#Some that is intentionally vague because they made it as such
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Along Came Fire - Avery/Blair Pt. 3
Here's the last installment of this fic! I thought they would talk about certain things a bit more, but they only went so far. Of course lol.
Anyway, there will be more about them in the coming months, soooooo . . . here's a hot, steaming pile of hasty editing!
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Avery doesn’t start with his shirt. Instead, she slips the bandana off of his head. Runs the fingers of both hands through his hair in a slow, deliberate way that makes him shiver. A low rumble of appreciation vibrates deep within his chest and his hands find their way back to her hips so that he can pull her closer. The fact that she’s basically straddling him is making his already tight jeans uncomfortable to the point of wanting to rip them off, but he forces himself to be still, allowing her to explore him with her fingertips.
She traces the line of his jaw, runs a thumb over his lips, flicks the chain that connects the hoop in his nose with the one in his ear.
“I like this,” she says, her nail dragging the length of the chain with a tickling vibration.
“Yeah?” He ignores the rising tingle in his sinuses that the tiny motion creates. Or tries to. “Hhmn, careful.”
“Should I unhook it?” She leans dangerously close to his face and heat roars through his blood.
“Probably.” He slides his hands up to cup her face. “Come here.”
Kissing this woman is like a static shock, a flicker of lightning across his lips. The little pointed tips of her canines graze his tongue and the restraint it takes to keep from toppling her onto her back is an exercise in control that he nearly fails.
The edge of her nail grazes his nose ring and he winces against her mouth.
“Mmn, f-fuuhh-hh….!”
He breaks the kiss with an ungodly sharp gasp and only manages to lean away just enough to forgo dampening her shirt. “HhRISSSCH! EhhRISSCCH-uh!”
But he doesn’t quite spare her arm. Or his own.
The way she tilts her head is reminiscent of something curious and predatory, as if she is deciding the best way to approach eating him.
Damn, that’s hot.
“Aww.” She runs a finger down the slope of his nose. “I’m sorry. Did that tickle?”
Her fingers grip his shirt and she jerks his shoulders off the mattress. Like two feet off of the mattress.
What the f—
She’s kissing him, nibbling his ear, nipping the line of his jaw. Playful. Teasing. And definitely asking for something more than cuddling on the couch with a movie.
“Look.” He grabs her sides to steady her. “I’ve got limits with–.”
Again with the nails on the chain followed up by a delicate swat of fingers. “I don’t think I want you to take this off.”
A burning tingle surges through his sinuses and he cringes hard against a knuckled finger. “A-Avverr—ehhh-hhhheh! EhhRISSSCHT! HhKGGSSHT!”
“Whoopsie,” she says in a voice that isn’t even the slightest bit sorry. “You’re really sensitive, aren’t you.”
Not a question.
“I am.” He sniffles thickly, needing a tissue like seven kinds of hell, but not bothering to grab one. Instead, he lets her push him flat on the mattress and pulls her down atop of him, pinning her hips against his own with his hands. “You like trying to make me lose my shit?”
“Well, I’d like it if you lost this shirt,” she says.
The same hands shove him flat onto the mattress hard to make the coils squeak like a trampoline. “Here, let me help you.”
She slide-jerks the fabric over his head and tossed it halfway across the room.
“Oooh. . . “ Her eyes widen just a touch and she runs appreciative hands down his chest. “Aren't you an absolute unit.”
Blair snorts a laugh. “There's one I haven't heard.”
Her half-lidded stare is all pupil and smolder as nimble fingers slip beneath the waistband of his jeans. “What about the rest of you?”
“Mmmm, dunno.” He grabs her hips with a slow squeeze of hands. “You tell me.”
Those questing digits slide lower and he doesn't even try to suppress the shiver of pleasure when they make contact. And return that squeeze.
“Ooh,” she purrs. “Sir, I'm gonna need to see your conceal and carry permit.”
He laughs again. Hard.
She slides down his body like a serpent, nails raking his chest, his ribs, his hips. Pants come off. Lights are dimmed.
And there is much growling and gasping to be had.
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Avery can't even remember the last time she'd slept so well. Curled against this beast of a man and all but enveloped in a wreath of blankets and limbs, she can't possibly get any closer to him. But she does somehow.
His embrace around her tightens and she snuggles against his chest with a contented sigh. She could get used to this. Too bad he’s a rockstar with maybe a day or two of downtime, if he’s lucky. Or if she is.
His chest suddenly expands against her and he attempts to put some distance between them, but no way she's letting that happen.
"Hey, don't worry about it," she murmurs into his collarbone.
Like he has a choice.
The sneeze overtakes him with a shoulder-shuddering "HeehRISSCH!" followed almost immediately by a second, more emphatic "Hh'RISSSCHH-uuh!"
"Mmn, sorry," he mumbles through what sounds like heavy, unproductive congestion.
"Stop being sorry," she says.
But she does untangle herself for a better look at him. And to be fair, he does look. . . rough. The bandana-less waves of his hair are softly disheveled, nostrils rimmed in an angry pink tint, and the flush of fever spans his cheeks.
"Ooh." She runs her fingers through his ruffled locks with a gentle touch. "You're really sick, aren't you?"
"Maybe." He sniffles thickly. "Not contagious, like I said."
“Wouldn’t care if you were, like I said,” she reminds him.
And reaches for the forgotten box of tissues to hand over a few.
Just in time, from the looks of it. Blair is doing his best to fend off whatever has him beyond urgent and is failing spectacularly. It’s the lip curl thing that’s really doing it for her, that flash of canines that are just a little too pointed to be entirely human.
But he smells human. Looks human. What kind of–
"Hhh-hhh. . .! UhCHISSSH! Hhhkg-RISSSCHiiuuhh!" He follows the sneezes with a forceful and immediate blow that sounds as if it takes far more energy than he has to expend.
"God bless," she says, smoothing his sneeze-displaced locks away from his eyes.
"Thank you," he says in a weary, congestion-deepened voice that makes her toes curl. "Not the way I wanted to wake up with you."
Avery waves a dismissive hand. "Oh, please. Taking care of a big, burly rockstar who's been beaten into submission by his own body is a favorite pastime of mine."
He chuckles darkly. “I’m a fucking fantasy, then.”
“Damn right,” she says.
She slides her arms around his neck and draws herself as close as physics will allow. "I think you need a hot bath and some hot sex."
A burst of deep, rumbling laughter escapes him and she nips at his collarbone.
“Wanna reverse that order?” Calloused fingers grip her naked hips and she lets him drag her atop his body.
Boy, did she ever. A girl could only take so much.
And he doesn’t mind her taking the lead, which is about as sexy as it gets with such a huge guy being brought to his limits by someone as small as herself. Besides, he seems to like watching her be on top, the pupil in that odd, yellow-amber eye expanding to an almost obscene amount of blackness.
Beneath her hands, his skin warms to her touch until it feels as if it is hot enough to burn, but it’s a feeling she relishes. He doesn’t even seem to mind when she scratches swaths of red down his chest. In fact, he looks like he likes it. Sounds like it, too.
Nothing like hearing a man do that groan-growl-purr thing he’s doing.
By the time she’s collapsed atop of him in a pleasurably panting heap, he’s like laying on sun-infused earth that’s been baking in the summer heat. And then, there’s that whole slight wisp of smoke thing. She’s not imagining it.
“So . . .” She rolls onto her side, still curled against him, one finger tracing his lips. “Let’s drop the facade here. You wanna tell me what the whole literal ‘smoking hot’ thing is all about?”
He lolls his head in her direction and arches an eyebrow. “You wanna tell me where you got that foxfire?”
She sits up with an abrupt dislodging of sheets.
“I asked you first,” she counters.
He chuckles, a thin line of smoke ebbing from his lips. “Surprised you didn’t ask about the eye.”
“I’m getting to that.” She runs a dark nail down his bare chest, smiling when she shivers.“You smell human. Look human. You even taste human. But you’re not really, are you.”
“. . . taste?”
“I bit you.”
He chuckles. “Yeah. You did.” That dark voice deepens. “A few times.”
“Well?”
“What.”
She huffs. “What are you?”
He scratches the underside of his chin with nails that could rival her own. “I’m a man,” he says. “With extras.”
“You’re annoying, that's what you are.”
“It’s a long story,” he says at last.
Something in the way he says that makes her reign in her interrogation. Maybe a peace offering of sorts first.
“You shouldn’t be able to ‘see me,’ but you can.” She levels her stare at him and flicks the chain of his nose ring, smiling with wicked pleasure when he flinches. “How?”
"G-goddaaahh miiihh—-Huuuh….ARRISSCHUH! IKGSSSHkt!" Blair's breath trembles with a staggering, vocal hitch, like his body is fighting itself for lung capacity he doesn't have. "Hkg–RISSSCHIIU!" He gives a lock of her hair a playful tug in return. “Fucking quit it.”
His command and his knowing smirk don’t even come close to aligning.
Great fucking sexy-ass bastard.
“Fess up or I’ll flick you again.”
Again with the chuckling. And the sniffling. “I can.” He pauses, as if mulling over his impending explanation. “I’m bound and sworn to keep that to myself. And you damn well know what that means, don’t you.”
Oh, she knew, alright. Just why he was granted that ability in the first place was a question he probably wouldn’t answer.
Not right now, anyway.
“Prove it,” she says. “Tell me what you see.”
He slips his arms behind his head, cradling it in his massive hands. “Fox spirit,” he says at last. “Kitsune.”
Well, damn.
She huffs, sending wisps of her hair flying. “Now, I’m really annoyed.” She sprawls across his chest with a sort of purring hum, nips at his neck. “Aren’t you worried I’m going to suck your spirit dry, if you don’t give me what I want?”
“You can’t,” he says. “But it would be fun to watch you try.”
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Finis . . . for now.
#EFF writes#Avery#Blair#Look I can't MAKE him talk lol#At least she was willing to give up some of her details#There will definitely be more about this in the near future#Some that is intentionally vague because they made it as such#I don't have any control over this shit okay??#LOL
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my for some reason unpopular opinion is that it's boring when Fitz remains unhinged levels of self-deluded and closeted actually. Why does he have to be doctor who's answer to dean winchester, huh? why would this man in his mid-thirties who has spent at least a decade traveling in time and space still have weird insane hangups about being attracted to dudes? why does that need to be the thing about the text that we all collectively think is worth taking at face value? it's boring and fucking depressing and honestly doesn't make sense when the future of humanity in doctor who is that bisexuality is the cultural default and completely unremarkable.
#like geez I don't think that making it to thirty+ years old and still being afraid and filled with self-hatred is funny actually#eighth doctor adventures#eighth doctor#fitz kreiner#megan whines into the empty abyss of cyberspace#it's also weird because this definitely wasn't the attitude in fandom ten years ago#my suspicion is that Steve Cole's confirmation that Fitz was always meant to be bi made people start taking the text literally#in a way folks didn't before when slash shipping culture was just used to reading against a text as a default#like I vaguely recall a post going around shortly after that was confirmed in 2019#that brought up how Fitz being canonically bi meant that all his weird hangups couldn't be handwaved away now#because if fandom made him bi against canon then you could just ignore his weirder no homo moments#but if he was intentionally written as bi then he was also intentionally written as deeply closeted#and like. that's true. but also you can just do whatever the fuck you want with canon no matter what#and also like#sure many of the writers were writing him as queer intentionally#but like the writing in the EDAs is so inconsistent of course some people are going to write weird no homo crap#because those writers weren't comfortable with queerness even if Cole's intent was that Fitz was bi#like The Gallifrey Chronicles's whole thing with Fitz and Trix is one long lance parkin no homo moment#does that really matter more than textual evidence that he is attracted to men and knows this about himself?#like I just don't know how you reconcile 'Fitz will bend over backwards to pretend he's straight' with#'a consideration of his chances of [...] getting laid by the Doctor'#or for that matter 'with the Doctor it's the real thing'#or the really really heavy implication that he and Sasha had a one night stand in History 101#or that he and George went on a date in Camera Obscura which led to Fitz being invited on the Siberia expedition in the first place#and again and I can't emphasize this enough: why is this the thing about 'canon' that is so worth keeping?#why is Fitz being depressing levels of in denial more fun than him being openly bi?#destielification of Eight/Fitz smh
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will be honest tumblr has truly invented some “fun” ways to continue making fun of people’s appearances while still acting like they’re above mocking people’s appearances
#kite.txt#I assume it makes them feel ok if they just target things that don’t usually get mocked or made fun of#to me it still all just reads like implying some part of a persons appearance is ugly/undesirable#being intentionally vague here because this is about several things and . truly nothing that serious#just uh. idk. interesting to see .. mm
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OFF TO THE RACES
DESCRIPTION: toji takes you to bet on one of his races.
PAIRING: toji x reader
WC: 1.9k
WARNINGS: 18+ MDNI. f! reader, afab terms, age gap, implied free use, heavy implied dubcon, in public, fingering (f! receiving), come eating (f!), crying, pet names (babydoll, honey, s!ut), heavy objectification
A/N: yes i grew up on ldr i love my (((strictly fictional))) old men sue me!
“you better start praying number four catches up soon, babydoll,” he whispers into your ear, snaking a hand around your waist.
a chill runs down your spine and your body rattles violently in response.
he had told you to dress up today.
how naive you were, thinking he’d just said that because it was a nice date, because the type of people that enjoy horse races don’t usually wear flip flops or show their midriffs.
if only you had known.
you’re trying to hide it, but you’re nervous.
you can’t help it, constantly sneaking sideway glances at the two imposing men who have been staring at you this entire time.
it would be an unbelievable situation, if it wasn’t toji. not for the first time, you wonder why you ever got involved with him.
the lip scar should’ve been enough of a warning. the intentionally vague answer he gave about his job should’ve been enough, the decades — plural — that separated you two should’ve been enough.
but he was a smooth talker. and he was good looking. and he made you feel safe, mostly because, well… who could be more dangerous than him?
that feeling has never been more prevalent to you than it is right now.
toji’s gaze follows yours, his fingertips sneaking under your skirt just barely.
“don’t look so spooked,” he instructs, and you swallow around the lump in your throat. toji laughs low, letting his head loll sideways on top of yours. “you scared of dick or somethin’?”
you hate this. you hate this so much. you hate the way your body’s responding to it the most.
the heat in your gut spreads all the way up to your cheeks, and you stop yourself from soothing your burning face with the back of your hands.
he’d told you not to draw too much attention. not to make any sudden movements. you thought it was because — you thought, you thought, you thought. but you were wrong.
you can’t decide if you can even blame yourself for that.
you knew toji was running out of money. you knew he was involved with some shady people.
but when in your wildest dreams could you have imagined he was planning on using you as a betting chip?
the disapproving click of his tongue pulls you from your thoughts, and your eyes lock dreadfully on horse number four.
it’s falling behind, number six stealing third place from it.
the heat inside you spreads further.
“if it’s any consolation,” toji says, conversationally. “i don’t think they’ll be too mean to ya.”
it reminds you of a nature documentary you watched, once. the gazelle, trying to act nonchalant, looking for an escape route, when faced with a pride of lions. a dangerous dance. and everybody knows who’s got the upper hand, there.
“not meaner than i am, at least,” he adds.
your shut your eyes tightly.
you haven’t even dared to look at them properly, at toji’s sponsors or loan sharks or whatever the hell they are.
you want to scream at him, at how embarrassing it is that they’re younger than him and richer than him, having fun at both of your expenses.
you realize suddenly that they’re not even here to watch the race. this place probably doesn't entertain them anymore, more of a chore than anything else.
they’re here to watch you, sweating and fidgeting on your seat with the knowledge that your body was theirs if the damn horse didn’t win.
a one in eight change.
god, you hoped it was toji’s lucky day.
you catch a glimpse of a wild, tall figure to the left of you, swaying in gleeful laughter as the horse falls to fifth place.
“let’s go home,” you grip the hand that’s resting on your leg in a last ditch effort.
it’s useless, of course.
toji’s jaw is tensed, every muscle tight in anger.
he doesn’t want this, either. he doesn’t like sharing you.
but then again, he doesn’t really care about you, does he? cares more about his money, at least.
your breathing starts to pick up, legs shaking in anticipation. in a way, you just want this to be over.
you’re so caught up in your dread that you don’t even notice toji’s fingers crawling up your thigh until his knuckles are grazing your clothed pussy.
your body immediately seizes up, your straightened spine glued to the back of your chair.
he gives a low, mean chuckle when he feels how wet you are.
toji rubs you there almost soothingly, and tears threaten to spill from your eyes.
your fists are clenched tightly on your lap, legs squeezing together in an attempt to — what? you don’t know.
stop him? encourage him? it doesn’t feel like it matters anymore.
toji shifts in his seat to face you, slipping the pads of his fingers into your panties. you huff, only able to watch the movement of his hand underneath your skirt.
he rubs lazy circles on your clit, eyes on your face and showing no emotion at all.
no remorse at all.
it feels good. it feels good and you hate that it does, that it feels good with him, that he can get you like this anytime, anywhere.
you bite down on your bottom lip when two fingers slide down, just teasing your entrance, gliding over your pussy.
your chest burns from the inside out with uneven breaths, and defeatedly, willingly, you spread your legs just a little bit.
you’re not watching the race anymore and you think that’s for the better. you focus only on toji’s veiny forearms as the muscles there work over and over with every stroke of his fingers.
someone clears their throat loudly and your legs kick out in shock.
an initial wave of panic washes over you but then you’re glad.
surely getting caught fingering your girlfriend at a horse race would get you kicked out, right? and then the deal is over, right? and then you won’t have to—
before you can even vocalize your thoughts, toji’s rolling his eyes and, with a sigh, settling back on his seat to face the race.
but his fingers don’t leave you.
no, he continues pumping them lazily in and out of you, thumb pressing down on your clit and rubbing little circles.
and that’s when you realize the sound had come from the left of you. from the men. not a horrified gasp, a dignified warning, no.
if anything, an entitled demand that toji stops blocking their view of you.
you wish you could cry right now.
instead, you tuck your chin into your chest as toji speeds up his movements, going a little faster, a little meaner. you swallow your wails, thighs shaking.
those men, they don’t look like they kill. they probably get other people to do that for them. you haven’t gathered a lot from your stolen glances but that much you’re sure of.
you know you’ll return home to toji. despite everything, you’ll run back to his arms, for better or for worse.
“you likin’ this?” he’s asking, like he doesn’t know the answer. “y’like that i bet your slutty little cunt on that rank, good for nothing horse?”
you let out a sob, chest lurching. he pumps his fingers in and out of you at just the right pace, hitting just the right patches despite how hard you’re squeezing around him.
“please…” you mewl, not sure what you’re asking for.
his thumb is relentless on your clit, rubbing it over and over again. your hips buck on their own, wanting more, more friction, more filling, more.
“you’ll get more soon, whore,” toji spits out like he can read your mind. there’s no point in hiding how much you’re enjoying this, being in public, being eyed hungrily like a prize, when toji knows your body so well.
it feels almost like he’s prepping you, physically and mentally, for what’s to come, and it makes you weep harder.
when a wave of astonished cheers break out in unison, it sounds miles away to you. all you can is the blood rushing inside your ears, toji’s huffed out breaths, the crinkle of bills being passed around from one hand to another.
you’re slow to notice the commotion is due to horse number four miraculously catching up, coming in at number two now.
dangerously close to first place.
it’s a rush, all at once, when toji turns your head to kiss you.
you come undone on his fingers, right then and there, whining crazed moans into his mouth. he groans when your cunt clenches, fluttering around his fingers as the last waves of your orgasm hit you.
if you focus hard enough, you can hear the shlick of his fingers lazily helping you ride out your high. you can’t help it but to let your head fall on his chest.
when toji pulls his fingers out of you, there are webs of slick in between them. you feel almost embarrassed, even more so when he brings them up to your mouth quickly, pushing in between your lips with ease.
you suck efficiently to clean him up and toji hums in approval, petting your hair.
there’s an instant where you two look in each other’s eyes and that’s all there is, your fucked out brain forgetting everything except for his touch.
“ahh,” then a merry voice breaks you out of your trance, its owner casting a shadow over both your bodies as he stands in front of you. “i hate to ruin the moment, really, but…”
the man points his thumb over his shoulder.
the race is over.
horse number four came in at fourth place.
how fitting.
his partner approaches and there’s no denying it, they’re extremely attractive. individually, yes, but maybe even more so together, side by side, looking like opposites who came together due to being... likeminded.
but still. are they really going to—
“collect,” the other one says, sternly, with his hands up like he’s a good guy. “satoru. we’re just here to collect. no need to rub salt in the wound.”
toji chuckles, but you catch the way his shoulders tense.
“hey, a deal’s a deal. but no wounds here,” he looks at you briefly before squinting up at them. “doubt you two kids can do half the damage.”
that i can is left unsaid. you fight hard to keep the horrified look off your face.
toji was already pimping you out to these random men, essentially. did he have to provoke them, too?
you resent the fact that the dread in the pit of your stomach isn’t big enough to push away the arousal growing next to it.
there’s another reason why you and toji fit so well together, after all.
the taller one — satoru — laughs, and this one’s genuine.
he reaches out tentatively, as if he were petting a stray cat, and twirls a piece of your hair around his finger.
toji looks at him in understanding, in agreement.
when he doesn’t react any further, satoru’s finger trails down to your lips, still glistening wet. he traces them, jutting his own out in a pout.
“she better be worth every penny you cost us, zen’in.”
toji smirks.
you notice the other man, the one with black hair and a bun, is hard in his tailored slacks.
you swallow down the last of your sobs.
“oh, she is," toji's hand gives your thigh a departing tap. "i might have shit taste in horses but i know how to pick my sluts."
#call me a ldr loving cherry emoji twitter bitch idc!#the title was funny and fitting#✩.tw free use#✩.tw age gap#✩.tw degradation#tw age gap#tw free use#tw degradation#✩.toji#toji smut#toji x reader#toji fushiguro x reader#toji fushiguro x reader smut#toji x reader smut#jjk x reader#jjk smut#toji x you#toji x you smut#im so beat i hope i tagged everything#this is short n not sweet at all. enjoy!
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Leftovers [3/3]
Simon Riley x fem!Reader | a non-canon addition to my mafia!141 series
part 1 | part 2 | playlist
you love him
warnings: non-con!!!! attempted suicide, self harm, abusive relationships, spanking/impact, threats, stalking, mind the tags!!! dead dove do not eat
wc: 5.2k
The dilapidating motel room that you were unfortunate enough to take refuge in smelled like Simon. Vaguely, anyway.
Damp air greeted you the moment you opened the door to your room, and the old, wet scent of cigarette smoke nearly suffocated you. You flipped the lights on where they greeted you with a flicker and buzz, yet hardly did anything to illuminate the dull wallpaper and discolored carpet. Every documentary about real life crime warned you against places like that; it was the type of room where people entered yet never exited without a gaping hole in their chest.
Its unpleasant welcome nearly had you second guessing your escape, and a pang of trepidation echoed throughout your chest. Could you really subjugate yourself to a night alone and survive? Solitarily rotting in bed just like you used to as a pet? A shaky breath expelled past your lips as you tossed your bag onto the foot of the bed as you locked the door behind you. No, that was a different kind of solitude. Not one that you were forced into. Not something intentionally loveless.
That was freedom. The only reason it terrified you was because you had never experienced it before.
The digital clock on the nightstand read 2:36 which did little to quell the lump in your throat. If Simon wasn’t already home by then, you knew he would be soon. He would come home to an empty apartment, devoid of the woman he so fondly called sweetheart, and that made your stomach protest something fierce. You had only ever experienced short bursts of his anger previously over minor transgressions you had committed previously. Ones that you quickly solved lest he completely burst. If he had gotten upset by you merely asking to have your phone back, you didn’t even want to imagine the rage that would erupt within him when he realized you were gone.
