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sunboki · 7 months

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⎯ THE DEVIL'S PLAYTHING a Christopher Bahng fiction

💣 : Christopher Bahng x fem. reader

TROPE. bodyguard au, demon au, friends to lovers, eventual smut, minors DNI

WORD COUNT. 6.6k words

WARNINGS. chan & han are demons(NO POLY), mentions of lucifer/the devil, eventual smut, descriptive violence, smoking, fighting, cursing, blood, wounds, drinking, reader gets drunk/passes out

PLAYLIST

AUG'S NOTES. this started as a random blurb while in the bathroom(tmi i know) but i just HAD to make a longer adaptation!! as usual, if you enjoy the fic please feel free to leave feedback & a reblog!ised ya’ll bodyguard chan would be back.. your wish is my command~

SYNOPSIS. A petty robbery leads to deep debt for Chan, a white-eyed demon occupying Hell. So eventually, he finds himself faced with no choice but to go job hunting. The best offer available? A bodyguard gig in the human realm. Oh, and the worst part? Jisung’s here too.

or alternatively :

When Chan had to leave Hell to "babysit" (a.k.a. protect) you in the human realm, he wasn’t expecting for things to turn out the way they did — in more ways than one.

SMUT WARNING. usage of the nickname “bunny” and “good girl”, somewhat hinted size kink, praise, dumbification, barely dubcon (reader gives consent ; nonverbal), creampie, chan cums inside (use protection ya’ll), monsterfucking! basically lmao

There’s an infinite list of reasons why humans shouldn’t associate with demons. But was it really all that important? Maybe the humans wanted it.

Or, maybe the demons did too.

Maybe, the demons didn’t have a choice.

What a funny thought.

Although, for Christopher Bahng, a demon himself, it was reality.

So the real question stood. Is it the humans that shouldn’t associate with demons, or the other way around?

The thought occurred to Chan at some point, but his head, ringing with the sound of silver coins clattering on glass surfaces, drowned out every ounce of sensibility. Blood, flesh, he was a demon. And right now, he had hell to pay as Lucifer’s underling. No pun intended.

Demons were an ideal choice for bodyguards, too obsessed with their own greed to pay any mind to the consequences, dogs to somebody else’s beckon, minds trained like hunting dogs.

Taking care of the dirty work, for a price.

A price that Chan needed, desperately. Because one thing demons, including himself, love doing is tormenting.

That is until he’s the victim of the tormenting, and all of a sudden the experience doesn’t feel too welcoming.

Raiding his home was an understatement considering they had utterly demolished every inch, not leaving a single fragment remaining in one piece. Granted, he didn’t cry about it. Instead, he lived up to his name, his title.

..Let’s just say he doubted the red stains would ever leave that shirt of his, metallic scent strong enough to make your nose burn.

Unfortunately, Lucifer wasn’t the greatest at forgiving, and he determined rather quickly this was only the start of his problems regardless of how sweetly the demon lord threatened explained he would dissolve Chan into ash if he ever got tired of him.

Alas, two weeks later, he gets a call.

Combing a frustrated hand through raven-colored locks, he holds the phone up to his ear, repeatedly snapping his fingers. The girl kneeled between his legs raises up begrudgingly, wiping her mouth and disappearing into his bathroom.

Well there goes a good blowjob.

Yet, finally, a job was proposed.

Multiple, according to the drone of a fumbling assistant. Jobs comprised of one he’d primarily work and occasional hitman gigs on the side.

Catch? The job was located in the human realm. Not impossible, but not as easy as sleuthing in Hell, where common folk were demons and not big-eyed, nosy, mind-your-damn-business-mortals.

The job in question? Babysitting. Specifically for Lucifer's right-hand man, otherwise known as the Devil’s Plaything. And, despite not being a demon, served Lucifer as if he was one. How cute.

Or as the trauma-induced auditor phrased it, “guarding” some girl.

“Guarding” was something he was mildly familiar with, but never a human. Never in the human realm. So when the suggestion was offered, Chan’s first instinct was to reject—remind Hell’s moderator that he wasn’t just a regular, but a demon of impressive status. A white-eyed demon, who, in fact, ranged most powerful of its kind.

His first instinct was also to punch the man working at the register of this putrid smelling burger joint right in the face, maybe frame his head as a part of a collection while he’s at it. Demons are creative like that.

Because being in this situation, nonetheless currently walking around in the human realm he swore to never step foot in has his stomach jarring.

“Chan, look at this! It’s called K-E-T-C-H-U-P, what a funny name!”

Oh. Yeah. The walking headache, Han Jisung. Forgot he’s here too.

Digging through his pockets for spare change, all he could find was a few meager pennie’s as the obnoxious noise of his demon-companion scarfing down a double cheeseburger had Chan’ jaw progressively tightening.

“Um, sir, that’s not enough to pay for-“ Without hesitation, Chan lifted his upper lip with his index, revealing the sharply pointed canines underneath and effectively silencing the apron-clad employee, frantically printing his receipt without another word.

Yes, apparently there are perks of being a hell-spawn.

Although, the burger still tasted like shit. What a shame.

Heading to the location wasn’t all too difficult, being that it was rather easy locating such an enormous property surrounded by tall, black hinged gates. The passcode… was another story.

Lucifer was likely laughing his ass off watching them try figuring this out.

“Okay, It’s probably like 666 or something- JESUS— you guys scare me sometimes.” Clutching a hand to his erratic heart with panic, a pacing Jisung nearly toppled over as his soon-to-be Boss suddenly appeared out of nowhere, gates slowly opening behind him.

He may not be a Demon, but by how nonchalantly he appeared from thin air, he seemed to gain some attributes over the years.

It didn’t take long for either of them to figure out why the title “Devil’s Plaything” was attached, because the more he toured them around this palace of a house, the more he told of his reasons for hiring them in the first place. Well, more like why Lucifer sent them here.

Easily speaking, his and Jisung’s role would be to protect you at all costs, considering your father’s current predicament (a.k.a coming under investigation for the bodies discovered in Hanuel Park). Not to mention the countless assassins sent on a daily basis, scouring the property for entryways.

Although he’s not surprised by their hesitance. This man, Yoon L/N, was the closest resemblance to the Devil on Earth.

He was terrifying, and coming from a demon, that said a lot.

Chan has to watch his tongue, because he’s not guarding another one of hell’s representatives, a creature of unprecedented rudeness and hatred, he’s guarding a human.

Someone who falls in love and cries, someone who can’t get away with murder when they’re annoyed and go uncharged.

Humans are pitiful. They’re emotional and too trusting and—

You step down the stairs.

They’re pretty and soft and really, really fucking pretty.

The sound of your father clearing his throat rips him from his trance, your trance.

He can practically sense Jisung choking on his laughter.

“Y/n, these are your bodyguards. Bahng, Han, this is Y/n,” He gestures, and Chan notes the gleaming watch on his wrist.

Best guess that thing’s averaging $70,000. Not to mention that this entire house, though naked to the human eye, is laced in traps.

Whether it’s the more hollow wooden plank on the floor that triggers some alarm or the multitude of switches under your kitchen’s island, the security system is certainly intact, and for good reason.

However, you couldn't have made Yoon L/n’s actions look more hypocritical, appearing so opposingly sweet.

“Nice to meet you,” You hold out a hand.

He doesn’t miss the half-smile you give him.

Shit. Don’t look at him like that.

Introducing themselves, you momentarily slip past, and in your stead, your father beckons either of them to the side.

“I’ll only say this once,” Yoon smiles, but it’s a leery smile, one that causes his gums to gradually show, like it’d belong to a murderer, a serial killer of some kind.

Fitting.

“Get her into danger, hurt her, or disobey my orders under any circumstances and I kill you, understood?”

And even though at the snap of a finger Chan could have this man drop dead, he believed him, both simultaneously nodding their heads without complaint.

Meeting eyes with Jisung, a common denominator sits heavy between them, most likely the first thing they’ve whole-heartedly agreed on this entire time.

This is gonna be one hell of a job.

.. .

District 9’s nightclubs are always a bust. If you’re looking for a drink without it being laced you might as well give up, and the only thing that keeps a person from getting swept away in the expansive sea of high heels, go-go boots, and awkward teenagers that miraculously managed to get past the bouncer is a lone, blinking red sign that reads “OUT”.

The first time you ever came here you never thought you’d be so relieved to open a squealing door.

Leaning against the side of the brick building sits the girl responsible for an entourage of drunk-calls and random texts of her location when she sneaks out.

Her moth-eaten sneakers are pulled up to her chest, bleached hair messily arranged into a spiky up-do while she aimlessly scrolls on her phone. Although you know she’s noticed you by now.

“I feel like..” She sighs, black mascara smudged beneath her waterline. “I should’ve taken that Vodka shot.”

You wrinkle your nose, dropping down on her left.

It’s fairly easy conversing with Ha-joon, a girl who didn’t require a reaction or a response, who didn’t talk much but had a whole pocketful of opinions. And you listened.

She swivels her head ever so slightly toward you.

“Do you think drinking a laced shot will make my life more interesting?” Her remark scarily nonchalant, you chuckle, snatching the joint from between her thumb and index and tossing it against the neighboring business’ wall in front of you.

Unfazed, she rises to her feet, pulling a Marlboro pack from her back pocket, palm cupping the lighter’s flickering flame.

“If you count fentanyl as a good time, then sure,” Lifting your chin to cock a sarcastic brow, she rolls her eyes before abruptly snapping her fingers, remembering. The sound ricochets off trash bags stashed at the furthest end of this deserted alleyway.

“You said your Mafia-daddy hired new bodyguards?”

Ah, you forgot you mentioned that.

Don’t mind the “Mafia-daddy” part.

Nodding, there’s a beat of stillness before she lightly nudges your calf with her shoe, Ha-joon’s sign for you to list some sort of detailed description for her to piece together.

This happens every time you meet somebody new. Her little guessing game before the first impression, apparently.

And so you do, spilling information to the best of your capabilities from the fifteen seconds you met them. Their hair, height, eyes (you recall Han’s especially, huge and hypnotizing like black-holes), clothing, and all the details your jumbled brain can pour out to your overly eager, easily bored best friend.

“So this Chan guy..”

One clever glance and you’re already predicting her next words.

“Does he have a big nose?” Smirk growing the darker your cheeks redden, you pathetically groan, burying your face in your hands.

Of course she’s cornered you, because you can’t deny your yes of an answer without evidently lying and digging further into your self-made rabbit hole.

Leave it to Ha-joon to secretly slip the raunchiest sentence you'll hear all night.

Smugness gradually dissipating, the barely-blonde shuffles back down, phone screen displaying countless messages you don't ask about.

Like earlier, Ha-joon doesn’t talk much, but she has a lot to say. Additionally, if she doesn’t bring it up herself, don’t mention it.

Years by her side taught you that.

“They’re only gonna get you in trouble, I have a feeling,” She murmurs prior to taking a long drag of her cigarette, lipstick shade perfectly contrasting with the soaring puff of smoke sifting from her mouth and nose upon exhaling.

She’s always been on the rougher side. Spontaneously rough, the type that would impulsively send you a text she’s going backpacking tomorrow despite an exam scheduled, the type that would continuously run away on a whim.

In essence, everyone on campus has some sort of crush on her (apart from yourself, obviously), whether it comes down to her rumbling persona or how much of a hard-core lesbian she is, you’re not sure.

You click your tongue, glaring at her flippantly.

“And that’s not doing you any better.” Musing in regards to her bad habits, she laughs lowly, low-rise jeans bagging down by her ankles while bending closer.

Your hands brace in anticipation, coughing when she blows a heavy smoke plume right in your face.

You choke a giggle, shoving her senselessly giggling frame.

“The only thing I’m letting do me is that waitress in there,” Painted nails pointing to the entrance while making utterly obscene gestures, you dramatically gag.

Well, until she spins on her heel, fetching a plastic bag holding two bottles of Cass beer from behind a metal trash can.

You tilt your head, the girl wordlessly cracking one open with her teeth and the other using the junction of her shoulder.

‘A Ha-joon thing’, you think as she hands you a glass, chilled exterior sending an unwelcoming wave of shivers throughout your body.

Your initial response is to decline, but her index to your lips shushes your reasons.

“I know you don’t drink often, but just a few sips just this once, please?” Batting invisible puppy-dog eyes, you sigh, gulping down a haphazard swig.

Last time you had genuinely gotten drunk was back in junior year of high school, all the kids swarmed in a rando’s basement, acting appropriately irresponsible for your age.

You recall your fat crush on Hwang Hyunjin (before realizing he was actually in a relationship) being the main component in getting so drunk that you blacked out, though you’re sure the highly unflattering pictures Ha-joon took would jog your memory.

Yet just a few sips was an understatement, something you should’ve known. Because conversation turns into more conversation, funny conversation, deep conversation while your wrist unconsciously lifts to your mouth till your friend transforms into nothing but a blurry figure illuminated by the moon.

And you wonder, as you feel yourself tilt further and further toward the cement below, if Ha-joon will snap unflattering pictures of this moment too, of stupid decisions leading to stupid consequences.

Most likely.

.. .

"Mmm." You mumble, face stuffed into his sleeve as Chan carries you from the alleyway, ushering a loopy Ha-joon into a taxi with a short bow.

Clad in his work attire primarily made up of black elements, he carefully places you in the back seat of the SUV and pulls off his dark coat to wrap around your body, ensuring you're fully swaddled to secure as much warmth as possible from the biting cold.

"We're going home, so hang on just a bit longer for me." The man assures, patting your head lightly before sliding into the driver's seat and pressing his foot to the gas.

Han, who was sitting in the back beside you while Chan drove, took experimental peeks at the pink-hue decorating your cheeks (evidence that you'd be drunk) to your puffy lips pursed in a pout.

He internally squeals, fiddling with his phone in his pocket, unveiled demon tail practically wagging with glee.

"Hyung, can I? Pleasee Hyung- just one photo she looks so cute–“

“No." The older of them responds sternly, one hand clutching the steering wheel.

As much as he normally wouldn’t care, this was his- their first actual order in fulfilling their duties, and Chan wasn’t willing to pay the price of fucking up Yoon’s guidelines.

His companion huffs, deflating by your side as he directs a childish frown at Chan in the mirror, only met with an equally stern gaze reading "no nonsense".

Chan had always been one to take his job seriously, not that Han didn't, he just liked having a little bit of fun jumping from side to side across those permanent marker drawn lines.

In actuality, if it weren't for his friend, Han would've never gotten the job in the first place.

Stark glowing of your houses’ lights lining the driveway ripped away his thought process, quickly intervening when your door opened.

"I can carry her," He claims, arms crossed while the older bodyguard simply cocks a brow, an action that shouldn't have Jisung shying away like he was.

There's an immense staring contest until Chan releases a hefty sigh, gesturing for Jisung to go ahead.

"If you drop her, I kill you, then myself."

This earns a giggle while Han unbuckles your seatbelt, softly cooing with you lying in his arms.

You're cute, very cute in fact.

Very off limits, in fact, he reminds himself, grip tightening the creepier he pictures your father—and it’s the adorable scrunch of your nose in discomfort that reminds him of his strength, immediately relaxing his hold.

Like Chan said, any wrong moves and they're both off the radar in seconds. Business.

The entirety of it all was a bit hilarious considering how things were when you'd first been introduced to the two, not appearing to be the type to get drunk like this, to get drunk at all in a secluded area next to some nightclub.

Chan wasn’t wrong when he said it’s always a surprise with clients.

Well, he was referring to his hitman job then, but it's still applicable in this situation, right?

…Right?

Forget it.

Slowly, oh so slowly your eyes peel open, instantly noticing the familiar smell and interior that definitely wasn't where you'd been five minutes ago with Ha-joon.

Ah. There he is.

Chan.

Peering over where you're tucked in bed, dressed in pajamas.

Hold on, pajamas?

Scrambling up and simultaneously wincing from the throbbing headache settling a dull ring in your ears, you send him an incredulous stare, face incessantly warming the longer you think about it.

Hangovers provide another of the many reasons why you don’t drink anymore, because this hellish predicament led to a single hellish explanation you certainly didn’t want to face.

