#fuck yeah i want to choke the person at the end of the string that said string
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We aren't tied
Just tangled.
Drew it in like 7 minutes don't look at the details
#love the red string of fate trope#love it even more when it's twisted#fuck yeah i want to choke the person at the end of the string that said string#ava#animator vs animation#animation vs animator#tdl#the dark lord#tco#the chosen one#cheesebrackers art#darkcho#art#fanart#x
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Insufferable You*
Summary: The third part to Infinite You*
The one where Harry is still in an open relationship with your best friend, so maybe it's time to remind him what he's missing.
Word Count: 7.3k
Content Warning: 18+, smut, edging, spanking, brief exhibitionism, sir kink, masturbation, brief choking
“Kitten…what are you doing?”
Your whimpers are airy. Light. A string of breathless pleas woven between the soft sounds of your fingers fucking into your cunt. And you can’t answer his question. Can’t find the strength to pull yourself away from the pleasure between your thighs.
“Kitten,” he asks again and it’s firm. “Talk to me.”
He’s panting through his request and the sound—the image in your head of the way he must look, fucking his fist to the melody of your voice almost hurts you.
“I’m…I’m playing with my clit,” you answer. He groans. “Just like you do.”
“Just like me, hm?” He curses on his end of the phone and your legs shake. “How?”
“M’pinching it,” you tell him. “And pulling it. The way you like.”
His noises are louder. Needier. He must like the image in his head, too. “God, I’d give anything to see it, baby. Give fucking anything to watch you touch yourself for me.”
Anything. Anything. You shiver. “Yeah? You’d watch me?”
“Mhm.” He’s getting closer and you don’t want this to end. “Sit there on my knees and take every drop in my mouth when you’re done.”
Your hips buck up and your fingers sink deeper. He ruins you even when he’s not here. “I know,” you whisper. Your eyes squeeze shut. “And I’d let you.”
He makes a sound that might be a laugh but could be a strained moan. You aren’t sure. But you don’t really care because it’s beautiful, no matter what it is. “Kitten,” he exhales and your insides twist. “I need you to cum for me, okay? I need to hear you. God, I need to fucking hear you, baby, let me. Come on—”
There’s something in the way he speaks. Like he’s just woken up. Rough and low and thick. He sounds like sex and you miss hearing it in person. But you were desperate—you had to call him. You had to hear him talk you through this moment and you’re so glad you did.
When you cum, it’s everything. Perhaps not as satisfying as when it’s with him, but still euphoric. And your whimpers of pleasure are what send him over the edge.
The phone fills with the sounds of your ecstasy and you wish you could record the way he moans your name. You wish you could bottle this feeling and get drunk on the way he adores you.
Instead, you indulge in the few moments you have with him. Because you know they won’t last much longer.
“That was good,” you tell him breathlessly and he chuckles. “How are you so good at that? Even over the phone?”
“Could ask you the same thing. Now I’ve got a sticky hand and nobody to clean it up.”
You pout. “Stop, don’t tell me that. It’s not fair.”
He laughs again. “Sorry, Kitten. Couldn’t help it. You all right? You feel better?”
“I do. Thank you for letting me call you.”
“Always.”
Your heart skips. “So…what are you up to today?”
There’s a pause. A long pause and you know what he’s going to say even before he says it. “Rebecca and I are running some errands.”
“Oh.” Oh. Your throat goes dry. “Right…sorry, I’m…you probably need to go, don’t you?”
Another pause. “In a bit,” he says. “After I make sure you’re okay.”
“I’m okay,” you say far too quickly. And far too obviously forced. “Yeah, no, I’m…duh. Obviously I’m okay now. After…yeah. Okay, sorry. You can…I’ll talk to you later—"
“Kitten.”
You stop. “What? I’m…I’m letting you go—”
“Don’t. I want to talk to you a little longer.”
“But you’re busy—”
“It can wait.”
Swallowing, you whisper, “Harry, I’m…I’m just saying—”
“So am I.” He’s firm again. “Don’t do that. Don’t send me away because of her. We can talk. I promise.”
Your eyes squeeze shut. You force the tears back. Why does orgasming make you so emotional? “I know, I just…she’s there, isn’t she?”
Another beat. “Not in the room.”
“But she’s there. In the apartment. Near you.”
“Yes.”
Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry. “See, that’s…that’s why I’m letting you go. So you can be with her. Okay? I’ll talk to you later—”
“Kitten.”
“Harry.” You huff if only to make yourself sound stronger than you feel. “I’m okay. You can go.”
“You’re not okay. You’re sad.”
“I’m…no, I’m not sad, I’m just…I’m tired. I came really hard.”
“I know you.”
“Well…you don’t know me that well. Cause I’m fine.”
“Baby—”
“Just go,” you insist. “I promise I’m okay as long as you are. I shouldn’t have called so early anyway, that was…I’m sorry. That was my mistake—”
“You can call when she’s here, you know that—”
“But I don’t want to.”
Another long pause that feels like an eternity. “Okay,” he finally murmurs and you pull the phone away to take in a shaky breath. “But I want your honesty. Okay?”
“Sure.”
“Are you really okay?”
Truthfully, you don’t know. “Yeah, I’m fine. Swear. Thanks for helping me. I’ll talk to you later?”
“You will,” he agrees. “Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Rebecca’s dinner.”
Fuck. You forgot. “Oh…right—”
“You’ll be there. Right?”
It doesn’t really feel like you have a choice. “I…I don’t know yet, I might be busy—”
“You’re not.”
“You don’t know that. I could have plans.”
“You do. With us.”
Us. Your nose scrunches. “I mean other plans—”
“You don’t.”
“I might—”
“You don’t. If you did, I’d know.”
“Well, that’s presumptuous.”
“Maybe, but it’s true. Because you talk to me. When I ask you a question, you answer honestly. You’re a good girl. I know you.”
Your chest feels tight again. “Well, I don’t tell you everything.”
“You should.”
“You don’t tell me.”
“Because you don’t ask.”
He’s right. You never ask him anything personal because honestly, you’re afraid of what he’ll say.
“Fine,” you agree. “I’ll be there. Are we done?”
He waits a moment before saying, “We’re not done. We’ll discuss this later. But for right now, yes.”
And even if he sounds a bit strict, you can’t help smiling. “Yes, Sir.”
“Mm. That’s my girl. Take it easy today, all right?”
“I will.”
“Good. See you tomorrow, Kitten.”
“Goodbye, Sir.”
He chuckles and you hang up and even despite everything else…you can’t help but grin.
“Oh, my god. He does. Every time. He’s got such a weird thing with feet.”
You laugh. “It wasn’t so bad at first. But then he got a little too comfortable—”
“No, he does that. He really does.” Rebecca smirks as she throws the freshly chopped carrots into her pot. “And it started out cute, but now…”
You both glance into the living room where Harry is relaxing on the sofa. He’s smiling as he watches the two of you work on the food and even if he can’t hear you, he must know you’re talking about him.
“It’s still cute,” you argue in his defense. “Gross…but cute.”
She laughs. “Yeah, I guess he can be cute when he wants to be.”
You grin together and this feels good. You’ve missed your friend. You’ve missed having someone to laugh with, gossip with. And maybe it was strange at first, to come into their apartment and talk to your best friend about sleeping with her boyfriend.
But after a minute or two, you settled right back into the familiar rhythm of your friendship. And it almost felt…normal.
“Has he done the thing where his left leg starts to shake when he gets overstimulated?” she asks and you nearly snort.
“Oh, my god. Yes. The other day. I thought he was having a heart attack.”
“It’s the funniest thing. It just started, too. Couple years ago. He swears it doesn’t but like…I can see it.”
“It’s quite the tell,” you agree and you can’t help the way your eyes drift back to where he’s lounging on the sofa.
He notices and smirks at you.
“What?” you call.
He shrugs. “Nothing. You girls are cute, that’s all.”
“Bite me,” Rebecca says and he chuckles. “We’re not cute. We’re hot.”
“Absolutely,” he agrees. He leans forward. “Let me guess. You’re telling her about the leg thing?”
“Yup. And I was right,” she says smugly. “She sees it, too.”
His eyes roll but he smiles at you. “It’s not that bad—”
“No, it is,” she argues. “You look like a dog. A very cute dog, but still.”
He laughs a little louder and you’re almost jealous of their dynamic. A dynamic you’ve been witness to for almost five years. And it’s never made you jealous before.
But now…
She puts the soup on simmer and grabs your hand to lead you to the living room. “I told you we were gonna gossip about you,” she reminds him. “All good things, don’t worry.”
“I’m sure.” He smiles at you both as you take a seat on the sofa. She flops down right beside him while you cautiously sit on the other end. Exactly where you’d been that first day you agreed to this arrangement. “This is nice,” he says.
She hums. “Yeah, it feels like old times.” She glances toward you. “And it’s not weird…is it? I mean, you feel okay?”
Feeling a little hot under the spotlight, you swallow and force a quick shake of your head. “No, this is…it’s good. This is fun.”
However, she knows you better than anyone and her brows pull together as she studies you. “Do you have any questions? Or anything we can clear up?”
“Uh…I don’t know.” Truthfully, you don’t want to ask. “Is it…is it weird for you guys?”
They both shake their heads, almost as if in sync, and you resist the urge to scrunch your nose.
“Do you…have any regrets?”
“No,” she says and Harry agrees. “None. Do you?”
“No,” you echo. “No, I just…I don’t know. This still kind of feels like cheating.”
They exchange a glance and your heart skips. You’re even jealous of the way they look at each other.
“Rebecca and I have always agreed that whatever the other decides to do is their business,” Harry says. “As long as we communicate, there's freedom there. No judgment, no expectations, no regret.”
“And no jealousy,” she adds, offering you a soft smile. “Or shame. Or anything like that.”
You nod and pick at a loose string on your jeans. “And are you two…I mean do you still…”
“No,” she assures you and you’re thankful she figured out what you meant. “No, we haven’t in a few weeks.”
“Oh…because of me?”
She shakes her head while Harry says, “Not entirely. Most of it is for safety reasons. Keeping things clean and respectful. But it’s also one of our rules.”
“Rules?”
“We have a few rules we like to follow,” she explains. “It just makes it easier. Sometimes it can be tricky and this helps keep us on the same page.”
“And no sex is one of them?”
“Kind of. We don’t sleep together if one of us is seeing someone else. Well, no penetration, anyway.”
You hate the way your stomach sinks. “Oh. And…do you date other people…a lot?”
He looks over at her and she thinks. “Not…really?” she says. “I don’t think, anyway.”
“Jack was the last guy you were with, right?” Harry asks and she snaps her fingers.
“Jack. Right. Yeah. He was cute. And then yours was…Angie? I think?”
He nods. “Last year.”
“She was nice.”
“She was…sure. Yeah. She was nice.”
Rebecca laughs and he grins proudly, happy to have made her laugh. Your nose scrunches.
“She wasn’t that bad,” Rebecca argues. “She was just put in a weird position.”
“Literally and figuratively.”
She smacks his arm playfully and he pinches her thigh. You want to look away.
“Either way,” she finally says, “we don’t very often. And I don’t think of it as cheating. Especially not with you. Because I know he’s a good partner and I know that you deserve someone as kind as he is.”
He gives her a grateful grin before returning his attention to you. “We can stop if you want. Because I agree with Bex. I wouldn’t want to lose you as my friend and if you feel pressured or unsure—”
“I don’t,” you nearly rush to argue. “No, I don’t, I…I’m just really struggling with the dynamics of it. I guess.”
“Trust me, I get it,” she says gently. “It was a bit of a learning curve for us, too. Harry can get incredibly jealous.”
You’re tempted to tell her that you already know but you watch his reaction instead.
His eyes roll but then his stare returns to you and he winks, as though he’s recalling the same memory you are.
It makes your skin feel warm.
“Oop, hold on. I gotta check the soup,” Rebecca suddenly exclaims before jumping off the sofa to rush back to the kitchen.
And now left alone together, your attention is drawn back to the tall, handsome man you can already feel staring at you.
“Any more questions?” he asks softly. He leans forward and places his elbows on his knees and somehow, even that makes you feel safer.
“Just one,” you murmur and he nods. “Does this mean you and I are…dating? Or are we just fucking until I can find somebody else?”
There’s a slight edge in your voice that you hadn’t meant to be there, but he picks up on it instantly.
“Are you looking for somebody else?” he asks.
“Not really. But this whole thing started because you both felt bad for me,” you remind him. “And it’s been a lot of fun. Honestly. But you are kind of on loan. I just…I’m not sure what this makes our situation. If we’re just fucking…or more.”
He takes a moment to think about his answer, eyes flicking between yours almost as though studying you. “Would you like there to be more?”
You bite back huff. He’s very good at redirecting. “I don’t know. Would you?”
“I think more can get complicated.”
Your feel your expression fall. “Right.”
“And I don’t want to lose you from my life for good,” he continues. “You know that. Neither of us want to lose you—”
“Right, yeah. It’s fine. Forget I asked.”
He’s frowning now. “Kitten, don’t do that—”
“No, really,” you argue. “It’s fine. You’re right. Let’s just keep it like this until I can find somebody else.”
The frown turns into a glare. “Kitten—”
“Okay, soup is almost done,” Rebecca announces as she returns. This time she sits next to you and throws an arm around your shoulder. “What did I miss?”
The tension is palpable. You speak first. “I was just telling Harry that I might not need his services much longer.”
Rebecca’s eyebrows raise while Harry’s scowl deepens.
“Oh?” she asks.
You nod. “Well, seeing as we don’t want to do anything to ruin the friendship…I thought I’d give Ethan a call.”
It’s mean and perhaps a bit cruel, but you can’t help yourself. You aren’t trying to hurt him. Because he is right. And don’t want to lose him for good, either, and all this evening has truly done is prove how close he and Rebecca actually are.
You’ll never be able to compete with five years of love and affection. And maybe you don’t want to.
Maybe it’s time to move on.
“Ethan?” Harry repeats while Rebecca perks up.
“Yes,” she squeals excitedly. “Oh, I was hoping you would. He’s so nice, I think you guys would be perfect together.”
“Yeah,” you agree with a pointed look at Harry. “I think so, too.”
He knows what you’re doing. You can tell. And he’s oddly calm as he leans against the cushions and tosses his arms over the back of the couch. “And who the fuck is this Ethan?”
“Guy from my work,” you answer, equally as calm. “Nice. He’s been asking me out for a while.”
“A while.”
“Yeah, a while.”
His brows furrow. “So why do you want to go out with him now?”
“I don’t know.” You shrug. “He was never really my type before but we’ve gotten closer recently. I think it’s only fair I give him a real chance.”
“Really?” He’s curious. Maybe skeptical. “Now?”
You nod. “That way the three of us can preserve our friendship. Since that is the most important thing.”
“Well, I think it’s a great idea,” Rebecca tells you and hugs you to her side. “You’ll have to let us know how it goes.”
You grin and it’s all teeth. “I will.”
Dinner is nice. Tense but nice. You and Harry spend a majority of the meal exchanging icy glances and keeping to yourselves, leaving Rebecca to do most of the conversing.
And she doesn’t seem to notice. That or she merely pretends not to. She catches you up on some drama at work. Teases Harry about his sleep talking. Says she’s planning to visit her parents in a few weeks and then gives you the recipe for the soup.
And you and Harry nod politely, despite the unspoken rage from your ends of the table.
When dinner is finished, Harry offers to clean up and do the dishes. She kisses him on the cheek gratefully and says she’s gonna go take a quick shower since she’s got an early day tomorrow. She tells you that you’re welcome to stay as long as you’d like and then she hugs you tightly and whispers, “I’m so glad we’re still friends.”
You hug her back and agree.
The moment she’s gone, Harry sets down his sponge and turns to you. “Come here.”
You hesitate by the front door, itching to escape. But he’s firm as he watches you from the sink, eyebrow raised and jaw clenched, leaving you no choice but to listen.
“Kitten,” he repeats. Lower. Sterner. “Come. Here.”
You take a tentative step toward him. “What?”
“We need to talk.”
“Do we?”
“Kitten.”
You huff and throw your purse back down. “I really don’t think we need to—”
“I don’t care what you think. I’m telling you that we’re gonna have a chat and you’re gonna come in here like a good fucking girl and talk to me.”
This is how he gets you. This is how he pulls your strings and turns you around until you obediently join him in the kitchen. Like a good fucking girl.
Satisfied, he leans back against the counter. “Now. What’s this Ethan shit you pulled?”
“It’s not shit, it’s real,” you huff. “He really did ask me out and I really am going to say yes.”
“But you haven’t yet.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“I told you. He wasn’t my type—”
“No, I want the real answer.”
You frown. “That is the real answer—”
“No,” he repeats. “It’s not. And you know it.”
You cross your arms and look down at your shoes. “Well, I don’t know what to tell you. He wasn’t my type but now he is.”
The argument lulls and the small kitchen falls silent. You hear him sigh and it almost hurts to hear how heavy his disappointment hangs.
But a moment later, he’s slipping his fingers beneath your chin and raising your eyes to his. They’re soft. Serene. Filled with everything he can’t seem to find the words to say and you hate how quickly your body begins to crave him.
“You aren’t being honest with me, baby,” he murmurs. Your lashes flutter. “You aren’t communicating with me. And I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.”
“Nothing’s wrong,” you say and he sighs like he knows this is a lie. “Really, I just…I know myself. If I don’t put a bit of distance between us…I don’t think I’ll ever be able to breathe on my own.”
This makes him sad and it hurts you to know you’ve made him sad. “Kitten,” he whispers. He steps closer until his chest is brushing against yours. “If I’m doing something wrong—”
“You’re not. That’s the problem.” You swallow and he brushes his thumb along your jaw. “You’re doing everything right and I’m worried I’m gonna want you in ways that I shouldn’t.”
“Do you not want to want me?”
“Not…like that,” you admit. “Not when you’re still hers.”
He frowns. “I told you, you don’t have to worry about anyone else—”
“But I do. Because at the end of the day, you’re still her Harry. You’re on loan to me until one of you decides you shouldn’t be anymore—”
“Kitten—”
“And I can’t be with you in any way but physically. You said so yourself. More would get complicated and even if you wanted to be with me…I don’t think I could share you.”
He considers this. A long moment passes. “So you’re punishing me,” he says. “You’re going out with this Ethan guy to prove that you don’t need me.”
“What? No.” You lean back but he doesn’t let go of your chin. “I mean…okay, maybe I wanted to piss you off a little but I really do think I need to be with someone else in order to truly move on. I’m not punishing you. I’m…obeying you. If anything.”
He scoffs. “If you really wanted to obey me, you would have talked to me about what you were feeling.”
“I tried. You said more would get complicated.”
“It could. There’s always that risk. But I never said it wouldn’t be worth it.”
“So…what? You’d date me?”
“Of course.”
The answer is quick and it surprises you but it doesn’t seem to surprise him.
You blink. “You…really? You would date me? Like…officially?”
“I would.”
“And…what about Rebecca?”
“What about her?”
“You’d…you’d still be with her? Right? Even if we were together?”
He seems to know what you’re implying and sighs quietly. “Yes. I would.”
“And even if you weren’t…I’m assuming you would still want to be in an open relationship with me?”
Another pause. “Probably,” he admits, and even if you knew it was coming, you can’t help the tears that spring to your eyes. “That’s just the agreement I’ve always felt most comfortable with—”
“And that’s fine. I get it,” you assure him. You sniffle and he seems to wilt. “Really. I just…like I said, I don’t do well with sharing and if…if all we’re doing is fucking, I might as well just find somebody else, right? So that way the three of us can stay friends. And it doesn’t have to get weird.”
“I understand,” he says and you know he does. “I do, Kitten. And I would never keep you in a relationship you’re not comfortable in.” A beat. “But I can’t say that I like the idea of you going out with this guy.”
You smile. Gently. “Oh yeah? And why’s that?”
He looks down at you and takes your cheek in his hand. “You’re my girl,” he says. “No matter what. If you’re with me or not with me. You’re my fucking girl. And he doesn’t deserve even a second of your time.”
You fight a large grin and cling to his shirt. “You can’t say stuff like that.”
“Why not? It’s true.”
“Because.” You play with his buttons. “You don’t get to be jealous when you’re still with her.”
“Doesn’t mean I’m gonna like seeing you with someone else.”
You pout. “That’s not fair, Harry.”
“I know.” He brings his lips to yours. They hover—close—but never make contact. “I can’t help it. Can’t ever seem to help it when it comes to you.”
You want to push up and take his kiss, but he teases you just a little longer. “Harry—”
“Do you know that, Kitten?” His hands drop to your waist and he squeezes. Even though Rebecca is only two rooms away. Even though you can hear her humming in the bath. Even though he can never be yours. “Do you know how much I think about you?”
You swallow. Thick.
“How I think about the way you asked me to take care of you…” He ghosts his mouth down your neck. “The way you begged me to be rough….to spank you. Choke you. Degrade you.”
His voice is a sin and your eyes fall shut.
“Do you want me to degrade you, baby?” His fingers slip beneath your shirt. “Do you want me to pull you on my lap and spank you until you’re crying?”
The image in your head is somehow even better than his taunting. Your knees about buckle. “Harry…”
“You can find somebody else if you want to,” he whispers. “But do you really think they’ll be able to care of you the way I do? The way you want? The way you deserve?”
His kisses find your chest while his knee slots between your thighs.
“I know how naughty you really are, baby girl,” he says and it’s over. “He will never know.”
You grab his hair and he grabs your hips and you’re on the counter before you can even whisper his name. He pushes the hem of your dress up and guides your legs apart. He makes a home there, finger curling around the crotch of your panties in order to get a taste and it’s magic. Always.
And he does this to you only a few hundred feet away from where his girlfriend is innocently taking a shower. He does this, knowing she could walk out and see. He does this and you let him do this because there is no world in which you stop him.
“Harry,” you say—whimper—and he hums. His tongue licks up your cunt and your head drops back. “Har—wait—”
He doesn’t. He holds your thighs beside his cheeks and he sucks on your clit until you begin to squirm. “You promised to stay for dessert,” he says. “This is my dessert.”
The sounds are loud and beautiful and his curls feel good in your hands. You feel good in his.
Things fall to the ground. Bowls, pots, containers. He grins. He likes this, the danger. And he knows you like it, too. Because if you really wanted him to stop, he would.
But you don’t. And you yank him closer to your pussy as though this will be the last time he ever gets a taste.
And deep down, you wonder if it is.
Either way, you enjoy his tongue and his lips and the tip of his nose that nudges your clit so expertly. You wonder how it’s possible to be so addicted to a man you’re not even with. A man that only recently started fucking you and a man that you’ve only ever considered a friend.
Part of you wants to get caught. Part of you wants things to implode. To believe that he’s doing this because he wants her to find out. Because what would happen if she saw? What would happen if he realized he wanted to end things? Would he be yours? Would he decide that your time and your heart and your pussy were infinitely more important than his sexual prowess?
You scrunch your nose. These are all the wrong questions. Harry doesn’t work like that. He never has and you can’t expect something from him that he won’t ever give you.
You return your focus to him. To the way his large hands are curling around your thighs and hoisting them up on the counter. You love his hands. You think they might be your favorite hands in the world.
They’re so gentle but strong. Practiced. You know they’d look good anywhere on your body. Your thighs, your chest, your throat…
You whimper at the thought and he glances up. He’s proud again. Drenched in your arousal and the evidence of your lust for him.
He moves his mouth to the inside of your leg and nips. He leaves marks and memories along the soft skin and you can’t wait to stare at them whenever he’s not around. The way he makes you his in the only way he can.