A heavy breath expelled from your chest as you sat on the edge of the bed. A thin layer of grime seemed to cover the sheets, but you knew you couldn’t expect anything more from one of the cheapest and low rated hotels in London. It was your own fault for trying to lay as low as possible; you weren’t sure there was enough money on your card to afford anywhere without bloodstains, anyway. Ignoring the uncomfortable filth that surely stained your clothes, you fished your phone out from your pocket where the screen lit up brighter than the light above your head.
John’s text messages illuminated the screen, and you felt your throat grow tight again. His terrible wish for you to be there with him and Mrs. Price, and that fucking video of the ultrasound. You still weren’t fully convinced that it wasn’t all some sort of cruel joke. Simon said he had told John about everything. How you were done with them, how you were tired of being treated like nothing. So why the messages?
Unless Simon had lied about that, too.
An unsteady sigh passed between your lips as your thumbs hovered over the screen. While John and his wife hadn’t exactly been the most loving, they had never once lied to you. Not that you knew of, anyway. Since you couldn’t get the truth out of Simon, maybe you could get it out of them, yet the task was so daunting you swore you would throw up again.
So you sat there, hunched over on the side of the bed with your phone in hand, until the red glow of the digital clock read just past three in the morning. Frayed nerves hindered your brain’s ability to hold a coherent thought, and you had spent so much time sitting there trying to think of something to say that your phone was nearly dead. Nothing good would come out of a conversation with John that late in the night, if he was still even awake. With lethargic thumbs, you typed out a quick message asking him to call you in the morning, and then the screen went dark as you locked it.
Answers. That’s all you wanted. But your fuzzy and exhausted brain couldn’t handle that. You had spent the last few hours running like your life depended on it — running like a bad pet. Come morning, you would get what you wanted. In the meantime, you would pray sleep would take you away.
That night was the first night that you slept fully dressed since you started living with Simon. Always had to have you bare with your naked body up against his while you slept. Such easy access to your cunt all he had to do was slither his hands between your legs to get you purring like a kitten. Some poor touch-starved creature that would do anything for the attention of something with teeth too sharp to love properly.
You tried not to think too hard about it as you set your phone face down on the nightstand and settled into bed. You weren’t brave enough to climb underneath the covers in the fear that something truly might bite you, so you curled up like a cat on top of the comforter. The lights stayed on that night, as it had been so long since you slept alone you weren’t sure you could stomach the darkness. Childish. That thought made you cringe, but that’s what you had been reduced to. Maybe it was all you had ever been.
When you hugged your pillow tight to your core that night, the full weight of the silence around you made your eyes sting. There was no heartbeat to lull you to sleep that night. It was one of the things you remembered craving so dearly when you lived with the Prices, something Simon had provided you without question. You wanted to cry. To mourn the things you had and the things you lost, but you refused to let those walls see your tears.
Once your eyes closed, you swore you only slept for a single moment before they opened to find the summer sun peeking through the tacky curtains. A dull ache in your neck blossomed and radiated from the back of your skull to your shoulder blades, and the sour smell of smoke had permeated into your clothes and hair. Rolling over to stare at the digital clock revealed that it was just before seven in the morning. You had hardly gotten any sleep at all, yet you already buzzed with anticipation and uneasiness.
An anxious hand reached for your phone where you quickly checked through your notifications. Several junk notifications clogged up your phone since you turned it on. Old emails that you hadn’t checked in months and stupid spam call notifications from weeks back. But John had yet to respond to your text, or even see it, and though that ignited a pit of worry in your stomach, you knew you had to give him time. He always got home late. Him and Mrs. Price probably slept in.
You hated that you still had their routine so ingrained in your mind.
No matter. There was a plan you had in your mind; steps you had to take in order to really be free from your old life. The first step was getting clean, and then getting the fuck out of there.
Time didn’t exist in the shower, and neither did the water bill. You had quite the time watching droplets of water dance on the foggy glass door as you stood underneath the stream's embrace. Each time one fell, another formed to take its place before falling too, like some neverending dance. You watched the streaks form as you washed your body with the skin stripping complimentary body wash the motel left on the counter. It hardly got sudsy, and it didn’t leave you feeling refreshed, but it replaced that stale smoke scent with the vague idea of green apples, and that was enough for you.
A thick veil of mist greeted you when you exited the shower, and you blindly nabbed a towel to dry your body off with. Its fabric wasn’t at all kind on your skin either, yet you still found yourself wrapping it around your body before exiting the bathroom. The sun had changed positions in the room as the morning meandered along, and you found yourself praying that John had finally answered you as you entered the main part of the room.
“Mornin’ sweetheart.”
Simon sat on the edge of the motel bed with his elbows on his knees. A dim light illuminated the silvery scars on his face as he scrolled through the phone in his hands. Your phone. His dark eyes broke away from the screen to look up at you, and the twitch in the corner of his mouth left your mouth dry. He turned the screen to face you where he then gently shook it as if it were contraband; something you weren’t supposed to have. Though you couldn’t read what it said, you could see John had responded to your request to call him.
“You’ve been busy. Been naughty,” Simon continued as he turned your phone off and tossed it next to him. “Didn’t even leave a note. Just think you could up and leave?”
Your hands gripped the knot in your towel as your body began to turn to stone. It was difficult to tell if you trembled because of the cool air of the room or if you trembled because of the fear that coursed through your veins. Either way, your mouth wasn’t able to form any response to his biting tone.
At your silence, Simon tapped his fingertips on top of your phone, causing it to lightly bounce on the old boxspring mattress. “Decided you had enough of me? Is that it? Wanting to go back to John? Go back to bein’ a fuckin’ pet?”
“No,” you said once your tongue finally decided to work. “I just… wanted answers.”
“Well, I’m all ears for any questions you have, sweetheart,” Simon snapped.
His tone had you recoiling against the wall, yet you refused to look away from him. If you did, you knew it would give him enough time to pounce like an animal, and he looked almost excited to sink his teeth into you. It was wrong. You thought you would have had more time. Simon wasn’t supposed to find you that quick; no, he wasn’t supposed to find you at all. Yet there he sat, on the edge of your bed, like an owner trying to wrangle a bad dog back home.
“How did you find me?” you asked.
“You used a card. Anything electronic is easy to track, ‘specially in a place like this. All it took was me saying I was your husband to get the lad at the front to give me your room number. Surprised you made it this far on your own, considering how pathetic you are without me,” he said with a sour chuckle.
“My card?” you repeated. “But… you don’t- how do you have access to my account? You can’t track me without-”
“One of the perks of working for John Price,” Simon deadpanned.
Every word that came out of Simon’s mouth unraveled you, and it only got worse. It was as if everything he had ever told you was a lie. How naive of you to think otherwise; of course they were lies. He had lied to you from the very beginning, and instead of running then while your feet were unchained, you chose to ignore it. Hope and pray it would go away. Now, it was too late. Every part of you seemed bound to Simon, and you weren’t sure you could stand to tear yourself from him.
“I thought you said-” you started.
“That I wasn’t working for him anymore? That I told him how you chose to live with me? No,” Simon interrupted. “He’s got too many resources. Besides, no one just ups and leaves the mafia, sweetheart.”
Your bottom lip began to tremble at that word. Mafia. Everyone knew about the violence that plagued London, even someone as much of a recluse as you. You didn’t want to believe him, but it made sense. Why else did John always work late? Why else would he come home some days with scuffed up knuckles? Besides, he only ever seemed to tell the truth when he tried to prod a response out of you. Simon’s smirk was faint but painfully noticeable in the crease of his lips as he tilted his head at you.
“Yeah, figured he didn’t tell you about that,” he huffed. “No one leaves. Not even pets. Not even you. Who do you think was protectin’ you from him this whole time? Who do you think removed his tracker in your phone? Why do you think we always used my money to pay for everything? If it wasn’t for me, you’d be right back where you started. Unloved, neglected and fuckin’ abused.”
His words cut you to pieces worse than anything else ever had. It was worse than learning Mrs. Price was pregnant. Worse than the first time Simon had ever lied to you. Hot, fat tears rolled down your cheeks while your throat constricted so tightly you swore you would choke. You made the mistake of looking away from Simon as a small sob rattled your shoulders. In a pitiful attempt to comfort yourself, you wrapped your arms around your front, keeping your towel in place as your knees nearly buckled.
Out of the frying pan and into the fire.
Simon’s feet were surprisingly soft against the stiff carpet of the motel room, and it took everything in you not to lean into his touch. Warm fingers ghosted against your arms, and something primal and pathetic yearned for more. But you didn’t miss him. Not Simon Riley. You just missed the warmth of someone else; warmth you were certain you could find in someone less hurtful.
“C’mon, sweetheart,” Simon urged. His thumbs rubbed against your shoulders, and something that should have felt like knives in your skin felt all too comforting instead. “Let’s go home.”
Some broken part of you wanted to say yes. To slap the band-aid back on and continue to let those pathetic feelings fester inside of you with no air to breathe. It would have been easy to say yes, to follow him back home like a wounded animal and continue to live in your cage. But you were so close to freedom, to living on your own without the need to be chained to anyone else.
You didn’t bother to wipe your tears before looking at Simon. He was so close you could feel the heat radiating off of him, making your skin feel clammy. A few more tears blinked free from your eyes, staining your cheeks like glitter as you stiffened your upper lip.
“I can’t,” you finally said, though the words felt like they would kill you. “I don’t want to. I… just wanna be left alone.”
Simon’s face began to morph in front of your eyes. All that softness in his expression hardened into something more firm and demanding; dissapointment. It wasn’t until your back hit the wall that you realized your choice had already been decided for you. No wasn’t an answer. Neither was yes. It had only ever been what Simon had already chosen for you.
“Wasn’t asking,” he warned.
His grip seared your skin through your towel as his hands rested on your hips, but you had nowhere to run. Useless hands pressed against his chest as you tried to fight back against the immoveable object that was Simon Riley. Hot breath fanned across your face when he pressed his forehead to yours, and you tried not to flinch when he yanked your towel off of your body, tossing it aside where it fell in a limp pile by your feet.
“C’mon, you’re smarter than this, arent’cha?” he prompted. Simon began to move backwards, and his firm grip on your waist gave you no choice but to stumble after him. Shame pricked the corners of your ears with a searing heat as he dragged you around, naked, like a dog on a leash. “If you don’t come home, Price’ll find ya. You understand that, yeah sweetheart? I’m the only thing keeping you from an early fuckin’ grave.”
All it took was a simple turn and a harsh shove to get you face first on the bed. The mattress was unforgiving as it hardly gave way underneath your weight, knocking the breath from your lungs. Sweaty palms dug into the crummy comforter as you tried to push yourself up, but once Simon’s knees sunk into the mattress next to you, his hand pushed against the back of your neck, keeping your face into the bed.
“Simon!” you cried. “Wait- please stop. I’m sorry! I just- please don’t. Please, I didn’t mean to upset you I just- there had to be a reason for it! For them to treat me like that!”
Ignoring your pleas, Simon snaked an arm underneath your hips and pulled up, putting your ass on display. An angry hand rested on the crux of your bum where his fingers twitched with anticipation.
“A reason? It’s because they saw you as a fuckin’ pet. Nothin’ more than an animal to feed and play with,” Simon bit. “Until I found ya. Saved you from that shit, didn’t I sweetheart? Then you fuckin’ run out on me. Ruinin’ everything I worked so hard to build for ya. Ungrateful slag.”
“Please stop!” you sobbed, cries half muffled by the bed.
He allowed you no more time to continue to snivel before his hand raised from your bum only to slap against it with a firm palm. Its sting pierced through your skin with such force it stole your breath away, and with Simon’s hand still on the back of your neck, you had nowhere to run from the pain. Your chest heaved with a sob at the sensation, and you felt your feet involuntarily kick behind you.
“Quiet,” he warned, voice dangerously low. “Don’t need you causin’ anymore trouble than you already have.”
Once more his hand came down with a sharp crack where pain prickled across your skin. In some pitiful attempt to ward him off, you reached your arms behind your back as if you could push him away. All it did was make him chuckle as his thumb rubbed against the back of your neck.
“Yeah, ‘nuff of that. Of all of it. I’ll set you straight and take you home and we can forget all about this little stunt of yours,” Simon hummed.
Despite it all, your body could only react viscerally to the thought of returning home with him. That was the day you were supposed to become your own person without being bound to anyone else. Go out on your own and finally live your life as a human rather than a trophy. You were so close to tasting it you could scream.
“I can’t. I can’t…” you whined.
Another spank and your thoughts cut off with a squeak.
“Don’t fuckin’ understand anythin’ do you?” Simon hissed. “Either you leave here with me, or you leave as John’s. He’ll find and track you within a heartbeat, and he won’t be as kind as me. Dunno about you sweetheart, but I’m not gonna sit around and let him take you again. So you leave here with me, or you don’t leave at all.”
Not a single word rose in your mind at his threat. Tears and snot continued to stain the linens underneath you as you took his punishment, and as his hand came down on you once more, you started to believe that you deserved it. Every single bit of it. How ungrateful of you to deny him after everything he had done for you. Keeping you safe. Keeping you away from John. From the worst members of the mafia. Everything he had ever done had been to protect you, right?
“Did you really think I’d let you run off like that? After everythin’ I've done for you?” he continued. His weight shifted on the bed as he slipped from your side to your backside. With his hand no longer on your neck, you were able to take a deep breath, though the air felt stale and salty. “No, my girl doesn’t run away. Not the mother of my kid.”
Ice formed in your veins at his words, and you were too shocked to even cry about it. You blinked rapidly as you raised your head from the bed, and your stomach turned so violently you nearly puked all over the sheets.
“What?” you choked out.
Simon’s hands rubbed over your sore rump as if soothing the pain he inflicted on you only to fall from your skin a moment later. A sharp, distinct clink sounded behind you, followed by the unzipping of his pants.
“It’s what you wanted, wasn’t it?” he asked as he pulled his cock free. “You said it yourself. You want what they have.”
Electricity jolted through your body when the head of Simon’s pre-cum smeared cock tapped the underside of your ass. Your breath hitched in your throat as he grabbed your hips and raised you higher up, angling you just right so he could press against your cunt. Everything in you screamed to run, but the prey in you knew you wouldn’t get far enough for it to matter.
“You wanted love, so I gave you that. They never fucked you, so I gave you that, too. Just wasn’t enough for you, was it?” Simon droned as he pressed into you. Without your arousal to assist, the stretch of him not only burned, but felt like it tore. Only the head of his cock had made it inside of your constricting cunt, and even that was too much. “Still cryin’ all the time. Still upset. The only thing that they have that we don’t is a kid. If you want one so bad, then I’ll give ya one.”
“Wait, please,” you choked out as you wiggled.
“What’cha so worked up for, sweetheart?” Simon patronized. “With how often I’ve fucked you before, you’re probably already knocked up anyway. No harm in trying a bit more, yeah?”
It was impossible to answer once Simon began to press further into you. Everything within you was wound up so tight with muscles revolting against him as he made you take every painful inch of him. His love had never hurt like that before. Never felt like it tore you open to fix what was never broken in the first place. Not until then as he speared you open with no regard for the way it ripped you to shreds.
It only got worse when he bottomed out, forcing your cunt to take what it didn’t want to. His hips snapped against yours with force so strong you were left breathless. Each agonizing thrust left you a mess as half created sobs erupted from your throat. No amount of begging would get him to change his mind or set you free. This was what you deserved for biting the hand that fed you.
“This is what you want, isn’t it?” Simon grunted. Searing anger kept his body going as he fucked you, hands digging into either side of your hips. “A man to fuck you. To be the sweet little trophy wife. Have a cute kid or two. Isn’t it? Say it, sweetheart.”
But you couldn’t. Even if it wasn’t for his cock bullying every breath from your lungs, you didn’t think you would be able to admit to anything. So you dug your face further into the sheets, no longer caring about the filth of it all; you just wanted to hide away as best as you could. Simon wasn’t impressed with your silence, and his hand came down hard against your backside as his relentless pace continued. You could almost feel his blood boiling in his veins from his touch alone.
“I said, say it,” he barked. “Tell me what you want.”
Agonizing aches ripped through your pelvis at the intrusion, and you found your hands pawing at your stomach as if you could soothe the pain. There was no love behind any of his actions. Perhaps there never had been. You just knew that you wanted it to stop.
“You!” you finally wailed. “I want you!”
“‘Course you do. Can’t fuckin’ live without me, can you sweetheart?”
It was enough to satisfy Simon, and he stopped verbally antagonizing you as he continued in his pursuit. Trembling fingers dug into the sheets as you kept your face hidden in the musty bed. It couldn’t go on forever, and as Simon’s hips began to stutter, you knew it would be over soon. You did your best to stifle your whimpering as he approached the end, yet he only seemed to pick up speed as if to egg you on.
In that moment, your mind painfully reminded you of the first time you ever met him. How he just appeared in your life sitting on the living room couch as if he had always known you. You wished that you had never obeyed John that night. Never allowed Simon’s arm to wrap around you as he intertwined your lives together to the point you could no longer undo the knots. It was too late for regret. You were bound to him, soul, mind, and soon to be body.
“Fuck.”
Simon’s groan was deep in his throat as he remained fully sheathed inside of you while his cock twitched unabashed against the screaming walls of your cunt. The aches only got worse as he kept himself pressed up against your bruised cervix, but you bore it as he gave you every last drop of his spend.
There was nothing left to keep your rump up in the air when Simon pulled out and away from you, and you collapsed on the bed as a mess of sticky flesh. His chuckle, once so soothing and melodic, sounded like nails on a chalkboard as he fixed his pants behind you. The bed rocked with his weight as he sat with his back turned to you, yet you paid no mind to it as you squeezed your eyes shut. You prayed that if you squeezed them tight enough, something would whisk you away and take you far, far away from that fucking motel room and away from Simon Riley.
But you never had such luck before.
That stale scent of cigarette smoke only grew stronger as Simon lit a fresh one. His chest expanded as he took a hefty drag, and you hoped that the ash would fall onto the carpet and burn the whole building to the ground. Half the cigarette burned by the time he turned around to face your motionless body on the bed. He cooed as he reached out for you, fingers gently raising your chin so that he could lean forward and press a kiss against your limp lips. A little bit of smoke still lingered in his mouth, and when you opened your eyes you tried to pretend that they watered because of the burn rather than the pain.
“Ready to go home, sweetheart?”
You didn’t remember if you fought against him when you got in the car. You didn’t remember anything. It was a complete mystery how you ended back up in Simon’s bed in that apartment, naked just how he liked you. All you knew was that everything hurt, and he had won. The next few weeks consisted of nothing but an incomplete recollection, like you looked at your memories through shattered glass. There was a vague memory of him bathing you in the shower, and another one of him feeding you by hand. It was all disconnected. Unreal.
Your body didn’t belong to you anymore. Maybe it never did. You had become an outsider, watching that useless hunk of flesh meander around an apartment you were too tired to escape from. There was nothing in the world that would save you from whatever curse that was wrought upon you; that Simon Riley.
The only thing you could somewhat remember were your dreams. One night, you dreamt you hid yourself away in the bathroom. It angered Simon, for some reason you couldn’t articulate. Mean hands pounded against the wood of the door as if he tried to break it down, all while he demanded you open it. You remembered voicing how you wanted to go home; how you just wanted to sleep. There was some deep dark feeling harbored inside of you that you couldn’t purge with your hands alone.
When the door finally came down, you suddenly were no longer in the bathroom. It was cold, but you were wrapped in more blankets than you could count while Simon wrapped bandages around your arms. They felt like cuffs. Like they were more chains to keep you tethered to him, yet you didn’t fight. You couldn’t fight. You knew not to anymore, because bad pets always got punished.
“Not leavin’ me yet, sweetheart. Not like this,” he mumbled.
Those bandages were still on your arms the next day, and you realized it had never been a dream at all. Just another bit of your life that was too fuzzy to fully experience. It was then that you finally realized that not even Death Himself could save you from Simon Riley. Nothing could.
It wasn’t until you were in the bathroom again that you were slammed back into your body. Each sensation that had felt so terribly numb before suddenly became painfully sharp. A terrible ache buzzed throughout your arms, stomach, and head the moment you returned to yourself. Something had stolen your conscience for a while just to kick it back in that silly brain of yours the moment it was bored, and your entire body grew cold with stark realization at what was in your hands. A pregnancy test, with two faint little lines that smiled up at you.
Adverting your gaze from that terrible object gave you no solace as you were met with the stomach-churning image of yourself in the mirror. Between the red veins that strained in your eyes and the peeling skin on your lips, you hardly recognized yourself. Still, Simon saw past all the broken parts of you as he stood behind you, hands snaking around to your front to grab your stomach. He was much too comforting for the pain that grew in your body.
“My sweet girl,” he whispered as he kissed the top of your head.
He breathed in your scent and you wondered if he could pick up on the notes of rot that laid underneath the smell of shampoo and product. He had killed you a long time ago, at least some part of you, and left it to fester and decay in a place you couldn’t heal. With shaky hands, you placed the pregnancy test on the bathroom counter as you let Simon pull you against his chest. His warmth threatened to engulf you, but you knew nothing would ever burn hot enough to ignite that smothered flame inside of you.
“I love you,” he whispered.
With a voice as empty as your eyes, you replied: “I love you, too.”
#simon riley x reader#ghost x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#simon riley smut#ghost smut#dead dove fic#dark fic#dead dove
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i'm still thinking about the fae zedaph prompt so much that i have. an entire au in my head now. that i am now sharing, in case others are interested.
so the setting of the au is an intentionally kind of anachronistic blend of sci-fi and fantasy, and those things often come into conflict, with a lot of magic interacting badly with technology and technology interacting badly with magic. a vaguely earth-like setting from the near future, where there are robots and space travel and cybernetics, but ALSO a vaguely earth-like setting where there are portals you can slip through that will drop you into the feywild and there are magcial creatures lurking beneath the surface. the idea is like, if an urban fantasy had the 'urban' part set in a sci-fi world.
anyway, so zedaph is an ancient fey creature. a wild fey no longer really associated with either court, but at one point having belonged to the seelie court, zedaph mainly just courts chaos. he's PROBABLY some kind of archfey, but it's worth noting that even other fey aren't fully certain what zedaph is supposed to be at this point. see, in a move that makes almost no sense to a human, zedaph has started to get bored of the games of fair folk. he finds them too... predictable! and sure, to HUMANS the fair folk can seem chaotic and without rules, but to zedaph? he wants something NEW AND EXCITING.
too bad that these days, even if he IS invited into the human realm, it is a bit dangerous to navigate for a fey such as himself. his own deep connection to nature and the natural world makes it so he has some trouble when he's in the tall metal cities of the human realm.
enter: tango.
tango is an android built for... some purpose. he's not really sure what his purpose is, or if he still has one, which is kind of distressing, because his creator either died or abandoned him before tango was turned on. he likes building zany contraptions, sure, but he also sort of wants to search for SOME kind of meaning in his life, since androids aren't really built to be purposeless and that lack of purpose is starting to wear at him. and in another setting, this is a great start to a cyberpunk story about what it means to be human, but in THIS setting, tango accidentally proves he must be developing a soul when he stumbles through a portal to the feywild by accident and fails to find his own way out.
the good news for tango is also the bad news: he's not built for a natural place like the feywild. see, his creator had made him largely out of cold iron, and that, even more than any specific technology, repels fair folk magic. so the good news is that he is largely immune to fey shenanigans! the bad news is that the feywild itself is rejecting him, putting him in immense danger.
enter: zedaph, who is FASCINATED to discover that these days the humans are making machines with souls. zedaph, eager to discover something new, makes a bargain with tango: tango guides him in the human world so zedaph doesn't die of metal poisoning, and in return, zedaph guides tango whenever he stumbles into a dangerous supernatural hotspot. look, zedaph's even making a fair deal and everything, since he can't just like, steal tango's name and force him to, on account of not even tango knowing what his true name would be! the two of them shake on it, and as such, a bargain is struck between both android and archfey.
they both find each other surreal and baffling but are ALSO each other's best friends in an equally baffling and surreal world.
impulse comes into this story later--after whatever the first few adventures tango and zedaph have are, exploring both realms together to try to find something new and exciting for zedaph and something to give tango purpose, the amount of magic tango's being exposed to finally takes its toll, and tango starts to malfunction. zedaph panics as he realizes all at once that he has a friend (thing he didn't know he even could get?) and that friend is in danger. also, uh, more importantly that deal. right. that.
naturally, he then kidnaps the first software engineer he can find. this is a proportionate response, right?
luckily the first software engineer he finds is impulse, and impulse is hardly like, normal, either. like, yes, he's a fully mundane human with only the world's most minor cybernetics, he's normal that way, the way he's not normal is that he gets kidnapped by a terrifying and awesome fey to fix a paradoxical android and goes "this is so cool. hi my name is impulse it's nice to meet you! aw, geez," and acts like everything is normal. neither tango nor zedaph are quite good enough at the idea of 'normal human' to dispute this, and a friendship is then born.
impulse serves as the fixer for a lot of their problems that neither tango nor zedaph are equipped to handle, but he's also like, he'd theoretically be the everyman if he wasn't busy going "every man gets whisked away by the plot of a philosophy major's dream every once and a while right" and going with the flow on things NO SANE PERSON SHOULD GO WITH THE FLOW WITH. he's just chilling in the world's least "just chilling" scenario.
so... there you go there's the ENTIRE TEAM ZIT AU that my brain spawned from the prompt "fey zedaph" i hope you enjoy,
#hermitcraft#zedaph#impulsesv#tangotek#team zit#like i have this whole vision in my head#MAYBE ONE DAY I WRITE MORE OF THIS BUT FOR NOW HERE TAKE THIS VISION#YOU MAY USE IT YOURSELF IF YOU'D LIKE TOO I DON'T MIND.
