#cocktail chats have been on my mind lately so here you go
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Family Affair
Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, cheating, violence, humiliation, biting, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Summary: Your sister surprises you with good news but you find it difficult to be happy for her. (older, short reader)
Character: Curtis Everett
Note: Happy Curtmas.
For @the-slumberparty Naughty or Nice Challenge.
As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me 💞
Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)
Love you all. Take care. 💖
Chatter buzzes from the front room as you brace the wall and lift your foot to unzip your wedge boot. You’re late and the guests are already in the throes of their celebration. You wiggle off both boots and set them amid the clutter of many. As you stand straight and gather up your gift bags and purse, you’re met with an unexpected sight.
You lift a brow, slightly confused by the unfamiliar man. He’s tall, his hair is cut short, and dark stubble adds definition to his well-formed jaw. His eyes are a bold shade of aquamarine but are glossed over with an almost indifferent gleam. He doesn’t say a word as your eyes meet and he just as quickly turns into the front room, hands tucked into the pockets of his black jeans.
It’s been a few years. You’re sure a lot has changed. You head down the hall, past the broad archway of the front room, and into the kitchen. As usual, your mother is there, readying another tray of finger foods.
She looks up from her intent work and gives a wide smile, “you’re here!” She chimes, “I was half-waiting for a call saying you wouldn’t make it.”
Her arrow hits the bullseye of your guilt. You haven’t been the most reliable. You can make excuses; the divorce, work, depression. None of that can assuage her.
“Sorry, mom,” you go to put the gift bags down and she stops you with a tut.
“Ah, ah, you go add those to the pile and say hello,” she demands, “you’re not hiding in here.”
You look at her, almost desperate. You love her but sometimes you wonder if that feeling is mutual. As much as she’s right, you hoped she might have some empathy. She’s been through a turbulent split, she’s had to start again, but she expects you to do it flawlessly. As she has anything else.
“Love you, mom,” you give a sheepish smile.
“Love you too, hon,” she goes back to arrange the spiral of cocktail weenies, “make sure you say hello to your sister. She’s so excited to see you.”
You nod and a real smile breaks through. That was the one light at the end of the tunnel. Your baby sister was always your favourite. Despite nearly two decades between you, she’s your best friend. In a way, you feel like a second mother, taking pride in her like you would a child of your own.
The front room is filled to the brim. Aunt Geri and Uncle Val sit on a sofa with their son, Miko. A cluster of similarly aged cousins stand at the edge of the couch chatting. Aunt Maureen argues with Aunt Kaya, and the latter’s husband stands by the window with a glass in hand and his mind a million miles away.
You always found yourself out of place at these things. When you were a child, you were the youngest one in the room. Too immature to understand the dialogue of your elders. As you got older, the other cousins came along and were too young for your angsty teenage self. Now, you’re caught in the desert between the eras; the retirees complain too much and the coeds talk too loud.
You peer around. A set of broad shoulders draws your eye in the corner of the room. It’s that same man you saw before. He has his back to you as he maintains a casual posture. As he leans on one leg, you see your sister, Adeline, gabbing to him. Oh, he must be with her…
As you drop your gifts under the tree, you mull the revelation. You suppose the assumption wasn’t obvious. At first glance, he’s older than her, or maybe he just looks it. She’s still a sophomore in college but you suppose that makes even more sense. These are the years she gets to figure it all out.
You face the room and stop as Aunt Maureen latches onto your arm, blindsiding you with Kaya as they close in like hyenas.
“There she is,” Maureen slurs.
“Not too good for us after all, huh?” Kaya challenges.
“What? No, uh, Merry Christmas–”
“Where’s Benny?” Maureen interrupts. You blanch, nearly choking on your tongue. The mention of your ex-husband has you breathless.
“Maur,” Kaya hisses, “remember…”
“Probably with his new girlfriend,” you say tersely.
“Oh my,” Maureen lets you go and slaps her forehead, “I’m so sorry. The wine…”
“It’s… okay,” you shrug. “Not talking about it won’t undo it.”
“He was such a charming man,” Maureen hums mournfully. You blink at her.
“His loss,” Kaya pats your arm gently, trying to clean up her sister’s mess. You know they all think the same. You had a good thing and you blew it. Even if you told them he fucked his co-worker, you’d be the one who threw it all away.
“Pity you never got a kid outta him,” Maureen sighs.
“Really, divorce has been final for a year, I’m good,” you insist and shuffle past them, “I’m going to make the rounds.”
“Don’t forget to have some wine,” Maureen calls after you, “takes the edge off disappointment, you know?”
You growl and shake your head as you stalk away. You wave hello to your other aunt and uncle, hoping to avoid a similarly humiliating encounter, and weave through the sea of guffawing cousins. You come out on the other side as Adeline beams up at her guest.
Her gaze is drawn by your movement and her face lights up. She bounces in place and throws her arms out. She rushes past the man and has you wrapped up in a hug. It’s kind of ridiculous how much taller she is. You’re supposed to be the bigger sister.
“You’re here!” She rocks you in her embrace, “eek! I’m so excited.”
You croak out a breath as she squeezes the air out of you. She releases you with a giggle, apologising as she steps back. She wears a long tulle skirt and a beaded sweater. She’s beautiful. You could never pull something like that off, even twenty years ago.
“Oh, oh, you have to meet Curtis,” she snatches your hand and tugs you over the tall man as he turns to face you. Those same vague eyes fall upon you, “Curtis, this is my sister!”
“Curtis,” you repeat, “it’s nice to meet you.”
You look between them with a brittle smile. He offers his hand as he returns the sentiment. You shake, his palm rough and calloused. Adeline vibrates with joy.
“I’ve heard a lot about you,” he says.
“And I’ve heard nothing about you,” you grin at Adeline, “Addy?”
“I’m sorry,” she cups her cheeks guiltily, a sparkle on her ring finger. Your heart drops. “I didn’t know how to– the divorce and–”
“Ad,” you wisp and nearly sway on your feet, “what is that?”
You point to her hand and she quickly swipes it away, hiding it behind her back. “Nothing,” she gulps, the same way she did when she was a child and you caught her playing with your makeup.
There’s a tense silence as you gape in shock. Your mouth hangs open as you search for the words. Your eyes tinge with hot tears but you swallow them back.
“Congratulations,” you draw her into a hug, “really, I’m happy for you.”
She hugs you back, gentler than before. As you part, she looks nervous. Curtis clears his throat.
“Both of you,” you offer him a fragile smile. “I’m sorry, I’m just a little… shocked. Does mom know?”
Adeline nods as she clasps her hands together. You take a breath, and calm yourself. It’s not anything that she fears, you’re not jealous. You’re nervous, you’re afraid for her. It’s a big thing and she’s so young.
“I’m sorry I haven’t been around to share the good news,” you say, “I’d love to help, if I can?”
“We got it,” Curtis insists.
“Oh,” you wince, “I didn’t mean– I could help with the planning or the engagement part–”
“We’re eloping,” he crosses his arms, “we’re not wedding people. Whole lot of money and fanfare for nothing.”
You nod, holding back your surprise as best you can. Nothing? It’s marriage. Even if they don’t want a big ceremony, it means something.
“I could help pay for the trip–”
“I got it,” he enunciates each word as he sidles over to sling his arm around your sister’s back. She looks away meekly.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to overstep. She’s my sister, I just want to–”
“If you wanted to help, you would’ve been around the last two years,” he interjects.
Adeline’s head snaps around as she gives him a look. She nudges him with her elbow and whispers his name. He glares at you as you wilt. You’re not sure what you’ve done or said.
“Well, I think maybe me and Addy can talk about that,” you look at your sister, “when you have a chance, of course. I don’t want to spoil the holiday.”
“Adeline,” he corrects you, “Addy is so juvenile.”
The benefit of the doubt splinters as his tone cuts through you. You bite your tongue. Perhaps a twenty-one year old is juvenile to someone his age. You’ll talk to Addy about that too.
“Adeline,” you force a smile, “I… I’m going to go check on mom.” You show a palm in deference as you excuse yourself, “we’ll catch up later.”
As you back away, your eyes meet Curtis’. He watches you with a scowl. You are taken completely off balance. How could she end up with someone like him? She’s so sweet and he’s so scary…
Maybe she’s afraid too.
🎄
Christmas Eve ends much the same as you remember. The elders sit around the dining table to play cards as the kids, now adults, disperse in the living room or outside to entertain themselves. There’s a vague stench near the front door that no one will comment on but everyone knows what it is as it wafts in from outside.
You find yourself in limbo, once more caught in the in-between. You hole up in the kitchen, staring at the kettle as you wait for it to tremble. You won’t be missed if you take a tea up to your assigned room without a good night.
You lean on the counter and sigh, your finger brushing over the brim of the white porcelain cup with the hen on it. Strange how your mother’s house never seems to change but your life is inextricably altered. Your melancholy dims the cheery decor around you as you wallow away from the voices of the merry.
“There you are,” Adeline startles you as she sweeps in, “oh, is there any of the hot choccy left?”
You smile at her question. Everything about her reminds you of the time passed, of her newfound adulthood, yet she’s just the same little girl you always knew. You turn and pull the tin forward, “one packet left, just for you.”
You pull it out and face her again. She pulls out a mug from the cupboard and sets it down. The kettle hums between you as it heats up.
She exhales as you linger in a tense silence. You both have so much to say but neither of you know where to start. She finds her words first. Despite being younger, she was always the more outspoken.
“Do you like him?” She asks.
You poke your tongue into your cheek, “well, I’ve barely spoken to him. He seems to like you though.”
Her cheeks bulb as she grins bashfully, “I love him.”
Your chest seizes as you recognize that glimmer in her eye. She’s genuine, she feels that love so deeply it consumes her. It’s a naive love but real nonetheless. The sort you can’t see for what it is until it turns sour.
“I can tell,” you reach forward to fix the bow on her headband, “I’m happy for you. And my offer still stands. Maybe if it’s not the wedding, a honeymoon, or help with a house…” you wet your lips and steady your voice, “I only want you to be happy, Addy– Adeline.”
“Oh, he’s just… he’s like that. I can’t even call him Curt. He balances me out,” she beams.
“Yeah,” you say noncommittally.
“What?” Her voice dampens.
“Nothing,” you distract yourself with the variety of tea bags in the wooden chest next to the breadbox, “it’s… a lot. I’m surprised, is all. I just hope it goes well.”
She sniffs and lets her breath out long and heavy, “I’m sorry, I knew– he kinda said you’d probably be upset. After Benny–”
“This has nothing to do with him,” you narrow your eyes at her, a bag of chai in your hand, “this is about you. I only want what’s best for you.”
“He’s so good to me, you don’t have to worry.”
“I can worry, you’re my baby sister,” you insist, “and…” You shake your head, refusing to let the thought escape.
“And what?” She challenges, her pitch squeaking.
“Nothing.”
“No, tell me. I can always tell when you’re dying to say something. What?”
You shrug, “it’s just… how old is he?”
She scoffs, “wow.”
“What? I’m just asking.”
“It’s not like he’s old enough to be dad,” she pouts and crosses her arms.
“I know, I didn’t mean– Ad–Adeline, I just— you have time to figure it out. So I hope you’re not rushing this.”
“I’m not,” she snips, an uncharacteristic edge in her voice.
“I believe you… but what about him?”
She’s quiet as the kettle clicks, signalling the boiling point. You turn and drop the tea bag into your cup and pour the water. She tears open the packet and empties it into her own mug.
“Sorry,” you utter, “forget it. I… I don’t know him so maybe I need to get to know him. I’m here, Ad, and I will always be here for you.”
She nods and reaches for the kettle, not looking at you.
“Really, I trust you. I just worry about you,” you clap your hand on her shoulder, “you’re my lil teddy bear.”
She chuckles and looks down at you, your statement made absurd by the difference in your heights.
“And you’re the big grizzly, scaring off the wolves,” she kids back.
“Adeline,” the deep rumble thunders in ahead of the man, making both of you jump. You pull back your hand as Curtis strides in, “hey, I’ve been waiting on you.”
“Oh, sorry, baby,” she preens at him, “I was just–”
“You said we’d call my family after dinner,” he interrupts.
“I forgot,” she squeals, “oh, I’m so sorry.” She glances over at you, “I did promise.”
“Go on,” you try to smile but you’re not sure it’s showing.
She spins and flits over to Curtis. His eyes meet yours over her shoulder. His brows arch as his jaw is set in stone. A chill runs up your spine at the ice in his dark pupils. He grabs Adeline’s hand and drags her out.
You’re left in silence. You look over at the unmixed powder floating in the steaming water. You chew your lip as you stare at it. It’s just hot chocolate but there’s something about her abandoning something she loves so much for him. You try not to let your own failed marriage echo over her relationship, but it just feels off.
Well, Benny always did say you never did handle change very well.
🎄
The night before Christmas is rarely a restful one. Even without the childish belief in Saint Nick, you find yourself awake, anxious but not for presents. You keep replaying the night through your head; not the awkward interactions with aunts and uncles, or the silent judgment from the younger crowd, but Adeline and Curtis. Let it go, it’s none of your business.
You huff and roll on your back. Sleep eludes you. You sit up and bend over the side of the bed. You hold your head. You’ll sneak out the bathroom and hopefully an empty bladder will help.
You drag your feet across the floor, the legs of your pajama pants too long and trailing down your feet. You open the door and yawn as you enter the hall, only to collide with another unexpected barrier. Before you can react, you’re being forced back into the guestroom, stumbling as your fingers claw at the door frame and slip off.
A hand smothers your mouth, rough against your lips, as a foot kicks the door shut with a sharp click. You murmur into the calloused flesh as an arm loops around your back, trapping you as you’re urged further into the dark. You grasp at the cotton clinging to muscular shoulder. You’re kept off balance by your attacker’s certainty.
“I fucking heard you,” Curtis’ silty grit seeps into your ears, “you think I’d hurt her?” He snarls as he stops you at the foot of the bed. His shadow looms over you, breath puffing from his nostrils as he growls like a beast, “I wouldn’t, but I’ll hurt you.”
He pushes you back so your legs meet the side of the bed. You teeter and clasp your hand around his wrist, squeaking as he easily takes you down onto the mattress. He pins you, your legs hanging off the end, kicking weakly as his other hand curves around your throat.
He bends over you, straddling your chest heavily. You can’t breathe. Your heart pounds until your ears throb. Your temples pulse violently and your throat dries to a sandy scrape.
“Stay out of my fucking business,” he snarls, sliding down your body.
You whimper into his hand as he drops his knees off the bed, holding himself over you. He squeezes your neck, choking out your voice as he drags his hand from your mouth. He feels along your chest and flicks open the top button of your shirt. Your eyes wet in horror.
“Fucking show you…” he sneers as his breath scours over your flesh.
Another button undone as his lips tick along your shoulder. You squeak once more as he sinks his teeth into your flesh, biting a mean pinch until you spasm. The pain is unbearable. You feel the skin break as the hot flow of blood mingles with his spit.
He detaches only to bite you again. You can’t make a noise as his grip grows tighter on your neck. Even if you could scream, you’re too terrified and confused to understand what he’s doing. He’s like an animal tearing you apart.
He lays a tortured path down your chest, lingering on the rise of flesh, gnawing into the tenderness there. His nails dig into your side, pushing up your shirt as he scratches hot lines into your skin. You push on his shoulders desperately but he’s too strong.
“Stop filling her head with your bitterness,” he growls before he bites into your nipple.
You shake and beat on his head, shoulders, and back. You writhe and wrestle, trying to free yourself from him. He continues on, down your stomach, lingering on the soft flesh as his fingers hook into the elastic of your pants.
Your panic overflows with your tears. This can’t be happening. Why would he do this? He could talk to you? You would listen. You didn’t say anything wrong, you just want Adeline to be careful.
The very thought of your sister throttles you. Does he do this to her? Is this why she’s so defensive? The idea makes you sick to your stomach.
He lifts himself, his weight centering on your neck. You think he’ll crush your windpipe as he looms over you, snarling in the blackness. He pushes you higher onto the bed, forcing your legs open with his knees.
“Don’t make a fucking noise or I’ll make sure you can’t,” he threatens, giving a last squeeze before slowly slackening his grip.
You hold your breath. You believe him. Your body goes limp and you close your eyes. The bed shifts as he sits back on his heels. He pulls your pants down your thighs and you whine. He hushes you, a harsh tap across your cheek to get his point across.
You let your head drift to one side as you clench the blanket beneath you in tight fists. He keeps your legs trapped in your pants, knees bent as the fabric strains across his stomach. He tilts and movies around, his fingernails scratching the back of your thighs.
“Bet the husband couldn’t stand your fucking mouth,” he snarls as he pushes roughly against your cunt. “Didn’t know how to train you.” He jams two fingers into you, jolting your entire body, “dry bitch like you, he was probably thirsty as fuck.”
You seal your eyes tight, tears trickling through as a sob bubbles in your throat. You want to tell him to stop. You want to ask why. You want to scream. You can’t do anything as your body locks up.
He fingers you meanly, pulling his fingers out only to ram them in again, each time his knuckles hit you painfully. He keeps it up, growling with each intrusion as your muscles knots and pathetic noises rise from your throat.
He forces your legs higher, tearing his hand away from your pelvis. He adjusts his knees and you feel something else against your cunt.
“No…” you whisper right as he ruts into you.
He splits you apart around him. You let out a holler and he quickly silences you with a crack of his knuckles. The back of his hand snaps off your cheek and turns your head to the other side. You gulp and sob, choking back any noise that threatens to bubble over.
He holds himself as deep as he can. He puts his large hands on your shoulders and pins you flat. He bucks, agony rippling up your spine. He snaps his hips, again and again, each time harder than the last.
“This is what you need. So fucking jealous, aren’t you? Dried up old bitch,” he pumps into you as his breath picks up, “why kind of sister are you, huh? Fucking your baby sister’s man. Fucking slut.”
You cover your face and heave. You’re drowned in pain and humiliation. You’re disgusted with him for doing this to you; and yourself for letting him.
“You don’t wanna hurt her, do you?” He growls, “that’s why this is happening… cause you wanna keep her safe, right?”
He puts his hand against your head and pushes it down into the bed, fucking you into the mattress. The frame pounds the wall, matching his furious rhythm. You reach to brace his thick arm, begging silently for it to end.
“Oh, it’ll be over soon,” he rasps as his hand once more frames your throat, “fuck, you got me ready to blow quicker than I thought.” He puffs, each thrust rattling your bones, “I love how weak you are.”
#curtis everett#dark curtis everett#dark!curtis everett#curtis everett x reader#fic#dark fic#dark!fic#one shot#snowpiercer#au#christmas#naught or nice
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waiting game | daniel ricciardo
pairing: daniel ricciardo x you
summary: in which you switch your phone with daniel's without knowing
tags: falling in love; chatting and messages; kind of enemies to friends to lovers
warnings: insecure reader; f!reader; dumb people
chapter: 2/?
(you: blue/ daniel: orange)
chapter 2 - exchanges
hot stuff said: i have something to tell
hot stuff said: but please
hot stuff said: don’t be mad
hot stuff said: i dropped your phone today
hot stuff said: i’m a little clumsy sometimes but it’s one hundred per cent okay
hot stuff said: trust me
ma fraise said: i have no other option than to believe you
ma fraise said: it’s okay this phone has seen worst days
ma fraise said: a little fall won’t hurt
hot stuff said: phew
hot stuff said: glad we aren’t too attached to our phones’ conditions
ma fraise said: our phones are warriors then!
You put almost the whole toast inside your mouth, munching it slowly. The phone keeps on buzzing with new messages and it can only be one person - your contact list being downsized to one person during those two weeks. You’ve been talking nonstop, mostly about nothing serious, just like you would do with your friends normally.
He’s with you all the time, telling you about his day, sending pictures of cocktails he’s drinking in a bar with his friend, knowing how stupid you can get when you forget where his phone is. Or when you say you want to listen to a new song and he immediately sends you the most unexpected song - that you secretly love but won’t tell him right away.
You show him the flowers near your apartment, the food you eat in the restaurant and share with him places you’re visiting in Monaco, even though he says he already knows Monaco. Well, you too, but he doesn’t need to know about it.
He’s as you expected after your first chat: easy going, nice and respectful. Every time Charles and Pierre messages you, he’s there to tell you all about it. He finds it weird that they keep messaging your phone, knowing you’re not in possession of it, but doesn’t mind being the messenger with your friends.
It’s been like living with him, but you continue not to know who he is, and probably won’t know until you decide to reveal yourselves. You won’t be joining the boys for the next race, because you’re on vacation, so your phone will be handed to him by Charles and Pierre.
This is great, actually. You’ve been telling yourself about your connection with this stranger, how it’s easy to chat with him, even on bad days, but you don’t feel confident to meet him in person, yet. Your best friends don’t understand you, they never did, but your self confidence is nowhere to be found since you were younger. They think you’re pretty, but inside your head, you keep track of all of your flaws - and they are too many. You don’t want your new friend to know this other side of you. You want him to stay close, to be with you during your days and nights. You can’t meet him, you need to keep your identity a secret.
He doesn’t seem to care about not knowing who you are, he actually enjoys the mystery. It makes you more entertaining, you think, and that keeps him entertained.
After finishing your small meal, you go back to your room. It’s already late at night, completely dark inside your room. The only bright thing is the screen of your phone while you type the messages.
ma fraise said: what are you doing awake right now
ma fraise said: it’s already late where you are
hot stuff said: well i’m spending my night talking with a stranger
hot stuff said: when i was supposed to be sleeping
hot stuff said: i have to be up very early tomorrow
ma fraise said: oh i don’t wanna be a bad influence to you
hot stuff said: i’m already here
hot stuff said: more sleep less sleep it won’t make a different ig
ma fraise said: i’m the opposite
ma fraise said: every second of sleep is precious
ma fraise said: if i can sleep longer i will
hot stuff said: you sound like a healthy man
ma fraise said: a man who appreciates the act of sleeping
ma fraise said: if you’re not going to sleep...
ma fraise said: let’s chat a little more
ma fraise said: what do you enjoy doing?
hot stuff said: this the type of question that i totally know the answer
hot stuff said: but when people ask me
hot stuff said: i just forget
hot stuff said: everything.
hot stuff said: i don’t know things i enjoy
hot stuff said: well. i know. i just cant name them right now
ma fraise said: same
ma fraise said: i hate when people ask my good qualities
ma fraise said: like cmon
ma fraise said: i have plenty
ma fraise said: but i just forgot all of them because you asked
hot stuff said: RIGHT?
hot stuff said: i like arts
hot stuff said: i guess
hot stuff said: movies too
hot stuff said: and sports
hot stuff said: well of course i like sports i work with it
ma fraise said: hmmm so you are indeed working in the f1 field
hot stuff said: damnnnnnnn
hot stuff said: there goes my plan in you not finding out who i’m
ma fraise said: don’t worry there’s a lot of people working there
ma fraise said: i still have no idea who you are
ma fraise said: but i like to think that we are close
ma fraise said: maybe i will stop by your work someday
ma fraise said: who knows
hot stuff said: please doooon’t
hot stuff said: also you’ll have to go through a bunch of boring ass engineers
hot stuff said: before finding me in there
ma fraise said: maybe you’ll stand out to me
ma fraise said: when i see you
ma fraise said: my eyes will shine and know it’s you
hot stuff said: no you won’t ha
hot stuff said: i’m pretty ordinary
hot stuff said: your eyes would never shine for me
ma fraise said: if we ever meet irl
ma fraise said: you’ll see if they’re shining or not
ma fraise said: but until then
ma fraise said: i’d like to think they would
hot stuff said: you’re too nice
ma fraise said: i think we make a good pair
—
It’s already the day Pierre and Charles have to leave for race week and they will take the stranger’s phone to exchange it with yours. Everything is already planned, the two of them will leave the phone on a table in the Ferrari space in the paddock, since he knows you’re a Ferrari fan. And after practice day, he will leave your phone there too. That means two things: he will be there the whole race weekend and no cell phone for you in the next following days.
That could be a good thing, because you will enjoy your vacations more, spend more you-time than you would with a phone on sight. You can freely do whatever you want. Go swimming, shopping or even hiking, the options are endless.
But you end up spending the weekend in front of the tv, watching Formula 1 content. Maybe you’re destined to only enjoy that, it’s your work, your hobby and you can’t escape it. Also, every time the camera focuses on someone in the garages a thought crosses your mind that they could be the stranger you created a bond with. You hug your legs and eat your granola as you enjoy your time alone watching the preparations for the race.
It’s actually enjoyable now, since you don’t have to worry about your work, your heart only beats faster because you want your best friends to do good on track, and especially this weekend, they are having amazing results. Everything is going according to plan and you get to be at ease a little.
Pierre and Charles are always saying about how you worry too much, your brain is always making things up inside of it, creating unreal and real problems for it to solve. But about this? You feel as if you are freeing yourself more and more, especially because you don’t have to worry about things you normally put all your energy into.
—
bubbles said: phones switched!
bubbles said: but he might have bumped into us accidentally while doing it
—
You look at your friends, arms crossed in front of your chest. Your phone is between you on the table of your kitchen. The boys are having breakfast, Pierre having a bowl of cereal and Charles eating all the strawberries he found in your fridge.
“So?” You ask, waiting for them to talk, the ice in your orange juice melting as you wait.
“Yeah, that happened, he saw us.” Charles starts, not giving much thought to the story “Pierre wanted to pee and then stopped to talk with his crew, so we got late and when we arrived to leave the phone, he was already there, waiting.”
You feel like snorting at them, because they have seen the mysterious guy you’ve been talking to for those two weeks, but they did more than expected. Race week is already chaotic for them, too stressful, and they did you a favor. You can’t blame them for meeting your stranger.
“Have he said something?” You switched your position in your chair.
“He laughed.” Charles shrugs “Like a lot, because he thought I was the owner of the phone for a moment and was pretending to be a girl.”
“So, you already know him?”
“Yeah, a bit, maybe.” Now it’s time for Pierre to talk, he sounds as bored as Charles, but you know they are faking it. They want to sound unenthusiastic so you won’t get a hint of who the mysterious guy is “He definitely is a guy.”
There’s a question that gets stuck in your throat, the words almost leaving your mouth, but you hold up. You rephrase your thought “H-How does he look? Normal?”
“You mean two eyes and one nose? Yeah, normal.” Pierre sips from his juice.
Charles chuckles “She wants to know if he’s handsome.” You try to defend yourself, your mouth opening and closing as you try to choose which word you should. In the end nothing comes out “He’s pretty decent, don’t worry.”
“I’m not worried about it.” You try not to blush at his comment. Of course you wanted to know more about his appearance, but him being handsome or not wouldn’t change anything. This was the point of it all, not caring about his looks, you remember yourself “If you two know him and have seen him, are you more at ease about me exchanging messages with him?”