"You... My clothes.." Stumbling over how to phrase it, you suppress a scowl watching the ghost of a grin make its way on his lips. Maybe you're imagining it.

One of his veiny hands reaches up to cover his eyes, leaving you to instead infatuate upon plush lips moving when he speaks.

"My job description, along with the papers you read and signed before I was hired gave me consent, but whatever I see is strictly confidential between you and I."

Gathering your sanity, you scoff, humiliation and embarrassment flooding your system at an alarming rate.

Flopping back onto the bed, you slam a pillow over your face, muttering a "strictly confidential my ass" that he had to have heard from the low laugh uttered in reply.

He stalks over, fingertip tapping the water you hadn’t noticed sitting atop your nightstand.

Cautiously stealing a glimpse out from your pillow to see where he distanced himself across the room, you finish the cup in a swift motion, wiping your mouth with the back of your sleeve.

“You huma- You aren’t good with your alcohol, are you?” He starts, quite entertained witnessing your annoyed gaze, one which very noticeably doesn’t stay focused on his eyes.

Sucking your teeth, you slouch, mirroring his crossed arms.

You’re fine with playing feisty, and by the awfully attractive way he’s cocking his head, he’s also willing to join this biting game.

“And what makes you think that?”

“Because I’m never passed out and in need of someone to call for me when I go drinking.”

At this you practically hiss, grasping any futile chance to retaliate to no avail.

Opposed to his teasing nature, he drags a stool to your bedside, insisting you drink more.

Even more opposing, a gentle hand presses to your forehead, checking that you haven't contracted a fever.

To say your heartbeat pounded didn’t credit the surprise to its full extent, and thank whatever God above the experience only lasted a few more seconds, giving you plenty of time to freshen your haywire sensibility and brush your teeth before any more soul-sucking Chan run-ins continued.

You should’ve known better than to think he’d truly leave you be though, said soul-sucking bodyguard currently propped against the bathroom’s door frame.

“How did you get into this anyway? Y’know, bodyguard stuff..” You begin to ask, voice muffled from the toothbrush deterring any fully audible sentence.

He cocks an eyebrow.

“I have my ways.”

“Your ways?”

Within split seconds he’s right next to you, making rather intentional eye contact through the mirror.

You inhale sharply.

“Look, sweetness, my job as your bodyguard is to keep you safe,” He pokes his tongue into his cheek. “And if I tell you, I can’t guarantee that.”

There are three things you realized in that moment.

One, Chan is so, so close.

Two, he has an unfairly gorgeous face.

And three, your mouth is smeared with toothpaste.

Great.

You’d like to admit the first night of meeting these new bodyguards, more specifically Chan, went as normal and as non-Ha-joon-influenced as possible, but this effect on you causing your bloodstream to erupt in a hormonal frenzy of attraction told you the story had just begun.

.. .

"Jisung. Hold. Still! Keep moving and this wand is going in your eyeball."

Three weeks in and one thing after another has lead you closer and closer with either of them, whether it's convincing Jisung to go on ice cream runs (where Chan always ends up tagging along) or attempting to remain focused while they help you study (more like trying not to laugh at Jisung and averting your eyes off of Chan’s biceps in that muscle-shirt of his), the three of you are practically conjoined at the hip, and not on bodyguard standards.

"Okay okay! I was itchy. Can you move the piece of hair by my eyebrow?" He whines, grasping an apologetic squeeze on your waist while you focus in his lap.

You’re currently brushing mascara through his unfairly long lashes, but if anyone saw this without knowing the situation, chaos would likely unfold.

Although for you and Jisung, it's your average Friday night spent watching the weekly scary movie he’d decided on, Insidious. One he’d been commenting on for the past thirty minutes or so about how the “representation of demon’s was wrong” while you absentmindedly agreed, looping your index around the strand before abruptly stopping.

Residing slightly above his temple lay a scar, a decently sized scar at that.

Strangely enough, it's circular, like some type of horn or something had been there at some point. Maybe a biking incident?

"Ji?”

The boy's eyes drift up to you.

"What's this scar?"

Below you, he freezes, frantically thinking up the best excuse.

Lots of options, not a lot of time to decide.

"Ah.. that? When I was younger, I developed a weird kind of bump there, 'had it removed." And thankfully, you grunt a response, resorting back to applying his makeup.

Truth be told, those scars (another you hadn't seen yet) were his old horns, forced to be removed in order to initially land this job.

It still sends shivers down his spine thinking about when they had first been cut off, the recovery process resembling something out of nightmares.

Trust, the headaches were awful.

Chan, on the other hand, could keep his, considering he had the ability to conceal them on command. For Jisung, an inferior red-eyed demon with a few years beneath him and in such desperate need for income, chose the painful way through. As for his tail, that was luckily simple to hide (much to his pleasure).

Nevertheless, you could confidently say that your test-subject could easily land a modeling career after your makeover, and by the way he kept staring at the mirror, he seemed equally as enamored as you.

Well, that’s before a jumpscare leaps upon the screen and either of you shoot up, your clumsy companion whacking himself in the face with the mirror.

Staving your giggles, you try soothing the boy; you really do, but the uncannily gory scene that decorates the screen has you cringing back, and when you look at Jisung, expecting to find him cowering, your blood runs cold.

His lips are parted, but the only thing your horrified eyes are drawn to are the hooked canines peeking there. Not to mention his eyes.

Ghastly crimson, glowing.

Except when you breathe in an unsteady gasp, his head snaps to you, sudden facade appearing unaltered, like you hadn't seen something borderline terrifying.

Softly pulling your face close to him despite the screaming instinct to flee, he observes your bewildered expression, brows taut with concern.

“Y/n?”

Sweet tone contradicting, you immediately double backward toward your bedroom door, awkwardly honing the “I’m going to bed” excuse in hopes that suffices for the night.

Frenziedly closing the door, you determine rather quickly you don’t plan to go to sleep. Not that you think you could, but because this discovery isn’t normal.

None of this is normal.

How they found your location back at the alley despite Ha-joon never contacting anyone, how you “coincidentally” walked in on Chan “washing” his hands despite the water running red. Oh and you can’t forget about the rag left behind, putrid stench characteristic to a specific substance.

Blood.

You weren’t stupid. No father disappears the majority of the year on so-called “business trips” only to come back with new cuts and scratches he makes a sorry effort denying, and no daughter of his has literal bodyguards (yet you’re not sure they’re even official bodyguards thanks to your suspicions) glued to her side 24/7.

He does something dangerous, you know without doubt. But according to this hunch of yours, your father may not be the only one tied up in illegal madness.

.. .

Slipping into the car unknown to them was far easier than you anticipated.

You didn't plan on sneaking in in the first place, sure, but upon overhearing their hushed conversation regarding some type of “target”, you assumed whatever topic they were discussing may answer a select few of your billions of burning questions.

So, crouched in the floorboard of the backseat, you try muting your breathing, noting the clutter of metal sounding from your left, whatever responsible assumed to be shoved in the trunk.

Weapons. No mistaking it.

Your discovery is short-lived however, and you flatten yourself the best you can as Han twists around in his seat to grab something, already thirty minutes into your nearly secret mission.

Shit.

His shocked scream tells you enough.

Chan is fuming.

"Jisung, you told me she was asleep. So care to explain why the fuck she's in the back of the car?"

Han frantically flails. "For the record I told you she was lying down–”

"I. Don't. Care! She's not supposed to be here and all that matters right now is that she's at home and in bed, understood?"

As Jisung's lips pull into a tight line and Chan cranks the gear shift into drive, you glance around, a sudden–though risky–idea coming to mind.

"Hey, I could always tag along?"

"No!" They both shout in unison, heads jerking back to face you as if you suggested driving off a cliff.

That sounded much better in your head anyway.

Well there goes that.

Or so you thought.

Because unfortunately for them, wherever needed them needed them urgently, and through many clearly vocalized “she is staying in the car”’s, you weren’t driven home after all.

Fluorescent green lights cast an eerie glow across the perimeter, the location gnawing at your gut. An equestrian center by exterior, though there’s something else.

Wrong. You can’t explain it, but this place is wrong.

Discreetly unloading the guns, you skin crawls observing Chan messily stuff bullets into the magazine of a M240, the mere size of the thing setting your nerves ablaze. And as rightful asking questions seems, you can’t.

That feeling from earlier glues your mouth shut, like if you spoke too loudly, someone, something, would find you.

Thick foliage lay highlighted by your headlights, paving depth into sequential darkness.

You squint, zoning in on a small expanse of branches ajar. An ideal hiding spot.

Wait.

Bright flashes of iron spur your legs into motion, the switchblade cleaning slicing your wrist while mid-duck.

It forks into the car’s interior where the trunk had been opened, your cry of pain muffled by Jisung who basically throws himself inside a stall with you, the stomping of horse’s hooves muting your ragged breathing.

Firing belonging to none other than the machine gun Chan had been wielding pierces the air outside as either of you stay pressed to the stable wall, the pad of footsteps drawing nearer, causing your eyes to squeeze shut.

This is it. You’re going to die.

Much to your relief, it’s Chan, tactical holsters slightly torn, sweat beading his forehead.

The two share a look, remaining silent before delivering an eventual, affirming nod.

Short-lived.

An additional attacker sifts from the shadows, facial expression ushering no other logic than to kill.

Manic eyes, estranged eyes.

The older bodyguard spins, successfully blocking the first hit. Supplies are scattered everywhere, horses beginning to shift uncomfortably.

The perpetrator is faster, smaller, and lands a decent punch into his abdomen. However, the attack is futile, and just before he can stake his knife into Chan’s leg does the bigger man utilize his own weapon, ammunition positively bludgeoning every square inch of the assailant in baited seconds.

You understand why machine guns are strictly used for long range now.

Immediately, soft numbness floods your senses due to Han’s hands covering your eyes and ears, and you sit there for a while, blocked from the grotesque view of impalpable violence being enacted right before you.

You’d forgotten you were huddled together on the other side of the wall, too horrifically immersed.

It's strange. So much is strange.

These two men that you've grown effortlessly close to, grown effortlessly friends with, murder. Defensively in this case, yes, but they hadn’t brought those guns by chance, they brought them by intention.

Not just a twisted hobby like dissecting animals or something along those lines, but murder.

You’re sure they have their reasons, but it's difficult even imagining it. People who are extremely gentle when with you, responsible for such doings.

Talk about a duality.

The faint clatter of gun shells rattling against the marble flooring earns a subtle flinch, Jisung's hands cupping closer to your skin.

Then you smell it, what he'd warned you of no matter the cleanliness of the job.

A metallic, burning scent of blood, causing your nose to burn and your throat to grow increasingly dry.

Your stomach churns.

"You don't forget that smell" Chan had said before leaving the vehicle, and you knew what he was referring to now.

Putrid reek of rot and gunpowder beckon your lungs into fight or flight, but you remain still, ignoring the sharp sting of your wrist, bubbling blood dripping down your arm and onto the floor below, right atop your shoe.

Faint falling of bullet shells put an end to the fighting, then you’re blindly directed out the door without so much as a glance behind you. For your own good, you assume.

Hell, you’re not certain they’ll be much left of the bodies after Chan’s wrath.

As for right now, your top priority is your wrist. Swollen, skin tainted a grueling red shade.

Speeding home, you find yourself blurily recalling events, though all the little details simply swirl into strange shapes.

Shock is what it’s called. That state of monotonous wandering, occurrence too unfamiliar to take in, senses turning off. A coping mechanism of some sort.

Blearily you see the two men, talking, stepping out of the room, grabbing medical supplies. Like you’re in a time warp, dreaming. No pain, hurt.

On the other hand, your bodyguards were frantic, spewing curses and scouring the household for proper first aid materials.

Meanwhile, Chan was finally wrapping your wound in the bandages Jisung spotted, blinking madly in hopes his fogging headspace eased up.

Demons and wounds were not a good combination. Especially not human wounds.

Uncontrollable urges instructed him to tear you apart right this minute, do something, anything to quench that inexplicably demanding thirst.

Vulnerable, easy prey. His thoughts chanted, forcing him to step out of the room for a moment to where Jisung perched, close-pin fastened on his nose to block the mouth-watering smell.

“I’m losing my fucking mind,” He heaves, carding stressed fingers through matted hair.

“What, a little blood getting to a white-eyed demon?” His companion muses, hastily dodging Chan’s swinging fist. Immune to his threats.

It’s obvious to Jisung that’s only half of the story, but he’ll wait for his superior to admit it himself.

“It’s not just the blood,” He inhales deeply, gratefully accepting the water Han offered. “It’s her.”

Go figure.

To be honest, Jisung wasn’t good at pretending.

Well, in terms of lying he was a natural (a given, after all), but pretending he hadn’t caught onto his friend’s enormous attraction to you was technically impossible.

Quite surprising though, to think such an arrogant demon would’ve ended up like this.

Susceptible, willing. For a human.

Who would’ve thought.

.. .

It’s nothing short of a roller coaster regaining your stable consciousness. Chest wracking, world spinning. You’re situated in bed, injury carefully wrapped(though you can’t recall by who).

The doorknob rattles, and in walks Chan, except, you don’t feel happy, relieved.

Scared. You feel extremely scared.

“What- What are you?” Waver revealing your anxiousness, you curse the subtle tremble.

He smiles.

“Aren’t you a perceptive little one,” His voice dips lower, and as he edges closer, you find yourself pressing further into the pillow behind your head.

“I’m sure you’ve had your suspicions, so I’ll make it easy for you.” He lifts his curls, two perfectly placed horns residing there.

“We’re demons. He and I are different species, but both demons.”

Demons.

Instantaneously, a tidal wave or realization crashes salty water into your lungs, expertly piecing your observations together. Red eyes, horn-like scars.

How had you not caught on earlier?

Momentarily, you meet his eyes. Still brown, although you wonder how deep of a red they’d stain, glaze over stunning vermillion or dusky cinnamon tones.

“Species?”

He hums.

“Red-eyed are the best at persuasion, that’s Jisung. I’m a white-eyed demon.”

So neither crimson nor cinnamon, you decide. Perhaps pale, opal color.

“White-eyed demons are usually Satan’s lap dogs, but what lots of people don’t know,” You crane forward to hear his next words, and he leans in as well. “Is that we’re also the most desired species, the most lustful.”

Lustful.

The words don’t truly sink in, and by the time they do, it’s impossible to rip the mischievous look from his eyes.

"What’s that supposed to mean.." You grumble, avoid his darkening stare.

A subtle tap on your thigh has your attention immediately shfiting, your entire body instinctively jolting.

"You want me to show you?" He begins with a laugh, a low, husky laugh that has your stomach tying knots. Not the usual, squeaky laugh, but one that's different, very different. "But if you say yes, I’m sure no one else can satisfy you the way I can."

Your expression pinches with annoyance, a bit offed by his sudden cockiness.

Granted, he looks heaven-sent despite being a demon, and you doubt he'd be any different in bed, but c'mon now, you have a right to be suspicious.

"And how're you so sure of that?" Leaning back on your arms where he sits in front of you, you fixate on the way kinky locks perfectly line the crown of his head, one particularly messy strand tipping over to linger above chocolate pools for eyes.

"Sweetness, Jisung are I are carved out of sin, there's not a particle in our body not built to fuck."

God. Hearing "fuck" come out of his mouth shouldn't have been that attractive. Chan had always been well-mannered, well-spoken, so to hear him say something vulgar for the first time, nonetheless "fuck", effected you more than you'd like to admit.

Slowly, oh so slowly he crawls on the bed, kind tip of his head betraying sinful intent.

“You want this?” He whispers, and your arms immediately wrap around his neck, tugging him into your lips fervently, needily, with a short nod of approval between sighs and stifled groans.

Your wrist aches, but from how heated this kiss is becoming, that matter is the least of your problems.

He feels like fire, tastes like it, nectarine on your tongue.

You waste nimble time undressing, suppressing a high-pitched mewl the longer he sucks deep purple love bites into your neck and down your collarbones, likely to be bruised tomorrow.