And you’re so close. You aren’t even sure how he got you here so quickly but he always seems to. And you don’t mind. Instead, you fist his hair and you buck against his tongue and he’s going to make you cum all over his girlfriend’s kitchen counter.
And then he stops.
He stops, he lets you go, and he pulls away.
Your heart drops to your toes as the orgasm fizzles down to nothing. “What…what are you—"
“Get down,” he says curtly. He slaps your outer thigh. “We’re leaving.”
He doesn’t tell you where you’re going. And you don’t ask. Instead, you watch as he wipes his mouth and disappears from the kitchen to wait by the front door.
After straightening your dress and readjusting your underwear, you scurry to his side with a fretful glance toward the bathroom. “Shouldn’t you tell her you’re going?”
He smiles. “She’ll figure it out.”
With that, you leave their apartment so he can take you back to your place and he keeps his hand on your thigh the whole drive. You wonder if he merely wants to keep some sort of claim on you or if it’s habit.
Either way, his thumb rubs circles into your skin, right over the dark spots made by his lips and you smile. You want to lace your fingers with his. Want to hold his hand and pretend like the two of you are on your way home from a date. To pretend like this is normal—an everyday occurrence.
But you lose your nerve and soon, he’s pulling into the parking lot.
“I want you upstairs,” he says and gives you a pointed look. “On the bed. Naked. And waiting for me by the time I come up.”
You nod quickly. “Okay. Are…am I in trouble—”
“That depends on if you obey.” He unlocks the door. “So let’s hope you do.”
Swallowing a giddy grin, you scurry from the vehicle and into your building. You don’t bother with tidying up or adjusting your appearance. You run straight into your bedroom, rip off your clothes, and spread out into a starfish position on the bed.
You hear him follow not much later. Slow, deliberate steps. Meant to taunt you, tease you. Make your stomach flip. And it works.
When you see his tall, muscular figure in the doorway, your pulse skips.
Smiling, you call, “Hi, Sir—”
“No speaking,” he says shortly. “Unless I say otherwise. Is that understood?”
“Yes—no—sorry, I’m…” You stop. Nod.
He frowns but you know it’s only to hide a smirk. “Don’t test me, Kitten. You’ve already done that enough this evening, have you not?”
Another nod.
“And you knew better, didn’t you?” He walks into the room and begins to unzip his jeans. “Knew better than to dangle fucking Ethan in my face.”
You nod again but your eyes are trained on his hands. On the fingers that pull the hem of his shirt up and over his head.
“And you fucking knew…that if I got a taste of such a sweet pussy…I’d never stop,” he murmurs. He crawls onto the bed, wearing nothing more than his briefs. “That I’d forgive you. And let you off the hook.”
You don’t nod this time. You can’t. You’re too far gone in the lust in his eyes. The gentle green that’s now dangerous and luring you in.
“Well,” he whispers and then he smiles. “You thought wrong.”
He grabs your thighs and flips you over. Before you know it, you’re on your stomach, head spinning, while a large palm comes down in a sharp smack to your ass.
You jolt. Shriek.
“Easy,” he says and he’s kinder now. “You’re gonna take your punishment like a good little whore, aren’t you?”
Now you understand. You see. And you settle onto the bed as he smooths the stinging print with the soft of his hand.
You nod.
“Good.” He spanks you again. “I think we should do one for every time you lied to me. For every time I asked for the truth…and you refused to give it to me.”
Your lashes flutter. You suppose that’s only fair, although in your defense, the truth would have only hurt him.
“Let’s see…we’ll start with five,” he says and you exhale a sigh of relief. “Because I know you don’t mean to be a bad girl, do you?”
You whimper.
“You want to be good. Want to behave for me.” He spanks you. Number three. “You want a lot of things from me, don’t you? And maybe I’m bad, too. For not being able to give them to you.”
The air in the room shifts and you attempt to glance back.
However, he lays another firm smack to your ass before you can and then squeezes your hip. “Come on, you’re almost done,” he coos. A beat passes. “Do you remember me mentioning the traffic light system?”
You nod.
“Red for stop, yellow for pause, green for good, keep going?”
Nod.
“Good. Then I want you to use your words and tell me what color you are right now. Honestly.”
“Green,” you whisper, then clear your throat and speak louder. “I’m green. Honestly.”
He hums. “And you’re gonna take your last strike, yes?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“And you’re gonna thank me for being so generous to such a selfish fucking whore?”
Your cheeks flush. Oh, he’s very good. “Yes, Sir.”
You still can’t see him but you can imagine his grin.
The last spank of his hand lands against your tender skin and somehow…it feels good. There’s something delicious about his pain. About the way he inflicts it. The way your body responds to it.
You groan—moan—and finally manage, “Thank you, Sir.”
He purrs something devious as he strokes the spot and begins to kiss his way up your spine. “Good fucking girl,” he breathes. The exhale of his praise dances across your back and you shiver. “Took your punishment so well. Wasn’t so bad, was it? Bet you even fucking liked, dirty thing. Didn’t you?”
You nod again and feel his knee begin to nudge its way back between your thighs.
“Let’s check, shall we?” His fingers move now for the mess you already know is there. And when he feels it, he curses. “Fucking shit, Kitten, you’re soaked.”
You are. You are soaked and you’re making a mess of your duvet and his knee and he still hasn’t let you cum yet and you think you might die if he waits any longer.
“Harry,” you nearly cry. “Please…please…”
He brings his kisses to the back of your neck. To the place below your ear that makes your stomach flip. He kisses. Sucks. Nips and violates the skin with his teeth.
“Okay,” he agrees. “Okay, but only because I know you need it.”
You nod again and begin to turn over. He goes to stop you—he wants to try from behind—but you insist.
“I want to see your face,” you say. “Please, I just…I need that tonight.”
The softness in his eyes and the fall of his expression almost hurts you. You don’t want to cause him pain or confusion. Ever.
But he’s not confused. He understands. And he agrees because maybe he needs it, too.
You pull him out of his briefs and he hikes your leg around his hip. Until the heel of your foot is digging into his ass and pulling him forward.
When he first pushes in, you both take a moment of silence to appreciate the beauty of your bodies connecting.
Harry was once your best friend and now he’s something else entirely. A completely different entity and you never imagined you’d see his cock disappearing into your cunt but now you don’t want to imagine his cock anywhere else.
When he’s about halfway in, he pulls back out and begins a steady pace. He’s large and he knows you need a moment or two to find the pleasure before he picks up a faster rhythm. So, he puts the focus on you. On your clit, on your thighs, on the way his lips feel against yours.
He kisses you—soft, sweet. Gentle. And then he kisses your neck. Your chest. Plays with your tits and whispers about how good they feel in his hand.
Then, he buries himself to the hilt as his hips find yours.
You arch and he catches you. There are more kisses, more soft murmurings. And there’s an intimacy here that doesn’t feel like sex. It feels like making love, a term you once scoffed at but now indulge in. Because maybe he does love you, in the only way he knows how. Maybe he does choose your body over hers. Maybe this was the best thing that ever could have happened to you.
You grab his hand and bring it to your throat. Pointed enough that he knows what you want and after a quick glance for consent…he squeezes.
Your lashes flutter and you press on his knuckles. Harder. He obeys.
And you were right. His hand does look good on your body. A necklace to wear proudly and he whispers your name before tightening his grip and allowing the sides of your sanity to go fuzzy before loosening his fingers.
You breathe. Deep. The air tastes like him and you love it.
He smiles. “You okay?”
“More than okay. That was…shit, I really like that.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Probably cause you’re doing it.”
He uses this hold to kiss you and it’s a mess of tongues and spit and loud sucking. It makes you giggle.
“You’re making this very hard for me,” he suddenly whispers.
“Well, I prefer you hard.”
He smirks, but this is not what he means. “I want this to work.”
“I know. I do, too.”
He surges forward—a sharp thrust. “It can’t work if Ethan’s in the picture.”
Oh. “Why? Because you need room for Rebecca?”
He sighs and you hate how sad it sounds. “I know I’m not being fair—”
“You’re not.”
“I can’t help it—”
“Well, neither can I.”
He stops for a moment and looks at you. “You have every right to go out with him. I know that. But I think I’ll lose my fucking mind if you do.” He continues to roll his body against yours and you want to purr. “So I want to make a deal.”
“Okay…”
“If you go out with Ethan, you go out with me,” he says. “If you date him, you date me. And I’ll play nice. I’ll share. But only until you realize he’s a waste of time.
You run your fingers along his shoulders. Along his back. Along the curve of his ass. You think about his proposition. It sounds good, it does. A way to keep him while also keeping your options open.
Because maybe this way, it won’t hurt so much when he still goes home to her.
“Can I think about it?” you ask.
He kisses you. “Of course. Always.”
You resume the languid but fervent pace he previously set. He squeezes your neck whenever he wants to hear you whimper and you scratch your nails down his spine whenever you want him to groan.
And it’s perfect. Truly. Because while you’re on this date with Ethan, he’ll be able to see the marks Harry left on your throat.
And when Harry goes back to Rebecca, she’ll see the scratches down his back made by your hands.
You can’t help but feel satisfied with the idea and it brings you that much closer as Harry presses your hips to the bed and begins to fuck into you harder.
He readjusts his stance above you, knees deep into the mattress and hands clutching the sheets beside your waist. And every thrust is purposeful. Hard. Beautiful. The sounds are symphonic and when you look down to see, you nearly mewl. The way his cock is absolutely fucking covered in you, slipping in and out of your cunt with ease and determination.
He’s beautiful when he’s focused. When he’s about to cum. You just want to kiss him and hold him and love him and be his.
And you fucking hate it.
“Need you to cum, baby,” he whispers and you nod in agreement. “Can you do that?”
“Yes….yes, Sir,” you stammer, already feeling the overwhelming power creep up your thighs. “I’m…I—”
“I know. I know, come on—”
You do. Just like that. Unravel like a spool of thread and dissolve into nothing but pleasure beneath him.
But you don’t feel him follow. In fact, he continues fucking you through your high until he suddenly pulls out and comes all over your swollen pussy.
It’s the most mesmerizing thing you think you’ve ever seen. The sticky substance paints your cunt in masterful strokes. Glistening from your body, your clit, your thighs like stars.
And you want to be disappointed that he didn’t finish inside but soon you understand why.
He takes your hand. Moves it closer and presses your fingers into the mess.
“Touch it,” he whispers. “Fuck it back in.”
Your eyes widen. He smiles but the look in his eye is mischievous and deranged.
“Go on, Kitten,” he says. “I wanna watch.”
Your arms are shaking. In fact, every part of you is still shaking from your orgasm but you obey. You slowly—very slowly—begin to circle your touch around your clit. Feeling the way it nearly throbs as you stimulate it. As you force it into more pleasure.
Harry’s attention is glued to the show before him as he swallows thickly and you swear you can almost see his heart beating against his chest like a cartoon.
You move down. Collect as many drops of him as you can and slowly begin to ease two fingers into your fluttering hole.
When you reach the knuckle, you gasp and he exhales.
It’s perfect.
He scoots back until he can lay on his stomach and place his cheek against your thigh. Close. Close enough that you can feel his breath fan across your hand.
And he watches. Happy. A lazy smile on those beautiful, pink lips. Lashes fluttering every time you whimper or whine.
“I…I can’t,” you whisper. The sensations are too strong. You’ve already cum once, you can’t possibly cum again so soon.
He hums. “Yes, you can. Let me see, baby. Let me watch.”
And you almost want to be embarrassed but something else seems to take over your mind entirely and you can’t help but go faster.
You pinch and curl and flex. You push his offering as far into you as you can reach and then you push in a little more. And it’s easier this time, even if it almost hurts. But you cum. You do, right in front of his very eyes until he’s quickly grabbing hold of you as though he’s desperate to be closer.
You’re more than a puddle this time. You’re practically limp but you’re also so incredibly happy. And he smiles brightly as he pulls your fingers away and puts them in his mouth.
You don’t even have the energy to make a noise this time. You merely watch him—content—until he starts kissing down your palm, along your arm, and to your chest.
Then, he pulls you into his embrace and you both indulge in a moment of peace.
You’re both quiet for a while. Even after your heartbeat has steadied. Even after the sweat on your skin has dried and the room no longer feels so warm.
You run your fingers down his torso. Along the dips and curves of his muscles that seem more defined every time you see him.
“You’re insufferable,” you finally say and he laughs. The sound bounces between the walls of your room—joyous and unencumbered—and it makes you giddy. He doesn’t laugh like this for her. “What? You are.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“Yeah. I know.”
Another beat. Longer.
Then, you whisper, “Okay.”
He looks down. “Okay?”
“I’ll agree to your deal.”
“Really?” He’s grinning again. Big.
“Mhm. As long as I get to keep you in some way…maybe it’ll be worth it.”
He seems to sadden at the use of the word maybe, but he brushes it off before you can comment on it. Instead, he pulls you closer and kisses you hard. Forever.
And maybe…this won’t be so bad.
Previous Part:
~ Insatiable You* (Pt. 2)
~ Full Infinite You Masterlist
~ Main Masterlist
Amazing divider by @firefly-graphics! 💞
Taglist: @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @keepdrivingkisses @swiftmendeshoran @tiredinwinter @straightontilmornin @justlemmeadoreyou @harrysdaydreams @tiaamberxx @peterparker1sgf @myfavfanficsever @littlenatilda @vamprry @fdl305 @tchalametishot @ssaama @indierockgirrl @likeapplejuicenpeach @vane28282 @lukesaprince @closureesny @lc-fics @0nlythrowharrybeaux @hannahdressedasabanana @iguessyourejustwhatineeded @dylanobandposts21 @butdaddyilovehim-hs @floral-recs @itjustkindahappenedreally @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @buckybarnessimpp @hannah9921
#harry#harry styles#harry edward styles#harry styles x reader#harry styles imagine#harry styles x you#harry styles blurb#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles fan#harry styles smut#harry styles request#harry styles concept#smut#concept#friend!harry#harry and kitten#open relationship!harry#soft dom!harry
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★ pairing : bf!chan x reader
★ warnings : smut (ofc) , degrading , some praising , chan calls reader interesting words (whore) kinda mean!chan, d&s dynamics , jealousy , daddy kink (mentioned like 2 times) , overstimulation at the end
★ a/n : this was a draft for a good while and was the original for my second work (sexting w chan) so lmk how it is....
Is this what you wanted? —- do you like it when you make me mad, so I can fuck the brat out of you?"
"n—no," you choked out desperately trying to show that he doesn't have an effect on you
you were currently laid on chan's desk in the studio, his work and things long forgotten on the floor as he couldn't bother with them, not anymore at least
chan was thrusting his hips into you, pace rapid and rough, your mind only being flooded with the feelings of immense pleasure that were going throughout your body,
your senses being heightened to the max, feeling extra aware of your breathing and way blood ran to your head-
"I don't think so baby, you seem to be enjoying yourself," he says with a shit eating grin before throwing his head forward to nibble on your shoulder
the pleasure building up in your stomach becomes too much that you can't hold in your moans anymore, toes curling and eyes rolling to the back of your head
not wanting to give chan the satisfaction he so desperately wants, you try to cover your mouth but he beats you to it and grabs both your wrists holding them up
not being able to say anything without sounding straight up pornographic, you simply bury your head into his desk where his work once was, cheeks running hot
he knows the effect he has on you
he can't ever help himself from teasing you, seeing your flustered face each time he does it, your image so beautiful when it happens,
he can never help the feelings of excitement rushing through him leading all the way to the tip of his thick and veiny cock
"look at me or I'll stop," he threatens, his voice projecting throughout the room, he feels you tighten to his deep and hoarse voice
not being to think properly without the constant thought of the way his cock was filling you to the brim, or the way his punishing thrusts made you feel things you have never felt before,
finally as you go to turn your head, one of chan's hands that was previously holding your hands up moves over, suddenly he's holding onto your chin forcing you to look at his face,
the eye contact you both hold is full of lust and desire, chris examines your face through his hooded eyes, looking at you as his you were a piece of art, his piece of art. all his.
"fuck- look at you. you are mine, all mine,"
he wasn't asking, he was letting you know that you were in his possession, that you are bonded with him forever.
"yes, all y-yours," answering his declaration of your forever bond although knowing what he truly meant, hands moving to grip the corner of his desk in order to stabilize yourself a bit more
"chan, fuck. I'm so close," whispering out, leaving your mouth ajar after letting chris learn the new source of information that you let out,
"my personal whore is gonna come, yeah?" his accent thickens towards the end of the sentence, voice presenting false sympathy adding onto his the pout he was giving you.
moving his hands to go knead your ass giving a few slaps here and there that would definitely leave your skin red for atleast a couple of hours, he slows his pace, slowly rolling his hips into you giving you the full experience of his length.
you let out a choked moan, chris feels the way your walls tighten against him, your close and he knows it
"let it all out for daddy," he hisses out, a mix of his and your sweat sticking to his skin, his face red from the heat of the room,
finally letting yourself cum after holding it in until you were given the permission to do so, riding out your high until you finally came back from the heavenly experience
stringing out whines from the overstimulation of chan still continuing his pace of abusing your tight cunt, "just- a little more baby," he huffs out trying to reach his high
"fuck- you wanted this- don't complain and let daddy do what he needs to," his eyebrows furrowing when you try to whine once more, your whole body sore after a good fuck.
his hips finally start to stutter as he approaches his high, letting out his load inside of you, "my good girl," he sighs putting his chin on your shoulder.
moving you over so he could face you, he pushing your wet hair back finally giving you a peck on the forehead
"my baby did so well for me," he chuckles, his aura completely changing after the fact
"thank you channie," you whisper showing your appreciation for him.
finally adding on as he started to gather both of your clothing, "sorry, for earlier. I didn't know he was flirting with me, I thought he was just being extra nice," staring down at the floor avoiding any eye contact, your voice showing the embarrassment of not being able to take hints.
"yeah, I noticed. just wanted to make sure you know who you belonged to."
#skz smut#straykids smut#bang chan smut#chan smut#skz hard hours#skz x reader#bang chan drabbles#bang chan imagine#bang chan x reader#bang chan#bang chan fanfic#chan x reader
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eyeliner - @jegulus-microfic - word count: 440 - NSFW but not explicit (stripper!Regulus, anyone?)
James wasn't sure how he'd ended up here. Somehow, Marlene's entire bachelorette party had migrated to the strip club, where scantily-clad dancers moved suggestively, and Peter had already taken three shots of tequila.
James stared around, eyes a bit glazed from the alcohol, not looking for anything in particular, contemplating challenging Pete to take another shot when he saw him-
An angel.
He moved across the room like he was floating, dark hair falling in loose waves over his kohl-covered eyes, matching black satin lingerie covering perfectly slim milky-white skin scrawled with tattoos.
James reached out to slap his hand against whoever was sitting next to him, hardly daring to look away.
"Ow! James, what?" Dorcas's voice yelped.
"Something to write with. Quick," James muttered, voice rough, eyes still glued.
"Erm...I only have-"
"Whatever you have," James nodded, still craning his neck to stare.
Not bothering to look at the pencil in his hand, he began to move as soon as he closed it in his fingers, chasing the man he set his sights on.
And with absolutely no finesse, he tapped him on the shoulder, nearly choking on his own spit when he realized that he had the most beautiful grey eyes on the planet.
After an awkward moment of silence, during which the piercing eyes looked him up and down, the man asked in a low, bored voice, "Want to dance? It'll cost you."
"No-no. Just a date," James forced out, still begging his brain to catch up.
The man scoffed. "What kind of person do you think I-"
Realizing how it sounded, James corrected himself. "A real date. Dinner. A movie. You- you're lovely."
Thin fingers pushed a strand of black hair away from eyes that stared at him suspiciously. "Yeah?"
"Yes. Please," James nodded. "Can I have your number?" He held up the pencil as he asked.
But the man smirked. "Eyeliner?"
Doing a double-take, he looked at the pencil only to realize it was eyeliner. "Fuck. Sorry, I-"
"No problem," the man replied softly, snatching the pencil from him and holding his hand firmly.
How was it so sensual? Suddenly, the man was carefully, slowly writing on his arm with the dark pencil, the sensation of it drawing goosebumps and fire from James's skin. He almost drooled, watching the way the man bit his lip in concentration as he drew letters and numbers across his skin.
"Call me," the man whispered after a moment, handing the pencil back. He turned before James could say a word, giving him a wonderful view of the g-string he wore.
"Fuck," James murmured, looking down at his skin.
Edit: Marlene and Dorcas are having a joint Bachelorette party, guys. Sorry for the confusion!
#marauders#harry potter#marauders era#fanfic#marauders fandom#harry potter marauders#the marauders#the marauders fandom#the marauders era#james#james fleamont potter#james potter#james x regulus#james potter/regulus black#james potter x regulus black#regulus black#regulus arcturus black#james loves regulus#regulus deserved better#james and regulus#jegulus microfic#jegulus#jegulus fanfiction#starchaser#sunseeker
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This is for when you come back. I believe you've shared this guy before, but to me this is this is so musician!Eren x influence!YN. They would do a whole Scream homage to start off one of Eren's new music videos; it would be so hot that they make their own "scary movie" with one of the handheld cameras once the crew starts packing up 🫠
https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZPR7ForeG/
omg babes I definitely saw this and was saving the best for last (just in time to start off spooky szn too!) thank you for this!! 🥹🫶🏾 (side note: I’m so sick of Jordan’s ass! He gets finer and finer every time I see him LMAO 😭)
content warnings: voyeurism, knife play, blood mentions, rough sex, breath play, mask kink go brr 🫠🫠, choking, roleplay, recording, squirting, slapping
we gon call this our lil bonus upload for day one! 🤞🏾or rather the appetizer for day one.
── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.─── ── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.──
“Hnghh!—oh my God..”
muffled whimpers seeped from between your lips as a hand lie dormant across it, attempting to cover up your cries. Faint tears streamed down your face as the bright illumination of a camera lens beamed down at your face. It was such a beautiful sight, one too sexy not to capture. Eyes narrowed in a fucked out haze, plump breasts jiggling about from the confines of the latex bustier that had now been torn from your skin and your entire body being jolted around and impaled on that thick cock, thrashing around inside of you..makeup and hair all disheveled. The cause?
“C’mon..smile for the camera, princess. Show me how much you love getting fucked like a little slut.”
the deep voice hissed at you through gritted teeth, in a hushed tone and behind the concealment of a mask. And not just any kind..the infamous Ghostface one worn in the hit movie franchise, Scream. Behind it however, was a very familiar face. One smiling from ear to ear as he bared his weight down and pinned you to the mattress left on set of the music video that had just wrapped up filming. A chiseled six pack, diamond crucifix and perfect physique hovering over you..such a befitting and rather fun end to a day of hard work. It wasn’t often that you got to join your rapper husband when he comes to record music videos but he personally asked that you not only come along but be his co star. Starring as the damsel getting caught by the so called reaper who should by all accounts, be frightened but instead…winds up getting intimate with the masked assailant! Covered in blood and tousling around. When you saw your man in that get up, chest and abs all out with his tattoos slicked in oil and black jeans on, you lost all composure and sense of professionalism. So just as the camera crew was gathering their equipment, he snatched you up, took you back to the bedroom used to shoot the infamous scene, closed the door and continued his work.