They both nod, exchanging a look you can’t catch what it means. You take your phone from the spot it has been sitting for a moment. It feels new, as if you got a brand new one, but it’s your old phone that took a break from you. When the lock screen lights up you feel a chuckle bubble up your throat.
hot stuff said: i thought pierre was catfishing me this whole time i’m glad you’re not him
hot stuff said: i knew it wasn’t him after all!!
hot stuff said: also will never leave charles alone about his nickname being bubbles
ma fraise said: won’t you tell me what you did in front of pierre to be so embarrassed of him?
hot stuff said: nothing too serious only drunk people doing shit hahah
hot stuff said: but he always remembers me about it when i see him
ma fraise said: ugh you already know too much about me
ma fraise said: you already know i’m friends with these idiots but i know nothing about you
ma fraise said: are you an engineer? a journalist? a mechanic? NO IDEA
hot stuff said: i’m liking this whole secretive thing
hot stuff said: won’t open my mouth about it. it was your idea deal with it
You sigh at the message, not because you desperately wanted to know who this person is - you don’t, really - but you want to know more about him. You feel like he already knows too much about you, he’s so close to you and you still know nothing about him. It feels unfair.
“We are going to meet the boys in Max’s house, you wanna join? Or are you in a formula-1-free-time even for this?” Charles asks, finishing his snack. You debate if it’s better to go with them, or stay alone, but you've been alone for too many days.
“No, it sounds nice. I like Max’s company, he’s always doing something embarrassing in my presence.”
“Because you only saw him drunk outside of tracks.” Pierre says.
“So I hope there’s booze today too.” You smile at them, leaving for your room to get ready.
But first you text your mysterious boy.
ma fraise said: tell me a secret about you
ma fraise said: something that will surprise me
ma fraise said: then we will be even with all of this
—
When you arrive at Max’s apartment with your two best friends you remember why you always ditch them when they invite you to these kinds of meetings. It’s basically you with a bunch of boys drinking together, and there’s nothing that will get into your insecurities than being in the presence of men that are always around perfect women and models.
You’re not like that, far from being perfect in any way. You’re way too ordinary, and even if that’s not a flaw, you feel like it is in this world. Charles has literally slapped you one time because you were talking lowly about you on a night out and he totally disagreed with you. Pierre sided with Charles that night.
Tonight there’s no one for you to compare with, no girlfriends in sight, but you still have those thoughts wandering inside your mind. You try to hide them with a sweet smile. The others that are there are also drivers, friends with Charles and Pierre, and obviously, with Max too. They are drinking beer and eating snacks in front of the television when you three arrive.
They are watching a volleyball match as background and with music on, not your favorite sport but enough for you to engage with. You greet all of them and sit on a spot near the tv, more interested in the game than in their silly conversation. Pierre telling them about the stories you’ve already heard him telling you about.
“Hey.” you look away from the tv to Daniel Ricciardo sitting next to you, with a bowl full of peanuts in one hand and the other holding his beer “want some?”
“No, thank you, Daniel.” You smile at him.
“Oh, you know who I am!” He sits beside you and sounds indeed surprised.
You raise one of your eyebrows because yes, you know him. He’s friends with your friends for years, you’ve been introduced to him more than once through the years. And of course, he’s a famous driver, even if Charles and Pierre never introduced you two, you would know who he is.
“Well, we met before so yeah, I do.” Your smile fades a bit, only staying in your lips as you try to sound well mannered.
“We did?” He has an amused tone to it that makes something sting inside of you.
“Maybe you were a bit too drunk in those encounters, but we definitely met.” You put a bit of space between you two and this time, you let your annoyance show in your face.
“Come on, are you offended I don’t remember who you are? Did I hook up with you or…?” Daniel says it, touching your shoulder with his and you try to control yourself and not roll your eyes at him.
“I’m not offended at all, but if I’m not interesting to you, I see no reason in sharing a longer conversation with you right now.” You say, hardly looking in Daniel’s direction, keeping your eyes away from his.
You aren’t offended as you said, but there’s something twisting inside of you. You know you have nothing special in you. There’s no reason for him or anyone to remember who you are, you’re like a ghost to everyone most of the time… You try to block your thoughts from going into that specific part of your mind, or you would sink into it too quickly.
“Okay, if you’re not offended we can talk a bit.” He smiles at you, leaving his beer on the floor and starting to eat the peanuts from his bowl “If you tell me your name right now, I promise I won’t forget.”
You roll your eyes “I don’t think that’s important to you at all.” You almost hiss it in his direction, crossing your arms “As you made it seem you don’t even remember the name of the people you hook up, mine isn’t as necessary as those.”
“This leaves me no option, but to call you the way I want.” You shrug, not caring about his opinion - just a bit maybe.
“Go ahead.”
“So you won’t mind if I call you…” He leans into your direction, now you can smell the beer on his breath. Nice, he’s alway drunk when he’s around you “baby girl?”
You almost choke when he whispers the words near you. You look at him, to find him smiling big at your reaction. You become dead serious, hearing him laughing because even if you have a straight face, you must be blushing.
But two can play this game.
“Are you trying to tell me something?” You raise your eyebrows “I’m sorry, but this doesn’t work with me, especially from men that act more like a kid.”
You get up from where you’re sitting, feeling annoyed and bothered by him, finding it more peaceful to be near your best friends. Even if you’ve heard this event story too many times.
hot stuff said: a secret?
hot stuff said: lemme thnk aoubt somwthing
(prev chap // next chap)
#daniel ricciardo#f1#daniel ricciardo fanfic#f1 imagine#f1 x you#formula 1#daniel ricciardo x reader#daniel ricciardo x you#f1 fic#awriting#wg
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Silk and Fire - Chapter 3
pairing: namjoon x f.reader x jungkook
genre: romance | drama | smut +18 MDNI
status: ongoing
word count: 2.1k
You can read about this story and other chapters here.
warnings: mentions of sexual activity, masturbation, cheating, a little angst (lmk if I missed anything)
You go about your day as usual. Why wouldn’t you? Oh right... You had a dream in which Jungkook fingered you until you were a babbling mess about to cum. If that was not enough, in your dream, Namjoon was sleeping in your shared room while his friend made you moan and squirm under his touch. But that was it... it was a dream. You need to get over it so you stay busy.
Big breakfasts were not your go-to thing every morning. However, today it needed to be. You blast music on your speakers as you cook and eat, your phone facing down somewhere in the living room, Jungkook’s follower request is still there. It’s already too late for an elaborate outfit to go to work, so you just put on your nice jeans, a pale pink blouse, and your comfy work flats.
Luckily for you, the day runs by with lots of things to tend to. Meeting after meeting, a full inbox, chitchat with coworkers. Great!
“Hey, there’s someone here to see you,” Marcia interrupts your typing. You like Marcia. She is the best assistant one could have. Attentive, caring, amazing in what she does, and a true confidant and friend.
“Huh? My next meeting is not until 3:30, I was about to take my lunch break. Is Mrs. Tang early?” you start fixing your makeup. No matter if you already met a client, you always double-check your makeup before a meeting.
“Um... no, this is not Mrs. Tang. It’s a Mr. Jeon?” she raises her eyebrows, cheeks flushing in embarrassment.
Walking in what appears to be slow-motion, there he is, Jeon Jungkook. Hoseok was completely right, he does like making a big entrance. He dresses in a casual black t-shirt with ripped jeans, glasses, and a messy hairstyle that gives him a look to die for.
“Thank you, Marcia, you are so attentive,” he smiles at her. Marcia is a giggling mess, especially when Jungkook opens and closes the door for her, making direct eye contact.
What the actual fuck?
“Wh-wha-what are you doing here? Wh-why? No,” you say standing up. He scans you up and down taking his time.
“This is not... you can’t just barge in, there is a procedure and why are you here?” your tone getting more and more guttural in annoyance.
“I am here to take you to lunch.”
Fuck.
_________________________________________
This was certainly not the plan. You were supposed to be here with Namjoon, the reservation was made for two, that plus one being your boyfriend not Jungkook. It seems almost funny how Namjoon couldn’t make it and you would have known this earlier if you didn’t keep your phone buried in your desk drawer specifically to avoid thinking about Jungkook’s follower request or any flashbacks of that very explicit sex dream. Now you are being walked to your table with the same man you’ve been trying to keep off your mind.
“Here are your menus. A waiter will be with you shortly,” the host smiles and leaves you alone with Jungkook. The air suddenly feels too heavy and you fight the urge to run away.
“Namjoon was really bummed he couldn’t make it, that’s all he whined about in the group chat. I just took the liberty to step in and get to know you better,” he takes a sip of his water.
You slowly nod and have some water as well, your eyes glued to the menu.
“Hello, my name is Tiffany, may I get you started with some drinks?” the waitress interrupts. She is beautiful. Gorgeous long, black, hair, full lips and breasts, her brown skin smooth, and a smile that could certainly get her anything she wanted.
“I’ll have your strongest cocktail, thank you,” you blurt out.
Jungkook can’t help but laugh, his eyes on you. You are waiting for him to flirt with pretty Tiffany, but that moment never comes. He orders whiskey instead. Neat.
“You didn’t have to come, you know,” you start, but Jungkook waves his hands dismissively.
“I wanted to see you,” and with that simple sentence you feel your heart beat faster, your hands sweaty, and let’s be honest, your cunt needy. “I– know you saw something the other night...”
“I didn't see anything,” you lie.
He smirks. He better stop doing that or you’re going to lose it. Thankfully, now your drinks are here and you chug half of it in an attempt to make the lunch less awkward. Tiffany hands Jungkook his drink, their hands slightly touching. You see her walk away, waiting for Jungkook to follow her with his eyes, but he never does. Once again those doe eyes are on you, he looks at your lips as he drinks his whiskey, shameless.
“I was hoping we could break the awkwardness now that we are alone... tell me, did you like what you saw?”
You’re shocked. What is he trying to do? You ignored his comment and called Tiffany who kindly took your order. The faster you eat, the faster you get out of there, but at this point, you were getting annoyed, annoyed by Jungkook’s audacity.
“You are missing your chance there, you know,” for the first time today, you look at him in the eye. “She is really pretty, and your type, right? Pretty waitresses?”
Jungkook almost spits his drink after your bold observation. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and leans closer to you, the table acting as a barrier between your bodies.
“My type is sitting right in front of me,” he whispers.
“Oh please... stop that. What are you trying to do? I’m with Namjoon, did you forget that?” “Yeah, and where is he now?”
This is it. You stand up and grab your purse. Anger blinded you as your legs took you as far away from him as possible. You were angry with Jungkook, but you were even angrier at yourself because he was right. Where the fuck was Namjoon? He does this often, he promises he’ll be there but then something comes up. You miss him.
Jungkook runs after you.
“Please, don’t go I'm sorry! I’m sorry.”
You are already about the leave the restaurant.
“What is it Jungkook? Leave me alone!”
“I’m just trying to– shit, I don’t know...”
“Just go and fuck the waitress, would you?” you snap walking out, but he follows you and grabs your arm.
“I fucked her because I couldn’t fuck you!” he yells. Frustration in his eyes, you can see how his chest seems even bigger and his breathing gets heavier.
Your heart stops.
“I’m sorry, fuck, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell,” he runs his fingers through his hair as he closes the distance between the two of you.
There’s an unspoken apology, an understanding that just comes by looking into each other’s eyes. You don’t know why but there is something pulling you towards Jungkook, like you need
him. A battle between the brain, the heart, and raw desire. Your hand lands on his arm and your lips slowly come closer to his face. Jungkook turns his face, wanting to capture your lips on his, but he fails, your objective met to give him an apologetic, chaste, kiss on his cheek.
You linger too close to his lips, the faint scent of whiskey mixed with his own signature scent intoxicating your body and soul. Both your lips almost grasing you can almost taste him.
“I should go,” and betraying how much your body wanted to kiss him, you pulled yourself away from him and stormed down the street.
Jungkook watches you leave, wishing he could run after you once more and kiss you senseless. Fucking hell, how bad he wanted to kiss you, make you forget you were spoken for... his fingers wanting to touch you, his eyes wanting to see you melt for him, his ears wanting you to beg for him. How perfect must your lips feel on his, how perfect you must taste. Why Namjoon? Of course, he understood why Namjoon. But still... why?
Betraying your sense of righteousness, you look over your shoulder to see Jungkook’s face light up, his chest inflating with hope, just to deflate with dismay as you continue to walk away from him.
______________________________
When Namjoon gets home you are already in bed, begging for the sleeping pills in your system to work. He gets into bed his body craving yours.
“Babe, I’m sorry I’m so late, sorry I couldn’t be with you today,” he whispers as he kisses your temple, then your shoulder. “Let me make it up to you...” he waits for an answer but you don’t give him one. “Please...”
“No worries, babe,” you finally say, but you don’t truly mean it. However, you still give him a peck on the lips. Namjoon is an understanding man, so he gets that you are not in the mood.
Maybe you should have taken another melatonin pill. The soft buzz of your phone wakes you up. Unknown number. You always answered these no matter what, you feared it was an emergency.
“Hello?” you croak, your voice raspy, half of you still asleep.
“I want you to walk to the bathroom, and close the door behind you.” Jungkook.
“Wh–what?”
“Baby... do as you are told, you don’t wanna wake him up,” he coos.
In what appears to be a trance, you obey, making your way to the bathroom, a few feet from where Namjoon lies fast asleep. You lock the door behind you, the only source of light being your phone and the city lights that creep on the window.
“You’re in?”
“Yes...” you await for his next instruction, nervous. Tempted.
“Turn on the shower, I don’t want anyone else to listen to our after-hour conversation,” and he waits until he listens to the background noise of water running.
“Good... Now I want you to touch yourself,” he starts, eliciting a gasp from your lips. “Sit and spread those gorgeous legs, for me baby.”
You sit on the closed toilet seat and you open your legs. His voice gives forbidden commands that your body just does naturally like you are under his spell, but you don’t want to break it.
“Are you wearing any underwear?” “N-no...”
“Just how I like it, I knew you would be ready for me,” his chuckles audible from the other side of the phone. “I’m going to guide you through this, okay? You are not allowed to do anything if I don’t command it. Got it, darling?”
“Yes.”
“Pinch your nipples for me. I bet they’re already hard...”
You are possessed by the way his voice makes you twist with pleasure in the darkness. Your moans are forced to be kept to the minimum as he teases you.
“You have no idea how much I want to touch you, my hands teasing one of your breasts and I flick your nipple with my tongue. Would you like that, baby?”
“Y-yes, please,” you can’t help it.
“Use only one finger, but don’t put it in yet. Rub it up and down your folds, tell me, how wet are you?
“Mmmhhh... very wet, I’m wet.”
“Good. I want you to cum for me through the phone, would you do that for me?”
No answer. You are lost in pleasure as you tease yourself, rubbing just as he said.
“Already too pleasure-drunk to speak? Get one finger in... deep. In and out, baby, pound that pussy really good for me,” his breath hitching as he fists his cock on the other side of the phone.
“Ah– ah– fuck...” your little moans fuel him to get to his release as you are close as well and the palm of your hand hits your clit again and again.
“Yes, baby, just like that... are you feeling good?” “Y-yes. Good.”
Your middle finger soaked in your juices now quickens the pace, the sound of your wetness masked by the shower running beside you. It seems like there is no other place you rather be than here, fucking yourself as he orders you to. Blinded by desire, submissive to his spell. You are close, right there with him, as his voice encourages you to finish.
“C’mon, baby, cum... cum... please, I need you to cum,” and you can hear in his voice he is waiting for you to give in to his orgasm.
With a muffled cry, you give in, the tension in you shattering into a million pieces, the ecstasy of your climax engulfing you into a blanket of bliss. Jungkook curses under his breath. Fuck. This was hot. You can’t think straight, you can’t process what just happened.
“You did so well... y-you did s-so good,”; a fucked-out Jungkook says.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
A knock on the bathroom door.
“Babe, is everything alright?” Namjoon.
“Goodnight, baby... See you tomorrow.”
The call ends.
--------------------------------------
a/n: this is pure ✨fiction✨ updates will be every Monday(: ... lmk if you would like to be tagged (;
tags: @paramedicnerd004 | @darkuni63 |
#kpop smut#kpop fanfic#bts smut#bts fanfic#bts imagines#bts scenarios#bts hard thoughts#namjoon x reader#namjoon smut#namjoon imagine#namjoon scenarios#jungkook x reader#jungkook smut#jungkook scenarios#jungkook imagine#namkook#astayinwonderland
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Since it’s Christmas, I had this fic floating around in my mind for sometime. So here’s [Redacted]’s Christmas Miracle. A little Christmas present for my fellow 14 days with you enthusiasts ^^
It’s a little long, but it’s a wholesome story.
(This wonderful visual novel and characters belong to -@14dayswithyou )
[Redacted] x GN Reader
Word count- 1541 words
[Redacted]’s Christmas Miracle
It was Christmas Eve. The chilling air danced around [Redacted’s] form, biting and nipping at his exposed nose and ears. All his piercings felt cold on his face, numbing it in a way he liked.
He trudged towards the downtown bar, inconspicuously following a raucous group of friends from a safe distance. He didn’t have a hard time blending with the shadows, for he believed he had quite a forgettable appearance.
Sighing, he dumped a paper bag filled with contact lenses, hair extensions, and bar equipment into his black bag. He had lost count of the numerous personalities he had perfected and put on in the past few months.
[y/n]’s tastes kept changing as they went through phases, and he went along with their every preference, trying to fit into their fantasies and become someone that Angel noticed. [Redacted] would go to the ends of the earth for his Angel but the last personality was sure a pain to master.
It was during one of the multiple video chats with Moth earlier this month when [y/n] mentioned that they had recently developed a taste for cool and mysterious bartenders who were specifically, ‘brown-eyed, had slightly long dark hair, and performed cool tricks with cocktail-shakers’
Hence the brown lenses and the hair extensions. But [Redacted] winced when he remembered the endless nights spent trying to master the cocktail shaker tricks. All that effort and his Angel didn’t even notice him, save for a small polite ‘thank you’ that he knew they reserved for strangers.
He felt a little disheartened that this personality failed too. Nothing lately had been enough to grab [y/n]’s attention and he was itching to get closer to his Angel. To somehow be a part of their perfect little circle that he was always a spectator of.
He continued his slow pace, training his eyes on the only person that mattered in that group of friends. Or ‘fiends’ as [Redacted] liked to call them. Although he loved [y/n] unconditionally, sometimes he cannot help but question their taste in the people they chose to surround themselves with.
[Redacted] cursed fluently under his breath, “Why that handsy little piece of…” and balled his fists at his sides when he saw Teo playfully slap [y/n]’s bum, suddenly regretting not having brought his trusty sledgehammer together.
As they walked further down the street, it gradually became crowded with last-minute shoppers. For a short moment, [Redacted] ran into a big family walking towards the diner across the street. He lost sight of Angel and their friends, but due to his tall height towering over all the people, he lost no time as he spotted them in the gaggle of people.
A cold and wet sensation fluttered on his eyelids. One of the kids yelled, annoyingly tugging at his father’s coat, “Look! Look! Dad it’s snowinggggg” the kid said in a sing-song voice. [Redacted] looked up at the dark sky in wonder, “Oh, it’s snowing alright!” he murmured as if noticing his surroundings for the first time.
The atmosphere put a damper on [Redacted]’s already souring mood. He was not a holiday person, and these joyous festivities felt increasingly nauseating as he walked further down the street.
[Redacted] turned a corner, tailing Angel and their friends. A man dressed as Santa intercepted his silent vigil, grating on his nerves. Dangling a tiny candy-cane keychain, he spoke in that phony signature Santa voice, “Ho Ho Ho boy here, take this keychain for a dollar and make a wish…your little donation will help several homeless children.” the man demanded, eyeing him expectantly.
[Redacted]’s azure eyes volleyed between Angel and this darned man who seemed like he would not leave anytime soon.
Exasperated, he reached into his pocket and placed a dollar on the man’s outstretched palm—with more force than necessary—snatching the keychain from his grasp. He stuffed it deep into his jeans pocket and began moving towards the bar.
“Make a wish boy. Believe in the Christmas Miracle !” The phony Santa called after him. [Redacted] rolled his eyes and scoffed, “Miracle…as if”
The fact [Redacted] did not believe in miracles would be the understatement of the century. But he didn't know why...he foolishly wanted to believe in them...If only for today. Especially when his ocean eyes longingly traced the outline of Angel with their friends through the glass window from outside. They were sitting cozily inside a booth in the dimly lit bar.
He rubbed his hands together and pulled the hood of his hoodie on his head as he stood there in cold weather. The gentle snow covered his broad shoulders the longer he spent time outside. [Redacted] watched Angel’s antics with amusement, bouncing on the balls of his feet.
The clock was soon approaching midnight. Everyone geared up to welcome Christmas. Angel’s antics became wilder by the second as they slowly went from tipsy to a more drunken state. [Redacted]’s insides itched with anxiety. His protective tendencies flared watching [y/n] twirl around the expanse of the bar. Their friends only laughed at the sight, and Teo even had the gall to record them calling Angel a "terrible lightweight"
'Note to self-corrupt Teo's phone later', he mused with a cold smirk.[Redacted] heaved a frustrated sigh and resignedly decided to go inside and keep a closer watch. But just as he stepped inside the bar, a zooming figure crashed forcefully into his chest, knocking all air out of him.
With mild surprise, [Redacted] realized that it was [y/n] who had bumped into him. Tensed and a little shocked, [Redacted] steadied his little Angel with strong arms, and to his utter disbelief, [y/n] peered up at him, craning their neck at [Redacted]’s towering form.
[Redacted] was dumbstruck. His mind went blank as [y/n], his little adorable Angel, gave him a rare genuine smile. Although [Redacted] knew that his Angel was drunk, his heart still beat a mile a minute as he gawked at that beautiful little smile. His mind zeroed in on the fact that this smile was directed towards him. Not some personality that he had put on, but it was HIM, that they looked at like this.
He hung his head a little, feeling a bit self-conscious. But then his heart almost stopped, his breath hitched in his throat when Angel leaned in closer and traced the snake-bite piercings adorning his face, “These are pretty" they slurred in a cute voice.
“So, do you want to do it?” Angel asked, breaking [Redacted] out of his trance.
“D-Do w-what?” [Redacted] stammered his throat suddenly very dry.
“Oh we’ll have to do it…or else we’ll get bad luck.” [y/n] hiccupped, then yanked [Redacted] by the strings of his hoodie, winding them around their fingers as they pulled him in, mere inches apart from their face.
Reading the slightly alarmed expression on [Redacted]’s face, [y/n] chuckled as they whispered, teasing him a little, “I’m talking about the mistletoe silly..” they winked. And [Redacted] finally noticed the mistletoe hanging above their heads.
“WHOOP DRUNK [y/n] IS THE BEST [y/n] !!!!” Teo cheered in the background as Jae and Leon created a loud ruckus.
“YESS DARL SNOG HIM SENSELESS” Leon yelled too, sloshing around his beer on the table as he egged [y/n] on.
Gaining sudden confidence from all the cheering, Angel smirked smugly before they stood on their tippy toes and leaned in, kissing [Redacted] square on the mouth.
‘Am I dead? Is this what heaven feels like?’ [Redacted] wondered as [y/n]’s breath enveloped his senses. He could taste pineapples and coconuts on their breath.
‘So they had Piñacoladas’ he smiled.
But then his eyes widened when he felt [y/n] slip their tongue into his mouth. It was as if all coherence fled him when he closed his eyes. Giving in to indulgence, he gripped Angel by their waist, pulling them closer. A palm splayed at their back protectively, supporting them as another hand snaked around the nape of their neck, gaining traction as he angled them into a deeper kiss.
A minute passed and Angel broke the kiss in need of air, earning a low whine from [Redacted]. Their chest heaved in tandem. Angel's flushed face smiled at him before they whispered, “Wow…that was my first"
Angel pecked on [Redacted]’s lips one last time and retracted themselves from him. [Redacted]'s hands lingered on their shoulders a beat too long. He balked at the information dropped on him. ‘So it was their first kiss too? But they have always been so popular…’ he thought, marveling at his Angel with a starstruck expression.
The slow din of voices gradually came back, jolting [Redacted] out of this little moment. Angel's friends approached them and whisked them away as [Redacted] swiftly pulled his hood down, shielding his face.
“See you around..” Angel trailed off, waving their fingers at [Redacted], stepping outside into the chilly night air.
For the first time in forever, a big goofy smile broke onto [Redacted]’s face as he stood in the afterglow of that first kiss. It was beautiful and nothing like he had ever imagined. He pushed his hands deep inside his jeans pockets and began following the group when his fingers curled around the candy-cane keychain resting inside.
A mysterious smile bloomed across his face as he wondered, ‘Sometimes miracles do exist’. Trudging along the snowy road, watching his Angel from afar, the atmosphere didn't feel so gloomy anymore
#redacted headcanons#14 days with you#christmas miracle#yandere#yandere male#ren x reader#christmas story#short story#Ashe writes#redacted lives rent free on my mind
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midnight, no headlights // George Daniel- pt 1
content warnings: no smut (yet) but still some kissing so minors go away, drinking, swearing, smoking, awkward flirting and writing because I am not great at either! word count- 2500-ish
a/n: hiii so the vote came out that you didn't mind this fic being split up so, this is the first part! 2014 George has had me in a chokehold recently (thanks to @abiiors) so I had to write something for him!! this is part one of two and I have absolutely no idea when the other part will come out!! I actually kind of hate this but can't cope with it sitting in my google docs any longer. I've been in a massive writing slump lately and I'm really rusty, so if it's awful... be nice about telling me lol. anyway ill stop chatting shit now, here it is
Another espresso martini, great. It seemed like all you had to do for this shift was make them for groups of obnoxious girls. To be honest, you were jealous they were able to go out and have fun on a Saturday night, you were stuck doing a shift at this shitty club for some band's afterparty. The shift started fine, a few pints here, a few ciders there but it had soon devolved into a sticky bar and overly complex cocktails with too many ingredients.
A tattooed hand stuck out from the crowd and soon the tall man attached to it wormed his way through and took a seat on the green barstool in the corner, from just his hand you had assumed you'd be getting another shitty beer but he defied all your expectations when you caught a glimpse of the rest of him.
A pile of badly blonde dyed hair sat on top of his head, either side was shaved. He had a sly look in his eyes but a gentle smile on his face, his features seemed hard individually but when you put them together you were left with a very soft look. His arms were exposed due to the white vest he was wearing, colourful and seemingly random tattoos snaked up them. You couldn't see his bottom half anymore but you caught a glimpse of his black ripped jeans, the outfit was nothing remarkable. In fact, it was kind of boring but for some inexplicable reason, he just looked fucking good.