He’s careful, learning your body, your sounds. Touch light as a feather, not enough.

He’s big, that’s a given. Head red and angry with thick beads of precum apparent, you can’t possibly think straight, his name the only sensible word falling off your swollen lips.

Chan Chan Chan.

Brows knitting as his fat head bumps your entrance, you murmur pleas, practically delusional on his pleasure, his love.

Most desired, you understand what he meant by that.

“Feel good? Yeah? That's a good girl."

You can feel your entire body keen at the praise, utterly blissful from how amazing he was making you feel.

The stretch of his fat cock has your common-sense threading dangerously thin, head falling back, fingernails raking his back. Delirious.

When he actually started moving? Yeah, you’re convinced you paid a visit to cloud nine, fucked-out brain recognizing only the squelch of your bodies connecting and the squeaky, absolutely desperate sounds he’s pulling from your throat.

Not to mention his voice, accent thickening tremendously the longer he ruined your drooling cunt.

His, his, his.

"Shit- you feel fuckin' divine," He kissed the sweaty skin of your calf hiked over his shoulder, ankle held by a strong hand while the other occupied your hip, squeezing and kneading with each heavy thrust.

Chan wasn't lying about being carved out of sin, fucking like an absolute animal to the point tears began welling in your eyes, overstimulated and euphoric beyond belief as your hands shakily reach upward.

Obediently, he lowers himself, letting you hold his face for some sense of security while feeling so vulnerable.

You pathetically search his eyes, head thrown back after one particular roll of his hips that earns a rumbling moan from the man.

Each time he bottoms out it feels like you're losing it, rubbing that gummy spot that makes your heels dig into his shoulders and your moans transform into high-pitched cries, shuddering.

"Channie- Oh fuck Channie- I can't It's too much-"

Practically gasping for air to ease the buzzing fuzziness blinding you, you cherish the equally mind-numbing kiss he soothes, pressure in your lower tummy building and building at a flying pace.

"Yes you can, bunny. 'Need to cum? C'mon, cum for me, 'atta girl." He tuts, slowing himself down with each squeeze of your cunt signaling your approaching release.

Torturous.

Nothing like this, never in all his life had he felt something like this. So delicate and fragile as you look up at him, glossy dolly eyes far too tempting.

At this point it was an obligation to stuff your pussy full.

Rolling your puffy nub in tight circles, your thighs twitch, gripping the pillow behind your head like a vice as the sharp knot in your stomach finally snaps and a near pornographic sound rips from your throat, back arching off the bed.

The sight of you has his eyes nearly rolling back, so ruined and angel-like. You're a white rose in a field of wilting grasses. Bloomed in his ill-fated fingertips.

His pants stifle, big hands holding the back of your thighs spread for him. His pace stutters, and with a gritted whine of your name he slams his hips, painting your aching cunt white.

The last thing he anticipated visiting the human realm was to find himself in this situation.

And whether he liked to admit it or not, if the Devil had your father wrapped around his finger, you had him tied up without a chance of escape.

So while you both scrambled to clean up your evidence and not fall over your own feet hearing Jisung clumsily drop a clattering frying pan in the kitchen, he thinks, if only for a second, he’d be okay with it.

Being yours, that is.

FIC TAGLIST. @y-ur--i @atinism @darknova2319 @producedbyhanjisung @knightoftime21 @leonswifesstuff

sunboki, may 2022 ©

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esotericc-angel · 3 months

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the 3d is an illusion

Yes that’s right. Your reality that you are seeing and experiencing now is just a collection of the old thoughts you had the day, week, month, year before. You keep entertaining and dwelling on that old story, and guess what? it’s added onto the illusion of the 3d because you believed them.

you entertained these ideas by: seeing something unwanted in your 3d and immediately reacting, emotionally believing it was your end, and so it continued existing in your reality. you allowed this to happen. You probably instantly got thoughts like “this is how it always is, i can’t change it" "i’m so frustrated about not being able to change it” "it is what it is" It’s fine to have these moments, because you are human. if you catch yourself having thoughts like this, just stop and remember "i am god. this is not my end. i already have what i wanted." Whenever I have these human experiences where I feel down, I always like to remind myself, I am not the typical person, I think of myself as an infinite being. I can do, have, be anything I want, and even more just because I’m the boss around here! I’ve learned to let go of emotionally reacting to that illusion, instead to recreate that illusion to what I want to see.

#law of assumption #manifestation #manifesting #subliminals #neville goddard #how to manifest #instant manifestation #void state #pink #manifesting success #loassumption #loa tumblr #loa blog #loa #law of assumption blog #master manifestor

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valrnyx · 4 months

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Ya know what’s one thing that makes me pissed off/very frustrated?

On the original island, q!Bad was constantly up in the main plot and involved in everything. He knew almost everyone’s secrets, especially in the early days of the server. He’s always called upon for almost any group mission and is considered one of the most reliable people on the server. He’s constantly taking care of the eggs and keeping them alive. Hell, he was runner up for president when elections were happening. Bad actually would have won if Forever gave his vote to Bad like he said he would rather than voting for himself (which I’m pretty sure was against the rules anyway😒). That just shows how much trust and respect the CCs have for Bad.

Both q!Bad and CC!Bad get almost zero credit from non-ghosties for any of it. Bad does all of this and instead of getting credit, he constantly is shit on and dragged through the mud by this god forsaken community. Whether it’s for a decision he made as a CC or something his character did, there’s never some section of this fan base that isn’t pissed at him for one reason or another. Just the other day, Gumi made a first time Lethal Company lobby for Bad to play in with friends he’s comfortable with. Cellbit was invited since they’re friends and apparently this pissed off some of Cellbit’s community enough for them to start harassing ghosties on Twitter (not sure if this was going around to everyone, but someone I follow on Twitter went priv cause they were being harassed and sent death threats).

Bad is also made the villain in so many different scenarios because people need someone to blame and Bad just happened to be convenient. This got infinitely worse after Purgatory (this community got significantly worse during purgatory. Somehow worse than it was during the election arc). Bad was deemed a boogie man and then “conveniently forgot everything” after the event ended, when in reality he was just doing everything in his power to save his son (JUST LIKE EVERYONE ELSE WAS DOING. HE QUITE LITERALLY DID NOTHING DIFFERENT THAN ANYONE ELSE) and then ended up with radiation induced amnesias and slowly dying.

I’m so exhausted, pissed off, and frustrated of Bad and his fanbase being harassed and shit on in this community. I feel like no one besides his fanbase and the CCs appreciate any of the work he’s done and it drives me nuts.

#qsmp #qsmp badboyhalo #qsmp bbh #badboyhalo #let’s appreciate Bad a little more #I know I shouldn’t look at view count as a measure but Bad is also constantly at the bottom of the QSMP view count list #it just makes me a little sad to see that almost every day #bbh #qsmp discourse #discourse #qsmptwt neg #qsmp neg

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sissylittlefeather · 5 months

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A Little Less Conversation: an Elvis One-Shot

A/N: Another smutty one-shot for the people! This one is actually for Elvis, though, during the filming of the movie Live a Little, Love a Little. I hope y'all enjoy this one too. I am infinitely grateful to everyone who reads my stuff! I love you all dearly.

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, kissing, cussing, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), p in v penetrative sex, unprotected sex, ejaculation

Word count: ~2.3k

You've been on a movie set before. This isn't your first acting job. It's not even your first speaking role. So why is this one so difficult for you?

Perhaps it's the presence of a certain Mr. Elvis Presley that's got you all in a tizzy. When you got the job for Live a Little, Love a Little, you assumed you wouldn't have any scenes with him, but when you arrived on set they told you otherwise. You're playing a receptionist and you have three scenes with Mr. Presley. Your stomach drops out and it feels like you've forgotten how to breathe when he comes over to you and shakes your hand.

"Hi honey, I'm Elvis Presley. I heard we have a couple of scenes to shoot this week." You swallow deeply and finally get some words out.

"Yeah, I heard that too. I'm y/n." You pull your hand away from him and he smiles, his eyes wandering down over your body. He doesn't even try to hide the fact that he obviously enjoys what he sees. Instead, he licks his lips and takes a step closer just as someone hollers from across the set.

"Hey, Elvis!" He rolls his eyes and looks over to the direction of the voice.

"What?"

"Can you come here a second?" He scoffs a little and then turns back to you.

"I'll see ya later." He winks and then walks away.

******

The first scene you shoot together is one where you're at the desk and he's just talking to you. You're supposed to be getting annoyed with him, but you're having a hard time shaking the doe-eyed daze that comes over you every time he looks at you.

"Cut! Y/n, you're still not getting it." The director is less than pleased with you and you're starting to get frustrated with yourself.

"Here. I think I know what the problem is." Elvis walks around the desk to you and takes your hand, standing you up. "Do I make you nervous, honey?"

There's really no point in lying.

"Yes."

"That's what I was afraid of." He turns to the director. "Can we take a break?"

"Oh, um, sure Elvis but not too long-"

"It'll take as long as it takes." He grabs your hand and walks you to a place at one of the sets you aren't using today. He gestures for you to sit down on a bench and he sits beside you.

"What are we doing?" You look up at him nervously.

"We're getting you used to me."

"Used to you?"

"Y/n, I'm just a guy. I eat. I sleep. I'm a man, just like any other man. I'm assuming you've been with men before." You blush a little, but he's not wrong.

"Yes, I have."

"See? Good. Just a man." He turns to face you and takes your hands and puts them on his chest. You nod and move your hands to his shoulders. This makes him so much more real to you and for some reason you're not afraid anymore. "Now, we have a scene later where we have to get up close and personal. I say we practice that a little."

"Okay. That sounds like a good idea." You've read the script and been terrified to do the scene he's talking about, so practicing without the camera will be helpful. He stands up and puts your hands on his chest again.

"Remember: just a guy." You nod and hold your hands next to your shoulders like you're supposed to in the scene. He steps toward you and presses his body against yours lightly. Fireworks go off somewhere behind your bellybutton and you swear it just got ten degrees hotter. "Now, there will be stuff all around us, so we're really going to be in there tight. So it'll be more like this." He puts one hand on your lower back and one on your upper back and pulls you into him so that yours breasts are pushed up against him and your hips are aligned with his. You stand like this for a good thirty seconds, just feeling him breathing and resisting the urge to set your forehead on his chest. Finally he looks down and you look up so that your faces are only inches apart. Next thing you know his lips are on yours and your arms are around his neck. He opens your mouth with his and his tongue slips in to dance against yours.

"Elvis, are you- oh shit! Sorry!" Joe had been sent to fetch you both to get back to filming, but he quickly turns his back. Elvis pulls away from you slowly and notices that his pants are starting to feel tighter. He steps back quickly and tries to stand nonchalantly so that you won't notice.

"I think that's enough practicing. Let's get back to work." He turns you to face away from him and walk in front of him. While you walk away, he dips behind a set piece and arranges his cock to be up under his belt. The last thing he needs is another Girls Girls Girls fiasco.

When you sit back down at the desk to resume filming, you nail the scene in one take. He winks at you after you finish and you try not to blush. Filming is done for the day. Your big scene will take place tomorrow, but you're not nervous for it anymore.

******

"Alright, let's try it again." The director calls for everyone to go back to the beginning of the scene. This is the 9th take, but this time you're not the problem. It's Elvis. Every time he presses up against you, something happens. He either clears his throat or looks away or tries to back away. You're not sure what's going on. It's almost like you make him nervous.

You run the scene again, but this time when he's pressed against you he just hollers, "CUT!"

Before he can pull away from you though, you grab onto him and hold him in place. You put your hand on his cheek and make him look at you.

"Hey. I'm just a girl."

That's when you feel it against your hip. He's rock hard. You can feel the tension as he looks at you and you know he wants to kiss you so badly that it almost hurts. Your eyes flick back and forth between his and then down to his mouth. He inhales deeply and looks up to the ceiling.

"We need a break."

"Elvis, we-"

"We're takin' a break." He turns to you and whispers in your ear, kissing your neck where no one can see. "Trailer. Now."

You nod and he takes your hand and drags you off the set. When you make it to his trailer and up the steps into the little living area, he turns to face you.

"You're killin' me, y/n!"

"What am I doing?!"

"Absolutely nothing, but I cannot get rid of this." He gestures to his crotch and you put your hand over your mouth to try to suppress your giggles when you see his very obvious erection. "It ain't funny! How am I supposed to work with this?!"

"I'm sorry." You rearrange your face to stop laughing. He walks toward you and puts his hands on your hips.

"Well. Are you gonna help me get rid of it?"

"How?"

He takes his suit jacket off and undoes his tie, unbuttoning his dress shirt and untucking it. Then, he removes your jacket and turns you around to unzip your dress. He presses up behind you and pushes it down your front, wrapping his arms around your waist as your dress falls to the floor.

"I'm sure we can come up with something." He turns you to face him and removes his shirt from his shoulders. His hands go to his belt and he looks over your body in your bra and panties.

"Take those off." He instructs, removing his pants and shoes. You reach behind your back and undo your bra and then let it and your panties hit the floor next to your dress. When you're both naked, he reaches out and runs his thumb over your nipple.

"You're so pretty, honey." You throw your head back in pleasure as he takes your whole breast in his hand and squeezes it gently.

"How do you want me, daddy?" You moan as his hand continues to roam over your body.

"Mmmmm. I like that. Lay down on the couch." You do as he says and he arranges himself between your legs, kissing the soft and supple flesh of your inner thigh. "Now, you be a good girl for daddy and don't cum until I tell you to."

"Yes sir." You gasp as he presses his mouth to your center and begins to move his tongue on you. Your back arches and he swirls over and around your hardened bud. He pulls back a little to push his tongue into you several times. Then, he drags it up your slit and slides two fingers into you. You're right on the edge of your orgasm, but you're trying to push it off. He can feel your walls start to tighten around his fingers.

"Not yet, baby. Daddy's not finished yet." You nod frantically and begin to sweat as you stave off your climax.

"Now?" You whimper. He blows on your clit lightly and nods.

"Soon." He flattens his tongue and moves it side to side over you. When he tightens it to a point and licks hard across the sensitive button, you cry out.

"Please, daddy!" He smiles and then sucks on you lightly.

"Now." He moves his tongue in one last circle around your clit and you tumble over the edge into one of the most incredible orgasms of your life. The pleasure is overwhelming as it courses through you and you lose the ability to hear out of your right ear.

"Oh, God! Oh, God! Yes!" You call out as you ride the high of your climax. When you finally come back down to earth, he backs off of you and stands up, his hand stroking his cock up and down. He runs his thumb over the tip to gather the precum that's gathered there and then goes back to pumping himself.

"Mmmm." He leans his head back, glad to finally be feeling some relief for the hard on he's had most of the day. "Are you ready for me, honey?"

"Yes, daddy." You nod frantically and open your legs for him to lay down on top of you. He pushes your legs up until your knees are on his chest. Then, he lines his cock up with your entrance and teases your clit with his tip.

"Tell me how bad you want it, baby."

"I want you so bad, daddy. I need you inside me."

"Good girl." He pushes into you, slowly filling you up as your pussy stretches around his length. He picks up a steady rhythm, pumping in and out of you. You bite your bottom lip as he fucks you, hitting just the right spot inside you. "God, baby you're so tight for me, honey."

His eyes roll back and his mouth opens slightly. You take some pride in the fact that he seems to be enjoying this as much as you are.

"You like that, daddy?" He grunts in response and then moves your legs to wrap them around his waist. He starts to fuck into you harder and faster and kisses your neck up to your chin and lips.

Out of nowhere, he pulls out and uses your legs to flip you over onto your stomach. He spanks your ass lightly.

"On your knees, honey." You follow instructions again and get on all fours. He slides his middle finger from your clit back to your pussy and pushes it into you. You whine at the sensation of his finger instead of his dick. "You want my cock, baby?"

"Mmm yes, please, daddy." He pulls his finger out and then pushes his dick into you. He holds your hips tightly and begins to fuck you from behind.