“Gotta keep quiet, baby..they might hear us. You’d probably like that, huh? Let everybody watch you get this pussy pounded..right here..is that what you want?”
the words sounding off in your ear, but your mind became so blank, you could barely even concentrate. So for good measure, he’d pat your cheek twice and resume clutching your throat. Whilst letting his thumb rest between your lips for comfort. He’d carefully hold that camera in place, being sure to capture every moment. Honestly, he was committing to the bit quite well. Taunting you, teasing at your clothes with the kitchen knife he was brandishing and eventually popping the strings of your thong and cutting off that corset..even laughing at you as he forced you into another orgasm. Slapping you around a little and all. Especially when he held his hand over your mouth, causing you to grasp at his arm for breath… “yeah, she likes that, huh? You’re squirting, baby..” “..yes! It feels so fucking good.” it was so insanely hot yet so scary! It was that rush, combined with the very likely possibility of someone hearing or catching you guys in the act that had you so fucking turned on! Jolting around whilst getting drilled into the mattress, (y/n) pawed at those abs but it was of no use. So you settled on folding those legs back and occasionally wrapping those arms around his back, digging your nails into it. “I’m bout to come, daddy! Fuck..” “..I know, I know…I can feel how tight that shit is. Get your nut, baby. It’s alright.” Peering down at you with that camera, ready to capture that pretty little O face. Heaving and crying, you’d release a loud shriek as his thumb circulated your clit. You didn’t last another five seconds after that and before he could even pull out, you were drenching him in another puddle of fluids. A mix of your whimpers and his chuckles filled the room as you convulsed.
“Too much, huh?”
teasing whilst tapping that cock against your folds, as a means to drum out more..without so much as a word uttered, you’d push him back and try to feign off the sensation. Needless to say, it was a dangerous game coming to work with your boo! Running a thumb underneath the cloth, he’d finally hoist that mask and underneath was that strikingly handsome face. Tugging him down with your palms pressed to his cheeks, you’d feed him the sweetest kisses you could muster. Because regardless, he always knew how to keep the thrill and excitement alive.
“What do you say we get a couple more angles, baby? I think we need to redo that last shot.” “I think we need to get out of these people’s studio before we get hit with an indecent exposure charge.”
causing an eruption of laughter between the two of you..that was until knocking and faint footsteps could be heard out of the door, prompting you both to turn your heads with the quickness. You’d agree and hop up, scrambling to gather your clothes.
“But that bring that mask with you. I think we need to get more footage.”
#cherry’s asks 🍒#cherry’s sweetpeas 🌷🍒#kinktober day 1#eren x black fem!reader#kinktober#musician x influencer au#aot au#black reader smut#eren x reader smut#eren smut#eren jaeger smut#eren yeager x black reader#black fem reader#aot x black reader#eren jaeger imagine#eren headcanons#aot imagines#musician au#eren yeager#aot smut#snk smut#attack on titan smut#cw smut#cw knife#cw blo0d
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Sweet Fantasy | Dean Winchester
GIF by born-to-be-his-baby88
(gave myself an actual pat on the fucking back for finding this gif like y'all are gonna see how perfect it is in a second!)
Pairing: Dean Winchester x fem! reader
Word Count: 3.9k
Summary: Dean won't eat his vegetables...until you offer to cash in on a very recent fantasy of his, that is.
Warnings [18+ MINORS DNI]: P*rn w/ some solid plot action actually, a bit of domestic fluff sprinkled in, reader and Dean are married (don't know if that's a warning but you should know?), reader dresses up in a sexy Zorro costume with the hat and mask included, handcuffs (Dean receiving), mentions of a safeword but not used, fingering/masturbation (reader receiving), oral sex (brief Dean receiving), a whole lotta teasing (Dean receiving), p in v sex (cowgirl, missionary), unprotected sex (wrap your willy before you fuck her silly!), dirty talk, switch! Dean, switch! reader, very vocal Dean, brief choking (Dean receiving), creampie.
A/n: Hey! Sorry for disappearing for 3 months again...So classes finished almost 2 months ago and I've been wracking my brain about what to post. I tried finishing some of my drafts and it just wasn't working for me idk. Then, like any normal person, I was randomly watching some SPN bloopers this morning and it got to a scene where Dean said sometimes he wants to get spanked during sex by a girl wearing a Zorro mask and my brain ran with that shit IMMEDIATELY. Now, I'm so sorry I couldn't actually write him actually getting spanked without it sounding corny and just wrong to me? But I did write all of this in 7 hours without stopping so I'm honestly proud of it regardless.
Enjoy...
It was a Sunday evening in the bunker, meaning you were responsible for dinner. With that task came the additional task of getting Dean to eat whatever vegetables you cooked without complaining and engaging in a rant that would end with him calling himself the “meat man”.
It’s not that you were concerned about Dean's weight or appearance, after 7 years of marriage you were confident that there was nothing in the world that could make you love Dean Winchester any less. But having a steady diet of beer, beef, and pie was a surefire way to kill any man of Dean’s age faster than any monster or demon.
And God knows you’d do anything to ensure he didn’t die before his time.
Hell, you have before.
Which is why you made Dean agree to eat a side of only vegetables with whatever meat he wanted at least once a week. This week it was string beans and sautéed mushrooms, aka his least favorite vegetable.
But you didn’t have the time to make the 45-minute drive to the grocery store earlier that day so he would have to deal.
Or you wish he would deal…
“Mushrooms? Baby come on,” he complained when you placed his plate before him.
“Hey, it’s all that was left in the fridge. Eat up,” you shrugged, placing a kiss on the crown of his head.
“You know, we could always do no vegetables,” Dean offered with a wide grin.
You chuckled and used a finger to squish his stubbled cheek. “You wish, Winchester.”
He sighed in defeat and turned to pick up his fork.
You looked to make sure Sam was out of earshot before leaning down to where your lips grazed Dean’s ear. “Tell you what, if you eat those vegetables I’ll do that thing you told me about…later” you whispered.
Dean’s eyes lit up immediately, “The thing?” he harshly whispered.
You nodded with a smile.
“Costume and everything?” He made a gesture with his hands.
“Yup, I’ve been hiding the costume for weeks.”
“I’m game” Dean agreed, digging into the mushrooms first.
You turned away to share your own plate with a smile.
“I’m gonna go grocery shopping later,” Sam announced as he sat beside Dean with his plate. He met your eyes, “Anything else you forgot to put on the list?”
“Yeah stop at the liquor store and grab me a bottle of red? I ran out,” you answered sitting across from the boys with your plate.
Sam grabbed a pen and a piece of folded paper from his pocket and added it to his list, “Yeah, no problem. What brand again?”
You swallowed a piece of your chicken with a smirk. “I’m sure you already know seeing as you’re the one who emptied the bottle to the very last drop,” you addressed Sam.
His pen slipped from his grip, his green eyes widening to meet your narrowed ones.
“You drink red wine?” Dean pointed at Sam in disbelief as a laugh rumbled in his chest.
“How did you know?” He asked you, ignoring Dean’s quip.
“I saw you passed out in the library clutching the bottle the other night.”
“Listen Dean finished all the beer and it was the first thing I saw,” he defended himself.
“Oh, you’re getting more creative with your excuses. I'm impressed!” You gushed, sarcasm evident in your tone, “What was it again last week? ‘Oh Eileen wanted to taste some’ " you mimicked his gruff tone causing him to roll his eyes and Dean’s laughter to grow louder. “-when we all know that Eileen is a white wine type of gal.”
"I-" Sam tried to come up with a retort but eventually gave up. “Whatever.”
“Yeah pick up 3 bottles this time in case Eileen wants a taste,” you replied with a grin.
“Three bottles?!” He exclaimed.
“You aren’t the one paying for it, genius,” you reminded him, referring to the unlimited card Charlie hacked for you all those years ago.
“Yeah but I’m gonna have to lug it up here,” Sam mumbled as he stuck his fork into his chicken.
Dinner continued mostly in silence with Sam thinking about the two lousy trips he’d have to make between his car and the kitchen once he returns with the groceries, Dean thinking about the reward he’ll be getting for the vegetables he’s actually grown used to eating, and y/n thinking about all the ways she’s gonna make Dean squirm later.
~ ~ ~
Hours had passed since dinner and Sam was now on his way to the grocery store leaving just you and Dean in the bunker.
To say he was excited would be an understatement.
Dean first told you about this fantasy of his after a case you had months ago required you to take a trip to an adult costume shop to question the owner. It took mere seconds for the image of you in the very specific costume to cross his mind after laying eyes on the packaging.
You laughed at the idea when he told you and silently decided you would try and find the costume.
Of course, he didn’t believe you would actually indulge him but you were actually excited too. Costumes and toys weren’t new territory for you and Dean but they were few and far between with your unpredictable hunting schedules.
Dean now sat at the edge of your shared bed wearing pajama pants and a t-shirt waiting for you to return like you had promised.
But it had been almost 20 minutes since you left to get changed and his patience was wearing thin. He was seconds away from getting up and coming to see if you needed help or if you were even hurt.
Which you predicted would be the case.
So you had been standing out of sight by the doorway for less than a minute now waiting for him to try and leave.
“Damnit,” Dean eventually gave in to his worries and began to make his way to the door.
You smirked once you heard his determined steps drawing closer.
Dean’s eyes widened once you spun from your hiding spot against the wall to stand before him. “Looking for me?”
You watched his throat bob and his pupils dilate as he took in your full look.
Atop your head and face rested a sexy black Zorro mask and matching hat. You were also wearing a black sleeveless leather top that stopped in your midriff region and had strings tied between your breasts that allowed a whole lot of cleavage to be on display. The leather skirt that accompanied was low-waisted and stopped at your upper thigh, matching the black thong you were wearing beneath.
You had stretched the thin straps of the thong along your hips above the skirt for added flair.
In your right hand, you held a fake silver sword similar to the one Zorro held in the movies, and hanging from the left side of your skirt were two handcuffs ready and waiting to be used.
You were sex on knee-length boot-covered legs.
Dean felt himself growing hard already.
You bit your bottom lip at the way your husband’s eyes roamed your body, hoping the dark red lipstick covering it was as transfer and waterproof as the box advertised.
“You look...stunning,” Dean marveled. The model on the packaging of the costume didn’t come close to how it looked on your body.
Your heart swelled at the compliment before remembering the persona you had practiced for the night ahead. “Oh I know,” you took a step closer and leaned against the doorway. You pointed the sword in Dean’s direction. “Why are you still dressed, Dean?” you asked with furrowed brows and a smile.
A chuckle almost left your lips at the sight of Dean fumbling with his pant strings and tripping over his own legs to send the pajama bottoms flying over to a random corner while throwing off his t-shirt with record speed.
He stood before you in only his boxers, his enjoyment of your costume evident by the bulge in the center.
“Get on the bed.” You told him, your tone not excessively commanding but sexy enough to make him obey immediately.
“Yes ma’am,” he smirked, quickly sitting and sliding up to the headboard of the bed.
You walked further into the room and placed your sword down before climbing onto the bed and slowly crawling to where Dean sat. His green eyes followed your every move as you moved to straddle him, but not fully.
You then grabbed the two pairs of handcuffs attached to your hips and twirled them around your fingers. “How you feeling Dean?” you checked in, your hips hovering above his thighs, making sure to not touch his erection just yet.
“Oh, I feel great. Real great. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this great,” he nodded eagerly as you cuffed each of his hands to each bedpost, getting a face full of your boobs in the process.
"You sound nervous," you teased him, "Am I making you nervous baby?"
"Me? Nervous? Pfft!"
You scoffed, not believing him one bit. "What's our safe word?" you asked him gently.
Dean leaned forward as much as his restraints would allow to press a sweet kiss against your stomach. " 'Oklahoma', baby," he grinned.
You then let your clothed ass sink down on his covered erection. Dean groaned and tried to reach for your hips instinctively only to meet the restriction of the handcuffs. “I hope they aren’t too tight 'cause they’re gonna be on there for a while,” you nearly bust out laughing at the look Dean gave you.
“A while?” he repeated, dreading not being able to touch you at a time like this.
You shrugged, “If you behave I might change my mind.”
Before he could argue further, you leaned forward and connected your lips in a searing kiss. His breath was hot against your face as your lips drifted to his neck while your hands found themselves in his hair.
A breathy groan slipped past his lips when you nipped a specific spot beneath his ear lobe. “You’re so loud. Maybe I should’ve bought a muzzle,” you whispered in his ear teasingly, feeling his dick jump beneath you at your words. “I'll remember that next time,” you replied to his body's response.
“Baby, do you have any idea how amazing you look? ” Dean gushed, struggling against his restraints as you began to grind your hips against his covered cock.
You smiled and met his lips in a kiss once again. He slipped his tongue between your welcoming lips, allowing his taste to flood your mouth. You pulled away seconds later, nipping his bottom lip, and removed yourself from his lap.
He watched nervously, awaiting your next move while you scooted farther away from him along the bed. You slowly slipped off your boots, your confidence unwavering as you held Dean’s hungry stare.
He watched you use a hand to hold yourself upright before spreading your legs open to reveal the lace thong covering your already-drenched pussy. “Are you about to..." he trailed off, jaw clenched as he spoke.
"Hmm mhm. And there is not a damn thing you can do about it...except watch," you slowly removed your thong and threw it at Dean’s lap. He immediately became hyperaware of the feeling of the wet lace draped over his dick.
You slowly brought two fingers up to your lips and sucked them even slower to coat them in your saliva and give Dean a show before bringing them down to where you needed them the most. You began slow ministrations against your aching clit, pulling moans from yourself that made Dean impossibly harder.
He took a deep breath at the sight, imagining his own fingers parting your folds and rubbing at your swollen clit.
“You are a menace,” Dean laughed in obvious distress, licking his dried lips. He couldn’t handle watching you touch yourself without being able to touch you any longer so he looked away, swallowing harshly at the sound of your wetness against your fingers.
“Look at me Dean,” you mewled, continuing to rub your pussy in small quick circles. He turned reluctantly, watching as you slowly pushed two fingers inside your dripping hole. “See this, baby? It’s all for you,” you said, melting into a moan when your fingers grazed a spot inside you that drew your orgasm closer.
“I gotta taste you, baby,” Dean pleaded, “Open these and let me taste you, please,” he rattled the handcuffs against the bedposts.
The pure agony in his voice had your fingers and breathing speeding up and soon your climax was approaching. Dean’s breathing picked up in response. “Fuck, Dean I’m gonna cum,” you moaned, pressing a thumb to your clit while your fingers kept working inside of you to bring you to the edge.
A thin layer of sweat appeared on Dean’s forehead as he watched you keenly. He bit his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood, his self-control draining by the second.
Your eyes remained open and locked onto his, your moans growing louder and borderline pornographic. You were putting on a show and he was losing his mind.
“I’m cumming, fuck-“ you panted as your first orgasm of the night slammed into you and caused you to make a small mess on the sheets beneath you. Your body shook sporadically with aftershocks of your own work
Dean’s head hung low. “Jesus baby,” he huffed, his own voice strangled, “you’re trying to give me a heart attack aren’t you?”
You smiled as you crawled back up to sit on Dean’s lap, taking your thong and throwing them somewhere unseen. “Ehh maybe,” you replied coyly, straightening your hat and mask. “And since you behaved so well,” you reached a hand down to touch his clothed cock, “I think you deserve a reward,” you pressed a quick kiss to his lips.
Dean allowed you to pull his boxers off his body, watching you wrap a hand around his painfully erect cock. “Fuck,” he groaned at the feeling of your hand wrapped around him.
You slid down to where you could lay flat on your stomach between his legs and leaned down to briefly swirl your tongue around where precum was gathered at the tip.
“Take the hat off and look at me pretty girl,” Dean said.
You complied, throwing the hat off to the edge of the bed before diving down and licking his tip once again, but this time keeping your eyes locked onto his.
“Holy shit,” Dean groaned, his hips twitching upwards. You then opened your mouth and wrapped it around his length, slowly sliding down until your nose was nuzzled at the base, staying there for a few seconds before coming back up for air. “Hell yes, baby that's perfect,” he panted as you began sucking faster along his length, a few lone tears flowing from beneath the mask from the familiar stretch of his cock in your throat.
Your head continued to bob up and down Dean’s length for some time, drawing shallow moans of your name and grunts from him before you finally let up and pressed one last kiss against the side of his cock.
Dean’s chest heaved as you licked your lips and used a hand to wipe your face clean. “Goddamnit," he whined at your sudden stop, feeling his impending orgasm return to its hiding place.
You grabbed your previously discarded Zorro hat and placed it back on your head before hiking your skirt up to allow you more room to move your legs around Dean’s lap. “Can’t have you cumming before I’m done with you sweetheart,” you replied while untying the strings of your top and removing it.
The keys to the handcuffs dropped onto Dean’s lap from where you previously hid them in your top. You had honestly forgotten you put them there but it just presented yet another opportunity to get Dean all whiny and desperate, which was a rarity that you rather enjoyed.
“Oops would you look at that,” you exclaimed playfully, taking them up and dangling them in front of Dean’s eyes.
"Alright baby you broke me. Come on, just let me go, and trust me, I will make it worth your while,” Dean bargained with you.
"As enticing as that sounds," you paused and brought your hand up to caress Dean’s cheek before pulling him in for a sloppy kiss. You pulled away with a grin. “I love hearing you beg, so no,” you whispered against his lips.
Dean loudly groaned watching you gently place the keys down on the closest nightstand. “Shit,” he shut his eyes.
But they shortly shot open once you used a hand to grip his length and bring it between your dripping folds.
A pleased hum left your lips once the tip glazed your clit causing Dean to swallow harshly. “Aren’t you sick of teasing me,” he hissed.
Fuck no.
You used a free hand to grip the back of his hair. “Take a deep breath for me, Dean,” you told him, feeling his chest rise against yours soon after. And as it fell, you slipped his cock inside your entrance.
You slowly sank down onto his length until it was fully buried inside you, groaning at the welcomed stretch.
“I love those sounds you make for me,” Dean whispered against your lips.
“Oh you’re gonna be making some of those sounds too,” you smirked, clenching around him causing a sharp grunt to reach your ears.
You guided your hips up and down Dean’s length, riding him at a quickening pace. He jerked his hips upward to match your cadence drawing a gasp from your lips when his cock hit that spot inside you that had you seeing stars. “There you go baby,” Dean groaned, “you look so fucking good riding my cock.”
The hat and mask from your costume managed to stay in place as you slammed down on Dean’s cock repeatedly. And it was an image that he would never forget.
Your hand released Dean’s hair and instead found itself wrapped around Dean’s neck as you rode him faster. A whine that shot straight to your cunt escaped his lips when your fingers slightly tightened their grip around his throat.
You suddenly slowed down and instead began to grind your hips against his, moaning loudly when your clit grazed his pelvis. “I’m gonna cum again shit!” You threw your head back in obscene pleasure, releasing Dean's throat and holding onto his shoulders to steady yourself.
“Fuck yes. Use my cock to get off, sweetheart,” Dean urged you on before leaning forward to suck one of your nipples as best as he could.
This soon pushed you over the edge, your climax tearing a scream from within you as your hips faltered around Dean’s cock, your hat flying off your head once more. Dean relished in the way your cunt pulsed around him from your orgasm as well as the look of sheer pleasure that crossed your face at that moment. “You’re so beautiful,” he smiled up at you, meaning every word.
You kissed his forehead with a smile and reached for the handcuff keys. “I think I’ve tortured you enough,” you freed his right hand first, pressing a kiss against his wrist, then did the same to his left, “This is supposed to be a reward after all.”
Dean’s lips curved into a smirk at his newfound freedom. “Yes it is, sweetheart.”
A surprised yelp left your lips when Dean gripped your hips and flipped you onto your back. He grabbed your hat and placed it on his own head before sending you a wink. “And I’m not feeling rewarded just yet.”
You nearly came just from the sight of Dean hovering above you in only that hat. “We’re gonna have to talk about my sexy cowboy fantasy when we’re done here,” you raised a brow.
A low chuckle echoed from Dean’s chest. He reached up and tipped his hat in your direction, “yes ma’am.” He replied with a deep southern drawl.
Your pussy clenched instantly.
“That was hot as fuck,” you breathed.
“Thank you darlin’ “ he replied in the same accent with a wink.
You giggled before pulling him down for a kiss. He pulled away and touched the mask still wrapped around your eyes. “And thank you for doing this for me, baby,” he smiled down at you, “It was so so much better than I imagined.”
“It was definitely my pleasure,” you nodded happily, feeling his hands glide down your sides.
“Was?” He protested playfully. “The night is still young, sweetheart!” He threw your legs over his shoulder causing you to exclaim at the sudden move. He placed a kiss on each of your thighs and lined himself up with your entrance before entering you once again.
“FUCK” you cried out at the sudden intrusion, feeling your eyes well up with tears of pleasure in record time.
Dean pulled out and slammed into you once again, his grip on your legs tightening as he eased into a quick pace.
“YES-Dean holy shit,” you moaned, eyes quickly rolling to the back of your head and back arching up and off the bed as he fucked you with reckless abandon.
“How’s it feeling baby?” Dean said, bringing a hand down to play with your clit.
“So good, Dean, so fucking good,” you rambled, your skin buzzing with pleasure, “Harder, please, I'm almost there,” you found yourself begging.
“You gonna cum for me already pretty girl?” He sped up his slaughter on your cunt, "Maybe I should make you beg for it?" his voice was low and demeaning but only spurred you on more.
You shook your head adamantly while your hands fumbled around Dean's waist for a solid grip. So he simply released your legs and grabbed your hands before holding them down above your head, driving his cock into you even harder at this new angle.
“Dean!" you broke off into a strangled moan.
Dean’s lips attacked your open neck. “I wish we had neighbors so they could hear you screaming my fucking name,” he all but growled as the sounds of your moans and skin against skin plagued the air.
You came with a yell seconds later, your release coating Dean’s cock and the sheets. “That’s my girl. There you go baby,” he released your hands and held your face, guiding you down from your high.
Your hands gripped Dean’s hair harshly as you kissed his lips and his hips stuttered, his cum coating your insides soon after. You swallowed his grunts as his cock continued to leak and twitch inside you.
Broken pants befell both your lips in between sloppy kisses while your orgasms passed and your shared spend flowed between your legs. You eventually released his lips for air, “That was-“
“-Incredible,” he mirrored your thoughts, removing your hat from his head. Dean used a hand to remove your mask and brush a few strands of hair behind your ears once he moved to lie down beside you.
“Hi,” you grinned in awe of the man you called your husband.
“Hey sweetness,” he grinned back, adoration evident in his deep green eyes.
Your cheeks flushed as he pressed a kiss against your forehead. He quickly grabbed his previously discarded t-shirt and used it to clean up the mess between your legs before throwing it in the laundry basket nearby.
You snuggled into his side once he returned to the bed.
“So uhh what was it you were saying about your cowboy kink?” Dean smugly asked after a few seconds.
“Goddamnit Dean,” you shamefully groaned into his side, gaining a chuckle from him.
ANDDD SCENE!
Hope it wasn't too bad seeing as I gave up on editing it like 75% through it.
Tbh I highly doubt more than 20 people are gonna see this because I have no idea how strong the Supernatural fandom's presence is on here, which also means that I don't know if anyone has used a plot like this one before so don't be afraid to let me know if that is the case and I will make changes as I see fit!
