mouth girlfriend, but they never got to see the Harry that you were seeing more and more. The Harry that held things from years ago against you, the Harry that was becoming more controlling by the day, the Harry that would raise his voice when things went even slightly not his way… The Harry that wasn’t the same Harry that you fell in love with.

'Cause I'm one in a million - More like in a billion - I don't think it's cheating if I'm kissing other women - I do some shit you can't forgive - And you better get used to it

The more you and Harry argued, the more his friends didn’t like you. They hid it well, especially Simon and Josh since you were such good friends with Talia and Freya. But you noticed the side glances you’d get anytime you laughed a little louder than usual, any time you’d say something that would make Talia or Freya cackle. You’d notice the looks that they would send Harry when you had the audacity to go and dance and your own, or when you’d be on your phone whilst everyone else was fighting to keep you out of the conversation.

You had no doubt in your mind that Harry was telling them bare-faced lies about you and hiding the truth about himself. You knew that they had no clue about Harry’s cheating, about how bad his drinking and substance abuse had truly been, how much he actually relied on you for day to day functioning. All they knew was that you were loud, argumentative and didn't give Harry the time of day when it came to uni work.

“Do you think she knows she’s punching?”, you heard Ethan ask JJ.

“I mean, it’s so obvious. Harry’s miles out of her league. C’mon man!”, JJ laughed in reply.

You looked to Harry to see his reaction. You knew he’d heard what was said, but based on the look on his face, he couldn’t care less. You didn’t need the validation from your boyfriend’s best friends, but it would be nice if your boyfriend would at least defend you or reassure you.

You rolled your eyes and turned to leave the table, heading towards the toilets. You were facing the mirror, touching up your hair and make-up, when Freya and Talia walked in. “What happened?”, Talia asked.

You told them what you’d heard and watched as their faces contorted into looks of horror. “Oh my god!”, Freya exclaimed. “What did Harry say!?”, she asked, coming closer to hold you hand supportively.

Your silence answered their question perfectly. “I can’t believe him”, Talia huffed, wrapping her arms around you.

“Things haven’t been great, but I never thought he’d just sit and let his best friends slag me off practically to my face”, you told them. Your eyes were watery.

“Hey, babe. Don’t let your mascara run”, a dark haired girl told you, handing you a tissue. “Whoever is letting someone slag you off is stupid”, she assured you.

“My boyfriend”, you said sadly.

“I hate boys”, she laughed darkly, rolling her eyes, before rejoining her group of friends.

You, Talia and Freya emerged from the toilets around 5 minutes later, once you were sure that your tears had dried and weren’t going to restart. The three of you walked towards the table, Freya and Talia immediately sliding next to Josh and Simon.

“Where’s Harry?”, you asked, not seeing him anywhere. Ethan gave you a look and pointed towards the dancefloor before turning back to his conversation with JJ and Vik.

You glanced over towards the dancefloor, hoping you’d see Harry. Thankfully, he was towards the edge, back turned towards you. You watched as he turned around, ready to try and grab his attention. His eyes met yours, briefly filling with panic, before darting back down to the girl in his arms.

“Fuck this”, you muttered, as Harry’s friends and Freya and Talia all watched as he tried to assess the situation and what to do.

He watched as you walked closer, looking ready to send the stranger away. Harry’s eyes followed you as you sailed past him and towards the middle of the dance floor. You could feel eyes on you as you began dancing to the music, letting the beat mix with the alcohol and take over your body.

“Did you sort things with your boyfriend?”, a female voice asked. It was the girl from the bathroom. You rolled your eyes somewhat playfully at her.

“No”, you snorted. “I came to speak to him and he was all over another girl”, you told her. Your eyes darted over to where you’d last seen Harry. “That’s him there, sucking face with the blonde”.

“I hope he’s your ex-boyfriend now”, she told you, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s complicated”, you admitted, looking down in shame. It wasn’t news to you that you were letting Harry treat you like a doormat, but you had yet to muster up the courage to leave him. Just as you looked up, ready to offer to explain it over a drink, someone behind you shoved you, sending you catapulting into the girl’s arms.

“Careful there, can’t have you falling for me already. I’ve not even started flirting yet”, she told you with a smirk. “Martha”, she said politely, holding out a hand.

“Y/N”, you told her with a shy smile as you accepted her outstretched hand.

“Care for a dance?”, Martha asked you, pulling you closer with the hand that was still in hers.

You didn’t care if Harry and his friends watched as your bodies rolled together. Harry had never danced with you on a night out like this, never held you shamelessly in a club for everyone to see. Harry had never held your face so securely as he pulled you in for a kiss in front of everyone around you.

“What the fuck, Y/N?”, you heard beside you.

“Is this the boyfriend?”, Martha asked once she’d pulled back and let her eyes flutter open, eyeing Ethan up and down as soon as she had.

“The boyfriend’s best friend”, you told her, preparing to step out of her hold.

“Last time I checked, the boyfriend was preoccupied with someone else. Get him to come and find me when he wants his girlfriend. We’ll be right here”, she said, voice powerful and allowing no argument as her arms held you closer.

Harry never came to find you. The two of you left the club in separate taxis and you left with a new number saved in your phone.

You should be with someone else - Someone who is not myself

“Harry, you deserve so much better”, you heard a voice say as you walked into Harry’s apartment. You walked down the hallway quietly, lingering just behind the door frame to eavesdrop on the conversation.

“We’ve been together for so long, though”, Harry sighed.

“Did you not see what she did the other night? She was all over some other chick!”, a voice, Simon’s, exclaimed.

“Maybe it was just a mistake, y’know”, Harry tried to reason.

“She’s not good for you, Harry”, JJ, this time, said.

You’d heard enough. You turned the corner, coming face to face with all 7 of the boys. “Y/N…”, Harry trailed off.

“No, no. Carry on talking about me, it’s fine”, you said, voice lathered in artificial sweetness.

“Damnit, Y/N, it wasn’t like that”, Harry snapped, surprising everyone but you. “What are you doing?”, he asked as you started gathering a blanket off of the back of the sofa and plucking a hoodie off of the back of a dining room chair..

“Getting my shit and going”, you hissed.

“You’re being dramatic”, Harry scolded.

“No, Harry. I’ve put up with your bullshit since we were 18. I’m sick and tired of it. I’ve put my life on hold for long enough. You need someone, but I’m not that someone anymore. I’m sick of looking after you and letting your friends hate me just because you’re too much of a coward to tell them the truth”, you spat.

“We know everything, Y/N”, Ethan said smugly, rolling his eyes as he leaned back in his chair.

“So you know that I started my degree late because I had to get Harry sober? You know that he’s cheated on me more times than I can count? You know that I’ve tried for 6 fucking years to get him to love me as much as I love him and it’s never fucking worked!?”, you all but yelled, shocking everyone in front of you.

“You think I don’t love you?”, Harry asked, voice frustrated and angry.

“I know that you don’t love me as much as I love you”, you told him simply. “You cancelled 3 anniversary dates to go on nights out with the guys. You made me cancel a weekend away because you wanted to go to Dubai. You get annoyed when I try to do my uni work. You let Ethan and JJ slag me off, practically to my face, and didn’t say a fucking word”, you told him.

You looked at Harry, waiting for a reaction. “Do you know how heartbreaking it is to hear my boyfriend’s best friends, people I’ve known for 6 years, say that I’m punching and that you deserve better? Did you think about how much it hurt me when you didn’t even flinch at what they said?”.

Harry’s face lit up in anger. “It’s not like you’ve been a good girlfriend!”, he spat.

“Because being a good girlfriend to you is like a full time job. It’s a full time job and I haven’t had a day off in over 5 years. So yeah, I’ve been a bad girlfriend… Boo fucking hoo”, you grumbled.

Harry remained silent, a sheepish look crossing his face. “We can try again”, he suggested quietly.

“We have! Over and over again!”, you exclaimed, tears welling in your eyes as you spoke. “I’m exhausted, Harry. I’m tired of looking after you when I’m just as hungover as you. I’m tired of not making plans because I literally can not afford for you to cancel on me anymore. You don’t value me or anything that I do. Your friends hate me and you don’t care. I’ve been your last priority for years and I’m sick of it. We’re done. I’ll put your stuff in a box and bring it round”, you told him, voice losing more and more strength as you spoke.

“Y/N…”, Harry tried, reaching for your arm.

“Don’t”.

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beelspillowpet · 3 years

Text

Greedy & Full - Mammon x Fem!MC

I’m back with another NSFW fic~ This time of the Great Mammon ♡

Reader/MC is female!

Content warning!! Something of a master kink, a bit of spanking, lil bit of dirty talk, tad bit overstim

It was fairly easy talking Mammon into bed. All you had to do was wear his clothing. His jacket, which was a size or two bigger than your own. Something about the fact that his pants wouldn’t fit on you turned him on. Your full, wide hips are unable to fit into his pants. Your breasts may not have been massive, but they did ride up his shirt on you quite a bit. You got him hot and bothered and he couldn’t articulate why.

“Get out of my damn fit, human!” He scowled, chasing you up the steps. You duck from his grasp, laughing and taunting him the whole time. You were about to make fun of his lack of effort, he should have caught you by now.

However, he grabbed a fistful of his jacket and pulled you backwards. “Alright you, outta my clothes now!” He huffed.

“Mammychan…” you purred deviously. “You want me out of all these clothes for you, huh?”

What came from Mammon was nothing short of a malfunction. He sputtered and turned his nose upward. “Hmph! More like you should be eager to get out of yours! I bet you’re dyin’ for the great Mammon to admire your figure.” His hands slipped down to your waist, his fingers curling in the belt loops of the too- tight pants. “Fuck. You’re stretching them out, aren’t you?”

You roll your hips into his touch, grinning. “Mm, I might have torn them up already? Oops~... I guess you might have to punish me.”