His eyes had an alluring quality to them, pulling you in slowly. They were so alluring in fact, that whilst you were staring into them and walking over to him you tripped. Luckily, before you could fall on your ass in front of the only hot customer you've seen in ages, you caught yourself on the edge of the bar. His hand caught yours as you fell in an attempt to steady you, “Woah you alright darling? Thought you were meant to be sober on shift” he cheekily remarked.
His deep vocals sent a shiver through you, normally in a club like this you had to practically scream to hear each other but for some reason, it seemed like his voice was the only thing you heard. It sat at a different frequency that went right into your bones. You scolded yourself internally for fawning over a man who had said one sentence to you.
“Haha very funny, I’ll have you know I'm stone-cold sober. But I'm assuming that you're coming up here to no longer be that, so what can I get you?” you retort back smiling politely and leaning slightly into the puzzling man.
“I'll just have a vodka soda please sweetheart” he began but he soon looked around at the hoards of people surrounding him and quickly added, “Actually make that a double.” his correction caused you to giggle slightly. You briefly wonder what about the rowdy people made him change his order but decide not to ask and just begin making the drink.
The small cup of drink umbrellas teased you as you worked. Every time an especially manly-looking man ordered a drink you added a little umbrella, just to see their reaction. Sometimes they say nothing and just look confused but every once in a while, you get an especially good reaction. The best reactions are usually from self-described “gym bros” who are on a date, they scoff and act as if a small umbrella completely negates their manhood. It might seem juvenile, but you'll do anything to spice up a boring shift. You decide this mystery man with the “fuck me” eyes would like one so, you grab a teal cocktail umbrella and stick it in his double vodka soda.
“Here you are! A vodka soda,” you begin to hand the drink over, he reaches out but you quickly pull it away and correct yourself, “Sorry, double vodka soda” A smirk sneaks onto your face as you hand over the drink to the man. His face mirrors yours, a teasing smile overtaking his features.
"thank you, love," he smiles gratefully, going to take a sip but quickly recoiling at the sight of the umbrella in his drink. You think he'll scoff, throw it on the floor and call you a dickhead but no. he smiles, takes the small umbrella out and places it behind his ear, he finishes off the action with a wink and click of his tongue towards you.
A light laugh falls out of you at his action, not expecting him to be so cheeky about your little joke. He holds eye contact as he downs the rest of his drink, the action isn't inherently flirty but still, you feel a pulse thrum through you at the sight.
“Not such a good night then?” you remark. Despite having about 30 people you should be serving right now you remain enamoured by the man with the tiny umbrella behind his left ear.
“What gave me away huh? Chugging the drink or coming to hide in the corner?” he smiles, you can't help but feel slightly sorry for him, out to a cool afterparty on a Saturday night and he's choosing to sit in the corner and chat with the bartender.
It's then you make the decision you're gonna make this guy's night, in any way he’ll let you.
“Any reason you're hiding away? From a particular person maybe?” you ask leaning on the bar and staring at the man in front of you, “ooh are the band assholes? Wouldnt shock me if they were considering this afterparty, they're usually the overly cocky and handsy type when they party this hard” you add. The man across from you raises his eyebrows at you and his smirk grows marginally larger, you have no idea who you're talking to. And he loves that.
Soon the small amount of eye contact you're sharing becomes too much, you grab a rag and begin to wipe the bar in front of you. You figure you should at least pretend to work whilst talking to the curious stranger, still with the teal umbrella behind his ear.
“Oh no, not hiding from anyone specifically just everyone really. I was dragged here by a couple of mates but I'm hoping to make an escape soon.” he chuckled out whilst swirling the ice in his cup. Wordlessly you grab it from him and begin to make another drink.
“I won't give you an umbrella in this one handsome, not lucky enough to get two in one night” you wink at the man in front of you. The nickname slipped out thoughtlessly, you were used to flirting for tips so it felt like second nature to use them whenever you spoke. A light blush flushed your cheeks at your realisation, it didn't go unnoticed by the tattooed man.
“Handsome huh? Wow, do all your patrons get such good service?” he says looking at you whilst taking a small sip of the drink you handed him. A smile breaks over his lips as he realises it's another double, he briefly thinks of making a quip accusing you of getting him drunk but your bashful smile distracts his mind.
Your heart flutters slightly at his comment, hoping he would just ignore your slip-up. Quickly you rectify the situation not wanting him to have any more power over you than he already does, “Well when I don't know their names, yes.”
“Ahh, well nice to meet you..” he pauses briefly, indicating you to fill in the blank.
“I don't know about giving my name to a random customer… what if you're an axe murderer? I think I’ll keep that to myself” you smile, trying your best to mimic the teasing look in his eyes. The tall man opens his mouth to reply but before he can a voice comes across the bar.
“y/n! Will you stop flirting with that douche with the man bun and help? Im stuck making 25 pornstar martinis on my own!” your coworker chastises you.
You turn back to the noise of a cackle coming from the so-called “douche with the man bun” his laugh makes a mortified smile come across your features as you sigh and throw the rag you were holding to the bar in front of you.
“Calm down Tony! I'm coming you dick” you shout back in the direction of your coworker, only receiving an unimpressed glare back.
“Okay then, I'm going to work now and hopefully never see you again or I will die of embarrassment, bye douche with a man bun” you sigh jokingly at your conversation partner.
“Bye y/n” he replies with a teasing wave, you begin to walk away with your head hanging in shame but soon a loud voice from behind you catches your attention “It's George by the way, only my mum calls me douche with a man bun” he smiles cheekily, obviously proud of his comment.
In your hopeful final words to the now not-so-mystery man, you say, “Well it was nice to meet you George, may our paths never cross again” With a flourish you turn around and start grabbing ingredients to help Tony deal with the hoards of people.
Your paths did cross again, about 2 hours later in the smoker's area behind the bar. The cool air was just beginning to soothe your running mind when you heard an unmistakable voice ring out behind you.
“You got a lighter sweetheart?” he asks, the handsome man you now know as George comes to stand in front of you, with the same alluring eyes and smile but now with a cigarette hanging loosely from his lips. This was your first chance to look at him in full but you couldn't pull your focus away from the cocktail umbrella that still sat behind his ear.
‘Shit’, you thought, he asked a question and here you are just staring at him like a deer in headlights. Why is it that whenever an attractive man was within 5 feet of you, you suddenly stop acting like a human fucking being?
You cough lightly clearing your mind and your throat before silently passing over your lighter, he twisted it in his hand and admired the engraving on the silver case.
“All my love, A xx” he read out loud, “from a boyfriend maybe?” he cheekily asked before flicking it open, lighting his cigarette and taking a deep drag. You watched as his cheeks hollowed around the end of it, the deep contours of his face only becoming deeper as he breathed in the smoke. You weren't sure what it was but despite the fact you had met him not even 3 hours ago, you were comfortable.
That felt dangerous considering you weren't exactly known for thinking decisions through, especially after a few drinks.
As soon as Tony said you could clock out, you did. And then promptly had 3 shots of tequila minus the lime and salt. No time for that when you're trying to get drunk quickly. The mix of the alcohol running through your bloodstream and the enticing combination of cigarette smoke and whatever cologne he was wearing gave you the confidence to do what you did next.
“Nope, no boyfriend, you trying to sus out my relationship status Georgie?'' Once again the nickname slipped out easily, feeling like old friends already. He placed his arm on the brick wall behind you and leaned in slightly closer as if he knew what you were thinking.
“Georgie already huh? And what if I was darling, is that such an issue?” he drawled out, smirking slightly as he places the lighter back into your hands, holding them slightly longer than necessary. You were shocked at how warm he was considering it was 3 am outside a club.
“No, no, absolutely no issue,” you begin, leaning up into his face, eyes flicking down to his lips and back up to meet his unwavering gaze. His eyes soon followed suit, mirroring your actions back at you, staring at your lips longingly.
The closer you got the more sure he was, even placing his other hand behind your neck, but soon you swerve left and pluck the umbrella from behind his ear and lean back to place it behind your own.
A groan comes from the man in front of you as he places both hands on the brick wall behind your head, effectively caging you in, but you didn't mind. He looks down at you and can't help but smile at the overjoyed look on your face. The small umbrella sat behind your ear just like he had done earlier in the night.
“What a tease” he complains cheekily, leaning ever so slightly closer whilst protesting, almost as if he wasn't feeling that rejected after all. You used this opportunity to study his face closely. A very light stubble dusted his jaw. A small freckle sat under his left eye on his cheek, both of which were a rosy red from standing in the cold air with you. His hair sat crazily on top of his head but not in a messy way, in an effortless “I'm so cool and I don't even try way”. God, if he wasn't so attractive and nice, you would have to hate him.
All your staring wasn't lost on George, his ear tips going slightly red from the embarrassment of being analysed. Before he could look too bashful your drunk mind said the only thing it could think in that moment.
“God you are so beautiful,” you whisper, feeling as if you spoke too loud the air between you both would be disturbed. Just as George opened his mouth to no doubt correct you, you shoved your mouth onto his without a care in the world.
Despite you all but jumping on George, he adjusted quickly. The groan you let out at his lips on yours was hastily replaced by a shocked moan as he licked into your mouth. Despite his possibly rough looking exterior, his lips were soft and gentle as they moved over your own. It wasn't long before his hands were grasping your ass and you threw your own around his neck.
George pulled away and you whined at the loss, he breathlessly giggled at your response and asked, “You live round here?” you quickly nodded, desperate to keep kissing you but just as quickly as you leaned in you shot back and threw your head back against the wall and groaned frustratedly.
He threw a questioning look at you and you swiftly told him your issue, “My place is only about 10 minutes from here,” he began to look hopeful but you shot him down, “But my roommate has her boyfriend round tonight and I've been given very clear instructions to come home and go straight to bed. Absolutely no disturbances allowed. And I'm pretty sure a 6ft man called George is a pretty big disturbance” You patted his chest dejectedly as you finished.
“Firstly,” George spoke holding one finger up, “I'm 6ft 4 thank you very much.” you giggled lightly at his insistence to get his height correct. “Secondly, we can go back to my place it's a bit… strange. But it's got a bed so?” he asked with a questioning lilt to his deep voice.
He waited with bated breath for your answer, hoping you wouldn't as too many questions he can't answer but all you said was, “Call the Uber” before attacking his lips once again.
#george daniel fanfiction#george daniel#george daniel smut#george daniel fic#the 1975#george daniel x reader#okay this was so difficult to write#2014 george call me bff#if you all hate it let me know besties!!#okay i kinda hate this
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To Forgive, Divine, part 2
Part 1
Edit pic by the amazing kyloremus
Pairing: Modern AU Aemond Targaryen x you
Summary: You and Aemond have history together. And history tends to repeat itself.
* * * * *
You didn’t know quite how it had happened, but you were driving to a nearby bar with Aemond in your passenger seat.
He’d asked you if he solved your two most pressing issues - bathroom and underwear - would you be willing to go somewhere and talk. You’d said yes, before remembering it was Aemond you were talking to and he probably already had figured out the solution in his head.
And you’d been right.
He’d seen the 24-hour drugstore on the other side of the garage, ran inside, bought a package of underwear, presented it in a gift bag, escorted you to the bathroom of the coffee shop next door, and waited outside for you.
“Tomorrow, I will buy you the entire La Perla store downtown,” he’d said as you walked back to your car.
You approached the swanky little bar, parked and let him open your door.
* * * * *
“Old-fashioned, sweet, please.”
Aemond looked at the bartender, “same, thank you.”
He walked her to one of the darkened booths. He hadn’t been to this bar before, not that he frequented bars any more, not after the initial, blurry months after she’d left him. After you had ignored her for months and she got sick of it.
“So, Aemond, tell me about yourself.”
He smiled, his mind going blank at the impossible question. “I will tell you anything you wish to know.”
The server walked over with their drinks, placed the napkins and glasses in front of them.
“Thank you.”
He chatted nervously about random bullshit, knowing there were more important things to talk about but dreading it all the same. Eventually, she leaned in and tilted her head to one side, a gesture he remembered.
“Tell me how you are not Aegon’s lifeboat any more.”
He winced at her directness, but knew she deserved to ask that particular question. “I left. I spent six months being angry, after you left, then I went to therapy.”
“I thought the family didn’t do therapy,” she interjected. “that’s for mere mortals, and ‘Targaryens are closer to gods’,” she quoted the inscription on the front page of the family book, an ancient tome that listed every birth, marriage, and death in the family.
Aemond raised his glass, smiling at the words. “They don’t do therapy. I did. Still do, once in a while.” He took a long swig of the cocktail. “Anyway, after six months, I was either going to murder him or leave. So I left.”
She leaned in, watched the way his fingers kept tapping the glass. “Where did you go?”
“Where didn’t I go?” He smiled bitterly. “I emptied my savings and took a backpack with me. I threw my phone into the lake and left a note for my mother. I said I’d check in once in a while and I did. I’d call her, then she’d start telling me what Aegon had done lately, what he’d gotten himself into and I’d hang up.”
“You cut them off.”
Aemond nodded. “It was that or spend the rest of my life fixing his shit. Next time I called, he was in rehab. The time after that, he’d been sober for six months.”
“Wow.” She leaned back. “Is he still?”
“Yup, almost two years now.”
“That’s good. Good for him.”
“I am so sorry,” the server said, “we’re closing in fifteen minutes.”
Aemond handed him a card, “no problem.”
* * * * *
“I can’t believe it’s almost 2am,” you remarked as you both walked to your car. “Why don’t I drop you off? An Uber is going to take forever.”
“I don’t mind waiting.”
You sighed, “don’t be an idiot. I don’t mind driving you.”
He agreed, and you began driving to the other side of the city. It was peaceful at this time, and the only sound was Aemond’s soothing voice, telling you stories of his travels. He really had been all over the planet, and you realized from details he let slip here and there that he had been just as lonely meeting new people every day as you had back home after you’d split up.
Finally, you pulled up at his apartment building, facing the lake, and once you’d stopped the park, he grabbed your hand, kissing the back. “Can I see you again?” he asked quietly.
“We need to take things slowly,” you told him, “give me a few days.”
“Of course.” He smiled and opened the door. “Let me know whenever you are ready.” He leaned in to kiss your cheek before leaving and you nearly grabbed his arm to keep him from going but this was the best course of action.
Getting to know each other again. Not rushing into things. You couldn’t assume you’d just step back into the same relationship as if nothing had happened. He was different. You were different.
You watched as he walked into the front door of the building and drove off, wondering how much sleep you’d get tonight.
* * * * *
Aemond sat on the chair by the window, where he liked to read, and took a deep breath. The entire night had been full of the unexpected, and now he had hope, a tiny ember of it, and he knew he wouldn’t sleep. He turned on the lamp behind the chair and looked at the stack of books on the floor. He read a bit of whichever suited his mood, and lately it had been mysteries. He picked up one of them and thumbed through to where he’d left off the last-
His phone buzzed and he recognized the doorbell alarm. He clicked on the app and the screen showed her, standing at his door looking nervous. He nearly tripped over the shoes he’d taken off in his rush to get to the door, and when he opened it, she looked at him for a moment before he reached out and pulled her inside.
“You know what this means,” he whispered, keeping his hands on her shoulders and not everywhere else where he really wanted them.
“Yes.”
“I will have you.”
She rose on her tiptoes to kiss him but he pulled away.
“No, I mean, I will have you. I agreed to take our time, but if you’re here, that changes things. Yeah, I want you. On your back, on your knees, however I can have you, but I want more. I want it all.”
When she looked down, he released her and took a step back. “Get out.”
She opened her mouth to protest and he held up a hand. “I will send you a vibrator.” He saw the hurt in her eyes, but he wanted all of her, not just a few frenzied minutes as they fucked. “You don’t need me to get yourself off.”
He thought, as the seconds stretched into eternity, that his therapist would be very proud of him. He would say something about a growing sense of worth and not accepting crumbs as he always had.
Maybe he could send something to his therapist so he, too, could go fuck himself.
“I want a second chance, too, Aemond.”
He barely heard her over the pounding in his head. “What?”
“I said,” she almost shouted, and then closed the door, “I want a second chance, too. The circumstances have changed but I know you. I tried to convince myself that we’re different but that’s not true. I know who you are.”
He took a deep breath. “You knew me minutes ago when you said you wanted to go slowly.”
“Can we sit, please?”
When he said nothing, she asked again. “Please,”
He walked into the living area, swept a hand out to indicate the small dining room, leaned against a wall. He was exhausted, he was frustrated, and to add to his frustration, he’d started to get hard the moment he’d touched her at the door.
She placed her bag on the dining room table, pulled out one of the chairs and sat while he used every ounce of willpower he had to not rush to her, comfort her, take her in his arms and begin undressing her because god knew the quick fuck they’d had earlier was nowhere near enough to sate him.
“I am sorry,” she began, “I realize I’m bouncing between extremes here and it’s’ not fair to you. Seeing you was a shock.”
He said nothing and watched tears gathering in her eyes.
* * * * *
You dug your nails into your palm, because goddamnit you were not going to cry. You could get through this conversation without tears.
But Aemond’s expression. Or more specifically, the lack of expression on his face was so unsettling. You could do this, you reminded yourself. You could get your thoughts out in a coherent, organized manner, and eloquently explain your feelings, fears, and hopes.
You opened your mouth and saw him take a deep breath, looking at you like he was listening to his brother explaining how this was really, truly, the last time.
“I just fucking miss you so much.” You burst into tears, and you caught, just barely, the impulsive movement from him, the split-second where he had moved towards you before he pulled himself back to where he stood. You covered your face, angry that you’d just blurted something out instead of the calm, straightforward words you’d been practicing as you walked to his building.
You wiped your eyes with your hands and then looked at him. “I love you, Aemond, and if you need more time, I will-”
He sprung then, startling you when he pulled out a chair and sat facing you. “Need more time?” He laughed bitterly. “I was ready to try, wasn’t I? Did you forget our little interlude in that closet? I said I wanted to see you again, and you said to take things slowly. So I agreed. But now you’re here, and I’m guessing it’s not because you want to ask me about my Lord and Savior, so what- what the hell am I supposed to think?”
Yeah, he was right. He sighed, then rose to head to his kitchen, grabbed a couple of glasses while you gathered yourself. When he came back, he placed a glass of water and a box of tissues in front of you, then drank most of his water before placing the glass down.
“I know,” you said softly. “It’s not fair to you.” You grabbed some tissues, swiped them over your eyes. “I mean what I said. I love you. And I thought I wanted to take things slowly but I realized we’re not really different people.”
You wiped your nose, drank some water. “Aemond, you were always loyal as fuck to your family, and while you stopped fixing Aegon’s shit, it doesn’t mean you didn’t want to, it just meant you realized it wouldn’t solve anything. It was bad for him and bad for you, so you stopped. You’re still that loyal person, you just don’t enable him anymore.”
“Neither of us was wrong, back then,” you continued. “You were doing what you thought was right, and I was protecting myself from feeling like I wasn’t important to you. And now things are different. And I don’t want to wreck any chance we might have.” You couldn’t look at him. You couldn’t risk the chance of seeing hatred in his gaze.
You felt him walk over, crouch in front of you and reach up to touch your hair. “I did treat you like you weren’t important. I am sorry I made you feel that way.” He twirled a lock of hair around his finger, brushed his thumb over it. “I want to try, but I need to know what we’re doing here.”
You nodded, finally looked at him. He was watching you with tenderness and you smiled softly. “I want it all, Aemond. Just like you do.”
“If that’s the case, then stay with me,” he said. “First, because it’s almost dawn and neither of us should be driving anywhere, but also because I fucking miss you, too. Not just sex, but you. Spend the day with me and we can figure things out together.”
You took a deep breath, the fear that had constricted you finally going away, and you nodded. “Okay.”
* * * * *
The sun, when it rose, found Aemond sitting on his chair with her on his lap. He’d known he wasn’t going to be able to sleep, and she had downed half the pot of coffee he’d made, but she was happily nestled against him as the first rays peeked through the slivers of space between the buildings he could see from his window.
His sweatpants were long on her, even rolled up he could barely see her toes, and his t-shirt was thin but between his body heat and the blanket he had wrapped around her, she reassured him she was very comfortable.
When she finally dozed off, he rose with her in his arms, walked to his bed and tucked her in. He was incredibly wired from all the coffee he’d had so he stood back up to go do some work in the living room.
“Don’t leave, please.”
She’d snuck one of her arms out of the blankets, and had flung her hand toward him.
He closed the door and went back to her, slipped under the covers and wrapped himself around her.
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me,” he murmured against her hair. “This is not a hardship, you know?”
He felt her smile, felt her arms go around him, and then she lifted her mouth to his. He was powerless, his defenses completely gone, and he kissed her, gently at first and then the all consuming hunger and need began taking over and he added teeth and tongue to the kiss. When she moaned, he began pulling clothes off of her, let her greedy hands grab and tear at his own clothing until he could, finally, slip inside her, feel the heat of her surround him.
She reached up, fingertips gentle on his cheek, and he pulled off the eyepatch, let the blue flame of the sapphire burn down on her as he rocked his hips against her. Her lips were light as butterflies as she traced his scar, her breathing catching as her own need grew. “Aemond,” she whispered, “it’s always been you. I’ve never loved anyone else.”
He couldn’t answer her, not with words, because they were a jumbled mess in his throat, but he kissed her, loved her until she cried out with pleasure, and only after he’d let go and lost himself in her, could he finally murmur, “I love you, too.”
* * * * *
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The Informant PT 7- Miguel x F!Reader
The end is near~ I wanted to return to kind of the original idea I had of the reader since things got hectic, but old habits die hard~ So why not stress our new boyfriend out 😉
Part One Prev Chap
CW: fem reader, mdni, author knows some Spanish, Afro-Caribbean reader in mind, cussing, smut, brat taming, sir kink
Things were good. The city's been safe. Other Spiders were joining the Society. You had a good thing going with Miguel...but well curiosity always seemed to get the better of you.
Miguel was...happy. And that was new to him. He wasn't necessarily sad or angry, but the stress of being what one may consider as the "Ultimate Spider-Man" could be draining. And somehow, he got thrown into keeping order on a multi-universal scale, so yeah. Life caused some mix emotions.
But. He did have you.
Despite you being thrown into the truth about himself, the relationship brought some type of "normal" to his life. Miguel did struggle with the balances of his life as a scientist and hero, but he couldn't give up his job. He didn't want to. It was another element of normalcy that also assisted him in his heroic life.
For instance, he could get into shady lounges on the pretense of sourcing chemicals and synthetic elements he had yet to get access to at work. There would also be whispers of wealthy weapon brokers and scheming villains. He could gleam some information for sure.
So after texting you that he'd be out late with work, Miguel dressed nicely in a cream colored dress shirt with a spread collar and dark brown slacks. He sprayed some cologne and took out a watch he received one Christmas. He appeared the part he played: a corporate scientist that was young and eager to get any and everything--one with money too.
...
The smell of cigars and other heavy scents bothered Miguel, but he couldn't pass up the opportunity when invited to a secluded room away from the party. A man went on about special dealings, booze, and pretty women, but Miguel only wanted in on one of those things.
So he barely touched his bourbon as he caught whispers of different conversations and noted who was there: an Oscorp rep, another from Stark Industries, others affiliated with the military. The official meeting had wound down, and now people were chatting. There were definitely updates to be made, but Miguel wanted to head out soon. He hadn't heard from you in awhile, and you were a night owl, so it was likely you were still up.
"Can I get you a new drink, sir? It seems you didn't enjoy this one." a smooth voice asked him from behind. He could smell something sweet and familiar, but Miguel didn't budge. He wasn't there for any sort of entertainment--strictly business.
"No thank you." he didn't even spare a glance. However, he tensed when a hand rubbed and pressed into the exact spot of the knot in his shoulder. He quickly turned to grab the offender's hand but paused when he saw their eyes.
Half of your face was covered with a black lacey fabric, but there was a well-known mischievous glint in your eye. "My apologies, sir. I just wanted to make sure everything was alright." Miguel couldn't hide the shock on his face, and it made you chuckle. Your eyes were highlighted with mascara and eye shadow. You wore a short cocktail dress and stood taller in wedges. Miguel knew you hated heels. What the hell is she doing here? "What are you doing here?" he whispered through clenched teeth.
You made a light gasp and covered your mouth. "I'm just working, sir. I do have another job you know."
Miguel knew what you were referring to, but he honestly hadn't expected you to get back into the underground game really. It wasn't that you were too scared, but he figured that you were going to let go of that drive concerning your childhood friend's death. But then again, he never asked you about it truly, so he wasn't sure.
However, for you, it was more than that. You were known and unknown, and this was your way of trying to keep yourself and others protected. Even with the way things turned out with Kingpin, there was always some criminal or shady business that needed information. Plus, your boyfriend did too. A pretty face and good talking skills could have you slip in to work and listen if you played the cards right.
Miguel grumbled. "I-,"
"Excuse me dear," one person called out to you, and you happily walked over to help the gentleman.
Miguel could only stare as you wooed men, laughed, and whispered before going away and returning with drinks. The scene replayed itself a couple of times before Miguel flagged you down. He gently pulled you down and whispered in your ear. "It's time to go home." he stated as he held on tight to your wrist.
You giggled and batted your eyelashes. "But sir, I'm not done with my shift yet." you replied sweetly.
The fiery look in his eyes turned you on, and while you were planning on that reaction, you certainly didn't mind where things seemed to be headed. Miguel only stood up before pushing a bill into the peek of your cleavage. "You have an hour; you better be home then." was all he said before walking away.
~~~
About 75 minutes later, you strolled into your home humming a tune while taking off your heels and coat. You continued on your way to get yourself a glass of water and sighed after the long hours. You didn't think much as you entered your already-lit bedroom and simply ignored the huge man sitting at the end of your bed as your started to let your hair down and undress.
"Hermosa, I told you to be home in an hour." Miguel simply stated.
"And I told you that I had to complete a shift." you matched his tone as you pulled an huge hoodie over before going to the sink to wash off your makeup.
"Tch, you really wanna play that game? What were you even doing there? And don't say work."
You continued to rub the face wash in circles. "I was trying to get some information. I know you had been looking for some updates and insights, so I went along."
Miguel rolled his eyes. "Okay, but did it require you dressing like that and flirting? I'm sure I got what I needed to."
You pulled the towel away from your face and grinned. "Wanna bet?"
Miguel didn't like the look in your eye, but he had to stay strong to prove his point. "I saw all the reps there and know there's a few shipments coming in next Wednesday."
You nodded before walking over to your bed. "Okay, but did you know that a weapons dealer is rumored to have gotten a lovely precious metal from Africa? Did you know that the cargo is being unloaded this Friday? Did you know that there's whispers of our old friend Kingpin making a return?" you chuckled as you leaned passed Miguel to reach for the scarf on your bed.