(Also let me know if you want a sequel one shot with sexycowboy! Dean and reader. Or feel free to make any other requests)
Reblogs, likes, and comments are ALWAYS appreciated :)
divider creds : @cafekitsune
#smut#oneshot#supernatural#dean winchester smut#dean winchester imagine#dean winchester x reader#dean winchester x you#dean winchester#dean x reader#jensen ackles#jensen x reader#spn smut#spnfandom#spn#supernatural smut#supernatural one shot#fluff#jensen ackles x you#imagine#supernatural imagine#spn fanfic#dean winchester fanfiction
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RADIO appearance (1) | e.m & s.h
Pairing: Rockstar!EddieMunson x Radiohost Fem Reader x BandManager!SteveHarrington
Summary: You're seemingly going nowhere at your job at Studio 66. You finally get your big break when your boss meets a terrible fate. Given the opportunity to become Mental in the Morning's newest radio host, you embark on a never before experience when you fall into a love triangle between Corroded Coffins, Eddie Munson, and his manager, Steve Harrington, all while trying not to lose yourself to your sudden fame. What will you choose?
Warnings: Cursing, Misogyny, Love Triangle, Sexual harassment in the workplace, eventual smut, Drug and alcohol use, slowburn, mentions of blood, Character death
Authors note: Wanted to give writing on Tumblr a try. Let me know how you like the story and thanks for reading.💗💗
Word count: 2,463
RADIO appearance ⭑ materiel list
Divider credits- @cafekitsune
Circa’ 1991
Spike Van Dyke was an idiot.
He was the type to ask you for the time, even though he had a shiny metal Rolex banded around his wrist, just to purely get on your nerves. Spike was the type of person to play obnoxious clown honks and buzzers on his morning radio show as hungover parents rushed their children off to school in their minivans or Subarus. Spike also was the person to ask you if you were "Mental in the Morning?!" And if you weren't, you would get sprayed with silly string and get kicked in the tush.
Spike didn't like me; well, he acted like he didn't like me. Said I had the type of looks that made a freight train take a dirt road, per se, compared to Candace "Candi" Jones.
Here comes the sad part. My family says it's sad, but I like to think otherwise: After being told I wasn't good enough, I didn't quit. Anyone with an ounce of self-respect in their bones and dignity in their gut would quit after being told they weren't good enough, but I stayed. I've been Spike's humbled assistant for four years now—not like he needed one, though.
Despite being obnoxious and sometimes rude, Spike was a low-maintenance guy. A day's work for me is grabbing him bottled water after he's choking on a fly, getting into his mouth from gawking at Candace.
"Metal fucking sucks." The sound of a crowd booing and then a loud tuba-sounding "Womp womp womp" plays in the background—radio imaging.
Now where was I? Spike Van Dyke was—is—an idiot.
The big and bright “ON AIR” sign lit up my face as I watched from outside Studio 66.
“Now Spike, you aren’t saying that because Corroded Coffin is coming to studio 66 tomorrow, right?” Candice said, a shit-eating grin plastered on her lips. He only kept Candice as the co-host of Mental in the Morning because she once flashed him her big silicon Double D tits at a wet tank top contest he was hosting.
“Oh, that’s a load of bullshit, Candi. And you wanna know why?” “Why?” “You wanna know why that’s bullshit, Candi? Because I hadn’t even heard of crowded coffee—” “Corroded Coffin.” “Until you just brought them up seconds ago.” Spike shrugs, leaning his back in his seat and swinging his feet in his chair because they barely touch the ground.
“I don’t know, Spike, you have a reputation for making your guests mad. Remember when you called Madonna a sellout?”
“She never denied it.”
“And when you called Steven Tyler a creep?”
"That one's true and we all know it."
"Ok, so let me get this straight: are YOU, Spike Van Dyke, going to play nice tomorrow for the Corroded Coffin boys?"
Spike shrugs again. "Depends, Candi, why don't you play one of crowded coffee—" "Corroded Coffin." "Eh.. yeah, why don't you play one of their songs? I'll have my conclusion at the end of the break."
"Welp, you heard it folks, whatever Spike wants, he gets. Here's "Hellmouth" from Corroded Coffin's sophomore album "Mutilation, Sickness, and a Little Death." Make sure you all stay tuned after the break, and also don't forget to stay—"Candice points to Spike, and in his dreadful, languid voice, he says: "Mental in the Morning."
At a click of a button, the dark and muddy strings of Corroded Coffin's "Hellmouth" ring through the speakers of studio 66; by the time the long interlude is over, I only hear a snippet of Munson's throaty singing before Candice and Spike come out of the studio.
The "ON AIR" sign is now turned off, but it's only until the break is over. "That was a good take, guys." I softly say as Candice and Spike leave the studio.
Y'know, when I was five, I dressed up as a brick wall for Halloween--I'd thought it'd be funny. Who knew I'd still be in the same costume fifteen years later? Spike walks straight past me, like the wall I am.
Candice does pay mind to me, leaning beside the same wall as I, looking at the short and stout Spike Van Dyke going straight to his favorite intern--Bonnie, I think her name is--just to mess with her for his shits and giggles.
"Should I start making apology gift baskets now?" I ask her.
She asks. "Maybe he'll have a change of heart this time? You know, I've noticed he hasn't been staring at my breast as much lately. I think that's a sign for something."
"A sign for what?" Now it was my turn to tsk. "That he's finally gone through the lobotomy he so desperately needs?"
I look up at her, and she's laughing. Candice wasn't that much taller than me, but her hot pink stilettos made me look like Stuart Little standing beside her. I join in on the laughter, too. But the joyous moment is cut short when we hear an "eek!" from the intern and see Spike pinching up the ends of her frilly white skirt.
"Poor girl." Candice says. "One day he's going to mess with the wrong person." Candice mutters.
Black and green sludge starts swishing in my body, and I think I will be sick. I watched the intern's skin become extremely pallid, and her eyes turned a shade of fear. Any other time, her skin would be pretty porcelain, like an antique doll you'll find in an upscale market, and her eyes would shine the brightest green.
"I hate to say it, but it's kind of like a rite of passage for the girls of Studio 66 to get hounded by Spike, right?" I hear Candice say from afar; she sees I'm gone when she looks over.
And out of the emergency exit and down three flights of stairs I go, I find myself in front of studio 66, looking out at the crowded streets of New York City, and thinking of Bonnie, the girl with porcelain skin, and Candice, the 5'8 glamazon.
A "Rite of Passage" it was. It wasn't a shocker when Spike liked you; he shows it. He's done it to many women prior before he's done it to Candice, and now he's doing it to Bonnie. Bonnie was just an intern today, but she'll be Spike's new assistant tomorrow. Why hadn't Spike taken a liking to me? Well, according to him, I'm "too boring." I’m simply plain and simple—old, boring Y/N.
I know it's wrong, but how else should I feel? It's not like I wanted to get filled up by Spike; that's disgusting, but if that meant I get to do something at my job or move up a position, then so be it.
Fuck. How would I do that when Spike doesn't even look at me?
Bonnie was about to be promoted while I was off somewhere, filling out yet another job application. Maybe I'll apply to Coney Island. At least then, I'll have the joyous laughter of children or exciting screams from amusement parkgoers to drown my sorrows.
"You have an expressive face." A voice says beside me. I look up at the stranger; his fluffy-looking hair draws my attention away from his face. The warm stink of nicotine fills my nostrils, and I feel the hairs on my body prick the fabric of my clothes. When I relaxed my face, I realized how scrunched tight I had it.
"Jesus, what kind of deep shit are you in, kid?" He asks. He says "kid" as if he and I didn't look remotely close in age.
"You got another one of those?" I say, pointing to the cigarette hanging out the corner of his mouth. Without hesitation, he goes into his left boot, pulling out a pack of Camels. I pull out a cigarette--his last one. When I have the cigarette in my mouth, he whips a white lighter with its blazing flames.
"Thanks." I say, my voice almost muffled. I nearly gag from the nicotine as I smoke it.
Cigarettes sucked. They only looked cool as an accessory--accompanied by a cup of coffee and some old French novel. Other times, cigarettes look fantastic when they're used by guys who stare at you so intensely, waiting to hear what you have to say.
"Um--" I freeze; his eyes roll down my body before meeting my eyes again. "It's rude to stare," I say, nerves starting to leave my body as the nicotine seeps in.
"It's rude to leave people hanging." He snaps back. "What's gotten you so pressed?"
I huff, "Spike Van Dyke, that's what."
He hums. "With a name like that, how couldn't he? Did his mother even love him?" I let out a nervous chuckle, somewhat wary about talking to the stranger, but he gave me his last cigarette, which meant he was ok?
"We're in the same boat, y'know?" he says, playing with the cigarette between his fingers.
"He'd hit on your girlfriend or something?" I cock my eyebrow, and I feel a smile form on my lips. "Say he did hit on your girlfriend, and you're here to kick his ass; you wouldn't say anything if I let you in without a badge?"
"No, I'm not here to kick his ass." He breathily laughs. "Your funny." He says. I wasn't joking. I deadpan.
"I'm Steve. Steve Harrington." He introduces.
Why does the name seem so familiar? I squint my eyes at him.
"Y/n. Y/n Y/l/n."
"So, I take it you work here." he points his thump to the building. "At Studio 66?"
"Not for long; I'll be working at Coney Island soon. I could get you tickets, perhaps?
He laughs again, and for the second time, I wasn't joking.
"Yeah, my band--the band I'm managing--you've might've heard of them? Corroded Coffin? I'm here for them."
Something in my brain snaps.
"You're Corroded Coffin's manager." I state that's why his name was so familiar. "You're the one we talked to about the interview."
He nods. "Yep." he drags. "That's me."
"I didn't expect you to be so..."
Good-looking? The good-looking that would make you instantly popular--taking it back to my high school days. Most of the managers I've met in the past have been the Spike Van Dyke type, y'know, bald and plump with deceitful eyes and a deceitful chin and wandering hands.
"Preppy? Not the type to manage a band who sings about war, destruction, doom and misery?"
"Took the words right out of my mouth."
"I'm reminded of it every day." He says, now leaning on the cold brick wall, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his dark blue bomber jacket.
"Your interview isn't until tomorrow." I say.
"Yeah, but I'm here to talk to Spike, that guys an idiot."
As if that still needed to be established.
"I bet you won't say that to his face." I dare.
With a smirk on his lips and a sparkle in his eyes, he took me up on the challenge.
Spike took Steve's comment well, I think.
"Ok, so what do you want me to do?" Spike shrugged.
"All I'm saying is, Corroded Coffin won't do the interview if you're going to be a..."
Steve's eyes met mine. I look at him wide-eyed and boggled, sitting on the edge of my seat beside Spike's desk. Steve jitters a bit, switching all his weight from one foot to another.
"An asshole."
I would've preferred the word "dickhead" instead, but "asshole" is close enough.
"But "asshole" is my brand. If you or Corroded Coffin don't like it, I'm glad to not have you all on my show."
"Should I remind you that we were the ones to get a voicemail from you guys? You're the one that wants us here. My group will be damned if you think we're going to let you disrespect us." To convey his authority, Steve places both hands on his hips. A smirk creeps onto my lips.
Spike squints his eyes, gnawing his teeth. "Who sent you here?" He asks. "Was it that hotshot—what's his name? I forget." Spike snaps his fingers. "Munson."
Steve scoffs. "I'm here on the behalf of all of Corroded Coffin."
Spike rolls his eyes and says: "Y'know Munson has a "bad" reputation himself. I'd seen his little stunt he pulled with Rush the Radio a few weeks back."
As if it were him involved in the horrendous event, Steve mutters a "Jesus Christ" and runs his fingers through his bouncy hair.
"I mean, who gets mad like that over one little question? My poor guy Rush is still paying for the damages that little shithead caused."
It was Steve's turn to squint his eyes and gnaw at his teeth.
"You all should be grateful that another radio host wants to have the spawns of Satan on their show." Spike continues.
With a few nibbles of his fingertips and a long, harsh stare, Steve concluded:
"Let's agree to disagree. If you don't act like such an asshole, my guys won't either." Steve says.
"Harrington, I think we have a deal." I had a crawling suspicion that Spike had his fingers crossed behind his back.
Steve and Spike shook on it, thus the ending of their little spat. It was not climactic enough, but indeed, it was entertaining. Spike gets my name wrong when telling me to walk Steve out.
"Problem solved?" Steve says, seemingly trying to convince himself and me that "the problem" was resolved. When really, that was only the tip of the iceberg.
Steve gives me a piece of paper with his personal number on it; his fingertips touch mine in a subtle exchange. I feel a sting of heat that twinges my body; I blame the August searing heat. Steve says to call him if anything significant happens between now and tomorrow, though I highly doubt it.
I watched Steve walk down the pavement and turn the corner to 13th Street. I feel a small smile creep onto my lips, holding the piece of paper with his number on it close to my chest.
When I return to Studio 66, my smile fades when I watch everyone scatter around in a frenzy. My eyes follow the pattern of warm blood that puddles to my ankles. The trail of blood seems never-ending, but that myth is busted when my eyes land on a good as dead(?) Spike Van Dyke.
His eyes were stapled shut, followed by a few staples around his dome and neck. My eyes followed the body that hovered over him. Bonnie—the porcelain skin—intern, hovers over Spike's unconscious body, a stapler in her hand.
#Eddie munson x reader#Steve harrington x reader#love triangle#90s#stranger things#x reader#steddie fic#rockstar eddie munson#radio host#corroded coffin
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A Web of Their Own Design (pt. 5)
the plot is thickening, I promise everything has a purpose. semi-proof read, i’m lazy but with standards.
"Hobie, I..." Words refused to string together, simple tasks burdensome, impossible. You didn’t know where your words would begin nor where they’d end, the possibility of bringing unseen experiences to the front of your mind troubling.
Hobie seemed acutely attentive, looking to you with remorse, dropping himself onto one knee, hands shoved into the pockets upon his multi-patched jacket. He look to you critically, scanning your features, not missing a single detail. Once he condemned them to memory, to past experiences — heart rate, pupil dilation, breathing habits — he only had one thing to tell you. The one thing he had to tell you to make everything feel a semblance of what it was. Even if it never would be, never could be.
"You don't need to say it, I know."
What did he know? You thought to the context, the way you must appear to the external. It would be obvious to anyone with a pair of eyes, let alone spider senses, you were going through some type of turmoil. Whether it be of your own design or from the outside was unclear, at least to the untrained eye. And then a thought seemed to plague you, encapsulating you in only blackness — a shadow — as you pondered upon what he’d said. Why he’d said it.
He knew as in he knew the situation, the network that connected the various Spiders keeping him informed? Or had Hobie been exposed to enough losses he'd become desensitized; developing a meter for grief? You know? "You do?" You were skeptical.
"It's a fucked up world — universe — multiverse that we live in, man. It ain't fair, not right that we have to live like this and simply accept it."
You replied through tears, "The canon event shit?"
"The entire thing! Why should we be expected to devote our lives, ourselves, to fighting crime? We lose our reason, loved ones; all what for what?What have they — those institutions that created us, forced us into this life — ever done for us besides condemn us, wanting us gone?”
He’d gone onto an entire tangent and you’d simply allowed him to, sitting wordlessly as he was as expressive as ever — without or without the mask — Hobie was as theatrical as they came. Even if his words were correct, even if they struck a chord.
“We’re a pawn to their game, to the people. Working with those blokes that want us dead, yeah? Damn those cops... Damn them all." Hobie slumped beside you, maintaining his distance, moral support in his own mouth fully wordless way — the only way he knew how.
You didn’t know what to say, could only discern his words from a surface level of understanding. How badly you knew he was correct, how diligently you worked to keep thoughts of grief below the surface.
"About this uh... Anomaly? When did you detect it?" You choked out your words, throat dry, lips cracked. A fish out of water. Tears so far gone your body had deprived you of the nectar of life.
"Don't trouble yourself with that," Hobie stood to his feet, back slouched, boots pattering against hardwood flooring, "I'll contact Bossman, let him know the deal. He can handle it. Big man, that one."
This was your job. Your place in the multiverse. If you weren’t there to be the Spider to your people, to those that relied on your protection; what were you?
You’d lost your sense of self, sense of reason. Everyday you seemed to stray further from yourself and closer to this persona you’d created. Were you a person with their own life? A Spider whose life revolved around others?
Besides, you didn't want Miguel to have to handle it, extending himself too far, just like you’d done these past — fuck, how long had you been a hero, again? He tended to an infinite number of multiverses, doing his best to control outbreaks as they presented themselves, the best interest of the people in mind.
He didn't want to see innocent people overrun with malice, neither did you.
Even if Hobie wouldn't admit it, he didn't want that, either.
"Grief can put itself on hold," Could it really? You'd hardly begun the grieving process when Hobie showed up rearing for a fight. The loss of a life, friendship, multiple. Anyone would be rendered bedridden for the next few weeks, months. To know that such transgressions could’ve been prevented if only they’d been there? An eternity.
Spiders didn't have that luxury, not in this life, nor the next. Even if you pushed the thoughts and responsibilities away, they'd forever persist. It was your responsibility divined by the multiverse, a vessel chosen to bare the responsibility, a web that required your attention.
You couldn't break away without running the risk of severing its fickle connections. All it took was a single moment, a stroke of bad luck, and your universe would cease to exist.
You couldn't allow such transgressions to occur. If not for yourself, for the people who would lose their lives to a premature death.
"If there's an anomaly I should be there to deliver it from evil."
"Nobility doesn't suit you, not now."
Hobie was slowly but surely breaking down your walls in an attempt to rebuild you, mold you into someone capable of living for themselves rather than the people — it was your fatal flaw, the reason you lost so much in such little time — incapable of keeping up with the personas of daily life.
Spider. Sibling. Lover. Child.
You couldn't have it all, couldn't remember special occasions, finding them pushed further into the back of your mind as crime picked up during the holidays. Presents gone unwrapped, piling up in the corner of your apartment, holiday cards unopened. They only wanted to see you, make sure their darling child was alright.
Spider. Sibling. Lover.
Love didn't work for a Spider, time too inconsistent, intimate moments disrupted by the cruel reality of crime. Scrapes and bruises impossible to hide as wandering hands traversed the most delicate parts of sensitive skin, lies only deepening the rift between love and like.
Spider. Sibling.
Eventually they grew tired of lies, tired of an identity you work diligently to hide. The person who once ate sand alongside you now spat words of malice, siding with a parent stricken with grief, fearing they might lose someone of their own fruition. Siblings are fickle, fights breaking out for the smallest of instances. Usually they're simple to remedy, an ice cream cone and a shove, but not this time.
Spider.
The only thing that remained consistent.
The reason everything was unable to coexist.
The only thing you had left.
Hobie had tracked the anomaly to central Newer York, the two of you discovering nothing out of the ordinary upon your arrival, the typical hustle and bustle of the working class's evening, returning home to adoring families, perhaps none at all.
Multiverse knows you had nothing to return to.
From damn-near thin air Hobie produced the small spider surveillance mechanism Lyla had taught you to use, the AI a whisper away in the dead of the night — a cheeky conversationalist if you entertained her, but your experience was far from first-hand.
Things change.
"Miguel wants to know if you two were successful in apprehending the anomaly." She fluttered at your shoulder, craning her to look you in the eyes — spider-eyes, but eyes nonetheless.
"Not particularly...?"
"I'll let him now."
"No!" You and Hobie were quick to shout in a succinct unison, terrifying you, a shiver running down your spine. You continued before the Spider-Punk, "I'd rather do this of our own voilition, y'know? Learn the ropes without a teacher breathing down my neck?"
"I completely understand," Your breath stilled, Hobie extending his fist, your own colliding with boney knuckles. "Unfortunately, I've already contacted him."
"Lyla!" Hobie shouted, running his palms down his mask. "Why would you do that to us, man! Way to kill the vibe!"
"Matar la vibra?"
Your backs grew rigid, Hobie swatting at you, wordlessly telling you to turn around, greet the man. You did the same, if not with more force, Miguel the one to inevitably deliver you from your silent argument.
Claws gripped where your suit pooled around your neck, raising you to the air like a cat to its infant, looking between the both of you with a scrutinous gaze. "Some maturity, children. I'm not a babysitter."
You crossed your arms over your chest, mumbling something under your breath, Miguel humming in prompt to continue.
"I'd appreciate if you'd stop calling me that."
"I'll call you whatever I want until I believe you deserve a different title, niño."
"I'm not a child."
Hobie furrowed his brows, "You speak Spanish?"
You tossed your hand back and forth, so-so, "Highschool Spanish, you can fill in the blanks."
"Teach me."
"Enough!" Miguel dropped you on your asses, your hand flying to rub at your tailbone, wincing. "Did you two spot the anomaly, or not."
“Or.”
You snickered at Hobie’s response, elbowing him at his side, Hobie responding with the same. Miguel from his spot above you, shoulders tensed and stare running like a chill down your spine, was far from amused.
"Doesn't appear to be showing up on my scanner." Hobie replied in a mumble, displaying his watch for Miguel to view, looking anywhere except the man above him.
The man groaned, turning to you. "Nothing?"
You nodded your head, smacking the watch with your palm for good measure, hoping to get some sort of reaction out of it. "Hey!" Miguel snatched your wrist, holding it his chest. "Sensitive technology, cabrón. Don't handle it like your toys."
You huffed, attempting to pull yourself free, Miguel smirking from above you. "You don't know how I play with my toys," Raising your mask to stick out your tongue, Miguel was thoroughly stunned, releasing you from his grasp.
He clicked his tongue, "toñto."
The three of you decided it was in your best interest to part ways for the time being, scouring the streets for the supposed anomaly, not a trace of where they could've gone in sight. As far as files had gone, Lyla nagging you with information as you wandered the streets, you were dealing with someone who had the ability to camouflage in some form, rendering it impossible for them to be picked up on the scanners. Perhaps an ability of invisibility, but you couldn’t be sure.
It was as though they'd vanished entirely, flat off the face of your universe, but according to your cumulative watches, a disturbance still persisted.
What could it be?
"Spider!" A voice you hadn't heard in a few days called out to you, blonde ribbons filling your vision, "Been a minute, hasn't it? How are you holding up?"
You smiled beneath the mask, grateful for simple conversation that didn't entail work. "I find I'm doing well, Officer. I hope I'm not under arrest?"
Hunter waved his hand, smiling at you with a roll of his eyes, "No way! Captain Perez is mental if he thinks I'm arresting the city's protector."
"I wouldn't call myself a protector, per say."
"Oh I would," Hunter approached you, taking your hands in his own, finger circling your palm. "I've been a diligent observer of your work for quite some time, Spider. You started this business when I was only a freshman, and so were you!"
"How do you know how..."
"I keep a close eye on the things I like. And you? I like you the most!"
The interaction had gone from wholesome to horrifying in a mere matter of seconds, a nervous laugh preceding your attempt at escape, finding his grip around your wrist tightened. "What I wouldn't give to see the face beneath the mask..." A hand detached from your wrist, snaking up the back of your head, "I promise Captain Perez would be none the wiser... Just a peek?"
You tensed, hands against the man’s wrists, squeezing in an effort to get away. Why was it that when you believed someone to have your best interests at heart, they always seemed to prove you wrong?
You couldn’t meet anyone as a Spider without them yearning for who lied beyond the mask, admiration be damned. You couldn’t get close to anyone as yourself, breaking bonds to protect what remained of your connection, losing everything in the end.
And isolation persisted once more.
You mustered all your strength to push against him, the officer stumbling a good few paces backwards before looking to you in astonishment, rejection. "Spider, I didn't mean..."
"Do yourself a favor and keep your hands off 'em." Hobie stood beside you, arm latching around your neck as he rested his weight against you, free hand pointing to the officer. "They ain't interested, man. Take a hint."
"Oh, you misunderstand!” He shook his hands in front of his face, “I'm merely an admirer, a bystand—“
Miguel seemed to manifest from nothing, towering over Hunter, hands to his hips, deviously smirking beneath the mask "Admiration can be done from afar."