“Fuck… you want me to torture ya’ babe? Make you ride my cock until you’re in tears? Spank that fat ass until it’s red and stinging?” One hand comes up, and he’s delicately brushing hair out of your face. “Drive me crazy. Wanna fuck you so deep. Look at ya’ wearing my clothes and shit… looks so cute on ya’ babe.” He finished his compliment with a harsh slap on your ass. The force of it alone made you arch forward, grinding against the bulge in his underwear.

His breath hitched at the friction, and he was tempted to spank you again, but he didn’t want an accident in his own underwear. You would never let him live it down if that was all it took. So he pushed you away a bit, then led you down the steps. He held your hand firmly, and pulled you close once you reached his bed. He sat down slowly, and smirked at you.

“Get out of those clothes. We can assess the damage and you can pay up right now if you… apologize properly.” He winked, his tongue snaking out and dancing across his upper lip seductively.

As if possessed, you slowly began to remove the jacket, tossing it on to the bed. When you reached for the shirt, he stopped you. “Slowly, sweetheart. I wanna take it in. Pretend you're my personal stripper, giving me a show.”

You blush, not knowing how to take it slowly like that. You weren’t shy by all means, but pretending to be a stripper was still out of your league. You wanted him, and you wanted him to want you too. So you tried your best, making a show of your body by putting emphasis in pulling up the shirt. Once you managed to get out of it, you tossed it away onto the floor with finesse. He whistled under his breath to show approval.

Next came the pants, which were much less a show of your sexy side, and more like you wiggling out of them. Like a dancing worm at the end of a string. You at least turned around so he could watch your ass and thighs jiggle, and it saved you from having to look him in the eyes during this embarrassment. Once you managed to kick off the pants, next came for the bra. You turned around, and reached behind you. Unhooking the bra, you lifted it slowly, until it was just barely covering your areola before stopping. Mammon looked like he was going to fly off the bed right then and there.

“Fuck, don’t make me wait.” He groaned, palming himself through his shorts.

“Oh? I thought you wanted me to make a show of it?” You shoot back immediately. Mammon groaned again, adjusting on the bed to get comfortable. You spread your legs a bit and roll your hips seductively, pulling the bra up with the rest of your breasts, until the flop down with a delicious slap! Against your chest. His breath stutters and he stares. You were unimaginably beautiful, and you were going to be chanting his name like it was a prayer before long.

Once the bra was off and again tossed to the side, you spun back around and leaned against his dresser. You shook your ass, snaking a hand down the front and between your legs. “Mammon,” you pant hotly. “You want it? What’s right here?” You pat your panty-covered pussy, twitching at the pressure. “You want to fuck my pussy? Pump me full of cum?”

“Fuck,” Mammon gasped. “Want to fuck you deep. Little brat. I told you what I want already. You’re almost there…”

“Want the Great Mammon’s cock… stuff me so well. Take them off.” You roll your hips again. “Take them off and fuck me. I’ll be a good girl after I’ve had my fill. I know you want to watch me tremble. As the cum drips down my legs.”

There was something like a low, animalistic growl that came from behind you. And suddenly his body was pressed against yours. “I was gonna spank you for ruining my pants,” he growls. “But now I just want to fuck that tight pussy until you can’t speak. Until you can’t think.” He grinds against you, holding your hips firmly against his.

“Feel that?” He pants. His cock is twitching through his underwear and you moan. It’s hard and warm, even through the cloth keeping it restrained. “That’s a real man. You’re gonna have a real man fucking your brains out. Fuck, are you ready?”

You hum, content with him having his way. You were done teasing him, now you just wanted to listen to him come undone for you. To feel him lose control on your body, to bite, scratch, kiss, and caress you to his greedy hearts content.

The slap that came to your ass startled you. Then feeling the nails dig into your underwear and hearing it be torn off like it was cheap cloth surprised you. He laughed darkly.

“What’s wrong babe? You wear my clothes, I tear yours. You be a fucking brat,” another harsh slap to your ass, “I put you in your place. You thought you had me, didn’t you? Thought you had me whipped but no.” He snarls, his hand coming around to grab you by your face. “You’re mine for the rest of the night. You understand me?”

“Y-yes, Mammy. A-ah-!”

Another harsh slap. This time you jumped a little, the sting feeling too good. “What are you supposed to call me?” He warns.

“M-master. Master Mammon…” you whine.

“Good girl.” He let’s go of your face, and you lower your head on to the dresser. The hand returns to your body, teasing shapes across your pussy. “Fucking wet and all I did was spank you. You like being punished, huh? You love when I give you attention.”

You swallow thickly and turn your head. He’s kicking his underwear off quickly and lining up behind you, his finger swiping between your folds. He slicks himself up the best he can before taking the head of his cock and replacing his fingers. He groans, your wet and scalding hot pussy is inviting him sweetly, but before he thrusts in he has to set down a ground rule. Something to make things interesting.

“If you make so much as a peep,” he hisses into your ear, “I’ll take that as an invitation to go another round. You hear me?”

You lower your hand and huff. “Y-yes, Master.”

With that, he shoves in. All the way in. The usual tightness is replaced with a suffocating constriction, and he chokes on the pleasure. He hunches over you, nails digging into the soft of your hips. He laughs when you cry out, unable to contain yourself from being empty to suddenly very full.

“That’s one,” he counts. “You really are poorly trained. Don’t worry. I’ll train that pathetic human brain, this tight little pussy to behave.” One finger reaches around to cup one of your breasts in his hand and he squeezes, eliciting a soft keen from your throat. “Two!” He laughs again.

You nearly groan from anticipation of more rounds. The fool is so busy counting he hasn’t started mo- ah.

He’s pounding into you now. Knocking the dresser against the wall with each harsh thrust. He has no mercy in his movements, his hips ramming into yours with practiced expertise. He’s taken you in various ways before, in various places. He had to admit this was one of his favorites.

You reached down and rolled your fingers around your clit, struggling with all your might to not make a sound as per his orders. It was getting more and more difficult by the second, hearing how hard he was fucking into you. The sounds of skin slapping harshly against stinging skin, the dresser knocking against the wall, and the carnal desire that was Mammon at the very moment, turning your insides into a humming, buzzing, pulsing mess.

“Fuck yeah,” he moaned, burying his face into the crook of your neck. “Fuck yeah! You like that? Me fucking the shit out of your little pussy? Ooh, fuck!” You were hoping, praying really, that in the midst of all his talking he would either forget his count, or wouldn’t hear you at all. Either way, you took the chance and hissed. It wasn’t much, but you were grateful you didn’t hear him acknowledge it.

He slows for a moment, rolling his hips into yours. The hand on your breast now rests on the flat on your back and he’s smoothing kisses down your back. Sometimes he gets like this, and you weren’t entirely sure why. He’s being rough with your body one second, and the next he’s kissing you, shifting the mood for just a moment. To appreciate you, your brain supplies. You clench up at that realization, and just like that, Master Mammon is back again.

He slams back into you, and you’re surprised at how you didn’t manage to make a noise that time. You’re dangerously close, and he can tell.

“Who owns this pussy?” He asks, fucking into you as if you’re going to be leaving the Devildom tomorrow. You don’t dare answer him. “Who owns this fucking pussy?!” He shouts at you. “Answer me!”

“You!!” You cry out, and suddenly your voice is gone. He’s fucking you through your first orgasm, and seconds later you’re panting, reaching back and squeezing his arm. Pleading for him to stop, but without telling him to, he simply won’t listen. You flop on to the dresser seconds later, silent again as he laughs.

“Four!” He counts. “You thought I didn’t hear you earlier, did you?”

You almost groan. He can be such an insufferable dickhead sometimes. You still loved him, regardless.

His pace becomes uneven, and you can feel him coming close as well. You simply hold on and pray that he’s so tired after that, he pulls out and goes straight to sleep like he sometimes does. But he was still on his first round, and he was the Avatar of Greed.

Once he’s cum inside you for the first time, he pulls out afterwards, admiring the view of your quivering thighs. He waits a moment before you begin to push the cum out of you, oozing down your legs and making a mess on the floor.

“Fuck, c’mere.” He commands. You stand up slowly and waddle towards him. He puts his arms around you, patting the top of your head, before promptly tossing you onto his bed. You barely get a word in before he’s already on top of you again, thrusting away with reckless abandon.

“Master!” You sob. You feel like kicking yourself. You can’t seem to quiet down, no matter what. Everything just felt too good, the force behind Mammon’s thrusts shoved you violently against the bed, rubbing your clit against the soft sheets. You felt a second orgasm coming quickly, and Mammon pulled your head up by your hair.

“Yeah, cum on this cock. Cum on this fucking cock, babe! You fucking love it don’t you? Cum on this fucking cock!”

The overload of sensory was too much, and for a second time that night, you felt a powerful orgasm rip through you. Your eyes nearly rolled back and you gave a low, throaty groan. “So fucking good, Master! So fucking good! Aaah- Mammon! P-please…!”

“Shut the fuck up,” he growls, and immediately you fall silent again. You may have made your pact with him, but nothing has ever changed, it seems. “When I say shut the hell up and take it, that’s what I mean.”

You bury your face into the mattress when he lets go of your hair. Your broken sobs fill his ears and he drinks it up like nectar. A stupid demon is a useful thing to have, but a powerful one, able to serve you your punishment relentlessly was far more enticing that you anticipated.

#om!#obey me #om! mammon #obey me mammon #obey me smut #obey me mc #female mc

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nazyalenskyism · 3 years

Text

Let’s Get Married 1

Summary: A Zoyalai modern AU with fake dating in latter parts.

Ao3: Let’s Get Married

Excerpt: He raised a brow, easing back in his chair, “can I help you?”

“What’s this?” Genya exclaimed without any preamble, grabbing a paper off the top of the stack in David’s hands and slapping it onto his desk.

“Paper, I assume, darling Genya.”

“I mean what’s on the paper,” she snapped, “it says you’re married.”