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Some of this might sound intentionally hostile in text and I apologize.
I'm saying this as an abuse survivor mind you - don't throw "abusive ships" under the bus so easily - at least, so long as they're not actually glamorizing the abuse. I lived that irl and I personally find someone overcoming it, slowly having enough of that bullshit and getting out over time, and the other person having to wipe their own butt for once after they've made the damn mess, very refreshing. Maybe that's not a ship in the traditional sense. It's no happily ever after bc it shouldn't be, but I find stories like mine shyed away from so often because even the portrayal gets considered a "canon ship". ... that's just how media works now, I guess? I very rarely See a fictional relationship not called a ship in literally any context now so that's the definition I'm running on.
I wish more people were willing to portray the hardships of finding acceptance outside of "whoever you can find will accept you" very much, and finding the better things after. I wish people weren't terrified out of portrayimg situations like mine.
Jessie.. is not a good person in canon. You expect me to believe she moved into to hanamusa seamlessly, without falling on her ass? I never see you talk about Jessie's abusive tendencies in canon. You never talk about the inherent meanness she needed to get over to get there. She's quite aml lot like my ex in canon, actually.
What do you mean you're going to just remove from the character that she is abusive to those around her. Jessie hits people. She takes her own junk out on others all the time. Do you even like the character then, are you actually invested in her growing, or are you just making an OC at this point?
Idk. Do you, boo. But you are posting about a character who, whether you like it or not, is canonically abusive. I just don't buy that dating Ash's mom alone fixed her. That isn't... How that works. It would be excellent if it did. Part of my love of hanamusa is that it signals Jessie's change - but she could have changed for anyone before now.
What makes Delia different? How is she specifically a turning point for Jessie? Because Jessie's flaws go well beyond just bossing people around.
I would love if my abuser had the same outcome as your Jessie. I adore your portayals of hanamusa, where she's still flawed but still strives to do better. That's all I ever wanted from my ex.
What the fuck got her there tho.
Anyways I've been watching a lot of Bojack Horseman lately -
I agree with you! I don't think abusive relationships (or any tough subject matter in general) should be shied away from in media. It can be powerful when executed well and written by folks who are equipped to tell those kinds of stories. I do think it's sad when people treat it as off limits. But the ask I got was definitely more about which ships I have where I actually like the relationship between the characters. I think the semantics of the word "ship" are kind of vague or rather, over time, got so specific to only mean "absolutely love together and want them as endgame" (for most people anyways). So that's usually what I take the word to mean when people ask me about it.
I can 100% appreciate how an abusive relationship is written and handled, but that doesn't mean I'm gonna ship an abuser with their victim (that falls into the glorifying you're talking about). Love Bojack Horseman! Big fan! I think the way they handled Bojack and Sarah Lynn was beautifully and tragically well written. But does that mean I ship Bojack and Sarah Lynn? Absolutely fucking not.
I've talked about Jessie's character plenty on this blog and the way she's handled in earlier seasons specifically. This is kind of a summary: If we look at it on surface level, yes we can say she was abusive. But I think it's important to acknowledge and take into account the medium, time period and culture. Slapstick and cartoon violence was HUGE in anime and animation in the 90s (and prior to that too). Characters were always cartoonishly slapping each other around with giant mallets, folding fans, etc. Looney Tunes style. These slapstick bits were always distinct from real abuse and hurt (for Pokémon, Jessiebelle comes to mind). Mean slapstick wasn't a character trait exclusive to Jessie either. We saw it in Misty, James, Meowth, characters of the day and pretty much any character who got mad. It was a visual shortcut to show anger.
This type of slapstick has since (thankfully) died out and it hasn't really been a part of the Pokémon franchise since the early 2000s. However, Jessie was a notably special case. One of my favorite fun facts about the Pokémon anime is that there was a point in the series where Megumi Hayashibara (Jessie/Musashi's seiyuu) told the writers that moving forward, she no longer wanted Jessie to be violent or to be shown hitting James or Meowth (source: her memoir "The Characters Taught Me Everything"). She thought it directly went against the vision Takeshi Shudo had for Jessie, James and Meowth, when he created them, which was that they are good natured villains. If you watch from DP and on, Jessie never lays a hand on either of them. I think it was a such a good move on Pokémon's part to change her character like that and I'm forever grateful that Hayashibara said something! Whenever I write Jessie now, I always keep that in mind. She's mean, shouty and stupid but would never genuinely hurt those she cares about.
From then, her character becomes much more bearable. She's still bossy, mean and vain (typical cartoon villainess attributes) but I'd hesitate to say abusive. She'll still yell at James and Meowth, they all yell at each other, but in more of a sibling way (imo) rather than a "i'm actively trying to hurt your feelings way". The show makes a point especially in later seasons to show that Jessie, James and Meowth are not beyond being redeemed. From conception the whole POINT of the Team Rocket trio was that they are redeemable but their persistence and obsession keeps getting in the way of them seeing that there's a better life for them out there.
I won't deny that Jessie was unsavory in earlier seasons, but when I write her, I choose to write the version that Takeshi Shudo and Megumi Hayashibara had envisioned from the get go. She's still incredibly flawed and makes plenty missteps but wants to be better as you stated! My favorite part about Jessie is that she's a piece of shit LOL and I enjoy writing the changes she goes through to be better (but then still showing her default so some of her evil tendencies). In this AU, Delia doesn't fix Jessie. Jessie fixes Jessie because she is with someone makes her want to be a better person. She's already in the middle of turning over a new leaf before even meeting Delia, after leaving Team Rocket. Writing Jessie as legitimately abusive I think could work, but that's not my story to tell and if someone who were more equipped to tell that story did, I'd be very interested to take a listen!
I hope this doesn't come off as trying to deny or invalidate your experience. If you see that in Jessie, I hear you! This is just how I've interpreted her character over the years, having watched every episode of Pokémon and reading Japanese interviews from the cast and crew. She's such a compelling character and I love how messy she is
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Yesterday everyone was posting their feelings on TBB. I'm glad I waited, because there's a lot swirling around. Cut for negativity again.
I was introduced to The Bad Batch in August 2022 and fell instantly in love. The characters, the story, the complex family dynamics, they all spoke to me. I wasn't even a Star Wars fan but I went through and devoured The Clone Wars, Rebels, The Mandalorian, all of it. I threw myself into this world and adored every second of it. I must have rewatched season one over five times before season two even came out.
When season two premiered I loved it. Every Tuesday night I stayed up until the episode drop and devoured it immediately. I looked ahead at the schedule and took days off work for the double episodes, for the big Crosshair episodes - he was my favorite early on and season two only made that grow. But season two also really brought Tech into my radar even more. I had always liked him, but here he was shining. The Crossing really solidified it, as an autistic person. I'd never heard someone describe the difference in processing so succinctly before, so clearly, and it spoke to me like very little had. Here was a character that was like me. Here was a character that I needed when I was an undiagnosed child, someone that would have made me feel like I had at least some way of describing my differences.
Then, well. He died. It was an affecting scene, but it felt out of nowhere, it felt unfinished. Tech didn't even get the climax of the episode. He just fell into the clouds, the Batch grieved for a few minutes, and then the plot steamrolled right along.
I didn't believe it, not after the mad scientist presented his goggles and claimed not to salvage anything else. It seemed like such an obvious fake out. The longer I sat with it the less satisfying it felt. It felt so brushed over, so pointless, all for a mission that they accomplished nothing on. Then came the social media circus. Again and again his fall was shoved in our faces on Twitter, demanding we stream it. TikToks were made that were so out of touch they felt like parodies, the wound ripped open again and again, and I thought surely there had to be a purpose to it.
So I waited for season 3 as interviews were done that seemed to almost intentionally avoid calling him dead. As tweets were made promising we'd be so fulfilled if we could only see who was onscreen in the mid-season! (A tweet that immediately garnered dozens of people hoping it referred to Tech, all without a single comment to try and quell the speculation.) It felt already like we were being toyed with, but I thought it had to be for a reason or a purpose. More weirdly vague discussions went up about his Sacrifice, his Fall, his Anything But Death, even as everyone insists that it was so meaningful, the way he died on a mission that accomplished nothing. Jokes were made around Valentines Day.
He Fell For You, get it?
The first official use of killed went up on the databank right after the trailer, on Hunter's page of all places. The first time the interviews used dead was the Friday before the premier. It all felt too late, theories had already grown for months by that point.
Season 3 finally came and I waited up for every episode drop just like I did for season 2, hoping for him to come back or at least for him to be properly grieved, since we had barely a couple of minutes in Plan 99 before it was swept away for the next plot point. Surely Tech's impact deserved an episode of focus, if he were really gone.
The previously on plays his last words twice. But then we skip months into the future. We don't see Crosshair find out the news - even though Tech died on a mission to retrieve him. We don't watch Omega grieve. She barely seems to notice she's missing a brother. We got a brief allusion in episode two. It took three episodes to even mention his name in passing. Five episodes in everyone got their chance to look sad about him, but only for a few seconds and only when his skills were relevant. Compared to the gorgeous callback to Mayday in the same episode, it felt shallow. He had to have been more important than this didn't he?
Episodes 6 & 7 felt like maybe there was a reason. We see a new masked assassin that gets extra focus, who got put through a series of Tech-adjacent situations, whose beef with Crosshair was just a little too personal, who survived longer than all the rest but stayed masked. Rex talks about losing brothers, but Hunter says nothing about the brother they lost. I hoped it all meant something, that this was the reason that he felt so much like he was thrown away, so that he could come back in.
More one off mentions that only really come up when it's about how useful Tech would have been. More poking at the wound that still felt open and raw because we'd never gotten any closure. The closest we get is a single scene in episode eleven, so late in the season and so brief that I thought that couldn't possibly be it.
CX-2 comes back, and he talks like Tech. He's still not unmasked. I really need him to be something because otherwise what was it all for?
The most emotion comes in Juggernaut, from Phee. Its a highlight because it actually feels like it was about him, like he mattered as a person. It's episode twelve and we finally talk about him like a person. We never saw her get the news either.
Episodes thirteen and fourteen pass without any mentions at all. We're running out of time. Episode 15 hits and we get one raw one from Crosshair that Clone Force 99 died with Tech. It's the first time they directly say he's dead in so many words. It's the season finale. CX-2 is a nobody it turns out, and he dies faceless. Everyone gets a happy ending and after over a year of wondering if we'd ever get closure, it turns out Tech's just dead. But look how happy everyone else is!
Everyone gets to grow old. Except the autistic one of course. He's just dead and it hardly feels like it mattered at all. Did you know Wrecker and Hunter don't use his name once in season three? Omega and Echo mention him once each. Crosshair twice, only once with any emotion behind it. Phee tops the charts at three mentions, two by name and one by nickname. We see his goggles four times. I kept count.
There was never a bigger plan, this was just all he was worth. We spent two seasons on Crosshair's absence. We spent a whole episode dealing with it when Echo decided to go with Rex. Tech dies though and all his life amounted to was a handful of mentions when his skills would have been useful, some shots of his broken goggles, and endless cooing out of the text over how meaningful his sacrifice was. Too meaningful to take back, of course, even as Ventress is brought back from her own sacrifice.
I had really, really thought that this time autistic life would be worth more than autistic death. That a character that felt so carefully handled couldn't have just been thrown away for shock value, barely to even be mentioned again, his memory used to string us along to keep us watching. If you added up every mention and shot through season 3 it might actually clock in at less time than was spent on Mayday's send off.
I'm an adult. I'll survive, though the sting of seeing yet another character like me used as a stepping stone for everyone else's happy ending will take a while to fade. But I think about the child I used to be who needed a character like Tech. And I think about how it would have felt to actually get that only to watch him die a handful of episodes later as a side note to his family's story, barely even mentioned again. How badly it would have hurt, how deep it would have scarred.
I'm not that child anymore. But there are a lot of autistic kids out there that are the same as I used to be, and they're learning for the first time that people like us don't get happy endings. Instead they die so that everyone around them can rise up, and they might even get mentioned a few times. But don't worry. Everyone will tell you how meaningful and special it is and how delusional you were to ever hope for anything else.
The Bad Batch still means a lot to me. I think it always will. I love the characters. I love the family, and all the potential they had. But the sting of not belonging in this happy ending is there, and it's deep. It's been a long time since I trusted a show. It'll be a long time before I risk trusting another. And I hope that the autistic kids trying to learn how to close their hearts off behind new walls are doing okay.
#the bad batch#the bad batch spoilers#tbb spoilers#could not sleep so I'm in my feels instead#it did help to type it out#I'm not going anywhere fandom wise but I have to admit I'm hurt
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A Losing Game
A/N: was in the mood to write pure filth so here's some jealous sebastian smut lul. also i left the context intentionally vague so that i could maybe write a prequel sometime but i hope it's clear they absolutely hate each other loool
Sebastian Sallow x f!MC - NSFW - 4.4k words - ao3
Summary: Watching his long-time rival and dueling partner kiss someone else ignites feelings in Sebastian that has him questioning just how similar hate is to desire.
Tags: Yule Ball, Enemies to Lovers, Pining Sebastian, Jealousy, Possessive Behavior, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Mild Prey/Predator, No Safeword
For the first time in their many years of friendship, Sebastian is the one being dragged to a social event he has no interest in being a part of. Ominis, taking no small amount of pleasure in this, leads them into the Great Hall with an amused smirk on his face, only biting his tongue because he’s respectful of present company. Sebastian frowns.
His robes are scratchy, his date is doused in a nausea-inducing amount of flowery perfume, and there’s not nearly enough firewhiskey in the spiked punch this year.
He tells himself pointedly, as if it’s a matter of public record, that he isn’t looking for her.
Even as his eyes comb over the crowd, and there’s a little pang of disappointment in his gut when he still doesn’t spot her after the third sweep.
“Stop sulking,” Ominis murmurs from beside him. “You look miserable.”
Sebastian proceeds to sulk even more. “How would you know how I look?”
“I’m blind, not oblivious.”
Sebastian rolls his eyes, sitting down at the table the blonde had chosen and preparing himself for an entire night of brooding.
He’d have no qualms in remaining seated in their desolate little corner for the entirety of the evening, but his date—Bianca or Beatrice or, maybe something with a D—has other plans.
She titters something about dancing, and then she’s suddenly tugging on his arm and dragging him towards parquet floors. In no mood to protest, he lets himself get weaved through pairs of students who are doing anything but respecting Headmaster’s Black rule to maintain a Potions textbook length apart.
So much for leaving room for Merlin.
He manages a tight-lipped smile when they stop under a cloud charmed to sprinkle snowflakes, small flurries of white blending into a halo around them. It’s a truly beautiful sight, a winter wonderland of silver and gold englobing them, yet despite this, Sebastian’s demeanor is tight and forced, starkly unhappy.
He pretends he doesn’t understand the reasoning behind his sour mood. Pretends he isn’t thinking about someone else’s hands, someone else’s smell, someone else’s eyes, and the obvious absence of them.
Sebastian feels dreadfully pathetic clinging to the prospect of even simply seeing her as a motivator to suffer through the remainder of the night.
He wonders when he became such a pining, spineless idiot and deduces it must’ve been somewhere during the first dozen times she’d knocked him on his ass in a duel. Surely, a screw was knocked loose then. Or a couple.
Sebastian swallows his displeasure and takes hold of a hand that’s not the right size, that doesn’t have the calluses and rough edges in the places he’s already far too familiar with. It’s easy to fall into pace, but it’s hard to enjoy it. Hard to pretend he’s dancing with someone else.
It’s then, glancing over his date’s shoulder through the haze of floating candles and snowflakes, that he finally catches sight of what he has decidedly not been thinking about all evening.
From the way he stills and all his attention narrows in on one person, you’d think Salazar Slytherin himself just made an appearance butt-naked on a unicycle.
Breath-taking is an understatement. Asphyxiating might be a more valiant contender. Sebastian would be impressed with himself if he managed to get enough oxygen in his lungs to keep his brain functioning for an entire night of staring at her across dance floors.
His eyes comb over every inch of the blood red floor-length gown she has on, head-to-toe, gaze rising to dust over the blush high on her cheekbones, even further up to the gems crested in her hair.
He takes a deep, fortifying breath, though it doesn’t do him any good.
Then, his attention narrows in on the person accompanying her and it’s like his stomach immediately pitches, falls down six flights of stairs, and subsequently plummets into a dark abyss, landing at the bottom with a pathetic, defeated sort of sound.
Because her arm is tucked into the crook of someone else’s elbow, and she’s smiling at something someone else is whispering in her, and despite being only a few feet away at this point, she doesn’t even spare a glance at Sebastian.
Instead, she drapes an arm around her date’s neck, which he reciprocates with a hand at the small of her back, pulls their bodies closer and—
Sebastian squeezes his eyes shut and refuses to look, turning away from what feels like betrayal, though he knows is the farthest thing from it.
Maybe that’s what feels the worst. What makes his mouth taste so bitter he could gag from it. It’s the realization that he has no right to feel so upset about any of it. That he can’t expect anything from her.
That she isn’t his.
His shoulders stiffen and he suddenly stops any movements, letting his hands drop from where they were rested at a chiffon-covered waist, stepping away.
His date calls his name, emitting some cross between a petulant whine and indignant scoff, but he doesn’t really hear her. He’s busy high-tailing towards the drink table and doing the mental math for how many teal-coloured glasses of spiked punch he’ll have to drink to self-induce a coma.
Ominis, with his hell-anointed sixth sense, meets him three-quarters of the way there, falling into step as they weave through pairs of students.
“This is your own doing, you know.”
He’s right, yet Sebastian would still throttle him if there weren’t so many witnesses around. He ignores him.
“Sebastian,” Ominis sighs. “You’re being childish.”
“You aren’t helping.”
“I’m not trying to,” Ominis says. “I thought I’d already made myself clear that I was on her side concerning this.”
Sebastian scowls. “Some friend you are.”
“All you had to do was ask her.”
“Asking her is admitting defeat,” Sebastian mutters over the rim of the glass he just poured himself. “She wouldn’t have ever let me live it down.”
“I don’t understand this game you two play,” Ominis frowns. “Would it have been so hard for you to humble yourself for just a moment?”
Sebastian takes a long drink. “Yes. In front of her, it would’ve been.”
“Then enjoy watching her dance with someone else for the remainder of the evening.”
Sebastian has just about decided to actually throttle Ominis, witnesses be damned, but he’s already making his way back into the crowd, out of reach.
Sebastian groans, yet doesn’t go after him. Refuses to.
From his position on the outskirts of the dance floor, he’s in blissful ignorance of whatever it is she’s doing at the moment. Despite the curiosity eating away at him from the inside, it’s some form of solace that at least he can’t see the smile he’d caught on her face. Can’t see the glow in her eyes, or her hands on her date’s robes, or all the affection he craves so ardently misdirected towards someone else.
Somehow, it’s worse.
And then, as if Fortune, on his damned quarry smiling, has decided Sebastian hasn’t endured enough for one pitiful night already, the steady crescendo of a waltz begins to build.
The crowd pulses and sways in tempo with the symphony, leaving breaches and eyelets, brief openings that he can’t tear his eyes away from, because even if it hurts, he needs to see her again.
That’s how he catches sight of her for the second time that evening. Like the seas parting to reveal a miracle, she finds herself right in his line of vision.
Sebastian conveys the tightening he feels in his chest into an ice-cold glower, features hardened. He prays she’ll just look. Even if it’s something fleeting, a split second of a glance.
Once again, her eyes never make their way anywhere near him.
It’s almost intentional, in a way that drives him insane. As if she knows where he is, and she’s skirting over him pointedly, antagonistically. Sebastian wouldn’t be surprised if it were intentional, a gleaming testimony to all the other ways she manages to get under his skin.
The dancing body of students continues to shift, like a pendulum, back and forth, revealing and concealing. He clings to the momentary sight of her, and still, like a fool, hopes that at some instance she’ll look back. Acknowledge him.
Give him some form of recognition so he doesn’t have to admit defeat so quickly. So that he knows that they’re still playing their game, that he’s not just losing alone.
The composition nears its apex, surrounding gowns and robes reaching a swirling mass of glitter and silks, and something heavy sinks inside of him, an impending sense of foreboding.
He knows what’s coming, somehow.
The orchestra finally reaching its climax.
Her fingers threading through the hairs at the nape of her date’s neck.
Her leaning forward, nose slotting against his, lips hovering over another’s and yet—
He doesn’t look away. Even if it feels like being split open, sternum cracked across the middle, until he’s left with a slick-red, yawning chest cavity.
He can’t look away, because her eyes are open and for the first time in the entire evening, they’re meeting his.
Like most instances involving her, he isn’t sure if he’s winning or losing anymore.
She doesn’t look away, and he can’t bring himself to either. It’s like he’s standing there, split from top to bottom, voluntarily exposed for her to prod at, to ruin. And yet, there’s a bittersweetness to it all.
Her lips aren’t on his, yet she’s looking at him as if she wishes they were.
There’s something taunting in her eyes. Something he might’ve mistaken as a threat if they were in their usual setting, mid-duel in the Undercroft.
A challenge.
It takes him a moment to realize that context shouldn’t matter. This is an invitation for battle, a glaring provocation. He stares.
The sight of her mouth on someone else’s makes bile rise in his throat, makes him so filled with rage and revulsion that he thinks he might suffocate on it all. Yet the sight of her eyes, the sheer amount of longing she’s able to convey in such a short glance, is enough to invigorate him, to channel all his rage and wanting into something else.
His legs move of their own accord.
Her reflexes are as sharp as they are in battle.
The second she sees him coming towards her, she reacts. Murmurs a hurried apology towards her date, who looks so confused Sebastian would almost feel bad for the bloke if he didn’t want to strangle him so violently.
She’s immediately cutting through the crowd towards the opposite direction, her eyes trained on one of the exits. He picks up his speed, but she’s quicker than him, smaller, able to duck through bunches of students with ease, even with her dress hindering her movements.