Hunter took the hint, hobbling away, leaving you without so much as a wave of his hand. You breath stilled, hand pressed to your chest as you registered what had just occurred. "Thanks for the assist, Hobie. Really saved my a—"
Miguel interrupted you, "Language."
"Ass."
Miguel clicked his tongue, departing from the both of you, continuing his surveillance of the nearby area. There had to be something you were missing, something Layla had failed to debrief, and he would sooner keel over in a heap of webs than admit defeat — admit the anomaly had breached the confines of your universe.
"I wasn't the one to suggest assistance. Quite frankly, I wanted to see how it'd play out." Hobie had his hands in his pockets, walking at your side as the both of you scanned for something, anything.
You were perplexed, looking up at him as though he were speaking a foreign language, grown a second head. "Then who—"
"Who’d ya think?
taglist: @coralineyouareinterribledanger (never done a taglist before so lmk if u wanna be added) :)
#across the spiderverse#beyond the spiderverse#into the spiderverse#miguel o’hara x reader#spiderman 2099#spiderman 2099 x reader#spiderverse#spiderverse x reader#miguel o’hara#spiderman
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Heyy Id like to request headcanons(Alphabet/ABCs {smut/fluff} whatever you like better)
For Sasuke and Naruto.
If you decide to write it, I would very much appreciate it.
Thank you in advance💘💘
hi, of course!! i picked a smut alphabet, hope that's all right with you. the template that i used can be found here.
---
Sasuke:
A - Alone time: doesn't really jerk off all that much, except if the nights are particularly lonely and he has you on his mind. Porn isn't successful in scratching the itch he feels, so Sasuke prefers to fantasize or bring back certain memories of you whenever he's pumping a tired hand over his cock.
B - Bondage: he'll tie your wrists and ankles, and play with you until you're practically begging him for mercy like a sinner would a God. He'll even blindfold you to make the sweet torture even more thrilling than it already is.
Will let you do the same to him, but only when he's comfortable enough in the relationship. It may take months. Or a year or two. Who knows?
C - Crying: won't cry, but will enjoy seeing you spill hot tears from how fucking good his cock feels as it keeps hitting that soft, gushy spot within you that makes you milk him dry after he's abused it for far too long.
D - Dominance: dominates; more or less. He's a dom by nature, but turns into a switch when he trusts his significant other enough. Threatens to murder you if you dare mention it to a single soul, though.
E - Extra info: he's super into giving oral. Won't admit it, but all he thinks about is how sweet your pussy tastes on his tongue, and that he can barely wait to latch his hot mouth between your legs.
It's just the way your legs tremble around his head when you're close that does it for him. He lives for seeing you squirm.
F - Food play: far too messy for his liking. The best he can do is an ice cube.
G - Group sex: he thought about it, but he loves you far too much to share you with anybody else; fantasy or not. He may not show it, but envy runs hot in that Uchiha blood. Possessive is his middle name.
H - Humiliation: will degrade you and smile that cold grin whilst doing it, too. He knows you love it so fucking much whenever he shows that egocentric side of him.
I - Impact play: Sasuke with a flogger. I repeat: Sasuke fucking Uchiha with a goddamn flogger!
He'd brush the thin strips of leather over your naked chest gently whilst lounging on the couch before you; one ankle nonchalantly resting on his knee, making every single one of your nerve ends recoil and drip with anxiety as you'd kneel before him.
Snap!
"Does it hurt? Yeah, darling? How bad?"
J - Jelly: this man loves a good, ol' cherry lube just because it smells really sweet, and he can taste the sugar when he eats you out after stretching you out with his fingers.
K - Kissing: loves, and absolutely adores the feeling of your tongue wrapping around his own. His kisses are deep and intimate, the saliva exchanging in thin, glistening strings between your panting mouths. He wants to own your fucking mouth.
Also enjoys leaving little love bites all over your body, and allows you to mark his own skin with your personal signature, too, but only in places others cannot see.
L - Lighting: fucks you with the lights off, or when the lighting is really dim and gloomy. His Sharingan glows the entire time as he makes you his. The carmine colour makes your heart want to explode.
M - Masochism: will let you scratch his back as he's on top of you, pounding you into the mattress. He'll hiss at the aching contact of your nails biting into his smooth skin, but will only kiss you harder in reply - making you gasp for air.
He does get turned on if you choke him and push the back of his head further into the pillow whenever you're on top of him, though. It's like a battle, of sorts.
N - Not yet: won't let you cum, until he decides that it's the proper time for it. Will punish you if you touch yourself without him allowing you to.
Begging doesn't help. All you can do is endure.
O - Outdoor sex: no, but if you try to initiate something; he'll break your back as soon as you're behind closed doors.
P - Photography: really appreciates if you send him pictures of yourself, but doesn't really react to them until he sees you in person. As soon as you can feel his chin resting on your shoulder as he wraps a caring hand around your throat without a single sound, you know it's game over.
Q - Quiet please: isn't very audible, but enjoys the little mewls and pleas you make as you writhe underneath him. He does the little sigh whenever he bottoms out in your warmth.
R - Routine: fucking you is the first thing he wants to do after not seeing you for weeks straight. So, it could be considered a routine of some sort?
S - Sleepy sex: will wake you up with oral [in the morning, or the middle of the night; it doesn't matter], because you've communicated it before and you've given him the consent to do it. Nothing makes him happier than listening to your breathless moans, and feeling the tired strokes you give to his hair as he lazily swipes his tongue over your sweet pussy.
T - Top or bottom: switch, but more lenient towards being a top.
U - Underwear: simple, black boxer briefs, but he prefers to sleep naked.
V - Voyeurism: would rather murder the entire village, than see you fucking someone that wasn't him.
W - Water: bath sex, where it's slow and lazy and he gets to see you in all your glory as the glimmer of soap coats your smooth skin and his digits are slipping over your torso, hips, ass, over and over again as you ride him.
X - X-dressing: the best he can do is eyeliner, and even then he's fussy about it.
Y - Yes, Master: you are his darling, and he will fuck his darling stupid, until she won't be able to sit down properly for a few days.
Z - Zones: forehead kisses. He also loves it whenever you kiss his collarbones and sink your teeth into them before swirling your tongue over the aching mark you've just gifted him. The little pecks over his chest and stomach when you are about to go down on him make his heart flutter. As well as any kiss you place upon his mouth.
Naruto:
A - Alone time: he has a high libido, so he pleasures himself quite often in attempt of placating the need. Definitely watches a lot of porn and cums into tissues. [Especially when he's older, and constantly working as Hokage. Jerking off is his favourite way to relieve stress.]
B - Bondage: he likes being on the receiving end for bondage from time to time [nothing too drastic, though, because he doesn't enjoy losing complete control.] As for the giving aspect; he's simply too clumsy and impatient to tie all the knots properly and tighten the rope in a way that it won't burn your skin over time.
C - Crying: definitely gets slightly teary-eyed if he's drunk and if it's slow, passionate intimacy that's filled with lots of praise from your side. The deep connection and approval makes him want to nearly bind his soul to your own. It turns him a bit overwhelmed, but in a good way.
D - Dominance: he dominates. Naruto has gained a taste for it because of the women who practically threw themselves at him, and allowed him to do whatever he wished with them in the following years when he was proclaimed a war hero.
E - Extra info: he’s a tits man. Absolutely loves shoving his dick in-between your breasts after forcing you to press your arms tightly together, so that he can fuck them until they’re covered in his cum.
F - Food play: not really. He’d eat it all before you’d even get to the good part.
G - Group sex: absolutely not. His clones are the only exception, and even then he gets awfully jealous.
H - Humiliation: he’s more on the praising side than the one of degradation, but he will say a thing or two when he’s frustrated/tired, or when you won’t give him what he wants. [He feels bad about it later, though.]
I - Impact play: definitely spanks you, but uses his hand to rub the burn away the moment after he strikes.
J - Jelly: warming lube. It makes him feel nice and cosy inside you; especially when he persuades you into cock warming.
K - Kissing: likes it when you kiss his jaw, his beaten-up knuckles and the tips of his fingers. He feels appreciated that way, and appreciation makes him horny.
L - Lighting: he enjoys fucking you in the morning, when the light is really dim and mellow, and he’s still sleepy.
M - Masochism: is a sucker for the pain you give him only because he’s making you feel good. His favourite is when your nails dig into his biceps in attempt of steadying yourself while he’s pounding the living shit out of you. [Also, he loves it whenever you tug on his hair.]
N - Not yet: Way too impatient for orgasm denial. He will force you to cum and gush all over his cock as soon as possible. [As well as many times as possible.]
Will also fuck you like an enraged beast if you tease him too much and don’t allow him to cum in return.
O - Outdoor sex: Two words: office sex.
P - Photography: loves receiving nudes, but isn’t really good at sending them. Scrolls through the gallery of pictures he has of you when he’s bored, or just wants something that’ll make him cum quick and easy.
Q - Quiet please: grunts and groans, especially when receiving oral. Likes to hear soft moans and whines of his name from you. It tells him that he’s doing a good job.
R - Routine: no routine, whatsoever. When it comes to Naruto; everything is spontaneous.
S - Sleepy sex: he likes receiving oral before bed because it helps him sleep better and because he’s simply too tired to offer anything in return. He tries to, of course, but you’re persistent in rewarding your good Hokage; all until he’s running his fingers through your hair, and whispering quiet whispers of gratitude for taking such good care of him.
Though, lazy morning sex is his favourite way of starting his day whenever he, by some odd chance, doesn’t have to go to work, or at least not as early. Naruto takes his time with you on those mornings, making up for all the days he couldn’t and, to put it simply, spoils you rotten.
T - Top or bottom: TOP!
U - Underwear: even at his grown age, he’s still rocking ‘em boxer briefs with the froggy pattern plastered all over. You think it’s the cutest thing ever.
V - Voyeurism: definitely is more of the hands-on type, but sometimes catches himself enjoying the sight of his clones doing the work for him in the bedroom. [Still, the original Naruto is the only one that’s allowed to kiss you and make you cum.]
W - Water: is a big fan of shower sex. He likes seeing you naked and the way the droplets of water glimmer as they cascade down your bare skin. Constantly insists that you shower together, in order to “save on water”. It's just an excuse to see your tits press against the cool tiles, though.
X - X-dressing: he's the inventor of the ‘Sexy Jutsu’. Naruto is down to let you fuck him while he’s obtaining the body of a woman, but will most surely dominate you even in that form by the end of the night.
Y - Yes, Master: gets turned on whenever you call him daddy. He calls you sweetheart in return.
Bonus: he’ll never admit it, but whenever you lean over the desk, smile, and address him as Lord Seventh; he’s hard as a rock.
Z - Zones: likes it whenever you suck on his fingers and kiss each finger pad, respectively. If you trace his stomach. Or tug on the hair on the nape of his neck, before running your digits over his scalp. When you rub his temples or shoulders, because they all ache most of the time. But touching his rough hands and running your own through his hair over and over again, is what gives him the strongest of shivers.
#narutosmut#naruto uzumaki#naruto x reader#naruto x you#naruto x y/n#naruto headcanons#sasuke x y/n#naruto#sasuke x you#sasuke x reader#smut#sasuke uchiha#sasuke
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AU of the AU strikes again! Being sick seems good for these.
Lothlorien on AO3 asked what would happen if Charlie met Izzy as an adult in an AU where Izzy was better adjusted. Would they hook up? So I thought long and hard about this and honestly, I don’t think Izzy would hook up with Charlie unless he was the exact opposite of well-adjusted. I made an age adjustment here, but the difference is still a huge gap, so be forewarned: Izzy is 45, Charlie is 22 when they meet. Stede and Mary had their kids much younger.
This one is inspired by one of my favorite toxic couples, pour one out for Brian and Justin of Queer as Folk, and it’s called ‘wake myself in the shadows’. To the bulleted list:
-Just like..buy a shirt in a color. Any color. I might even give you a lighter shade of gray if the rainbow is too scary. Then go to a gay club and dance with someone. Be nice to them and try to get laid.
-Izzy doesn’t know where to go. There’s the Revenge. The not-quite invitation that Spriggs had issued. He wants that. But fuck, it makes his stomach cramp with fear. Spriggs will want things from him. Things he might not have to give. Alternatively, he can keep going as he has, put the t-shirt back in a drawer. He can be a model train, running on its useless track until he gets lazy or makes a mistake and someone finally puts an end to it.
Or he can follow the order. He’s never been to a club on his own volition, but he’s wound up in dozens of them nonetheless. For the job. For Eddy sometimes. Once to retrieve Jack. Some of them had even been gay clubs, but he hadn’t gone there with intent.
-The club is dark at least. It’s loud, pulsing and bright. He’s older than half the crowd, but not alone in his gray hair. He skirts the edges of the dance floor, trying to figure out a rhyme or reason to any of this. It’s overwhelming and disconcerting and after a single overpriced drink, he knows he’s made a mistake. The whole place pushes against him. A vast unwelcoming pit. He should go.
-”It’s a horrible song,” someone says and he turns, nerves alight. There’s a man beside him, taller by a mile. He’s barely dressed, mesh tank top that shows off a hard body, and short shorts that show off the curve of a tight ass. His blond hair is cropped short, glimmering in the flashing lights. His face is angular in an interesting way, a little foxlike. The close cropping of his hair makes his eyes huge.
He’s a sculpture of a person. Beautiful and finely made. And he’s looking at Izzy like he’s dinner.
“Does it always sound like this?” He asks, instead of anything remotely like what he wants to say.
“Oh yeah,” the youth smiles slowly, showing off a line of even white teeth. “But sometimes it’s good. Want me to show you?”
“Yes,” he forces out. Or what is he even doing here? The youth takes Izzy’s drink out of his hand, there’s a violently pink band around his wrist, so he’s at least 21. Good thing as he knocks it back, then sets it on the bar like it’s nothing, takes both of Izzy’s hands and tugs him onto the dance floor.
Izzy doesn’t dance, but he barely needs to move. The youth slides arms around his neck and doesn’t so much dance as he writhes against him. The beat, previously an annoying and throbbing sound, becomes all at once incredibly suggestive and seductive.
He doesn’t dance and he hasn’t fucked in years beyond counting, but his body remembers more than he counted on and he’s pretty good at moving in dangerous situations. It’s not hard to slide his hands up over that mesh tank so he can feel the play of muscle under his palms. Easy enough to move his hips in the same rhythm.
-They dance for a long hypnotic string of minutes until the youth lowers his mouth to Izzy’s ear, a warm breath of air against his overheated skin, “Take me home.”
“Could be dangerous,” Izzy chokes out. For him. For the youth. For both of them,
“I always carry protection,” the youth nips at his earlobe.
-Izzy hopes the fresh air will sober him up. Shake sense into him, but if anything it makes it all worse. It’s real out here, not the dreamy pounding noise of the club. Out here, it’s all shadows and promises. The youth doesn’t give him any breathing room, no chance to back down, just crowds up against him and leans down for a kiss that’s more tongue than lips. It shoots straight through Izzy like an arrow. Every inch of him wakes up, begs to be touched.
“What’s your name?” Izzy asks, desperate to find a space to breathe.
“Oh, you can call me ‘C’. What about you?”
“Alex,” he says easily. C isn’t a name. Alex is his fallback fake I.D. They’ll be strangers to each other. That’s fine.
-The drive back to his apartment feels like a hundred years and ten seconds all at once. C buckles his seatbelt, all very neat and properly, then skews himself so he can watch Izzy drive, legs spread and inviting. Izzy keeps his eyes on the road and considers the very real possibility of crashing the car.
-Izzy doesn’t turn on the lights when they get into the apartment and C doesn’t ask him too. Instead, he says,
“Could’ve done it in the alley, but I love a bed,” and unerringly walks into Izzy’s bedroom. He sheds what little clothing he has on as he goes.
Izzy trails after him, drawn to him like a magnet. C doesn’t wait for Izzy to get with the program, just drops to his knees and starts unbuttoning Izzy’s jeans.
-There’s not a lot to compare it too, but Izzy has never has sex like this. C is forthright and carefree in his joy in the act. He tells Izzy what he wants to do clearly and concisely before he just dives in and does it. He says things like ‘fuck, you’re really fucking hot’ and ‘I don’t call anyone Daddy, but I’m sorely tempted’ and ‘Yeah...oh that’s good, do that again...just like that...you’re really good at that...”
He’s everywhere, has a ton of energy, and is very very flexible. It’s like something out of a very dirty dream.
After, he collapses heavily next to Izzy with a laugh, “You wore me out.”
“I wore you out?” Izzy watches him carefully.
“Uh huh. I usually clear out, but I’m beat. Mind if I catch a few hours here? I can sack out on the couch if that’d be easier.”
“Stay,” Izzy shrugs like it doesn’t matter to him. It’s a one-night stand. Of course it is. Normal people have those all the fucking time. Jack practically had them on tap and if he could do it, Izzy certainly could.
He won’t fall asleep, even after C sinks into it, relaxed and trusting. What an idiot. Izzy could be anyone. Did he do this often? He must, seems like he has a whole routine. How has he not gotten in trouble already? Or maybe he has and like Izzy he just keeps sticking his hand back into the cookie jar even though it sometimes bit him.
-Izzy falls asleep. C, no matter how muscular, simply doesn’t register as a threat.
When he wakes up, it’s still very early in the morning. The bed is empty, but there are quiet sounds in his kitchen. Wary, he pulls on underwear and goes to investigate.
C sits at his countertop in his little short shorts, tank top shoved into a pocket, some of the material hanging loose. He’s got one of Izzy’s mugs, steam raising from it in one hand. In the other, his phone. In the early light, he still looks like a sculpture. But also more clearly very young.
“If you want to kick me out, that’s fine,” C says without turning around. “But give me a second to finish this text. My roommate likes to know I’m not dead.”
“Not kicking you out,” Izzy says. He’s not. He doesn’t think he could.
“Your coffee is fucking great,” C hits a button and looks up. He takes Izzy in. “You don’t do this much, huh?”
“You can tell?” That’s horrifying. He decides he needs coffee to deal with this and heads to the machine. C has refilled the bean hopper and left another mug under the spout. Waiting for him.
“Yeah. Guys that have been around the block a few times have a whole routine. There’s the shovers, want you out immediately. The wooers. Make you breakfast and ask for your number. The thanks for all fish. Polite, let you stick around a bit, but you know the door is open.”
“What’re you?”
“No one gets to come over to my place,” C says easily.
“Because of the roommate?” he guesses.
“Nah. I just like my space. Might give you my number if you ask though.”
“Don’t do me any fucking favors,” Izzy mutters.
“Aw, it’s not a favor to you,” C sounds like he’s grinning and Izzy has to turn to see it. He is smiling. It’s a great fucking smile. “Be a favor to me.”
Izzy doesn’t make him breakfast. He does take him back to bed. Or rather, let’s C take him back to bed. His input is minimally required.
He does provide his number, in the end. C puts it into his phone as ‘Alex’ and Izzy lets him. He immediately gets a text, but doesn’t check it until C is out the door with a last little wave.
C: Love the tats. Text me when you want them spit-shined.
-He didn’t have work that day, just errands to run and chores to do. He stops constantly, some slight twinge reminding him of what had happened. What he’d allowed to happen. A stranger in his bed, between his legs. A gorgeous, unattainable type of stranger. He should let it go.
Should forget it. Buckle down, Hands. Focus on the work. But fuck the work is dull. Jackie doesn’t catch him slacking because he’s still twice as good as most of her guys, but he drifts. He makes it all of five days.
Alex: that a real offer?
C: Real as they come. Busy until 9ish tonight if you’re game then.
Alex: I’ll be here.
C shows up in regular clothes. Just baggy shorts and a t-shirt with a faded logo. He’s still beautiful, and he’s still intense, barely waiting for the door to close to be all over Izzy. It’d be off putting if Izzy wasn’t equally starving.
“You shouldn’t say yes again,” Izzy warns him as C makes himself a cup of coffee after even though it’s late.
“Why not?”
“I’m a jealous man,” he says simply, eyes falling to the red mark on C’s hip that he didn’t put there.
“Sucks to be you,” C shrugs. “I go where I want, when I want. And I want you, so you better figure it out.”
-What Izzy does is go back to the club. He has no idea how regularly C goes there. Maybe it was a one off. But he lucks out the second night he tries. C is on the dance floor with someone far closer to his age. They make a pretty picture and C drags the guy out into the alley with him. Izzy should leave.
Instead, he goes out and watches. C is clearly enjoying himself, on his knees in filth. Izzy watches and it’s not like watching Eddy with someone else at all. C is too easy about it, to loose and clearly doing this purely for himself.
“You just want a free show or you want to have some fun?” A guy asks him, startling Izzy almost out of his skin.
Izzy checks the guy out. Not particularly tall, but broad and dark-eyed.
Up until last week, Izzy figured he was a straight guy with one throbbing exception. Who hadn’t turned out to be an exception. But C had broken right through his walls and now they lay crumbled at his feet.
Izzy had poured the last of his booze down the drain. Maybe it was time for a new sin.
“What the fuck ever,” he says to the guy and doesn’t kiss him, but he does let him go down. If he’s watching C the whole time, then the guy doesn’t complain.
C: I saw you. That was hot as hell. Next time let me know, we can coordinate.
Alex: Just a one off.
C: Doesn’t have to be.
It turns out it really doesn’t have to be. Izzy, who has never had occasion to flirt and has been reliably told that he’s an off putting human being when he opens his mouth, learns to keep it shut.
“Here,” after they coordinate twice, C comes over ahead of time armed with a shopping bag. The clothes aren’t garish or uncomfortable. They’re all in black. Just tighter things, a little more revealing. “Trust me on this.”
Izzy doesn’t say a word. He just dances with C, let’s him go when he finds another play mate and easily finds his own with a dark look, his new clothes and his old feral smile. Plenty of the hot young things glide their eyes straight over him, but there are other men his age or more adventurous youths.
The change venues sometimes, C finds other clubs, other places to hunt and Izzy follows his lead. They chase the high of sex and Izzy keeps an eye on C. When a guy gets rough, Izzy doesn’t give a shit who he’s pushing off his dick to get to him.
“You don’t have to protect me,” C protests, but it’s weak and he's holding onto Izzy like a lifeline.
-They always go back to Izzy’s afterwards. C stops asking after the second time. He just assumes he’s welcome and Izzy never corrects him. They share the bed and coffee in the morning. Eventually, Izzy gets too hungry to worry about whatever bullshit category C wants to put him. He makes himself toast, offers some to C too.
“Yeah, thanks,” C says lazily. “Got any jelly?”
-They learn things about each other. It’s inevitable.
“What’re you reading?” C taps the e-reader Izzy left out.
“Bosch series,” Izzy says because they’re just books. Don’t say much about him anyway.
“The mysteries? I liked those. You ever read Chelsea Cain?”
“Don’t think so.”
“You’d probably like them.”
So they talk books that day. That becomes a thing they can do.
-Another morning, C gets a text, frowns darkly on it and taps back quickly.
“Room mate?” It’s the only person Izzy knows about in C’s life and even then only that they exist.
“No. My fucking dad,” C drops the phone to the counter. “He walked out on us years ago to come out of the closet. Saw us once a year. Now he wants to ‘reconnect’.”
“Sounds like an asshole.”
“The biggest,” C agrees. “He doesn’t even know I’m gay.”
Izzy sets toast in front of him, laden with jam.
“Not like my father does either,” Izzy says roughly and there’s no way C can know it’s the closest he’s ever come to saying the words. “But he would’ve murdered me. Sounds like yours wouldn’t care.”