“That sounds great. See you at noon tomorrow. Yes, Madraya I know how to get to the Palm Court. Yes, I promise I won’t be late. Okay, I’ll see you soon.” Nikolai gently placed the receiver into the cradle before dropping his head into his hands. He was lucky that it was a Friday evening, the firm was empty which meant no one was around to witness this. He was nestled away in his favourite hidden corner in the law library which was the perfect place to get his work done, though he wondered how productive he would be now that he had to create a game plan for the following day. He was practiced in making sure his mother didn’t spill any secrets which was often the result of wanting to spite his father and one too many drinks, but no matter how good he thought he was his mother always managed to surprise him. And then there was the matter of his brother and father. He wanted nothing more than for them to burn with their continual mistakes, but he couldn’t. Whether it was out of some strange sense of loyalty to people who only made his life more difficult or to protect his mother who always stood silent at their sides when they tormented him, he didn’t know.

The only thing he did know was that he was about 15 hours away from another lunch with his mother and her gossiping group of friends where his father would decide not to show up at the last minute because Vasily wanted to go golfing in the Hamptons where they would undoubtedly spend the rest of the weekend philandering. Another weekend where his mother pretended she didn’t know what was happening, deciding to drop as much money as she could manage, just to irritate her husband. Then it would be Monday again, where Nikolai was left to pick up the pieces from the damage that his family caused, wishing that he could close his eyes and disappear off the face of the Earth for just a second if it meant he could be left without responsibility over people who didn’t care about him.

“What are you doing?” From between the shelves stepped out another lawyer, not just any other lawyer, it was Zoya. Zoya Nazyalensky was a talented lawyer who had joined the firm a few years after he had, right out of law school. She was skilled, hardworking, and an expert in making the most egotistical men shrink by simply raising her brow. They had worked a few cases together over their time at the firm, but more often than not, they had their separate cases that they chose to work on together. Most days they could be found in each others’ offices, working silently for hours with only occasional requests for advice or lunch orders. Despite all the time they spent working together, Nikolai, who considered himself something of an expert when it came to others’ feelings, had no idea if Zoya actually liked him or if she simply put up with him because he was the least terrible person at work. He always welcomed her company though.

“What are you doing here so late?”

She raised a brow before crossing the space and sinking into the couch cushions next to him. “I could ask you the same thing. In fact, I just did.”

“I’m putting some things together before the weekend.”

“Was your phone call that bad?”

Nikolai wanted to wince, “you heard that?”

“You were on speaker.”

“Saints, as if I needed that broadcast to the entire firm.”

“Oh, there’s no one here. You and I are the only ones left,” she said as she pulled off her high heels and curled her legs onto the couch.

“You haven’t answered my question, why are you still here?”

“You first.”

He sighed, she’d already heard the entirety of his conversation with his mother, it’s not like he could ruin her image of him further. “The sooner I go home, the sooner the reality of tomorrow will hit me.”

“Is getting tea with your mother really that bad?” she asked almost hesitantly.

Nikolai threw his head back, “I love my mother, but these luncheons usually involve my father ditching at the last minute to go and break his wedding vows, while my mother pretends she doesn’t know what’s happening

“And you have to go?”

“Someone has to make sure she gets home in one piece, and I trust her friends as far as they can throw me.”

“Isn’t the saying that you trust them as far as you can throw them?”

“I excel at everything I do, naturally but they can’t say the same.”

“Ah, I see.”

They sat in silence for a moment before she spoke again, her tone hushed as if speaking any louder would shatter the calm. “Is that why you don’t work for your father?”

Nikolai exhaled, “that’s a part of it.” His father was C.E.O of Ravkan Industries, and unlike his brother, Nikolai hadn’t joined the family business right out of highschool. Make no mistake, he wanted to be a part of the company, he knew he needed to be a part of it to spare the world of further misguided leadership from his family. It pained him, but they were the worst thing to happen to the company, and he often feared that he was the only person who could stop the trainwreck that was his family from derailing.

She nodded, “I know a thing or two about bad families.” Her legs had been drawn up to her chest, and she rested her head against her knees, eyes trained on him, “I can’t speak about anyone else, but your brother is definitely a jackass.”

“You’re right, I’m sure everyone who’s ever met him agrees. Speaking of which, when did you?”

“I came to your office a few weeks ago looking for you. He was waiting for you, gave me a sleazy once-over and asked me out. He got offended when I said no, and I told him that I didn’t date men who look like the Walmart versions of their younger brothers.”

Nikolai shook his head in amusement, “I’m surprised I haven’t heard him complaining about that. You must have really wounded his ego.”

“What,” Zoya said, fixing him with the withering glare she dished out when someone was being incompetent, “like it’s hard?”

“Ooh,” Nikolai groaned, rubbing a hand over his chest, “glad I’ve never been on the receiving end of one of those.”

She gave him a small smile, picking at a loose thread at her sleeve, “how do you usually spend your Saturdays when you’re not cleaning up their messes?”

“Go on a run, get pastries and coffee from the bakery across the street, read a book with my cat, catch up on some shows…”

“That sounds…. surprisingly pleasant.”

“ What did you think I got up to?”

“I don’t know… peach picking or something?”

“Aren’t you allergic to peaches?”

Zoya looked startled for a second, “yeah, how did you know that?”

“That time that we helped Genya with her groceries because she broke her leg? You weren’t paying attention and grabbed them, 10 minutes later you got hives.”

The look she gave him was intense and assessing, had he said something wrong? As much as he liked to think he knew how everyone operated, Zoya Nazyalensky was a bit of an enigma to him still. “What about you? What are you doing tomorrow?” he said in an attempt to maintain the conversation.

“I’ll go on a run with my dog, get breakfast, do some work, get some flowers and do my laundry. The usual.”

“Have you ever had lunch at the Palm Court?”

“No, but my aunt took me to the champagne bar when I graduated,” her smile was small, “it was the nicest night I’ve ever had.”

“I can’t promise that tomorrow will be anything less than a disaster, but would you like to accompany me to lunch?”

Zoya fiddled with the chain around her neck, fingers running over the seams of the locket, as if she was contemplating opening it. “Would it be proper?”

“You said it yourself, you have nothing else to do tomorrow morning, you’ll get a ridiculously expensive and delicious lunch for free.”

“But wouldn’t I be intruding?”

“My father’s going to cancel at the last minute, remember?”

“And what if he doesn’t?”

“He will. He always does, and he is nothing if not a creature of habit.” His phone rang at that exact moment, “like clockwork,” he murmured. “Hello.”

“Tell your mother that I can’t make lunch tomorrow, Vasya and I are going golfing.” The line cut before Nikolai could reply, not that he’d been planning on it.

“So, Nazyalensky, are we on for afternoon tea then?”

She sighed, “fine. But it better be as tasty as you’re saying it is.”

“It’s absolutely heavenly. The Dom Pérignon really brings out the subtle undertones in the Pistachio Dacquoise Cake. And the Devonshire cream is absolutely to die for.”

“I didn’t understand half of that.”

“Don’t worry, after the first time, you’ll be begging that we go back.”

She raised a brow, “is that a challenge, Lantsov?”

He grinned, “when is it not?”

“This is a pity lunch, I’m not going because I actually care about you.”

Nikolai nodded understandingly, “of course, of course. This is strictly a pity invite too, since this brunch will definitely be more entertaining than a Saturday spent at home.”

“Great. So we’re on the same page then,” her smile was sharp and Nikolai felt his blood rush at the sight. Maybe tomorrow would be bearable.

***

“Anything I need to know before we go in?” Zoya crossed her arms over her chest, staring up at the façade of the infamous hotel the following morning, suppressing the urge to run home. Was she nervous? For what? To meet Nikolai’s mother? No, that couldn’t be it. She was nervous to lose her bet with him, that was it. He had called her early this morning to make sure that the terms of the bet were solidified, if she fell in love with any of the food, she had to accompany him to any future lunches, whenever he asked. If she won, he had to accompany her to any errands she wanted. She had thought about making him assemble all of her IKEA furniture for the foreseeable future on the way here and had nearly bumped into him while she daydreamed about him carrying her groceries every week.

“If a question doesn’t feel like a trap, then it is one. If it feels like it’s a trap, then it’s definitely a trap. If it feels like someone is fishing for a response, then that’s a trap.”

“So, everything is a trap?”

“Exactly!”

“And you do this every month?”

“More like every two weeks.”

“Saints,” she swore, “and you don’t get sick of the food or company?”

“Well, they do let a little bit too much slide about their husbands’ schedules, most of them are on the board of my father’s company, and if I can get on their good sides they might vote for me over Vasily to take over one day.”

“You’re always playing the long game, aren’t you?”

Nikolai raised a brow, “and you’re not? We both know your ‘favourite hangout spots’ are coincidentally the same places where you can poach clients from Fjerdan Holdings.”

“Wait,” Zoya frowned, ignoring him completely. “If your father and Vasily are both skipping, who else did you invite? I'm taking your father’s place and what about Vasily’s?”

“I’m honoured you think I’d be invited in the first place.”

“You’re not invited?”

“Only when Vasily cancels, which is every time.”

“They really don’t invite you to family lunches?”

“I’m something of a problem child to them.”

“Nikolai,” she said and he could feel her gaze on him, “are you sure about this?”

“Yes, Zoya. I’m sure.”

“Let’s get moving then, we’re about to be late.”

“Ruthless as always,” Nikolai sighed, pushing open the door.

“Punctual, as always,” Zoya retorted, following him through the lobby, “you should take a lesson or two from me on showing up on time.”

“Never heard of fashionably late, Nazyalensky?”

“That’s just an excuse people with no dress sense use to justify their inability to choose a functional outfit.”

“Ruthless.”

“Honest.”