Miguel took your wrist before pushing you back to meet his eyes. "You're so difficult, sometimes." he grunted out.
You booped his nose and smiled. "But you love it. Now, let me put on my scarf."
Miguel pulled you into his lap before giving you a playful bite on the cheek. "No point. I'm going to fuck it off you anyway."
"Oh really?"
"Mmhm, plus you're in trouble. You're not allowed to go looking all pretty without me. It could hurt my feelings." There was a retort on the tip of your tongue, but you ended up on your stomach--hoodie rising up and ass exposed. "Now say you're sorry."
"What! I didn't do any-," you yelped when a firm smack was placed on a cheek. "Miguel!"
"You heard me. Say you're sorry."
You scoffed and rolled your eyes. "Miguel, I-," you felt a smack again.
"I can do this all night, hermosa." He rubbed a cheek and chuckled. "I'm waiting." You pouted before mumbling into the sheets. "What was that? Couldn't quite hear you."
That smug tone annoyed you, but you raised your head and threw a glare his way. "I'm sorry."
Miguel hummed as he leaned over you and kissed your lower back. "Good girl, what are you sorry for?"
Oh for fuck's sake. "You tell me Miguel. What should I be sorry for-" you gulped as you felt his warm strong hand hold your throat. You swallowed despite little pressure being placed. Your face warmed hearing how the man chuckled meanly. His teeth grazed along the skin at one side of your neck. You nearly whimpered.
"Bebita, tu sabes. You're sorry for teasing others with what's mine." he tightened his grip and bit down. The other hand crept around and rubbed your thighs. "These beautiful thighs are mine." his fingers traced around your mouth. "These sweet lips are mine." he rubbed his face against your head and took in a deep breath. "This precious hair is mine." you whined when he finally cupped at your core and teased your slit. "And this fat, wet pussy is all mine. Let me remind you."
It was always so hard to think that there could be too much of a good thing, but after how long Miguel had been pleasing himself between your thighs, you would definitely consider it a possibility. He brought you orgasm after orgasm; you gripped his hair unsure if you were trying to keep him there or push him away.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry! Please Miguel, fuck!" you pleaded and thrashed though with his grip on your legs, you barely budged.
...
Miguel groaned at your pleas and moved away to look at you. His eyes were half-lidded, hair tousled, face wet and glistening. "What's wrong, mami? I'm just making you feel good. I thought you wanted some attention." he entered a finger and moaned at the sound. "Hear how wet you are? Mierda, let me spoil you." and he returned like he was in a daze. He had to just give you some more.
"So you said, they're arriving on Friday?" Miguel typed away with glasses rested on his nose working away by the night stand.
"Mmhm," you groaned still recovering hours later. Your body thoroughly satisfied and mind barely holding onto the moment.
Miguel continued to read through tabs and check different hacked messages. One popped up, and he recognized the name of the port. "Oh that's going to be a lot to search. Might have to call in Jess and Peter J in." you grunted in response. Miguel chuckled as he turned over to kiss you on top of your head. "You're so good, amor. What would I do without you?" he beamed sweetly.
You hummed as you snuggled against him to finally get some sleep. "Yeah, I wonder."
~~~
FIN.
Thanks so much for reading! I don't remember the last time I wrote a multi-chap fic (definitely been a couple years with like...GrimmIchi?) I really enjoy this fandom and all the Spidermans. Besides being nerds, they can be quite relatable.
I think I'm gonna continue a couple one shots and possibly do some One Piece fics again, but hit me up on the inbox. I'm here to rant, vent, or gush over the favs.
Take care!
#atsv#across the spiderverse#spiderman#miguel o'hara#miguel x reader#fem reader#miguel ohara x reader#black fem reader#the informant#informer au#canon au#mineart#partyanimal167#mine#marvel
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Take Me Home - Part 9
PAIRING: Dennis Baker x Reader
SUMMARY: It’s been nearly a year since your ex-boyfriend dumped you and left you with a laundry list of insecurities, and you haven’t been able to really put yourself out there since. But when Dennis shows up at the adoption fair you’re running for your job at the animal shelter, there’s just something about him that makes you feel like you’re ready to try again.
WORD COUNT: 4.9K
WARNINGS (more to come): Body Issues (Dennis and Reader), References to Past Animal Abuse, Emotionally Abusive Exes (Dennis and Reader), Mention of Past Domestic Violence (Dennis’s Evil Ex), Dry Humping/Thigh Riding, Two Idiots In Love Making Out In A Car, Oral (M Receiving), Titjob, Cum Play, Fingering. 18+ only, no minors.
TAGLIST: @littlelioncub43, @filthy-gorgeous, @whatinthestyles, @justile, @mazarinqueen, @valhalla-kristin, @elrw24, @janaev4ns, @ysmmsy, @ronearoundblindly, @thornsnvultures, @terry2227
*Taglist is open to 18+ readers (no blank blogs) who comment, reblog, and/or chat with me via asks. If you just want to read lowkey, that’s cool and you do you, but the taglist is reserved for the lovely people who want to interact with me and my story :)
Series Masterlist
Part Nine
The restaurant is bustling for a Sunday night, and as the hostess takes you to your table you look around in awe of the place. It’s sleek and modern without being minimalist, bathed in low warm light with chillout music playing at the perfect volume. The place is lively and sexy and not any place you’d ever have pictured Dennis choosing, but you’re pleasantly surprised to find that, in his Sunday best, with his arm around your waist, he looks totally comfortable. The hostess seats you at a table near the open kitchen, and when she hands Dennis the wine list, he passes it to Mal almost instinctively.
“You drinking tonight?” she asks you.
“Not really,” you reply. “I’ve got work in the morning, and you know more than two and I’m useless the next day.”
She sighs. “Lightweight,” she says, snapping the wine list closed. “Cocktails it is then. I’m not gonna drink a whole bottle by myself.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time,” you snark, and she laughs.
“Hey! Don’t make me look like a wino in front of my new friend here.” She turns to Dennis. “So, what’s your poison, Dennis?”
“I’m not much of a drinker either,” he replies, “but feel free to get whatever you want.”
“You might regret saying that,” Mal replies, “but I’ll just stick to my dirty martinis.”
You turn to Dennis, who is holding the signature cocktail menu, and point at one of the drinks. “I was checking out the menu earlier and I thought you might like this one—it’s like an old fashioned but with fresh peaches and blackberries.”
“That sounds perfect,” he says. “I love peaches.”
“Well you’ve already got the juiciest peach in this place,” Mal quips, and you kick her under the table. “Ow! Fuck.”
“Don’t mind her,” you say, noting the flush rising on Dennis’s cheeks and the tiny smile playing at the corner of his lips. “She’s an idiot.”
Dennis leans over and whispers in your ear, “She’s not wrong,” and the deep timbre of his voice shoots straight to your core.
“Stop it,” you say. “Both of you.”
Mal giggles and gives Dennis a cheeky little wink. It’s gonna be a long night if she keeps this up, but you’re not actually mad. It feels good—easy, comfortable even—being with the two of them, and you can tell Mal already likes him. She wouldn’t bother hiding it if she didn’t.
You already know what you’re going to order. When you weren’t out of your mind on wedding websites earlier in the day, you were studying the menu and making your decision. All of you are ready by the time the waiter arrives to take your drink order but when you see the man’s face you freeze for a moment before looking away. You know him—Tom; he used to work at Brad’s restaurant and he would hang out late night with the chef crew from time to time. You bury your face in the menu, hoping he doesn’t recognize you. If he does, he doesn’t mention it, just takes your table’s order and says he’ll be back swiftly with your drinks.
One slight arch of a perfectly shaped eyebrow tells you Mal knows something’s up, but she’s not about to ask you in front of Dennis. You shake your head at her, almost imperceptibly, telling her to drop it in that secret non-verbal friend language.
“So, Dennis,” she says, and you brace yourself for what’s coming.
“Here we go… Please be nice, Mal.”
“I’m always nice. I just want to know what your intentions are with my bestie here.”
“Oh my Godddd.” You hide your face in your hands and you hear Dennis chuckle next to you. “You don’t have to answer that.”
“It’s a valid question,” he says. “She’s just looking out for you.”
“Damn right,” Mal says. “So…”
“Well,” Dennis begins, “I don’t know how much she’s told you about me and my divorce-”
“I didn’t say anything,” you interrupt, turning to him. You look into his eyes, needing him to know that you didn’t break his trust. “I didn’t tell her about all that, and you don’t have to either.”
“It’s ok.” He places his hand on your thigh under the table and gives it a gentle squeeze before turning back to Mal. “I was in a bad situation for a really long time. My ex-wife is… not a nice person. When we finally got divorced, I thought it was enough to just be away from her, that I could just be happy on my own without having to deal with… all that.” He turns to you and the adoration in his eyes makes your stomach flip. “But then I met you, and I knew I could never be happy alone knowing you were out there.” He turns back to Mal. “I never thought she’d go out with me. Couldn’t even get up the courage to ask her. She had to ask me. But I’m so happy she did. So, uh, I guess my intentions are to make her happy for as long as she lets me.”
You can see from the way Mal’s face softens as he talks that he’s already won her over, and she confirms it when she says, “OK, that’s the cutest shit I’ve ever heard. I might puke actually.”
You turn to Dennis. “Do you mean that?”
“Every word,” he replies, and you lean over and cup his face with one hand and plant a gentle kiss on his lips as Mal fakes gagging sounds in the background.
A voice rings out, and it’s one you never wanted to hear again. “Get a room.”
Your hand drops to Dennis’s shoulder and you grip it tight, staying stock-still as your body runs cold and your heart pounds in your chest. Dennis looks up and over your shoulder, glaring at the source of the interruption with his eyebrows scrunched together, but you don’t turn around—you can’t, because you know exactly who is behind you and he’s the last person on earth you want to see.
You hear Mal’s voice but it’s like you’re underwater. “What the fuck are you doing here?” she snaps.
“I work here, Mallory,” Brad says. “Tommy said you all were here and I figured I’d bring you your drinks… on the house, of course.”
“We don’t want shit from you. Just fuck off, will you?”
“Aww, not even gonna turn around, babe?” he says, and you can hear the smirk in his voice. “Come on. That’s no way to treat an old friend.”
“She’s not your fucking friend and you need to leave,” Mal says, practically growling. “Now.”
“Well considering I’m the sous chef here, I’m pretty sure I can be wherever I’d like.”
You hate that you’re frozen in place, unable to turn around and face Brad and unable to look Dennis in the eye. You can feel Dennis’s eyes on you as you try to keep your breathing steady and swallow what feels like a golf ball lodged in your throat. You’ve got your head down, staring at the patch of chest hair poking out the top of Dennis’s dress shirt, when you feel him grab your hand under the table and squeeze.
He leans in and asks low in your ear, “That him?” and you nod.
Dennis clears his throat and you can tell he’s about to say something but you don’t want him involved. You can’t hide from this; you need to be the one to put an end to it. Taking a deep breath to steady yourself, you turn around and see Brad sneering at you in his chef’s whites.
“There she is,” he says. “Been a while.”
“Not long enough,” you reply.
“Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend here?” Brad asks.
“Wasn’t planning on it, no.”
Before you even know what’s happening, Dennis is up out of his seat and walking over to Brad, stopping a reasonable distance from him but still towering over him. “Dennis,” he says, holding out his hand. “I’m her boyfriend. And I’m assuming you’re Brad?”
Dennis absolutely dwarfs him and you know that Brad notices. He was always self-conscious about his height and has the Napoleon complex to prove it. You see the way he puffs his chest up and tries to stand a little taller as he shakes Dennis’s hand.
“She told you about me, huh?” he asks, wincing almost imperceptibly as Dennis gives him what must be a very strong handshake.
“She did,” Dennis replies, “and from what I’ve heard, I think it’d be best if you went back to work now.”
Mal is wearing the biggest shit-eating grin on her face as she looks back and forth between Dennis and Brad, but you can’t take your eyes off of Dennis—the strong posture, the tilt of his head, and the steely-eyed stare that doesn’t match the smile on his face. The tension in the air is thick because you know Brad is angry. He doesn’t like being challenged. He doesn’t like it when he’s not the one in charge. His nostrils flare and you think for a second he might keep going—say something to try to embarrass you or make you feel small—but he doesn’t. He can’t, because Dennis is a customer and he’d never make a scene at his own restaurant. He’s a dick, sure, but he’s always been professional.
“Well,” he says, backing away with his hands clasped in front of him. “I hope you all enjoy the food.” He looks you dead in the eye and you can see the hostility when he says, “You have a nice night, hon.”
Dennis is back in his seat with his arm around your shoulders, and the gentle way his fingertips are brushing your bare arm is steadying your heart rate a bit. Still, you need a moment alone to get your shit together because you feel like you could scream. You can hear that “hon” echoing in your head, dripping with malice. You hate that he still thinks he can call you that, and you hate that he had the audacity to do it in front of Dennis.
“You good?” Mal asks, and you nod.
“We don’t have to stay,” Dennis says, but you place your hand on top of his where it rests on your upper arm and smile at him, though you can tell it doesn’t quite reach your eyes.
“I’m ok,” you say. “Just gonna go to the ladies’ room real quick.”
Mal offers to accompany you but you tell her to stay. You need a few minutes alone.
***
Dennis watches you walk determinedly towards the bathroom with a pit in his stomach. Things were going so well, but of fucking course he had to pick the restaurant where your asshole ex works.
“She’ll be fine,” Mal says, taking a sip of her martini. “Just give her a few minutes.”
Dennis takes a sip of his drink, which is annoyingly good because he wants to hate everything about this place now that he knows that Brad is involved in it. “Well,” he says, “I sure fucked this up.”
“No you didn’t,” Mal replies. “None of us knew he worked here. You didn’t do anything wrong. In fact, I think you handled it perfectly. I mean, did you see the look on that asshole’s face?”
Dennis did, in fact, see the look on Brad’s face when he approached him—like he was ready for a fight only to find his opponent was in a higher weight class.
“Yeah,” he says, running his hand through his hair. “What the hell was he trying to accomplish with that anyway? I mean, I know they ended on bad terms.”
Mal snort laughs and leans in toward Dennis. “You can say that again. Brad is maybe the biggest asshole I have ever met, and I know a lot of assholes. And he wanted the same thing he always wanted, which is to embarrass her and make her feel like shit. He’s lucky you got up because I was about two seconds from slugging him.”
“Maybe we should go,” Dennis says, because he wants to get you as far away from Brad as possible and he can’t imagine you’d really want to stay now—you’re probably just saying that to make him feel better about making the worst possible restaurant choice.
“Fuck that. We’re not going anywhere. He doesn’t get to win.” Mal checks over Dennis’s shoulder to make sure you’re not on your way back before continuing. “How much did she tell you about him?”
“Enough,” Dennis replies, his jaw clenching as he thinks about all the things you’d shared with him. “I know he made her feel bad about herself, like she wasn’t good enough for him and like being with her was some sort of… like… charity, which—now that I’m seeing this guy—is even more insane than I already thought it was.”
Mal pauses, and Dennis can tell that she’s unsure how much to share. “It’s more than that,” she says. “It’s not really my place to say and she wouldn’t want me to, but… well… he made her feel ugly in a lot of different ways.”
“She mentioned that, yeah. She wouldn’t go into detail. She didn’t want to talk about it and I didn’t press. I mean, it’s absolutely ridiculous to begin with because she’s fucking gorgeous, so I don’t need to know what that idiot said. It’s all bullshit anyway.”
Mal smiles before popping the stick of olives in her mouth. She doesn’t finish chewing before she starts talking again. “Look,” she says, “she doesn’t need a lot. She doesn’t care about money or fancy shit or any of that. All you have to do is make her feel loved and make her feel beautiful. That’s literally it, and if you can do that, she will be yours forever. I’ve never met someone sweeter or more loyal than her, and it pisses me the fuck off that she thinks she’s anything but a total catch in every possible way.”
“Me too,” Dennis says. “You have no idea how fucking infuriating it is to hear that. I just want to make her happy. What… I mean… is there anything you think I should do, like, specifically, or…”
“You already make her happy,” Mal replies. “It’s kind of breaking girl code to say this but whatever… I can tell you’re a good guy and you’re totally obsessed with her so I’ll say it. She really really likes you. All you have to do is make sure she knows that you really really like her, too.”
“I love her,” Dennis says. The words fly out before he even knows he’s saying them and he starts to panic once he realizes what he’s done. “Shit… I mean… Fuck, I didn’t mean to say that out loud. I haven’t even told her that. Please don’t say anything.”
Mal smiles as she polishes off her first martini. “Your secret’s safe with me, but you should tell her that,” she says. “Seriously.”
“It’s too soon,” Dennis says, shaking his head. He’s sweating now and he wipes his brow with the cloth napkin from his lap. “It’d just freak her out.”
“I can guarantee you that is not what would happen, but I’m not going to force you. I won’t say a word, just know that she’s not the type to be scared off by that. She deserves to be loved out loud, Dennis.”
“I know she does,” he says, and he takes a swig of his drink.
When he looks up at Mal, she’s looking past him, over his shoulder, and he knows you’re on your way back to the table. He would have liked another few minutes to try and squeeze some more advice out of your best friend but he’s happy to have you back.
“All good?” she asks you.
“Yeah,” you say, sliding into the seat next to him. Dennis searches your face for signs that you’ve been crying, but you look completely pulled together—somehow even more beautiful and radiant than you were before. “So, what were you guys talking about so intently?”
Dennis looks at Mal, panic in his eyes, but she just curves her lip and cocks her head. “Oh, nothing,” she replies. “Just making sure Dennis here knows how lovable you are.”
Mal winks at him and he can feel his ears burning red. You just roll your eyes and wave off her comment. Dennis notices, as he always does, how you can’t take a compliment—the way you get flustered and look away and try to change the subject. It’s so fucking cute he can barely stand it and all he wants to do is tell you every single thing he loves about you, force you to look him in the eye when he says it, and make you believe every word of it is true. He gets it, though. He feels the same way every time you tell him he’s handsome or sexy, and especially those times when you tell him how good he makes you feel when he kisses you or touches you. Looking at you now, sexy as hell in that tight red dress that shows off everything he’s dying to get his hands and his mouth on, all he wants to do is take you home and strip you down to nothing and make you feel good, inside and out.
He knows he can’t—you’ve got work in the morning and he has to get home to Jax pretty soon after dinner—but it’s all he can think about as the three of you make your way through your meal. Dennis does his best to keep his hands to himself, occupying them with silverware as he eats, but occasionally he’ll let his hand wander over to your bare thigh or drape his arm over the back of your chair. He can feel you lean into his touch—your thighs clenching together when he touches your knee, your head lolling back slightly against his bicep—and every so often, when your eyes meet his, you bite that oh-so-kissable bottom lip of yours and smile.
It feels so fucking good to be wanted—to have his touch be welcomed and desired—that Dennis almost forgets how their dinner started out. He hopes that you’ve forgotten about it, too, though he doubts you have. At least he can see that all that tension is gone from your face and your body. You’re laughing as Mal tells a story about some nightmare Tinder date and your giggles sound like the most beautiful music to him. He pretends to listen to Mal, to be engaged in conversation, but he’s only got eyes and his ears for you. It’s ok, though, because even if Mal notices, he’s pretty sure she wouldn’t mind.
Fuck, he can’t believe he told her he loves you, but is it really the worst thing? He’s absolutely terrified to say it and might have gone too long without telling you, but now there a ticking clock on it. He only half believes that Mal won’t tell you what he said—she is your best friend, after all, and he wouldn’t blame her for spilling the beans after a few martinis—so now he has to do it and soon if he wants you to hear it from him first. He wants to believe Mal when she says that you would want him to say it, but that doesn’t make it any easier. He feels like he felt years ago, when he went cliff jumping in Oahu on his honeymoon—just hovering at the precipice, trying to decide if the reward was worth the risk. Of course, Karen had pushed him over and called him a pussy for taking too long. He knows you would never do that, though—you’d never rush him into anything—and as he looks at your smiling face, he realizes he’s ready to jump.
***
You’d told yourself during your little self-pep talk in the bathroom that you weren’t going to let Brad ruin your night. You were just going to go back to the table, put him out of your mind, and focus on having a good time with your best friend and your handsome new man. And fuck does Dennis look good tonight. He always looks good to you, but something about him in a suit with his shirt is unbuttoned just enough for that thick neck and chest hair to be on display, the sleeves rolled up to show off those forearms with the veins you just want to lick. Dennis is lightyears more attractive than Brad and he wants you, so why are you letting Brad get to you? Part of you does want to leave, but you’d decided that would be letting him win, giving him what he wants, which is to ruin your date, to make you look pathetic in front of your man, to make you feel worthless and weak.
Fuck him. You’re not going anywhere.
As you, Mal, and Dennis make your way through your courses, you find you’re able to relax a little. You wish you weren’t sitting quite so close to the open kitchen—that you didn’t feel Brad’s eyes burning holes in the side of your face the entire time, whether he was actually looking or not—but you tell yourself, let him look. Let him watch your big, sexy man wrap his arm around you and toy with the strap of your dress. Let him watch your face light up as you laugh with your whole chest at something your best friend said. Let him see the way your boyfriend looks at you like you’re the most precious thing on earth one second and like he wants to throw you on the table and eat you alive the next.
Fuck him. Let him look.
“So,” Mal says, “we getting dessert?”
“I can’t eat a whole dessert,” you reply, “but I’ll have a bite if you’re getting something.”
“Oh, I’m getting something,” she says, and there’s a mischievous glint in her eye that should probably worry you except that Dennis has his hand on your knee and all you can think about is how you want to grab it and push it up under your dress.
“Let’s get the peach tarte tatin,” she says. “I’m just gonna run to the bathroom real quick.” She stands up and tosses her napkin on her chair, grabbing her purse off the seat next to her. “Try not to feel each other up too much while I’m gone, yeah?”
Dennis lowers his head and chuckles into his chest and you shoot her a playful scowl. “That obvious?” you ask.
“Oh yeah,” she replies. “But it’s cute. Very PG-13, but let’s keep it that way. At least until he gets you home…”
You giggle and let your head fall onto Dennis’s shoulder.
“Sorry,” he says, “I just can’t keep my hands off you in that dress. You’re so fucking gorgeous.” You feel his hand slide up the side of your thigh and you shiver as he speaks low in your ear. “My sweet, juicy peach.”
You let out a whispered “fuck” and grab his hand before it can make it’s way any higher. “You’re being a very bad boy right now,” you say.
“Can’t help it,” he replies. “You look too good. Don’t be mad.”
You cock your head at him and he’s got the sweetest little smile on his face and his eyebrows raised enough to crinkle his forehead. God, you just want to crawl into his lap and kiss him all over his face and his neck but you have to keep your shit together.
“Hands to yourself for the rest of dinner and I’ll let you put them wherever you want later. Deal?”
“Yeah,” he says, “I’ll take that deal.”
“Good boy,” you say, and over the music you think you hear him let out a little moan as he adjusts the napkin on his lap.
Interesting… noted.
By the time Mal returns, the two of you have managed to return to your own spheres of personal space and ordered the dessert.
“So some good news,” she says. “I’m going to meet up with Carl after dinner so the two of you can have some quality time.”
You already knew Mal was going to come up with some excuse to give the two of you the apartment for a while, and you’re happy to hear that things are still going well with Mr. Hipster.
“You gonna have a sleepover this time?” you ask.
“We’ll see,” she replies. “I don’t have to work tomorrow so I’m just going to see where the evening takes me.”
You turn to Dennis. “Mal has a new boyfriend who she refuses to admit is her boyfriend.”
“And why is that?” Dennis asks.
“So you’re grilling me now?”
“Maybe,” he says. “So what’s the story?”
Mal sighs. “I don’t like labels,” she says. “I just… you know… ‘boyfriend’ sounds so serious.”
“And you’re not serious about him?”
You are absolutely loving the way that Dennis’s perfectly logical and normal questions are making Mal squirm. It’s the same conversation you’ve had with her already, but it’s truly delightful to watch her try to rationalize her bullshit in front of another person.
“It’s not that,” she says. “I like him. A lot. I just don’t do boyfriends.”
“And does he do girlfriends?” Dennis asks, but Mal is saved by the arrival of dessert.
Tom places the tarte tatin in the middle of the table and Dennis thanks him and asks for the check. You’re just about to grab your fork for a bite when Mal stills your hand with hers.
“Wait,” she says.
She looks around the table, surveying the scene quickly, and she gets up and walks around to Dennis. When she leans over like she’s about to whisper something in his ear, you say, “What the fuck, Mal?” and then you see her snatch a piece of Dennis’s hair out.
“Ow! Jesus. What the hell?”
“Shh,” she says. “Just wait,” and she returns to her seat and places the hair on top of the glazed peaches with an impish smile on her face.
“Mal, don’t,” you say, but it’s too late because she’s already exclaiming quite loudly, “Is that a HAIR?!? Oh my God, GROSS!”
God, she’s so evil sometimes, and you love her so fucking much. You drop your head and put one hand across your brow, trying to stave off the giggles as you grip Dennis’s thigh with the other.
“Is she doing what I think she’s doing?” he asks.
“She sure is.”
The surrounding tables have taken notice of Mal’s little charade and Tom hurries over to the table as she details the problem.
“I’m so sorry about that,” Tom says. “I’ll get you another one.”
“I think just the check,” Dennis chimes in.
“Well, uh, let us at least comp.. uh… your drinks?” Tom stutters.
Out of the corner of your eye you can see Brad in the kitchen absolutely fuming. You feel a little bad because you know he’ll take it out Tom or on the poor pastry chef, but your satisfaction at the flaming red hue of his face outweighs any guilt you might feel.
“That’s alright. I’m happy to pay for everything,” Dennis says, and he hands Tom his credit card without even looking at the bill.
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. I’ll be back right away. And sorry again.”
“Don’t you fucking laugh,” Mal hisses at you as Tom scurries away from the table. “Keep your shit together.”
“I’m trying,” you say, and it’s really taking everything you’ve got not to explode into a giggle fit. You’ve got a death grip on Dennis’s thigh and you can feel his muscles flexing under your fingers, and when you look up at him, he’s got a half smile on his face that’s making the dimple on his cheek pop.
“Keep squeezing me like that and you’re gonna leave a bruise, sweetheart.”
“You should be so lucky,” Mal says. “Anyway, speaking of leaving bruises, Carl just texted me. You two mind if I take off? I think I may be on the verge of overstaying my welcome.”
“Go ahead,” you say. “Go get your man.”
“He’s not my man.”
“Sure he’s not,” Dennis says.
“Don’t you fucking start, too. Jesus. Now there’s two of you? I can’t.” Mal stands up and grabs her purse. “But seriously, it was so nice to meet you Dennis, and thank you for dinner. You’ve officially passed the bestie test.”