"Such good pussy, baby." He groans as his cock slides in and out of you. You can tell by the way he pounds you relentlessly that he must be getting close to his own orgasm. It feels so good as he slams into you, hitting the spot inside you that makes you wild. Without much warning, another climax overtakes you and you cry out again in pleasure.

"Yes, baby, that's what I was waiting for." The sound of you cumming on his dick is enough to push him over the edge and he pulls out as quickly as possible, pumping himself with his hand as he shoots his cum all over your ass. "Fuck yes, y/n, yes!"

He stands up and walks to the bathroom to get a towel. He cleans you up and then pulls you onto his lap and you sit together naked for a while. Just then, there's a sharp knock on the door. It's Joe again. Apparently, he drew the short straw today.

"Hey, uh, guys, they really need you back on set. I'm sorry to... interrupt..."

Elvis smiles and kisses your shoulder before he hollers back.

"We'll be out in a minute!" He pats your bottom for you to stand up and you both get dressed again. You make your way back to the set and though everyone seems to know what happened, no one says anything. Just like the day before, you successfully shoot the scene in one more take. The director notices the way Elvis smiles at you during the scene, but decides it's in character for Greg and leaves it in the shot.

It lives forever in the film, but only you know for sure why it's there. And it's something you'll never forget for as long as you live.

******

The End

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Taglist:

@ccab @elvisfatass @elvisalltheway101 @aliypop @18lkpeters @dkayfixates @tacozebra051 @your-nanas-house @deniseinmn @joshuntildawn13 @lookingforrainbows @60svintage @littlehoneyposts @epthedream69 @rjmartin11

Want to be added to my permanent tag list? Let me know!

#elvis presley fanfiction #elvis presley #elvis fanfic #elvis smut #elvis presley fic #elvis presley x reader #elvis x reader #elvis presley x y/n #elvis fic #elvis fanfiction #elvis presley x you #elvis presley smut #elvis x y/n #elvis x you

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perpetualfox · 1 year

Note

Oh my god smug Gaz goading you to be a brat so Price’ll take his frustrations out on you (instead of him)

Make Me - Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick and John Price x Fem!Reader [NSFW]

Warnings: Dub-Con, Brat Taming, Rough Handling

Wordcount: 1398

Gawrsh this took forever. I changed the vibes of it so many times, maybe I'll post the scraps of the other versions some day. Until then: this.

→“Spread your legs for me.”

→You lean back against the warm expanse of Price’s chest, a lazy grin sliding across your face. Gaz’s weight presses down on you, comfortably heavy in your lap; his hips slotted against your own, strong thighs caging you in on either side. You tip your chin up with a defiant air—it’s cheeky and playful, but defiant, nonetheless.

→“Make me.”

→“Ohhh, are you sure you wanna do that, babe?” Gaz’s eyes shine in the low light, a lopsided grin tugging at the corners of his lips. “Don’t start something you’re not ready to finish.”

→“I absolutely can finish it,” You buck your hips up, grinding your bare pussy hard and slow against him. The slick slide of your flesh against his cock—still frustratingly clothed in the thin grey cotton of his boxer shorts—pulls a groan from the pit of his chest. He twitches against you, and all of a sudden, you can really feel him: he’s filling out nicely by the second, chubbing up against the warm press of your body. You roll your hips again, a contented sigh on your lips as the length of him catches against your clit, “And you couldn’t stop me.”

→“Could so.”

→“Then prove it. You want me to spread my legs? Fucking. Make. Me.”

→And you knew he could. If he so desired, he could have you on your stomach, his tongue buried to the root in your pussy before you could even blink. He could hold you there, thighs spread so far apart your hips creaked in protest, until he’s had his fill of you; until you were sobbing his name; until it was the only coherent world your lips could form. And yet, he hasn’t.

→Why?

→The pleasant rumble of Price’s voice vibrates up through your back, “Play nice.”

→There’s a threat beneath the words—the growl of distant thunder on a picnic perfect afternoon. You know you shouldn’t push him, but oh how that tone makes you want to. It would be so easy—the words were all but pulling on your tongue, burning at the base of your throat.

→You lock eyes with Gaz, and it’s as though he can see into you, reading your thoughts as they surface in your mind. His expression is grave, a stern knot forming between his brows. He tilts his head, looking down at you with dark, serious eyes. The message is silent, but clear: don’t.

→You almost think better of it.

→Almost.

→“Make me, old m—”

→And Price’s hand is at your throat. On some level, you knew you were making a mistake, but it wasn’t until that large, calloused fist closed around your neck that you came to understand the sheer gravity of it. Your breath catches beneath the press of his fingers, and you can feel your eyes going large and round, eyebrows shooting up toward your hairline as you fight not to struggle against him.

→The serious edge of Gaz’s expression melts away, and in its place rises something else—something infinitely more frightening. He looks…smug. Terribly, terribly smug—the very picture of the cat who got the cream, and it’s then that you realize: you’d fallen right into his trap.

→‘Don’t,’ his eyes had said, but he had known you would. Of course he’d known.

→“Oh no.” Price’s voice is a growl, low and gravelly in your ear, “That shit doesn’t fly with me. Gaz might put up with it, but I—” His fingers tighten around you, constricting your throat just enough that you feel it; a buzzy, light-headed sensation at the very back of your skull. It’s enough to make your heartbeat kick up beneath his fingers, “…I am not Gaz. Understood?”

→“Y-Yes, Sir.”

→He barked out a laugh at that, “Oh, so it’s ‘Sir’ now, is it? What happened to ‘old man?’”

→“I-I…um…”

→“Shut up.”

→Your jaw snaps shut with an audible click.

→“So, you do have some sense. Good.” And with that, Price begins to move. His free hand trails down your body, thick fingers skimming across your flesh: your clavicle, your sternum, your stomach, coming to rest at the apex of your thighs. Gaz slid back, tilting his hips up, allowing Price room to maneuver with a hungry glint in his eyes. Those calloused fingers slipped between your clenched thighs with an ease that shocked you—as though he had met with no resistance at all. God, he could do anything he wanted to you, and what could you do to stop him? The idea sent a little thrill through you, a gush of wet heat blooming between your thighs.

→A shudder goes through you as his fingers find your clit, rubbing a tight, rough circle into the sensitive bud. Though his touch does not linger, it leaves you breathless, practically panting for more. He presses forward, fingers slipping against your slick flesh.

→“Is this what gets you off, eh? Being a disobedient little pest?”

→Your cheeks feel hot, your face burning up under his scrutiny. Though you open your mouth, your retort, whatever it may have been, tapers off into a broken gasp as he presses two thick fingers into you.

→“You might think you can act a brat with me, but you’re wrong. You haven’t the spine to do it proper; a hand around your throat and you roll right over.” His breath tickles against the nape of your neck. “But I’ll give you a chance—prove me wrong.”

→He crooks his fingers inside of you, rubbing hard against something that makes your vision fill with flickering stars. Your walls spasm around him and he laughs, fingers stroking relentlessly into that spot, “Go on then.”

→You bite your lip, trying desperately to think through the waves of pleasure that roll over you with each stroke of his fingers, but to no avail. A high, keening whimper slips past your lips. Gaz croons above you, a soft, almost condescendingly sweet sound, “Aww, baby! Does it feel that good?”

→Price’s hand slides up from your throat and grips your chin, his fingers digging into the meat of your cheeks. He turns your head none too gently, forcing you to look into his eyes.

→“That really all it takes? Just two fingers stuffed up your cunt, and you go brainless and pliant?”

→He looks to Gaz, a smile, wicked and keen as the edge of a knife spreading across is face, crinkling the corners of his eyes, “Pathetic, isn’t?”

→Gaz’s expression was a young mirror to Price’s, the sharp points of his teeth poking out between his plush lips, “Utterly.”

→“Now,” Price squeezes your cheeks together, “Look at me.” It takes you a moment for your eyes to focus, the heavy press of Price’s fingers inside of you, and the sight of Gaz, looming above you, his perfect cock leaking into his boxers mere inches from your fingers, it’s no easy task. Still, Price waits until he has your full attention.

→“There you are. The Sergeant gave you an order, didn’t he?” He bobs your head up and down, before turning your face back toward Gaz. He’s looking down at you with hooded eyes, warm and brown, and full of want.

→He’s practically glowing, basking in his triumph, and it’s beautiful. He’s beautiful.

→Price’s chin comes down to rest upon your shoulder, digging into the pressure point in your neck.

→“I suggest you do as he tells you. Or—” He slips his fingers out of your tight heat. “I’ll make damn sure you don’t get yours.” A sob tumbles from your lips as you buck your hips, trying to follow his fingers; to follow the pleasure he’s trying to deny you. You’re empty, desperately so after the stretch of his thick fingers—it was all you could do not to cry, to fall back against him and beg for something inside of you. “Understood?”

→You nod, but it isn’t enough. His hand comes down hard against your pussy. You jolt under his hand, a hoarse cry tearing loose from your throat.

→“Understood?”

→It takes you a moment to find your voice, thin and wavering as it is, “Y-Yes, Sir!”

→“Good. Sergeant?”

→Gaz’s smile is radiant as he leans in to caress your cheek. His palm is warm, his tough achingly tender.

→“I win. Now, open up, Sweetheart.”

→And you do.

→“Good fucking girl.”

#mw2 x reader #gaz x reader #kyle garrick x reader #john price x reader #captain price x reader #mw2 smut #the way i NEED to be tag-teamed by these two #it's frankly embarrassing

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kingofpopmj · 29 days

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Hello hi, I love your writings so much, (im new to this and wrote my first writing on here, not confident on it, but it’s okay!) I wanted to request if you could write a Michael x insecure reader? I’ve been feeling down lately, and not the best on my self-esteem, if you could do that for me, it would be very much appreciated! Thank you for all your hard work! :)))❤️❤️❤️

Hi!! ASH! My lil piece of perfection.

I love you lil brother 🫶🏻

I hope you enjoy this! Fingers crossed it makes you smile!

Will You Be There

You found yourself standing in front of the mirror after undoubtedly the worst day of your life. There was nothing that felt in your control. Everything felt so overwhelming. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to focus on your breathing, but even that was exhausting. It just all felt like too much. On top of it all, you study the image looking back at you, the anger and hatred boils inside of you. How would anyone ever look at you and think you’re beautiful when you can’t even see it in yourself. Out of frustration, you snatched the mirror off the wall, holding yourself back from smashing it into the ground beneath you, instead turning it around and leaning it against the wall. You couldn’t handle looking at yourself another second.

“There you are.” You heard Michael’s sweet voice, quickly you dried the dampness under your eyes. The last thing you want is for him to see you this way. It would certainly push you even further over the edge. “A little birdie gave me a call, said you had a rough day. I thought I’d plan a fun little night for us and surprise you with some of your favorite things.”

“You?” You tilted your head letting out a weak laugh.

“Well, yes.” Michael showed you the biggest smile and his eyes dazzled in that way you loved. He threw his hands up, jokingly presenting himself to you.

“That’s very sweet of you.”

“But! It doesn’t stop there.” He ran off quickly, you could hear his excited laughter echo throughout the house. When he reappeared you couldn’t fight it anymore. This man had you smiling, forgetting what had upset you in the first place. “What do you think my sweet piece of perfection?”

Michael stood before you, holding a stack of your favorite movies, favorite candy, blankets and a bulky cardboard box.

“What’s in the box?” You stepped toward him, crossing your arms teasingly.

“I thought we’d spice up our usual movie night, so I got an outdoor projector! I already set up the screen. It was challenging, but I think the duck tape is holding—”

“Duck tape?”

“Yeah—”

“It didn’t come with hardware or instructions?”

“It did.” He responded defensively before looking down at his feet.

“Duck tape was part of it?”

“No! Listen, I lost a few things— well most of the screws. Okay, all of them. I lost everything.”

The guilty look on his face was all you needed to absolutely lose control. You burst out laughing at the thought of Michael attempting to build something completely on his own. The fact that he even thought to do anything for you warmed your heart.

“I’m sure it’s lovely.” I said between laughs.

“You’re lovely.” He said, the serious tone causing shivers to travel down your spine. “I truly mean it when I say you’re perfect. You’re my favorite person. You make my life infinitely better.”

“Michael—”

“Now, let’s get a few things out in the open.” He walked over to the mirror, lifting it up and hanging it back on the wall.

“Please, don’t do—” Michael scooped you up, placing you directly in front of the mirror. He was right behind you, taking your hands in his.

“You’re beautiful. Inside and out. I’m going to remind you every second of every day because you deserve to know. You need to hear every single thing I love about you and I’ll repeat each one until you believe it, because it is the truth.”

“I’m not—”

“Your smile! Oh, your smile, it’s like finally seeing sunshine after days of rain. Your eyes! They shine like nothing I’ve ever seen before. They hold so much love and warmth. You are so amazing. I pray that one day you see yourself the way I see you.”

“Thank you.” You smiled, covering his mouth with your hand.

“Love, you have to get used to compliments if you’re planning on keeping me around. Honestly, even if you don’t want me around I’m still not leaving.” He smiled hard, tilting his head innocently. “You’re stuck with me.”

“You’re so persistent it’s actually annoying.” He hugged you tight as you laughed into his chest. “Thank you for always being here.”

“Thank you for accepting me into your life. You beautiful thing you.”

“You’re getting cheesier by the second.”

“I don’t care. I need you to know how infatuated I am with you. There’s no one like you on this earth. Everyday, I’m blessed to learn more about you, to love more about you.”

“Michael, that’s so sweet.” My vision became blurry as I studied his face in disbelief.

“Plus, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m kind of a hot commodity, so the fact that you won me over speaks for itself. Someday, I’m going to be a great trophy husband.”

“You did not just say that.”

“Which part?”

“All of it!” You giggled as he pulled you into him tighter.

“You love me”

“Yeah, unfortunately.”

“You’re going to have to stop playing hard to get one of these days love.” His teasing tone causing butterflies to erupt in your stomach.

“What’s poking me?” You interrogated, palming his coat, but he quickly pulled away concealing whatever he had in his pockets.

“Do you love me?” He asked in a high pitched voice. “Yes or No?”

“Yes.”

“Do me a favor. Remember that feeling.” Michael pulled out two cans of silly string. You stood still as he unloaded on you. When the cans were empty you just stared at each other. “I can’t tell if you’re mad or not.” He whispered. “Should I run?”

“Run. Run fast.” You kept a straight face, staring him down before stepping forward. Michael’s eyes widened and he spun around taking off. You weren’t really mad, but this was definitely more fun. When Michael ran outside you knew exactly what you were going to do.

You watched as he hid behind his favorite tree, deciding the grass was looking a little too dry and there was only one way to fix that. The sound of water immediately made your target panic.

“Truce! I give! I give!” Michael shouted waving his hands in the air.

“What was that?”

“Truce?” He had uncertainty written all over his face and you were loving it.

“Let me think about it.” A hand on your hip and the other on your chin as you pretended to ponder his offer.

“Let me help you.” Michael sprinted over, hugging around your waist and dragging you into the sprinklers with him. You weren’t expecting that. He got you. Again.

“I think I could accept a truce.” Your voice coming out somewhat confident even though you didn’t have the upper hand anymore.

“Have I ever told you how incredible you look wet?”

“Michael!”

“That came out much dirtier than I meant it to.”

“You’re bad.” You giggled, crossing your arms.

“I’m also dangerous. Any other bases we need to cover or can I romance you now?”

“Romance away.”

After cleaning yourselves up Michael brought you out to the outdoor area of Neverland that was now surrounded by flower beds. The giant movie screen illuminated all the vivid colors of the pedals. He stared at you basically jumping up and down as he waited for you to speak.

“Do you like it?” He asked impatiently.

“I love it.” You squeezed his hand, leaning your head on his shoulder. “I can’t believe you did all of this for me.”

“There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for you.”

#michael jackson x reader #michael jackson imagine

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max13l · 2 months

Text

Since I can't stop thinking about it because of this post where Daniel's chain looks like it could be a collar, here's a little thing on the "making him worse" trope but with Maxiel and pet play. AKA puppy play but instead of Max trying to fix Daniel, it's actually meant to make him "worse" (or better depending on your interpretation).