***

“Kolya!”A blonde woman dressed in beige exclaimed, beckoning him over before pulling him down into a hug . Zoya looked down at her pale blue dress, was she too colourful for brunch? But no, Nikolai’s dress shirt was the same colour as her dress, surely that meant that it was okay. She’d forgotten the ultra-rich nature of Nikolai’s family and the way that high society acted. Sure she made good money at work, but this world, the world of her clients, was something else. She’d grown up eating lunchables when she’d lived with her parents, while she suspected that he had never eaten anything that wasn’t prepared by a gourmet chef before he went to university.

“Madraya, this is my friend, Zoya,” he said, pulling away, “she’s the one I told you would be joining us this morning.”

“Thank you for having me,” she smiled, trying to put on her most charming persona, The Nikolai, as she liked to call it.

Nikolai’s mother shook her hand enthusiastically, “Zoya, this is Svetlana, Kolya’s auntie. Please! Sit, sit.” The other woman assessed her slowly from head to toe and Zoya shot her a cool glance, a challenge, to which Svetlana turned away from. Off to a great start.

Zoya reached to pull out her chair, faltering when she felt someone else’s on top of hers. “Your jacket,” Nikolai whispered, “I can take it.”

She stared at him. What? She went rigid as Nikolai helped her out of her coat, the warmth of his fingers brushing against her skin, making her thoughts freeze too.

“You alright, Nazyalensky?” he murmured in her ear as he pulled her chair out for her. “You should stop staring, it’s rude.”

She rolled her eyes at him, whatever spell had fallen over her was broken now, “thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he winked in return, but she could see the surprise on his face. Did he really think she was so ruthless that she had no manners?

“So Kolya, tell us about how you and Zoya met!”

***

Lunch was rather mild, and nowhere near as horrific as Nikolai has mentioned. In fact, it was pleasant, certainly much more enjoyable than any meal she’d had with her own mother. Nikolai’s mother cared for him in her own vapid way, and once Nikolai had reiterated that Zoya was not his girlfriend, Svetlana had thawed considerably, both of the women asking her about her clothes, work, and life. The lies came easily, they always did when it came to her family. She wasn’t embarrassed by her past but she saw no value in mentioning the people who had conceived her but had done nothing more than that. Zoya was also not in the mood to be pitted by these women, and she spun them a web of what they wanted to hear. A girl from a rich family who grew up doing all of the things they had.

She told them details from trips she had always dreamt of taking with her aunt but that they’d never been able to afford, easily replying to their inquiries of, “oh, I love Paris! When you went, did you eat at the cafe 3 blocks east of the Louvre? With the 100 year old bakery? It’s a must!” with an exact order of their most deep-menu items. Zoya smiled as they tittered on about the delicacies, as if an evening dining there didn’t cost more than what a month’s worth of groceries had cost as a child. To them her weekends were spent at tennis practice at the local country club instead of split between doing homework, working at her aunt's cafe and in the mail room at the law firm across the street to earn a little money. She didn’t say this explicitly of course, but she didn’t deny it either when they acted like she shared their experiences.

She’d never spoken to Nikolai about her past, nothing beyond the fact that she was raised by her aunt and that she had a younger cousin. He’d never asked, not out of a lack of interest in her, she knew that— but out of understanding that she didn’t particularly care to share that information. In the world in which she now found herself, anyone that deviated from the norm was looked down upon and she refused to be a source of entertainment for them.

The conversation quickly turned away from her however, with a few carefully timed lines from Nikolai. He brought up childhood memories of his own that made everyone laugh, recounting his numerous hijinks through the years. He told stories about the more interesting cases he and Zoya had worked on recently, his flow pausing naturally to let her throw in her own banter as well. She learned of the multiple times Nikolai had nearly burnt their beach house down, how he once “accidentally” lured a hoard of sheep to chase his brother when they were visiting Scotland, and how he was the youngest in his highschool graduating class, finishing at 15 before going to university, and then sailing around the world for a year.

As enjoyable as seeing Nikolai’s nose scrunch when his mother recounted a particularly adorable story was, by the time the desserts rolled around, Zoya felt fatigued. How did Nikolai do this all the time? When he wasn’t charming his family he was charming clients, coworkers, whoever he needed to. She had enjoyed the afternoon a lot more than she had anticipated, especially the food which was heavenly, like he’d said. But in the end she was adamant not to admit defeat to Nikolai even if it meant more meals like this. She would rather stab herself with the salad fork than admit he was right— or was that the dessert fork? Why were there so many forks? She was granted a bit of a reprieve when the ladies saw another group of their friends and decided to go chat with them at their table. Then it was just her and Nikolai, who had gone unusually quiet and was staring at her empty plate quite critically. “What’s wrong?”

***

Nikolai had been right, inviting Zoya to lunch had been a great idea, he couldn’t recall the last time he’d genuinely enjoyed one of these lunches. She had been brilliant, with the way that she handled all of their questions and discussed topics that interested them, the way that she’d chimed in at the perfect moments in his stories to add a little detail that made the anecdote even better. Everything had gone better than he could’ve imagined, except for the fact that it looked like he might be losing their bet, and after today, he didn’t think he would hate these lunches if Zoya were attending them with him.

Af first he’d been genuinely worried that she wasn’t enjoying herself since her reaction to the food had been muted, but the longer he watched her the more he was able to figure out exactly what was going on. He knew she wasn’t touching the desert tower because she knew that it would be her downfall. Most of the sweets were exactly of her taste and she was desperate not to lose to him. What had she intended on making him do if he lost that she was fighting so hard to win?

“Try it,” Nikolai mumbled, pointing at the tea tower, “it’s delicious.”

Zoya rolled her eyes, “you’ve said that about everything so far.”

“I’m serious, Nazyalensky. You’re going to love this.”

“I’m going to love it, or you’re convinced I should love it so that you win?”

Nikolai pulled a face, “why can’t it be both? Come on, it’s a dark chocolate cherry custard, that’s pretty much all of your favourite foods.”

Zoya peered at the dessert as if she was holding herself back, “it does look slightly edible…”

Saints, she would do anything to beat him, wouldn’t she? Nikolai smothered his grin, holding out a spoonful of the custard to her, “you know you want to try it.”

She let out an exasperated breath, taking the bite. Her eyelashes fluttered as she tasted it and she turned to him, scowling, “damnit, that’s so good.”

“I won’t say I told you so, Zo,” he laughed, as she smacked his shoulder with one hand, the other wielding a spoon that was digging into the custard on his plate. She hated that nickname.

“Well, Nik, or should I say Nikky? Or Niko? Or Nikola? Or--”

“Ah, that’s enough, dear,” Nikolai groaned, he definitely had worse nicknames.

“Whatever you say, Kolya.”

“Who would’ve guessed that brunch Zoya was a gloater?” His tone was teasing as he leaned in, brushing the bottom of her lip with his thumb to get rid of a chocolate smudge. “I certainly figured you were the modest type,” he trailed off, realizing what he’d done.

“Me and gloat don’t belong in the same sentence,” Zoya said, but her voice was low and her eyes were trained on his fingers. Nikolai repressed the urge to sit on his hands or flee from the table, but she said nothing and neither did he.

“Kolya, sweetheart, be a dear and wait for your father’s card.” His mother was back. Nikolai shot out of his seat, walking over to her. “We’ll be down the street at Svetlana’s daughter’s boutique. Zoya, hon, are you coming with us?”

“Oh, I’ll just wait with Nikolai,” Zoya smiled.

“Of course, dear.” His mother then pulled him aside, “you should bring your girlfriend around more often. It’s been so long since you’ve brought someone home.”

Nikolai looked at her, bewildered, “girlfriend? Zoya’s not my girlfriend. We’re just friends. Not even friends, coworkers is probably a better descriptor for our fully platonic relationship.” Was he rambling? He felt like he was rambling.

Instead of replying his mother simply patted his cheek with an infuriatingly knowing look before she followed her friends out of the dining room. Nikolai shook his head out, walking back to Zoya as they waited.

“ ‘Not even friends?’I have to admit, that’s probably the best thing I’ve ever heard come out of your mouth,” Zoya said, tossing her hair over her shoulder.

“I was just taken aback,” Nikolai protested, “of course we’re friends, okay,” he said, raising his hands in surrender at her pointed glare, “I consider us friends at least, I don’t invite strangers to the brunch from hell.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” she scoffed, flicking a piece of lint from his lapel absently. “The food was good, and they were nice enough.”

“Oh, they’re not nice at all,” he laughed, turning to take the card from the approaching waiter, “you just knew how to handle them.”

“I suppose I’ve spent enough time with clients like them to know how to act,” she frowned, “I didn’t really have to think about it.”

“That makes you a perfect fit in their social circle,” he winked, holding the door open for her, “you’re clever enough to outsmart them all, they can’t get anything from you unless you want them to have it.”

“I thought being clever was your brand?”

“I’m okay with having a worthy companion in that bracket.” Nikolai jested, surprised when she slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow as they began their way down the street. She probably just needed to keep her balance, he couldn’t imagine navigating the cobblestone path in the high heels she was wearing. He couldn’t recall her ever wearing anything but heels, now that he thought about it. Perhaps she would require further assistance walking in the future, he didn’t think he would mind that.

“But really,” she said, tilting her head up to look at him, “you’ve never thought about us?”

Nikolai turned away for a second, unsure of what exactly to say, and when he turned back to her, she was already looking away. “I can’t say I have. To be fair, I didn’t think you liked me until yesterday, or that you considered us friends until today.”

“Of course we’re friends,” she scowled, punching his bicep with her free hand, “we’ve been friends for years, you dolt. You think I waste my free time on people I can’t be bothered to tolerate?”

“Oh.”

Zoya rolled her eyes, “yes, oh. I always knew I was smarter than you but this is pathetic on your part, Lantsov. What did you think when I gave you that scarf for Christmas?”

“I thought you were just being nice?”

She groaned, “take that back. I’ve never been nice a day in my life.”