Dennis smiles. “Glad to hear it. Have a wonderful rest of your evening, and hey, maybe you and your not-boyfriend could come over to my place for a barbecue next weekend.” He turns to you. “I was thinking of maybe doing something for the 4th… I mean, if you want to.”
“I’d love to.”
“Me too,” Mal says. “I need to see this big fancy house of yours. And if Carl is still around by next weekend, maybe I’ll invite him.”
You roll your eyes. “Just go.”
You stand up to give her a hug goodbye. Dennis stands as well, and you think he’s going to be awkward about it but he isn’t; he gives Mal a quick hug goodbye like they’ve known each other forever and it warms your heart to see it. She whispers something to him as she pulls away that you don’t quite hear but you do hear his response.
“I will,” he says. “I promise.”
PART TEN >>>
#dennis baker fanfiction#dennis baker x reader#dennis baker x you#dennis baker#chris evans#chris evans characters#take me home series
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Content warning: This article contains a scene including a graphic sexual assault.
My friend sets aside his cocktail, its foamy top sprinkled with cinnamon in the shape of a hammer and sickle, to process his disbelief at what I’ve just told him. “You want to return to Russia?” he asks.
I met Enrico when I arrived in Stockholm eight months ago. He understands my situation as well as anyone. He knows that I fled Moscow three days after Russia invaded Ukraine; that my name, along with the names of other journalists who left, has fallen into the hands of pro-Kremlin activists who have compiled a public list of “traitors to the motherland”; that some of the publications where I’ve worked have been labeled “undesirable organizations”; that a summons from the military enlistment office is waiting for me at home; that since Vladimir Putin expanded the law banning “gay propaganda,” I could be fined up to $5,000 merely for going on a date. In short, Enrico knows what may await if I return: fear, violence, harm.
He wants me to explain why I would go back, but I can’t think of an answer he’d understand or accept. Plus, I’m distracted by the TV screens in the bar. They’re playing a video on loop—a crowd in January 1990 waiting to get into the first McDonald’s to open in Russia. The people are in fluffy beaver fur hats, and their voices speak a language that, for the past year, I’ve heard only inside my head. “Why am I here?” a woman in the video says in Russian. “Because we are all hungry, you could say.” As the doors to McDonald’s open and the line starts to move, I no longer hear everything Enrico is saying (“You could live with me rent-free …” “You could go to Albania. It’s cheaper than in Scandinavia ...” “We could get married so you can live and work here legally …”).
Part of me had planned this meeting in hopes that Enrico would persuade me to change my mind—and he did try. But I’ve already bought the nonrefundable plane tickets, which are saved on my phone, ready to go.
A week later, I spend a night erasing the past year from my life—a year of running through Europe as if through a maze. I clear my chats in Telegram and unsubscribe from channels that cover the war. I wipe my browser history, delete my VPN apps, remove the rainbow strap on my watch, and tear the Ukrainian flag sticker from my jacket. The next day—March 29, 2023—I fly to Tallinn, Estonia, and ride a half-empty bus through a deep forest to the Russian border. The checkpoint sits at a bridge over the Narva River, between two late-medieval castles. German shepherds keep watch, and an armed soldier patrols the river by boat.
“What were you doing in the European Union?” the Russian guard asks.
“I was on vacation,” I say.
“You were on vacation for more than a year?” she asks.
I reply that I have been very tired. She stamps my passport and the bus moves on.
What I didn’t tell the guard, and what I couldn’t tell Enrico, is that I’m tired of hiding from my country—and that I want to trade one form of hiding for another. I have conducted my adult life as if censorship and propaganda were my natural enemies, but now some broken part of me is homesick for that world. I want to be deceived, to forget that there is a war going on.
“Start from the beginning,” my mother would say when I couldn’t figure out a homework problem. “Just start all over again.”
I woke up on February 24, 2022, to a message from a friend that read: “The war has begun.” At the time, I was an editor at GQ Russia, gathering material for our next issue on Russian expats who had moved back home during the pandemic. I was also editing a YouTube series called Queerography. For a blissful moment, I took my friend’s text for a joke. Then I saw videos from Ukrainian towns under bombardment. Russian forces had encircled most of the country. My boyfriend was still asleep. I wished I could be in his place.
A few months earlier, American intelligence had informed Ukraine and other countries in Europe of a possible offensive. But Russia’s foreign minister, Sergey Lavrov, had responded: “This is all propaganda, fake news and fiction.” While I didn’t necessarily believe the truth of Lavrov’s words, I doubted the regime could afford to tell a lie so big. Vladimir Putin’s approval rating was near its lowest point since he gained power. On the eve of the attack on Ukraine, only 3 percent of my fellow citizens thought the war was “inevitable.”
After the invasion, I spent three days in silence. I couldn’t sleep, and I had no appetite. My hands trembled so badly that I couldn’t hold a glass of water still. When I visited friends, we’d sit in different corners of the room scrolling through the news, occasionally breaking the silence with “This is fucked up.”
In Moscow, armed police patrolled the streets to deter protesters. Soon, the press reported that a man was arrested in a shopping mall for an “unsanctioned rally” because he was wearing blue and yellow sneakers, the colors of the Ukrainian flag. News media websites were blocked in accordance with the new law on “fake news” about Ukraine. People stood in line to empty the ATMs. “War” and “peace”—two words that form the title of Russia’s most celebrated novel—were now forbidden to be pronounced in public. Instagram was filled with black squares, uncaptioned, seemingly the only form of protest that remained possible. The price of a plane ticket out of Russia soared from $100 to $3,000, in a country where the minimum wage was about $170 a month.
If I waited another day, it seemed, the Iron Curtain would descend and I would become a hostage of my own country. So on the morning of March 1, my boyfriend and I locked the door to our Moscow apartment for the last time and made for the airport. In my backpack were warm clothes, $500 in cash, and a computer. We were leaving for nowhere, not knowing which country we would wake up in the next day.
At the international airport in Yerevan, Armenia, flights arrived every hour from Russia and the United Arab Emirates, another route along which people fled. Once we were there, we boarded a minivan to Georgia, the only country in the South Caucasus with which Russia no longer maintained diplomatic ties. The van was packed with families and their pets. From one of the back seats, a girl asked her mother: “Mama, are we far away from the war now?” A night road through mountain passes and volcanic lakes took us to the border. I asked a guard there to share a mobile hot spot with me so I could get online and retrieve coronavirus test results in my email. “Of course,” he replied, “though you don’t deserve it.”
In Tbilisi, the alleys were lit up at night with blue and yellow. On the city’s main hotel hung a poster that read “Russian warship, go fuck yourself.” Fresh graffiti on walls around the city read: “Putin is a war criminal and murderer.”
At an acquaintance’s apartment, we shared a room with two other men who had fled. “The most important thing is that we’re safe,” we reassured each other if one of us began to cry. “I’m not a criminal,” said one of the guys. “Why should I have to run from my own country?” None of us had an answer.
In Russia I was now labeled a “traitor and fugitive.” The Committee for the Protection of National Interests, an organization associated with Putin’s United Russia party, had stolen a database containing the names of journalists who had left the country and distributed it on Telegram. Liberal journalists in Moscow had begun to find the words “Here lives a traitor to the Motherland” scrawled on their doors. One critic was sent a severed pig’s head.
My fellow fugitives and I started looking for somewhere more permanent to live, but most rental ads in Tbilisi stipulated “Russians not accepted.” We tried to open bank accounts, but when the bank employees saw our red passports they rejected our applications. Like so many other companies, Condé Nast—which publishes GQ and WIRED, among other magazines—pulled out of Russia. I was without a job. The YouTube show I edited closed down soon after, its founder declared a foreign agent and later added to the Register of Extremists and Terrorists. Foreign publications told me that all work with Russian journalists was temporarily suspended.
Soon signs began to appear outside bars and restaurants in Tbilisi saying that Russians were not welcome inside. I decided to sign in to Tinder to try to meet people in this new city, but most men I chatted with suggested that I go home and take Molotov cocktails to Red Square. I placed a Ukrainian flag sticker on my breast pocket and wandered the city in silence, ashamed of my language.
My boyfriend and I finally found a room in a former warehouse with no windows, the furniture covered in construction dust. The owner was an artist who was in urgent need of money. To pay the rent, I sold online all my belongings from the Moscow apartment: a vintage armchair from Czechoslovakia, an antique Moroccan rug, books dotted with notes, a record player given to me by the love of my life. Ikea had closed its stores in Russia, and customers wrote to me: “Your stuff is like a belated Christmas miracle.”
One day in mid-spring, I left the warehouse for an anti-war rally that was being held outside the Russian Federation Interests Section based in the Swiss Embassy. The motley throngs of people chanted “No to war!” In the crowd I glimpsed the familiar faces of journalists who had left Russia like me. “Why did you come here?” a stranger asked me in English. “To us, to Georgia. Do you really think your cries will change anything? You shouldn’t be protesting here. You should be outside the Kremlin.”
I wanted to tell him that I grew up in a country where a dictator came to power when I was 6 years old, a man who has his enemies killed. I wanted to say: One time, when I was an editor at Esquire, my boss denounced an author I worked with to Putin’s security service, the FSB, and the FSB sent agents to interrogate me, and when I warned the author, the FSB came for me again, threatening to arrest me and listing aloud the names of all my family members. I wanted to tell the stranger on that street in Tbilisi that I’d had to disappear for a while, and that when I felt brave enough, I had gone to protests and donated money to human rights organizations. That I had fought but, it seemed, had lost. That I just wanted to live the one life I’ve got a little bit longer. But at the time I couldn’t find the words.
A month later, the world saw images of mass graves in the Kyiv suburb of Bucha, dead limbs sticking out of the sand. Outside our building one morning, on an old brick wall that was previously empty, was a fresh message, the paint still wet: “Russians, go home.” My boyfriend went back to Russia so he could obtain a European visa, promising he would be back in a month, but he never returned.
I spent the rest of the year on the move: Cyprus, Estonia, Norway, France, Austria, Hungary, Sweden. I went where I had friends. The independent Russian media that I’d always consumed went into exile too, setting up operations where they could. TV Rain began broadcasting out of Amsterdam. Meduza moved its Russian branch to Europe. The newspaper Novaya Gazeta, cofounded by the Nobel Peace Prize laureate Dmitry Muratov, reopened in Latvia. Farida Rustamova, a former BBC Russia correspondent, fled and launched a Substack called Faridaily, where she began publishing information from Kremlin insiders. Journalists working for the independent news website Important Stories, which published names and photos of Russian soldiers involved in the murder of civilians in a Ukrainian village, went to Czechia. These, along with 247,000 other websites, were blocked at the behest of the Prosecutor General’s Office but remained accessible in Russia through VPNs.
“During the first days of the war, everything was in a fog,” says Ilya Krasilshchik, the former publisher of Meduza, who went on to found Help Desk, which combines news media and a help hotline for those impacted by war. “We felt it our duty to inform people of what the Russian army was doing in Ukraine, to document the hell that despair and powerlessness leave in their wake. But we also wanted to empathize with all of the people caught up in this meat grinder.” Taisiya Bekbulatova, a former special correspondent for Meduza and the founder of the news outlet Holod, tells me, “In nature you find parasites that can force their host to act in the parasite’s own interest, and propaganda, I believe, works in much the same way. That’s why we felt it was our duty to provide people with more information.”
I wanted to continue my work in journalism, but the publications that had fled Russia weren’t hiring. My application for a Latvian humanitarian visa as an independent journalist was rejected, and I didn’t have the means to pay the fees for US or UK talent visas.
The panic attacks began in the fall, during my first stay in Stockholm. Red spots, first appearing around my groin, started to take over my body, creeping up to my throat. I’d get sick, recover, and then wake up with a sore throat. In October, I learned that my boyfriend had married someone else. The next day, my mother called to tell me that a summons from the military enlistment office had arrived.
I was in Cyprus when, at 3 am one February morning, I woke to the sound of walls cracking and the metal legs of my bed knocking on marble. Fruit fell to the floor and turned to mush. The tremors of a magnitude-7.8 earthquake in Gaziantep, Turkey, had passed through the Mediterranean Sea and reached the island. I didn’t scramble out of bed. I hoped instead that I would be buried under the rubble—a choice made for me by fate. Later that month, my friends in Stockholm insisted that I come stay with them again. I wandered the streets on a clear winter day, buying up expired food in the stores. The blue and yellow flags of Sweden shone bright in the sun, but I saw in them the flag of another country. Back in the apartment, I slept all the time, and when I did wake I lulled myself with Valium. One day I felt the urge to swallow the whole bottle.
Frightened by my own thoughts, I felt how much I wanted to be back in Russia. In my mother country, all the tools of propaganda would keep painful truths at bay. “The news in Russia is only ever good news,” Zhanna Agalakova, a former anchor on state TV’s main news show, later told me. Agalakova quit after the invasion began and returned the awards she had received to Putin. “Even if people understand that they’re being brainwashed, in the end they give up, and propaganda calms them down. Because they simply have nowhere to run.”
Masha Borzunova, a journalist who fled Russia and runs her own YouTube channel, walked me through a typical day of Russian TV: “A person wakes up to a news broadcast that shows how the Russian military is making gains. Then Anti-Fake begins, where the presenters dismantle the fake news of Western propaganda and propagate their own fake news. Then there’s the talk show Time Will Tell that runs for four, sometimes five hours, where we’ll see Russian soldiers bravely advancing. Then comes Male and Female—before the war it was a program about social issues, and now they discuss things like how to divide the state compensation for funeral expenses between the mother of a dead soldier and his father who left the family several years ago. Then more news and a few more talk shows, in which a KGB combat psychic predicts Russia’s future and what will happen on the front. This is followed by the game show Field of Miracles, with prizes from the United Russia party or the Wagner Private Military Company. And then, of course, the evening news.”
I had gone from being infuriated by this kind of hypnosis to envying it. The free flow of information had become for me what a jug of water is to a severely dehydrated person: The right amount can save you, but too much can kill.
“Welcome to Russia,” the bus driver said as we crossed the border from Estonia. I was nearly home. There was no particular reason for me to return to Moscow, so I made for St. Petersburg, where some friends had an apartment that was empty. I used to look after it before the war, coming over to unwind and water the flowers. It was a place of peace.
All my friends had left Russia too, so I was the first person to set foot in the apartment in a year. Black specks covered every surface-—midges that had flown in before the war and died. I scrubbed the place through the first night, starting to cry like a child when I came across ordinary objects I remembered from peacetime: shower gel, a blender, a rabbit mask made out of cardboard. Over the next few weeks, I tried to return to the past as I remembered it. I went to the bakery in the morning. I exercised, read, wrote. At first glance, the city seemed unchanged. There were the same boatloads of tourists on the canals, tour groups on Palace Square, overcrowded bars in Dumskaya Street. But more and more, St. Petersburg began to feel to me like the backdrop of a period film: impeccably executed, the gap between the past and the present visible only in the details.
One day I heard loud noises outside my window, as if all the TVs in town had suddenly started emitting the sound of static. The next day the headline read: “Terrorist Suspected of Bombing St. Petersburg Café Detained and Giving Testimony.” The café had hosted an event honoring the pro-war military blogger Vladlen Tatarsky, and a bust of his likeness had blown up, killing him and injuring more than 30 people. But life went on as if nothing had happened. St. Petersburg was plastered with posters for an upcoming concert by Shaman, a singer who had become popular since the invasion thanks to his song “I’m Russian.” (He would later release “My Fight,” a song that seemingly alludes to Hitler’s Mein Kampf.) In a candy store I noticed a chocolate truffle with a portrait of Putin on the wrapper. “It’s filled with rum,” the clerk said.
Sometimes in checkout lines at the supermarket I glimpsed mercenaries in balaclavas, newly returned from or preparing to go to the front. On the escalator down to the subway, where classical music usually floated from the speakers, Rachmaninov’s Second Piano Concerto was interrupted by an announcement: “Attention! Male citizens, we invite you to sign a contract with the military!” In the train car, I saw a poster that read: “Serving Russia is a real job! Sign a military service contract and get a salary starting at 204,000 rubles per month”—about $2,000. One afternoon, as I stood on the platform next to a train bound for a city near the Georgian border, I overheard two men talking:
“I earned 50,000 in a month.”
“You’re kidding.”
“No, bro. But I won’t go back to Ukraine again. It’s fucking terrifying.”
This was a rare admission. The horror of the war’s casualties—zinc coffins, once prosperous cities turned to ruins—were otherwise hidden behind the celebrations for City Day, the opening of the St. Petersburg International Economic Forum, and marathons held on downtown streets.
After a week or so in Russia, feeling very alone, I went on Tinder. One evening I invited a man I hadn’t met over to the apartment. I placed two cups of tea on a table, but when the man arrived he didn’t touch his. He threw me to the floor, unbuttoned his pants, and inserted his dry penis inside me. “I know you want it,” he whispered, covering my mouth. “I can tell from your asshole.”
I bit him and squirmed, trying to get him off me. After he left, my legs kicked frantically and I couldn’t breathe. I knew that the police wouldn’t help me. I contacted Tinder to tell them that I had been raped and sent them a screenshot of the man’s profile, but no one answered. That evening I bought a ticket for a night train to Moscow. More than ever, I wanted to see my mother.
“You must have frozen over there,” My mother said as she met me at the door to her apartment outside Moscow. Putin had said that, without Russian-supplied gas, “Europeans are stocking up on firewood for the winter like it’s the Middle Ages.” People were supposedly cutting down trees in parks for fuel and burning antique furniture. Some of the only warm places in European cities were so-called Russian houses, government-funded cultural exchanges where people could go escape the cold as part of a “From Russia with Warmth” campaign. When I told my mother that Sweden recycles waste and uses it to heat houses, she grimaced in disgust.
Thirteen months earlier, when I had left the country, my mother called to ask me why. I told her that I didn’t want to be sent to fight, that I couldn’t work in Russia anymore. “You’re panicking for no reason,” she said. “Why would the army need you? We’ll take Kyiv in a few days.” After the horrors in Bucha, I had sent her an interview with a Russian soldier who admitted to killing defenseless people. “It’s fake,” she responded. “Son, turn on the TV for once. Don’t you see that all those bodies are moving?” She was referring to optical distortions in a certain video, which Russian propagandists used to their advantage.
After that, we had agreed not to discuss my decision or views so that we could remain a family. Instead, we talked about my sister’s upcoming wedding, my aunt’s promotion at a Chinese cosmetics company whose products were replacing the brands that had quit the country. My uncle, a mechanic, had finally found a job that would get him out of debt—repairing military equipment in Russian-occupied territories. My mother was planning to take advantage of falling real estate prices to buy land and build a house. In their reality, the war was not a tragedy but an elevator.
I had arrived on Easter Sunday, and the whole family gathered at my mother’s house for the celebration. My aunt told me she was worried that I might be forced to change my gender in the West; she had heard that the Canadian government was paying people $75,000 to undergo gender-affirming surgery and hormonal therapy. My stepfather was interested in the availability of meat in Swedish stores. Someone asked whether it was dangerous to speak Russian abroad, whether Ukrainians had assaulted me. I kept quiet about the fact that the only person who had attacked me since the invasion was a Russian man, that the real threat was much closer than my family thought. The TVs in each of the three rooms of the apartment were all switched on: They played a church service, then a film called Century of the USSR. There were news broadcasts every two hours and the program Moscow. The Kremlin. Putin—a kind of reality show about the president.
“Do you know what this is?” my mother said as she placed a dusty bottle of wine without any labels in the middle of the festive table. “Your uncle gave it to us,” my stepfather chimed in. “He brought it from Ukraine.” A trophy from a bombed-out Ukrainian mansion near Melitopol, stolen by my uncle while Russian soldiers helped themselves to electronics and jewelry. “Let’s drink to God,” said my stepfather, raising his glass. “You can’t raise a glass to God,” my mother answered. “That’s not done.” “Let’s drink to our big family,” he said. The clinking of crystal filled the room; to my ears it sounded like cicadas.
Suddenly I felt sick and locked myself in the bathroom. I tried to vomit, but my stomach was empty, bringing up only a retch. “What’s wrong?” my mother asked, standing outside the door. “Drink some water, rest, sleep.” I tried to lie down. My skin began to itch. My friend Ilya Kolmanovsky, a science journalist, once told me: “Did you know that a person cannot tickle himself? Likewise you cannot deceive a mind that already knows the truth.” Self-deception is dangerous, he said: “Just as your immune system can attack your own body, your mind can also engage in destroying you day by day.”
That evening I left my mother’s apartment for St. Petersburg and made an appointment with a psychiatrist. I told the doctor that I felt like the past had been lost and I couldn’t find a place for myself in the present. She asked when my problems began. “During the war,” I answered, careful to keep my face expressionless. The psychiatrist noted my response in the medical history. “You’re not the only one,” she said. She diagnosed me with prolonged depression and severe anxiety and prescribed tranquilizers, an antipsychotic, and an anti-depressant. “There are problems with drugs from the West,” she said. Better to take the Russian-made ones. If the Western pills were like Fiat cars, then these would be the Russian analog, Zhigulis: “Both will bring you closer to calm, but the quality of the trip will differ.”
Though the drugs seemed to help, I began to realize over the next several weeks that no amount of pills could change this fact: The home I was looking for in Russia existed only in my memories. In June, I decided to emigrate once again. At the border in Ivangorod, spikes of barbed wire pierced the azure sky and smoke from burning fuel oil rose from the chimneys of the customs building. This time, as I left, I felt that I had no reason to return. My home was nowhere, but I would continue searching for one.
With financial help from a friend, I moved to Paris and signed a contract with a book agent. I made an effort not to read the news. Still, from time to time, I came across stories about Putin’s increasing popularity at home, how foreign nationals could obtain Russian citizenship for fighting in Ukraine, how the regime passed a law that would allow it to confiscate property from people who spread “falsehoods about the Russian army.” One day, when air defense systems shot down a combat drone less than 8 miles from my mother’s home, she called me and asked: “Why did you leave? Who else will protect me when the war comes to us? Who if not my son?” I didn’t have an answer. “I love you, Mama”—that was the only truth I could tell her.
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@captaincandycane
It's not very often that Loki goes out. She doesn't generally like going to clubs. Most days she prefers to go to a local bar, order a few glasses of wine and spend the evening having conversation with her friends or her husband. Yet, considering how Loki felt their marriage had been in a little bit of a slump lately, her friend suggested trying something completely new: go out to a club, get shitfaced and party til the break of dawn.
She had told Ben about their plans, using her friend's birthday as an excuse as she's not quite willing to tell him what's been on her mind, and told him to not expect her back until morning. A good thing, really, considering the events that followed.
Instead of dancing, Loki finds herself stirring a cocktail of some sort. She doesn't even really know what it is, but it tastes fruity and it's helping her get shitfaced. As planned.
But it doesn't make her feel like partying. At least not yet. What she does do, however, is complain to her friend about her relationship.
"Ben is amazing.. He's perfect. He's a gentleman, he opens doors for me, he kisses my hand a lot, brings home roses... Hell, he asks about my day and actually listens when I talk to him. So why is it that I don't feel like I'm in love anymore? Why is it that I don't get butterflies when I see him? Or feel sad when he's gone.. like I cannot wait for him to come back. I know people say that the infatuation fades after time but---" But she doesn't WANT it to.
Loki is a lot of things, including but not limited to: incredibly smart, beautiful, successful, rich and, if she has to believe the people she's slept with, also good in bed. But she also really hates how her life has become so incredibly bland. She craves chaos, passion and she longs to be excited about things again. Do something different.
It's not her work, she knows that much at least. Being one of the best lawyers in the country she gets a lot of different interesting cases to dive into. So, the only thing it can be is her love life.
Oh, and she didn't even mention the fact that Ben really wants to be a dad, and even the thought of it has Loki feel like she's going to suffocate. She's not even sure if it's because she doesn't want to be a mom, or because she doesn't want to tie herself to Ben that much.
Her friend, who is equally drunk, soon points at a handsome stranger near the bar. "I tell you what --- you go kiss him, I won't tell Ben, I promise. And maybe that will give you some clarity on what it is you want."
Now. Sober Loki would have immediately argued that that is a terrible idea, but drunk Loki thinks it is genius, and also loves the thought of causing a little chaos in her own life. She might regret it in the morning, but that's not a problem for present Loki.
With a determined nod, Loki sets her glass down, slides off her wedding ring and hands it to her friend, before she makes her way over to the stranger. Or, Steve, as she learns soon enough.
They chat for a while, share a few drinks, dance, and before she knows it... well, it technically still counts as a kiss, Loki just never meant to take it this far. Had her friend been sober, Loki's sure she would have stopped her. Alas, she doesn't.
And so, Loki ends up going home with the stranger. They make out for a while and then end up having sex. Mindblowing, amazing sex that is definitely the best sex she has had in her ENTIRE life. As wrong as it may be, and as much as she would feel guilty about it in the morning, this moment... being here in bed with Steve and having such an incredible time.. it's the most alive she's felt in years.
The next morning, however, she wakes up before Steve does. Luckily, because that is definitely not a conversation she is ready to be having. Her head is throbbing and she's feeling guilty even more than that, and while staying in the stranger's arms seems very tempting, Loki knows she has to go.
She slips out of Steve's hold and out of the bed, quickly taking her underwear and dress back on. She fixes her hair in the mirror and finds her heels near the front door.
When she gets home, she's sure Ben knows what she has been up to.. After all, she probably kind of smells like Steve, and she's sure she has a couple of hickeys, but... as mentioned before, Ben is perfect. And he proves that once more by not asking any questions and simply getting her a glass of water and some painkillers.
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You’re my lobster
First things first- we very carefully checked Alex’s sunburnt legs and feet from yesterday. They look uncomfortably swollen and way too red to attempt any kind of long walks in the sun.
After applying copious amounts of panthenol, he very slowly walked down the stairs for breakfast where I finally gathered enough courage to try the yoghurt. With great success I must say! It’s now over 12 hours later and I didn’t shit myself! Oh the things you get excited about in your late 20s…
Shade by the pool seemed like the safest option for the moment so that’s what we did. Alex used my sarong to cover his legs and nearly cried with every movement. And I laughed and laughed and laughed because no matter where he’s actually from and what the UK Home Office say, he could not be more English right now. Who else burns so quickly with the highest SPF there is? I wonder if we can use this as evidence in support of his British citizenship.
I ended up getting bored of the pool very quickly. Mainly because of the annoying couple that took over our favourite spot with their towels but actually only spent about 10min there. There’s a special place in hell for people like that. But because it was midday, also known as the time of day we need to avoid to not kill Alex, I left him in the room to cool down while I got my nails done next door. Why wouldn’t I for £15??
After this, it was time for him to suck it up, put on his sandals (as those are the only shoes that currently match his tan lines) and at least spend the rest of the day on the beach. As the Ao Nang one is way too loud and crowded, we took the water taxi over to Ton Sai again which is possibly our new favourite spot here. It was nice and quiet and after a quick lunch, we moved over to the bar for a quick cocktail before a swim.