Adrenaline trickles up his spine. She throws him another glance over her shoulder and smirks, sly and knowing, a look that writhes under his skin in the way her glances always do.
Even if he’s the one chasing her, Sebastian feels awfully like the rodent in their little game of cat and mouse.
They both step into the quiet of the dimly-lit hallway, the sounds of the party bleeding away as the door shuts behind them, casting them in silence.
There’s a split moment where she spins around to look at him, chest heaving. The live-wire tension between them is pulled so taut it’s a miracle the air doesn’t crackle with static.
Neither of them move for a long moment, until her lips curl into a smile.
She breaks into a run and Sebastian doesn’t miss a beat.
He chases after her, his heart pounding with something primal, something instinctive. Like his self-control might slip away from him when he catches her, like he might just sink his teeth into soft flesh, dig his nails into supple skin. She runs as if she’s just as aware of this fact as he is.
He almost wants to punish her for it. Bite and scratch and mark as if in vengeance for her thinking she could ever get away from him. For her forgetting that she’s anything but his, as if she should simply know it by now.
She’s fast, but she’s nearly tripping over the dress she has fisted in her hands, and her heels don’t help. All it takes is for her to stumble around a corner and he’s on her, grabbing her gown, pulling her towards him.
He spins her around, and she grunts when he slams her against the wall. Teeth bared, strands of the elegant updo she’d had her hair in falling down over her shoulders, glittery makeup smeared down her cheeks — she looks like something savage.
For some reason, it makes something deep-set inside Sebastian ache.
“Let go,” she grits, struggling against the hold he has on her wrists, under the weight of his body that has her molded to the wall.
His grip only tightens, frustration simmering low in his gut. Sebastian has never known desire like this, shadowed by fury. Want and anger, love and hate, repulsion and obsession.
“I know what you’re doing,” he hisses.
She stills her thrashing in favor of looking up at him through her lashes with an expression so innocent, it’s crucifying.
“Attending a dance?”
His jaw sets. “Don’t get smart with me.”
“Why, are you having a hard time keeping up?”
He stares at her for a long moment, jaw working in tandem with his thoughts. He runs his tongue over his bottom lip and she tilts her head, amused at how worked up he’s gotten.
“I know what you’re doing,” she says.
“And what’s that?”
“Thinking about how badly you want to kill me, probably,” she says. Her eyes fall to his lips and his breath stops in his throat. “Or kiss me. Haven’t quite worked out which one yet.”
“So certain that they’re mutually exclusive,” he murmurs, his gaze falling to mimic hers despite himself. “I think you forget that I’m very multi-faceted.”
“That I’m aware of,” she tilts her chin up, almost as if inviting him to press his mouth to hers, a siren’s call. “You manage to be mind-numbingly stupid and brilliantly obnoxious, all at the same time.”
He scoffs. “And you manage to be the most infuriating person on the planet.”
She seems starkly proud of the title. “What can I say, I invoke passion.”
“You invoke homicidal thoughts.”
“Not the only kinds of thoughts I invoke in you, is it, Sallow?”
He reddens. He’s spent too many showers hunched over his own fist with silencing charms plastered around the tiles for his response to be anything more than a blurted, evocative reaction.
“Anything you think I feel for you is precisely the opposite. I fucking despise you.”
He only notes a split second after that it’s not an outright denial.
Evidently, so does she. Because then, as if she were made to crawl under his skin, writhe underneath it until his nerves were a mess, she smiles.
What he truly despises is how pretty he finds it.
“You don’t hate me.”
He sneers. “Is that so?”
“Hate isn’t the opposite of love. Indifference is,” she leans in. “And I’d hardly call chasing me through the castle simply because I kissed someone else…indifferent.”
He decides then — or more accurately, his too-horny, too-angry, too-impulsive brain decides for him — to wipe the pleased grin off her face the most effective way he knows how.
With a hand fisted in her hair and his mouth crashing against hers.
It isn’t tender or sweet, nor the remotest definition of kind, but it’s fitting and dreadfully familiar, because it’s not like they’ve ever been nice to one another.
He lets go of her wrists to give her some fighting chance, because he’s cruel, but he prides himself on being fair. Instead of pushing him away, or going for her wand, or doing anything to indicate she doesn’t want this, however, she pulls him in. As if she knows exactly how to bring him to his knees, in any and all contexts, and revels in any opportunity to destroy him.
He almost thinks it’s a trap, another one of her grating ploys, but when she tangles her fingers in his hair and drags her nails down his scalp and kisses him back with just as much fervor as he does, it’s hard to believe it’s simply a farce.
Her tongue finds his and Sebastian wonders if they’ll ever do anything together that doesn’t mimic a battle. She fights for dominance in every stroke of her tongue against his, and his stubbornness refuses to grant her it.
“Fuck,” he groans against her mouth, because he’s learning just how much she kisses the same way she duels.
Dirty, unfair, brutal. Like she’s never been afraid of blood, or getting messy, or breaking things.
She stokes a fire that’s been simmering inside him until it’s red-hot and all-consuming, flames licking at the inside of his throat. He pulls her bottom lip between his teeth and bites until he tastes copper, finding some sick form of satisfaction at the pained little whine she lets out.
“You kissed him,” he pants, and there’s something raw in his voice. He rests his forehead against hers and stares at the crimson pooling on her lip. “You kissed him.”
She swallows. “I did.”
Sebastian despises how hurt he sounds. “I could kill him.”
“You won’t.”
“I could.”
“I know,” she nods, chest heaving against his. Her voice grows suddenly soft, until it’s barely a whisper. “I wanted it to be you.”
He groans, almost pained. “Did you?”
She nods.
“Has he ever touched you?”
She shakes her head.
“Tell the truth,” he says, fingers threading through the tangled remains of her chignon, tilting her face up towards him so he can meet her eyes. “Did you let him touch you?” He presses a leg between her thighs, barely able to feel her through layers of tulle. “Here?”
“No,” she gasps from the contact, nails scrambling to drag down his forearm. “Never.”
“Fuck,” he sighs, and tips his head down to press against her throat, drags his lips over her jaw. “Only me, hm? Say it.”
She shakes her head and his gaze darkens, pulling back to tighten his fingers still tangled in her hair, to tear a whimper from the back of her throat.
“No? Who then?”
“No one,” she whispers, and despite the tight angle her neck is at, despite the fear dancing behind her eyes, she smiles up at him again. “You haven’t touched me yet, though, have you?”
She’s baiting him, and he’s aware of it, and still it manages to work.
He feels his self-restraint slipping through the cracks of his fingers like sand. There’s traces of scarlet on her teeth he wants to drag his tongue over. He wants to suck the marrow from her bones.
He spins her around, presses her cheek into the cool flagstone of the corridor they’re in, and molds his body to hers.
“S-shit,” she curses when his patience wears thin and he yanks at the fabric hiding her body away from his, pulling at the skirt of her gown until it rips. “Asshole.”
“Looks better this way.”
His fingers coast up her thighs to hook into her knickers, tugging them down before she can protest. She gasps and he smiles against her cheek, pushing her hand away when she tries to cover herself.
He nips at her ear, his hand reaching between her legs to cup her sex, reveling in the way she tries to squirm away from him.
“What’s wrong? Going to act shy now?”
“Someone could see,” she grits, though something in her tone tells him she’s not going to stop him.
“Wouldn’t they be lucky.”
His breath stutters when he finally dips his fingers between her folds and finds how soaked she is. Something about the revelation is dizzying, the notion that she could possibly want this as badly as he does. He grinds his hips into her arse so she’s just as aware of how gone he is.
Immediately, his hand is fumbling with his belt, the other pressing bruises into her hip to keep her still. He kicks her feet open wider, spreading her for him. His fingers flex on her hip in anticipation.
“You have full permission to use any Unforgivables you want on me if you want me to stop,” he murmurs, burying his nose in her hair and inhaling deeply. He groans. “You’re not getting me off of you in any other way.”
When she doesn’t make any move for her wand he positions himself at her entrance, rubbing to coat himself in her fluids. Her breathing is heavy against the wall she’s pressed against, her gasps coming out in soft little pants. He revels in them for a long moment.
Then, he’s impaling her and all of her breathing stops. Replaced instead by a strangled sort of sound, as if he’d managed to knock out all of the air in her lungs with a single thrust. His jaw falls slack.
He manages to composure himself enough to murmur in her ear, voice hoarse. “Hurts?”
She chokes out a sob, nodding weakly. Her head falls against the wall, clenching around him as she tries to adjust to his size.
His hips snap forward again, even harsher this time, burying himself to the hilt and tearing a yelp out of her throat. “Good.”
“S–Sebastian—”
He pauses, so deep inside her he can feel every little pulse, hips flush against her arse. “Want me to stop?”
Miraculously, she shakes her head. It’s never like her to back down from a fight, after all.
“Of course,” he chuckles, though it sounds uncharacteristically strained, imprecise. Like he’s losing his grip. His head falls to her shoulder and he moans, grunting feverishly against her skin as he starts a brutal, unforgiving pace. “You can take it. Look so pretty taking it.”
“Please,” she whines. “Too much, I–I can’t,”
“You’re a tough girl,” he whispers, tone vicious despite his words. “You’re going to shut your fucking mouth and take my cock.”
She nods fervently, obediently, and Sebastian thinks he deserves a medal for not finishing right then. He yanks her hips back from the wall, shifting the angle and she gasps when he feels him push in even deeper.
“Oh my God,” she moans. “Good — feels s’good, yes, yes. Plea–please don’t stop.”
“Fuck,” he grunts, voice sandpaper-rough. He snakes a hand to her front to rub tight little circles between her legs. “Look at you babbling. Dumb little cock-drunk slut. Can’t even think properly with me inside you like this, can you?”
Her response is too garbled for coherence, a mess of moans and pleas. He groans in a way that’s almost just as saturated with desperation, that tells her she’s not alone in her unraveling. He pulls her head back to smash his lips to her, stifling all kinds of confessions that threaten to escape him.
She breaks the kiss to gasp for air and his fingers swirl against her just right. She tightens. “Gonna — m‘gonna cum,”
“Yeah? Come for me, baby,” his voice breaks on the word, and he’s aware he’s practically begging. He’s too far gone to care, so he scrapes a kiss to her heat-flushed cheek and properly pleads.
“Please. So fucking beautiful. Let me see your pretty face when you come undone for me,” he stares down at her through half-lidded eyes and briefly contemplates the possibility that he’s died and gone to heaven when she looks back at him. “That’s it, look at me.”
He studies her as he sends her over the edge and pulls himself over along with her, her lashes fluttering as she struggles to keep her eyes on his.
The sight is enough to ruin him.
Her makeup a mess from the tear tracks running through them, the hair fisted in his hands in an even worse state, and somehow— she still manages a lopsided smile, as if beyond pleased with herself.
He’s faintly aware of the fact she’s won. He makes peace with the realization.
There’s nothing but the sound of their heavy breathing to fill the silence in the hallway as Sebastian tries to regain his bearings, still buried inside her. Neither of them move for a long moment, and Sebastian likens it to the peace following a war, a brief period of prosperity.
He’s conscious that it’s temporary.
She winces when he finally pulls out of her, their shared spend trickling down the insides of her thighs, her knees nearly giving out to the point he has to hold her up, even if his own legs feel dreadfully unstable.
It doesn’t take her long for her to detach her body from his own, to duck under his arm and slip away. Panic suddenly seizes his chest, dread trickling up his spine. For some reason, he can’t bear to watch her leave. He opens his mouth to say something—an apology, maybe—but she beats him to it.
“That was fun,” she says plainly, glancing back at him over her shoulder. It’s as if they’d just finished another duel. Hardly anything to bat an eye at. Sebastian is at a remarkable loss for words.
She hasn’t continued down the hallway, but she looks as if she’s prepared to.
He’s faintly aware of the fact he probably looks like a fish right now, jaw still slack.
When he doesn’t say anything, she turns her attention to righting her underthings and fixing the tattered remains of her gown. He watches her.
“Goodnight, Sebastian.”
Suddenly sprung to life by the threat of her absence, he takes a step forward. “I’ll walk you back.”
She snorts. “Ever the gentleman.”
“Unless, you’d like to, uh,” he stares down at his shoes, looking uncharacteristically sheepish. “I could transfigure something for us in the Undercroft.”
She looks amused. “My god, you’re insatiable.”
He reddens. “I didn’t mean—oh, Salazar, to sleep…I meant to sleep.”
She turns to face him fully and raises her brows. “You’re asking me if I’d like to forego my own bed in order to spend the night with you in a dusty cellar?”
Mortification washes over him. Why would she? He should’ve kept his mouth shut and walked her to her dorm room instead of deluding himself with the notion that this could’ve been anything more than a quick fuck.
She stares at him expectantly and his fingers twitch at his side with the desire to grab his wand and promptly Avada himself.
It’s then that she decides to saunter over to him, taking her time, until she’s right beside him and can tuck her arm into his. She gestures forward, almost impatient.
“Go on then. I’m little spoon.”
#hogwarts legacy#sebastian sallow#hogwarts legacy smut#hogwarts legacy imagine#sebastian sallow x reader#sebastian sallow x you#dark sebastian sallow#sebastian sallow fanfiction#sebastian sallow x reader#sebastian sallow x mc#hogwarts legacy sebastian#sebastian x mc#ominis gaunt#hogwarts legacy fanfiction#ao3 fanfic#ao3
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Ghost keeps a clean house. Soap knows this is true for his pack, his office, his room, and—to all assumptions—his apartment.
The circumstances of how Soap got there are too jumbled with the high of a mission and the drop of mandated time off. He didn’t want to take time off, neither did Ghost.
He can’t quite remember which one of them fumbled through the offer to stick together- only to maintain their schedules, of course. They still had additional reports and inventory to do, it was only tactical.
So now here he stands, in Ghost’s wholly spartan apartment. It’s been stripped of all charm and frivolity not painted on the walls or molded into the quaintly patterned glass by the front door. It’s not intentionally devoid of comfort- Ghost may be many things, but even he didn’t go out of his way to live without small comforts. There’s an old but soft couch, rugs and mats placed around the doors, and even lamps to offset the harsh over-heads.
The most curious thing, the one that really catches Soaps eyes, is the only visible adornment, quilts.
Great, sprawling tiled blankets (tapestries?) are hung from most of the walls. There’s one draped over the back of the sofa, tucked into the seat of the solitary plush chair. There’s smaller, flat pillows on the few chairs in the kitchen. There’s even placemats on the table. All colored with swirls of vibrant linen in dazzling patterns.
Ghost catches him staring as he leads them through his space (They decided on his apartment, given Soap’s was a bachelor pad, while Ghost had a guest room).
“My mum used to quilt.” Ghost says cryptically, and snags the pack off Soap’s shoulder while he’s still too busy gawking to protest.
Later, after they’ve showered off their travel and eaten something not wrapped in plastic and some amount of mud, Soap tries to breach the topic. Ghost replies as vaguely as ever,
“She tried to make me a baby blanket, never finished it.” Which takes Soap for a spin because based on what Ghost had previously (not) said, he’d assumed his mom had made them. He leaves it be.
Much later, after they’ve settled back into some semblance of their normal routine, Soap finally figures it out. It’s late at night, later than he should be awake after running himself ragged in the gym.
He’s stuck in a state of un-anxiety, which is in itself anxiety inducing, when he hears something next door. It’s rhythmic, mechanical, sharp, but in a way that’s distinctly well milled.
It’s coming from Ghost’s room, and if it were earlier in the night he might’ve just let it be, but he’s curious and without anything better to do.
He drags himself out of bed, slips on a shirt, and makes his way to Ghost’s room. It had been excluded from the gruff house tour he’d been giving on arrival, and right as he creaks the door open he understands why.
There are shelves covering the whole wall opposite to the door, obviously custom built, filled with bat upon bat of colorful fabric. The same colorful fabric, Soap realizes, that makes up the sole decoration in Ghost’s apartment. Sat at a desk, hunched slightly over a near-antique sewing machine, is Ghost.
Soap stares.
Ghost stares back at him, deceptively warm in the light of the machine. Soap can only imagine what he looks like, half awake and face cavernous in the dark of the hallway. There’s a momentary stand-off, Soap inanimate, Ghost giving him a look of challenge.
Soap breaks it first, glancing away and to Ghost’s project. It’s half-way finished, colored with calming blues and grays. Ghost seems satisfied and turns back to his work, ignoring him entirely.
Soap, sleep addled and out of his depth, takes the dismissal for all it could be. He shuts the door behind him, for both their sanities, and sits down on Ghost’s bed. It’s covered in a thick quilt, made of reds and golds and the occasional maroon hexagon. It’s unlike anything he’s thought of Ghost as, but he’s beginning to think this is the most raw he’ll ever see him.
The hum of the machine, combined with his tiredness, or maybe with the air of safety that curled around him with Ghost in his sights, starts to lull Soap to sleep.
He blinks himself an awake every time, waiting for the cozy haze to lift and Ghost to kick him out. But it never does, and the time between his eyes closing and opening slowly becomes longer and longer.
He must’ve properly fallen asleep when he’s jolted awake by the sound of plastic on plastic. Ghost had switched off his machine and was clamping closed a large, sorted box of pins. He glances back at Soap,
“Go to sleep, Mactavish.”
And Soap is nothing if not trusting of Ghost, so he does as he’s told. He’s woken again, briefly, by Ghost pulling the quilt out from underneath where he’d laid on top of it. There’s a rush of cold air, a dip in the bed beside him, and then the warm blanket being draped over him.
He makes a slight noise of alarm as he realizes it’s Ghost crawling into bed with him. Ghost huffs and grabs him by the arm, stopping him from sitting up and pulling his head to rest on a pillow in one motion. He lets go, then, and turns away from Soap.
“You can go if you want.” He rasps. Soap belatedly realizes he hadn’t talked to the other man much the previous day. He hums in clumsy thanks before finally falling asleep.
Later, Soap asks (he doesn’t beg, he’s a grown adult) Ghost to make him a quilt. He doesn’t expect him to say yes, or to have him pick the patterns, or to let him intrude on his room again almost nightly, but Ghost does.
They both know it’s not about the quilt.
#the quilting is here#i will make ghost a seamster every chance i get#arts and crafts (homo edition)#simon ghost riley#john soap mactavish#ghostsoap#soapghost#cod mw2#writing
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with me + part two
authors note: well, holy shit, the response to this has been so unexpected yet insanely appreciated and humbling! the kind words of support and interest really have been so wonderful to receive. thank you thank you thank you!
this ended up much longer than i intended, but i couldn't find a "good" place to break it in half, so i apologize for the length.
i also feel like this is a bit on the boring but necessary side in terms of setting the scene and backdrop for what's to come....
i also feel like this is gonna def be more than 4 parts, so sorry!!!!
warnings: language, slight sexy time, suggestive themes
song inspo: with me by destiny's child
words: 7.5k
tag gang: @pixiedust4000 @southerngirl41 @yolobloggers @msbigredmachine @wonderingfashion @tshepisho @lizzycaraballo-blog @xiamentshoneypot
“I need a break.” He slid out of you, the absence of his thick dick noticeable and borderline uncomfortable. Despite the fact that your voice was hoarse, limbs jello, and pussy tender as all outdoors, you still wanted him. Wanted to feel him inside you. But you knew you also needed some amount of time for your body recoup for the next round, so you made logic overpowered lust.
He made a sound, lying on his back, eyes on the ceiling. “So fucking needy for this dick.”
“Shut up.” It was intentionally not a denial, because he wasn’t entirely wrong. It’d been a shitty past couple weeks, what with parent teacher conferences, your least favorite time of the year. There were only so many different ways you could try to gently explain to parents that their child wasn’t the next Cornel West and actually could benefit from “additional evaluations.” But that almost always went over their heads as they attempted to tell you, the professional, the real reason why their child wasn’t doing well.
You were just over all of it and damn near at your wits end when you got the text from Joe that he’d be in town this weekend. That goofy ‘i’m about to get some good dick’ smile was damn near stamped on your face in the days preceding his arrival. You needed an outlet, and wearing yourself out on his dick until you were physically incapacitated happened to be the perfect one, the best one.
It wasn’t like you didn’t have options, you did, but they were subpar. And that was the problem with having a chance to experience superior dick, everything else that followed was mid. No one had ever fucked you like Joe. No man before him had ever made you come from just penetration. You always needed more. Had to sometimes physically instruct them on what you needed. Not with him. He gave you more—-the man could and had stayed with his face buried between your legs for hours on end—-but it wasn’t necessary. He could fuck you to a toe curling, light blinding climax with just a few good, deep strokes.
And yes, you still struggled with the guilt of fucking someone else’s man, but in times like this, where you were beyond stressed the fuck out, all you could think about was getting off and decreasing that stress. The guilt session could come later.
“What’s wrong?” He asked after a few minutes of comfortable silence. You could both be around each other and not say a word without an ounce of discomfort. It was nice.
“Parents suck.” You answer, bluntly, afterwards realizing how vague that is. “I’ve had parent teacher conferences the past couple weeks, and they’ve been getting on my nerves trying to tell me how to do my job.”
“That sounds annoying.”
“Beyond, and makes me feel like they’re insinuating I don’t know what I’m talking about. I do. They just don’t want to hear it.” They prepared you in school, to some extent, to expect those select parents that weren’t the easiest to work with but to always stand behind your professional judgment regardless if one agreed or not. And for the most part, your parents in the years since you’d been teaching were relatively chill. It just seemed that this time of the year is when all of them decided to be in their difficult era.
One hand behind his head, Joe looks over at you. “Then that’s on them.” He shrugs. “You can’t make them hear what they don’t want to hear.”
Groaning loudly, you turn on your side, propping your own head up with your hand. “I know. It just sucks for the kids. There’s a couple who might be on the spectrum or have ADHD, but I can’t outright say it, so all I can do is strongly imply. And trust me, my implications are clear as fucking day. It’s just annoying when I have to work harder than I should to get people to be their kids' advocate, not their adversary.”
He’s quiet for a second and then asks. “What’s the best part of your job?”
The answer doesn’t even require contemplation. “My students. Hands down. I love kids. I love helping them learn and seeing the excitement on their face when they finally grasp a concept I’m teaching. It’s super rewarding.”
His gaze lingers on you, “Then focus on that. You do this because it’s a passion and a love and you’re clearly good at it.”
His words marinate over you, reminiscent of past conversations where you’re the one feeding positivity into him, reminding him to not lose focus of what’s most important and why he does what he does. The roles being reversed is different but nice. It’s nice to have him to talk to, it’s always easy to do so.
You move your hand to his chest and slowly walk your fingers downward. “Good dick and good advice. This trip is a double win for me.”
His jaw clenches when you begin to stroke him, sinfully and intentionally slowly. A smirk forms on your face. He’s just as needy for you as you are for him.
Joe’s voice is hoarse with desire. “You ready for the next round?”
“Yes.” You’re not sure if physically, you’re well enough, but that’s what epsom salt baths are for. And Motrin. You need him. Climbing on top, you grab his hardened length and align it at your entrance, dew coating the tip and serving as natural lubricant. “But I want to be on top this time.”
________
“Mommy!”
You’re startled awake by the loud voice, jumping body, and smiling face of your personal alarm clock. The only alarm clock you’ve ever had that you can’t dictate the time it goes off. It takes a second for you to settle yourself, to push away the inappropriate afterthoughts of such a salacious dream—one you’re slightly disappointed couldn’t play out longer—to focus on the little human in front of you.
The shining sun beaming down on you from the curtains you’re certain she opened assists in doing just that. You rub at your eyes, a small, warm smile growing. “Good morning, Callie Bear.”
Her eyes, big, brown, and always full of curiosity are focused on you as she stops jumping and lands on her knees. “You’re up!”