They walked in silence for a few minutes before she spoke, “you really didn’t think, ‘hey, we do our work together at the office, we have the same friends, and I’m the only person in the office that Zoya hasn’t threatened to throw out the 29th floor window? so maybe that means something?’”

“You threatened to throw me out the second floor window 3 days into working at the firm.”

“Exactly!” she nodded, “you would probably survive that fall. That was essentially me telling you I didn’t hate you that much.”

“You work in mysterious ways, Nazyalensky.”

“Hold on,” Zoya put out a hand to stop him, “your collar is up.” She stepped towards him, fingers brushing his neck as she folded the fabric, her gaze intent upon him.

“If it weren’t for my newfound knowledge that you consider us friends, I would think you were considering strangling me.” Nikolai laughed, feeling her pause in her movements.

“That can certainly be arranged,” she teased, smoothing out the lapels of his coat, her hands resting on his chest for a second. Her eyes met his and she looked away quickly towards the boutique, freezing when she saw the occupants staring out the window at them. “Why are they looking at us like that?” Zoya murmured.

“I think that Svetlana thought she could get me to marry her daughter.”

“Aren’t you all about love, is it really that bad of an idea? She owns a boutique, that’s pretty cool.” She stepped back, shoving her hands into her own coat pockets, and Nikolai instantly regretted opening his mouth.

“I’m not really her type.”

“I thought you were ‘everyone’s type?’”

“Am I?” Zoya turned away from his gaze, and he thought he saw her face flush. “She dated Tamar a few years back, and then she was with my sister for a few months, but I doubt her mother knows if she’s dating anyone right now.”

“Wait, wait, wait. You have a sister?”

“That’s a story for another time,” Nikolai grinned. “It may cost you another lunch date.”

“If they have food as good as today’s, every Saturday is yours.”

Nikolai smiled as Zoya waltzed into the boutique, an elegant but disruptive storm in his life. She hadn’t flinched when he’d called it a date, hadn’t hesitated when he’d asked her to accompany him again, hadn’t protested at the fact that he’d won the bet. Despite all the good that had come out of the day, he felt something gnawing at his chest, ‘what, you’ve never thought about us?” and he doubted it would ever leave his head now. ‘Whatever’ Nikolai thought, trailing after her. It wasn’t like even if he wanted to, they would ever be together. There was no use in worrying over something that would never happen.

#zoyalai fic #my writings #zoyalai #nikolai lantsov #zoya nazyalensky #kos #s&b #tgt #gv

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writtenvisionary · 3 years

Text

Hypothetically - #AdrienAugust

Day 12 - “Photograph” @adrienaugust

Read on Ao3

No miraculous, aged up. Enjoy :)

Click. Flash.

“Alright, can you move your head to the right just a little? Yeah. Tighten your jaw. Yep. Stay just like that.”

Click. Flash.

“Bring your hand up next to your cheek. Mhm… back of the hand resting on your cheek…. Look right into the camera.”

Click. Flash.

“Good, now stay right there—“

A woman’s soft voice calls out from behind him, “Don’t be afraid to look angry. Your character just had her heart broken.

“Allow yourself to feel that emotion. As the audience, we want to feel the hatred you have for that woman.”

Click. Flash.

“Ok,” he says. “Pout and look to the left, just with your eyes.”

Click. Flash.

“Perfect! Stay like that…”

Click. Flash.

As he adjusts some settings on his camera, his creative director walks over to the set and assesses the situation.

She instructs the stylist to fix any stray baby hairs and re-curl any hairs that have lost their bounce from the heat of studio lights, then she turns her attention to the set designers to have them tweak the background and find a faux twig for the model to hold for a new shot.

Even after his settings are adjusted and the test shots he has taken had come out perfect, he still has to wait. He finds himself watching her again.

Her dark blue hair is tied into a set of short pigtails, swinging back and forth whenever she walks. Her smile lights up the room, so he can tell when she is happy with the results. The way she problem-solves so quickly; how she comes up with the most unique ideas that he’s ever heard of in his two years of being a professional photographer…

She was perfect.

“Okay! Let’s continue!”

He picks his camera back up, waiting for the cue.

A light tap on his shoulder tells him that he can take control. He smiles.

“Alright. Eliana, could you twist your body and look back, so that the light hits the let side of your face?”

Click. Flash.

“Awesome. More edgy, if you can.”

Click. Flash.

He brings the camera down from the place over his right eye, looking at the photo in full.

“Love it!”

That wasn’t him who spoke. It was Marinette.

Marinette. The director full of creativity that he sometimes craves at night. He would never tell her, but he nearly melts into a pile of goo whenever he sees her.

If she ever agreed to be a model for a test shoot of his… he wouldn’t complain.

He shakes his head. Back to business.

——

The rest of the shoot goes well. Eliana had headed into her trailer to get out of her outfit before heading home, and the crew was busy cleaning up the studio. Adrien was closing his tripod when she approached him.

“Great job today, Adrien.”

He looks over to her and smiles.

“Thanks, Marinette. You did great too.”

Putting his attention back on the tripod, he continues.

“Want me to send you the raw files when I get back to the office?”

She doesn’t respond for a moment. He imagines that she’s thinking over her answer.

“Yes, but don’t rush. My parents invited me over for lunch. You know how they can be.”

He laughs, “Of course. If you want to just glance over them really quick then? That way you have peace of mind?”

This time he looks at her and she nods.

Without another word, he pulls out the camera from his bag and turns it on. Then he navigates to the media and clicks to the first photo taken during that session.

Eliana, wearing an off-white, prairie-style dress, had been posed in a sitting position with braids in her hair and plump lips painted red. Fake grass covered the floor she sat on, and a flat covered in greens and twigs represents a forest. She holds a single red rose in her hand, and pretends to take in the scent of said flower with a content smile on her face.

“Ooh, I love that one.”

He clicks to another photo of the same pose, but with the rose tucked behind her ear. Instead of looking down where the rose once was, Eliana had her head tilted upwards as she looked off-camera. She still held a content smile.

“This one turned out great,” Marinette points a finger to a spot on the image, “although the focus is a bit soft here. Is there any way you might be able to edit it so that the focus is back on her face?”

He nods, “Of course, yeah. I’ll email you the raw files by number and you can send me any feedback or ideas for the editing process for each one. Sound good?”

Then he made a dire mistake — he looked up, and now his gaze is locked on her hair as she continues to view the picture. They’re only inches apart.

Excitedly, she nods.

“Sounds perfect!”

She turns to him.

Their eyes meet.

Time stops.

Blue eyes flicker back and forth in wonderment; the design of irises entwining so wildly, mimicking ocean waves crashing onto the shore.

He feels weak in the knees, a shiver crawling up his spine at the thought of ever breaking away from her gaze. He holds his breath, not wanting a connection like this to be broken for a trivial activity such as breathing. No, who needs oxygen? He has her eyes.

It’s a storm within those shimmering orbs. Lightning strikes, where light emitting from the camera below causes a stunning reflection. Then the sharks attack; dark bulbs widening in anticipation, ready to bite at any moment.

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t scared.

Thing is, he’s already fallen victim.

Without breaking his eyes away, Adrien feels around the camera, looking for a certain switch. Once he finds it, he flips it so that the media mode is now the camera mode. Then he pushes down the flash.

Slowly, he pulls his body away from hers’ just a couple inches and raises the camera up. Looking through the viewfinder, he adjusts the focus onto her right eye — which seems to have glazed over.

Click.

Then he steps backwards, far enough that he can get her full face in the frame, but not too far to where they’re no longer standing close together.

Her bangs falls imperfectly over her forehead, little hair wisps falling to the side of her face. A small nose compliments the faint flush of her cheeks, which bring out her luscious, pink lips.

Click.

When he lowers the camera, her trance seems to break.

She blinks rapidly, looking all around her and clearing her throat. Eventually, she quiets and looks over at him again. This time, less intensely.

He smiles, studying the photograph he had just taken. Wordlessly, he hands the camera over to the bluenette.

“This is the most beautiful photograph I have taken all day, Marinette… because you are the subject.”

At a loss for words, she stares at herself on the LCD screen. The large part of her that strives for perfection is disappointed in the visible flaws seen in the picture.

But another part of her has to smile at the compliment.

“Thank you, Adrien.”

The two are quiet for a few seconds.

“Well,” Marinette pipes up, grabbing her bag from the floor and assuring its place on her shoulder.

“I should get going! Lunch with the parentals.”

Adrien nods, biting his bottom lip.

He wants to ask, he really really does but he’s so nervous and—

No no no she’s turning to walk out the door!

“Would it—“

She turns around to face him, listening in anticipation.

He takes a quick, but short breath before blurting:

“Would it be highly inappropriate for a photographer to ask out his creative director?”

Then he back tracks.

“Hypothetically…”

With an amused smile, Marinette retraces her previous steps in his direction.

“Is this photographer named Adrien, and is this creative director named Marinette? Hypothetically,” she mocks.

He breathes a smile.

“Yes.”

She crosses her arms and hums, pretending to think.

Eventually, she responds.

“Highly inappropriate… but I’ll allow it. Hypothetically.”

His smile grows.

“Tomorrow night after the shoot? Dinner?”

“Looking forward to it.”

She winks and spins on her heel, turning to walk out the door. Two feet short of the threshold, however, she halts.

Without turning back, she utters playfully;

“Hypothetically, of course.”

#adrienaugreste #adrienaugust #adrien agreste #marinette dupain cheng #no miraculous au #aged up #adrien is the photographer #hahaha I switched it up #bc he hates being the model #it's 4am why am I not sleeping #ml #miraculous fanfic #miraculous fic #miraculous ladybug #ooc miraculous #ao3

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bex-la-get · 3 years

Text

This Unpredictable World (Adam x f!Detective)

Book: The Wayhaven Chronicles

Pairing: Adam du Mortain x Alma Cunningham

Word count: 2808

Summary: “We’ve spent so long trying to protect her from our world, that we never once thought about protecting her from her own.” Adam grapples with the dangers of the human world when Alma is in an accident.