Exceptt the moment we came to the beach, the sea decided to leave and all we ended up with was the view of the rocks for couple hundred meters and we had to stay in the bar to drink away the disappointment. We had a chat with a fellow bar visitor- a Canadian that lives in Cambodia who was nice enough to offer his help finding cheap accommodation and cool things to do when we decide to visit. Too bad he didn’t bother leaving us his contact details, so I suppose we’ll just visit and hope to randomly bump into him one day.
The couple we met on the water taxi yesterday told us that there is a path over the hill from Ton Sai to Railay Beach that is very walkable. And definitely walkable if you have sandals! Too bad I only took flip flops and a husband who’s in pain with every step he takes. But we didn’t really feel like looking for enough people on this empty beach to fill the boat back ‘home’ so we figured we’ll at least check it out. I have given up on flip flops (but not the husband) very quickly and just did the mini hike barefoot.
If I don’t count the few times I stepped on particularly sharp stones, it was surprisingly fun and easy and we arrived at Railay just in time to watch the sunset and tiny crabs digging their tiny holes in the sand.
We walked up the main (and probably only) street in Railay that is really just made up of 90% weed/ shroom cafes, 5% restaurants and 5% shops. But it looks very pretty and has a very chill vibe. Not sure what might be causing that. A decision was made that since Alex managed the mini hike here, we should try and climb up to a Lagoon near Railay tomorrow. Very highly recommended by my sister although she did say they ended up with a few bruises and scrapes. I would be wary of this with how unfortunate Alex has been health-wise but considering that she always somehow seems to end up needing medical attention when she travels, I think we might live.
With that in mind, we agreed it’s time to go back and get some rest. Unfortunately, at night, the boats are only happy to take back groups of 8 people to make it worth their time and as we only found 2 more in the 20min we waited, we ended up paying 500 baht for the trip back instead of 200 which was a rather annoying note to end the day on. But hey ho, we’ll know better for tomorrow and try to get out of Railay a little earlier to save some money.
On the bright side- today, I also joined the club of extremely white people who don’t know how to tan with burnt spots in the most random places across my body- half of my right shin, one shoulder and a stripe in the middle of my back. It’s not even a bad sun cream job, it was just the sun going ‘fuck that piece of skin in particular’.
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Can you do Mashton with #62 & #2?
Yes I can!
62. “Do you have a ride home?”
2. “Stay here tonight.”
Sometimes, Michael really wonders what his younger self would say if he could see him now. For example: at this precise moment, he's puking in Ashton's bathroom and Jack Barakat is halfheartedly rubbing his back. Fifteen year old Michael would lose his shit. Current Michael just wants a glass of water and for Jack to stop making fun of him.
"Still I lightweight I see," Jack muses.
"Fuck you. I'm not a lightweight," he grumbles, trying to push his hair out of way again and spitting into the toilet. "I was already drunk by the time you got here, then you convinced me to do shots with you. This is your fault!"
"Or you just don't know your limits, you lightweight."
Michael flips him off, but he can't respond with words because he's retching again.
It's been a while since he's gone overboard with the alcohol, but this time he cannot be blamed. It wasn't his idea to get drunk and talk about the album (although he has to admit that it's probably going to make for a great video series), and it wasn't his idea for Ashton to start a party, and it definitely wasn't his idea to do shots of tequila (tequila! of all things! he doesn't even like tequila!) with Jack Barakat once they stopped filming.
"Hey, is he alright?" Ashton asks from the doorway. Michael gives him a thumbs up and spits again, sitting back on his heels to look up at him. Michael thinks Ashton looks good drunk. His face gets nicely flushed and he smiles easier.
"All good in here," Jack says. "Mikey drank too much."
"Which is your fault!"
"Don't blame me for your own mistakes, young one," Jack says solemnly. Michael flips him off again.
"I can take it from here," Ashton says. "The party's winding down, so you don't have to stay if you don't want to."
"I don't need to be taken care of," Michael says. "I'm a bit drunk, not an invalid."
"Think I'll probably call an Uber then," Jack says, completely ignoring him. Michael pouts before he can stop himself, but Jack pats him twice on the head when he stands up. Slightly drunken head pats from Jack Barakat are another thing that fifteen year old him would be in awe of.
"A few people are getting ready to leave now. You can see if someone lives near enough you to carpool," Ashton says. Jack nods and leaves the bathroom. Ashton takes his place and makes a face when he looks in the toilet.
"Gross, dude. Are you done?"
Michael nods and Ashton closes the toilet lid, flushing everything down. Michael grips the edge of the bathroom vanity and hauls himself up. He stumbles a little bit, but Ashton steadies him and turns on the sink so he can rinse out his mouth.
"Do you have a ride home?" he asks. Michael shakes his head, which makes the room spin a bit more. That was a stupid question. He drove here and he's obviously in no state to drive home.
"Yeah, that was a dumb question," Ashton says, reaching out and brushing his hair away from his face. Michael grimaces, because his hair feels weird and sweaty and he doesn't want Ashton to be grossed out. "I think Luke and Cal already left."
"Then what am I supposed to do?" he grumbles.
"Stay here tonight, obviously," Ashton says. "If someone's passed out in the guest bedroom you can sleep with me. I mean, not like--I'm still drunk."
"Smooth," Michael says, patting his shoulder. "It's too late to "no homo" me. I've seen you naked. I've seen you make out with boys when drunk. I've thought you were hot since we were teenagers. I had a sex dream about you three weeks ago. It's okay if it's a little homo."
Ashton makes a strangled noise halfway between curious and scandalized. Michael fully processes what he said and wishes that the ground would open up to swallow him.
"I also am still drunk," he says, turning away. He's ready to leave Ashton's house and walk into oncoming traffic. Maybe he can get Jack's Uber to run him over.
"No, hang on," Ashton says, pulling him back. Michael is unsteady enough on his feet that he knocks Ashton's chest (which has been partially on display and very distracting the Entire Night). "You had a sex dream about me? Was it good?"
"Was it--that's what you want to know? If dream-you was good in bed?"
"Yeah. I have to be sure that your subconscious understands how skilled and sexy I am."
"You could just prove it to me yourself."
Ashton blinks. Michael has never successfully rendered him speechless before. It's a very exhilarating experience.
"I meant that you could have sex with me, in case that wasn't clear."
"No I got that," Ashton says. "But you just threw up, so I'm trying to decide if that's gross enough to kill the mood."
Well, shit. That's a good point.
"We probably shouldn't be drunk if we have sex, either," Michael says.
"We won't be drunk tomorrow."
That is also a good point. This is why Michael likes getting drunk with Ashton, because everything he says sounds like a good point, even if it isn't always.
"So, we go to bed now, then have sex in the morning?" he asks. Clarifying questions are very important when drunk. Michael is invested in the answer now, and he wants to be sure that they get on the same page.
"Yes," Ashton says, "which is why we should go to bed immediately."
Another brilliant idea. Ashton starts to usher him out and Michael grabs his hand, stumbling together through the house to Ashton's bedroom. Michael trips on a pair of shoes that have somehow been abandoned in the hallway and Ashton giggles at him. He doesn't mind it nearly as much as when Jack was laughing at him earlier.
When they get to the bedroom, they both strip down to boxers. Ashton offers him a sleep shirt, something soft and worn that smells a bit like him, and Michael takes it before diving under the covers. He blinks at Ashton for a moment, waiting for him to reevaluate and pull away maybe, or to move closer. He does the latter, grumbling and shifting until they're cuddling in a satisfactory way, Michael half on top of Ashton. It's a lot of skin on skin contact, and he really, really likes it.
"You're going to remember this tomorrow, right?" Ashton asks. "You're not going to forget and flake out on me?"
"If I do forget, I'll still have sex with you," he says. "Sober me is going to like that idea, too."
"Good," Ashton says. "Sober me is going to want to talk about it but will also be on board."
Michael grunts, because he's already starting to fall asleep. His last thought before he drifts off is that he hopes his younger self is proud that tomorrow he finally will get to sleep with his longterm crush.
#my writing#mashton#cocktail chats have been on my mind lately so here you go#enjoy the jack barakat cameo#there you go this has been So Much mashton content in like. 2 days
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Jealous
| loki x reader | smut |
Loki ignores you and you devise a plan to make him jealous, but you’re in too deep when it backfires.
warnings: spanking, punishment, sex (obviously)
A drink was pushed into your hand, a the fake smile on your face was dazzling. A designer gown that cost more than a car was draping your body, catching the attention of everyone in the room.
Stark’s parties were loud and long and obnoxious. The host of the party was drunk and enthusiastically telling stories of his genius success. Reporters followed around your coworkers like dogs, three of them interrogating you at the moment. You could barely find it in you to give them any attention, your eyes intently resting on your boyfriend. He was leaned against a wall in an all-black suit, drinking champagne with a harrowing scowl on his face. You had to drag him to the party, and he’d left you to stand in a quiet corner as soon as reporters had flocked to you. The public wasn’t fond of Loki, and you knew that. They were unable to forgive him for his attempted takeover, though it had been years. You hated the judgement of the public against Loki, especially when he was accused of corrupting you.
You were America’s darling, the golden girl of the avengers. A late addition to their team, you were adored by everyone for your sweet personality and generally bubbly attitude. The media was scathing when discussing your relationship with Loki, accusing him of manipulating you. They would never be able to understand the love and devotion you had for each other.
However, tonight, he was in a sour mood. You were annoyed that he had abandoned you to fend for yourself against the press, especially after he’d put up such a fight to come in the first place. Your eyes narrowed at him as you made eye contact across the party, and his gaze was hard as he lifted his glass to his lips.
You grew more and more frustrated the more time that passed. You wanted attention, you wanted him by your side, you wanted his hands on you, you wanted him.
“Y/N! How do you feel about Stark’s new weapons line? Have you used any?” A reporter captured your attention. You turned to him, flashing a smile.
“Yes, actually! Stark is a genius as always.” You laid your hand on his arm, giggling at a joke he made. You could feel Loki’s eyes on you, and you could practically feel the jealousy brewing. The reporter blushed and began to stammer, making you smile wider.
“Stark! Come tell them about your weapons!” You called as he passed. He never passed up an opportunity to talk about himself, and he wrapped an arm around your waist with an intoxicated grin. You shot Loki a challenging look, leaning your head on Tony’s shoulder and laughing at something he said.
You slipped out of his grasp, taking the opportunity to get away from the reporters. You walked to the bar, standing Bucky and ordering another cocktail.
“We can feel his jealousy radiating off of him. You’re making him angry.” Bucky warned you, referring to Loki.
“I don’t care. Maybe if he was so jealous he could at least stand by me.” You shrugged, and Bucky seemed uneasy.
“Y/N, you’re playing a dangerous game-”
“Let him be mad if he wants.” You swallowed a generous amount of my drink, and Bucky dropped it, giving up on trying to warn you.
“Dance with me.” You said to Bucky, setting your empty glass down on the bar.
“Y/N, you’re going to really piss him off-”
“You’re dating Steve, I don’t think Loki needs to worry.” You rolled your eyes and pulled Bucky to dance with you. He relaxed as he expertly moved your body along with the music, dipping you low to the ground.
“Excuse me.” You left Bucky after a couple of songs, walking to the restroom.
After drying your hands, you went to fix your hair in the mirror. A startled gasp left your lips as Loki suddenly appeared behind you, wrapping his hand around your throat.
“Loki-?” You were caught off guard, and you were dragged back and pinned to his chest, seeing his green eyes blaze with anger in the mirror.
“What are you playing at, Y/N? Are you trying to make me jealous?” Loki gave you an opportunity to confess and apologize, but you looked back at him, standing your ground.
“I’m just having fun at the party. Just because you pout in the corner doesn’t mean I can’t talk to reporters and dance with a soldier boy.” You taunted him, feeling his grip tighten around your throat.
“Why are you being a brat? Is it because you’re so fucking desperate for my attention, you’ll get it any way you can?” Loki’s voice was dangerously low, but you refused to show your anxiety.
“I can get attention from anyone.” You dug yourself deeper, and Loki bent you forward over the counter.
“Loki!” You gasped, tugging at the magic binds that held your wrists to the faucet. The cold marble was pressed against your chest, the edge of the counter digging into your hips, pushing your ass out.
“Not so bold now?” Loki mocked as you struggled.
“Have you lost your mind? Someone could walk in-”
“Let them. You wanted to flirt and whore around, so let them walk in and see you bent over the counter for me.” He snapped, and your eyes widened. As much as you hated it, the threat made arousal pool between your thighs.
You knew it was an empty threat, Loki would never let anyone see your body. You knew the door was magicked shut, but his words still made warmth spread through your belly.
“You’re mine. You’re mine alone, and I didn’t realize I would have to remind you.” He ran his hands down your sides, and you looked up at him in the mirror, your eyes widened when you saw his suit was gone, and he was standing naked behind you.
“I’m yours.” You breathed, squirming against the counter, trying to arch off the cold stone. His hands went under you, groping your breasts roughly. You squeaked as he rolled your nipples between his fingers through the thin fabric of your dress, and you rested your forehead against the countertop as heat seeped through your panties.
“Loki, I’m-- ah-- I’m sorry!” You shrieked as he pinched roughly, making your back arch.
“I’m going to make you remember that nobody could ever touch you like me or make you feel good.” He hissed in your ear, making you moan eagerly, nodding.
“After I punish you for acting like a brat.” He finished, a yelp leaving your lips as he slapped your ass with force, pain stinging through your skin. He lifted your dress to bunch around your hips, leaving your ass exposed to him.
“A black lace thong, hm?” He snapped it, making you jerk. Soft yelps caught in your throat as he delivered several more slaps to your ass, and you tugged pathetically, failing to free your wrists. You knew he could see your arousal dripping down your thighs, and you blinked away moisture from your eyes, trying to look at him in the mirror.
“Loki, please!” You begged him, wanting him to ease up on your ass and fuck you like you wanted.
“Please, what, Y/N?” He taunted, knowing exactly what. He wanted to hear you say it, to further your embarrassment. He spanked you again when you didn’t answer, and you swallowed your shyness.
“Please, fuck me!” You cried, and he tore off your thong, kicking your legs open wider. You wanted to touch him, and you yanked on your hands, but he didn’t let them go.
“You’re fucking soaked, you dirty girl. Was it from dancing with the soldier?”
“No, no, it’s from you.” Your voice was broken as you struggled to speak.
He dragged his fingers through your folds, and you writhed as he stroked at your opening, avoiding your clit and not entering you. He was making you writhe and beg for him, completely at his mercy.
“Needy girl.” He mocked your pathetic whimpers.
You screamed as he fully entered you in one thrust, his hips connecting with the heated skin of your ass. You choked on moans as he relentlessly snapped his hips, hitting you deep with every thrust. The roughness burned, but pleasure was coursing through your body, making it easier to ignore. You tried to grind against the edge of the counter, needing stimulation on your clit in order to cum.
“No, you will not come. You’ve been a brat and throwing yourselves at other men. So you are going to bend over and take what I give you, and you’re going to hold it.” He ordered, making you sob desperately.
“Please, please, please!” You squealed helplessly and he held you still as he emptied his seed into you, coming inside of your tight heat. You whimpered as he pulled out, using his fingers to push his thick seed back inside of you as it dripped. You were shocked at his willingness to just leave you.
Loki was an incredible lover, always attentive and making sure you came multiple times. The sharp contrast of his dominating roughness left you jarred and unsatisfied.
He knelt down and pressed a kiss to your aching cunt, making you shudder as he stood back up.
“Come on, darling. Stark’s party has another couple hours. You did want me to stand by you for interviews, didn’t you?” Loki hummed, slipping your dress to fall back down over your legs.
“Loki, I don’t know if I can walk.” He laughed, releasing the invisible bonds on your wrists and pulling you up to stand. He held your jaw and pressed a tender kiss to your lips, leaving your head spinning.
“You’re so pretty in this dress, darling. Come on, let’s go enjoy the party.”
You walked out of the bathroom, his hand on your lower back. He murmured affirmations in your ear, and put a drink in your hands, smiling at Bucky and Steve as they chatted with you.
“Y/N, how is everything with your boyfriend, here?” A reporter asked you, and you leaned back into Loki’s chest. You fought off the urge to slip into subspace after the sex, and you gave the reporter a dreamy smile.
“It’s amazing. Loki is wonderful to me, as always.” You answered, looking up at the young god who smiled down at you. You were dazed as you kept up with the party, and there wasn’t a second without Loki’s hands somewhere on your body.
“Loki, please, this party is too much.” You whispered to him. You wanted to go back to the privacy of your suite, and be alone with Loki. He gave into your request, whisking you away back to your bedroom.
“I need you, I need you to make me come. I’m sorry I was a brat.” You babbled softly, and he gently kissed you, slipping the dress off of your shoulders and helping you step out of it.
“I’m going to take care of you darling, relax.” Loki hummed into your neck before laying you down carefully on the bed. He was attentive to the fact he’d destroyed you earlier, and he knelt down between your legs to eat you out instead of putting you through another round of fucking.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I love you, I just wanted attention!” Your words came out in shaky breaths as he licked through your folds, pulling your clit between his lips.
“My darling, I know. I love you, I’m no longer upset. If you want my attention you need only ask. Now hush and let me make my gorgeous girl feel good.” He said with a kiss to the inside of your thigh. You weaved your fingers into his black hair, rocking against his face as he ate you out, bringing you to the edge within minutes.
“Loki!”
“Let go, darling.” He coaxed you, and the coil in your belly snapped with a scream. You throbbed as you came, and he rode you through it, licking up everything that dripped from your aching center.
“I love you,” He said softly, pulling you to lay in his arms and lulling you to sleep.
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Drunk in Love
Summary: Getting drunk and confessing your love for your “boy” friend and fucking him was most definitely not what you expected to go down on the usual night.
Pairing: Issei Matusukawa x Reader
Tags: Timeskip!Tattoed Mattsun, softdom!issei Hurt/comfort, friends to lovers, smut, fluff, virgin!reader, Unptrotected sex, non-penetrative sex, fingering, oral, pussy/thigh job, clit slapping, sweet dirty talk, praise, drunk sex
Word count: 7.2k
A/N: I heard pussy job and I wrote a whole ass novel
18+ Minors DNI
You run your finger over the condensation of your empty drink, drawing shapes (or what you thought to be shapes, you couldn’t tell at this point) waiting for your dear friend, Makki to bring you a refill of your cocktail.
“Here ya go.” Makki said as he returned with your beloved Malibu Sunset. The smooth coconut rum bringing you back to your first and favorite drink that you ever got drunk on in high school. You smiling at the memory
“Thanks.” you say. Your reply being mumbled by the liquid already in your mouth.
This all started with Iwaizumi calling Mattsun up, you and Makki hearing “You wanna get wasted?” on the other side of the phone. And with pleasure, you two were already packing your stuff up, shoving yalls “pregame” bottles back in the bag. The three of you made your happy way there climbing through the fence of the abandoned skate park you were in. Needles to say it was abandoned for a reason, but what’s life without a little danger.
You three and the rest of the third years have been friends since high school, meeting in freshman year, and now including Oikawa’s girlfriend. You actually didn’t like Oikawa at first, his “pretty boy” demeanor making you internally cringe. But his personality grew quickly on you, being the perfect target to tease you and Iwa clowning him over everything.
Now back to you on your nth drink, complaining about your previous job that fired you because u got injured, even though you know you wouldn’t have lasted long there anyways because you weren’t that academically inclined. Bright? Whatever you wanted to call it.
And as-usual it wasn’t long before your crybaby ass immediately called Makki and Issei and “tried” your best to tell them what happed with your dramatic self-induced tears running down you race, while Makki urged to you to try to calm down and Issei straight up laughing at the state your were in, snot running out of your nose. You recoiling at the thought, hoping they forgot. (Spoiler, they didn’t)
But now you nanny for a rich couple and you get payed good to play with cute babies all day, sounds good to you! Luckily, you had the week off due to them going on a vacation, you think it was France, no, the south of France. Must be nice.
Cue to now, Mattsun chuckling and leaning on you and Iwaizumi; both of you, especially Iwa, being visibly done with his shit. Him reminding you about the times you bought him some random shit, which you went out of your way for since he always payed for you, like that chopper keychain because you said it reminder you of him.
He didn’t know what compelled you to say his 6’2, tattooed built self looked like a tiny reindeer but okay. It still meant a lot to him, hooking it onto his motorcycle keys. But you knew he appreciated it, despite his appearance he’s a softie.
“You wanna try this’” He says gaining his composure offering you one of the shots he got.
You took one of the mini glasses, not being the type to back down and promptly swung the drink to the back of your mouth, quickly coughing before it even reached your throat.
“This shit is fucking gross.” You coughed out bringing the glass down from your lips.
“Imagine being sober. Can’t relate.” He said taking another shot.
“I guess I should do that but ive passed the point of giving a fuck” You said sending yall into a giggling fit while somehow Makki was thrown in to support yall from falling over. You two carry on laughing ignoring everyone’s stares at you thinking about how much yall fit perfectly together.
Makki rearranges himself to sit back in his chair, far away, from the both of you, whispering “Damn. I’m really third wheeling.” under his breath. Getting a snicker out of Oikawa sitting next to him.
“When your best friends are ignoring you. Sad times.” He continues bringing his bottle to his mouth getting no response.
Issei chuckles and gets up shoving his hands in his pocket reaching for the cigarettes. Pulling them out while failing to find his lighter
“Fuck.” He muttered
“Any’all got a light?”
No one responds so you sacrifice yourself “Yeah” you say reaching into your pocket grabbing out your prized possession of a hot pink, bedazzled lighter that you did yourself, reaching out to hand it to him.
“Don’t lose it” you stated seriously trying not to break a smile.
“K’ sweet cheeks.” He said smirking into the butt between his lips as he walked away. Your face now burning up, hoping that everyone would think it was because of the alcohol.
You mind wanders, thinking about the “dates” you two go on, from watching shows you “forcing” him to watch some romantic anime, to going to the skatepark, to playing video games with the rest of the 3rd years (which you don’t really like but you’ll play for him) and him surprising you with takeout, you bringing out candles trying your best to make it cute with him telling u everything you everything about his day.
And you always tried to remain calm, even though sometimes he deserved to get his ass beat, like that one time he broke one of your favorite pair of heels. It honestly hurt him even more, he wanted you to get mad at him but no, you just acted like nothing happened. Making the guilt rise in him. Let’s just say didn’t have to lift a finger for the next few weeks.
You basically babied him, taking care of all his “chores”, mainly making him food when you were at his place knowing he hated doing it. Makki teasing you for acting like his housewife, leading to you slapping the shit outta him while trying to cover your now red cheeks.
You’ve never been so grateful for your attire at the moment, blessing yourself for not wearing your usual outfits of short skirts and cute tops, defending yourself saying what housewife dresses in beat up vans and baggy clothes. You definitely not imaging yourself in that position for the rest of the day.
You expressed that you just liked to take care of people, which was true. You always looked out for them, bringing an extra umbrella, to bringing cookies you made at 2 in the morning to school, always carrying band-aids (yes, the paw patrol ones you took from the kids you babysit).
You checked the time on your phone seeing it was late since the sun at last went down, your lock screen being your dogs to their complaint since they have a group photos of you all from high school as theirs. To which you replied “They’re my babies” getting a groan and huff out of them.
Seeing the notifications of your group chat you grinned at the contact name you and Issei gave each other; yall jokingly call each other pet names, his contact being honeybun and yours being pumpkin, even including Makki in your contacts as pudding bc then it wasn’t weird, right? no.
“What’re you smiling at y/n?” Oikawa cheekily asks teasing you. You turn to him giving him a dirty look, not having enough energy to deal him right now.
“Don’t listen to his bullshit.” Oikawa’s girlfriend says. You’re thankful for her. She was always on your side, being the only other girl in your friend group. To be honest you just wanted her and you to hang out most of the time, but of course to your disapproval her boyfriend and his friends had to join in.
“Fuck this. Fuck you. I’m sleeping.” You say getting up to her objection, the only thing on your mind wanting to retire for the night.
“You sure you’ll be fine? Let us at least walk you home.” She said already grabbing her boyfriend’s arm.
“Nah, im good. I live right down the road.” You try to say not slurring. The last thing you want is him teasing you even more, especially in this state, knowing you, you’d probably start crying at the slightest irritation when youre this drunk.
You started to “walk” towards your house resting your hand against the brick walls to not lose your balance, leading you to run into Issei. You stopped to watch him lean against the alley holding a cigarette between his index and middle finger.
“I’m hiding like a bitch” He says noticing you, resting his weight against the wall.
“Wanna be a bitch with me? He grinned blowing out the smoke out with his words.
You didn’t reply, just walking over to him, just being around him made you feel warm.
"Fuck its windy.” He says trying to light a new cig.
“C’you make me a house?” He asks.
You go up and put your hands around his cigarette, this not being your first time. Your hands wrap a little tighter to prevent the wind from burning out his flame. He joins you with his free hand helping, finally getting his cig to light.
“Thanks doll” He smirks.
“No problem princess.” You reply earning a laugh out of him.
He takes his first hit with his and your hands still wrapped around it. He gets an up-close look at your hands, noticing how tiny they were, seeing all the scars that he never noticed, making a mental note to ask you how you got them later.
His head gets close to yours for the first time in a while due to his height. You glance at his face, noticing his features seeing some stubble growing on his face.
“You ain’t shave?” You ask, never seeing it in the past, while he was moving back up, blowing the smoke away from you.
“What, you don’t like my majestic beard? “He jokes. Making you giggle almost losing your balance before catching yourself on the wall.
“s’too much work.” He starts. “You wanna shave it for me?” he says slightly leaning towards you. Handing you back your lighter knowing you didn’t need him to carry it because your pants actually had pockets in them for once.
You let out a soft laugh not responding again. He catches on, you got quiet when you were tired and he made out that you were walking towards your house.
“You going home?” he asks already knowing the answer.
“Yeah.” You respond more than happy to have him walk you back, him already moving to walk next to you.
He walks you home, you two talking about random shit, both of you forgetting about your skateboards leaving Makki to deal with them. And even though you’re drunk as fuck you’re still in the right state of mind, carrying a normal conversation with him. But just because you’ve built a tolerance doesn’t mean you can do basic tasks, like walk correctly.
When he reaches your house, he types in the keycode, your first dogs birthday, being glad that you, him and Makki have each other’s memorized.
He leads you into you house setting you on the couch, petting your dogs that ran up to him.
“Mommy’s not feeling too good” He said giving them the affection they deserved.
“Yes I am.” You slurred getting them attention on you now.