You chuckle, how can you not be up with a rambunctious four year old jumping on your bed and screaming for you to wake up? ”I’m up.”
“Yay!” She cheers, tiny fists raised up and victory. “Can we have pancakes?”
“I don’t know.” You pretend to contemplate her request, index finger against your bottom lip. “Can we?”
She pouts, and you bite on your lip to suppress your laughter. Her arms cross over her tiny chest, bonnet covered head tilting to the side. “May we have pancakes?”
Sometimes, you feel bad for your daughter, having a teacher for a mother. You’re always going to be on her about anything academic related, especially English. “We certainly can.” Yawning, you sit up in bed and scratch your scalp through your bonnet. “But first, hygiene.”
Swooping her into your arms, you’re met with a chorus of giggles as you tickle her stomach with your index finger. Walking into the bathroom, you sit her on the counter and reach her her toothbrush, putting on her (Halle Bailey) Little Mermaid themed toothpaste before letting her do her thing as you do hers.
This is the first time in a while that you’re grateful for your daughter waking you up so early on a weekend. Those dreams….you’d be lying if you said they didn’t happen more than you’d like to admit. You’d tried to figure out what triggered them but have yet to be successful.
The simplest answer would be that you miss him. You miss Joe, but that’s also the answer you refuse to admit. You can’t miss him. Don’t have the right to miss someone else’s man, someone else’s husband.
All you can do is be appreciative that one of the biggest regrets in your life brought you your biggest blessing.
Calista, Callie, to almost everyone she knows, was a complete and utter surprise.
It was time for your women’s wellness exam, and in the set of questions they asked you, one was of course the date of your last menstrual cycle. Being stumped for a second was normal, hence why you used your beloved Flo app to track your cycle. But, it’s when you opened the app and realized you hadn’t logged a period in two months, you knew.
Didn’t need a blood test to tell you the obvious.
You were most definitely pregnant.
You’d used Flo consistently since you were 14 years old, there was no way in hell you’d forgotten for two whole months to input the period dates.
So, after crying and damn near having a panic attack, your doctor provided you with pamphlets. Options, as they were called. You wouldn’t review them until a couple days later, needing that time to process that you were actually pregnant. Pregnant by a married man that you’d ended things with, ironically, on the night your daughter was conceived.
What in the actual fuck were you supposed to do? Send him a text and say ‘nvm. Congrats, we’re expecting. Are you gonna tell your wife or should I?’ To this day, you’re convinced that the nasty wave of ‘morning sickness’ you experienced the first few weeks of finding out you were with child was actually just your absolute disgust that you’d allowed another woman’s husband to impregnate you.
It was like you were walking in the same footsteps your mother molded for you. Something you swore you’d die before letting happen.
What’s that saying? We make plans, and God laughs. Well, he must be having a field day with you.
It was actually in confiding in Mariah, your best friend since kindergarten, that you were able to look past your shame and panic to see this for what it is.
“You want to have kids, don’t you?” She asked in an obvious tone, picking through the big bowl of popcorn you two shared while Insecure played at a low volume on your TV. “Well, here’s the kid.”
“I wanted to have kids with a husband, Mariah.”
“Well—“
“Shut up.” You tossed a few pieces of popcorn in her direction. This was not the time for her occasional joke. You were too busy having a mental breakdown.
“Does it really matter how the baby got here? Aren’t you the one always saying kids are a blessing? Why are you trying to block yours?” It’s a fair, valid point that you’re too stubborn to want to hear, even if it’s what you needed to hear. “I’m just saying if you’ve been blessed with being a mom, something you’ve always wanted. Seems kinda silly we’re having this discussion instead of baby names, baby showers, and gender reveals.”
“I’m not doing a gender reveal.” That much you are absolutely sure of. Never. But, Mariah’s words do resonate with you. Why were you so caught up on how you got pregnant? Yeah, it was fucked up, but dwelling on it did nothing but make you feel worse. You always imagined this would be a happy occasion, couldn’t you find it in you to be happy? Regardless of the father and that whole Tubi of a situation.
There was a life growing inside of you, no matter the dynamics of the creation, the child had done nothing wrong, didn’t deserve to be blamed. And the truth was you weren’t really that upset, you were more happy than anything, if you really allowed yourself to feel without reservation. Borderline excited, even. Maybe even at the fact that you would always have a small piece of him with you in a really big way.
Even if he wouldn’t be a part of that experience.
And it was then that you decided. You didn’t care what anyone thought, couldn’t think about how your mother, who was completely unaware about your relationship with Joe for the entire three years, would react. You’d figure out the rest of this later because you were having this baby, but you were having this baby by yourself. Joe couldn’t know.
He wouldn’t know.
And almost five years later, nothing has changed. Yes, you absolutely couldn’t see yourself making it through your pregnancy and even the first few weeks postpartum without the help of your mom and Mariah. But, for the most part, you did everything you could by yourself for your daughter, wanting her to see the strength and perseverance of a strong, single mother.
She finishes brushing before you and spits out the remnant toothpaste in her mouth. “Are we gonna see grandma today?”
You finish a few seconds after, spitting and wiping your mouth before answering. “We certainly are.”
“Yay!” She celebrates as you bring the towel to her face, giving it a gentle cleanse before tossing it into the hamper. Callie wastes no time in removing her bonnet and giving her curls a good shake. The two of you share a laugh as you follow suit.
“Pancake time?”
Separating some of her coils, you answer with a wink. “Let mommy wash her face, and I’ll be right out, kiddo.”
“Okay.” Nodding, she jumps off the counter and hurries into the kitchen knowing good and well what’s about to come out of your mouth.
“Sis, what have I told you about jumping off this damn counter?” All you hear is giggling in the wake of her dash. This child has daredevil tendencies that bring out a certain, uncomfortable level of anxiety. Medical bills weren’t in the budget, so you needed her to calm the hell down.
She probably gets it from–
Shaking your head from unnecessary thoughts, you quickly work your way through your routine and eventually meet her in the kitchen to find her on her tablet, probably trying to figure out what movie to put on while you two cook. On the weekends, you remove the passcode from her device but still maintain the time limits for her overall screen time.
You refuse to allow her to become an “ipad kid.”
“What’cha pick for us?” Moving through the kitchen, you pull out the necessary items and place them on the small island.
Climbing onto the barstool, she flips the screen with a proud smile. “Moana!”
Gasping with faux surprise, you ask, “again?”
Much like her mother who was like her mother, an affinity and passion for all things Disney is another thing your child inherited. She could watch Disney movies for the rest of life and never get bored. And Moana was at the top of that list, the new Little Mermaid was a close favorite, but Moana resonated deeply with Callie for reasons you still don’t fully understand.
Well, she is half Pacific Islan—
Clearing your throat, you and Callie get to work on breakfast, both singing along and dancing to the catchy Disney music. It’s a sweet bonding moment between the two of you, a bit of a tradition on the weekends. You’re not much of a cook, at all, but breakfast food is relatively simple. And thankfully, your child is not as picky as some other kids. A stack of pancakes with sausage is always enough to satisfy her.
It’s when you’re both sitting in the living room, on the floor, legs crossed while you eat the delicious breakfast that you’d prepared together that a thought crosses your mind.
A distraction could be beneficial, the dream from earlier still floating around in the back of your head. And not even the dream in as much as the main event from the theme.
You needed some dick. It’d been too long, that itch needing a scratch to give you some much needed reset.
So, it’s when Callie is focused on the scene in Moana when Maui’s hook is broken that you grab your phone and shoot off a text.
You free today?
Not even five minutes later, your phone buzzes with a response.
Just tell me when and where.
________
Walking through the doors of your mother’s hair salon is always an experience, nostalgic almost, to all the times you and your friends would hang out there with the hopes that you could get free or discounted services. Usually free for you, not so much for your friends.
Business was still business.
The familiar smell of hair oils, deep conditioner, and the overall sound of flat irons sizzling through hair brings a warm smile to your face. It’s things like this, this place even, that remind you why you decided to come home after college.
Home, where the closest major stores like Target and Walmart, and even the airport, are nearly half an hour away. Where you have only one elementary school, one middle school, and one high school. Where many of the streets are two laned and littered with storefronts, like your mom’s salon. Hell, the freaking bank, post office, and city hall are in the same building.
Everyone knows everyone, and for the most part, everyone looks out for each other.
It isn’t for everybody, this almost Hallmark movie type setup. You know this. Hence why many leave for school and never or seldom return. But, for you, it’s home.
It’s also the perfect place to discreetly and raise the daughter of a celebrity.
“Grandma!”
Your mom is in the middle of a conversation with a patron but almost immediately redirects her attention to the equally familiar voice of Calista. “There’s my grandbaby!” Callie runs into your mom’s arms and is peppered with kisses all over. “Looking more and more like your mama every day.”
That genuinely makes you smile. You tend to think she favors Joe more than yourself, usually when she’s making certain facial expressions. She has a lot of his mannerisms, which you are grateful for, happy that she has characteristics from both sides. But any and all of the good things she can take from you, you want her to have.
Callie’s smile is bright and infectious, as always. “That’s cause mommy’s my mommy!”
You laugh, approaching them and leaning in for your mom’s one armed hug as she has Callie in her other arm. “Hey, mama.”
“Hey, baby.”
Your relationship with your mom has definitely been up and down over the years, which you’d like to think is the standard for most mother-daughters. It’s something that’s arguably strengthened over time, especially post Callie. You’d gained so much more appreciation for your mother raising you on her own as a single parent. There was always appreciation, but infinitely more now as you were also in the same position.
“I was hoping she could hang out with you for a little bit today. I have some business to take care of. If that’s okay?”
Your mother gives you the look, the look that indicates she knows there’s more to what you’re saying but she won’t push out of respect for your privacy. And you’re grateful for that. You don’t necessarily want to explain that you need her to keep an eye out on Callie while you attend your dick appointment.
Sucking her teeth, she starts walking to the back where her office is located. “When have I ever had an issue spending time with my only grandchild?” She has you there. Your mom would take Callie every day if you let her, and you’re so thankful for that. Not even for the tremendous assistance your mom provides but for the close relationship she has with Callie, similar to how close you were with your grandma. “Want me to do her wash day for her while she’s here?”
At that, Callie’s eyes go wide as she starts to whine, “noooo. I don’t want to.”
You chuckle. “That’s how mommy feels too, babes.” You dreaded her wash day as much as you dreaded your own. The women in your family were blessed with long, thick, healthy curls that Callie clearly inherited from you but also her father’s side cause the girl had some hair. “If you don’t mind, mama.”
She waves off your unnecessary added comment and starts to assess the state of Callie’s hair, murmuring comments to herself.
You lean down in front of Callie and move your hand to her knee. “You sure you’re gonna be okay, sweetie?”
She nods and asks, “can we get ice cream when you come back?”
“We surely can.” You don’t allow her to have a lot of sweets—she already has enough energy as it is—but every so often, you two get the homemade ice cream cones at the local parlor. Sometimes you’ll sit outside and just talk, sharing laughs and inside jokes over the best ice cream anyone could ever have. And considering she’s about to endure a wash day, she deserves it. “I love you, Callie Bear.”
Putting her tablet on her lap, she leans over and hugs you tight. For such a tiny human, she always gives the best, most loving hugs. “I love you too, mama.”
Callie goes back to her tablet, and you issue your mom one more statement of appreciation before heading out so you can have your urge squashed and get back in time to have dessert with your little girl.
On the car ride there, you send up a quick prayer that this time will be different, that you can get what you need and be gone without being asked to stay. It’s always the same answer, so maybe the last one finally stuck to where he won’t hope.
Won’t get his own feelings hurt.
________
“You know you don’t always have to leave right away.”
Of course.....of course.
You’re in the midst of hooking your bra back on when he hits you with the offer you were stupidly hoping he’d pass on this time around.
Bold of you to assume you could come get some dick without this man trying to turn it into a cuddle session.
Your smile is tight as you politely decline. “I don’t want to leave Callie at the salon too long. You never know what she’s hearing.”
It’s a weak excuse, hence him poking a hole right through it. “You know your mom would shut that down right away. Get back in the bed.”
“Really, Amir, I can’t stay.” Once your bra is on, you reach on the ground for your panties, sliding them back on as well. The sooner you get yourself decent, the sooner you can dip.
“Can’t or won’t?”
And here it goes. Sometimes, you wonder why you continue to put yourself in this situation. Amir’s stroke game is nice, but is it really worth this constant routine? You two fuck, he tries to make it more, an argument, silence on both ends for a little while until one of you needs that urge handled. Wash. Rinse. Repeat.
It’s been roughly the same since you were in high school.
Amir was your first damn near everything: first crush, first boyfriend, first kiss, first time. It was a textbook small town romance. He was the quarterback, and you were the cheerleading captain. Everyone said you were perfect together and predicted at one point you’d get married after college. Truthfully, you once thought the same. But outside of aesthetics, your relationship was always rocky, borderline toxic.
He had poor boundaries with other girls but never saw an issue because it never went beyond flirting. And because you were young, dumb, and just as toxic sometimes, you’d intentionally flirt with other guys to piss him off, knowing it was wrong to drag innocents into your Bobby and Whitney of a relationship but more interested in making him see your side of it..
Still, young and dumb. Not an excuse, but definitely a reason.
Even as you both went off to college, each attending separate schools, you’d occasionally hookup during the winter breaks. More often during the summer. He was your constant, preferred over allowing random dick into you, especially as he was most familiar and you knew he was clean. The devil you know type of thing.
Post college was when you really ended it, deciding that it was time to put the childish things behind you, time to put him behind you.
And you’d done relatively well for a while, the two of you becoming damn near strangers. Especially when Joe came into the picture. Amir was good in bed, but Joe was heavenly. Just the thought of anyone other than him fucking you at that time was repulsing.
But, Joe is gone, has been, so now you’re stuck returning to the same nigga you just can’t seem to get rid of because he has a decent sized dick he, mostly, knows how to use.
And your rose can only go so far.
“Fine. Won’t. Don’t. Not interested.” Standing up, you shoot him a look of challenge, of defiance. “Better?”
Your words understandably tick him off as he cruelly asks, “How long are you gonna let yourself be stuck on him? That nigga abandoned you and his kid, what is there to even be stuck on?”
Regardless of what happened between you and Joe, mostly with how it played out, you refuse to allow anyone to speak badly of him. Specifically when it pertains to his absence in your and Callie’s lives, especially since that was 100% your call. Only a select few know the full story, therefore the majority have no right to speak on it. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, so please just shut the fuck up.”
“Where is he then, huh? It’s been almost 5 years, Y/N. You need to move the fuck on. He’s your past.” Moving out of the bed, he comes up to you and places one hand to your face. You fight the desire to pull away. His touch is suddenly uncomfortable, feels wrong and noisome. “It’s time to focus on your future.”
Not that you’d ever admit it to Amir, but there’s a hint of truth to his voice. Eventually, random hookups to fulfill your sexual needs will become insufficient. Hell, even now, you still desire to be married, to give Callie that 'traditional' family. The problem is mostly lack of options, even if Amir seems convinced you two should give it another try.
When hell freezes over.
Your voice is even and to the point as you finish dressing and pull out your key fob. “Like I said, thanks for the scratch, but that’s all this is.” Without giving him time to talk more shit, you head out the door without another fucking word.
________
“Oh shit, is that ole girl Randy used to mess with?” Joe is only halfheartedly listening to what his cousin is saying, mostly focused on the work email he’s reading on his phone. It’s far and few in between they actually have time off, let alone enough time to go home and be among the rest of family. He’s trying to enjoy it and is enjoying it, but work is always on his mind, hence his inability to ignore the email notification that slid in mid-group conversation. “What was her name?”
“It started with an M, didn’t it?” Jey suggests. “Mariah, I think.”
It's when the correct name is stated that Joe’s attention is briefly redirected. Mariah was your friend, the reason he was ever introduced to you. It’s a name he hasn’t heard in years. If only that was the same amount of time it’s been since he thought of you. No, instead, you’ve taken up real estate in his mind more than he’d ever like to admit or acknowledge.
“Wait, isn’t that—-” Jimmy is silenced, and out of the corner of Joe’s eye, he can see it’s because Jey gave him a look. That look you give someone when you want them to shut up.
Now…now they have his attention.
“What?” It’s when the twins share a look with each other, Jey shaking his head that Joe puts his phone to the side as Jimmy hits the lock button on his phone. “Let me see.”
“Look, Uce—”
“I said, let me see.” One thing Joe can’t stand more than anything is when people beat around the bush or try to hide things from him. He prefers people to be upfront and honest, damn whatever feelings come up. The truth is always better, in his mind.
And yet……
Shaking his head, Jimmy blows out a breath and hands his cousin the phone.
Joe looks down and instantly regrets ever pushing the matter.
Five years.
It’s been almost five fucking years since he’s seen that beautiful smile, those deep dimples that were one of the first things he noticed about you, outside of your breathtaking beauty. You looked almost exactly the same, maybe a bit heavier, still in all of the right places. Hair a little longer but still the same deep onyx with streaks of purple. You’re smiling and posing with Mariah who also hasn’t changed much outside of a new hair color and the huge baby bump she’s sporting. A baby shower, he’d guess.
But outside the shock of seeing you, Joe’s attention is also on the third person in the photo. A child, young in age, no more than 4 or 5, black, curly hair styled in two space-buns and a deep dimpled smile that’s almost identical to yours. Her eyes are a beautiful light brown shade, a contrast to your chocolate colored eyes.
But similar to….similiar to his.
Brows furrowed, Joe is surprised to see you’re tagged in the photo, so he goes to your profile and is even more shocked to find it public. You were always such a private person, but he chalks it up to the fact that the only people who’d really know how to find it would have to be those close to you.
You don’t have a ton of pictures, but he clicks on the first one that has a set of photos of you and the same little girl from the baby shower. It’s dated almost six months ago, so not the newest but better than nothing. The post is a slideshow, so he begins to scroll through the photos, each of them with you and that same child, clearly at various points in her life. The last one stops him for a moment, a photo of you, crying, in a hospital bed holding a newborn baby.
Swallowing back his emotions, Joe redirects his gaze to the caption:
my calista, my callie, my baby girl. God used one of the hardest periods of my life to bless me with the best gift anyone can receive. every day with you is an adventure. from your incessant questions about the most random of things, constant requests for disney movie marathons, to the way you refuse to part from me without giving the biggest hug and kiss goodbye while yelling ‘i love you, mommy!’. callie, you are my whole heart, and there’s nothing i wouldn’t do for you, sweet girl. here’s to year 4 and many many more of having the biggest honor and privilege ever of being your mama bear.
So many things are going through his head right now.
You had a child.
You have a child.
Based upon the date of the post, you have a child who will be five years old in a couple of months.
A child who has your smile, but his eyes, his nose, and a complexion that looks the perfect combination of the two of you. She looks like the perfect combination of the two of you.
It’s hard to not jump to the obviously glaring conclusion that all of this brings, and still, he tries to not allow his head to go there. You would….you would never do that. You would never keep his child from him, no matter how things ended between the two of you. There was wrongness to that that reached low levels of depravity, and he just couldn’t conjoin that kind of deception with who he always knew you to be.
You were a woman who believed and tried to live by her morals. It was the reason you eventually cut him out of your life. Nothing about not telling him he has a child is moral.
He wordlessly hands the phone back to Jimmy and goes back to reading the email, acting like nothing just happened and he doesn't have a million and one thoughts running through the back of his mind.
It’s after he walks away, giving off an excuse that he needs to call Hunter to discuss a proposed promo that the conversation commences.
“So, we all just gon act like that lil' girl don’t look like Uce? She even got his eyes, man,” Jimmy, being Jimmy, is the first to say it aloud, the only one to actually verbalize what the others are thinking.
“Jimmy,” Naomi chides but can’t help adding. “Do you really think that could be his kid?”
Jey decides to join in on the conversation. “It’s possible. They messed around for years.”
“But would she really do that? Have his baby and not even tell him about her?” Naomi only met you a handful of times, but all of the interactions were pleasant, and she secretly thought you and Joe would have made a cute couple if the stars were aligned differently. “She had to have told him.”
Jimmy gestures to the sliding door Joe walked through minutes earlier. “Does that look like he knew?”
“This is all just speculation.” Joseph decides to join the conversation, always the one who prefers to listen to all sides before adding his two cents. “Similiar facial features don’t mean they’re related.”
“No, but add in the timeline plus the way it ended, and you can’t help but lean one way.”
“What did happen between them?” Somewhat newer to this circle, Joseph realizes that’s a topic he’s never really heard much about. He knows his cousin basically has an open marriage and sleeps around, but he’s always heard whispers there was a woman he was with for years.
“She just ended it one day.” Jey answers with a shrug. “Uce really ain't say much outside of that. It was sudden though.”
“But was it? Three years of waiting around for a guy to maybe or maybe not leave his wife for you?” Naomi serves as a counter, shaking her head and leaning forward to rest her chin in her hand. “Sounds like more than enough time to me.”
“It wasn’t nothing like that though. They was just messing around,” Jimmy defends.
“He cut off every other woman he was messing with when they were together.” Jey distinctly remembers how his cousin had one woman and only one woman on speed dial during that period, and it was you. It was always you. “I think it was more than just messing around.”
Joseph nods, taking in all this information. “So, if she is his, do you think she kept her a secret to get back at him for not divorcing Jadah?” It’s a bold question, but a valid one that Jey is the first to dispute.
“Naw, I’m with Naomi. Y/N wouldn’t do that.”
Jimmy shakes his head, starting to see how this is all looking to play out. “Well, if that is Joe’s daughter and that’s how he found out he has a child….this shit is about to get real ugly.”
________
Joe tried to tell himself it was just a wild coincidence. Reminded himself that you yourself said you wanted to get married, have kids. And you’d done that, had a kid. However, revisiting your Instagram pictures, in none of your posts did he see a man.
Or a wedding ring.
And just how fucking quickly could you have moved on? Doing the math, you would have had to have someone on speed dial to get pregnant as fast as you did. And that doesn’t line up with who he knew you to be. You were fucking him and only him.
You were with him and only him.
So that left him and only him.
And like a man hyperfixated on trying to solve a puzzle, he looks at every single post on your Instagram, starting from the year you met up until now. He focuses especially on the posts that include your daughter, not that many, but enough.
And when it’s all said and done, thoughts vs counterthoughts, logic vs emotion, Joe is 100% convinced that this is his child.
That he’s just now found out he’s a father through fucking Instagram.
And now he’s pissed because who the hell were you to keep his child from him? He didn’t give a fuck how you felt about him and his being married, that didn’t give you an excuse to hide a whole kid?
His kid.
________
“Ready for your bedtime story, Callie Bear?”
Reading with Callie has been a must since you found out you were pregnant. Your mom always told you how she read to you in the womb and to this day believes it’s why you always tested out so high with your reading abilities, even in the first grade. You’re not sure how accurate it is, having read some studies and whatnot, but you’ve followed suit, reading to Callie even when she was in your belly. Almost five years later, it’s now a tradition. She can’t go to sleep without a story.
She nods happily. You laugh and slide into the bed next to her. Naturally, she cuddles close to you, book already picked out and waiting on the bed. It’s one she’s heard a dozen times before but one of her favorites, so you read it just as theatrically, voice changes, and everything. Her giggles of happiness and merriment warm your heart. You love these one-on-one moments, wishing you could jar them and keep them stored away forever.
You’re a couple chapters in when she starts to yawn, eyes struggling to stay open, that you slide in the bookmark and promise to pick it up again tomorrow. You know Callie is ready to call it a night when she doesn’t protest.
But, it’s after placing the book on the shelf and going to tuck her into her covers that she hits you with a question that nearly sends you into cardiac arrest.
“Mommy, why don’t I have a daddy?”
You’re not stupid, far from it. This question was bound to come up, sooner or later. For your own selfish sake though, you were hopeful for later, much much later.