“He’d want to bond over it,” C pulls a face. “Sorry about yours though. Sounds like a dick.”
“He is.”
-Weeks become months. It’s freezing one night, C comes in, bags under his eyes.
“Can we just stay in? Sorry, I’m fucking wiped.”
“Yeah,” Izzy says like he’s not starving for exactly that. “Sure. You want dinner?”
They eat what he’s made and they watch a movie C picks out. Not horror, to Izzy’s surprise, but nothing even a little romantic either. Just an old thriller, where the con doubles back over itself again and again. Somewhere in the middle C slouches and then just lays down, head pillowed on Izzy’s thigh. Tentative, Izzy runs a hand over the soft stubble on top of C’s head and C doesn’t stop him.
Next time, they hit up the club again as if nothings changed.
But C stays later the next morning. Just stays as if that’s okay.
And it is. Oh, it is.
-”I know it’s a big ask, but are you around next week? I just..I need a ride,” C says and it’s almost the afternoon. Izzy has been contemplating offering him lunch, but that means alerting them both to how much of the day has passed.
“I’m around, what day?”
“Wednesday, around one?”
“Yeah, I can do that.”
“You’re the best. I’ll meet you here.”
-Izzy drives him nearly an hour away. C gives directions that lead to the kind of college campus that has genuine ivy on the walls as well as in the name.
“What the fuck?” he asks because he can’t stop himself. C is dressed like a professional something today. Ironed clothes, starched shirt.
“I applied to their combined Masters and Doctoral program. I didn’t know they did an in-person interview,” C says like it’s nothing. “I took a semester off after I graduated, but I’m getting bored, so it’s time to figure it out.”
Izzy has never run a background check on C. He easily could. He could know everything about him. But he’s been reluctant. Maybe terrified is the closer word. Like all of this was a soap bubble waiting to pop.
“I knew you were smart,” he says, “I didn’t realize you were a genius.”
“I’m not,” C laughs. “I just write a mean paper and I’ll do anything to stay out of the job market, even do a million more years of school. I should only be there an hour or so. You don’t have to wait here for me.”
Izzy watches him go into the building. He gets out of the car and walks slowly around the campus. It’s quiet, class must not be in session. He pokes into the buildings out of idle curiosity. It’s like visiting someone else’s life. Is this where C is supposed to be instead of in his bed? Probably.
When he emerges and circles back, he finds C already released. He’s sitting on the front of Izzy’s car, shoulders slumped, head down. Izzy goes to him,
“What happened? Did something to wrong?”
“No,” C shakes his head. He spreads his legs, inviting Izzy to stand between them. To get closer. He does. “I’ll get in, I think. They want me.”
“So why are you upset?”
Charlie leans forward, wraps his arms around Izzy’s waist. Izzy holds him back. Feels him shaking.
“I don’t know. This should feel like something, shouldn’t it? I can’t feel anything.”
Izzy presses his hands to him.
“I don’t know,” Izzy says weakly. “I don’t feel much either, most of the time. But...”
“But what?” C presses, holds onto him a little tighter.
“I feel you. Always.”
“Oh, fuck, Alex-”
“Izzy,” he corrects like he’s wanted to since that first morning.
“Izzy,” C repeats. “What’s that short for?”
“Israel.”
“Can I call you that? I like how it sounds.”
He should say no. No one calls him that, but his asshole family. And Faith. Faith never called him Izzy.
“Yeah,” his voice is rough in his ears. “If you want.”
“Charlie. I’m Charlie.”
“Okay, Charlie,” he says easily. Charlie seems right.
-It shifts again. Names make things realer, it seems. Charlie comes over more than once a week. The still go out that often, but then other nights, Charlie just appears and holes up in Izzy’s life like he’s always had a niche there. Eventually, Izzy hands him a key, presses it into his palm without a word.
That makes a magic trick. Sometimes Izzy comes home and ‘presto!’ Charlie is already there.
It briefly occurs to him that maybe Charlie is after money, but the kid always seems flush and he buys things for Izzy more often than Izzy buys things for him. Eventually, he has to just ask,
“Do you want me to buy you things?”
Charlie gives him a disdainful look, “Why? I’m a trust fund baby.”
“How was I supposed to know that?”
“Israel, my sunglasses cost more than your mortgage payment.”
So that’s that theory gone.
-Charlie does get into the program, but it’s months from starting. A distant problem. A more immediate one rises up as summer jogs around.
“I’ve been invited to my father’s wedding,” Charlie announces.
“Are you going?”
“Fuck no. My sister is going. Morbid curiosity, I think.”
Izzy returns his attention to the dishes, only to hear Charlie heave a sigh. Okay, so apparently they weren’t done.
“What?”
“Just...part of me wants to go,” Charlie grumbles. “Bring you with me. Let Dad get an eyeful of that. Bit of shock and awe.”
“You don’t really want that,” Izzy determines easily. Charlie, for all his showmanship on the dance floor, has a talent for disappearing. His father can never seem to pin him down anyway, texts ignored, calls sent to voicemail. His mother and stepfather get easier access, but not by much. The sister never seems to reach out.
“No, I don’t,” he admits. “I’ll probably just go and stand there like a good little boy and applaud for him.”
“You don’t have to fucking do that shit either.”
“He’ll be disappointed if I don’t. Hurt.”
“What day is it?” Izzy demands.
Charlie tells him.
“What a coincidence,” Izzy pulls out his phone. “That’s the day we’re leaving.”
“Where are we going?” Charlie asks, lips tugged up into a faint smile.
“Where do you want to go?”
-They wind up in Florence. Izzy has been to Italy a few times on business, but never as a tourist. Never with someone like Charlie. Charlie loves museums as it turns out and all the old churches. He likes tours and art and stuffing his already full brain with information. Izzy has never given a shit about any of it before, but riding along on Charlie’s wave feels good. He learns things. He listens.
They stand at the foot of David and Izzy says,
“Looks a little like you. From the waist up anyway.”
“Thanks,” Charlie laughs. “For not saying from the waist-down.”
“I only need glasses to read,” Izzy snorts. “I know what you look like.”
“David was a little gay.”
“Don’t remember that part of the Bible.”
“Then Jonathan and David made a covenant, because he loved him as his own soul. And Jonathan took off the robe that was on him and gave it to David, with his armor, even to his sword and his bow and his belt.”
“So what, you think they were getting married?”
“No. Maybe. I don’t know. I think Jonathan wanted something David couldn’t give. Or maybe he thought he could. Maybe it’s just old words translated badly, I don’t know.”
Charlie finds them places to eat that are somehow allergen-free and beams every time Izzy thanks him, until he says,
“It’s the bare minimum, stop it.”
Izzy stops saying it. Doesn’t stop feeling it.
In return, Izzy finds a pool. Their hotel doesn’t have one, but there is an indoor facility a few miles out of the city. He delivers Charlie there and the man practically squeals when he realizes where they are, racing to change.
“Wait,” he says just before he dives in. “I never told you I was a swimmer.”
“You smell like chlorine all the time, even more when you sweat, “ Izzy rolls his eyes. “It doesn’t take a genius.”
He gets to watch Charlie dive in. He knew Charlie swam, figures it’s a regular exercise, part of his routine. Within a minute, it’s clear that it’s more than that. Charlie swims faster than anyone else Izzy has ever seen. His strokes are precise and he cuts through the water like a shark. Izzy sits the fuck down and pays attention.
“Holy shit,” he says when Charlie at last slows and grabs the wall next to Izzy’s legs. “You’re really fucking good at that.”
“I know,” Charlie laughs. “You should see me fully warmed up.”
“I haven’t yet?” Izzy asks, slyly and that makes Charlie laugh harder. He likes when Izzy attempts flirtations.
-They go back home reluctantly. Charlie parts with him at the airport, but not before handing Izzy a bag that he didn’t catch Charlie acquiring. He opens it when he gets home. There’s a watch inside, expensive and sleek. It’s chrome and black as his apartment and when Izzy turns it over there’s an engraving:
‘For My Silver Fox, From Your David’
He puts it on and doesn’t take it off.
-They have to deal with Charlie moving eventually.
“I’ll be back a lot. Not giving up the apartment just yet. It’d be shit to do that to Amir,” Charlie tells him.
Amir, Izzy has learned, is the roommate. A college friend, already in med school in the city. They split the rent, but unevenly, Charlie paying the lion’s share.
“You getting a car?”
“The train station isn’t that far,” Charlie shrugs. “And you could come to me, you know.”
“Don’t want to ruin your reputation.”
“What reputation? Anyway, I’ve got a hot older boyfriend. So that’s points in my favor, I think.” Charlie says it with confidence than falters, “I mean. That’s not what I- I should-”
“I don’t think I’m points in anyone’s favor,” Izzy reaches for him. Tugs him in close. “But you’re hundred points in mine.”
“Does that mean you’ll help me move?”
-The first time Izzy sees Charlie’s apartment, it’s to help him leave it. It’s a nice place, on the small side, but there’s a good view. Amir’s bedroom door is closed, he’s not home. The place is fairly neat, Charlie has almost everything already in boxes.
Izzy sees the plaque on the wall though. Slows. He reads it. He’s only fucking human and if Charlie invited him here than he wants him to know.
He’s got a familiar last name, but so do a lot of people. Anyway, that’s not what’s eye catching.
“Charlie,” he says, “are you a fucking Olympian?”
“Yeah, it’s no big deal,” Charlie keeps walking. Izzy watches him go, looks back at the framed photo. He’s smiling in it. His gorgeous smile.
“It’s a big deal,” Izzy informs him and follows after. “A hundred and five points in my favor at least.”
“It’s the past,” Charlie says more to the boxes than to Izzy. “Anyway, you’ve got talents too.”
Izzy doesn't ask which ones. Just takes the boxes Charlie hands him. There’s only a few things left out.
“Didn’t take you for an Eagles fan,” Izzy notices the hat. “Thought they were having a rough season.”
“A dozen rough seasons and I’m not,” Charlie snorts. “Relic from a hookup. Amir can have it.”
-It became a new routine faster than Izzy was expecting. Charlie makes sure of it. They’re together most weekends. Izzy drives out to see him. Charlie has grad housing, his own room and access to a kitchen. His housemates are gone most of the time and if they’re around, they mind their own business.
Other weekends, Charlie takes the train. He sees Amir at some point, but he always winds up with Izzy. They go out, they hookup, they come home and Charlie sleeps with one hand on Izzy’s back like he’s grounding himself.
They start talking more during the week. They can’t hide behind sex on the phone (though they’re not chaste there either). They learn bits about each other. One dark night, Izzy tells Charlie about Faith in tiny broken up pieces. Charlie tells him about the last years of college, the dark void that had opened up after the Olympics with nothing there to fill the place the dream had been.
“I’ve lived there,” Izzy tells him. “I’ve been in the dark.”
“What brought you out?” Charlie asks helplessly.
“You showed me the way out,” Izzy tells him.
“Oh,” Charlie’s voice goes tight. He maybe cries.
Izzy gets in his car that night and stays on the phone the whole time. Charlie doesn’t realize where he’s going until he’s there and then maybe they’re both on the bitter edge of something as they crash together in the dark of Charlie's room.
-”I’m going to see the school counselor,” Charlie decides, “Maybe you should see someone too.”
“No,” Izzy says, but he does. He’ll always do what Charlie wants in the end.
-Izzy’s therapist has a lot of questions about Charlie. So he tells her about his childhood instead. About Eddy. About all the things that come before. There’s more than enough fodder there to keep them both busy for a long time.
“It seems like you hate your job,” his therapist observes when he has successfully dodged another volley of Charlie questions. “Have you considered a new field?”
He hasn’t. But he has considered that Jackie is one bad decision away from his knife at her throat and it’s likely he’ll be the one that ends up dead. Anyway, Charlie doesn’t like his bruises much.
He’s fucking sick of this place. Sick of himself all week, of his own company and his own routine.
“What do you think of off campus housing next year?” Izzy asks Charlie.
“Israel,” he says delightedly, “I thought you’d never ask.”
-Getting an apartment in a new city to share with his young lover is probably some kind of rare middle age milestone. It’s likely a sign of something bad to sell his old place with no more sentiment than tossing an ill-fitting shirt.
He takes up accounting instead. It's a reliable income, he makes his own hours. He finds the kind of people that look at him and think ‘yeah that’s my kind of taxman’, who are shady, but pay in cash. Charlie doesn’t pay rent, and he has sex with whoever comes within his agile fingered reach. He also cleans the bathroom and he kisses Izzy hello like they’ve been parted for days when it’s only been hours, every time.
They haven’t said I love you. Instead, Izzy learns how to grade papers so when Charlie is snowed under, he can help shovel him out. Instead, Charlie buys Izzy a suit and takes him to department functions and introduces him as ‘my boyfriend’ with unflinching steel.
-Amir comes to visit, eventually. He takes in Izzy with a long appraisal then smiles wanly,
“Yeah, that’s about what I pictured,” he declares and takes off his shoes at the front door. So that’s all right.
Generally, Izzy stays out of their way. But he doesn’t feel shut out. Amir is a little reserved with him, but he’s not rude or obnoxious. He does hear him ask Charlie softly as he goes to leave,
“He’s good to you?”
“Yeah, man,” Charlie says, warm and sincere. “He’s the best, pretty much.”
Amir visits more after that. Izzy likes him, in a distant approving way. He goes on staying out of their way for the most part.
-Would that all meetings were so easy.
-The knock takes them off guard. Izzy had been watching something, he can’t remember what because Charlie had woken up in a mood and was now stretched over him, kissing and nipping his chest, intent on taking his sweet time about what he was doing.
“Ignore it,” Charlie orders and Izzy didn’t need him to say that. No one knocking on a Sunday morning was doing anyone any good.
Another nip. Another knock.
“Charlie, I know you’re home! You left your bike in the hall. Is that safe?”
Charlie froze.
“Who is that?” Izzy asks.
“My fucking dad,” Charlie chokes. “What the hell does he want?”
“I can find out.”
Charlie stares at him, Izzy stares back. Then Charlie nods once and rolls off him. Izzy pulls his t-shirt back down, runs a hand through his hair. He hasn't had to meet the parents in twenty years, but he’s well aware that this was never going to be a good one.
He yanks open the door as the knock sounds again. Catches the man with his hand raised.
Shit.
Shit.
Not a coincidental same last name. Izzy is a fucking idiot.
“Hello,” Bonnet frowns at him. “I’m sorry, do I have the wrong apartment?”
Of course Bonnet doesn't recognize him. They never really met. Eddy might’ve shown him one of the few photos lying around, but that would’ve been a while ago if ever.
“That depends,” Izzy crosses his arms. “Who are you looking for?”
“My son, Charlie Bonnet?”
Izzy glances over his shoulder. Charlie is gone from the couch. He catches the sound of the bedroom door closing.
“He’s not home," Izzy decides.
“I see,” Bonnet eyed him warily. “And you are?”
Izzy didn’t have permission to say, exactly. But Charlie had left him out here. Let him be the face of the conversation. He knew what that meant.
“I’m his boyfriend,” Izzy says with all the steel that Charlie usually uses and then some.
“Excuse me?” Bonnet’s voice canters up several octaves.
“There’s no excuse for you,” Izzy hisses. “You don’t get to pick and choose to care about your kid’s choices when it’s convenient for you. You’re a rotten excuse for a parent. Back the fuck off.”
Izzy slams the door in Bonnet’s stupid fucking face and it so satisfying that he has to fight the temptation to open it again so he can repeat it. He locks the door, listens mercilessly as Bonnet pounds on it. He hears Charlie’s phone ring then get cut off into silence.
He goes to their bedroom. Charlie isn’t on the bed. He’s on the floor, pressed up against it, knees pulled to his chest. Izzy doesn’t say a word, just gets down there and holds him tight.
He waits a few hours to tell him,
“Listen, it’s going to come up, but I didn’t put two and two together. I know your step-parent.”
“I know,” Charlie says listlessly. He hasn’t really fully come back yet. “I figured it out a few months ago. You keep mentioning your old boss and you said their name once.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?” Izzy asks, fighting down anger. He tries so hard to not get angry with Charlie. He knows Charlie can take it, but he shouldn’t have to.
“Didn’t want you to freak out. I know they meant a lot to you. Thought maybe if you thought too much about them and me and our ages....dunno.”
“There’s nothing new that’s going to change my mind about you,” Izzy says firmly. “We’re in it now. I’m not backing out. Could get messy though.”
“Fine,” Charlie closes his eyes, lays his head on Izzy’s shoulder. “Then let it.”
-Mary shows up first. Charlie takes her out to lunch. Comes back red eyed and drifts away, leaving them to each other.
“I would prefer if you’d leave him alone,” she says curtly.
“Yeah, that’s not happening,” Izzy tells her. He’s inclined to like her more than Bonnet, but not by much.
“I had a feeling you’d say that.” She glances around the place. “Money wouldn’t do it, would it?”
“No.”
“Do you love him?”
“He gets to know that,” he folded his arms over his chest. The watch glints in the light. “Not you.”
“I’m his mother.”
Izzy doesn’t say another word to her. Let’s her lace into him a little. Let’s her rant. Let’s her leave. Then he goes to find Charlie. Takes the man’s face in on hand, looks him in the eyes. Tells him at last,
“I love you, you prickly little son of a bitch.”
Charlie knocks him to the floor, kisses him like that first time all over again.
“I love you too,” he tells him.
So that comes out of it at least.
-The sister shows up a month later. Charlie and his mother have had a few hushed phone calls that leave him tired, but not upset. Alma arrives without fanfare, looking like a goth fairy queen. She greets Izzy with,
“So you’re the old man,” she eyes him up and down. “I get it. Charlie! We’re getting lunch, move!”
“Fuck off!” He yells at her, but comes out dressed.
They get lunch and Charlie comes back smiling. Izzy decides he likes Alma just fine.
-Before the oncoming train can hit them, Izzy takes Charlie to Ireland. He always liked Ireland when he worked there and he figures Charlie might enjoy the history. They stay for nearly two weeks, drifting in a slow circle around the edges of the country. Charlie lingers at the Giant’s Causeway for hours. Izzy takes a picture on his phone as the sun sets, painting his lover gold at the footsteps of ancient rock formations.
“What if we lived here?” Charlie asks dreamily.
“Out here on the rocks?” Izzy teases. “Pitch a tent and all?”
“We should go camping again.”
They’ve gone a few times since discovering the mutual interest. Charlie is lovely in nature, sure-footed on trails and full of facts that he shares as readily as his body.
“Any time you want.”
-The inevitable comes. If anything, they walk towards it. They go back to the city for a few days, get a hotel room, make a thing of it. Charlie and Izzy take Amir out to dinner along with his current boyfriend. The guy is a flatliner, but Amir likes him so they both pretend to like him too.
They go to the Revenge on a Friday night, wait until the show is underway.
“Charlie!” Spriggs greets as they take their seats. His eyes cut like a knife to Izzy. “Charlie’s older boyfriend that I’m not supposed to let in here! Hello!”
“Hi,” Izzy says mildly.
“Hi, Lucius,” Charlie takes his seat. “Can we get two vodka tonics?”
“I’m serious, Charlie,” Lucius says even as he takes down two glasses. “Your father was pretty adamant even before he knew you two were a thing. Not sure Eddy will be too pleased either.”
“Sucks to be them, I guess,” Charlie shrugs.
Izzy stays. He gets his drink, but he barely touches it.
Eddy gets on stage and she doesn’t look anything like the person he used to know. His heart still pounds uneasy in his chest, but Charlie has a hand on his knee. That hand is shaking. That’s all he cares about.
“No matter what, we go home after,” he reminds him.
“I know, I know.”
The confrontation waits until the show ends. Until half the audience has drained away and the lights have come up. It waits until they emerge from the dressing room, cleaned of characters, only themselves, towering pillars of fury. No wonder Eddy liked Bonnet, Izzy realizes dimly. He doesn’t mean to put himself between Charlie and them. It just happens, instinct older than Charlie himself.
“You have a lot of fucking nerve,” Eddy growls at him. “This is some very low shit. Digging this deep to get one over on me?”
“I didn’t know who he was,” Izzy says, and doesn’t give an inch.
“You expect me to believe you randomly found the one person in the tri-state area that could hurt that much and you never ran a background check?” Eddy barks a laugh. The bad one. The old one.
“You can believe what you want, but that’s what happened. We didn’t set out to be like this. It happens, I’m told.”
“Back the fuck off,” Charlie snaps and it’s cold and fierce. He steps around Izzy, his chin jutted out.
“Charlie,” Bonnet pleads.
“No way. We came to you out of some...courtesy. Let’s go with that,” Charlie stares them both down. “If you want to go on thinking that Israel has been fucking me for the better part of two years to get at you, that’s your own business. It’s a pretty shitty way to look at the world, but I can’t stop you.”
“Two years?” Bonnet’s voice breaks. “I didn’t even know you were interested in men.”
“You never fucking asked, did you?”
“I see the language has rubbed off,” Eddy muttered, still glaring daggers into Izzy. Some small part of him still wants to apologize. To beg her to see reason. To look at this mess and say ‘this is what I saw coming, we could’ve avoided it’, but it’s a very tiny part. The rest just wants to take Charlie and run.
“He was like that when I found him,” Izzy says, not without pride.
“Turns out I’m a whole ass human being that you didn’t really want to meet,” Charlie takes a step back, takes Izzy’s hand in a way he never does. “So...you know. I just came to tell you that I’m happy, if you care. And if you want to talk sometimes, that’s fine, but I’m not taking on critiques about a life you haven’t bothered to understand.”
“He’s my age, Charlie,” Bonnet looks to Izzy, a slight frown.
“Don’t worry, my therapist says it only counts as daddy issues if I call him that in bed,” Charlie says flatly. “Let’s go, Israel.”
Izzy gives Eddy a last look. Flashes a very old hand sign. ‘Danger. Danger. Danger’ A warning. Eddy doesn’t return it. Just watches with fire in her eyes as they go. At least she doesn't follow.
-Charlie goes on talking to his sister and mother. Izzy is reluctantly invited to holidays where he turns up, stays very quiet and offers to wash dishes. Doug likes him, seemingly despite himself, and Izzy cultivates that as best he can. They swap recipes mostly. It’s fine. Mary stays chilly with him, but in a polite way. Alma, seemingly just to be contrary, decides that they’re friends. She sends him texts occasionally, mostly memes that go over his head so he has to ask Charlie about them which he suspects is the point and he sends her back incomprehensible series of emojis which she seems to find hilarious.
He has his allies.
-He waits anyway. Waits for Charlie to finish his masters and get settled into his doctoral program. Waits for the third year to nearly complete. Four years seems round, even. Auspicious.
“Let’s go away,” he offers.
“Where to?” Charlie asks.
“How about New Orleans?”
It’s lush there. The wrong time of year for travel maybe, already thick with humidity. But Charlie finds the best places. They go to clubs, practice their craft, and seduce a whole new crowd. They have a threesome in someone else’s hotel room, the first time they’ve shared a partner and it’s odd that it took that long because it’s more enjoyable than hooking up separately.
Afterwards, they leave their victim in sweaty, satisfied pile and take to the streets. In the morning, Izzy buys Charlie beignets and coffee, indulges himself once he’s sure that’s all the make.
“Do you like it here?” Izzy asks as they walk in front of a huge white church. Neither of them are religious, but Charlie likes the imagery.
“It’s awesome. I want to go on a cemetery tour later, can we?”
“Yeah, all right,” he smiles, “but one thing first?”
Charlie turns to him. Izzy drops to one knee.