Author’s Note: So, I threw my back out last week (always warm up before working out kids; it’s not worth the injury) and I thought “Ooh, how would UB react if the detective was injured?” And this was supposed to be fluffy, I swear... but then it wasn’t and here we are. Sorry? 😅

TW: Car accident, drunk driving, mentions of blood and injury.

Laughter. That was the sound he missed most.

Alma’s laugh had always been infectious. From the moment he met her, her laughter had drawn him in like a moth to a flame. He had resisted it, at first; fighting the urge to say things that might have elicited that laughter from her. But as time went on, he began to give in. He began to relish the sound of her laugh. The one that made her throw her head back and close her eyes as she reveled in the thing bringing her joy. The one that made his heart skip a beat every time he heard it.

Now, he’d give anything to hear it again. To see that bright smile of hers and watch as her face lit up; to hear her laugh that always reminded him of windchimes echoing throughout the sky. All he wanted was to hear that laugh, to see her smile. If he could just have that, then he knew everything would be okay...

Instead, Adam was stuck staring at the walls of the facility common room, desperately waiting to hear something, anything. The lack of answers was slowly killing him. He needed to know she’d make it out of this. That she was going to live.

Alma had been in a car accident; a bad one. She had been hit by a drunk driver causing her to skid off the road and crash into some nearby trees. She’d sustained some serious head trauma, several broken ribs, and internal bleeding in her lower abdomen. She had lost consciousness almost immediately but not before quickly calling her mother stating she was in trouble.

The Agency had moved fast; faster than normal emergency services would have been able to. One word from Agent Cunningham and several medical units were on their way to the crash site, Rebecca hot on their tail. Unit Bravo, having walked into the chaos that was surrounding the facility, barely had any idea of what was going on until Nate heard someone mention Alma’s name in the same sentence as “car crash.”

Adam’s world had come to a standstill at the news, his heart pounding so hard, he thought it might burst. When he met Nate’s eyes, his old friend nodded once and the four vampires piled into the car, following the medical units to where Alma was. “We don’t know how bad it is, Adam,” Nate had said, attempting to soothe Adam’s nerves. “She could be completely fine for all we know.”

Adam had nodded, but he wasn’t convinced.

When they had arrived at the crash site, his stomach dropped. Alma’s car was crushed in on several sides, smoke emitting from the hood. He couldn’t see her but he could hear the medics attempting to talk to her as they wriggled the door open. He didn’t hear her respond to them.

With a grunt, the medics opened the battered car door and Adam had watched in horror as Alma’s body slumped, nearly falling out of the vehicle. The medics converged over her blocking his view and he moved to get closer. He had to see her up close, he had to know she was okay.

A hand on his shoulder had stopped him and he turned to find Mason looking at him, a look of distress on his face. “Adam, don’t; her blood’s too strong. I can smell it all the way over here.”

Adam looked back at Alma, now being moved onto a gurney, and realized how bloodied she was. He could smell her now too; the smell of her mutated blood reaching him even as he stood yards away. He turned around and took a few steps farther away in an attempt to get away from the overwhelming scent of her. He needed to keep a clear head and, as much as it pained him, the farther away he was from her at the moment, the easier that would be.

The sound of footsteps gained their attention and they turned to find Agent Cunningham walking towards them, her face sullen and pale. “Agent Cunningham,” Nate had said, “we came as soon as we heard. Is Alma going to be alright?”

Rebecca gave them a sad smile. “Thank you for coming; to answer your question, I don’t know. They’re going to rush her back to the facility and assess her injuries there. She might need surgery. I don’t know much beyond that right now.”

“Is there anything we can do to help?” Felix asked, his usual cheery demeanor replaced with worry.

Rebecca shook her head. “Thank you, but no. Unfortunately, all we can do right now is wait.”

And wait they would. After Alma had been rushed to the facility and the intoxicated driver taken into custody-- their injuries far less severe and life-threatening-- Unit Bravo returned to the facility, the air around them heavy as they waited for an update on their detective. Some time after their return, Agent Cunningham entered the room notifying the vampires that, as of right now, Alma would not need surgery, much to everyone’s relief. But she wasn’t out of the woods yet. “The doctors are keeping her under close monitoring for the next twenty-four hours; they think the internal bleeding will stop on its own but if it doesn’t, they’re going to take her into emergency surgery. Same with her head injury.”

“When is she expected to wake up?” Adam asked.

Rebecca shrugged, the gesture taking more effort than normal. “I don’t know; she’s currently under a lot of medication. She could be out for a few hours or a day.” She pinched the bridge of her nose and took a ragged breath. “I’m sorry, I wish I had more information.” It was unclear if she was speaking to Unit Bravo or herself.

Nate stepped forward and placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “You have nothing to apologize for; we understand how difficult this must be for you.”

She looked at Nate sadly and nodded. “Thank you.” Her phone chirruped and she moved to exit, muttering a small “Excuse me,” as she left. Unit Bravo looked at each other, the same looks on all of their faces. Worry. Distress. Anxious.

Adam was the first to break away from the group, moving to a nearby sofa and dropping onto it heavily. He pulled a small photo-- the one he and Alma had taken when undercover at the carnival-- from his pocket and stared at it, his fingers running over the image of her. It had just been for show, he had told himself at the time; but the way she stared at him in this photo told him otherwise. It had never been for show for her.

And, if he was honest, it had never been for show for him either.

“Are you alright?” a familiar voice asked from next to him. He hadn’t even noticed Nate had sat down with him.

Adam closed his eyes and folded the photo closed. “No.”

Nate rested a hand on his shoulder and Adam looked at him. “We have to believe she’s going to be okay, Adam. Entertaining any alternative isn’t going to help anyone.”

Adam dropped his shoulders. “I know.”

“But?”

Adam reopened the photo and looked down at it sadly. “We’ve spent so long trying to protect her from our world,” he began, “that we never once thought about protecting her from her own.”

“No one could have predicted this, Adam,” Nate reasoned. “Try as we might, we can’t protect her from everything.”

“It’s our job to protect her from everything,” Adam argued. “I-- we should have been there, with her. We could have--”

Nate tightened his hold on Adam’s shoulder. “It was an accident, Adam. A preventable one, yes, but an accident nonetheless. We’re not seers; we can’t predict what’s going to happen every time we walk out the front door. You can’t beat yourself up over that.” Adam sighed and said nothing but Nate knew he had heard him. He squeezed his shoulder once more then stood up. “She’s in the best care possible; and she’s strong. She’ll pull through.”

As Nate walked away, Adam returned his attention to the small photo, once again tracing Alma’s image. “She’ll pull through,” he repeated, in a whisper. “She has to.”

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

Twenty-four hours passed slowly. And with very little update.

Rebecca had been allowed into the room around the eight-hour mark and Unit Bravo had been allowed in a few hours later. If Adam had thought seeing the detective would ease his nerves, he had been wrong. Her blood had been long cleaned off and any open wounds had been cleaned and stitched but she still looked so small. So fragile.

Alma laid unconscious on the hospital bed, her arms and face covered with bruises and scratches. There was an IV attached to one arm while the heart monitor beeped consistently in the corner; not that it was necessary. Adam had been listening for her heartbeat ever since they had returned to the facility. He was reassured that it remained as steady and strong as always. Still, the current sight of her made his heart ache.

He watched the rise and fall of her chest, her breathing steady, then looked over her face, eyes relaxed in sleep. He hoped she was having a good dream; she had mentioned once that she still had nightmares of Murphy. The idea that that monster still haunts her made Adam’s fists clench; he hoped, above all else, that she wasn’t dreaming of him at this time. May she never dream of him ever again.

As the hours ticked on, Unit Bravo began to retire to their rooms, after reassurances from the doctors that Alma wasn’t likely to wake until tomorrow. Even Rebecca eventually retired, emotionally drained from the day. Eventually, the only person to remain in the room was Adam.

When he was alone, Adam moved from his place in the corner to a nearby chair. He dragged it over until it was right next to Alma’s bedside and took a seat. For a long moment, he sat in silence, listening to the sound of Alma’s heartbeat and the quiet sounds of her breathing. Then, he reached for her hand and took it in both of his, his fingers resting on the pulse point on her wrist. It was one thing to hear it, but upon feeling her heartbeat, his shoulders dropped from their tense position and he released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

“Come back, Alma,” he said, quietly. He was positive she couldn’t hear him but he still felt the need to say something. Anything, really. He just… needed to talk to her. “Come back to me. Please.” He clasped her hand in his and he placed a soft kiss to her knuckles. “We need you. I need you. Please.”

The night passed slowly, the hours feeling more like days. With the exception of the occasional check-up from Elidor, Adam remained Alma’s only visitor for the entirety of the night, his hand never leaving hers. He would occasionally talk to her, sharing mindless thoughts with her, ranging from a book he had recently read to Felix’s recent antics with Mason’s laundry. He had hoped that by talking to her, she might be able to hear him and know he was there. That he would always be there.

It was nearing sunrise now; the early hours were quiet and undisturbed. Adam’s hand still held Alma’s tightly as he watched her heart monitor, her heartbeat still strong and steady as it always was. A small smile on his lips, he became so focused on the monitor that he almost missed Alma’s hand tightening around his. Almost.

He looked down at their clasped hands before looking to her face to find her hazel eyes fluttering open. He sucked in a breath as her eyes adjusted to the bright lights of the hospital room before locking with his. “Adam?”

He released a sound that was a mix between a laugh and a sob and used his free hand to brush some stray strands of hair behind her ear. “Good morning.”

She leaned into his touch. “What happened?” she asked, her voice thick with sleep.

He frowned. “You were in an accident. You were--” he hesitated to speak his next words-- “you were hit by an intoxicated driver.”