She continues, almost nervous in tone. “Ms. Leah said you need a mommy and a daddy to make a baby, so where’s my daddy?”
Curious how the conversation of where babies came from came about, you make a mental note to discuss this with your daughter’s preschool teacher before working to answer her valid question. Truth be told, you have no idea how to answer it. But if anxiety was the dominant emotion before, sadness and devastation easily topple that at the next thing to come out of her mouth.
“Does he not love me?”
It’s not until that moment that you truly know what it feels like for your heart to shatter into absolute pieces.
“Oh, baby….” Crouching down beside her bed, you move your hand to her forehead, thumb gently caressing her soft skin. You’re so damn lost on how to handle this, what to say to take away her obvious pain, that you go with the soonest thing that hits the forefront of your brain. “Your daddy…..he….he wasn’t ready to be a daddy.”
It could be the truth, it could be a lie. You never gave yourself—or him—the chance to find out, and up until this point, you never saw an issue with that. But now….now you’re wondering just who you made that decision for.
And if it was the right one.
Callie’s frown deepens, the answer clearly not one that makes her feel any better. “What if I’m a really good girl? Will he be ready then?”
The shattered pieces are now dust, granulated dust that you struggle to hold together in trembling palms. You bring both hands to her face. “Calista, you listen to me. You are the kindest, sweetest, most amazing little girl in the whole wide world. You don’t need to do anything to be a good girl because you are already a good girl, the best girl.”
Her eyes glaze over as she sniffles and asks in a small voice. “So why doesn’t he want me?”
“Oh, sweetie…” You pull her into a hug, holding her close and tight, as if doing so will allow her to absorb all of the love and adoration you have for this tiny human who made your life have meaning. “I’m gonna talk to him, okay? I’ll….I’ll talk to him.” That’s all you can say, even if it’s not a guarantee, even if you have no idea where such an offer came from. And you hate yourself for doing that, for getting her hopes up over something that may not even happen. You haven’t spoken to Joe in almost five years, there’s no guarantee the number is even still the same.
Still, you know you have to at least try, especially when you pull back and see the renewed hope in her teary eyes, the eyes she shares with the father she’s clearly desperate to know about, to meet, to have.
You close your eyes and press your forehead against hers, speaking with all the love and affirmation in the world, “I love you, Calista. Always, baby.”
You’re relieved to hear her reply in a less saddened and more hopeful tone, “I love you too, mommy.”
It’s after you’re certain Callie is knocked out and you’ve exhausted every single step of your nighttime routine that you pace around your room, partially trying to avoid an action you know you need to take.
Especially when you find his number in your phone from an old text thread you could never find it in you to delete.
You go back and forth for nearly twenty minutes before deciding on a simple question.
is this still joe’s number?
You feel like a damn child, throwing the phone down on the bed and burying your face into your hands. This is so much more difficult than it needs to be, or maybe it isn’t. You made the executive decision to not make Joe aware of your pregnancy for a variety of reasons that felt solid at the time.
Now…now you don’t know any fucking thing anymore, it seems.
What you do know is that you nearly jump off the bed when your phone begins to ring. Frowning, you look at the time, wondering who in the hell could be calling you at damn near midnight.
But, it’s when you lift your phone to see the caller you know exactly why someone is calling you at damn near midnight.
Ignoring it is so tempting, but the image of Callie in tears wondering why she’s not loved or wanted is more than enough to trample your selfish desires. Sliding the green button upward, you place the phone against your ear, take a deep breath, and speak, “hi.”
He exhales, your name leaving his mouth for the first time in years. Hearing his voice, let alone hearing him say your name, creates a heaviness you weren’t expecting. Then again, you weren’t expecting to speak to him at all tonight.
Or ever, for that matter.
Communication is suddenly incredibly difficult as you struggle to string words together to create a cohesive statement. “I’m….I’m sorry for calling so late, but—”
“We need to talk.” While your tone is soft and nervous, his is serious and borderline stoic. It takes you for a bit of a loop, but you try not to put too much into it. The real focus should be why he interrupted you so harshly with such a bold statement. He’s not wrong, but why does he think you need to talk? “I’ll get a flight out tomorrow.”
That breaks you from your thoughts. A what? “wait—”
“You still at the same place?”
Swallowing, still very much confused, you answer, “yes, but—”
“I’ll see you tomorrow night.”
The phone goes silent on the other end, and you realize it’s because he’s ended the call. You must stare at that phone for a good five minutes in complete utter shock. Eventually, coming out of the catatonia, only one thought circulates around your mind.
What in the actual fuck just happened?
#roman reigns x black!oc#roman reigns x black!reader#roman reigns#black writers#roman reigns fic#arisnotebook
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under the weather || steddie
this is for @rogueddie’s bday! i’m sorry it’s late but i fell ill and am only just starting to feel better. i thought a sickfic was fitting for the situation :b. hope you like it, eddie! and i hope your bday was good <3
sickfic, pre-relationship, technically post-s4
No one had seen or heard from Steve in three days.
Eddie knew he didn’t really have any right to be as worried as he was, seeing as even after spring break the two of them hadn’t gotten close. Eddie hadn't wanted to push his luck, knowing exactly how he acted during the apocalypse. There was no way that Steve didn't know that Eddie was gay, and despite Robin’s vague assurances, Eddie didn't want to press his luck much farther. But he was. Worried, that is.
Despite not being that close, Eddie still knew that Steve would never intentionally miss picking up the kids from Hellfire—now hosted at the new Munson house, government provided. He was even less likely to miss picking up Robin from work, which was what really caused Eddie to worry.
Robin had called Eddie and asked him to check on Steve, because in spite of their adamant denial, her mother still thought she and Steve were dating, and refused to let her go over to his house alone.
“Just…check on him, please,” Robin had asked him quietly, her voice tinny on the receiver.
“Of course, birdie,” Eddie replied, frowning at the counter. “I’m not sure if he’ll want to see me, though. Wouldn’t it be better to send Nancy or Jonathan?”
“No,” came Robin’s hasty reply, “no, he’d rather see you than either of them.”
That had confused him enough into agreeing and hanging up to get ready to go to the Harrington’s to check on Steve. He didn’t know what to expect, so he just grabbed a can of soup and shoved it into his bag, along with some weed, and just in case, he grabbed his pocket knife.
Unable to think of any more scenarios right at that moment, Eddie left before he could overthink it.
Fifteen minutes and a few ignored stop signs later, Eddie stood at the front door to Steve’s house. He knocked first, and then a few minutes later, rang the doorbell. When there was still no response, Eddie grabbed his knife and checked to see if the door would open. Fortunately,—or unfortunately, it did.
Eddie crept around, listening for any signs of danger and life in general, as he peered into the kitchen from the living room. He passed the stairs and heard coughing coming from somewhere upstairs and frowned. He put the knife away, and made his way slowly up the stairs.
“Harrington?” Eddie called, poking his head into the door that led to his room. The sight that greeted him was heartbreaking, Steve was under a bunch of blankets, the only part of him that was visible was his hair, which looked uncharacteristically greasy.
“Steve?” he called again when it didn’t look like Steve was moving.
Just as he was about to panic, he heard Steve groan in response, what could have been “Munson”, but sounded closer to “m’ns’n”. Steve pulled the blanket down and squinted in Eddie’s direction and whined when his eyes were greeted with light.
“Oh, Steve,” he breathed, glad that he was just sick and not in mortal danger. Eddie rushed over to him and felt his forehead, which was burning up.
“M’fine,” Steve croaked, trying to weakly push away Eddie’s hand. “Was jus’ gon’ get up,” he breathed, trying to sit up.
“Oh, no you don’t, big boy,” Eddie said firmly, pushing him back into bed. “You’re sick, sweetheart. Stay in bed.”
“M’not sick,” he protested, and then immediately started coughing. Once the coughing fit was done, Steve mumbled, “Maybe m’sick.”
“You think so, sweetheart?” Eddie teased gently as he helped Steve lay back down.
“W’d,” Steve started, but a coughing fit took over the sentence before he could even try to complete it. Eddie’s heart went out to him, aching as he watched Steve shiver once the fit was done. “Wh’d’r’you do’n’ere?”
Steve’s words were so slurred that Eddie had to make an educated guess as to what he meant, “Robin was worried about you,” he explained, “wanted me to check on you.”
“‘bin?” Steve breathed, eyelashes fluttering as he struggled to stay awake.
“Yeah, Robin. She’s really worried. Rest now, I’ll get some things to help you feel better, okay?” Eddie murmured and didn’t wait for Steve to respond before he made his way out of the room.
The next two days were spent with Eddie nursing Steve back to health. Steve slept through most of the first day and a half, but seemed to be getting more lucid on the third day. Instead of being completely disoriented from reality, he seemed to be embarrassed that Eddie had to help him, which he was quick to shoot down.
“I’m sure you have better things to do than take care of me,” Steve insisted, probably for the third time. “I can take care of myself from here.”
“I’m sure you can, Stevie,” Eddie said, just as patient the third time as he was the first. “But you don’t have to, I want to take care of you, I like taking care of you.”
Steve’s face turned red, and Eddie bit back a smile as he handed over the fresh bowl of soup. He wanted to say that it was the fever causing Steve’s face to be so red, but his fever had broken the day before. The only thing that Eddie could think of that he’d be blushing right now was something he didn’t even want to consider, in case he had it wrong. He’d spent so long avoiding the jock because he was scared he’d some how sense his big gay crush on him, he didn’t want to jump to conclusions off of a few days taking care of him.
It was a nice thought, though.
“Thank you,” Steve said quietly as he held the bowl in stable hands. The first day Steve had tried to hold it himself, but was shaking so much that it was impossible, so Eddie had fed him then. It’d taken every ounce of self-control to not get overwhelmed with the closeness, instead he focused on the task.
“You’re welcome, sweetheart,” Eddie said, sitting back in the armchair that Steve had in his room.
“Aren’t you gonna eat?” Steve asked with a frown.
“I ate downstairs while making your food,” and it wasn’t a lie, he’d made himself a sandwich.
He didn’t look pleased at the answer, but accepted it nontheless.
“What day is it?” Steve asked after he finished his soup.
Eddie hummed, “Uhh, Thursday, I think. Yeah, Thursday.”
“I was supposed to pick up Dustin from school today,” Steve exclaimed, and immediately tried to get out of bed.
“Ah, ah, ah,” Eddie stopped him, forcing him back into his bed. “The Sinclairs took care of it. Robin also took care of your shift yesterday and Keith is working your shift today, unwillingly, but doing it.”
Steve deflated, but sidn’t lean back. “Can I at least go to the living room?” he asked with a pout. Eddie staunchly refused to acknowledge the way his heart fluttered.
Maybe he was catching whatever cold Steve had.
Eddie sighed, pretending at being exasperated. “I suppose I can let you do that,” he said, standing to help Steve up. The jock was still shaky on his legs, but much more stable than he had been.
Together they worked their way downstairs slowly, taking it one step at a time. Eventually Eddie helped Steve ease onto the couch, and then went over to the tv and VCR.
“What movie do you want?” he asked, looking back at Steve, catching him blushing and looking away. He raised his eyebrows, bewildered as to what he could have been doing that warranted that reaction.
“Uh..” Steve slowly grinned, “Grease.”
Eddie rolled his eyes, groaning. “Of course you want to watch Grease,” he sighed, grabbing the tape and putting it in. “You’re lucky you’re pretty, Stevie.”
Steve blushed, and grinned widely at Eddie as the metalhead made his way back to the couch. He lifted the blanket and Eddie smiled softly, settling into the couch next to him.
“It’s a good movie,” Steve protested. He must have still been loopy from being sick, because he curled into Eddie’s side, and forced him to wrap his arm around Steve.
Eddie tried to keep his heart steady, but found himself unable to.
“Whatever you say, sweetheart.”
#steve harrington#eddie munson#steve/eddie#steddie#steve x eddie#unsteddie writing#under the weather
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Afternoon sun
Maxiel x reader
angst -> fluff
warnings - being shut out, panic attack, yelling, injury (unintentionally self inflicted), reader just being traumatised, mention of shitty childhood
A/N - I have such bad writers block rn it is almost crippling, this isn't beta read we die like Charles gear box during the formation lap. Anyway, this was made in a total of like, 3 hours and I'm sleep deprived so lets go.
masterlist
Poly! Drivers
Read on Ao3!
You knew when the boys got home there was going to be tension so high you could probably cut it with a knife but you didn't expect to be entirely shut out by both of them. They walked in just after ten am and without so much as a vague acknowledgement when you stood up from the sofa, ready for a hug or kiss, just a greeting of some kind like normal they walked past and headed to their respective offices, leaving you stood awkwardly stood in the middle of your shared apartment unsure of what to do. So you decide to cook, it's so far been your fool proof method in cheering both your men up no matter the mood they're in. You decide to cook mushroom pesto pasta, something you knew was in both of their diets but also something they both really liked, especially with your homemade pesto and pasta.
After running out to the store to grab the ingredients so you could make everything you stand quietly for a moment, listening to try and hear what the men were doing in their rooms. You figured out that Max was sim racing and Danny was probably napping or just relaxing, he left his laptop in his backpack by the door so he couldn't have been working. You knew that much.
You were nearly done with the meal, just needing to fill the glasses when you slipped on some water that had dripped from the pasta strainer, causing the glasses to crash to the floor, shattering on impact. You froze like a deer in headlights, despite the glasses not being anything special, in fact you were pretty sure they were glasses from night clubs in Monaco or pubs in england. You don't even register Max entering the room as you crouch and start picking up the shards of glass, uncaring for how the pieces cut through your skin. “Seriously Y/n!? How much of a clutz are you?” Max begins yelling as Danny rounds the corner into the kitchen.
He pushes Max back towards the living room, “Max! Calm down! It's not like she did it intentionally! ” He keeps his hand on Max’s chest as he looks towards you and the damage in the kitchen before turning to Max again. “Stay here or go back to your room if you're just going to yell at her for cooking food for us because we came home in a bad mood, Jesus christ.” Danny practically growels at him, removing the hand from his chest Danny makes his way over to you.
Your hyper fixated on clearing up the last of the glass shards so you didn't notice Danny walking up to you. Your mind was somewhere between childhood memories of your parents yelling at you and Max's words echoing in your head. You flinch back from Danny's touch, just about catching yourself again on the floor but instead of letting go of the glass in your hand you hold onto it tighter, causing it to cut deeper into your hand. “Hey hey angel, it's only me.” If you were looking you would have seen the flash of hurt cross through his face and the look of regret across max’s.
“Sorry Danny, I didn't mean to make this mess.” You practically whisper to him, refusing to make eye contact, or move at all really, seemingly frozen in place waiting for something. It breaks both of their hearts. Max moves first, towards the door, pulling on shoes and grabbing his wallet. He sends a text to Danny. I'm going to get her snacks & favourite lunch and to pick up Jimmy and Sassy. “Back soon schatje Love you.” He calls from the front door before closing it softly. He wants to apologise but he knows right now it wouldn't help and would fall on deaf ears so he leaves to get things he at least knows will help a little.
“Honey you have to let go of the glass, it's okay, no one is angry at you, I promise.” Danny tries to coax you into dropping the glass that's now making your hand bleed visibly. You don't flinch when he reaches for you this time so he takes the opportunity to pull you away from the glass patch on the floor. Once he has you far enough away he takes your hand and slowly pulls it open so you let go of the glass. “Oh darling, I’m gonna have to bandage this okay? Come on, I'll carry you hm?” he suggests and when you don't flinch away he takes it as a go ahead.
He carries you to the bathroom and sets you next to the sink, giving you a smile when he does. “This is going to hurt like a bitch okay?” he says as he uses tweezers to take out the remaining glass, then follows it up with an alcohol pad as you whine, letting your head fall into his shoulder. “No biting, I know what you're like.” He tries to sound stern but it fails as you lightly start to nibble on his neck with a smile. He finishes cleaning your hand and starts to bandage it.
“I’m back! With the cats! And food!” Max calls out as he enters the apartment again. Your hand was now freshly bandaged and the kitchen cleaned, Danny opting to throw the now cold and hardened pasta away, with a promise that you will make it together another day.
“Max! Hi honeys, or well, bye honeys, I'll see you at dinner time.” You greet the cats who had promptly ran off to their respective hiding spots as they usually did after going to the cat sitters. You turn to max with Danny coming up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist.
“I'm sorry Schat, I should never have yelled at you about a dumb glass because I was upset over a dumb race. I'm so sorry” He nearly cries but you just shake your head.
“It's okay, I mean, no it's not but yes it is, you know you shouldn't yell so i'm not going to punish you any more for it, I think you’ve done enough of that yourself honey.” You separate from Danny and go to hug Max, tucking his head into your shoulder. “I'm hungry, I don't know about you two but I haven't eaten all day so gimme the food you.” You say as you reach for the bag by max’s feet containing various snacks and a box containing food from your favourite take out spot.
A while later you settled on the couch, laying in between Danny's legs, head resting on his chest while Max was in the same position but on top of you. Criminal minds playing on the TV. Eventually Danny begins to play with your hair, leading you to do the same with Max and eventually the three of you fell asleep together, content in the afternoon sun, the fight long forgotten about, the only reminder being the thick bandage residing on your hand.
#greyswritings#maxiel#maxiel fic#maxiel x reader#maxiel fluff#daniel riccardo fanfic#daniel riccardo x reader#max verstappen x reader#max verstappen fanfic#daniel riccardo imagine#max verstappen imagine#daniel ricciardo fluff#max verstappen fluff
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lacking in subtlety || kim sunwoo
» summary: it was a bad idea to like your brother’s best friend. it was an even worse idea to let him into your room when your brother was one door down.
» pairing: sunwoo x female reader
» rating: NC-17 minors do not interact
» genre: brother’s best friend, smut, porn without much plot but there’s backstory i guess
» warnings: dominant sunwoo (kinda?), he’s also a bit possessive, i guess submissive reader, oral (m and f receiving), creampie, his hand finds your throat but there’s no actual pressure, vague exhibitionism (?), sunwoo gets caught but he kinda asked for it, the beginning takes ages whoops, open ending cause i’m annoying, one use of good girl and some pet names
» words: 4,738
» a/n: i know i’ve done brother’s best friend before but i’m a hoe for that concept aight deal w it… also i have like… 20+ smuts for the boyz in my drafts i don’t know what’s going on anymore but i’m thinking either juyeon next because hands or a threesome with moonbae because it’s been sitting in my drafts and lord is it wild
also i know i disappeared but life happens and also people were stealing my work so i wasn’t really in the mood to write anything for anyone but here we are i’m back cause i wanna indulge ✌️
You’d never been much of a risk taker. In fact, on paper, you probably looked quite boring, good grades, a nice set of friends, never misbehaving, all of it lined up to make you rather uninteresting. That’s why when the shift from seeing Juyeon’s best friend Sunwoo, as someone more than a simple acquaintance happened, you simply ignored it.
He’d never find you interesting enough.
Though you were friends in a way too. Your brother was comfortable enough with Sunwoo never getting too close to you in that regard, and so the two of you would often interact even if he wasn’t there.
But the conversations were usually rather generic. Exchanges of how your days were, maybe the occasional comment about an outfit the other wore, but never anything beyond that. You still remembered coming downstairs in an oversized hoodie one day and Sunwoo jumping on the question to ask where you got it. He wore the same one in a different colour a few days later, and you swore he knew how flustered it made you.
You knew him, but you didn’t know him in a way that you knew friends. Nevertheless, you were always comfortable with him, even comfortable enough that during movie nights, if you happened to be around, lying next to him or even against him was deemed completely normal.
You’d done it since you were little, and so even once it shifted from being simply platonic to something that made your heart race as you got older, Juyeon never once questioned it. He never felt the need to and neither did Sunwoo. You weren’t sure if he was simply oblivious or intentionally ignoring the way you felt, but you were relieved either way.
Juyeon never noticed that your first semester back from university, Sunwoo started to get more physical towards you. His arm being wrapped around you wasn’t new, but where he let his hand rest was. You still remembered the first time it fell on your hips, but it stayed unmoving and almost felt like an unintentional accident.
Though with Sunwoo, nothing was unintentional. He thought you were beautiful and incredibly hard to resist, but he tried. He tried by simply leaving little hints, hints that could mean nothing or everything at the same time, and hints that Juyeon wouldn’t notice or brush off because Sunwoo wouldn’t cross that line. He’d never be so stupid.
Sunwoo didn’t want to cross the line, but there was only so much self control he had. Especially when you never, not once, rejected anything that he did.
You’d just finished your first year at university, enjoying the start of your summer break, when things shifted again. Trying to get used to Sunwoo drawing patterns on your hip or nuzzling up to you could never have prepared you.
The weather was terrible, a summer storm looming outside with the sound of rain crashing against the window as a random horror movie played that you lost interest in within the first twenty minutes, and you could tell Sunwoo didn’t care for it much either. Horror movies were Changmin’s thing, and maybe you should’ve been nice and invited your best friend along for the evening.
You were leaning against Sunwoo, his arm around you and fingers resting on your hip with a blanket draped over your bare legs and a part of your waist.
Juyeon was on the opposite side, a bowl of near empty popcorn on his lap with a blanket around his own figure.
Sunwoo shifted, the blanket slipping off your body though he caught it and covered you again, and you would’ve likely barely reacted if it weren’t for his fingers moving over your bare thigh. Your breath caught in your throat, and you tried to hide it with a cough though Sunwoo knew better.
Though just because he knew better, didn’t mean he was about to risk it entirely.
He’s slow, as if trying to calculate all the risks in the scenario he’s in, including both your potential rejection and Juyeon seeing what he’s up to, so it’s incredibly delicate as his fingers move under the thin blanket and to the hem of your oversized shirt, pushing it up above your hips.
Your eyes widen, looking down though the skin he’s exposed lies very much hidden over the thin fabric that’s keeping you warm. You feel like you’re burning and can’t breathe, trying to regulate it without raising any suspicion.
Sunwoo doesn’t feel your rejection, though he takes the time to whisper as quietly as he possibly can, “say stop and I will.”
You look over to Juyeon, but he hasn’t heard. It’s both a relief and a thrill, and you only nod to Sunwoo, tilting your head slightly upwards and to the side, eyes rested on his plump lips that had just hovered by your ear.
His fingers twist around the thin lace laying over your hip bone before he runs his hand down your thigh. He’s meticulous and painfully slow, but the result is that if you didn’t know any better, even you wouldn’t suspect much of anything. And the thrill of it all leaves you embarrassingly wet.
You’re impatient too, and maybe it’s a mistake, but you push his hand just enough to rest in between your thighs. Sunwoo isn’t stupid either, he knows exactly what you want and exactly what you’re craving, and he’s more than willing to give it to you now that you’ve cleared up any potential misunderstanding of your motives.
That’s the problem. Sunwoo has always been more than willing to do anything you ask, even when he shouldn’t. Whilst Juyeon had never explicitly stated that you were off limits, he knew that you were. He could have anyone he wanted. Anyone but you.
And you’re exactly what he wanted.
He’s teasing you, mostly because he doesn’t have a choice if he wants to remain discreet, but also because he likes it. He likes seeing you react, how you bite your lip and try to push your legs apart just enough for him to have his fingers between without the movement being too obvious. Sunwoo pushes into you as a response, and you can feel his cock against your ass.
This was bad. You were both stuck here, and you were feeling incredibly hot and desperately trying to be quiet.
“Are you okay?” he says it loudly, and you can’t believe the nerve he has to ask you right in front of Juyeon. Your brother looks over at you, concern on his face as Sunwoo’s fingers stop right back on your hip.
“What’s wrong?” there’s genuine concern there, and now you wonder what you look like.
“She feels warm. Fever?”