He walked over to your counter putting on the playlist that you two made together on shuffle, High fashion being the first to play. You didn’t like when it was quiet because too many thoughts would run though your head. You were in no way sad, singing the lyrics while you were laughing barely being able to hold yourself up as proof.
Remembering you were tired, he takes you off the couch and borderline carries you to your room, , setting you on your plush blankets that you had so many of because it was warm and comfy.
“Easy, there. Try to sit up.”He said, trying to ask you what draws your pj’s were in because he didn’t want to snoop around; neither of you being bothered that you were half naked, what’s the difference between panties and a bikini, he thought remembering the times you’ve been to the beach together.
Well it was maybe the fact that you were clinging onto him because u stumbled into him and he was closest stable thing around and you wouldn’t let go because it was cold and you couldn’t stop shaking.
He ignores his thoughts and grabs the shirt he got out figuring you don’t need to change your bra because you told him and Makki that it was normal to keep it on for a few days after they were in awe as you were explaining how expensive they were. You calling Oikawa’s girlfriend to prove your point as she immediately agreed with you…Sometimes you might have got a little too comfortable with them.
You hear the song in the background change to Love Songs, you humming along, “Hope you smile when you listen.”
You were still holding on to him, your boobs squeezing against him, him only being able to put a t-shirt on you, while you looked up at him with your red glossy eyes making him burn up.
You fidget timidly with your face now in his chest while gripping his sweater. Trying to build up the little courage you had. He tilts your head up making you look at him, wondering what you were thinking about.
You try to express yourself, but you can’t get the words out him having no idea what is going on in your head at the moment.
“It’s okay to be nervous sometimes. Tell me” He gently says reading your body language. He was intuitive, so there was no way you could hide your feelings from him.
But you knew you could trust him, him having full self-control, always staying collected and following through on what he said he’d do. He went out of his way to avoid any friction coming between you two, him never raising his voice or starting an argument.
“We need to talk.” You started. “About something important.”
“Ok…What is it?” He questioned rubbing his hands on your back. You were so nervous, were you really about to say this? Confess your feelings that you’ve pushed to the back of your heart for so long?
“I… I l… I love your face. And the stuff in it. and around it.” You spoke, being surprised you did it stutter.
He stood there, hands stopped moving trying to process what you just said.
“Just you, in general…” You finally confess trying to state three things at once barely getting your words out.
But he understood exactly what you meant, or maybe he was warping what you said to fit what he wanted.
"I don’t even know when I started liking you, but this shit won't go away." You restated
Nope. He clearly just heard you say that.
He doesn’t understand what’s so different about today. Yall have been in this scenario multiple times taking care of each other, sometimes including another into the mix.
You didn’t understand either. You just felt like the time was right, even though you know it wasn’t the best idea to confess while you were drunk off your ass.
But you couldn’t help it, your feelings overflowing, which you never until this day let get the best of you, being vulnerable and trusting is not your usual . Youve never even had a crush on anyone, him being to only in your whole life to make you blush.
Who you been vibin' wit and why I can't make you mine?
You should have seen the signs that you feel for him when he helped that lady that lives down the street from him set up her Christmas lights or when he first met your dog that wasn’t fond of men, but it instantly liked him. And you loved his selflessness it was something you admired and applauded.
“y/n” He tries talking you down, making sure you weren’t just saying this because of alcohol, deep down knowing he felt the same, you always being in the back of his mind.
You were generous with your time too, always being there for him. You knew he was softer than he appeared, he was tender, sensitive and vulnerable. He tried his hardest to not get into situations where anyone would get hurt, like breakups, arguments, and so on.
Which is why he won’t make the first move. He pushes his feelings to the back of his head. He values your friendship more than anything, but he can see what develops. If love is meant to be, it will happen.
I told you I am down for the worse or the better. But I keep sticking to you cause them four stupid letters
“You make me so happy. And I’ll always care about you. Okay? He says breaking the silence, trying to reassure you.
“You mean so much to me—something I can’t even put into words because nothing can compare- I’ve wanted you since that day you tripped and bust your ass in the school hallway I still want you even though you drive me insane.”
“Iss-“ You tried to get out only to have him continue talking over you.
"I love that you can’t leave the house without a jacket. I love the wrinkles that appear on your forehead after you call me crazy. I love that it takes you hours to get ready. I love that you always know how to make me feel better. I love that even when you don’t agree with my decisions you always trust me to make them. I love that when I spend a day with you, I can still smell you on my clothes; and I love that you are the last person I think of before I go to sleep at night."
You stood there awestruck for what feels like eternity until you mustered the bravery to speak “I didn’t expect you to feel the same way-” You said, being dumbfounded because from what you’ve seen treats everyone “nice”, were you really getting special treatment?
He tilts your chin up, locking his dark eyes with yours. “Baby I don’t know if your notice but you and Makki are my only people that aren’t my family that call me my first name.”
He has a point. You think pushing yourself more into him, trying to fuse your bodies together to hide, not relaxing what you were doing to him. He tries to nudge your legs to the side but you won’t let go still clinging onto him.
“fuck” He groans. You pulling back wondering why until you looked down and noticed. A smirk appeared on your face as you reattached your self to him like velcro. You were feeling bold, the liquid courage still in your system driving you to slide your fingers down his chest, looking him in the eyes before stopping at his waistband.
He knows what you’re doing, him being in this position multiple times. Does he really want to ruin your friendship like this? He hasn’t even asked you to be his girlfriend. He tries to push you off him already knowing you were gonna complain. But what he didn’t expect was for you to whimper out his name in that pretty voice of yours.
He tried to keep his calm, blood already rushing down. “You know what you’re doing”
“yeah” You start.
“y’don’t want me?” Giving him your pouty face that you know he’s weak for, hoping that’ll work, insecurity piling up. Was it because your boobs weren’t that big or that fact that you were dressed like man? Was he not attracted to you right now, only liking you when you were dolled up?
“Fuck” You think. You should have worn something cute instead of dressing like a whole ass man even with your makeup fully done. Its not like you were supposed to know you were gonna get fucked today.
His were burning holes into you now, thinking of how to say “No, I would be more that happy to fuck you!” to his best friend, soon regaining his consciousness finally speaking.
“Fuck no doll, ive wanted you for a minute. You know me better than I know myself. How did you not notice my feelings?”
You got me singing love songs, love songs, love songs
“You’re really hard to read” You replied trying to maintain your seductive act, resting your hands back on his chest.
“So are you.” He said lowering his head, you still looking up at him, taking in your gleaming eyes.
Sex ain't the only thing that's on my mind
But you get me so excited, whoa
Your heart was beating so wildly that you could only take little sips of breath. His hands running down your waist stopping at your hips.
“Can I kiss you?" He asks
"...yeah” you attempted to say as confidently as you could, nodding your head along with it.
His face bent down, hot mouth breathing over you. His lips slowly moved, brushing over yours, the liquor on his lips that you hated; only choosing fruity drinks even though you got relentlessly teased you for it. You pushed further into the kiss desperately wanting more. Your teeth clicking his from being impatient, wanting to suck him in. Your hands sliding under his shirt subconscious desires reaching out.
Irreplaceable
Tattoos from your neck that drop down to your ankles
“You’re drunk…” he says snapping you out of your trance.
“So are you.”
He dove in for another kiss much more passionate than the previous one, arguably needy, pusing you on the bed to which you more than happily comply. He tugs back not letting his mind get the best of him, disconnecting your spit trial leaving you panting. “You sure this alright?” He says deep down hoping you still say yes.
You pull him back for your answer, your grabby little hands working their way back up his shirt. He gets the hint and pauses your lips rendezvous, taking off the turtleneck that he looked oh so good in, before seeing his unclothed body. You’re admiring his body in a new way, before just complimenting him whenever he got a new tattoo, now up under him tracing them like a lovestruck teenager.
“When did you get this one?” You quietly ask, his ears closer to you than they’ve ever been.
“I got it that day you faked sick”
“What! You said were gonna take me!” You sulked, turning your head away from his as much as you could, crossing your arms.
He let out a slight laugh before gently taking your face in his hands, guiding you back into the kiss.
This is not really what he imagined for your first time. He’s an old-fashioned romantic who likes to take one step at a time. But then again nothing was ever normal with you. That said, when he falls in love, he falls deep.
“You’ve done this before?” You uttered.
“Hmm?” He mumbles, unmoving his lips from you kissing you, moving towards your neck.
“You still with that other girl?”
“No. I broke it off her, everything that came out of her mouth was bullshit, and no she wasn’t my girlfriend.”
“You didn’t trust her? You added. Trying to distract him until you could think of a way you could say “hey in my 21 years of life I’ve never got passed kissing a guy.”
“Our relationship was purely built on lies, I’d second guess everything she said. He replied, wondering if you were interrogating him.
“Why’d you wanna know?” He asked bringing his face up from your skin.
“…No one’s ever touched me like this, fuck.” You bashfully admitted, thoughts racing through your head that he didn’t want you anymore because you weren’t experienced.
But he knew what was running through that pretty head of yours, his fingers reaching out to with your hair trying to comfort you.
“You’re a virgin?” He curiously asked dragging his hand to your cheek, you leaning into it.
“y-yeah” you muttered trying to move your eyes away from his looking down at his body.
“I thought you had a boyfriend before” he said, softly turning your jaw to make you look at him. Your eyes diverted from his arms back to his eyes.
“We weren’t actually dating” You quickly say trying to clear up the misunderstanding. “He was my friend and seatmate that pretended to be my fake boyfriend to get me out of some trouble” you spewed out “and I guess I forgot to tell everyone that it was fake.”
“Even if we were that doesn’t mean we fucked.” You sheepishly replied.
“So… what trouble did your fake boyfriend get you out of.” He questioned knowing how much trouble it must have been for you, miss independent, to go to such lengths.
“Umm, well…this guy wouldn’t stop flirting with me even after I told him I don’t like him, even following me to my other classes.”
He wasn’t surprised, you were definitely a sight for sore eyes, in fact the prettiest thing he’s laid his eyes on, your beaming eyes, your dimple when you smiled, your pretty face, your “ugly” laugh, he could go on for days.
“Why are we talking about this” You whined, reaching your hand back out to him.
He took a hint and continued kissing you, bringing you closer to him while you attempted to take you shirt off. His hands helping you seeing as that you were struggling, being lost in his touch, finishing by moving you up more on you bed, pushing your plushies out of the way, to your protested because “they had feelings too.”
He ignored you, bending down to pull your panties off stopping once he saw the slick coming through them.
“Fuck baby you’re wet” He breathed dragging his fingers across your clothed slit earing a whimper from you, leaving his fingers drenched.
Shawty, you wanna feel good, I wanna feel good too
Don't I make you feel good?
“M’always wet.” you responded.
From what? He questions taking off your soaked cotton panties, tossing them to the side.
“From me?” He smirks bringing his hand back towards your heat. You not even comprehending what he just said, just knowing that you’re ashamed of how worked up you were getting.
You were in awe. You’ve always known his hands were big, but in this situation your mind wondered. His fingers were so much bigger than yours knowing you can barely fit two inside your with out it hurting, and not in a good way.
“Do you know how pretty you are? It’s honestly distracting.”. He says kissing down your whole body, stopping at your breasts, licking lazily around and coming back to the nub. The attention on your nipples making you squirm and he finally lets go, you grateful that he stopped or you would have almost cum, how embarrassing.
“I thought you said were gonna get them pierced” He remembered, you going on a whole rant about how cute they were.
“You said u were gnna get em with me” You looked back on, reminding yourself making him promise to get them with you because you were too scared of the pain.
“That was the same day you played sick and I got that tattoo.” He stated lightening the mood, hoping you can calm yourself down before you actually embarrass yourself.
He picks back up and continues kissing all the way down your body, you playing with his hair while biting your lip to muffle your moans and whine until he reaches your entrance.
He parted your legs, your pussy laid out before him, believing you no have reason to be shy about it either. He paused, admiring your swollen cunt and puffy clit, you were beautiful.
The feeling that he didn't want anyone else ever in his position overtook him. He let out a little breath on your clit and you thrashed around. He wasn't going to play. “I’ll take care of you.”
His lips travel over your skin, light and heated before settling himself between your legs, grabbing you by your thighs and dragging you closer. “That tickles.” you giggle, nerves making you kick your legs, almost hitting him in the face before he grabs them. He puts them down locking your legs with his arms, lowering himself until he’s on the ground facing you.
“Does it make you nervous when I stare?” he teases while your covering your face trying to hide the blush he caused. He puts his mouth on you, quickly gripping your thighs, his hands leaving imprints in your skin dragging you even more into him, deprived kisses taking over your body.
“yer so pretty” You purred seeing the sight of his big build between your legs, your fingers grabbing onto his curly dark locks, tugging them.
Issei moans, his voice radiating through your body, forcing out a cry, blessing him with your pretty voice. “I-Issei!” You cry, never feeling like this before, your vibrator and hands doing it no justice.
“Shh, just look at me, doll.”
You can barely make out what he says, so drunk on pleasure. You try your best, doing anything to see the pretty man beneath you. But you get interrupted by your pleasure, your back arching not being able to control your body, grinding down to meet his lips, heat rising in you.
He kisses through your wetness playing with your bud. You choking on your spit, back arching again your body tensing up. “Issei,” You beg, grabbing him knowing what you want but not being able to express it. Luckily he can read you like an open book, knowing what you want, driving you over the edge as he makes you see stars. “Good girl,” he sighs when he feels you let go of his wrist letting him bring you your first orgasm.
“Look at your thighs shaking so much.” He teasingly cooed, wrapping his hands around them, bringing you out of your daze.
Shawty, your body is so exciting
Arching your back into the blankets, letting out a whine “Want your fingers.”.
He lets out a condescending laugh. “You need to learn to be patient. You just came and you’re already so eager for more?”
But by the time he finished your body went limp, you were totally weak, body loose-limbed and pliant. Your mind clouded by lust and deep in your own world. You gasped out a little sob, unable to comprehend anything beyond the discomfort and the need to have it gone. You can’t think straight all you can do is take action, grabbing his arm him easing his fingers into to you.
It’s not too tight, is it?” you ask clenching around his fingers.
“Just relax… let yourself feel it” He says barely being able to move in you. Fuck so were so tight.
“I love the way you look with my fingers inside you.” He added starting to thrust them inside you, making you let out a string of moans.
“Look how good you take it.”
“Fuck, you’re so messy.” He groaned feeling the slick running down his hands, before taking them out.
“Issei-i,” You cried when he pulled away, pleasure leaving you, tears coming back.
He shushes you easily, his fingers wiping your tears. You were so precious to him, your moans music to his ears. He slows down repositioning his fingers, making you let out a whimper squeezing around them. Your brains so crowded you can’t focus, can’t gather the strength to speak when he thrust them faster inside you.
Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you fell back, fingers curling inside you, chanting his name over and over, incoherent words coming out of your mouth begging for more.
You pussy tightens as you cum, unable to breath, letting out gasps and whines. Him still fucking you, fingers not stopping, pushing them in and out relentlessly feeling both pain and pleasure. You lay there, wet in your own cum not giving yourself a break before you went and got what you really wanted, his cock.
His eyes followed the movement of your hands as they pushed down his boxers, revealing the length of his cock, that jutted proudly from his hips. He was so pretty, so virile and handsome. Wondering how lucky you were to be in such a position with him.
You pushed away those thoughts and focused on him, pulling him forward gently, but he followed his encouragement. One of his hands tilted his cock down toward your lips. “Open your mouth for me, baby.”
You parted them instantly, tongue sliding slightly outward, and then you whimpered as the warm weight of his cock slid into your mouth. You let your eyes flutter closed and swirled your tongue around the tip of his cock not knowing exactly what you were doing, but it was working, tasting the salty tang of the precum that wept from his leaking slit. You moved your tongue as the he put his hand into your hair, gripping the strands and pushing deeper into his mouth.
“You look so good on your knees like that. “He says meeting your eyes once again, almost cumming from the picture below him.
“Slowly, baby, I’m not going anywhere.” He says slowing you down by grabbing your hair, making a pace that you follow.
“Yeah, that’s it, baby, just like that.” Seeing that sinful look in your eyes with your redden swollen lips.
You moan feeling yourself drip down your thighs, getting even wetter giving him head. Trying to ease the discomfort by closing your legs, griding them together, trying to find some friction. Your ears hearing “That’s so fucking hot.” watching the scene unfold beneath him.
Your jaw hurts, trying got make him cum faster using your hands and lips together hollowing your cheeks. “Oh fuck, oh, Jesus, fuck yes, there, just like that, fucking Christ" he groans out, his voice sounded beautiful to your ears, knowing he was about to cum.
He finally lets go cumming in your mouth, you swallowing it all, trying not to wince at the taste. “Did I do good” You ask waiting for his reply. Your doll eyes, so red and worn out looking up at him for approval. Fuck he was whipped.
“Yeah…fuck baby”
I love when you get on top and you ride it
You get back under him, his cock resting on you, drenched and clenching around nothing, resting in your cum. You working yourself up against him.
“What makes you think I’m going to fuck you?” He says to your complaint.
“You’re not ready yet.” he mumbles against your whining. Spreading your legs, slapping your clit a few times before letting his cock rest on your folds. Finally getting “seated” he picks up your legs and puts them both on one of his shoulders your thighs warming his cock, your knees touching his cheek not moving, getting a kick out of how desperate your were for him.
“s-stop being mean” You cried reaching out for him to come closer, needing affection after all you’ve been though.
“Aww, poor baby, you want me to take care of it for you? He says leaning into you, reaching your kiss, tasting the remnants of the cum in your mouth.
He plundered your mouth and slowly teased his cock over your entrance, catching it against your clit and making you whimper into the kiss, clearly wanting to be fucked. Your kiss turned you sucking on Issei’s tongue and lips, biting the swollen pout until his lips were red and puffy. He pulled back and looked down at you, a beautiful mess under him.
His fat cock head pushed between your folds. The moan escaping both of your lips was primal. You were turned on beyond imagination and the way he was thrusting forward, spreading his leaking precum on your wet clit was almost too much. He quickly picked up his pace fucking your folds, his warm head brushing against your clit with every movement, but your greedy self wanted more.
The fact that he made you cum so easily made you proud. Just because you’ve never gone this far with someone else doesn’t mean you’ve never cum, you’ve had a lot of practice over the years, being insatiable, the sheets soaked underneath you from your previous orgasms being proof.
“Keep your eyes open, look at me, baby.” He moans getting your attention him.
You tried, you really tried, but the way he was stroking you, imagining what it’d be like to actually sit on his cock, the lewd sounds echoing in the background leaving you unable to focus.
He taps on your cheek eventually getting you look at him, keeping your mind on him by placing his fingers in your mouth you letting him, hazily sucking on them, not being able to close your mouth.
“Oh, baby, you’re drooling everywhere.” He grumbles. Your spit dripping onto his fingers, the friction of your thighs making him feral, moving at an even faster pace. Your body bouncing with every thrust.
“You gonna cum after I cum on your little clit? Come one more time for me, I know you’ve got it in you.” You sob feeling the puddle beneath you, time slowing, fire pooling in your tummy. Listening to his words you let yourself go. You come with a silent scream as the pleasure ripped through your body, your nails scratching his soft skin. Your vison fading to black feeling him lose his rhythm and moaning a mixture of curse words along with your name, feeling him cum on your tummy before resting his head in your neck while letting your legs go.
“So good for me, look at how much you came.” He says breaking the static. You whining into his shoulder, emotions high, never doing this before.
“I know, baby, I know. I’m right here, just breathe.” He says. You two laying in silence for an unclear amount of time, him rubbing your back while you rest in his chest almost dozing off.
“Are we still…friends?” You croak out trying to hold back your sobs already knowing the answer that you two were defiantly not friends now and never would be just friends again.
“Friends don’t do this type of shit” He maintained grabbing your shoulders to sit you and him up. You were worried, did he only do this with you because he was drunk? You were anxious that you scared him away because you just poured your heart out to him and pushed yourself on him. You left your head down, tears already coming out to your dismay. You moved your hand up to wipe them but he beat you to it.
“Look at me… I love you.” He says holding your cheeks in his palm. You in awe, hoping that you weren’t imagining it, that this was real life.
“R-really” You question making him worry too, preferring to forgive and forget rather than letting this a divide between the two of you in case you went back on your feelings. You were so overwhelmed, never feeling love until this moment, so happy that the person you longed for liked you back. Yours tears running once again.
“Shh, shh, it’s alright...Don’t cry.”
You don’t even know why you were crying, the hangover already getting to you making you get a headache. You groaning in his arms complaining that your head and throat hurt.
“Ill be back” he says detaching himself from you, letting you know he was coming right back.
He walks to your fridge opening it to see every drink but water, having too dig through all of them, especially the absurd amount of apple juice guessing it was your “once a year craving for it”. He finally got you some cold water, putting It in a cup and waked back to your room.
“Issei” you whined not picking your head up from the pillow.
“Shh baby im right here.”
He sat down beside you on your bed lifting your head up. “Here drink this” he reassured, to which you ignored not wanting anything to go in your mouth, just wanting the day, or night as it was now, to end.
“It’s just water, honey, look.” You sat yourself up with his help seeing him in just his boxers, you remembering your still naked, not caring enough to cover yourself. He held to glass to your mouth, babying you, tilting it far back enough to where you could drink it. The water hit the back of your mouth feeling like a shot making you cough.
“I know, it hurts. I’m sorry but we have to” He stated. You continued to drink it, feeling the stinging in the back of your throat, him comforting you, calling you “good girl” which was unsurprisingly working.
He put the cup on your dresser when you finished, climbing back into bed with you leaning your body into his. “Have you ever thought about...us? Y’know, as an...item?” he said causing you to look at him with wide eyes.
“Call me selfish, but I don’t ever want anyone else to touch you.” He insisted making you cheeks flush. You try to think of a way to respond, not wanting to keep him waiting.
“You’re the best thing that has, and ever will, happen to me. Not only am I deeply in love with you, you’re my best friend.” You stammer out, your shaky hands somehow made there way to his neck, letting them fall slowly before he grabs them dragging you in for a kiss before you got to even see his face.
“Everybody has always thought we’re a couple.” He continued taking his time kissing you all over your face. “Then I guess we should be.” You retort, kissing him back before you could see his reaction, not wanted to be embarrassed anymore today. But he caught you, holding you still “Really “y/n? Like deadass?” He asked.
“Yes dummy, I want to be your girlfriend” You say causing him to grin swearing you’ve never seen him smile that big, before he gives you one last kiss.
“I always kiss you on the cheek, why are you blushing now? He teases laying back down, you following along. You just snuggle into him mumbling something along the lines of “m’tired”, he understanding and speaking to you in a soft, gentle voice while helping you to bed, so he doesn’t make it harder for you to sleep by being loud. “I’m here love, I’m not going anywhere.” He whispers into your ear mkanig your heart swoon one last time before you pass out.
“I l-love you issei.” You sleepily mumble.
“Tell me this when you’re sober.” He says stroking your head.
“Just relax, close your eyes...”He murmurs, your heart beating slower every second. Both of you together, lazy, slow presses. Limbs pressed together, chests heaving, fingers trailing down backs, tracing lazy patterns.
“Oh!…” He remembers. “If you really wanna get them pierced, we could get matching ones.”
© all content belongs to spikesbimbo. do not alter or repost .
#haikyuu x reader#issei x reader#matsukawa x reader#mattsun x reader#matsuwaka issei#haikyuu smut#haikyuu hcs#haikyuu fluff#haikyuu headcanons#matsukawa issei x reader#tw drunk sex#tw under the influence
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I’m Still Hurting (F!Reader/M!Orc)
Pairings: Fem!Reader/Male!Orc
Genre: Urban Fantasy, Angst
Warnings: (Almost) Infidelity
Word Count: 3376 words
Summary: Your boyfriend does something he’d never thought he’d do, and you’re left to try and pick up the pieces.
Request: can I make a request? About an angst story between an m!orc and f!human. I like the idea of like maybe the orc sorta misses being with other orc women or like she can't fulfill his needs and she hears this. I like the idea of almost infidelity
A/N: Surprise bitches! I’m alive! And back with some delicious angst for y’all!! I really loved doing this request, as I don’t often write full on angst. I am also working on a fluffy request at the moment, if some of you would like some nice comfort after this haha. Hope y’all enjoy!
Honey ❤️: Babe
Honey ❤️: Babe please answer the phone I need to talk to you
Honey ❤️: I know you’re angry, you should be angry, but please talk to me
Honey ❤️: Baby please
“____? Is that my phone?” Brynn yells from the kitchen, already mixing another cocktail for you to down. Her bright red horns peek over the living room divider, bouncing back as she grabs the alcohol from the fridge. Still looking at your bright screen, you don’t even have the energy to respond.
“____?” You throw your phone away as she peaks her head over, giving her a shameful look. Brynn furrows her brow, pulling away from the kitchen island and putting one hand on her hip. “Was that him?” With your eyes darting back and forth from the pillow you shoved your phone under and Brynn’s face, you nod.
“Y-yeah, it was him.”
Brynn sighs, fiddling with her hands.
“Listen, I don’t want to tell you what to do, especially not tonight, but I just think-”
“No, no, it’s alright. You’re right, you’re right.” A jolt hits you as your phone vibrates, the vibrations rumbling through the fabric and stabbing right into your stomach. You force yourself to look away, fiddling with your fingers. Brynn shoots you a pitiful look, you’re sure of it, even as your efuse to meet her gaze. “I shouldn’t talk to him tonight. Not right now, not when I’m like….this.” A slow, tired breath escapes you. “I’ll make him wait, just like he did.”
The coach cushion bends as Brynn sits next to you, rubbing your shoulder as she leans in for a side each. You accept it, your body like a deadweight as you let yourself go slack in her arms.
“Do you want anything? Chocolate, maybe a movie? I’ve got some leftover cheesecake?”
“A movie sounds nice.” You murmur, nodding against her chest. Brynn hums, her tail coming up and massaging your lower back as she kisses you on the forward.
“Of course, your choice. Do you want me to get your drink?”
You nod once more, letting Brynn untangle herself from the hug and laying back on the couch, grabbing the comfiest blanket and the remote. You quickly flick through you and Brynn’s ‘most watched’ section on Netflix. You need something new tonight, something to get your mind off.
All your regular comfort movies are romances, after all.
By the time Brynn comes back, a rum and coke and a carton of ice cream in hand, you’re already snuggled into a blanket burrito. She hands you a spoon and the glass, which you wordlessly accept. She sits down and throws a hand over your shoulder, trying her best to massage the left over tension in your neck. You sink into the feeling, pressing on your movie of choice.
“Mad Max: Fury Road, huh? I’ve heard this movie’s great.”
“Yeah,” you whisper, “It is.”
And chocked full of shitty men getting what they deserve.