Alma released a breath. “Shit. Are-- are they okay?”

There she went again, worrying about others before herself. Adam fought the urge to shake his head at her kindness; she was too good with people sometimes. “They do not deserve your concern; as far as I care, they’ve been arrested and incarcerated. That is all that matters.”

Alma frowned in disagreement but didn’t argue the point further. Instead, she tightened her grip on his hand. “Where’s everyone else? Mum?”

“They retired for the evening last night. I should alert them that you’re awake.” He began to slide his hand from hers as he shifted out of the chair but she held on tightly.

“Don’t go,” she whispered. “I-- I don’t really wanna be alone.”

His eyes met hers and a small smile settled onto his lips before sinking back into the chair. Instead, he pulled out his phone, sent off a quick text to the rest of Unit Bravo and Agent Cunningham, then returned his attention to Alma. She was studying his face, a thoughtful look on her face.

“What is it?” he asked.

Tentatively, she reached with her free hand and cupped his cheek. He leaned into her touch almost on instinct. “You look tired. Did you sleep?”

He chuckled dryly. “No. I don’t need to sleep, remember?”

“Adam--” she began, the sound of disapproval in her voice.

He shook his head. “I’m alright, Detective,” he told her, quietly. “I-- I didn’t want to miss an update on your condition. I--we were worried about you.”

She brushed her thumb across his cheek. “Thank you for staying.”

He closed his eyes and relished in the feel of her hand on his cheek. He covered her hand with his free one, as if holding it there. “I don’t know what I would have done if I had lost you, Alma,” he said, softly. It was so quiet Alma almost missed it; but she was grateful she hadn’t.

“I’m here now,” she reassured. “And I’m safe. That’s the important thing.”

He nodded. “That it is.”

“Tu omnia,” she whispered.

He smiled. Then, acting off of instinct rather than logic, he removed his cheek from her hand only to turn his face and place a soft kiss on the inside of her wrist, right above her pulse point. Her pulse sped up at his gesture and he placed one more kiss higher up on her palm. “Tu omnia,” he repeated.

Just then, he could hear the sound of several sets of feet rushing their way towards the hospital room and he stood up from the chair, giving Alma’s fingers one last squeeze, then moved away to the corner of the room. Alma gazed at him confused but understanding soon flickered across her features when the door opened and her mother appeared.

“Alma!” Rebecca practically ran to her daughter’s bedside, pulling her into a tight hug as the rest of Unit Bravo trailed in after her. Alma returned her mother’s hug before looking to the rest of Unit Bravo and smiling. Within seconds, Felix and Nate had her wrapped in a bear hug, Mason standing nearby with his signature smirk, making Alma laugh in response.

Adam’s heart skipped a beat. There was that laugh again; the one he had missed so much, the one he had craved to hear when she had been unconscious. Hearing it now was like hearing a beautiful piece of music for the first time after being unable to hear anything; his shoulders released their usual tension and he smiled softly.

“So, no one’s bothered to tell me what happened to my car,” Alma said, looking at her mother.

Rebecca grimaced. “Uh--”

“Your car’s totaled,” Mason interjected. “But on the plus side, the forest now has a nice shiny fender element to it.”

“Mason!” Nate reprimanded.

Alma shook her head, smiling. “I should’ve known.”

“You can use one of the Agency’s vehicles while we find you a replacement,” Rebecca offered.

“Preferably something that doesn’t look like it’ll break upon getting into it,” Mason muttered.

Nate groaned. “Mason!”

Alma laughed again, making Adam’s heart swell at the sound. There were still some loose ends that needed tying up: Alma would still need time to fully recover and the intoxicated driver would need to be taken care of at some point. But for now, she was smiling and laughing and safe. For now, that was all that mattered.

Tag List: @sanguineverefae @little-flowers-on-heaven @mia143 @takemyopenheart @jamespotterthefirst

#bexwritesstuff #the wayhaven chronicles #twc fic #adam du mortain #a du mortain #adam x detective #adam x alma #alma cunningham #f!detective #twc mc

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whumpwillow · 3 years

Note

Ooh, there’s so many good ones, but I’m gonna go with #40 for Ezra.

40: poison my muse

i researched most deadly poisons for this and the FBI is watching me, I’m sure. (for reference, I’m going off of the effects of Ricin, a deadly poison made from the castor oil plant known to cause symptoms similar to food poisoning including fever, body aches, and dehydration)

0 hours

The scientist tilted Ezra’s head back and squeezed the sides of his face. Ezra snarled at the man, clenching his teeth shut tight no matter how hard the scientist tried getting him to open his mouth.

“Come on,” the scientist coaxed.

A lab tech jabbed him in the back with a cattle prod, sending a sharp burst of electricity through Ezra’s body. The shock of it caused the immortal to gasp, which gave the scientist an opening to pour the poison down his throat.

Ezra tried not to swallow it. The scientist held his hand over the immortal’s mouth, fighting against the struggling, futile motions of someone who never knew when not to resist.

“Don’t spit it out,” the scientist cooed.

Ezra grunted, trying to force the poison out but there was nowhere for it to go and he felt it slipping down into his body. When finally the scientist released him, Ezra gulped in heady mouthfuls of air, gasping and dizzy.

The scientist looked to their lab tech. “Assess his reaction and record any changes you see. I’ll be back tomorrow to see the progression.”

Ezra spat at the man, but it was useless. The poison was already in his system, and the scientist was already walking away.

6 hours

Ezra lie on the cold metal table, desperately woozy and exhausted. He was restrained, however fruitlessly, since he didn’t think he’d be able to get up even if he were freed. A violent coughing fit wracked his body and sweat made his hair stick to his skin, and he would trade everything he had for just a single drop of water. Sad thing was, he didn’t have anything to give. And thus, even as he wasted away with dehydration, he was not given anything in return.

24 hours

The scientist returned. Checked on his notes, then the observations of the lab tech. Ezra drifted in and out of consciousness, his mind a cloud passing through liminal space. He’d slept fitfully, thrown into violent nightmares. What else was new.

The scientist pressed his fingers into Ezra’s skin and the immortal cried out, flinching away from the contact. It felt hard enough to bruise, but no, no, he’d had worse than this. The man hadn’t even done anything. It was the same as roughly grabbing his arm—why did it hurt so much?

His body was on fire.

72 hours

He should be dead. He knew the type of poison they were using—knew that it would kill any other living human in less than this. But he wouldn’t die. They knew that. He’d just lie here, sore, feverish, and aching…and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

—

this was fun. fuck with my muse prompts - still open

#oc ezra #original work: aeonian #poison #willow answers #answered asks #fuck with my muse prompts #still accepting them!! just taking a while!!#whump #whump writing #my writing #willow writes #poison whump #immortal whumpee #immortal whump #immortality whump

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hurricanery · 3 years

Text

all to myself

A/N: This is a quick thing I wrote completely as a result of re-watching season 15 Amelink moments. Kinda a throwback. The next story I post will either be some domestic amelink/scout stuff orrrr a multi-chapter AU featuring amelink as interns together w/ some other original characters. Let me know what you wanna read next! Feedback is always appreciated!

_______

Floating on a high, and I feel ya

Got an ache inside, and I need ya

Ooh, I desperately wanna be lost with you

'Til all of our energy crosses

_______

They slept together. Once. Two weeks ago. Rather impulsively at a work conference.

And Amelia knows it was more than just an impulsive move, or a soon-to-be repressed mistake. God, she doesn’t see it as a mistake.

She’s been thinking about it basically 24/7 since she returned back to Seattle. She doesn’t remember finally being able to fall asleep that night, but she does remember waking up the next morning with a start.

Because something was different. Good different.

She had sat up in the hotel bed, instantly reaching for her own lips, running her fingertips over them, as if she’d actually feel proof of what happened.

And then she had registered that distinct taste on her lips and vaguely in the back of her throat. Kind of like the burning sensation of a kiss you’ll never not think of. It was a bold presence in her morning. And it was so refreshing.

Her heart had clenched as she let the hazy memories resurface.

If asked whether she anticipated sleeping with Atticus Lincoln on that night, she would’ve burst out into stunned laughter. Because, no. Of course not. Right?

She’d just ended a long-term relationship. She’d been in a bit of a weird place lately. Not totally herself. And probably not ready. So, this definitely wasn’t going to become anything serious.

But somehow, something had changed that night. And in that moment, after a brief argument that had surprisingly ended in a dinner invite, looking into a pair of pleading blue eyes that she wished didn’t mirror her own, she knew what her next move was.

And it was the way he had gazed back at her, that finally pushed her over the edge. Deciding dinner wasn’t truly what she wanted in that moment, she murmured a quick ‘no’ before stepping forward and capturing his soft lips in her own.

She remembers the way he had instantly kissed her back, and the way his breath felt against her own. Her hands went to the buttons on his shirt, and the noise that she had made in the back of her throat, a mix between a whine and a full-fledged moan. As if to say, finally.

She likes to think it was Link who took control then, slipping his tongue into her mouth and pulling his own shirt the rest of the way off. Pushing her toward the bed and lifting her onto it. Pushing down a wall she’d had up for some time now. Making her feel.

Alternative pain relief.

Finally. Feeling.

_______

Two weeks later and Amelia’s still feeling. A lot.

But her mind is clouded mostly with confusion. Because she hasn’t heard anything from Link since that night. And she hopes to god that he doesn’t regret it. But she’d totally understand if he did. She’s the one in a weird place. The one who needs alternative pain relief.

Part of her feels guilty. The inexplicable doubt weighs on her, the fact that she’s basically using him. Just because she needs it, doesn’t mean he does, too. And so Amelia suppresses any urge she has to bring it up; suppresses any urge she has to just jump his bones right then and there, when the two of them are hopping on a private plane to New York for a surgery. Basically forced into each other’s company.

She’ll act cool, calm, collected….all of it.