You want to hit him, but the only way you retaliate is to shift around with the way you’re lying, purposely pushing against him. You hear the angry hiss leave his throat, but it’s so quiet, similar to a low growl, so you don’t think Juyeon hears it, or if he does, he assumes it’s because your shuffling around must’ve kicked his friend.
“Do you wanna sleep? We can watch this another time,” you nod at your brother, for as much as you very much enjoy the lines you’re crossing, the gamble doesn’t seem worth it with him right here. That, and in some way, you respect your brother just a little too much.
“I’m gonna have a cold shower,” you twist your body up, ensuring the blanket is still on Sunwoo as he lets you go and repositions on his side, “night Juyeon. Sunwoo.”
You hug your brother goodnight, retaliating by hitting Sunwoo’s ass over the blanket, making him yelp and glare your way as you disappear into the bathroom.
Fucking hell, did that just happen?
You can’t believe it. The immediate guilt sinks in for what you’ve done. It’s obvious to you, just how deep your crush and sexual attraction for Sunwoo has gotten, but a part of you wishes you could still suppress it.
The water is ice cold when it hits your skin and you let out a squeal, eventually rinsing yourself off and washing your hair, attempting to snap out of the constant daze and addiction that is Kim Sunwoo. But the more you let him be in your mind, the more he refused to leave, and the worse your thoughts got.
Maybe you just needed to get laid. It had been a while since your ex (who you conveniently enough, don’t think Sunwoo liked), and now you were in a state of such frustration that you were taking it out onto the only man available in the house.
Though desire was a funny thing.
It just wouldn’t go away.
You lay awake for hours, staring up at your ceiling with only one person on your mind. There’s no doubt you’re losing it, unable to sleep for every time you close your eyes, it’s the same thought and wish for a dream over and over again.
You resort to the only form of advice you can run to. Changmin.
“It’s two in the fucking morning, please,” he groans, his voice rough and tired, and it really doesn’t help your sexual overdriven hormones. It’s not like you were attracted to your best friend, but his rough voice combined with everything else sent you into a near meltdown. Maybe you should just ask him to sleep with you.
“I want to fuck Sunwoo,” it’s quiet. You’re not sure if Changmin has to think about what you said first before he reacts, or if he just has no idea how to react, but eventually you hear him shuffle around and speak.
“I ehrm… I’m not sure what you want me to say to that,” he pauses again, clearing his throat, “does Juyeon know?”
“What the hell do you think?”
“Yikes, you really do need to get laid,” you nearly scream before remembering that any loud noise is going to garner unwanted attention from the two men that are either just downstairs or down the hall from you, so you suppress your agony instead, “why Sunwoo, though?”
“Have you not seen him?”
“I mean… not recently,” you sigh, rolling onto your side to look out the window. The rain seems endless, so you can’t exactly expect Changmin to get up and walk here to keep you company.
“You’re staying up with me.”
“I’m tired,” he groans, enough for you to briefly feel bad. Though one of your biggest flaws is your stubbornness and your best friend knows that.
“If I have someone else give you company, will you let me sleep?”
“Who’s crazy enough to come out at-”
There’s an abrupt cut on the other line, and you realise Changmin’s hung up. He either had a death wish or a plan, maybe both, and honestly, neither were comforting to think about.
A knock on the door breaks you out of it, half expecting your brother or maybe both of the boys to walk in, but it’s only Sunwoo. Immediately, you feel the need to wrap your blanket over your bare legs, “come in?”
He finally steps inside, leaving the door slightly ajar as he approaches you. He’s still in the same sweatpants and shirt from earlier, his hair more ruffled and messy from the constant laying down. He looks so inviting, his lips so full and his eyes so entrancing. It’s pure torture.
“Changmin messaged me,” you pale, and now you’ve decided that he really does have a death wish, “want to explain?”
He holds his phone out to you, a message from a number you can recite by heart sent just a minute ago.
Y/N wants to sleep with you. Double meaning implied. Leave me out of it.
“What the fuck Chan-,”
“Is it true? Double meaning implied?” he smirks, and you realise quickly that to him it’s become a bit of a game to see how far he can push and taunt you until you either decide it’s enough or give in. You’re not sure why Sunwoo suddenly got so confident, though you suppose he always has been, the only difference now is that he knows how you’re thinking.
“You don’t have to cover up. It’s quite warm,” his voice is low, but you doubt it’s out of worry for Juyeon hearing him. He’s right as well. It may be raining outside, but it’s incredibly hot in here, and you let him when he asks to remove the fabric over your bare legs, taking a seat at the edge of your bed.
“Are you… still watching that movie?”
“Finished it. And two others. Juyeon went to bed, it’s literally been hours,” you nod, wondering if he really is two doors down from you, fast asleep. Maybe he’s scrolling through his phone or doing god knows what else.
“And you?”
“Well…” he starts, his fingers moving up along your left leg and causing shivers to run along your skin, “see, I have a bit of a problem.”
You may regret asking, but curiosity gets the better of you and you feel like you’re damned to hell. That, and the fact that maybe you really don’t care at all anymore, about any of the risks, “which is what?”
He grins, and it’s a smile that tells you he has something on his mind that thrills him and intoxicates you. Sunwoo comes closer, resting the palm of one hand on your inner thigh to push your legs apart, his lips right by your ear, “I really need to know how sweet you taste.”
Your resolve breaks. Maybe it was broken before, but it’s definitely shattered now. A whimper falls past your lips and now he’s right above you, watching with eyes like you’re his prey.
“Am I allowed, sweetheart?”
It happens fast, the way you grip his shirt and pull him down until your lips meet. His lips are slightly salted, likely from the popcorn, and he’s quickly pushing his tongue between your lips and gripping you harder by your thigh. He’s rough, a little forceful with it, but you like the dominance he holds over you.
“Fuck, you have no idea how hard it’s been to resist you,” he leaves open mouthed kisses down your neck, one of his hands slipping under your shirt to grope your breasts, playing with the sensitive flesh and hardened nipples, twisting slightly as you mewl underneath him.
He’s overwhelming you. Sunwoo always has a way for your senses to go into overdrive, but with what he’s doing now, you can’t think.
“P-please,” you sound pathetic, but he’s nice enough to listen. At least you thought he was.
“Let’s play a game,” oh no. He’s pulling you up, until you sit with your legs over the bed, planted firmly on the floor as your eyes find the still open door.
You’d forgotten it was open. Sunwoo, however, clearly hadn’t, “what game?”
He’s down on his knees before you, his shirt discarded before you can even blink, and it takes a while to adjust to the naked chest and muscular build he’s always hidden from you. You tremble just at the thought, watching him closely as he repositions your legs onto his shoulder, pulling himself closer to you, “see how quiet you can be with that door open, sweetheart.”
You should be scared. The risk of getting caught has exponentially grown with the factor of an open door, but you feel his teeth lightly dig into the flesh by your upper thigh and you seem to forget everything else. It’s like he’s telling you to pay attention to only him, with each sharp sting of his teeth that leaves your skin red.
Something about it you love. The dominance maybe, or maybe the possessive nature in which he litters your skin in angry red marks that you want to have, “look at me.”
It’s demanding, but you barely hear it first until his fingers dig into your thighs, pushing your legs just slightly more apart, and you sit up just a little to meet his eyes. He almost looks dangerous, near possessed in his hunger for you, and suddenly you’ve never felt more attractive in your life.
He makes you feel wanted, and maybe that’s enough to explain why you’ve always been pushed towards him like a magnet. Even if you knew him at a surface level, he’s always been attentive to you in the little things.
You nearly curse the world the minute Sunwoo delicately lays a kiss over your clothed clit, and it’s frustrating how that alone damn near makes you see stars. Such a simple touch of his lips should not feel like the end for you, and yet it does. You grip his hair before you can help yourself, pushing him between your legs as he chuckles, “are you that desperate?”
“Shut up,” his nails dig into you harder, a scowl on his face as he nearly drags you down further, and you nearly yelp when your underwear is pushed to the side and his full lips meet your bare folds.
“F-fuck,” he doesn’t respond to you. Either he’s off in his own world or he’s intentionally ignoring you as punishment for the way you run your mouth, but you’re in heaven, though it feels like the greatest sin that’ll have you sent straight to hell.
You’d never have said you were a very vocal person in the bedroom. Even if someone made you feel good, your moans were usually quiet, more breathy and whispered than they were loud, but Sunwoo made you want to scream, and knowing you couldn’t made it so much worse.
Sunwoo seemed to know what he wanted, because without much warning, he’s letting his index finger graze your folds and it’s near embarrassing just how much of your juices coat his finger when he does, bringing it up to your lips, “are you gonna be good?”
You nod, desperate as you take his finger in your mouth, sucking on it like you would his cock, the taste slightly sweet while he’s back between your legs. You feel like your senses are going into overdrive, moaning as you take one of your hands and grip his hair, pushing his tongue deeper between your folds, but he doesn’t seem to mind.
“S-Sunwoo, p-please,” you want to cum, and it feels like you’re so close, but it’s like he wants to remind you just how insufferable he is as he pushes back the second you feel like you may tip over the edge.
The whine that releases in your throat is loud and pathetic, and you both share a wide look of shock and worry because what if Juyeon heard it.
A minute passes, the only noise in the room being both of your heavy breathing, and when Sunwoo decides that Juyeon likely hasn’t woken up, his attention is back on you, “take off your shirt.”
You nearly don’t hear him, too busy staring at his swollen lips that glisten just slightly under the moonlight bleeding into the room, and he looks so beautiful that you feel like you’re falling for him right in that very moment, completely.
“You need to stop staring like that. It’s not good for my heart,” his words make your head spin just as they put you into action, stripping off the very little you have on until you’re entirely naked.
Sunwoo just stares first, and you wonder if maybe you should cover yourself but the minute you reach for the blanket, he’s stopping you, “don’t you dare.”
It’s rough, a demand that you listen to, especially when his fingers grip your chin to look up at him, “you look far beyond what I ever dreamed of.”
“You dreamed about me?”
He grins, leaning down to kiss you as you let yourself go, back hitting the mattress as he hovers over you, “all the time.”
“Tell me,” you wanna hear it. Want to hear what you do to him, when this entire time you just thought that Sunwoo was the one making you crazy.
“How good you must look with my cock inside you. You’d probably take it so well,” you’re nodding, whimpering slightly as he’s bruising your neck, and your hands are playing with the waistband of his sweatpants, asking without a word for him to take them off.
It’s a relief to you that he listens, until you’re both entirely naked though you’re the one left salivating at his hardened cock. A little above average but thick, making you feel like you’re going dumb staring at him, “you wanna open that pretty mouth for me?”
You feel him grip your thigh and push you to the edge of the bed again, your face eye level with his waist, and it’s almost instinctual for you to part your lips, the tip of his cock laid flat on your tongue until you take him deeper.
It becomes clear to you that you underestimated his girth, your jaw quickly sore but you don’t want to accept it either, relaxing your muscles as you swirl your tongue underneath the base of his shaft, moaning around his cock, eyes finding his to see that he’s already staring at you with such darkened lust that you feel like he desires only you, and it makes your head spin.
“Just a little more, good girl,” his praise goes right to your core, making you shake and he notices, fingers tugging at your hair as you take him just a little more, your mouth so full that you have to release him and gasp for air, but Sunwoo doesn’t mind for a second that you need to pull away.
Especially not when his patience is running thin with what he really wants.
You watch him step away from you, making you nearly cry out and complain but he moves to sit up with his back against the headboard, tapping his thigh as if inviting you onto his lap, and you don’t need to be told twice to obey his wishes. He grabs your waist when you’re close enough, and in a way it’s gentle as he guides you, straddling him and making his cock ache against your bare cunt, your juices coating him as he tries to steady his breathing.
“F-fuck, you sure you want this?”
He looks pained, like he would shatter if he had to stop now, but you also see in his eyes that he’s genuine. That he’s giving you one last out if you want to take it. Fortunately for you both, you don’t want to.
“Yes, p-please Sunwoo?”
It’s the desperation in your voice that releases something primal in him, the last bit of reserve leaving him as he lifts your thighs with a harsh grip that makes you see stars, aligning his cock against your entrance. He’s careful and slow, which at first you want to cry about, but you quickly realise that he has to be slow or he may hurt you, your body having to adjust to how tight it’s gripping him.
“G-god, have you never been fucked before?”
“Not like t-this,” your mouth hangs open, eyes shut as he feels his possession of you grow, and it does things to him knowing that it’s only him that’s got you squeezing around his cock like it’s your first time.
“There you go,” the praise makes you whimper again, clenching around him and Sunwoo nearly sees stars when he realises how much you like to be praised and told you’re good for him.
He feels like you’re cursing him straight to hell with the thoughts you’re giving him, something primal in him awakening, leaving him barely able to wait for you to let him move.
“P-please, m-more,” the open door has been forgotten the second Sunwoo lifts you off his cock before slamming into you, making you nearly scream in pleasure though he muffles it with his hand, alarmed though not near enough to have him stop. He doesn’t think he can, not with the way you feel around him, meeting the thrusts of his hips halfway as you bounce on his cock.
“S-Sunwoo, m-more,” he groans, eyes falling between the way he disappears inside you and your lips, and he knows he can never return to seeing you the way he did before, not now that he knows he’s gotten his hands on you.
“I want you to belong to me,” it should maybe be alarming, to hear him lay claim on you like this, but to you it’s the sexiest thing anyone’s said to you, and honestly, you know you already do.
“F-fuck, yes,” your movements quicken, his hand finding the base of your neck, just to grip onto you but not adding any pressure, but the action is enough to urge you on, like you want to do more for him and he hisses at the way your wrapped around him so tight and willing.
“Good, y-you do so good,” Sunwoo feels like he’s burning, gripping both your hips when he feels you lose control at his praise, keeping you in place with a vice hold that might even bruise, and you know you’re going not going to last. Not when you see the way his eyes are glazed over and never leaving you, his hair clinging to his forehead and his muscular chest moving rapidly as he breathes.
“Sunwoo, I-”
“I k-know baby,” his voice is smooth, but his pace is feverish and rough, and his neck presents itself to you just as the scale tips and you’re releasing your orgasm, biting into the skin of his shoulder to hide your pleasured screams of his name, the cries and the pathetic way he makes you whimper and see stars.
The pressure and pain from your teeth and knowing why you bit him just as you grip his cock harder inside your walls has him spilling his cum into you before he can properly warn you, but you don’t seem to mind at all as his lips fall to your shoulder, muffling his own breathing as you both come down from your high.
His hands find your back, nails grazing the skin gently before he’s just holding you in his arms, wincing slightly from the way you’re stimulating his cock even now, but when he tries to pull away from you, you grip onto him tighter.
“P-please,” he nearly wants to cry, head falling back against the headboard as he looks up, trying to collect himself and maybe even think about what he’s just done. But all that runs through his mind is how you’re keeping him in place, gripping him, whimpering and willing and his, and he’s forgetting every possible consequence to his insane actions.
“I’m a dead man,” you laugh, properly for the first time in a while and it makes him smile, and as much as he wants to keep you over him, to fill you up, he’s also a little more than relieved when you fall next to him because he’s not sure he could’ve handled the overstimulation any longer without being the one to beg.
“So is Changmin,” even if your best friend will likely ask you questions, and likely throw it in your face that he did you a favor, you still very much want to kill him. Sunwoo chuckles, brushing his fingers against your shoulder gently, and the way his eyes are watching you so softly now makes your head spin.
“Kim Sunwoo, put your fucking clothes on or I will drag your naked ass out anyway, you’re dead,” both of you tense, simultaneously looking to the ajar door, though you can’t actually see Juyeon, you just very much know he’s there. You guess it could be considered kind of him to not just barge in, but it almost makes you more embarassed because if he’s not walking in, he knows exactly why he shouldn’t and there’s no way out for either of you.
You expect Sunwoo to be more ashamed or worried, but he sends you a cheeky grin and kisses your forehead before stumbling over to his discarded grey sweats.
“Well, guess I have to go princess,” and while you’re left blushing, incredibly embarrassed, his bashfulness makes you smile, even when you know that Sunwoo is very much screwed.
“Y/N, you too. Now.”
And so are you.
waiting to be chased for the open ending but it just wasn’t important to the story to add what happens there so...
anyway thank you to everyone for reading, commenting and liking my work even while i was gone :) there will be more cause like i said... moonbae threesome and juyeon hands whoops
on a rather serious note though, please do not plagiarise my damn work. i spend hours on it and while i was grateful to be tagged and made aware of what was happening to me and other writers, it really makes it hard to even have motivation to write and dedicate that time if someone just takes it. i understand similarities in ideas because that happens (like please, as if i’m the first to do brothers best friend), but to copy paste is just beyond disrespectful and i’m tired of it.
tbz masterlist
#the boyz smut#sunwoo smut#kim sunwoo#the boyz sunwoo#sunwoo x reader#smut#the boyz#the boyz sunwoo smut#tbz x reader#tbz#changmin is your best friend#juyeon is your brother#the new comeback is making me feral for these men again#so you will probably see this a lot lately
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no strings attached – genji shimada
NSFW!!! MINORS DNI!!!!
a/n: hello, first post on my new blog >:3 this note is gonna be long and ramble-y so feel free to skip it. to begin with, everything about this fic was unplanned. i never planned on my first post here being overwatch related, nor did i plan on it being porn, but here we are with overwatch porn. and then, i was only trying to write a short 1-2k word valentine's day smut, but it is 2 days after valentine's and this fic is 5.5k words long with layers like a cake. this is the first thing i've written for overwatch, and also the first smut i've written in 2 years, so i may be rusty. i hope you enjoy it anyway.
word count: 5.5k
tags/summary: porn with plot (kind of), mild angst?, idiots in love. you invite genji over, hoping that having sex with him would help you get over the annoying feelings you have for him. that doesn't happen for you.
warnings: no pronouns used for reader, female genitalia is vaguely described tho, unprotected sex
edited to add: this fic is now on my ao3 as well! thanks to @smol-dragon for reminding me :3
"damn it. fuck."
you lock your phone and squeeze your eyelids shut, forcing the screen out of your vision, and throw your head back against the pillow in frustration. this is so, so stupid, you tell yourself, and it is stupid, yet you can't let it go.
you were an adult– you shouldn't be having inner turmoil about how you wanted to have sex with someone. it wasn't anything you hadn't done before, but for some reason, it was suddenly impossible to navigate.
"damn you, genji," you mutter, slapping one of your hands against your forehead.
this was all his fault. you'd never felt the urge to have sex with a coworker, honestly, the thought had never even crossed your mind... or at least, that was true until you met genji. you ignored your attraction to the cyborg at first– sure, he was nice to look at and had an alluring air of danger about him, but he was no different from cassidy in that regard. you figured whatever attraction you had to him would quickly dissipate into nothing, as it did with the cowboy, but to your dismay, it only grew stronger.
at first, you found yourself admiring the intricacy of his cybernetic body parts, and then his combat style. then, you found yourself staring at him for much longer, entranced by his form and the way he spoke.
genji himself did absolutely nothing to alleviate you of your newly-contracted disease. in fact, it almost seemed that he intentionally made it worse. he'd jump to your aid in combat, ghost his fingers across you in passing, and you caught him casting you lingering glances, though you could never tell what thoughts were going on behind his actions.
you told yourself it was probably nothing, that you were being delusional and trying to convince yourself that your crush (if you could call it that) was reciprocated. you were almost successful in convincing yourself to let it go, but the interaction between the two of you today not only reignited your thoughts of him, but intensified them.
genji had been in one of the sparring ranges at headquarters, dutifully practicing his aim, though you didn't really think it was necessary. you were observing, over-exaggerating your interest in his technique as an excuse to be around him, and offhandedly made a comment about wishing you could use a sword.
"i'd be happy to teach you," genji had replied.
you jumped at the offer, but severely overestimated yourself in terms of your sword-wielding capabilities. it looked easy, but maybe that was just because you'd only ever seen genji do it, and he made it seem effortless. after failing miserably, you were ready to crawl into a hole and die of embarrassment, but genji seemed determined to teach you.
he'd walked up behind you, using one hand to correct your posture, and the other to guide your hands into the correct position along the sword's hilt. you were almost literally on fire underneath his touch, and it was suddenly very difficult to focus on what you were doing.
"i think this might be a waste of time," you'd commented, staring down intently at the sword in your hands so genji couldn't see how red your face was. "i'm afraid i may be a difficult person to teach."
"i'll gladly teach you about anything you want to learn," genji said, standing entirely too close to you with his hands on your shoulder and wrist. "no matter how difficult you may be."
(y/n.exe has stopped working.)
you stared back at him, wide-eyed, with every functional part of your brain failing you. fortunately for you, your phone rang, interrupting the uncomfortable sexual tension that had suddenly filled the room. mercy was calling, requesting your help with something 'important'. after pretending you were really sorry for leaving so abruptly, you practically ran out of the room, silently thanking the doctor for calling you at the best possible time and giving you a get-out-of-jail free card.
you sat through the tactical meeting with mercy and tracer, though you had absolutely no helpful feedback to offer. your mind was fixed on genji the entire time, and your skin still felt hot from where his hands had been. i really need to get laid, you thought, this is pathetic.
now, even though it was hours later, you were still in the same predicament. try as you might, your brain absolutely refused to focus on anything or anyone besides genji. your television had long since blurred into background noise, bits and pieces of some stupid rom-com becoming the soundtrack to your turmoil.
maybe i should just text him... you think, for the millionth time. it was easy, or at least, it should have been easy. finding someone to screw wasn't usually this difficult for you, and you usually didn't care one way or another, but the thought of genji rejecting you was terrifying. even worse was the thought of having to see him again afterwards.
your mind goes back to the sparring range, and you swallow harshly. 'desperate' was never a word you'd use to describe yourself before, but now... when it came to genji, it was kind of an understatement.
"fuck it," you say aloud, swallowing your pride and unlocking your phone.
- hey. are you busy?
he starts typing immediately. how scary.
- i am not. do you need something?
- kind of. i have... a question.
"i am such a fucking loser," you mutter as you watch genji's text bubble appear on the screen.
- what is it?
suddenly, you didn't want to ask anymore. maybe you could go out for drinks with cassidy instead of doing this. you stare blankly at the screen for a while.
- ???
- actually, nevermind. it's embarrassing.
- surely no worse than your attempt at swordsmanship?
- sorry, that was a joke.
- wow, okay. definitely not asking now :'(
- come on.
- okay. do you wanna...
- have sex? with me?
you watch in horror as he starts typing, then stops, then starts again.
- are you serious?
- that is entirely dependent on your answer.
- why... are you asking me?
- i don't know how to answer that.
- i'm definitely taking that as a no.
- i didn't say that.
- well, you didn't say yes either...
- i'm not sure i understand what you're getting at here
- not sure what you mean by that. i'm just asking to have sex
- for the record, i'm not expecting you to be my boyfriend or anything
- just a one time thing. no strings attached
- no strings attached? lol
- okay
okay? okay? what the hell was 'okay' supposed to mean?
- are you there?
- yes. an answer?
- if you're gonna say no i'd like to go ahead and get it over with so that i can go get drunk enough to forget my shame lmao
- that won't be necessary.
- the answer is yes. obviously
your heart almost stops beating for a second. surely this, too, was a joke.
- seriously? like... actually?
- ...
- yes?
- wow! unexpected.
- are you free? like... tonight, maybe?