After his time at McLaren, Max thought Daniel became unusually pliant and... almost submissive? Losing his typical confidence and aggressiveness that Max had come to know when they were teammates (and that he knew he loved). Max thinks it's very much showing in his racing too, holding Daniel back from showing his full potential on track like he used to before. And Max decides he can't have this, so he comes up with a plan. He's going to train Daniel.

Max is going to train Daniel, but instead of how training is usually meant to make someone listen better and be more in control of themselves, he would do the exact opposite for Daniel. He wants him to lose control. Wants him to be aggressive. To bite. To be a right cunt, as Daniel would say. And if it lands him with more than a few bitemarks, then so be it. It will be worth it.

Before propositioning his boyfriend, Max does the (very minimal) research he feels is necessary and orders all the supplies he will need to be successful with his plan. It won't be an immediate success though, it is supposed to be a long process after all, Max knows, but since they don't have infinite time to get Daniel back to the driver he used to be, he will have to make it as efficient as possible.

When Max first brings it up to Daniel, he thinks Max is joking. Pretend to be a dog? How the hell was that going to make his driving better? Max attempts to explain how it works as best as he can, but Daniel just isn't taking it as seriously as he would like. Max doesn't have time for this; he'll just have to show him. "Whatever. Just trust me? This will be good for you, Daniel. Try with me? I will make it good for you. You already like barking so much and you pee outside, you're halfway there." Guess Daniel can't argue with that.

Max was satisfied with Daniel, albeit reluctantly, agreeing to play along. He told his boyfriend as much by scheduling their first scene for the next day, it wasn't a race weekend, Max made sure to time it perfectly.

When Max told Daniel to be prepared the next day, Daniel couldn't say he expected the onslaught of things Max had got for him. Seeing all the... stuff? ("Gear? Is that what Max called it?") Daniel realized then that Max is actually extremely serious about this. He should've known, his boyfriend never half-asses things that aren't media duties.

Daniel felt his face warm up looking at all the items Max carefully laid out for him, and if his cock twitched at the thought of putting them all on, that's between him and God. Two particular items were the most intimidating to him, the pup hood modeled after a Doberman, pointy ears and all leather, and the black silicone tail plug. Aside from those, a leather harness and jockstrap were also waiting for him. He supposes he can handle this much, though he still thinks it's all a bit silly. He tells himself he only agreed because Max has indulged him in the past, so he can do the same for him. He still doesn't understand how this is supposed to help with his driving though.

The first scene didn't go quite as Max would've wanted it to. Daniel wasn't taking it seriously enough. Sure, he barked when Max told him, but Max could tell he wasn't actually into it. He wasn't in the right headspace yet and was only pretending to try and make Max happy. Max was not happy. He needed Daniel to fully give in if this was going to work.

By the time they had another scene planned, Max figured out what he thinks will get Daniel in the right headspace. Max had to piss him off, bad. He wanted Daniel to get to be angry and in tune with expressing his frustration again, instead of subduing and locking it away, through this, and he will make it happen. And what better time to do so than after another shit short lived race for Daniel? Max knew Daniel should already be upset, but it wasn't enough, so why not add him being overtly flirty with every other man and woman around when he knew Daniel was watching? Daniel wasn't necessarily a jealous man, but he definitely had his possessive streaks, especially after bad races when his patience was already thin.

Daniel slammed the door when he made his way into Max's room, "Max, what the fuck? Are you trying to play with me or something, eh?" exactly as Max wanted him. To rub it in more, Max left champagne linger in his hair and on his skin, so Daniel could smell it. Max only smiled seemingly nonchalant about everything on the surface, yet his cock throbbed against the tight jeans he changed into earlier, he couldn't wait any longer. "Playing? No, we have a scene to do, don't we?"

Daniel was about to protest when it clicked. Alright, Max wants a scene? He'll fucking get one. With no words, Daniel left to get ready, leaving Max behind with a big satisfied grin on his face, this is going so smoothly for once.

On his return, Max could still see the anger in Daniel's eyes, dark and fiery, accentuated by the pup hood, which Daniel chose to only wear the top part of this time. "Why do you still smell like champagne?", Daniel couldn't fucking believe it once he got close enough to Max, could see and definitely smell the champagne on Max, he could feel a snarl creeping on him, making his lip twitch, "You fucking-"

"Dogs don't talk, Daniel." Max responded calmly knowing he'll only press Daniel further.

As soon as he uttered those words, Max found himself on the floor, Daniel growling above him. With his mouth free, Daniel immediately started lapping at the champagne coating Max's neck, then he couldn't hold back from biting Max, breaking the skin on his shoulder and sternum. Then time started blurring as Daniel continued to take what he needed. He fucked Max hard and thorough, barking and snarling as he did it, feeling something snap inside him, all tension leaving his body as he howled and filled his Master up.

"Good boy." Max slurred, fucked out but happy.

After that scene, Daniel started to understand why Max thought this might help him. They kept it up, doing scenes more frequently, Daniel becoming more and more acquainted with his feral side, all the pent up anger and frustration finding a way to be released after years of letting it pile up somewhere at the back of his mind. It started to show in Daniel's on track results too, people seeming surprised at Daniel's "newfound passion for racing". He always felt himself wanting to growl at them for it, to fight, it wasn't new, it was just subdued. Not anymore.

They had a system now, seeing progress early enough, very much to Max's pleasure. Daniel had collars made specifically for him: a play one that was a heavy leather one that matched his hood, letting Max know what Daniel wants without him needing to speak a word and disrupt his own immersion in pup space; a day collar that looked like a regular chain necklace, but Daniel and Max knew its real meaning, reminding Daniel of the fire in him, of the way Max owns him and yet he's got so much power over him, the bitemarks left on Max's skin temporary reminders of it, the weight of the chain working as a physical reminder of the weight of the play collar he wears when he pounds the living daylights out of Max; they also had a ribbon Daniel could wear around his neck while in the car, hidden under his fireproofs.

Another thing that became an important part of their scenes and also proved useful to Daniel during race weekends was a clicker. Max found out about clicker training a bit after they started their scenes and knew he would find a way to incorporate it in Daniel's training. Now, Daniel carries it around before races, making clicking it three times a part of his ritual. It puts him in the right headspace, any possible anxiety washing away and being replaced with fire burning in his stomach, making him want, want, want. Just like his Master taught him. Daniel hasn't felt this content and confident in a good while.

After yet another good race and a less intense scene than their usual, Daniel pressed a kiss on Max's sweaty forehead, "Thank you, Maxy. You were right about this." Max smiled softly, blissed out in Daniel's arms, "I am, of course, always right about you."

"Just don't let this old dog bite you in the ass next season, yeah?"

#maxiel #cw pet play #cw undernegotiated kink #idk what this is but it's... a lot #the voices got loud i couldn't stop them so there's around 1.4k words of this #hope someone likes it ig #my writing #my fic

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mskenway97 · 5 months

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Hello! I have a Transformers question and an idea 👍

First: the autobots symbol. What is the origin? I mean... This is the representation of the first prime or of Primus face? I never didn't understand.

Second: idea/request. What if OP, bayverse movie, partner (romantically or friendship whatever you want) is a blind human female? She's been tortured by decepticons 😨

Thanks 🙌🙌🙌

I find the first question very curious and you have. in fact the logo was created because of this:

the designer who came up with the Autobot emblem used a stylized representation of Prowl's toy head as a source of inspiration (Prowl is the Autobot military strategist). In the world of Marvel Comics, the distinctive red mask is often referred to as the "Autobrand".

According to official legend, the Autobot symbol was created in reference to the face of the Last Autobot, the guardian Primus prepared, before the day when he could no longer restrain his own army. By the way, we cannot fail to mention that the same sign was used as the symbol of the slave brand Quintesson.

And from the second question, I have created a small scenario more related to friendship and partenership:

Darkness, infinite was the only thing, the Decepticons had tortured her in a thousand ways to discover the location of NEST, y/n was a soldier of the first humans closest to the autobots. No y/n opened his mouth to snitch, he wasn't a snitch the wounds on his body were nothing serious until they decided to take his sight…. When the autobots rescued him it was too late, it was irreparable damage. Ratchet did everything he could for y/n….. It was so complicated to do day to day things, to be guided more by touch, sound, to learn differently than reading, writing…. Her day to day life literally changed… She heard a familiar sound, maybe she only saw darkness but that confusing sound was Optimus, since the rescue he kept coming to see her. She felt a little wind in front of her, the noise of the hydraulic presses around, the house of y/n was in a more distant area to be closer to the base in case of emergency and in this case to be able to take better care of her. -Optimus? - she asked as she grabbed a guide stick to carefully exit the house, stumbling at the exit to feel that something metallic had grabbed her.

-You should be more careful," Optimus lectured her a little. And/n chuckled a little as she tried to get a little positioned - You know I always feel like it when you get here. Optimus pulled her a little closer, face to face.

Optimus every time he looked at the dull eye color that y/n had, instead of y/c of eyes that sparkled every time she smiled, that she got angry, those looks of complicity they had in meetings, only to see that when she was rescued, those eyes had lost their essence…. It made him squeeze his other servo and change only his expression of frustration and anger. "If only it had taken less time, if only I had arrived before she was in so much pain…. It's my fault…" Optimus thought but those frantic thoughts were interrupted by smaller hands passing over his face.

-Again thinking about what happened? - said y/n

-I can't help it, you didn't deserve to end up like this, Optimus said in frustration, y/n stroked his faceplate.

-What's done is done… At least I'm alive, if it weren't for you. I would continue with the experiments. You saved my life

-But you paid a high price for that," said Optimus as he pulled her closer to his chassis. Y/n leaned in as she heard the pulse of his spark - It wasn't your fault…. Even if you can't see, you see only this eternal darkness…. Your mere presence brings me light among the shadows," said Y/n leaving Optimus surprised as he pulled her closer to him. They stayed like that for a while, until Optimus decided to help her with her holoform exercises. Maybe she lost her sight… but he swore by Primus that he would never ever leave her side. He would be her light and her guide for the rest of her life.

#sam writes #thanks for the ask!#transformers #autobot #optimus prime #bayverse optimus prime #transformers x reader #human x reader #bayformers #optimus #optimus x reader #optimus prime x reader #transformers g/t #maccadam #maccadams #prowl

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mypoisonedvine · 2 years

Text

𝙼𝙴𝙴𝚃 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙼𝚄𝙽𝚂𝙾𝙽𝚂 - chapter 3: louder than hell.

𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢 - living with eddie continues to have its ups and downs, but maybe you two can find an understanding. or, maybe not.

𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝 - 5.3k

𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 - mentions/description of deceased parents, descriptions of drug use/smoking, mentions/description of hard drug abuse and overdose, ridiculous sibling arguments, fluff and wholesomeness and excessive transcription of scenes from a real episode of the partridge family

You groaned as you wiped your forehead with the back of your hand, a thin sheen of sweat having formed from all the effort you’d been putting into trying to clean your room.

Eddie had all but trashed the place, random junk all over every surface; he seemed to have a habit of setting something down the first spot he could find when he was done and just leaving it there. When you told him to clean up, he usually ignored you— or pretended not to hear you since he either had headphones on to listen to a tape or was practicing his deafening guitar— so you’d gotten into a habit of doing it yourself. You were on your knees on the ground now, trying to separate the dirty clothes, unfinished homework, and trash into three different piles.

“Liquor store receipt, trash,” you mumbled to yourself. “First page of an essay about… General Custer? Homework. I mean, kind of trash but… technically homework.”

You made your way around the room, eventually getting to clear off your desk and vanity; of course, when he got home from Hellfire, you were doing the one thing you didn’t want him to catch you doing— thinning out the shelf of albums. You were in the middle of pulling one of his records out when he slammed his hand over it to push it back in. “Hey!” he yelped, glaring at you. “Don’t touch my stuff!”

“My room, my stuff,” you replied, trying to pull another record out, but he grabbed your hand this time which startled you.

“Our room,” he corrected, “my albums. No touchy.”

“Your records are crowding mine!” you explained. “There’s no room!”

“Yeah? Your records are tainting mine!” he replied indignantly. “I mean, Escape and Frontiers I’ll forgive, Journey has a few bangers but come on— your Make It Big next to my Animalize is criminal. It’s going to infect it with its… suckiness, somehow.”

“Okay, I’m gonna stop you there because George Michael is a god,” you sneered, “that your little pea brain simply can’t comprehend!”

“George Michael is a hack!” he spat back, and you gasped— like he’d put out his cigarette on a statue of baby Jesus or something. Except that this was infinitely worse.

“You take that back,” you ordered.

“Prove me wrong,” he offered instead, “or admit you just think he’s hot and don’t even care about the music.”

“Oh— oh!” you yelped, laughing in pure frustration as you turned and knelt down in front of the stacks of records. “I’ll prove you wrong.”

“I swear, if you try to make me listen to Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go—” he began to warn you.

“No, no way,” you shook your head, “we’re listening to his masterpiece.”

The drums started, and already Eddie was trying to turn the record player off.

“No,” you insisted— not quite a bark, but very stern— as you grabbed his arms. He stilled and looked at you again, swallowing as your fingers dug into the sleeves of his jacket. “Just listen. Wait for the bass line.”

It came in a second later. You watched his face as he listened: he didn’t react too visibly, but you waited in anticipation for him to be forced to eat his words.

“Somebody told me—” the lyrics began, in George’s beautiful voice, and you saw Eddie’s eyes narrow. The bass was more prominent as the first verse continued, and you smiled as Eddie nodded slightly.

“Okay, that’s…” he trailed off, smiling as he met your gaze. “That’s actually kinda sick.”

“I know!” you agreed.

“Man, that bass with some guitars would be so good!” he whined. “Why did he have to make pop and not metal? He would’ve been amazing.”

“He is amazing,” you frowned.

“Fair enough,” Eddie nodded. “I don’t know about a god but, sure, he’s pretty good.”

“Thank you,” you mumbled as you reached to take the needle off the record, but his hand suddenly landed on your wrist.

“Uh, you don’t— um, have to turn it off so fast,” he stammered, and you smiled.

“Do we have a new Wham!-head on our hands?”

He scoffed. “No way. Just giving them a fair shake is all— after this song’s over I wanna play you something by Poison that I think you’ll like…”

Your mom pulled her translucent shawl up over her shoulders as she stepped out onto the porch.

"Have her back by eleven, mister," Eddie wagged his finger at Wayne, who chuckled along with your mom as they walked down the steps together.

He waved one more time before shutting the door, and letting out a quick breath as he turned to look at you.

"We throwin' a rager or what?" he prompted.

"A rager that ends by eleven?" you raised an eyebrow, though you didn’t look up at him for more than a second from where you sat on the couch— you were too busy reading Persuasion for far from the first time.

"I was just kidding," he smiled, "but next time we'll get them to stay out all night so we can really do something."

"I don't like the idea of them out all night," you shuddered, focusing on the book in front of you— but of course, you couldn’t really focus with him bothering you still.

"Don't be a prude, they're engaged," he crossed his arms. "It's not like they haven't—"

"Stop," you groaned.

"It upsets you that much?" he laughed.

"I'm not saying they're not allowed to do it, I'm just saying I don't want to think about it."

“Then just be thankful their bedroom’s on the other side of the house from ours,” he grinned as he hopped over the arm of the couch to sit next to you. You scooted further away.

“They should be, too; they don’t have to hear you snore,” you returned, still looking at your book as you turned the page. Unfortunately, after that, you had one of those thoughts that, once you had it, you had to ask. “Oh god,” you groaned, looking up from your book and grimacing slightly at him, “my mom stayed over at your place some nights, didn’t she?”

“Yeah,” Eddie shrugged.

“You didn’t… hear them…” you trailed off, widening your eyes and leaning your head forward a bit.

“What, fuck?” Eddie laughed. “No— when Wayne was bringing her over he’d let me know in advance and I would… find other lodgings for the evening. You know, give ‘em some space, crash at Rick’s or something.”

“How… considerate,” you offered, though it was mostly sarcastic. You didn’t like imagining this ‘gentleman’s agreement’ Eddie and Wayne had concerning your mother.