“Yes,” Charlie says before Izzy can produce the ring.
“C,” he chides, but he’s laughing because of course. Charlie is always racing ahead. But he always circles back eventually.
“Sorry, sorry!” he laughs. “Ask me.”
Izzy asks, Charlie gets to say yes again. He takes the ring, heavy gold band, engraved with ‘My David’.
-The wedding is small. Charlie invites his whole family. Most of them turn up. His father comes, Eddy does not. A relief for Izzy, a tight lipped acceptance from Charlie. Bonnet is blessedly quiet, his presence a strain, but not a dramatic one. Alma insists on playing Izzy’s best man and wears a tuxedo tailored beautifully for her.
Amir makes a nice speech. Mary cries, hard to say if it’s the moment or if it’s true sadness. Izzy has a handkerchief for her at the ready and she takes it bewildered and with a quiet thank you.
-Charlie glows. He’s so handsome and polished in his suit that Izzy itches to remove it. To find the man he knows better beneath it. Someone takes a picture in the restaurant after and Charlie hangs it proudly in the kitchen, the two of them in matching suits. Izzy barely recognizes himself.
-When he introduces his husband, someone always has a sidelong look. A question hiding behind their teeth. Izzy takes delight in it after a while. He almost wants them to ask.
Ask me how I got this beautiful man. Twenty-six, fit, funny and brilliant. Ask me how I keep him when I’m broken down and roughshod.
Because he would tell them the truth. That he has no fucking idea, but now that he has him, he’s not letting him go.
Not when at night, Charlie stretches across the couch, lays his head on Izzy’s lap, captures his hand, kisses his palm, then sets it on his head so Izzy will scratch through the bare inch of hair Charlie allows to grow there.
“Let’s go away,” Charlie says dreamily.
“Where?”
“Anywhere. Take me anywhere, Israel.”
And Izzy does.
#leda house and the kraken verse#ficlet#au of the au#wake myself in the shadows#charlie bonnet#izzy hands#idek with this one
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I messaged you. And just like that, I slipped down a spiral staircase that ended in a pit of needles. Punctured, bleeding, wounded, delirious. I texted everyone I could. I slipped into a mild psychotic state. The KGB were after me again. The wavelengths in the air. Brainwashing me just like the words and actions of sociopaths and narcissists. I’m being puppeted by so many people. Who all holds the strings? I’m scared. Terrified. I’m spiraling out of control. I haven’t cried like this ever in my life. It is constant. Every day now for the past 5 days. I am not exaggerating. It got so bad that one of my alters had to front and take charge. I don’t know what’s happening. I’m scared to do therapy tomorrow. It feels like I am reliving every bad thing that has ever happened in my life all at once.
All the childhood trauma. All the teenage shit. Early adulthood. All the heart breaks. All the failed friendships. All the deaths. All the failures. All the pain. So much pain. No hope. No hope. Things felt hopeful for a little while until they came back into my life. Agent of chaos. You truly are. Good and Evil doesn’t really exist. But chaos? Yeah. I think… I think too much chaos tips me into an in unbalanced state where I cannot grasp anything, I have no anchor, and I fall so far that the only way out is [redacted].
I wanted to reach out to my first ex-fiancé. My first love. My first kiss. But I don’t think he ever wants to talk to me again. Ever. And realizing that today.. along with everyone else who has turned their back on me… I cannot breathe. I cry too hard. I hurt too much. I gasp and cough and choke from all the crying. How could someone who was so madly in love with me, despise me so much that they won’t even talk to me anymore?
What the fuck did I do? Was I really that awful to him? Am I a monster?
People I thought were my best and closest friends - gone. Poof.
So I look inward. What is it about me that makes it so easy to walk away and basically tell me “fuck off.” Or “I’m better off without you.”
Is it because of my severe mental illness? Did [redacted] abandon me because I was too sick? What about [redacted]? Or this or that. The list really does go on.
How can I love myself?
The “love” I learned at a young age was that of rape and abuse and punishment and fear. There were tender moments too. But mostly fear. Mostly solitude. I always had difficulty making and keeping friends.
Thanks autism.
Or whatever the fuck I have.
I think if I killed myself, a lot of people would probably just say, “it was only a matter of time.” Very few will be shocked. And I think very many will be disgusted because how can a piece of shit like myself atone for my sins if I am dead?
I don’t want to go to the ER. But I know how this ends. Because my alternative personality will step in and rat me out to my therapist. I want to die, but the other personalities do not.
Great.
Another 12-20 hours spent in a shitty psychiatric ER. Cool. Real cool.
#actually schizoaffective#schizoaffective#heartache#heartbreak#heart break#breakup#autism#tw depressing thoughts#tw: sui ideation
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Conflict of Interest
mature content discussed in this story… all chapter in masterlist
Chapter Twenty: Out With It
Nina’s words replay in your head like an echo or a verse of a song that’s stuck in your mind and you can’t stop annoying yourself by singing it over and over again.
“And if he doesn’t?”
And if he doesn’t reject you and tell you your relationship has and always will be purely physical- purely friends with benefits and no strings attached, and all that bullshit that never works out in the books? What if he doesn’t turn down your feelings, but rather reciprocates them?
You suppose you haven’t quite considered that possibility. Well, it’s crossed your mind, but more so in a way in which you think it, then you tell yourself you’re crazy and need to slow your roll.
These thoughts have been going through your head all morning like an annoying snapchat video you can’t click out of.
You texted him back last night, responding with an optimistic and not at all nervous: “For sure, I’ll see you at 6!”
After sending it, you felt pretty good and empowered, then a total of 13 minutes and 27 seconds later, you wanted to throw up and unsend it. In that order. But unfortunately for you, Spencer had already responded with a cute “Looking forward to it!”
Nina, both annoyed and worried that you’re sitting in bed practically chewing your lips and nails off, drags you to lunch in the cafeteria downstairs. You sit with your friends and enjoy spending time with them for the first time in a while. It’s actually nice to not think about Spencer and this incredibly frustrating situation.
Being so nervous to tell a guy you have feelings for him reminds you of your school days. You weren’t necessarily a shy person, but admitting to a guy or girl that you like them was always difficult. So many gone-wrong scenarios played in your head that made you choke up or stutter.
But since you’re nearly 26 years old, you remind yourself to buck up and just fucking come out with it.
After lunch, Nina occupies your time with movies and gossip about her family she learned and or saw during the holidays. Their efforts of distracting you do not go unnoticed. You’re grateful to have a roommate/ best friend like her.
Eventually, it’s time to start getting ready. You head to the showers, missing having the nice bathroom from your childhood to use.
Once you’re back in your room, you get dressed in your favorite jeans and an oversized light blue sweater. You pull your hair back into two somewhat loose pigtails and put on a little bit of makeup. You pull on your boots then head out the door at 5:45, talking a deep breath.
Looking out the window of the cab, you can’t help but imagine either way this may go. And how both ways will ultimately change the relationship between you.
If Spencer does not feel the same, then you’ll have to stop seeing him; that would be the only choice fair to yourself. Class would be awkward as hell and maybe even hard to get through some days.
If he does reciprocate your feelings, then you’ll have to decide whether or not to make that extra step in the relationship. And being your professor’s girlfriend has to be difficult. You’d still have to keep things a secret.
A part of you feels like either outcome this situation will have could end poorly.
The cab driver pulls into Spencer’s apartment parking lot, and parks. You pay him the fee, then get out and take the elevator to his floor. When it lands, the stomach drop feeling comes from nothing the elevator stopping and the fact that you’re actually doing this.
You knock three times and wait the short amount of time it takes Spencer to open the door.
“Hey,” he smiles to you, opening the door wider so you can go in. “I almost thought you were going to stand me up, you haven’t texted me all day.”
“Oh shit, yeah. I’m so sorry, Nina was distracting me all day and we were catching up some more.”
“No worries,” he says softly. “You’re here now.”
“That I am,” you rub your hands together with nerves and follow him as he leads you to the couch.
“How was your break?”
“It was good,” you say honestly. “It was nice to be with my family again. Though my mother did not come.”
“Really?” He says with a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry, Y/n.”
“It’s okay. I think it was for the best.”
He nods.
“How was that party your friend took you to?” You ask before you can even think it through. What if he says he met someone?
“It wasn’t half bad actually,” he tells you. “Normally I hate parties or really any event where there’s a ton of people I don’t know, but it wasn’t awful.”
You nod. “I’m glad you could enjoy yourself even if it was just a little.”
He smiles softly. “What about yours?”
You completely forgot until now that you told him you were going to a party. Which you were totally lying about but ended up actually going to one. You can tell your cheeks are burning red. “Yeah, it was nice.”
“Nice?” He questions.
“Okay, it was good until it was kind of awkward. I got a little tipsy then made out with my brother’s old best friend.”
“Oh,” Spencer says.
Oh? What does “oh” mean?
“It didn’t mean anything though,” you say quickly.
“Hey, I mean you can kiss whoever you want. It’s not like we’re dating.”
That sentence hits you like a baseball bat to the gut.
“Right. We’re not dating. And you’ve made it abundantly clear we never will.” You say, turning away from him.
“What?”
You stay silent, still not looking at him.
“We both agreed that this would just be some stupid risk we’re taking-”
“So now it’ stupid?”
“Yeah, Y/n. It is stupid! The whole no strings attached friends with benefits thing is stupid!”
“Well sorry, Doctor, I thought we were enjoying this!”
“I thought we were too. But apparently you’re angry about your own rules.”
“I’m angry because I broke my own rule!”
“What?” He furrows his eyebrows.
This is not how you intended to tell him. You sigh, bouncing your leg. “The most basic rule of this type of relationship is don’t fall for the other person… I broke that.”
His face changes. His eyebrows relax a little and his eyes widen a bit. Spencer’s cheeks turn a bright shade of pink. “Wait… really?”
“Yeah,” you breathe out softly, looking down at the carpet. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for it to happen, and I definitely didn’t intend to tell you like this. I don’t want to be mad at each other.”
Spencer’s hand cups your cheek gently, forcing you to look at him. He starts to say something, but leans in and presses his lips to yours instead. It’s soft, but passionate.
You relax against him entirely, despite your brain telling you to pull away; you still don’t know how he feels. Your hand rests on his knee.
After a moment, he pulls away, lips swollen. “I’m not mad at you.”
“Really that’s all you have to say?” You say with an almost laugh.
“I’m not really good at saying how I feel, but I’ll try for you. I didn’t want this to just be a casual, no strings attached relationship. I do think those are stupid and hardly work out, especially not for people like us. I agreed because I wanted to get close to you, and I thought that was all you wanted. But I stumbled and fell for you harder along the road. Like the type of fall where you hit your head on gravel, and you’ve got scraped knees and elbows, and everything hurts afterwards.”
You chuckle softly, feeling your heart in your throat. You feel like crying, but you choke it down. “So what now?”
“I just poured my heart out to you, and you ask ‘What now?’” Spencer laughs softly.
“Hey, all you said was that you weren’t mad.”
“Touché, well deserved.”
“But seriously, what do we do now? Do we move on with our lives or-?”
“What? No, of course not!” He says, cutting you off. “I want a real relationship… if you want that too.”
“I do,” you smile softly. “But don’t you think that it’ll make things weird?”
“Things have been weird for months, Y/n.”
You nod, chuckling softly once again. “You’re not wrong there.”
“I’m never wrong.”
“Whatever, genius,” you roll your eyes.
He smiles, bumping your shoulder playfully. “Will you be my girlfriend? Officially.”
“I don’t know,” you tease. “That’s a hard decision.”
“Okay, go home.”
“I’m kidding! Yes, yes I will be your girlfriend.” You grin up at him.
He smiles down at you, kissing you again. “You’re something else.”
“You like it,” you scrunch your nose at him cheekily.
“I suppose.”
You roll your eyes then pull him into you. Your lips find each other’s again, and your hands lock behind his neck. Spencer’s hand trail down to your thigh as he leans you back into the couch. Your tongues graze against each other’s roughly.
Spencer pulls away, drawing out a soft whine from you. “I don’t want to have sex.”
“Oh,” you say. “Okay.”
“Well, I mean it’s not that I don’t want to, but that’s how our last relationship started, and we’re having a clean slate. So tonight could just be I don’t know… am I making sense?”
“You’re making sense,” you assure him, twirling the hair against his neck in your fingers. “I agree.”
“Good,” he smiles. “Good, okay. Um how would you like dinner?”
“Are you cooking?” You wiggle your eyebrows.
“I was thinking takeout, but I can cook for you later this week.”
You sigh, pouting. “I guess that’s fine.”
“Yeah, you guess?” He chuckles, and his smile makes your guts melt all over the couch.
After dinner, the two of you lay in his bed, fingers interlocked as you talk about winter break, the academy, and the BAU.
Earlier your mind was racing about the two different outcomes this night could’ve had. You were worried that either one would’ve ended poorly. But now, laying in this bed next to the guy you’re falling in love with, you can’t possibly imagine how this could go wrong. He’s perfect, this is perfect.
chapter twenty one
tags: @reidsmilf @reidslovely @awhoreforspencerreid @sexualityisajoke @nomajdetective @kenreadsfanfics @calicocatty @hotchandspencearedilfs @kodiakwhiskey @rory-cakes @kbakery @reidsprettygirl @444verse <3
#criminal minds#criminal minds fanfiction#spencer reid fanfiction#mgg x you#spencer reid#spencer reid angst#spencer reid smut#mgg angst#mgg fic#spencer reid and reader#matthew gray gubler#dilf spencerreid#spencer reid x fanfiction#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid x you#spencer reid x reader#criminal minds smut#criminal minds ships#criminal minds fic#criminal minds x y/n
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alright believe it or not but im once again at work (saturday night shift) and imma try my hand at the secretary thing. first person POV bc we're experimenting.
Just when has my life become so lame? It's saturday night, I should be out, checking out that newly opened club with my girlfriends. Instead I'm at work. Yep! Me! Blood of the Lannisters! At work. I know.
Last chance to do something with your life, my father said, as he pulled the strings to land me this position. You might know him as Robert Baratheon, the founder of Storm Industries.
You better be choking on his dick by the end of this month or else we're all screwed, my mother helpfully instructed me as to the extent of my duties. You may know her as Cersei, the self-appointed Queen Bee of Upper East.
The Queen suffers no competition, which is how I ended up as a secretary for Mr Stark, a.k.a. the Ice Wolf - the C.E.O. of Storm Industries and the hottest DILF of Wall Street, fuck him very much. My mother hates his wife with passion and having me seduce him is her idea of revenge.
I mean, I've done worse things.
It is saturday night, but if he's still working then that means I'm still working too. From my vantage point behind my desk I can see him clearly, as he's strolling around his office and tossing papers around. His form fitting suit is slightly disheveled at this hour, the white collar popped open. H's wearing designer glasses - he says they prevent his eyes from tiring when he's working late and I have no idea what the glasses actually do but they make him look sexy as hell. I mean he is that. Sexy as hell. I've been staring at him for the past hour, all secretary work long forgotten.
Unfortunately none of my seduction tactics seem to work on him. Three entire months of sky-high heels, skirts that would barely cover my underwear if I had any, and cleveages that ends somewhere around my navel. Excellent dress code, I know. I aim to please. Guess what?
He hasn't even looked once.
But yesterday I think my mother has finally outdone herself. We've all been to dinner at the Arryns'. A rich old politician who is meant to help father with something, no idea what they're about, but that's beside the point. The Starks were there: the Ice Wolf, his wife the Ice Queen, as we call her, and their two hot sons.
And get this: mother had me give him a footsie under the table. In front of his wife and sons and my own father and everything. Yeah. I wish I was joking.
The second my foot touched his thigh under the table, his eyes immediately shot to me, but... he said nothing. He's done nothing. He only watched me, as I massaged his crotch with my foot. Maybe his ears went a little red, but otherwise - nothing, nada. Null. His gaze was intense, and it was kinda hot, not gonna lie. But I couldn't tell what he was thinking or if he was even enjoying it. I mean, I could tell he was hard but who wouldn't be? Eventually I had to stop because the Arryn guy wanted to show everyone his new private jet and we had to move from the table.
Thanks for nothing, mom.
I feared I made an idiot of myself and I was sure Mr Stark would fire me the second I crossed the doorstep of our office today, but... nothing of the sort. He was all cool politeness, and his DILFy sexiness, as always. And he made me stay overtime.
I actually think I might go mad with blue balls. Blue vag? Is that a thing?
Uh-oh. He wants something. He's rang the bell. Nobody's around this late and it makes me a little jittery, but I gather my courage, stand up, push my boobs forward and march into his corner office with all the dignity that's left to me.
"I want to show you something," he says and he points to a pile of papers on his desk. I see thay are some kind of screenshots, but the lights are dimmed and I can't read the details.
I lean down over the desk to have a closer lookand my heart freezes several times over. Suddenly it's hard to breathe. On his desk lay printed screenshots of my conversations with my mother. Conversations regarding him and how best to seduce him.
I panic and immediately start planning my evacuation, but suddenly I feel his strong hand on my back, pressing me to the desk.
"And you thought you were so smart," he says, standing behind me. On this lucky cursed night I'm actually wearing underwear, but it's all lace and so thin it's practically not there. I feel the broad knuckles of his other hand brush over my snatch. You know, because my skirt does nothing to cover my privates.
"Smart girls should always remember to log out," Mr Stark informs me.
I am not a smart girl. Never have been.
HOT HOT HOT
Oh i love how involved Cersei is in this; just adds another layer !!
#i can't add anything to this master piece#the hottest!!!#business and pleasure#you always write the best!
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Tonight is your lucky night,ma'am
pairing : Hangman x reader, a*hole bf x reader
Summary: a bad night turns into a lucky one
"This is not the way it's supposed to be" - these words were ringing inside your head constantly for the last 3 days. 3 days ago you were hapilly getting off your plane to FINALLY meet up with your boyfriend,Roy. Tall,handsome ,charming Roy. Caring, loving, insanely hot Roy. Head over hills , cross my heart and hope to die,love of your life Roy.
3 days ago you wouldn't hesitate for a second to leave your good life in Europe and become domesticated wifey if he'd ask you to. 3 days ago you would move to a cabin in the woods or a freaking cave if he'd asked you to. You would do absolutely and totally everything just to be with him. But this was 3 days ago. 3 damn days change your perspective entirely.Now, all you could think of is how stupid and naive you are. How blind you are. What a damn idiot you are. What a sad and insecure person you've become. Since you saw him on the airport you knew something wasn't right. He kissed you with his eyes open, he didnt even take your luggage on his own will,you literally put it in his hand by yourself. Not really subtle,but ok. When you had sex first time in 6 months ,it was quick and not really passionate. He seemed annoyed all the time . You wanted him to show you some of the beautiful sunny San Diego, but he wasnt willing to. He didn't even took a day off work just to be with you. It all was jus't not right. Alarms were ringing in your head but being a polite,well mannered girl ,you stayed silent. You clearly saw that he was not the same person you thought you knew ,which caught you by surprise. When you met for the first time roughly 8 months ago, he was a perfect match . 10/10. He litterally swoop you out of your feet. Dinner dates , long phone calls, flowers, chocolates ,romantic walks,gazing into your eyes, great sex, fun and outgoing- everything you ever wanted in a man...yeah well,you thought that until 3 fucking days ago.
"Let's go back ,its freezing and it's getting late" -a harsh voice snapped you back to reality and put an end to your intrusive thoughts. Well, just put them on hold ,to be more precise. You looked up to meet Roy's eyes - dark and unfeeling. If you weren't feeling cold before , the look he gave you sent shiver down your spine. Or maybe it was an ocean breeze. Or maybe both. "Let's stay just a couple minutes more?" you asked quietly . " Sky is gorgeous tonight" you added. He just scoffed and said " you can stay here all night if you want to but I am your ride and I am going ,bye" - Roy started walking away from you. You couldn't believe what you heard . And what you saw. Your bf was literally leaving you alone here!! "Hey,Roy! What are you doing??!!" You cried after him ,but he didn't respond,just kept walking. So you stood up and started running after him. Once you got to him you grabed his arm and yelled "Seriously???" You leaving me here alone? What the hell is wrong with you?!!?
His eyes were even more cold than before ,he gritted his teeth and literally hissed " I am sick and tired of entertaining your ass. All you do is holding onto me like you cannot fucking do anything without me! Since you flew in here all I do is babysit you, gimme a break woman!" With every spoken word his voice was raising and made you feel even more small than you already did. You stared at him with wide eyes and all you could say was quiet " but I came here for you... because of you, you wanted me to finally ..." "well maybe you shouldn't come,maybe I shouldn't string you along"- he cut you off. "What?" you almost choked . "What are you.." - you fight with tears that are coming ,damn,these stupid eyes of yours in the wet place ,always crying so easily. "Y/n, I cant pretend anymore. I dont want you,not anymore,6 months apart is a lot and things changed, just leave me alone" - he said and walked away leaving you alone , on the beach ,in the middle of the night, in a foreign country. He broke up with you,just like that. On the beach,in the middle of the night. IN THE FOREIGN COUNTRY. You stood there in shock. Eyes wet ,but your mind and body freezed. You seemed to not really know how to process what have just happenned. It was like a bad dream. So you just stood there, looking into the abbyss of the ocean , feeling cold breeze chilling through your bones.You haven't even registered when you started walking. You walked and walked and walked. Mindlessly. For hours.For eternity,that's what it felt like. You were slowly coming into your senses when you heard noises.Sounded like music,so you turned your head in this direction and saw faint lights in the distance. "People" you thought. "I need people right now". That was your focus right now. To not be alone. To get back safely to your hotel. Broken heart can wait. Well,it will catch up to you if you want it or not. But now, basic instinct was kicking in - just be safe. You wiped your tears, straighten your back and put on a brave face as you walked on to the door of what looked like a bar full of people you so desperately needed right now. A little drink wouldnt kill you too. You went in, awkwardly smiling and met a gaze and a smile from a very pretty lady behind the bar. You went straight to her "hey,what can I get you?" The woman asked "Hi, um whiskey on the rocks please" "I'm on it" she winked at you and started preparing your drink. All of a sudden you felt someone right beside you leaned on the bar. You looked up and saw a very handsome face and a pair of green eyes boring into you. "Penny,sweatheart ,4 more beers please" . Handsome face spoke never breaking the eye contact with you. "Just a sec ,Hangman, ladies first " said the bartender as she put your drink in front of you and smiled warmly at you. You smiled back and thanked her, pick the glass up and gulped it like water. You hissed as the alcohol burned your throat but it felt good in a way.Liberating.
"Whoa,easy ma'am! That kind od drinking gets you in trouble!" Handsome face spoke again ,this time directly to you flashing it's pearly whites in a wide smile. "I'm already in trouble so oh well I guess" you responded. His smile got even more wider and he said in a lower ,more raspy voice "Soo,do you need a rescue?" As he said it,he shifted his arms and for a brief second he touched you. His warm skin brushed against your icy cold one. You didn't know if it was just beacause he was hot,like,literally, and you were chilled to the bone or maybe it was just adrenaline washing down or maybe whiskey was doing it's job but sudden closeness of this random guy in the bar gave you some comfort. Something you needed badly right now. "I do ,actually" you heard your own voice coming out of your mouth and before you could react and take it back ,the Handsome face got a bit closer to you and said "Tonight is your lucky night,ma'am"
To be continued
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are you still take tgm requests? I’d love to see hangman w/ allergies 🥺❤️
holy fuck, this got so very out of hand. i honestly wasn't planning on writing anything over 1.5K and well. the plot grabbed me by the neck and held me hostage for a good three hours and here we are; i offer 4.1K words written in a single day that i didn't proofread at all. enjoy!!