As the opening title plays, the deep voice of Tom Hardy kicking the movie off, you snuggle into Brynn’s side. Your phone buzzes again, but it’s drowned out by screaming men and loud engines. Just how you like it.
Honey ❤️: Could you call me in the morning?
Honey ❤️: I’ll leave you alone for the night, I’m sorry
Honey ❤️: I love you
--------
Waruck sighs, his fingers shaking as another small ‘message delivered’ shows up on his screen. No response, just like the last 15 texts. He finds himself typing out another anyway.
I love you so fucking much
It reads, but is quickly deleted. Waruck clicks off his phone, but it stays in his hand, taunting him. The black mirror shows a sad, pathetic boyfriend, getting the silent treatment.
He falls back onto his bed, exhausted from a day of doing nothing. Nothing but worrying and feeling guilty, with the occasional flicking through TV channels and texting his girlfriend.
It’s getting late, his bedside clock cutting through the dark of his room to remind him he’s been up for almost 16 hours now. Waruck slides a hand through his hair and gets up. He’s going to have to camp out in front of the TV, because he knows he won’t be able to sleep tonight.
Not after what he did.
--------
He had gone out with friends. Friends from highschool who he still occasionally chatted with, friends he didn’t even really like anymore. But the past two weeks had him feeling oddly...nostalgic, like something was out of place. So when his buddy Simon had invited him to the bar, he had eagerly accepted.
He remembers grabbing his coat, you sending him a text to have fun, and him not replying. He didn’t know why he didn’t respond, he still doesn’t. The two of you had been going strong for almost 8 months now, with only the occasional hiccup that most couples have. So why didn’t he respond? What made him casually throw your sweet remark to the side like that?
Waruck shakes his head, trying to focus on the movie in front of him. Now isn’t the time to get existential over tiny shit like that, not with how the rest of the night went.
When he met up with the group, Waruck immediately knew that tonight was going to be different. His current group of friends are quite different, less rowdy, than his old posse. At only 10 PM, three of the guys we’re already halfway drunk, saving a spot in line from him outside the noisy bar. The electronic music that thrummed through the concrete and out onto the street reminded him of how much time has passed, how different his usual party-scene is now, and he revels in that feeling of former good-times.
Simon greets him with a hug, the guys shouting his name as he joins them. From the corner of his eye, he sees a gaggle of girls giggling.
And that's where it started.
An orc woman, dressed in a beautiful black dress, winks as she passes him at the bar. Simon nudges his side as Waruck takes a drink.
“Dude, that chick is totally sending you the look”
Waruck furrows his brow, stirring his drink.
“What’s ‘the look’?” He says, taking another sip of his scotch.
Simon rolls his eyes. “The ‘come hit on me’ look dude! That’s the sign you need to go for it!”
“I have a girlfriend, Simon.”
Simon scoffs, throwing his hand out dramatically. “What, that human chick?”
Waruck has half of mind to set down his drink and ask Simon what he means with that sarcastic tone of voice. It pisses him off, but he says nothing, just rolls his eyes.
“No offense, bro, she looks cute and all. But is she really worth missing out on some great ass?”
Waruck grimaces and shoots Simon a dirty look. “Jesus, Simon, are you serious?”
“I’m serious! When was the last time you had fun, y’know? Everyone knows an orc chick can throw down, wild-style.” Simon nudges him in his side, playfully, but it only serves to make Waruck more annoyed. “C’mon, you seriously don’t miss it?”
Waruck should tell him a firm ‘No’, finish his drink, and leave. He should call a cab and go home, call you and rant about his gross misogynistic friend from high school.
But he doesn’t.
The part of him, the part of him that feels slightly off, wonders if this is it. It had been a long time since he had been with another orc. You were a great girlfriend, but so different from in so many ways. Is that it?
Maybe relieving the old days will satisfy whatever longing he has, and then it will leave forever. Would that be so bad, to let loose for one night?
Waruck feels a tap on his shoulder, and turns to see the orc girl from earlier; The one who sent him ‘the look’.
“Hey handsome, can I buy you a drink?”
Between the boosted bass of the music and the orc woman pressing up against him, Waruck doesn’t notice Simon slip away, giving him a pat on the back.
Leave, say no, tell her she’s got the wrong guy, you fucking idiot. His consciousness yells.
“U-uh, sure.” He stutters.
She introduces herself as Naz and says she noticed him the minute he walked in.
“Hard not to notice the best-dressed guy in the room.” She flirts, pressing herself closer and up against him.
He has a thousand little moments like that, to say something; To pull back and apologize, but he doesn’t.
Instead, he slips into a corner booth with her, purposely ignoring the texts you send to check up on him. You had remembered that he wasn’t sure how much fun this night would be, and routinely checked in if he needed a convenient excuse to leave early. You’re sweet like that.
Naz is sweet too. She's a great conversationalist, with a good head on her shoulders and an interesting career in zoology. Waruck could see the two of you being good friends.
Is that why she seems so alluring? Because she’s so similar to you? Waruck’s mind does mental gymnastics to try and justify his hesitance, his compliance in believing that maybe she has something different after all, even though he knows that isn’t true.
The two of them talk for a solid hour and a half, Naz slowly inching herself closer and putting a hand on his knee. His body screams in resistance, his stomach tying up into knots, but he doesn’t push her away.
“So, I’ve got a room not too far from here. What do you say we go make ourselves a bit more comfortable?”
This is his final chance to find an excuse and say goodnight. To run back home and forget this ever happened. But the words are caught in his throat and he’s further silenced by the nearby whooping of his asshole friends.
“Yeah, Waruck! Get some!”
Naz chuckles and mistakenly reads his seething anger at himself with embarrassment for his friends. She leans in, grabbing his jaw, and whispers.
“Let's give them a show, huh?” Then, she kisses him.
The noises of the bar, his friends, and Naz all drown away as her lips mold into his. Waruck’s body goes rigid, terrified as time seems to freeze as he kisses someone who is not his girlfriend.
But all of that stops when your ringtone begins to blast in his pocket. It should be near silent when compared to the pounding bar music, but that familiar jingle seems to cut deep into his skin and skewer his heart. Waruck pulls away with a quick jerk, Naz almost falling over as he pushes himself into his seat and away from her body-heat. Every nerve is a light with tension as he quickly pulls out his phone.
There on the screen is a picture of you, your contact name, “Sweetie❤️”, shining through the dimmed light of that bar. Waruck breathes heavily, feeling like he’s just run an emotional marathon, stuck in his own head until Naz slides away from him.
“Wait, hold on, do you have a girlfriend?”
Waruck looks at her, then looks at his still-ringing phone, then back to Naz. He nods.
Naz's face curls up into obvious disgust, quickly directing her body to be as far away from him as possible. “Fucking hell, dude. What the fuck?” She grabs her handbag and stomps out of the booth, not before throwing her drink in his face and telling him to go to hell.
He almost watches her move across the bar, most likely to go complain to her friends about the asshole she just wasted the last 2 hours chatting up, but all he can focus on is your picture on his phone.
--------
Waruck practically runs out of the bar, his whole body covered in sweat and his mind racing a mile a minute.
What the hell was wrong with him?
He felt like a 15 year old, goaded into another shitty prank just because he wanted to look cool in front of his friends, buying into their weird bullshit about humans. Was he seriously going to throw away your wonderful relationship over one night, over one urge?
Naz had been strikingly beautiful, in all the ways he was taught an orc like himself should look for. She could probably get any guy in that club tonight, but she wasn’t you. You’re different, but in so many cool, inconsequential, uniquely-you ways.
Waruck doesn’t know how long he walks before he sits down outside a cafe, trying to collect his racing emotions. He feels gross, sticky with the kind of sweat you only get after too much alcohol and too many people. The screen of his phone seems to reflect every smudge and finger-print as he swipes it to unlock it, finally getting the courage to read your text messages.
They start off normal, spread out over several hours. The occasional “How are the guys?” and “Hope you are having fun! Just let me know when you get home safe.” before dropping off into nothing. Right up until 20 minutes ago, where you send a short and curt text that has his heart dropping to his stomach.
Sweetie❤️: Can you call me right now?
Sweetie❤️: Waruck, I need to talk to you
Sweetie❤️: Are you still at the bar?
After that is a notification of your missed call from earlier and Waruck can’t help but feel guilt stir in his gut.
It could be nothing, something unrelated to what he almost did tonight. But the notification he gets from his Instagram says otherwise. It says a mutual of his tagged him in a photo 30 minutes ago.
Waruck feels like vomiting when he opens up Simon’s story and sees a shaky picture of Naz, draped over him in the corner booth, with him looking all too happy to have her there. The caption reads
“At least someone’s getting lucky tonight 🤣🤣 #BoysNight20XX”
But what comes next is even worse; An even blurrier photo of Naz kissing him, both of their eyes closed as she almost sits in his lap.
Waruck can’t even look at the caption, quickly exiting out of the app and calling you.
He needs to explain himself.
But what will he say?
The phone rings, rings, rings….
Waruck waits with bated breath, thinking you’re going to let it go to voicemail, but you answer. There is no cheerful “Hi Babe” or even a tired and drawn-out “Hey.” Instead all Waruck hears is a shaky sigh, waiting for an explanation.
The words stay caught in Warucks throat, trying to find a way to maneuver and swing around to a solid excuse, a lie he hopes you won’t catch.
But he can’t, he can’t. Not to you.
So you make it easy for him, like you always do, and start the conversation off instead.
“Were you flirting with that girl?”
Waruck’s mind doesn’t give him a choice, the truth already spilling out like a tidal wave.
“Yes.”
Waruck hears you suck in a breath, before you shakily ask once more,
“Did you kiss her? Did you kiss her back?”
“Yes.”
There's 15 seconds of brutal silence as Waruck sits with his confession. In the moment, Waruck feels like he can hear your pounding heartbeat through the receiver.
You hang up.
---------
You hate the weather outside for two reasons.
One: You had far too much rum last night to enjoy any amount of sunlight. And,
Two: On a terrible morning like this one, it feels unfair that there aren't any dramatic thunder storms.
The bell rings on the cafe door as you walk in, causing you to wince as you pull down your sunglasses.
Thank god for the low lighting of these cafes.
You rub your brow, eyes scanning the menu above the bar. Some caffeine should do you good, at least with your headache.
But when you spot him, tucked away at a table, tapping his foot, all that aching pain seems to fall to your subconscious. Before you can meet eyes, you look away, forcing yourself to re-read the menu and blink away your tears.
You face the inevitable when you put in your order, turning to walk towards Waruck. He’s locked his gaze into the wood grain of the table, his large body hunched up and small, like he wants to sink into the shadows. He looks like shit, with large bags under his eyes and a nervous tension in his face.
He startles when you pull out a chair, sitting down across from him, but quickly curls back into his ball of shame. He looks so guilty, a small part of you wants to comfort him and tell him it’ll be alright.
You punch away that part of you with a baseball bat.
“Why did you flirt with her?”
Waruck says nothing. He looks at you with his tired eyes, big and racked with guilt.
I don’t know. They whisper.
Your fingers dig into your jeans, anger boiling up and through your nerves.
That’s not a good enough answer.
“Were you,” You suck in a breath, trying to control your volume, “Were you going to sleep with her? If I hadn’t called you, would you have-”
“No!” Waruck nearly shouts, shaking the table as his knees bang against the bottom, but he recoils once he sees the way you flinch. “No, I wasn’t going to.”
Those pesky tears press against your eyelids once more. You can feel your nails digging indents into your thighs.
“I don’t know if I can believe that.” You whisper, failing to catch the crack in your voice.
Waruck’s brow furrows as he nervously chews his bottom lip. He tries to meet your gaze, but you seem to look right through him.
“I know.” Waruck sighs, bringing his hand up to rub the back of his neck.
There's a tenuous silence; Waruck tries to find the words to fix things while you focus on the details of the cafe walls, examining every nook and cranny as you try not to sob.
“I-I understand if you don’t trust me. I understand if you hate me, or you want to break up. But please, please know that I love you, and that I’m sorry. I never wanted to hurt you. I’ve been kicking myself over flirting with that girl because I love you so fucking much. I-”
You hold up your hand, stopping Waruck in his tracks. He realizes how loud he’s been talking and that people are beginning to stare. He huddles back into his corner, tucking his hands into his lap. You let out a long breath. Waruck takes the risk and looks up.
When his eyes finally meet yours, he realizes just how sad you look. A treacherous tear has begun falling down your cheek, sending a lightning bolt of remorse into Waruck’s chest.
You take in another deep breath, wiping away the tear with the back of your hand. You look at Waruck, exhausted.
“I don’t,” You falter, but catch yourself, “I don’t want to break up with you. I just don’t know if I’m ready to forgive you yet.”
Waruck nods, fiddling with his fingers.
“Of course, I get it-”
“I’m not done.” Waruck quickly shuts his mouth. “You hurt me, Waruck. Hurt me in a way I don’t think I’ll ever forget. So I need time. Time before I can even see you again without thinking,” You hiccup, but this time you let the wave of emotion hit you, full force. “Without thinking about that night.”
A lady calls out your order, but neither of you makes a move. You sit in each other's presence, trying to wrap yourselves around the mess of emotions, trying to read the others mind without seeming too obvious.
You both sit here, in the presence of something that's been broken, damaged in a way that’s cut the heart of your chest and slams them on the table. There’s a crack that runs down between you two, inching open more and more with each breath.
But somehow, somehow, you both think you have a chance of fixing it.
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A Wedding And (Almost) A Funeral
The following is based on a true story.
I only wish it had been Henry who was there to save my life that day.
Warning(s): near-death experience, throwing up, use of coarse language.
Anyone who knows me knows that I love weddings. They don’t feel like days, they feel like moments. Too fun, too fast. The chance to wear that new dress that’s been hanging in the closet since you bought it on sale on a whim. Overly familiar conversations with people you have never met, and will never meet again. Confetti, champagne and drunk dancing. What’s not to love? On October 5th, I found out.
As two people began their life together, mine almost ended. Not in a Lifetime movie, should-have-been-me way. Quite literally.
It was the morning of Owen and Grace’s wedding, and I was going to be late. I was sure of this for two reasons; one, I’m an incredibly careful driver, and two, I was stuck behind a very large flock of sheep. This is exactly what happens when you decide to get married in a gorgeous countryside manor in the middle of nowhere. And exactly the kind of thing that would happen to me.
Owen and I met at our local youth club a million years ago and only hung out a handful of times before he left to join the Tanks Regiment. Apart from the odd Facebook message on birthdays and Christmases, we haven’t really spoken much over the years. Still, it’s nice to know I made a lasting impression on someone I suppose. So there I was, tired, hungry and over-caffeinated in the name of love.
Sometimes I’m thankful for some of the ridiculous things that have happened to me. This was one of those times. A few years before till death did I almost part, I had spent a cool September afternoon on a farm in Yorkshire herding pigs and sheep.
Believe it or not, this wasn’t some Jane Eyre quarter-life-crisis where I needed to run off and yell across the moors to regain some sanity. This was my cousin’s Hen Do. It started with a demure afternoon tea and ended in mud-splashed, cocktail-fuelled chaos.
To this day, Annie’s husband believes she’s teetotal. The unfortunate stain on the cream carpet of our rented Harrogate apartment says otherwise. I haven’t been able to look her poor unsuspecting husband in the eye since. Not that I’m a terrible liar. It was just too fucking funny.
With the memory of that crazy day clear in my mind, I jumped out of the car and used my skills as an amateur shepherdess to shoo the huddled flock onto the side of the road, which was a lot harder to pull off in five inch heels and a tight dress. Sadly, the sheep were in no mood to be moved. With splashes of mud on my heels, I got back in the car.
I was definitely going to be late.
It took me half an hour to get to the pub, where Owen’s uncle Graham enthusiastically waved me onto the car park. It was a dull grey stone building with windows that looked like they’d be blown out in a mild wind. Inside, the oak beams filled the room with a strong musty scent, but in its own way it was rather charming.
Dressed in their designer dupes (although I was sure one or two must have been the real thing), everyone chatted away while I sat by the window nursing my short Americano. It was my Valedictorian dinner all over again. The only difference was that someone was definitely going to dance with me tonight. Someone middle-aged and balding who stank of beer and cigarettes, but a dancefloor date nonetheless.
One of the bridesmaids made a beeline for me, her buttercup yellow satin dress rustling loudly as she rushed over.
‘Bride or Groom?’ She squeaked, grinning at me.
‘Groom.’ I shrugged. ‘Owen’s an old friend.’
‘Graham asked me to grab you. We can’t have you sitting here on your own!’ She bobbed up and down on the spot and nodded at the small gathering of guests chatting behind us. ‘Come and join everyone.’
Before I could even open my mouth to say no, she’d grabbed my hand and yanked me off the chair. I immediately felt sorry for the person who had to clean up the spilled coffee and biscuit crumbs I left behind. I made awkward conversation and quickly excused myself, tottering off to the toilets to wipe my heels.
When I headed back out to Graham and the bridesmaid at the bar, I was ambushed by one of the largest dogs I’d ever met. His tail wagged madly as he sniffed my legs, then he put his paws on my stomach, begging for attention, which I was more than happy to give him. Even if it meant getting long strands of black and white hair stuck to my tights, making me look like a very well-dressed she-wolf.
‘Kal! Down!’ A deep voice commanded.
Looking up from the adorable face of my new furry friend, I was virtually motorboating his owner.
‘I apologize for this wild bear and his bad manners.’ The man chuckled, petting Kal’s head. ‘I’m Henry. My brother Nik’s in the wedding party. He sent me to round everyone up, but it looks like Kal’s already doing the job for me.’
‘Well, of all the strangers to be approached by in a pub, I can’t say I mind this one.’
I was trying to sound aloof, like one of those women in rom-coms. I found myself weirdly confident in new social situations, which I put down to my theatre kid days. As a child, I was both painfully shy and eccentric. A walking oxymoron. At this particular moment, I was just a moron. What was I doing with my face? Did my laugh seem forced? Why was I overanalyzing everything like a floundering fifteen year old?
Why? Because Henry was a man.
If anyone ever plans to trademark that word, he deserves all the credit.
Henry was the epitome of a prep school dreamboat. I couldn’t get over how bloody tall he was. Broad shoulders, big hands, neatly-tamed dark curls and a strong jawline. When he smiled, his chin dimpled. He oozed classic Hollywood charm. Had it been any other man, I would have seen the little patch of brown in his startlingly blue eyes as a flaw. Proof that there was definitely something wrong with him. But on Henry, it was like looking at a single fleck embedded in marble. Uniquely beautiful. Uniquely Henry.
I’d never met anyone I could call ‘unique’ in a way that didn’t mean ‘asshole’. So naturally, I wondered how long it was going to take before I found out he was a bastard. Pessimism has always been my strong suit.
I leaned down to scratch the thick fur between Kal’s ears. His head tilted beneath my hand, and when I stopped, he nudged me with his wet nose.
‘Come on, trouble.’ Henry clipped Kal’s lead back onto his collar and shook it to encourage him. ‘See you in church.’
Even in my (thin) jacket, the church was cold. It probably didn’t help that I was also wearing an off-the-shoulder dress. But damn it, I looked good. At least until my shoulders started shaking.
When Owen and Grace opened their mouths to exchange vows, my teeth chattered. I hunched against the pew, rubbing my arms to try to keep warm. It worked long enough to get me through the ceremony, but I dreaded going back outside for photographs. My feet were so numb I was convinced I was going to fall flat on my face in front of the whole congregation. Thankfully I didn’t.
At the reception, the warm food soothed me, but I slowly began to notice my stomach getting tighter with every bite. Not wanting to seem rude, I finished every plate, fighting the urge to contort my face as the pain and bloating set in. I figured this was because I’d only had an apple for breakfast. Nobody eats breakfast before a wedding, right? I just needed to go dance it out.
Owen, Grace and Uncle Graham pulled me into an impromptu circle as everyone skanked to ‘Come On Eileen’. My stomach lurched. Henry and Nik joined the circle. I started sweating profusely. It was just the heat from the lights, I convinced myself. It was totally fine. I was totally fine.
When everyone had lined up to row their imaginary boats and slap the floor to ‘Oops Upside Your Head’, I was sandwiched between Henry and a man who was sweating even more profusely than I was, which I didn’t think was possible.
Apparently I made a witty remark. I only remember Henry’s booming laugh and the firmness of his grip as he hauled me onto my feet. If this had been a rom-com, he probably would have kissed me at that very moment. Instead, I was living in a disaster movie – my throat burned and I bolted to the bathroom.
I threw up with such force that I was convinced my retching was loud enough for the whole venue to hear. So hard that I was actually crying. I was a complete mess. Was it food poisoning? Maybe. But if it was food poisoning, why did I want to tear my heavily beating heart right out my chest?
I cleaned myself up and headed back to my table for a sip of water. Henry was at the bar with his brother and a few groomsmen, inhaling a pint of Guinness. He caught my eye and came over to the table, leaning against one of the chairs in that sexy, nonchalant way men do when they’re about to deliver a shitty pick-up line.
‘You doing okay?’ He wasn’t flirting, he was concerned. ‘You look pale.’
I was shaking again. I choked a little. ‘I’m fine. Probably just tired.’
‘Are you sure?’ He leaned in closer. He smelled of alcohol, oud and vanilla.
I was intoxicated in more ways than one. I was also very fucking tired and very fucking sick.
‘I think you should get some air. Come on.’
He led me into the hallway where we sat on a bench in awkward silence. My jacket was slung over my shoulders, but it wasn’t much help. My chest heaved as my heartbeat slowed. I was definitely going to pass out. This was it, my twisted fairytale moment. I was going to die dressed to the nines next to a Disney Prince.
He pressed the back of his hand to my forehead. God, he was warm. I needed his warmth. He heaved a sigh and his brow furrowed. ‘Oh fuck.’
The word 'fuck' seemed far more elegant when it fell from his lips. His gently curved, totally inviting lips that I couldn’t kiss. It was at this point that I wondered if God was playing a cruel joke on me. Or maybe this was a test. Whatever it was, I wasn’t happy about it.
‘What?’ I panted.
‘Stay here. I’m going to get Nik.’ Was all he said before he dashed through the double doors behind us.
I was feeling weaker by the minute. Colder by the minute. My nails were blue. I wanted to close my eyes so badly.
As it turned out, Nik was a Royal Marine. He’d seen a lot of shit, so it took him all of five seconds to tell me that I was suffering from hypothermia.
Everything I knew about hypothermia, I learned from my Dad, who used to be a member of a Mountain Rescue team. Hypothermia was something that happened to men who got lost on high peaks. Why was it happening to me in the middle of a wedding? All logic had apparently been thrown out with the remains of the confetti.
‘I’ll look after her, you get back to the guys.’ Henry was already taking off his suit jacket and draping it over me. ‘Jesus, you’re burning up.’
‘How? I’m freezing.’ I managed to stutter. My heartbeat quickened.
‘This is what happens. Just breathe slowly.’
I gave him a meek nod and tried my best to puff out the tiniest bit of air. I was fading away, I could feel it. Puff, puff, puff. Short, staccato breaths. He rubbed my back and I leaned into him.
‘Sorry.’ I tried to laugh.
‘What for?’
‘Probably dying on you.’
‘Don’t be daft.’ Henry shook his head. ‘You’ll be alright. Trust me.’
I did.
Nik returned to check on me with a staff member in tow. Dial nine-nine, and if I passed out, dial nine again.
They escorted me to my room, where I insisted I could take care of myself. Nik and Henry were having none of it. They brought extra blankets. The staff brought piping hot tea and then left the room.
I was cocooned, clutching a steaming mug and still felt like I was encased in a block of ice.
‘I’ve got this.’ Henry nodded. ‘I’ll update you in a bit.’
Nik left the room.
Alone in a hotel room with a handsome stranger. God, I wish this story was sexier.
At this point I was fading in and out of consciousness, so the details are a little fuzzy. What I definitely remember is feeling Henry’s big, warm body against mine through the thick duvet. His large hands on my skin. The spark of his touch. His voice, deep, soft and low as he told me I was going to be okay. I trusted him. I believed him. I wanted to kiss him.
I wanted to throw up again.
An empty, bubbling growl rose from my stomach and I raced to the bathroom, gagging the whole way. I couldn’t feel a single part of my body, but I knew I was running. Henry leapt up and followed me, holding my hair back as I hung my head over the toilet. In between dry retching, I wondered if he had any sisters. Or a girlfriend. He probably had a girlfriend. A beautiful and very much alive girlfriend. I shelved all my potential first date questions and scrambled to my feet.
‘I’m sorry.’ I said again.
‘It’s okay. My brothers have been worse on nights out.’
I wiped my mouth with a towel. ‘You’ve held your brothers’ hair back while they yartz?’
Henry laughed. ‘She’s making jokes again. Feeling better?’
‘Maybe. Let’s not jinx it, though.’
‘Sorry.’ He held up his hands in apology. ‘Can I get you some more water?’
‘Sleep. I need sleep.’
‘Of course. I’ll make myself scarce, then.’
He left the bathroom and I shimmied out of my shoes and tights, peering around the door.
He was gone.
I could finally feel my arms and legs again. But I knew it wasn’t going to last long, so I threw on my pajamas faster than a firefighter on call (probably) and dove back into bed.
I woke up to the gentle sound of birdsong and a bitter taste in my mouth. My head was pounding. My body felt weak, but warmer. Lifting up on my haunches, I carefully slipped out of bed, brushed my teeth and started to get dressed. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a scrap of paper on the vanity.
Good morning Sleeping Beauty!
In case of emergency, call Henry.
Reader, I didn’t marry him. I did, however, keep his phone number.
@harrysthiccthighss @foodieforthoughts @cavillsbestgal @myloveforhenrycavill @cherry-gemz @captainsy-cookiemonster @pussyverson @sillyrabbit81 @viking-raider @zealoushound @keanureevesisbae @littlewrenofrivia @beck07990 @christhickevans @luna-aestas @luclittlepond @kebabgirl67 @angreav @omgkatinka @cavillsthighs @littlebirdofrivia @angelcavill66 @darklydeliciousdesires @henrys-little-princess @notabronte @herefortherealdeal @cavills-little-princess @mis-lil-red @mansaaay @thwick @marytudorbrandon @uncensored-steve-the-platypus @nerdyoldsoul @saiyanprincessswanie @aletheladyinred @thereisa8ella @mary-ann84 @ricciardothot @summersong69 @scorpiobitch95 @marantha @notabronte @unauthorizedhenry @babiiface95 @greensleeves888 @winter2112rose @nashibirne @blakerogue @oh-for-fic-sake @iguessweallcrazyithinktho
#Henry Cavill#Henry Cavill fanfic#Henry Cavill x reader#Henry Cavill rpf#Lauren Writes#laurenwritesfics#Henry Cavill x you#henry cavill x female reader#Henry Cavill fanfiction
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