“I mean, that’s just common courtesy,” Eddie smirked, “you know— when the trailer’s a-rockin’, don’t come a-knockin’, and all that.”

“Gross,” you frowned.

“He’d do the same for me,” Eddie explained.

“If you were actually getting any,” you added.

“Well,” Eddie clarified, “if I had a girlfriend, I mean.”

“Oh,” you grinned, “so you don’t just bring any girl back to the trailer, huh?”

He snorted. “No, definitely not.”

“Because she’d turn and run as soon as she saw how filthy that place was?”

“Hey,” he frowned, “it wasn’t filthy… there was just a mild griminess.”

There was a long pause, but it was only awkward for one of you— he was rubbing his hands on his jeans and looking around while you paid attention to your book again, hardly noticing he was there anymore.

“So, what are we doing tonight?” he wondered.

“We?” you repeated.

“I mean, house to ourselves has to be good for something.”

“You better not smoke any fucking pot,” you snapped.

“That was only one of my ideas,” he smirked. “You’ve really never smoked?”

“I never said that,” you mumbled, and you saw him peer at you over the top of your book with a glimmer in his eyes.

“Oh, I wanna know that story,” he pleaded. “Was it high school? Wait, did Rick sell you stuff?”

“No, and no,” you sighed. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Matters to me!” he insisted.

“So do a lot of things that don’t actually matter,” you shrugged.

His finger hooked around the top of your book, in the spine’s crease, and he pulled it down to meet your unamused stare. “C’mooooon,” he whined, “I’m curious what occasion would make a good girl like you decide to get stoned.”

“It was after I broke up with Gary,” you explained, sighing as you shut your book and set it down. He pulled his legs up onto the couch like he was waiting for some juicy, riveting story. “I went to a party with some people from my Intro to English class.”

He blinked at you as he waited. “And?”

“And, we smoked.”

“Oh my god!” he groaned, his head falling back dramatically. “That’s so boring! You skipped the good part.”

“What good part?”

“Why you did it,” he answered.

“I wanted to fit in, I guess? They were passing it around, I felt weird being the only one not smoking.”

“Did you cough?”

“Of course I did,” you rolled your eyes, “I’m not a professional pothead like you.”

“Hey, I’m cutting back,” he defended, raising his hands defensively. “Just nights and weekends now.”

“Just— just nights and weekends?!” you repeated. “So… what?”

“So, I don’t get stoned at school anymore,” he explained confidently.

“Wow,” you congratulated flatly, “better start writing your valedictorian speech.”

“Don’t need to be the best, unlike some of us who are terminally competitive,” he grumbled, “just need to graduate. Sick of being in fucking high school.”

“I’m sure,” you nodded.

“Is college cool?” he wondered. “Like, are the people chill?”

“Uh, I guess…” you shrugged. Not that that’s something you need to be worrying about with your grades.

“Do you have any friends?” he asked, point blank, and you kicked him semi-lightly in the side.

“Shut up!” you frowned.

“Okay, that’s a no,” he widened his eyes as he looked away.

“I mean, I have friends,” you disagreed, “just not like, close friends? I guess?”

“You never have anybody over,” he recalled. “And you never call anybody.”

“Not when you’re home,” you corrected. “I can’t ‘cause you’re always on the fucking line with your Hellfire pals.”

“You could talk to them!” he offered. “Might be the only chance some of them would get to talk to a girl at all.”

“Yeah, I’m good,” you rolled your eyes. “Believe it or not, I’ve kind of outgrown high schoolers. Unlike some of us who are terminally immature.”

“Aw, look at us,” he clicked his tongue, tilting his head as he smiled at you. “The witty repartee, the flinging of insults— this is better than throwing a party.”

You groaned and pulled up your book again, opening it to where you’d left off. “Okay, I’m done,” you mumbled.

“If you say so,” he shrugged, but he was smiling mischievously.

“In fact, now that I know it’s fun for you, I’m never arguing with you again,” you decided. “Conversation over.”

“Don’t say that,” he pouted, but there was a dark shine to his stare as he continued. “You know it’s never over with us, sweetheart.”

You really, really hoped he couldn’t see the way you shivered when he said that…

Before you could worry about how to respond, he got up— your eyes couldn’t help but follow him, lingering on the bandana dangling out of his back pocket— before he turned around and you shot your eyes back to the pages of your book. Why is he so distracting now, just standing there? I can’t even tell if this book is in English anymore, I swear it was before…

“I’m gonna practice guitar,” he informed you.

“Not while I’m trying to read, you’re not,” you frowned. “That thing is so goddamn loud—”

“Acoustic,” he explained with a small, condescending smile. “Won’t offend your delicate little ears.”

“Great,” you hummed in reply, and he disappeared back into your shared bedroom as you focused in on your book again.

You could just barely hear him, but it wasn’t so bad, so you didn’t shout for him to shut the door. He tinkered around with a few songs, none of which you thought much of until halfway into his practice. Your mind was so occupied with reading Jane Austen that you didn’t even really consciously realize that you were listening to the riff he was playing, or that you recognized it in the back of your mind.

You didn’t even notice that you were quietly singing along.

“Wouldn’t it be nice if we were older,” you mumbled, “then we wouldn’t have to wait so long…”

The music stopped, and you swallowed as you realized you’d sung; his head popped out of the doorway, smiling wide. “You have a nice voice,” he offered.

“Sorry,” you cleared your throat, “I didn’t— I wasn’t trying to interrupt.”

“Don’t worry about that,” he smiled, setting the guitar down against the wall and stepping up to the couch.

“I’m surprised you know that song,” you admitted.

“It was one of the first ones I learned,” he recalled. “My mom really liked The Beach Boys.”

You glanced down awkwardly; you were pretty sure he wasn’t using the past tense because she stopped liking the band…

“Sing along to whatever you want,” he offered.

“N-no, I’ll just keep reading,” you decided. “But you can keep playing… you can play here if you want.”

“Really?”

You shrugged, and he grabbed the guitar by the neck, sitting down and setting it up in his lap oncemore.

You only recognized a couple more songs after that— Hotel California, Tangerine by Zeppelin, and You Can’t Always Get What You Want— but didn’t sing along to any of them. Occasionally, you heard him humming the melody or mumble-singing the lyrics, and you smiled to yourself.

After a while, you weren’t even reading anymore, just listening.

You furrowed your brow as you listened to him singing something, only able to make out a few words. Something about she’s so lovely and she’s so fine and take me home— pretty vague, could be anything.

“What song is that?” you finally asked.

“O-oh,” he choked, “um, I wrote that one, actually.”

“You write your own songs?” you realized, impressed. He shrugged. “Is that what Corroded Coffin plays?”

“Oh— not this one,” he shook his head, “too sappy. But yeah, sometimes we play stuff I wrote.”

“That’s cool,” you smiled. “Is it about a girl?”

“Let’s talk about something else,” he blurted out suddenly.

“Aw, come on,” you teased, “it is, right? Is it about a specific girl, or just… a hypothetical girl?”

He laughed a little. “Um, a real one.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Did you guys ever go out?” You tilted your head when he scoffed and looked away. “Really? Maybe if you played her the song, she would’ve wanted to go out.”

“Does that work?” he wondered, looking at you again.

“I mean, seems to work on most girls,” you shrugged. “She’ll forget that the guy’s a total dog or a douche or just a good old fashioned loser— so long as he’s a sexy guitar player or whatever.”

“Which one of those am I?” he laughed.

“All of the above,” you decided, “except sexy.”

Of course, one instance of Eddie practicing quietly couldn’t last. The next day, he was back to the abrasive, headache-inducing squeals of his electric guitar on the amp, impossible to block out even as you covered your ears and put all your mental effort into studying. Finally, when you were frustrated with trying to ignore it, you stood up defiantly from your seat at the kitchen table and marched across the hallway.

You swung the bedroom door open, hit with a wave of even louder sound, and the sight of him strumming quickly— his head was hung low at first, though it fell backward as he continued and you could see that his eyes were closed.

“Hey!” you barked. “Eddie!”

He was still playing, starting to rock his head back and forth and sending his hair flying every which way.

“Munson! Pencildick!” you tried to get his attention, but you couldn’t even hear yourself with how loud it was. “COULD YOU TURN IT DOWN?!” you screamed. He either couldn’t hear you still or was simply ignoring you; you stormed across the room, interrupting his headbanging, and grabbed the neck of the guitar tightly. The sounds came to a literal screeching halt, leaving only the ambient buzzing of the amp to fill the air.

“Hey!” he defended. “I was shredding.”

“Yeah, shredding my eardrums,” you spat. “I’m trying to study. I have a test coming up.”

“Oh wow, big photography test?” he rolled his eyes. “What studying do you have to do, making sure you know which button actually takes the picture?”

“No, it’s for my math class,” you frowned, “now could you please keep it down!”

“This is just the volume of metal, my dear,” he sighed, “can’t help you, sorry.”

You groaned as you turned around, kneeling quickly to find the volume knob on his amp and spin it to the left.

“Damn it!” he snapped, bending down and turning it back. “What did I tell you about touching my stuff?”

“Do it more ‘cause you love it so much?” you guessed.

“First my records, then you grab my guitar, now the amp?” he sneered. “Is nothing sacred? How would you like it if I touch your stuff?”

You thought it was a hypothetical until he took the guitar off over his shoulder and set it down, the motion making a slightly-melodic buzz come out of the speaker. He stormed across the room to your closet, throwing it open as you tried to reach around him to stop him. “Get out!” you whined as he dug around through your clothes, taking a pink dress off the hanger and tossing it over his shoulder. “Hey!”

He found another dress, a black one, and he snickered at it. “Cute,” he decided before throwing it, too. You ran to try to pick up your clothes from the floor, but when you turned back to look at him, he was holding onto your stuffed bear.

“Don’t touch that,” you warned him.

“Who’s gonna stop me?” he grinned.

You ran up to him and reached for it, but he held it up high above his head and watched you struggle with a proud smile. "Eddie, give it back!" you whined, jumping up to try to grab it.

"Nuh uh," he laughed.

"Stop!" you groaned.

"You can come get it for yourself, sweetheart," he taunted, knowing you couldn't reach. When you almost managed to grab it, he held you back with his free hand to keep you away.

"Just give it back, Eddie," you begged, starting to get really upset, "my dad gave me that!"

He brought his arm down in a split second, and you snatched the bear from him to hug it to your chest. "I'm sorry," he said instantly, clearing his throat and looking around sheepishly. "I didn't know… I was just trying to— I didn't know."

You sniffled a little, and he looked at you again, eyebrows tilted with a guilty, almost pleading look. "It's okay," you assured quietly. "Just don't take my stuff anymore, please…"

"I won't, I swear," he promised.

You nodded, resting your chin on Barry's head. Eddie sighed a little, looking at you more gently than you could ever remember him looking at you before.

"How old were you when your dad…?" he asked quietly.

"Twelve," you answered. "He got sick when I was eleven, but he died a week before I turned thirteen."

"That's a hard time for that," he nodded. "Not that there's any good time for that but, damn, thirteen is hard enough."

You widened your eyes and blew out a breath as if to say, yeah, no shit.

"I wish I had my mom that long, though," he added, and you looked up at him. He scratched behind his ear for a second, looking off to the side and staring at your wall. "I was nine."

"Was she sick?" you wondered.

"Yeah, something like that," he sighed. "She got better for a while— for me— but she started using again, she didn't know her limits… I found her, actually, and she still had the needle in her arm."

"Oh, god," you breathed, "Ed, I'm so—"

"Don't worry about it," he shrugged, looking at you again and wearing a more familiar, playful expression on his face. "I got to go live with my dad after that, and he was buckets of fun. It was like summer camp with the Boy Scouts, but less knots and more crime."

You snorted a small laugh through your nose. "Sounds cool."

"And now that you know my sob story, you can't get on my case for being a delinquent anymore," he grinned.

"But can I still silently judge you?" you pouted.

"Of course," he winked. "Anyways, point is— sorry for taking the bear. I guess I just wanted to try out some of the annoying-older-brother classics."

"Don't apologize to me," you suggested, "apologize to him."

You held the bear out with one hand, pointing it right at his face.

"His name is Barry," you informed him, something he could incorporate into his apology.

"I'm sorry, Barry," Eddie spoke to the stuffy, "you were collateral damage in my war on my sister. Won't happen again. If you want, I can make it up to you by setting you up with this saucy little throw pillow from the living room—"

You giggled briefly, and Eddie's eyes darted over at you for a second, with a glimmer in them that made your heart skip a beat.

He looked at the bear again. "We square?" he asked and after a pause, he reached up and pinched Barry's right paw, gently shaking it.

"Give him a kiss," you demanded suddenly, and Eddie crinkled his nose in disagreement.

"Uh, I think the handshake oughta do it—" he began to argue.

"Give. him. a kiss." You wiggled Barry in front of his face a bit, emphasizing your demand.

Hesitating for a second first, Eddie pursed his lips and gave Barry a kiss on the head. You pulled the bear back into your chest with a smile.

“I’ll try not to touch your stuff,” you offered.

“I’ll try to keep the music down,” he replied.

“Great,” you sighed, and you slowly turned and left the room, shutting the door behind you. You grabbed your textbook and took it outside to study on the porch— it was a little warm outside for it, but sunset was coming and you knew it would cool off quickly. The silence was so precious after all the noise, and you found yourself losing focus on your practice questions so you could admire the way Hawkins looked bathed in fading purple light. You didn’t love living here all the time, but it had its perks— and really, you weren’t sure if you could ever bring yourself to leave.

Having to tell Eddie about how you got Barry brought the memory to the forefront of your mind— that must’ve been why you dreamed about it that night, about your dad.

Maybe some people who lose a loved one enjoy dreaming about them, it’s like the last way they can see them anymore. But you hated it; it was easier just to not think about him. It was easier to pretend none of those happy memories ever happened, so you wouldn’t have to remember the worst ones too— the medications, the hospitals, the surgeries… the deterioration, right before your eyes.

The dream itself was fine, really; it was sweet. It was waking up that you hated, because for a split second, you forgot. And you had to remember all over again that your dad fucking died when you were still just a little kid.

Barry was the first thing you saw when you opened your eyes, by your pillow, and you grabbed him as you sat up to go do something other than lay here and cry.

Of course, when you sat up, your head slammed into the fucking bunk beds again. You crinkled up your face, more from the frustration than the pain, and let a little fuck slip out as you held your forehead.

Still, you ducked down and got out of bed, navigating your way to the living room. You glanced at the clock— 1:17 AM. Something’s probably still on, you thought to yourself. You grabbed the remote and the folded blanket off of the couch’s back, throwing it over yourself as you flipped it on and turned the volume down to something quiet enough for the wee hours of the morning.

Yes, something was still on— after flipping a couple channels, you found something funny and comfortable to hopefully lull you back to sleep, and you adjusted yourself on the couch as you cuddled up with Barry.

Maybe it was the TV that woke him up, or your head injury on the underside of his bed, or maybe just his instinct to show up and bother you at all times; regardless, within a few minutes, you heard the bedroom door open again. Eddie’s shadow moved through the dark until you could just barely see him in the light of the screen, sporting his classic pajama combo of soft plaid pants and his necklace and nothing else.

“Can’t sleep?” he asked quietly. You shook your head, pulling the blanket up higher on your chest.

He sighed a little, crossing the room and standing at the end of the couch— he made a little shooing motion until you moved your feet out of the way and he could plop himself down by your scrunched up legs.

“Whatcha watchin’?” he asked.

“Partridge Family rerun,” you shrugged.

He laughed a little. “You were totally in love with David Cassidy when you were a little girl, weren’t you? Shoulda known.”

“Dude, I never stopped loving David Cassidy,” you snorted. “That’s my man.”

“Uh huh,” he grinned. “And does Detective Sonny Crockett know about this?”

You smirked. “He understands. I loved him first.”

“Yeah, never forget your first love,” he agreed.

“Who was yours?” you wondered. “You know, on TV.”

“Is that even a question?” he scoffed. “Wonder Woman— Lynda Carter.”

“Really?” you giggled.