(also i. do not celebrate the holidays at all so forgive me for any possible inaccuracies. i have no idea how any of this works ¯\_(ツ)_/¯)
In Jake's defense, he didn't know he was allergic.
His family was never all that into the holidays. It never seemed like a big deal to him, or his brothers, or his parents; every year, when Christmas rolled around, they'd get a couple of small gifts and a handful of ten dollar bills, and that was it. No tree, no lights, nothing. Jake didn't mind, because that's just how it was.
But then he'd hear other kids in school excitedly talking about finding their tree over the weekend, or stringing up lights around the house, or snooping through presents, and something twinged in his chest. The wanting, when he realized what it was, felt awful. He had plenty. There was no need for him to ask for more.
And yet, he still wanted. The feeling never went away.
It starts like this:
His phone rings two days before his leave begins, and the caller I.D. reveals it as none other than Maverick. So, of course, Jake picks up, says, "Seresin," and waits for tragedy.
Instead, Maverick invites him—along with the rest of the Daggers, apparently—back to North Island to spend their leaves with him, which just so happen to be over the week of Christmas and coincidentally line up with Maverick's declaration of his retirement, which is at least four months overdue.
(Afterwards, Bradley calls him, lets out a shaky sigh before he asks, "Is it bad that I'm relieved? About his retirement?"
"Naw," Jake says, willfully ignoring the tugging in his chest when he realizes it was him that Bradley chose to reach out to. "Mav has a special talent for getting himself in trouble. I can't imagine that's easy for you to watch every time."
"Yeah, it fucking sucks," Bradley says with a wet laugh. They both pretend not to notice as he sniffles, chokes back his tears on the other end of the receiver.
They've grown... closer, ever since the mission. The thing that Jake has realized about saving a person's life is that afterwards, there's no going back to how things were. Bradley is entirely unavoidable, and he watches from the eye of the storm as their relationship begins to settle around them. It doesn't feel right to label it something as simple as friendship, but Jake really doesn't have a better word for what they are to each other.)
Obviously, he accepts Maverick's invitation without question. Texas is miserable in the winter, and he's even less eager to go back home with the predicted weather for the next week. He's seen how bad his state's drivers are normally; putting them on the road with no more than an inch of snow is a nightmare he's really not eager to deal with.
He accepts Maverick's invitation without question, of course. Texas is miserable in the winter, and he's even less eager to go back with the arctic snap making its way across the United States. He's seen how bad Texas drivers are normally; putting a bunch of them on the road with no more than an inch of snow will be an absolute nightmare that he does not want to deal with.
"Are you sure?" Maverick still asks, only a minute into their conversation and already trying to argue his way out of any company because he's Maverick and clearly doesn't think he's deserving of the Daggers. "I don't want to take away from your time with your family."
"Pops, do not tell me you're relinquishing your invitation already," Jake says, poking him right in the nerve, and Maverick splutters indignantly.
"What, no! Of course not, Jake, I just—"
"—don't want to be alone," Jake finishes for him. "Don't worry, Bradley'll be there no matter what, and the more company you have, the better. Can't let you handle too much by yourself, especially not in your old age."
You don't know what to do now that Ice is gone, remains unspoken.
Maverick sighs, and the sound is a hurricane in his ears. "Sure, kiddo. Whatever you say."
"I'm thirty-four," he points out, and Maverick only laughs before hanging up all too soon.
And that's how he finds himself on a plane heading to North Island, far more unsettled than he's ever been in the cockpit of his own jet. Similar to many other Naval aviators, he hates flying like a civilian, even though he knows the commercial pilots are more than capable. Jake just prefers to have control. To be in charge. It's part of what makes him such a terrible leader; if he doesn't know exactly what's going on at every moment, he'll fall to pieces.
(Nevertheless, he persists, as if he's not threatening to do just that already.)
-
Maverick, for some reason, has absolutely lost his mind.
Jake's pretty sure there isn't an inch of the house that doesn't have some sort of decoration, and to be honest, it's making him a bit dizzy just to try and navigate it all. He's only the third to arrive, after Bradley, who doesn't exactly count, considering that Mav's practically his father, and Natasha, who greets him with a warning that doesn't do nearly enough to prepare him for the absolute chaos of Maverick's house.
"How the hell...?" He starts, stops, tries again. "How did he—?"
"Don't ask," Natasha advises, urging him with a hand to toe of his shoes at the doorway before waving him inside. "Bradley's making hot chocolate. Take advantage of his kindness while he's offering."
(It's Carole's recipe.)
Glancing around the house once again, Jake absently scrubs at the side of his nose, and laughs when he notices there's even mistletoe in the doorway to the living room. "Holy shit, Mav really didn't leave anything out, does he?"
"I did not!" the man himself calls, walking into the room and casually dropping a kiss onto Bradley's forehead as the younger aviator leans into him for a moment, continuing to stir the pot on the stove. "I tried to take into account your different holidays, so there's a tree in the corner of the living room and a menorah on the console by the window for Bob and Reuben." He smiles at Jake, and it's so eager he can't help but smile back. How an adult man manages to look just like a puppy, he doesn't know, but it's clearly a skill well-practiced.
"Hey, Mav," he greets. "Thanks for inviting me."
He waves it off with little more than a shrug and nonchalant flap of his hand. "Thanks for coming down, kid."
"Don't worry, this is so much better than going home this year would've been," Jake assures. "It's supposed to snow, and believe me when I say Texans do not know how to handle their snow."
"I'm surprised you managed to get all of us," Natasha chimes in, accepting her mug from Bradley and passing another one to Maverick. The third makes its way to Jake, notably lacking in cinnamon like Natasha's, and he glances up at Bradley in confusion as Maverick continues his conversation with Natasha.
It takes Bradley a moment to notice Jake's stare, but eventually, he catches on. "What?" he asks, cocking his head slightly to the side the way he always did back in flight school.
"Was I supposed to get cinnamon, or...?"
He brightens. "Oh! Yeah, I wasn't sure if you wanted it or not. Or if you were allergic, because that happened with one of Mav's flight buddies from Top Gun back in eighty-nine, and it was not pretty. Mom was really upset about it, too."
"Huh," Jake says, blinking. "That's... not what I expected."
"I remember that!" Maverick calls, no longer in the kitchen and instead standing in front of the tree in the living room with Natasha. "Wood freaked the fuck out the entire time, and Wolf had the nerve to laugh at him, as if his life wasn't in danger." He shakes his head to himself, muttering something they're too far away to hear. Natasha, standing next to him, muffles a snort behind her hand.
Jake widens his eyes for just a moment at the snippet of an anecdote, but Bradley's already approaching with the cinnamon in hand and tapping it out over Jake's mug. "That alright?" he asks.
"It's perfect," Jake says, curling a hand around it, leaching the warmth from the ceramic. "Thank you."
Bradley nods and smiles at him. "Don't tell Payback and Fanboy when they get here," he says conspiratorially. "They'll be here in an hour, so make sure you're done before them." He winks at Jake, and he can swear that his heart stops for a moment as he stares right into the other aviator's eyes, the two of them frozen around each other.
The moment's ruined when Jake ducks into his elbow with a sneeze, his body jerking with the sudden force of it. "hDT'TZSHH!" His mug, still clutched in one hand, skates over the counter for a second and hot chocolate splashes over the edges.
"Oh, shit!" Bradley exclaims, immediately whirling around and ripping paper towel off the roll. "Did you burn yourself?"
"Don't think so," Jake murmurs. "Sorry."
Similar to Maverick earlier, Bradley waves it off. "Don't worry about it. It's just a bit of hot chocolate, and besides, I can always make more."
He smiles again, and Jake feels himself relax unconsciously, accepting the paper towel from him. "If you say so."
-
Jake wakes up the next morning feeling like shit.
Really, he should have expected this. He'd started feeling off around dinner last night, after Mickey and Reuben arrived, three hours later than they'd originally planned for, grinning and citing traffic as they placed a jug of homemade eggnog in the fridge. It hadn't been much at first, just a couple of coughs and the occasional sneeze, but congestion is pressing against his sinuses when he wakes up and the tickle in his throat is a full-blown itch. A handful of barking coughs do nothing to dislodge it, and a glance at the clock tells him it's still only seven in the morning. The rest of the Daggers are more than likely sleeping in, taking full advantage of their time off.
He sighs, sliding out of bed and not even attempting to breathe through his nose. Maybe Maverick'll have tea, and even if he doesn't, Jake could probably pester Bradley into making more hot chocolate when the younger aviator wakes up.
Jake passes by Mickey and Reuben's shared room on silent feet, smiling slightly as he hears Reuben snoring through the walls, evidently dead to the world and a content, half-asleep sigh from Mickey. He doesn't know them as well as he does Bradley and Natasha, not yet, but they seem sweet, which isn't usually a word he'd use to describe Naval aviators. Still, it fits them, far better than stubborn or intimidating or arrogant would.
Maverick and Bob are both awake when he steps into the kitchen, and the former glances up from his phone at Jake's entrance while the latter puts a kettle on the stove before glancing over to him. "Morning," Maverick says, his hair still sleep-mussed and far more casual than Jake's ever seen him. "You sleep alright?"
"Fine," Jake says, but it comes out as little more than a breath of air. He clears his throat, and tries again, but it doesn't go much better.
Maverick frowns, already standing from his chair and walking toward Jake. "Woah, kid, are you getting sick?"
"I don't think so?" he rasps, pausing to cough into his shoulder. "Honestly, Mav, I feel fine. Throat's a bit sore and I'm congested, but it's not like I've got the flu, or anything."
"A bit?" Bob questions, taking out a second mug from a cabinet without another word.
Maverick's still got a hand to Jake's forehead, and he can't even blame him for being skeptical. Their kind really doesn't have the best track record with admitting to injury, but Jake's being completely honest. He's not sick, he just feels terrible, for some arbitrary reason he can't quite pin down.
"There should be honey in the tea drawer, Bob," Maverick says, and the WSO spins on his heel to pull out the bottle. "Huh."
"What?" Jake asks.
"You're right, no fever. And nothing other than the sore throat and congestion?" he asks, clearly in full dad mode. Jake supposes that Bradley's childhood has given him more than enough practice.
He shakes his head. "Not really, no. And Bob, when'd you get here?"
"Last night," he says, scrutinizing Maverick's collection of tea. "Around eleven, I think? The snow delayed my flight. How do you feel about chamomile?"
Jake shrugs, sitting down next to Maverick. "I don't know. Not really a tea person, so just give me whatever."
"Alright," Bob says, grabbing a packet and tearing it open before dropping the bag into the mug. They're silent, only interrupted by a coughing jag from Jake that lasts half a minute too long and leaves him winded as Maverick rubs his back, wincing sympathetically.
"Easy, kid, just breathe," he says quietly, and Bob passes him a mug, honey drizzled into the bottom and not quite fully mixed in. "Are you sure you're not sick?"
"I don't feel sick, but..." He trails off, puts a finger up, and sneezes harshly into his elbow. "hh'DTZZH'uh!"
"Bless you," Maverick says, frowning again. "I'm going to see if I have DayQuil, or something; the snow's too bad for us to get anywhere today. Hopefully, that'll head off the worst of this before tomorrow."
"We can hope," Jake says, still not quite convinced he's actually sick. Maybe it's because he hasn't been sick in more than six years, or because Christmas is tomorrow, or because he really, really doesn't want to be sick. Either way, it really doesn't make a difference in the long run, does it?
-
"Okay, that's definitely not normal," Bradley says, pointing an accusatory finger straight at Jake, effectively drawing everyone's collective attention straight to him.
"What?" he asks, utterly clueless.
"Mav," Bradley calls, ignoring Jake and the others entirely. "His eyes are starting to swell, I think he's allergic to something."
He catches Maverick's mumbled, "Do not let this turn into another Leo Wolfe situation," as he walks into the living room to stare at Jake, then says, "Oh my God, this is another fucking Leo Wolfe situation!" and throws his hands up before rushing off.
Natasha, of course, laughs at him. Their whole group is seated in the living room, playing Uno to absolutely disastrous results. Bob's cursed more than Jake thought him capable of in only three rounds, and he's honestly not eager to continue with the game if this is how it's going to go. "You're killing him," she teases.
Less than ten seconds later, Maverick's chucking a pack of Zyrtec at him from the doorway and Mickey's joining Natasha in her laughter. "Take two," he demands, leaving no room for argument.
Well, at least the whole thing makes sense now.
"You know what this means, right?" Natasha asks. "We have to figure out what it is that you're actually allergic to."
"Is that really necessary?" Jake asks, popping two of the tablets out from the blister pack and throwing them back without any water, which proves to be a mistake as he almost immediately gags on them. Reuben is nice enough to shoot up from his spot on the floor and fill up a glass of water in the sink while Natasha rolls her eyes and Bradley thumps him on the back, grinning.
"Absolutely," he proclaims, without a hint of sympathy. "Don't worry, Jake, we'll make it fast. After all, we only have thirty minutes before the medication kicks in."
Jake groans into his hands, then whines, his voice slightly muffled, "Mav, they're being mean to me."
"Oh, are they?" Maverick asks, moving around Payback as he returns with a glass of water. "Bradley, are you guys being mean to Jake?"
"No!"
"Yes, you are!"
"Hey, you haven't fallen to the floor gasping and choking, so clearly it's not that bad. I think we should get to bully you a little bit," Bradley says, and do their reactions to this whole situation really go back to Mav's friend from eighty-nine? If that's the kind of baseline Maverick has for an allergic reaction, Jake's probably going to wind up getting an EpiPen stabbed in his thigh if he breathes wrong, now.
"That's fair, actually," Maverick concedes. "Have away at him."
"Mav!"
He grins. "You're on your own, kid."
Natasha cheers in victory and starts scrutinizing the room, Bradley at her side, for anything that might be triggering Jake's reaction. Bob and Mickey, thankfully, stay on the ground and just stare at the elder two aviators while Reuben raises an eyebrow at Jake, as if to say, you're really going to let them do this?
Jake shrugs. You really think I could stop them?
Fair point, Reuben concedes with a nod, then stands up to join them.
Traitor.
"Try this," Bradley says, dropping down on the couch next to him. There's a pinecone in his hand, and Jake furrows his brows.
"Where the fuck did you get this?"
"They have them outside some of the stores," Natasha explains. "They're, like, spiced pinecones or something."
Mickey finally speaks up, starting at Bradley and Natasha with abject concern painted on his features. "Guys, this seems like a bad idea."
"What do you mean, this is brilliant," Bradley says, and shoves the pinecone up to Jake's face. Jake bats it away a second later, but not before getting a strong whiff of the scent on it. It's strangely cinnamon-y, and if he focuses, he's pretty sure he can pick out nutmeg, or something like that. Regardless, it doesn't do anything.
"Try the cleaner," Natasha suggests.
"I'm not your fucking guinea pig!" Jake protests, or, at least, attempts to protest. If any of them thought Maverick was stubborn, he's got nothing on Bradley. Jake idly wonders if that's something Bradley learned from him, or if that's just how Maverick's kids are, even if Bradley's not his biologically.
(He fails to realize that in accepting this invitation, the rest of the Daggers have effectively become Maverick's kids as well.)
Natasha shoots him a dangerous smile. "Of course not," she says sweetly. "Just our friend, and you're about to learn that might be even worse."
-
"Maybe try the candle?"
The suggestion comes from Bob, who's completely given up on trying to stop the rest of them from torturing Jake. The only one still holding out is Mickey, and even then, he's mostly just ignoring them now, opting instead to help Maverick with the dinner preparation. He's been oscillating between the living room and the kitchen for the past handful of minutes, just to check up on them and to make sure Jake isn't actively dying, if only for Maverick's sake.
"It's not even lit, how the hell could it be doing anything to me?" Jake tries to fight back, but by this point, nearly twenty minutes into the Daggers searching the room and shoving random things in his face, he knows any argument on his part will be completely futile. Sighing, he leans in and sniffs the candle when Natasha holds it out to him.
It only takes a second before he wrenches to the side with a sneeze, but he can tell that the candle isn't what's causing the reaction. "TZZSH! Nope, that's not it."
"Bless you," Reuben says, petting his back sympathetically. It's telling of his exhaustion that he's actually letting the elder aviator, instead of putting up a tough front as he normally does. With three of them actively seeking out his suffering, no matter how well-intentioned they think it is, it's hard to hide how awful he feels.
"That's it, though," Natasha says as Jake sniffles tiredly. "There's nothing else that could be it."
"Should we go through them again?"
"Don't you fucking dare," Jake warns, thought it probably doesn't come off as much of a threat, what with his red and itchy his eyes are. They started tearing up about halfway through the whole ordeal, even though they're yet to identify exactly what's setting him off. The medication doesn't seem to be dong much, either, considering that he doesn't feel any better than he did this morning.
To his left, Mickey rips part of the tree from its branch, then holds it out to Natasha, who raises an eyebrow at him. "You know it's usually the other type of pine that people are allergic to, right?" she asks.
Mickey nods, still offering it to her. "Yeah, but there's nothing else that it could be. It's worth a shot."
"Alright," Natasha says, and holds the section in front of Jake's face, the same as she did with everything else. There's barely a second between the moment it's put in front of him and when he twists away to sneeze into his elbow.
"HD'TZSHH! TDSH'UU!"
"It's the fucking tree!" Bradley yells, right as Mickey whoops in victory for having been the one to figure it out. "Jake, move to the kitchen."
He doesn't waste a second in obliging, grabbing the box of tissues on his way out. Maverick's head whips around the second he enters, and his face tenses with concern. "Christ, Seresin, what happened?"
"I told you to stop them," Jake says, turning away to sneeze again. "DT'ZZSHu!"
"Bless you," Maverick says.
"HD'ZSHH!"
"And again." He scrutinizes Jake more closely for a moment, and then asks, "No hives, right? Or anything else?"
"Nothing," Jake confirms. "Just fucking itchy."
Maverick sighs. "At least you're not dying on my floor."
"Seriously, what the hell happened with your friend that one time?" he starts to ask, but he's interrupted by a resounding crash from the living room that causes him, Maverick, and Mickey, the latter of whom is peeling an apple over the compost bin, all to jump.
"We're fine!" Natasha yells.
"What did you do?" Mickey calls back, peeler still in hand as he walks into the loving room. "Oh my fucking God."
Reuben's under the tree, holding it inches above the ground while Bradley and Natasha do their best to wrestle it back to a standing position and Bob takes pictures of the three of them, giggling slightly to himself.
"What are you doing?" Maverick asks, utterly confused.
"Okay, well, you see," Bradley hedges, just as Reuben shoves the tree upwards and back to standing. He ends up with a faceful of needles, and yelps appropriately as Bob takes another picture.
"We were trying to move the tree," Natasha explains. "Jake's allergic to it, so we wanted to move it farther away from the couches so that he can still hang out in the living room with the rest of us."
Maverick only sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose tiredly. "Why the hell didn't you ask me to do it?"
"Because you're short!" Bradley says. "And Nat's as tall as you are!"
"That doesn't mean I can't help!"
"We already have a Natasha," Bradley explains patiently, sounds like he's said this to Maverick a thousand times before. "We don't need another height-equivalent. You'd just get in the way."
Maverick splutters at that, and Bradley smirks like he's won, turning back to help Natasha and Reuben continue scooting the tree across the floor and farther away from the couches so that Jake can come back and sit with them when his allergies calm down.
It causes his chest to ache, but in a good way. Jake's not really used to people going out of their way to include him, especially not when they go so far as to move an entire goddamn Christmas tree just so that they can all still gather in the living room with him. It's so stupidly sweet of them, and he finds himself tearing up a little bit at the gesture. It goes unnoticed by everyone but Mickey, who pats him gently on the back as Maverick stands next to Natasha, presumably comparing their heights to prove a point.
"Merry Christmas, Jake," Mickey says, shooting him a small smile. The arguing from the living room is loud enough for the both of them to hear the entire thing, and it's oddly endearing to watch Bradley defend himself against Maverick's short-person anger while the rest of them—Reuben, especially—flaunt their six-foot-and-change heights over him. It should be annoying, but Jake's heart just twinges again and he feels a smile of his own cross his face.
Merry Christmas, indeed.
#askbox#promptfic#t/op g/un: m/averick snzfic#snzfic#t/op g/un: m/averick#d/agger s/quad#h/angman#r/ooster#m/averick#swts fic
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Word find game: eat, drink, write, and wash
I was tagged by @winterandwords this time :D
eat
Simon POV
“Whatever, listen, you don’t even see how good this is.” Callie rearranged herself in a sudden burst of energy, slinging one leg over the arm of the chair. “This is what you do: you just start dating Ash. Like, super casual. That’ll make Flora jealous, and then she’ll want you back. See? You can have your cake and eat it too.”
She made jazz hands, and he stared at her. “Ta da!”
“Wow,” he said.
“I know, right?”
“No, that wasn’t complimentary.”
Her expression deflated. “I’m just trying to help,” she said. “You’re kinda clueless with women.”
“Yeah, and you’ve got them all figured out. Your last one-night stand worked out great.”
Her eyes went wide, and then she huffed and turned away from him, hugging her mug against her chest. “That was low, Bennett,” she complained. “Really low.”
drink x2
Callie POV
“And I know just as surely that you don’t belong in prison,” he said, surprising her with the abrupt switch in subject matter. “I see you every day, trying. Growing. You’re a good person. I don’t even think you see it, and you sure as hell don’t let anybody else see it either.” He fished around for something in his desk drawer. “I’d never know it if it wasn’t for the bridge. And that makes me sad, and it makes me wanna fight for you.”
She wanted to ask him why, but he couldn’t possibly put it any clearer. “You’re a dumb fuck,” she said instead.
He pulled out a heavy-looking decanter and set it on the desk with a clunk. Whatever was inside looked like something he didn’t normally drink and something she definitely would, although she’d drink gasoline in the right mood.
“Back at you,” he said with a weary attempt at a grin, plopping two glasses down in front of her.
write
Simon POV
“You’re an amazing kid,” he said, hoping his honesty carried. Above their heads, models of planets and moons turned slowly on their strings. “You seem… well, you’re well-anchored, and that’s extraordinary, given how much you’ve been shuffled around. And that’s why this has to be a secret, at least for now. Because what happened twelve years ago isn’t a secret, it’s something people all over are interested in, and Callie is…”
How to explain it to Grace?
“Famous for being a bad person?” she suggested.
Maybe he should take the child on as a speech writer. She boiled things down that eluded him completely. “Yeah,” he nodded.
wash
Simon POV
Flora startled. “What are you doing?”
“Taking it.” He broke into Angela’s mind, found the source of the pain - it was easy, all-encompassing, everything. He put his power around it and pulled it into himself.
Someone called his name as an expression of surprise. Flora gripped his shoulder. These were things he dimly registered as the rolling fire washed over his nerve endings. He dropped his head to the clean white sheets and held the girl’s hand.
“Headmaster Bennett?” Her young voice, frightened. Already understanding where the pain had gone. He swallowed against it and lifted his head.
“I’m fine,” he choked. He wouldn’t believe himself but the pain was merciless and it was all he could manage. If he let go, she’d feel it again instead of him. He held on. “Don’t worry. It’s gonna be alright.”
Tagging @writeblrfantasy, @avrablake, @pertinax--loculos, @afoolandathief and @adie-dee with the new words: music, paint, draw and create :)
#oc: callie#oc: simon#oc: flora#oc: grace#tag game#writing snippets#my WIP#tw: language#tw: sex mention#tw: prison
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