- i'll be there. 20 minutes?
twenty minutes? was that enough time to prepare? you immediately scramble out of bed to your dresser, searching for something risqué to wear. you owned an obscene amount of lingerie, but for some reason, none of it seemed good enough for the occasion.
you knew enough about genji's past to know that he'd been with more than his fair share of people, and though you weren't inexperienced by any means, it had been a while– most of your time had been dedicated to overwatch lately. you were sure that the names and faces of genji's old lovers blurred together, and although you specifically said 'no strings attached', you wanted to make the best possible impression. even if you never slept together again, you wanted to be memorable, at the very least.
eventually, you realize you're running short on time and opt to put on your personal favorite set. it had never steered you wrong before. you quickly change into it and throw on an oversized hoodie with some random game logo on it– very basic, you noted, but you didn't want to look like you were trying too hard, although you definitely were.
after checking the time, you wander aimlessly around the house waiting for genji to arrive. you definitely weren't nervously pacing from room to room, overanalyzing every aspect of this situation– no, that is not at all what you were doing. before long, you hear a knock at the door. your anxiety spikes through the roof, but you do your best to get a hold of yourself as you walk to the foyer to let genji in.
when you open the door, you see genji, as expected, and he looks the same as always. there was nothing special about his outfit (because why would there be?) and you're very glad you didn't decide to wear something over-the-top. he's also wearing a mask, as usual, but you can actually see his eyes with this one.
"i like your shirt," he says casually. "good game."
you blink at him, having been completely lost in the crimson pools of his irises.
"oh, yeah, it is," you reply, nodding in affirmation. "um, come inside."
he laughs quietly as he steps through the doorway, and you furrow your brows at him in confusion, but decide to ignore it and move on. you lead genji through the house, mentally grasping for straws as to where to go from here. to be honest, you didn't think you'd get this far, so you're at a complete loss.
"sorry, i feel like this feels really weird. i don't usually... sleep with my coworkers," you explain as you reach the bedroom.
genji's eyes are fixed on you, and despite having a clear view of them, you still can't tell what he's thinking. it proves to be very anxiety-inducing.
"i didn't think you did," he says.
"thanks? i think?" you reply, unsure of how else to react. "i'm going to warn you that this might actually go really, really badly, because i haven't slept with anyone in a while, and you kind of make me really nervous, and i also don't–"
you're cut off by genji moving closer to you and moving his hand towards your face. the action causes your words to vanish and your train of thought to come to a screeching halt. you stare at him with wide eyes as he moves a stray strand of hair from your face and brushes it behind your ear.
"i make you nervous?" he asks, an amused tone to his question. "you? nervous?"
you can feel heat rush to your cheeks, and you're hyper-aware of his hand lingering near your face, but despite this you try your best to sound cool. "yeah, i know, it's pretty hard to believe! but it's true."
genji laughs. "you're funny."
"i am?"
"yeah," he replies. his dark eyes are sparkling a bit, and although you can't see it, you can tell that he's smiling beneath the mask.
you look away from his face, your gaze falling to his hand. it's still in the air, close enough to your cheek that you can feel the warmth, but not quite touching you. he seems... strangely hesitant to touch you, so you decide to take the initiative.
genji's eyes widen a bit as you reach out and cup his face, brushing your thumb across the sleek metal of his mask.
"are you planning to keep this on?" you ask.
genji freezes in place, visibly caught off guard by your question. "i–"
you giggle at his reaction. "hey, no pressure. it doesn't matter to me. i'll still think you're hot either way."
"i fear you'll change your mind about that," he mutters.
you frown, unsure of what to say. "there really isn't anything that could make me change my mind about you, genji. but seriously, do whatever you're comfortable with."
he makes a quiet noise in response, and you can see in his eyes that he's thinking carefully about what to do. after a few seconds of silence, he holds your wrist and moves it away with one hand, then carefully removes his mask with the other. you can't help but stare, not only because you're surprised that he actually chose to remove his mask, but because he's even better looking than you had imagined– scars and all.
he looks at you, eyes filled with uncertainty, and clearly a bit uncomfortable.
"you're staring. sorry to disappoint. i can put it back on, if you'd prefer..." he says quietly, as if he's ashamed. it's sad, enough so to distract you from your mission of keeping things clean and simple.
you shake your head and wrap your arms around his neck, staring up at him with a reassuring smile. "i'd prefer if you didn't, actually. i can't believe you didn't tell me you were so good-looking underneath that mask."
"i... don't think that's a term i'd use. not anymore, at least," he says, not meeting your gaze. "but i'm glad that you think so."
genji hesitantly puts his hands on your hips, his eyes fixed on the logo on your hoodie. he doesn't seem to know how to react to your compliments, but there's a shy smile on his face nonetheless.
"i mean, i thought you were hot enough before. it never occurred to me that you could manage to be even hotter," you tell him with a smirk.
he looks up at you, blushing profusely, and you're filled with a sense of satisfaction. "i, um, didn't realize you felt so strongly about me."
you look away, deciding to ignore that comment, and begin to trail one of your hands from his neck to his collarbone, then down his abdomen, which was unfortunately covered by his clothes.
"well, the mask is off. that's one thing down," you say, toying with the hem of his hoodie. "just a few more to go."
genji doesn't hesitate to reach down and tug off the hoodie, discarding it on the floor. he wasn't wearing a shirt underneath, and he also wasn't wearing his usual metal plating. his right arm and part of his right upper torso are still made of flesh, as well as most of his midsection. the left side of his body is cybernetic, but it ends just above his hips. you find yourself staring at the intricate and seamless fusion of metal and muscle, your attention focusing in on the sharp outline of his hip bones.
a question pops into your head, but you don't have the audacity to say it out loud– is his dick cybernetic? the thought had never occurred to you before, but you also had never seen just how much of him was still made of skin and bone. honestly, it didn't matter to you either way, but it was an interesting thought. guess i'll find out soon, you think.
genji is staring at you with a strange look on his face, and you're suddenly worried you may have said something out loud.
"something wrong?" he asks. "you look... confused."
"i do?" you ask, surprised. "i was just... curious. about the cybernetic stuff. i've never really seen it up close."
"i see."
you walk over to the bed and climb on top of it, beckoning genji over to you. he follows, but stands still beside you.
"come here," you say, reaching for his hand. "i want a closer look."
he smirks and nods, quickly climbing into the bed and positioning himself on his knees between your legs. you trace the outline of his abs, running your fingers along the border of skin and metal, taking in every detail, and then you realize that he's staring at you again.
"what?" you ask.
"you're overdressed," he says. "i want to look at you, too."
"oh," you pause, realizing that you were in fact still (mostly) fully clothed. "you can take the hoodie off."
genji's hands immediately move to pull at your top. you reposition yourself to make it easier, and you watch as he tosses it into the now-growing pile on the floor alongside his own jacket.
you can hear his breathing grow shallow, and you look back up at him nervously. he's staring down at you with wide, dark eyes, with his hands clenched into fists atop his thighs.
"damn," he breathes. "you're... really the most attractive person i've met."
it's not as though you had notably low self-esteem or anything, but genji's reaction was far more than you expected, and the attention makes you feel embarrassed.
"that definitely feels like flattery, but i'll let it slide," you reply. you're mostly teasing him, but you're also kind of serious– 'most attractive person i've met' is an extremely bold statement to make, especially coming from someone with a track record like genji's.
"flattery? you really think so?" genji asks, seeming to be genuinely taken aback by the accusation.
"mm, it doesn't really matter," you reply, desperate to cut this conversation off before it derails. come on, y/n do not get your feelings involved in this, damn it.
genji leans over you, propping himself up with one arm and lifting your chin with the other. he stares at you with an intimidating intensity, but you can't bring yourself look away from him.
"i'm not that kind of man anymore," he says, his tone serious. you look down at his lips, and before you can form a response, he kisses you.
the kiss is just as intense as the stare he'd been giving you, and it takes a moment for you to register that it's even happening. once you kiss him back, it grows into something more needy. his tongue finds its way into your mouth, and you try your hardest to suppress a whine. you reach to tangle your fingers in his hair and subtly pull his body closer to yours, while genji cups your face with his free hand, the cool metal a stark contrast to the heat radiating from your cheeks.
the kiss seems to go on forever, progressively becoming more sensual. you're so lost in the moment that you temporarily forget that you need to breathe. eventually, both of you pull away for air, lips slightly puffed, and eyes half-open, filled with desire.
you press one of your hands against genji's chest, the other still toying with his hair. he's slumped against you, now leaning against his elbow instead of his hand. your body is flush against his, and you can feel his hard-on pressing against you. you softly grind your hips against him, creating just enough friction to cause you both to inhale sharply.
genji looks down at you, his eyes slowly grazing over your body. he sits up, leaning back on his haunches, looking as though he was deep in thought.
"genji?"
your voice doesn't draw his attention back to your face, but he responds, brows still furrowed. "yeah?"
"touch me," you tell him, almost begging. "please."
he smirks. "sure."
he leans back over you, his face so close to yours that you can see every detail of the scars that paint his skin. the two of you stare into each others eyes, and he pushes your underwear aside without even glancing down. his human hand cups your face, and the metal one assumes its position between your legs.
the sensation of cool, smooth metal against your clit elicits a gasp from you, and genji seems hesitant. he draws his hand back, staring down at it with a forlorn expression.
"sorry," he says. "i... kind of forgot."
you reach for his wrist and pull his hand back to where it had been, shaking your head.
"no, it's fine. you don't need to apologize," you tell him. he still looks unsure, but he doesn't argue.
genji toys with your clit with expert precision, and as much as you enjoy it, your patience starts to wane. as if he can tell, he directs his attention elsewhere, carefully and almost hesitantly inserting two of his fingers into you. you whimper at the feeling, clenching around the unfamiliar texture. it's an entirely new feeling– putting metal there was never something you thought to do, nor did you ever really imagine what it would feel like– but it's good. it's obvious that genji is worried he'll hurt you, or that you won't like it, and you have what you hope will be an easy solution to his concerns.
you bite your lip, looking up at him with your best 'fuck me' eyes, and let go of the restraint you were trying to show. you didn't want to look desperate, but clearly he needed more reassurance that you wanted this– that you wanted him. a string of swear words, interrupted by panting and lewd noises, leaves your mouth, and you rut your hips against his hand, urging him to go deeper.
it seems to work. the dark look that was lingering on genji's face was replaced with a spark, and his movements become more free, no longer limited by the shackles of his insecurity. his well-earned confidence starts to shine through, and you smile in satisfaction, but only for a moment. with genji now seemingly returned to his former playboy glory, you find yourself unable to think straight, too busy writhing under his touch, crying out his name and clenching at the sheets.
"i could get used to hearing you say my name like that," genji comments, a teasing grin on his face.
oh god, please shut up, you think. it was almost as if he wanted you to fall in love with him or something, which was definitely not a part of your plan– in fact, it was the exact opposite of what you wanted.
"don't... say– fuck," you want to tell him not to say things like that, but you're overwhelmed with the feeling of your fast-approaching orgasm. what unfortunate timing. "gonna cum."
genji picks up the pace, unable to decide if he wants to look at your face or at his fingers as he pumps them in and out of you. you attempt to clench your thighs together, though genji's body blocks the action, and as you come undone, he decides the best thing for him to look at is your expression.
you squirm beneath genji, eyes squeezed shuts and knuckles turning white from the force with which you're grasping at your bedsheets. he watches carefully, taking in every minute detail of the way you look when you cum, while still fucking his fingers into you as you ride out the high of your orgasm. once you still, he slides his fingers out, the matte grey now slick and shiny. you open your eyes just in time to watch him pop his fingers in his mouth. he looks back at you through half-lidded eyes, a devious smirk on his face as he watches your already blown-out pupils widen at his actions. to add icing to the cake, he licks his lips, and suddenly you think 'wow, i'd let him do anything to me'.
"god," you mutter, shifting awkwardly. you were trying to rub your thighs together at the thoughts coursing through your mind, but genji was in the way.
you trail your eyes along his body, coming to a halt at the bulge in his joggers. you reach for the waistband of his pants, tugging them down to the middle of his thigh, but the position he was sitting in prevented you from getting them any further. genji climbs off of the mattress and yanks his pants and boxers off himself, then proceeds to do the same with your underwear. the intensity of the hunger between the two of you was so thick it was almost physical, and you can't pull your eyes away from him.
to your surprise, his dick was made of flesh. not that you had any complaints either way– it was just unexpected. you take a moment to admire him, then reach out to pull him back into the bed with you. genji resumes his position between your legs, lifting them up so that your knees are at your chest. the two of you both look down, watching in anticipation as he slides inside of you. he slowly pushes himself in farther, continuing until he bottoms out.
you both moan, almost in sync, at the sensation, and make eye contact again. genji positions his arms on either side of your head and touches his forehead to yours, staring into your eyes, as you dig your nails into his shoulder. one of your hands finds its way back to his hair, gently tugging at the spiky black tufts, keeping him as close to you as you could.
it doesn't take long for genji to find a good rhythm, his thrusts deep and and on the slower side. each movement coaxes noises out of you– his name, mostly, but a few mewls and downright pornographic-sounding moans as well. he kisses you again, lustful and passionate, and slides his hand into your hair to cradle your head. he pulls away, trailing kisses from your jawline to your collarbone, a few of which will surely leave some faint marks. you're not worried about that though– the only person who'd have the gall to comment on it was cassidy, anyways.
"you sound so pretty," he mumbles into your neck.
your breath catches in your throat at his words, and your grip on his hair tightens slightly. he sounded so so hot, it sent a shiver down your spine. "mm," is the only response you can manage.
one particular thrust hits perfectly, and you short-circuit, digging your nails deep into genji's shoulder and whimpering his name. he lifts his head to look you in the eye, his eyes honing in on your lips. his movement becomes more insistent, and he kisses you again, muffling your moans.
for the next few minutes, the only sounds in the room were that of your needy whines, genji's panting and occasional grunts, and the soft skin-on-skin contact. genji was surprisingly much more gentle than you'd anticipated, affection dripping from every action. it was enough to make you start to feel a bit of regret about the whole 'one time only' spiel, but you couldn't really focus on that when he was looking at you, and touching you, and fucking you the way he was.
with the stimulation of genji inside of you, and the way he was purring praise and sweet nothings into your ear in between the barrage of kisses, it didn't take long for you feel your climax coming up. from the way genji was beginning to become more shaky and haphazard in his movements, you could tell the same was true for him.
"genji," you whisper. "i'm gonna cum."
he hums in response, furrowing his brow. "me too."
a few seconds of silence pass, and then genji looks... lost. "uh, where should i...?"
"wherever you want," you say, not really thinking. 'inside' was the first thing that came to mind, but that felt weird to say. was it weird to ask your coworker cum inside you? yeah, probably, but it couldn't be any weirder than the fact that you were having such intimate, needy sex with your coworker in the first place, right?
genji slows down and looks at you with wide eyes. "what? no preference?"
"um, i mean," you cut yourself off, biting your lip to suppress a moan. "i was gonna say inside, but like... up to you."
"are you serious? you want me to..."
so it was weird, you think, instantly regretting that you spoke. "do whatever you want."
genji stops moving, and you let out a pitiful involuntary whine.
"i'm asking, what do you want?"
does he want me to spell it out for him? you wonder. fuck it.
"i... want you to cum in me, genji," you say, looking him in the eye with a serious expression. you ignore the fact that your cheeks are almost literally burning, and also opt to ignore the little voice in your head chastising you for being so awkward.
a choked noise escapes him, and his face turns pink. he promptly hides himself in the crook of your neck again. after a few more thrusts, you can feel the burning pleasure of your orgasm reaching its peak, prompting you to cling tightly to genji. he leans back to watch, and as you clench around him, he loses his composure as well. a soft chorus of each others' names and 'fuck' fills the room as genji fucks you through your orgasm, neither of you breaking eye contact. genji leans in for another kiss as he cums. this time is somehow even more passionate than the others, and you immediately miss him when he leans back and pulls out.
you almost let an 'i love you' slip out, but immediately realize how stupid that would be, and opt to just shut your mouth entirely instead. a silence falls over the room, with the both of you breathing heavily and casting shy glances at one another as if you didn't just have passionate, unprotected sex. genji moves first, sliding into the bed beside you and propping his head up on his hand.
this is definitely going beyond what this was supposed to be, you tell yourself, but really, you're not mad about it. sure, the plan was originally for you guys to have meaningless sex and then pretend it never happened, but that plan started to crumble almost as soon as he walked through your door. you were still worried that you were reading too far into it– maybe he was like this with everyone he slept with.
"can i... be honest with you?" he asks. you nervously look over at him, an overwhelming sense of dread filling your stomach.
"yeah, of course," you reply casually. acting calm and collected when you were pretty sure you were about to hear something you really didn't want to hear was a trait you'd quickly adapted as an overwatch agent, and damn, were you thankful for it right now.
"i... haven't been with anyone in a long time," he admits. "like... since the accident."
you stay quiet. you're unsure of what to say, and you can tell he's not done talking, anyway.
"i couldn't fathom anyone wanting to be with me, considering... you know," genji sighs and averts his eyes. "i've liked you for so long, but i didn't think you'd be interested in me at all. i'm... barely even human."
you're still quiet, trying your best to process what he's saying.
"oh, yeah, sorry. i know you said this was a one time thing, and that's fine. i just thought you should know that you treating me like a person... and making me feel wanted... it means a lot," he continues. "even if it was just sex, i enjoy being around you."
"i'm... really in over my head," you mutter, mostly to yourself. "this is really unexpected, honestly. like, all of it. everything."
genji's face falls, and you realize that you misspoke. he shifts uncomfortably and starts to sit up, obviously preparing to leave. you reach for his arm, wrapping your hand carefully around the metal.
"not unwelcome, just unexpected. i... didn't want to get feelings involved because i was sure they wouldn't be returned," you explain. "you seemed kind of unapproachable. i was taking a shot in the dark."
genji laughs a little. "i seem to give that impression. it's not really the case... or at least, not with you."
you gently pull him back to your side, holding his face in your hands and giving him a quick kiss. you can't find the words to convey the emotions you feel, so you hope that touch would suffice. he presses his forehead against yours and wraps an arm around your waist, and the two of you just lay there, basking in each others' presence. this was... an unplanned turn of events, but you were much happier with this outcome.
"hmm. so much for the whole 'no strings attached' thing, huh?" you say quietly. "looks like there's definitely strings. lots of them."
genji laughs again, and you find your heart skipping a beat at the look on his face. yeah, there were so many strings tethering this man to your heart. you wanted to tell yourself that weren't sure how exactly you ended up like this, but the moment you saw him take off his mask and show you his most well-kept secret, you knew there was much more than sexual attraction there, and that there was no going back.
"thank you," genji says, pulling you out of your trance. "for... overlooking my flaws, liking me as i am. you're truly the most beautiful person i know."
you smile at him, feeling your heart quite literally melt at the way he's looking at you.
"you're beautiful, genji," you tell him. and he was. the scars and metal that made up his body weren't flaws– they were a part of him, therefore they were beautiful, too. they weren't something you had to overlook to find him captivating, but you'd tell him all about that at another time.
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Horror characters taking care of their sick s/o
I'm in my sick Victorian boy era. I'm being dramatic because I have a mild case of the flu. I need to write something to keep myself sane so why not write for some characters I haven't written about for awhile.
Includes: Amanda Young, Adam Faulkner, Will Graham, Hannibal Lecter, and Pyramid head
Warnings: Reader is sick, some of these characters aren't super smart, mentions of vomit and medication, vague talk of cannibalism and violence
Amanda Young
Amanda has basic medical knowledge and when she sees you getting sick she's quick to get you to stay in bed and will be a little overbearing. She's been taking care of John for awhile and seeing her partner sick makes her very worried.
She's going to spend any free time she has taking care of you. She knows you're going to be fine but that's not going to stop her from becoming your personal nurse.
She wants to avoid using medication unless a doctor tells her to use them. She thinks because medication isn't working for John that must mean it won't really work for you.
She knows to keep some distance but she's still going to be around you and touch you. She might intentionally spend more time around you then get closer to Hoffman to try and get him sick.
She might talk to Lawrence about what she should be doing and your symptoms. If you know that she's a jigsaw apprentice she'll introduce you to him as her coworker. But if you don't she'll either bribe him into seeing you or just take his advice.
She is reminded of what happened at the gas house and if you're sick enough that you start to throw she'll need to leave the room and probably spend some time to compose herself. I strongly believe that what jigsaw did to her really messed her up but she denies it.
Adam Faulkner
Oh my god if he finds out you're sick I hope you're ready for him to try and help but honestly just make a fool of himself.
You're hopefully not living in his apartment anymore and depending on your temperature and the weather he's going to keep your bedroom window open because "fresh air helps".
He thinks that he doesn't have to keep space from you because you're dating and he probably ends up getting sick himself. But no matter how much you tell him to stay away so he doesn't get sick he won't listen.
While he's out working (probably for jigsaw) he'll leave out medication for you to take, food you can heat up or just eat cold, and probably gives you anything you need to stay entertained.
If you call him for anything he's dropping whatever he's doing to go help you. You have to literally tell him several times that he doesn't have to rush home and you can stay on your own while he works.
He probably doesn't have any insurance just by judging his apartment so unless you absolutely need to see a doctor he's going to be the one taking care of you.
Will Graham
His medical knowledge is better than some people in these head canons but it's still not the best. I feel like if it's anything than a mild case of the cold or the flu he's taking you to a doctor.
Probably looks up if human illnesses can transfer to dogs. Either way he's keeping his dogs away from you until you feel better.
Will not let you out of bed unless you're going to the bathroom. He deals with blood and guts for a living so dealing with someone who's sick is probably a vacation for him.
Will is going to try to keep Hannibal away from you while you're sick for so many reasons. But Hannibal is probably going to end up seeing you anyway because Will is going to cave.
If the weather and your health allows he's going to take you outside for fresh air like you're a consumption patient from 1912. He will let his dogs around you if you're outside.
Will guilt Jack into letting him stay home for a few days to take care of you. He is going to bring up everything Jack has ever done to him. "Hey Jack I need to stay home to take care of my partner. I know you'll let me take it off since you made me work while I had ensyphilitis."
Hannibal Lecter
He's a literal doctor but also a fucking weirdo so be careful. He'll still take good care of you but will also take the time to get into philosophical discussions with you while you're half asleep.
He refuses to give you anything store bought to eat. Will literally make crackers and break from scratch for you to eat. He'll lay off on the human meat until you're better.
Will not allow you to use one of his bowls as a "throw up bowl" You're using the bathroom to do so, he doesn't care if you accidentally vomit on his floors because he can clean the floor, but his bowls are too valuable.
He won't let you spend all day looking at screens. Hannibal will provide you with any kind of entertainment you want to get you off screens for awhile. He will get you whatever books you want or any other low energy activity.
Will insist on keeping your space clean. Will wash your sheets often and insists on giving you a bath, the temperature depending on if you have a fever or not.
He will keep a sort of distance from you but will also be near you. He will take precautions of course but he can't stop himself from spending time in your room, talking with you.
Pyramid head
He has little knowledge of human illnesses, because he's a demi god of sorts he never really gets sick. So when he sees you get cold sweats or start having a bad cough he's confused about why it's happening. '
You'll have to educate him on your condition and tell him what he needs to do to help you. I don't think there's any medication you can take in silent hill but he can probably find you something to help.
He also probably can't get sick so he doesn't have to worry about getting too close to you. If you try to pull away from him to hide your cough or sneeze he'll just pull you back. Even if he did get a cold from you he'd get over it pretty quickly.
He'll honestly want to be pretty touchy all the time even when you're not sick because he's never had human contact before. You'll probably have to explain to him that cuddling isn't the best thing when you have a fever.
He's going to try and get you as comfortable as possible while he's busy doing Pyramid Head stuff. It all depends on your condition and you'll have to explain to him what you need.
He also doesn't really understand germs so you'll have to explain them to him and why you need to keep yourself and your area clean and why you can't just throw up anywhere. After that he'll get you something to use for that then just throw it somewhere.
#amanda young x reader#adam faulkner stanheight x reader#adam faulkner x reader#adam faulkner stanheight x yn#will grahm x reader#will grahm x you#hannibal lecter#hannibal x reader#hannibal nbc#pyramid head x reader#slasher x y/n#slasher x reader#slasher fanfiction
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