“Oh yeah,” he nodded, sticking his lips out a bit. “I had it so bad for her and the little, uh… the little thing she wore…”

He gestured to his waist and crotch vaguely as he tried to think of the word. “Hotpants?” you offered.

He grinned and snapped his fingers at you. “Hotpants!” he agreed. “Yeah, anyways, I watched that show way too much for someone who really isn’t into comic books.”

“You’re just into everything else geeky,” you assumed.

“Hey, listen— I’m not some kind of nerdery slut,” he corrected with raised hands. “I like D&D. And Lord of the Rings. And metal, if that counts.”

“The way you like it? Definitely,” you nodded. “I’m afraid you’re gonna wear that new Metallica tape out, you keep listening to it over and over.”

He smiled proudly. “Okay, yeah, I’m a metal geek, then.”

The commercial break ended and with that classic sitcom musical sting, the episode continued.

“Hey, there’s your man,” Eddie nodded at the TV, “and his glorious mullet.”

“Mm,” you hummed appreciatively. “He does have great hair.”

“Uh, hello?” Eddie prompted, and when you looked over at him, he fluffed his hair with one of his hands.

“Yours is okay,” you offered, “but doesn’t have the same, you know… lusciousness.”

“Pfft,” Eddie scoffed, but he offered no defense as both watched the show again.

It was Keith— aka David Cassidy, your preteen awakening himself— and his middle brother Danny walking to school together. “I got one!” Danny pointed at him as they strolled. “You’re so ugly your face oughta be arrested for littering.” The canned laughter offered support for the mediocre joke, and you smiled a little. “Top that one.”

“Alright, uh…” Keith replied, “you’re so dumb—”

Danny rolled his eyes. “Not another ‘you’re so dumb’ insult, not very original.” Keith frowned as he tried to come up with something better.

“I always wanted a family like that,” Eddie admitted quietly.

“Like what, a band?” you wondered.

“That too,” he nodded.

You frowned as you adjusted on the couch, struggling to get comfortable. “Can you get up? I can’t stretch my legs out,” you pouted.

“Yeah you can, just put your feet on my lap,” he offered.

If you were entirely awake, you would’ve questioned that more— but it was that time of night where even the strangest ideas seemed sort of fun, and so you stretched out a bit to let your feet slide across his thighs. With one arm up on the back of the couch, his other hand came to rest on your ankle, and it made your breath catch slightly (though he didn’t seem to notice) before you relaxed. Once you accepted it, it was actually kind of soothing— yeah, your heart raced for a second, but then your eyes kept getting heavier as you tried to blink them open to look at the glowing screen.

Sleep overtook you quickly, like a weight that sunk into you and just kept pulling you down. You didn’t have any more dreams that night.

After you’d dozed off, Eddie’s gaze lingered on your still face for a moment; he smiled to himself, looking down at his hand on your ankle. Gently, he stroked your skin with his thumb, checking your face again to make sure it wouldn’t wake you up.

He turned down the volume on the TV two more clicks, focusing on the scene before him again— something about Laurie having a date coming over to pick her up. Mrs. Partridge greeted him at the door, before he joined Keith on the couch.

“Boy, glad that’s over,” the date sighed as Mrs. Partridge went upstairs to fetch Laurie.

“What?” Keith asked him.

“Meeting the mother,” he answered. “But your mother’s pretty cool… yeah, they usually give you the third-degree— you know, ‘where are you taking her’, ‘what time are you gonna bring her home’...”

“Ah, I know what you mean,” Keith agreed, not looking up from whatever he was reading— Eddie obviously hadn’t been paying enough attention to keep track of that. “Where are you taking her?”

“Huh?”

Keith shut his book and narrowed his eyes. “What time are you gonna bring her home?”

“Early, after the movie,” the date replied defensively.

Keith scooted closer to the other young man. “You, um, taking her to a walk-in or a drive-in?”

“A drive-in,” he answered. Keith immediately began shaking his head. “A walk-in?” the other offered instead, and Keith nodded approvingly.

“As long as it’s rated for the general public,” Keith added.

Eddie looked at you again, watching the blanket swell and sink each time you took a slow, deep breath. He thought about getting up and going back to the bunk bed to sleep, but he was too afraid to wake you up if he tried to move your feet away. Yeah, that was definitely the only reason that he wouldn’t get up now, now that he had you so close and you weren’t awake to try to push him away or tell him to fuck off. Not that he didn’t enjoy that a bit… he just liked this more. So, he’d stay for now and hold onto your ankle until you woke up and told him to stop. Just because he could.

#eddie munson x reader #stepbrother!eddie munson x reader

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hazbinfallinginaspiral · 26 days

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Extremely self indulgent but, may I ask for something with Vox X a Reader who's having a really bad chronic pain day, to the point where they need Vox's help doing normally easy daily tasks that day, and Vox reassuring them that he loves them and they're not a burden to him?

Basically some feel better Vox hurt/comfort fluff for the soul lol Please and thanks! 🙏

Your wish is my command, anon 🧑‍🍳 I am so sorry if I got anything wrong this is my first time ever writing something like this, I hope it’s good

I wake up to the familiar ache coursing through my body, every joint screaming in protest as I attempt to move.

As the sun peeked through the curtains, I felt the familiar pang of dread wash over me. Today was one of those days – a day where my body seemed to conspire against me, engulfing me in a whirlwind of agony from the moment I opened my eyes.

I try to push through, summoning every ounce of willpower to get out of bed, but my body feels like it's made of lead. I glance at the clock, realizing I've barely slept again, the pain a cruel companion even in my dreams.

I tried to move, but every muscle screamed in protest. Even the simplest tasks felt like climbing a mountain. I reached for the painkillers on my bedside table, but my hand trembled, unable to grasp them.

"Vox," I called out weakly, my voice barely above a whisper.

Within moments, his concerned face appeared in the doorway. His eyes softened as they met mine, understanding the silent plea for help.

"What do you need, love?" he asked, his voice a soothing balm to my frazzled nerves.

Tears welled up in my eyes as I struggled to articulate the overwhelming pain coursing through my body. "I... I can't do it today. I need your help."

Without a word, Vox crossed the room and knelt beside me, gently cradling my hand in his. His touch sent waves of comfort coursing through me, easing the sharp edges of the pain, if only for a moment.

Vox rummaged through my closet, trying to find something comfortable and easy to put on. I sat on the edge of the bed, feeling defeated by the simple act of getting dressed. Every movement sent jolts of agony coursing through my body, as if each limb was weighed down by invisible chains. I was frustrated, to say the least.

Vox knelt beside me, his warm hands enveloping mine, his touch grounding me in the present moment. "Let's take this one step at a time," he murmured softly, bringing my attention to the task at hand.

I nodded weakly, struggling to hold back tears of frustration. This was all so stupid. I hated it.

With infinite patience, Vox began the arduous task of helping me dress. Each movement was slow and deliberate, his touch feather-light as he eased clothing over my aching limbs. He didn't rush or grow impatient, instead offering words of encouragement with every tug and pull.

"You're doing great, love," he whispered, trying to calm me down. "I'm right here with you, every step of the way."

Despite the relentless ache tearing through my body, Vox’s words did help. It didn’t change the fact that my body felt like it was being torn to shreds with every move I made, but it was comforting. He was trying, and he was helping me, and that was good enough.

As the final piece of clothing slipped into place, I felt a sense of relief wash over me. It was a small victory in the face of overwhelming pain, but with Vox by my side, it was a little more bearable.

Sitting at the kitchen table, the aroma of my favorite meal wafting through the air, I couldn't help but feel upset. Again. Everything was a reminder of how much pain I was in, I couldn’t help but feel small. The simple act of eating had become a Herculean task, my hands trembling as I struggled to lift the fork to my mouth.

Vox stood by the stove, a look of quiet determination on his face as he plated the meal with care. His eyes met mine, filled with understanding and unwavering support. "I made your favorite," he said gently.

As he approached the table with a steaming plate in hand, I couldn't help but feel a surge of gratitude wash over me. Despite the overwhelming pain tearing through my body, Vox had gone out of his way to make this moment special.

With infinite patience, he settled into the seat beside me, his presence a comforting anchor in the storm. "Let me help you," he said softly, reaching for the fork with steady hands.

As he guided the utensil to my mouth, I felt a mixture of frustration and gratitude swirling within me. How had something so simple become so daunting? It was stupid, really, having to be fed like a child. He wasn’t looking at me like one, though. He was still treating me like any other person. I supposed that was good enough.

With each bite, he offered words of encouragement, his voice a soothing melody in the chaos of my mind. "You're doing great, love," he whispered, noting my begrudging compliance.

As the meal drew to a close, I couldn’t help but give him a half hearted smile. I felt bitter, still. Upset my body had betrayed me like this. I had to deal with pain everyday, and it had the audacity to crank it up to ten? Ridiculous. As upset as I was with my body, I couldn’t help but feel grateful for Vox’s help. He was truly amazing, staying by my side with endless support and patience. I couldn’t help but feel bad that he had to put up with me.

The rest of the day passed similarly, until I was sitting, hardly keeping myself together. As tears welled up in my eyes and fell down my face, I couldn't hold back the overwhelming flood of emotions any longer. The frustration, the pain, the sheer exhaustion – it all bubbled to the surface, threatening to consume me whole.

Of course, Vox was there in an instant to help. His arms enveloped me in a warm embrace, his touch a soothing balm to my frayed nerves. "It's okay to let it out," he murmured softly, unsure of what to do, really. We’d done this a million times, but it didn’t make it any better.

As I poured out my heart, voicing the frustrations that had been weighing me down, Vox listened with unwavering patience and understanding. He didn't offer empty platitudes or try to fix what couldn't be fixed. Instead, he simply held me close. Oddly enough, it was more comforting than I’d have thought.

"You're so strong, darling," he said softly, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "I'm here for you, okay? Whatever you need, I’m here."

With Vox by my side, I felt a sense of relief wash over me, as if a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. Despite the relentless onslaught of pain and frustration, I knew that I was not alone. He had been there with me all day long, helping me through it all.

#I just realized there’s a severe lack of dialogue #sorry anon #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel vox #hazbin vox #vox #writing #vox x reader #x reader #vox hazbin hotel #vox fanfiction #vox hazbin #vox the tv demon #vox hazbin x reader

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the-ace-with-spades · 3 months

Text

slow down (you're doing fine) sequel unrevised snippet because I'm procrastinating on finishing slow down itself and having Mav&Brad feels

The light from the living room turned on — he was covered by the terrace curtains enough that it was merely a warm shade coming from the cracked door. He heard bare footsteps, and a shadow flickering through the heavy fabric, until a familiar figure showed up.

Mav closed the terrace behind himself, plopping on the sandy wooden panels, until he was sitting down on Bradley’s left. He looked at his hands, at the phone, at Jake still left on read on the screen — Bradley switched it off and put it under his thigh.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked. He rubbed his eyes but didn’t look that sleepy either — just a bit tired, in that long-drawn, frustrated way when one wanted to rest but couldn’t no matter how hard they tried.

Bradley shrugged. He probably could sleep, he’d slept after he had done and said far worse things than today. He didn’t want to, it was almost like a punishment, staying awake until he fixed the problem. Until he stopped running away. He couldn't make himself fix anything, staying stagnant as the ball of anxiety and the dread about the inevitable grew.

“Still thinking about Hangman?”

He didn’t answer and maybe it was an answer in itself — Mav gave him an affectionate sigh.

“You remember that time when my deployment ran longer last minute? When you were about twelve.”

He gave him a glance — it was an out-of-nowhere question. “Yeah I was so upset that Ice took me flying the day after you were supposed to get back. In the Tomcat.”

It hadn’t been long after Ice came back from Bosnia. Bradley had been missing Mav so badly that he would cry himself to sleep whenever Ice wasn’t looking careful enough — he was still a bit messed up after his mom’s death and scared that one day, Ice’d have to tell him Mav wasn’t coming back.

Mav was supposed to be gone twelve weeks but last minute, Ice told him it’d take some more time before Mav’d come back, and it ended up closer to four months rather than three. Bradley had yelled at Ice’s face, then cried in his arms for about an hour, until he fell asleep, begging him to get Mav back to them.

“It didn't run over,” Mav said after a moment. His breathing was loud and Bradley saw him shake his head in the corner of his eye. He turned to face him and Mav’s eyes were already waiting at him, full of regret and fear, his mouth just slightly quirked. “I didn't know what I was doing, Bradley. Both my best friends were gone, I was never supposed to be a dad and here you were, completely dependable on me having my shit together, and then we were doing so well with Ice, and it was just so much—”

He hadn’t known. In his eyes, they always seemed to have a grip on everything, always seemed to have the answers to all of Bradley’s problems. They were the heroes of Bradley’s life.

“I knew I was going to fuck it up somehow, you and him, and I thought, better sooner than later, right.”

It was familiar — waiting on the other shoe to drop, and when he had been waiting and waiting and nothing fell on his head, removing himself from the situation before he got hit. Better to disappoint from the start than wait infinitely until they find you out for who you really were. Can’t be hurt if you never let them hurt yourself. Can’t hurt them if you’re not long enough for that with them.

That was a lie, no matter how hard he’d pretend to believe it — there was always someone hurt.

“So I didn't tell Ice anything and stayed in Virginia instead of taking a layover flight to California with everyone. Gave Merlin a letter to hand Ice when he met him at the airport and realized I was nowhere in sight.”

Bradley had always thought he was a coward, not facing Jake, just leaving in his absence when things became complicated, when they became too tied to each other. Maybe it was a family thing.

“I can't do it, please don't wait for me. Take care of Bradley. That's all it said.”

Mav creased his eyebrows, shook his head, almost like he was doing it at his past self.

Bradley didn’t know what to say.

“Took me almost three weeks to get back in my right mind. I showed up at home at two in the morning absolutely ready to beg him to forgive me and instead he told me to stay quiet so I wouldn't wake you up and then said I'd be doing laundry and the dishes for a month if I didn't go straight to sleep. Slept with me in the same bed the first night back, even."

Mav bit down on his lip, huffed, just a tiny, humorless sound, and looked at his hands — he was twirling his wedding ring around on his finger.

“I don't know how I could even think that I could ever live without you in my life, those three weeks. Both of you.”

That was the difference between the two of them. They might have both been cowards, running away from something great, that could turn bad at any moment — Mav came back.

Mav came back and Ice was already waiting for him, expecting him back. He faced the consequences and fixed everything, faced the option that he could fuck it all up at any moment and accepted the risks to gamble for something better and sweeter.

Mav kept on trying. Bradley’d only kept on running away his whole life.

He had been running so long that it didn’t feel like he could stop. Like he deserved to stop.

"So I could tell you that you deserve him but I know it's really hard to believe it, sometimes, and no amount of saying it will change your mind," Mav continued. "But it’s not about deserving him. He chose you, Bradley. He chose you, who are you to decide he’s wrong?”

Bradley—blinked. It was impossible to hear, to understand — he’d always thought it more as if Jake was sentenced to loving him. People didn’t choose their sentences.

They did choose to commit the crimes.

“It’s hard to believe you deserve it, but he chose you and he’ll keep choosing you,” Mav said and the wobbly note of familiarity made him felt dangerously seen. “So until you can believe it, you try your best to be the man he deserves to have, until you’re ready to believe it. You come back, how many times it doesn’t take—"

He bit down on his tongue, taking in a big, unhelpful gulp of air. His eyes were watering and he couldn’t stop it, the wetness itching in his nose even as he squeezed his eyes shut — Mav bumped their shoulders just as he sniffled stiffly.

"I think we should have talked about it more, show you more that we struggled too. We always tried to keep you out of the loop if we thought we could make it without you being affected and I always thought that it was just something parents were supposed to do," he said. "Maybe if we didn’t then you wouldn't feel like this now."

Bradley could only shake his head rapidly, because that wouldn't be true. His parents did his best with him, he had been doomed to turn up a little fucked up the minute his dad died, at least, if not the day his mom herself got orphaned and met Mav in the foster system. Maybe their family was just meant to turn up all bent out of shape.