She’ll disregard the fact that she’s been ‘in a weird place these days,’ because she’s just grateful that she’s feeling, again.

_______

Amelia steps onto the small plane and all of her anxieties about seeing Link again wash away as soon as she locks eyes with him.

He turns to her, from where he has already taken his seat, and awkwardly kind of shrugs, with a sheepish smile on his face.

“Hey, stranger,” she mumbles, in a mock-serious tone, before she realizes she can’t keep up the facade. And she starts laughing. “Long time, no see.”

Link laughs in agreement, and it looks like his shoulders relax a little. Amelia takes her seat across from him, smirking the whole time.

_______

It happens again.

Amelia doesn’t mean for it to happen again, but it does.

And now she’s slipping out of Link’s bed and pulling on his shirt in one swift movement. Her ‘no sleepovers’ policy at the forefront of her mind as she makes her way to the door between their adjoining hotel rooms.

“Wait, how about we order pizza?”

Amelia glances at Link incredulously. “We have a very important surgery early tomorrow. Sleep time.”

“Or room service?” He continues, persistent. “Room service in bed and then we sleep?”

“No,” Amelia laughs. “No sleepovers, remember?”

Link pouts at her, collapsing back against the bed dramatically. “Let’s forget the rules for a night. I’m hungry.”

“Nope!” Amelia states matter-of-factly. “No complications. We both agreed. My life is already complicated enough.” She laughs.

Link sighs again dramatically, accepting defeat.

“Goodnight, Link.” She smirks at him as he lays back against the bed. “See you tomorrow.”

There’s brief silence as she turns around in her doorway, beginning to push the door shut.

“Goodnight, Amelia.”

_______

The following evening, after a successful surgery, Amelia and Link return to their hotel. As they enter the lobby, the receptionist at the front desk waves in their direction. Amelia simply waves back before she realizes that the receptionist is trying to wave her over.

“I’ll go see what’s up. Hold the elevator for me.” Amelia mumbles.

Link presses the button to call the elevator down and watches from across the lobby as Amelia chats briefly with the staff. A minute later, Amelia returns with a weird look on her face.

“What was that about?” Link asks.

“There’s a problem with the rooms,” she explains. She looks riddled with uncertainty. “Well, with my room.”

“Huh?”

“Apparently my hotel room is reserved for another guest starting early tomorrow. They offered to upgrade me starting tonight.”

Link frowns.

“I didn’t want to have to move all my luggage to another floor so….” She pauses briefly as they step onto the elevator. The next sentence comes out in a nervous mumble. “I said we only needed one room.”

Link slowly breaks out into a smile. “We can work with that,” He says calmly. “Good idea to not have to move your stuff.”

The elevator door opens to their floor and Amelia just stands there for a second, watching Link exit.

She swears she can hear him laughing at her sudden awkwardness as he makes his way down the hallway.

Once Amelia gets all of her luggage settled into Link’s room, she returns to the lobby briefly to return the key card to her previous room.

She re-enters their now shared hotel room and watches as Link sighs tiredly, leaning toward the bed before dramatically sprawling out on it.

Amelia laughs loudly at his action. “You were great today.” She sits on the chair in the corner to remove her ankle boots and jacket. “In surgery I mean.”

“As were you.” Link responds, picking his head up to glance at her. “Very few people in this world can do what you did today.”

Amelia smiles sheepishly at the wholeheartedness of his words, then suddenly stands up.

“I’m gonna shower.” She states, “I’ll just be a few.”

Link tries not to pass out on top of the covers before she returns. He can hear her humming slightly to herself from inside the bathroom, and Link stifles the urge to mock her in any way.

Link changes into some sweatpants and a t-shirt before he hears the water turn off.

“Ah, shit,” he hears Amelia hiss through the thin walls.

“Amelia?” he calls, almost too quickly, cursing himself for being too attentive.

There’s a moment of silence.

“Uh, yeah? Yeah, Hi. Everything’s cool in here. Yep. Don’t worry.” And then she laughs.

“Uhhhh,” he draws out his response. “You sure you’re alright?”

“Yeah, I’m just…..clumsy. Dammit.” She laughs again breathlessly. “I, uh. I cut my shin…. shaving….I thought it stopped bleeding, but…”

Silence falls between them again and Amelia can’t help but laugh at the situation she’s gotten herself in.

“Do you need my help?”

“Uh, no. I don’t think so.” She knows she doesn’t sound convincing.

“…Amelia?”

“Actually, do you have a bandaid? …..Or like six?”

There’s another pause before Amelia can hear some shuffling around in the other room.

“There’s got to be a first aid kit in here somewhere.” Link responds, making his way to the closet “Got it!”

He walks over to the bathroom but pauses with his hand on the door knob. “Should I come in?”

“Yeah, yeah. Please.” Comes a muffled reply.

Link opens the door and is met with an unexpected sight. Not entirely sure what to expect, but Amelia, wrapped up in a white towel, sitting on the lid of the closed toilet seat, leg propped up on the edge of the bathtub, was not it.

He bursts out laughing.

“This is not funny!” But she’s laughing, too. And rolling her eyes at him. “I need those bandages!”

“Wait, no. Amelia. You can’t just put a bandaid on there. You’re bleeding, like, a lot.” He kneels down next to her, and Amelia instinctively pulls her towel tighter underneath her arms. Link gives her a look, as if to say, 'It’s not like I haven’t seen it all before. Now please let me assess your injury.’

And Amelia just relaxes her shoulders, nodding to herself and to him.

“And you’re soaking wet, no bandaid is gonna stay on your skin like this,” he mutters, pushing the ropes of her wet hair back past her shoulders, in hopes that it would help her dry faster.

He grabs a roll of toilet paper from under the sink and goes to work at stopping the bleeding, holding it there for a while until he thinks it’s okay to wrap up.

“Now six bandaids seems a little excessive there, Amelia. How about two?”

“I think I deserve at least four,” she bargains, endearing smirk on her face.

“Fine,” Link gives in, gently placing each bandaid on her shin one at a time. “There. Good as new,” he smiles, patting her leg.

Amelia rolls her eyes, blushing. “Thanks.”

And then Link stands, not sure what to do with himself now.

“I’m going to change now,” Amelia laughs.

And now Link’s blushing. “Yeah, yep. I’ll get out of your way,” he mumbles, exiting the tiny bathroom.

_______

When Amelia enters the room a few minutes later in an oversized t-shirt, which is what she normally wears to bed, she swears she sees Link do a double take. He’s now dressed in sweats standing near his open luggage in the opposite corner of the room. His stare lingers for a second too long and Amelia looks down at herself. She doesn’t understand the sudden awkwardness between them. But the air feels different.

“I know. Sorry, this is all I have,” she mumbles. “And I thought I’d have my own room tonight so-”

“What? No, you’re fine,” Link responds quickly.

She grins at him, clearly amused by him.

Link shakes his head at himself and turns to grab a couple pillows off of the bed, tossing them on to the floor.

“What are you doing?” Amelia interrupts him.

“Making a bed for myself on the floor?” It comes out as a question. “No sleepovers, remember?” He laughs, knowingly.

Amelia looks stunned, but only for a moment.

“No you’re not,” Amelia laughs. “Just get in here,” she adds, as she crawls under the covers on one side of the bed.

Link gratefully tosses the pillows back, getting into bed beside Amelia, sitting against the headboard as he pulls on the covers.

He reaches across and switches off the light on his bedside table, and the whole room goes dark. Amelia rolls onto her side and listens to Link shuffle around until he gets comfortable.

“Goodnight, Link. Thanks again for today,” Amelia whispers in his general direction, not really sure of his current position.

“'Night, Amelia.” Amelia is surprised by the vicinity of his voice, closer than she expected.

A couple minutes later and Amelia needs to readjust herself. She gasps when her face collides with something surprisingly hard. She reaches out her hand and quickly realizes she’s touching Link’s chest, now with her hand, and leaning against him with her face pressed up to it.

“Oops,” she mutters, and Link laughs under his breath.

But she doesn’t move away.

And Link takes the initiative of pulling her in closer at her hips, and then keeping his hands there, squeezing at her waist.

“Amelia, I-”

“Link-”

They both pause. And Link squeezes at her waist again, encouraging her to talk first.

She clears her throat. “Link, I-” She pauses again, working herself up to what she wants to say.

Their eyes are adjusting to the light it seems, and Amelia can just make out Link’s eyes, staring intently back at her. Maybe he can sense her worry.

“It doesn’t have to mean anything,” Link offers.

Amelia nods. “Right,” she mumbles quietly.

Their faces are just inches apart. And Amelia knows she wants to kiss him. She wants to have him again. She wants to keep feeling. Keep falling.

Maybe she wants the complications.

Maybe she just wants to kiss him.

So she does. And Link shivers as her lips gently brush his. Amelia feels Link move one of his hands up in response, so that it’s cupping her cheek, while the other remains on her hip.

Link leans forwards and presses his lips against Amelia’s. He opens his mouth to her and Amelia does the same, catching his top lip between hers. It’s slow, and it’s lovely. And this time it’s not impulsive.

But it still feels so right.

They pull apart, smiling through the darkness. And Amelia rolls over so that her back lines up against Link’s front. His arm goes possessively around her waist, pulling her in closer than they’ve ever been.

Amelia can feel her breath start to even out, as well as hear Link’s. Both on the verge of sleep. She just barely whispers into the quiet of the room, “I kind of like sleepovers."

_______

And I want you all to myself

Just keep me caught in your spell

You stop my breathing, but keep my heart breathing

You're bringing me outta hell

Oh, I want you all to myself

#amelink #amelink fanfic #amelinkfic #amelia shepherd #atticus lincoln #amelia x link #amelinkfanfiction #ALSO THIS FIC IS NAMED AFTER THE SONG THAT PLAYED DURING THEIR FIRST KISS SCENE SHOUTOUT IF YOU NOTICED THAT #my writing

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