#i think this is from chap 6 of the sequel actually #it'll come i promise it'll just take like a year minimum #hangster #icemav #charlie writes #tgm #slow down tag #op

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tachimichishrine · 5 months

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Q6yuquqjq YOU'RE LIKE THE PERFECT TACHIHARA FANFIC Y/N WRITER I FUCKING LOVE YOU MATE❤️❤️❤️❤️ I have one silly offer, and ofc ofc I'll wait my sweet time for u to drop it (probably wait for decades like I'm so invested). Can you do some...fluff like the reader is so inlove and has been dropping hints to tachi. He knows but he wants the reader to say it to his face instead of hints.with the silly lines "I ain't a patient man, say it to my face" QJKSJSJS IDK HOW TO WORD IT BUT U CAN DO IT!!!!

"impatient"

⫭◦⨝◦⫬

tachihara michizou x fem! jouno's sister! reader

warnings: none! take the fluff and frustrated tachi and flustered reader! (obviously some mild cursing and intended lowercase >///<)

it was a mistake, a terrible mistake that led to this.

"listen up, you bitch," tachihara seethed, pressing the tip of the gun against her temple, "this is our turf and you have no business being here."

"look sweetheart, this is all a misunderstanding," she said coolly, despite her heart pounding in her chest and the cold metal wrapped around her wrists.

and she wasn't lying. the series of events that led to her being tied to a metal chair somewhere in the port mafia's infinite supply of basements were peculiar, difficult to explain to the man who was threatening her life.

"any chance I could explain this all over some drinks?" she suggested with a chuckle before he dragged the gun down to her neck and pushed it up under her chin. "sheesh, okay, I guess not."

"having fun now, aren't we?" he nearly spat in her face, looking disgusted. "let's see how much you laugh when I put a hole in every one of your limbs-"

she shushed him then spoke in a whisper. "I think they're gone now, you can lay off the act."

tachihara sighed out of relief and moved to take the cuffs off of the detained woman.

"you're a real pain in my ass, you know that?" he whispered back, watching her get up and stretch her limbs. "I told you not to show up here."

"I'm sorry, I got carried away! I was in the neighborhood and thought I'd say hi... never thought you'd have another mafioso with you."

"you're gonna blow my cover," he said plainly, earning a pout.

their relationship was complicated.

jouno [_____], executive at the most notorious criminal organization in yokosuka, a city south of yokohoma, who still traveled back and forth for some occasional business. her current position was formerly filled by her brother saigiku, who left the underground in order to join the hunting dogs.

she, on the other hand, stuck the criminal route and even maintained contact with her sibling throughout the 6 years without ever switching sides. he never spoke about her to his colleagues except for a single grumble under his breath on one occasion where teruko was out of control, saying she was acting just like "his delinquent sister".

the matter was laid to rest until the first day of tachihara's infiltration into the port mafia. supposedly, since he had no street credit and would look extremely suspicious, she was his ticket in. she wasn't doing it out of the goodness of her heart (she was paid by the hunting dogs after being recommended by her brother), and yet tachihara found that she'd taken less than a week to get him accustomed to the underground life and put in a good word for him with the port mafia. she acted somewhat unprofessional at times, but there was no denying that she was good.

a little too good at times.

he was given impossible missions, to begin. the kind of things that set you up for failure unless you were a prodigy or had insane connections, missions hand-delivered by mori or any executive to test the new recruit. the first time, he was supposed to go and threaten the foreigners that had settled in on the edge of town and gotten themselves too comfortable with yokohoma. he relayed the information back to the hunting dogs, and jouno happened to mention it over the phone to his sister. she jumped in, ready to intervene before tachihara went in guns blazing and found himself confronting the notorious bulletproof brothers of brazil. she even told him where to buy knockout gas and gave him the rundown of the crime groups of the region.

once he got more familiar with his environment, she was needed less and yet contacted him at the same frequency. sometimes it was for essential information, other times it was for "company", as she put it. the ambiguity made it so that he didn't have any other choice but to respond to all of her calls.

tonight, she was in yokohoma for some business and decided to pop by and say hi. unfortunately, she did so right as he was having a chat with chuuya and they were caught in a peculiar situation. they played along, her pretending to be caught and him pretending to not know who she was while the executive spat in her face and asked what she was doing in this part of yokohoma. tachihara took charge of the situation and promised to find out, which led to them both roleplaying in the basement of the port mafia.

"oh, come on, you're gonna be fineeee," she tapped the tip of his nose, giggling without a care in the world. "chuuya knows I travel 'round these areas, and he's gonna catch wind of the deal I just closed earlier tonight, too. just tell him that and all's well. cheer up, tachihara, it's the underground. no one cares that much here."

he grumbled some kind of confirmation and watched as she held his hand and they both turned to human vapor. his consciousness paused momentarily and he came to a few streets down, wobbly on his feet as if his muscles were liquified.

"what the fuck, I didn't say—"

she shushed his protest, nodding her head to the motorcycle parked in front of them. "oh come on, stop complainin'. I'd ask you for drinks but most of the shops 'round here are mafia-owned and you'd be paranoid about gettin' caught, right? so hop on, I'll take ya to the other side of town, but you're paying, got it?"

"shit, you're gonna get me—"

"drunk. now hop on, pretty boy, we've got places to be."

he complied with a roll of his eyes, mildly pissed but unable not to reflect back the playful attitude she was giving him.

the ride was rather long, but damn him if he complained.

she had her body leaning around the tank, legs constantly at work shifting gears and shifting their weight as the motorcycle sped up drastically. she didn't offer him a helmet, not even a jacket of any sorts, since she'd never crashed before. she whispered, "hold on, even if we're about to crash, and you'll be fine," and he didn't have any room to complain or ask questions.

her ability to turn herself and any objects directly in contact with her skin into vapor greatly resembled her brother's, but proved so useful in the sense that she could control herself in a gaseous state, floating around a room and gathering intel almost completely invisible, which made her such an effective executive. tachihara put two and two together and figured she'd evaporate both him and the bike if anything went south.

nothing went wrong. in fact, the fear for his life got him wrapping his hands around her waist and burying his face in her back. when he loosened up, she would do a dangerous maneuver and his grip would tighten once again as she laughed maniacally.

she laughed about it some more when they were finally inside the lounge owned by her own organization, sitting in a booth in the corner so that it was unlikely anyone would notice them— even if they did, she had the kind of authority that made it feel incredibly dangerous to even think about tattletalling. apparently, the sadism ran in the family.

"you really freaked out when I swerved around that huge truck," she giggled, taking a sip out of her mystery drink and sliding the glass over to him. "want a sip?"

"what is it?" he questioned, still drinking without waiting for her to respond. his face scrunched up in disgust and he pushed it back. "yurk, what is that? can't believe you drink that shit voluntarily."

"hey, it's my favourite flavour!" she frowned and punched his shoulder. "I'll tell them to charge you double for everything 'cause you deserve it."

"isn't everything we order free? I mean, since you practically own the shop, that's what the guy at the front told you."

"shut up, I'm trying to make a point."

the evening was quiet, almost no one around except the two of them. she asked how her brother had been, and he asked the same thing since he hadn't spoken to his coworkers in quite some time. she gave him more details on things he needed to watch out for, and then listened to his updates with enough attention that neither of them noticed her body gravitating towards his. by the time it was too early in the morning and the place was closing, their shoulders were practically rubbing and she was close enough to kiss him.

it was all she ever thought of. she lied to herself, said she was checking out the bandage on his nose and her gaze just dropped down to his lips while he spoke. staring long enough for him to notice - that was the plan - except he didn't seem to notice at all, or at least he pretended not to. laughing loudly at every semi-funny joke he made, distractedly taking her bottom lip in between her teeth, tilting her head when he spoke; she was running out of hints to drop. the only other thing she could think of was carving "I love you" into her forehead and praying he doesn't spontaneously go blind.

how dense can a man be?

she had a driver drop him off back in yokohoma; her heart ached when she waved him goodbye and goodnight.

she couldn't stop thinking about him, day and night, and it was getting out of control. she would zone out in the middle of meetings and her colleagues were noticing. she explained that it was just some personal stuff, not that her chest felt hollow whenever she thought about him, not that she was catching herself thinking of gifts to get him, not that she was atrociously in love with him.

months, she spent months trying to drop hints. she had felt like she might accidentally evaporate when she had called him "pretty boy" for the first time, but he shrugged it off as if she hadn't said anything. once she got comfortable with that, she got touchy, and still no reaction. over the past week, she texted and called him nearly every night and even fell asleep on call on a few occasions. she checked the call log and he hung up nearly an hour after she drifted off, long enough to signal that he was listening to her snore softly but not long enough that he could've fallen asleep accidentally as well.

she kept losing hope as she thought about it, then regaining the confidence after seeing him again. it was getting unbearable.

"saigiku, I'm losing my mind," she said, sitting down at a bench on the pier. her legs kicked back and forth, and she sighed into the phone. "I don't understand guys. help me out here."

"ugh, don't you have girlfriends to talk about this shit with?" he groaned in annoyance on the other end. "I don't know. men are stupid. hope that helps."

she mimicked him. "thanks bro, you're tons of help."

"well, you won't tell me anything about the guy so I don't know what you want from me. either suck it up and say it to him or move on."

his advice wasn't bad, but it was simultaneously obvious that he couldn't care less. she rolled her eyes and changed the topic, instead listening for what felt like hours while he ranted about his dumb colleague. she wondered whether the jounos were really just bad at understanding people.

once the call was over, she took a deep breath of the ocean breeze and closed her eyes. nearly falling asleep on the bench, she was roused by her name being called out, a familiar voice.

"hey, tachihara," she smiled softly at him, seemingly exhausted (from all the nights spent rolling over in bed, thinking about him).

"you said you had intel?" he takes a seat next to her, trying to play it cool in case they were spotted, despite the light fog and the lack of anyone being out this late at night.

nodding, she handed over a folder filled with the information she collected about the next inspectors in yokohoma, the ones who were going to try to naively take down the port mafia and ultimately fail.

"they have a few operations going on, one about your buddy hirotsu. they might start digging into you too, and you don't want them finding out. deal with them as if them finding your identity was a death sentence, because it might as well be."

the information was true, but nothing in the folder was important. she just wanted to see him again.

"so..." he leafed through the papers, "anything I need to look out for?"

the millions of hints I keep dropping you.

"nothing particular, I think. they'll probably aim for more important mafia figures, so you'll be glossed over as a new recruit. someone experienced will likely take care of them before you need to."

"okay, thanks," he made the motion to get up, but stopped himself. "...are you in yokohoma for long?"

"just the night, my driver's picking me up in a few hours," she smiled reassuringly at him. "why?"

"huh? no reason, just wonderin'." he got up this time and nodded at her. "thanks for the drop, you didn't hafta do that."

I'm in love with you, you fool, of course I did.

"oh, it's not a big deal. anything for a friend."

more than a friend. fuck, you look gorgeous in the moonlight.

she caught herself watching his back as he walked away. her hand reached out, as if to physically catch him as he slipped away, then she cursed herself.

"hey, tachihara? are you in a rush to go anywhere?"

he turned around and shot up a brow. her smirk felt genuine.

the idea was stupid, to combine both of their abilities together to try to get the best view of the night sky. no city light in their way as they stood a few hundred meters from the ground. she beat up the metal roof of a small car and pulled it off so that they could place it on the ground. they both sat down on top of it, one of her hands holding him while the other's palm flattened out on the sheet of metal. evaporating; within seconds, they were among the clouds. she warped them back and he activated his ability to carry both of their weights.

suspended in the sky, suspended in time.

"never seen the stars this clearly before," she murmured, feet dangling over the edge as she laid down. "living in the city really takes away from the small things, doesn't it?"

"guess so," he said, doing the same as she did.

silence. nothing except the breeze and the frigid air and their breathing.

"the stars are beautiful," she said, dumbly, not knowing what else to say.

"yeah," he responded simply.

more silence. she could've sworn he could hear her heart pounding.

"...is it heavy to hold both of us up?"

"not really."

it was getting painful.

"shit, it's cold up here."

"uh huh."

she wasn't lying, it really was cold. but at least the numbness in her fingers took over for the numbness in her mind.

"should we head down?"

"sure."

she held onto the plate, then reached for his hand. she hesitated. it felt like she was always making the first move, always trying to do something, and now it was feeling all wrong. she just wanted him to confirm anything, tell her anything, anything at all.

she got over herself, took his frozen hand in hers and brought them back down.

she took her brother's advice and got over herself.

of course, she still filled him in on anything he needed to know and she occasionally tried to talk with him, but it was as if he was purposefully avoiding not only her hints, but anything at all that she did.

so, she was quite surprised when she found that he'd left her a message telling her to show up at a bar in between the two cities that evening.

her leg bounced uneasily while she sat at a table, drinks already ordered but her glass toyed with between her fingers while she waited. thankfully, it wasn't long before he arrived, amber eyes catching hers from across the room.

"hey," she smiled, trying to repress the butterflies and keep a level head. "what did you— huh?!"

tachihara had grabbed her arm with a tight grip, firmly pulling her up to her feet as she complied, confused.

"ow, lay off my arm— I'll follow you but where the fuck are we going? I ordered drinks, y'know, feels like a waste..."

"will you shut the actual fuck up?" he interrupted again, now pulling her outside of the bar completely and pushing her against the wall. "are you fucking stupid?"

"what the hell? what's wrong with you, tachiha-"

"I'd ask you the same thing. look, I'm not dumb. I can practically feel your heart beating out of your chest right now."

"wha-"

"look, I ain't a patient man. just say it to my face."

it took his stern expression, the way he was almost trapping her against the brick wall of the building and looking as serious as she'd ever seen him to realize that they were both thinking the same thing.

"what, do you wanna hear that I like you? you're gonna make me sound like a lovesick schoolgirl," she chuckled, using humour to envelope her confession so that whatever came next would hurt less. or so, she hoped.

"not good enough."

she narrowed her eyes at him. "the fuck do you mean, not good enough? I've been trying to drop you hints for the past century and your dense ass wasn't having it, all of a sudden you're acting distant, then you're pulling me out of a bar and asking me to confess to you? fine, you wanna hear about how fucking stupid I am around you? you wanna hear how I read over every message you've ever sent me before I go to sleep, how I can't do shit without seeing something that reminds me of you, how I feel like I'm going to combust into a thousand fucking pieces whenever I see you smile at one of my lame jokes? you wanna hear about every time I told myself I'd say something and then I back out of it? you wanna—"

she stopped talking as soon as his hand wrapped around her neck, fingertips intertwined with her hair and thumbs running upwards along her ears so he had a good enough hold to pull her into his lips.

maybe it was everything she'd ever imagined, or maybe it wasn't. who cares. he was kissing her.

she didn't know what to do, how to kiss him back when he was pressing into her like he wanted this as badly as she did. her body went along with his, allowing him to push her harder against the wall and kiss her deeper. it didn't end, her lips opening up and panting softly into his mouth while his tongue took over. he drew pictures of her into the roof of her mouth, and she was drunk on his spit by the time he pulled away.

"fucking finally," he breathed out, chest rising and falling against hers.

"I'm so goddamn confused," she giggled back, "not that I'm complaining."

"you didn't just drop hints, you threw them at my fuckin' face, [_____]. I was waiting for you to make the first move and you didn't, so I tried somethin' else to see if you'd get sick and tired and finally say it. but you didn't, and I wasn't gonna wait any longer."

"you could've just asked me first, you dipshit."

he grinned that stupid, smug grin she couldn't get over. "yeah, but then I wouldn't have heard your little speech there."

"oh, fuck you." her words didn't match her actions, grabbing handfuls of his jacket and pulling him in for another kiss.

for an impatient man, he felt like he waited his whole life for this moment.

#IDK WHY IM HAVING BRAINFARTS AND CANT WRITE GOOD RN SOBBING #tachihara michizou #bsd tachihara #tachihara x reader #bungo stray dogs tachihara #tachihara michizou x reader #bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs #bsd #bungo stray dogs x reader #tachihara x reader bsd #tachihara bsd x reader #tachihara bsd #tachi fics #im unwell for them

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