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darklordofthesimp · 1 year

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Anything III (König x Reader)

Summary: A lack of information from the chain of command results in König mistaking you for an enemy sniper.

Requested by: Literally fucking everyone.

A/N: I was really fighting for my life with this chapter y'all. It's more to set up for the next coming chapters.

Category: Angst || Hurt/Comfort || Forced Proximity || Enemies to ?

Warnings: Graphic language, graphic description of PTSD, graphic violence, graphic description of gun violence, graphic description of injury.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

"That fucker needs to go."

"He's not going anywhere, Simon."

The Lieutenant spun on his heel, reeling on Price with startling speed. He didn’t budge, though. Not when Ghost stopped only inches away and not when a finger rested on his chest- a warning. A threat.

“Birdy’s my responsibility,” his voice was dangerously low and the Captain’s eyes narrowed.

“And you’re all my responsibility,” Price’s words were slow and enunciated, spoken through gritted teeth. The heat rolling off his body was tangible, he was fucking furious. He was torn. “You think this was my fucking idea? I get orders from up top just like you do, Riley. They got their own plans in mind.”

Ghost inhaled sharply, dropping his hand to his side. Up top. If the rank has been anything, it’s been consistently shit.

“When someone tears their own fuckin’ face-off, the plan needs to change,” Simon murmured, the images of the incident drifting across his vision. The man was no stranger to intrusive thoughts but these were particularly vivid, they splattered across the carefully cleaned plains of his mind- taunting him.

“I know.” Price lit a cigar, his gaze trailing across the rooftops. “Been working on it.”

“And?”

“Baby steps, Simon. Baby steps.”

_________

Inhale, exhale. Again.

Bang

Then again.

Bang

And again.

Bang

One, two, three, the hole never widened; not even by a millimetre. The target stood strong and unwavering, and you were doused in hot anger. You’d selected the biggest one you could find, it wasn’t as tall as you wanted, but you supposed the chances of finding a nearly seven foot soldier on the battlefield were slim.

You were grateful that the one thing that hadn’t changed over the recent horrors of your life, was your aim. You were still a sniper.

Bang

You were still the best.

“We got another unit comin’ in for their assessments, Birdy.” The range supervisor’s voice was loud over the speaker and you forced yourself not to jump. “You gotta clear out or pick another lane, mate.”

Your eyes trailed over the aisles beside you. The rear of their booths were all open, designed for trainees to have an instructor standing over them. Those days of needing direction were over, as were the days of leaving your back vulnerable.

The lane you had chosen was at the very end of the range, a locked booth designed for soldier’s shooting assessments. It was a bi-annual event, where your marksmanship was tested in order to deem you competent and qualified. No instructor, no target indications, just you in a locked booth with a rifle and a target.

Now, it was the only place you felt safe enough to shoot.

You heaved your body up, clearing your weapon before slinging it over your shoulder. It seemed that your time was up.

As you stepped out of your haven and into the aisle, you tried to settle the anxiety in your chest. It was a burdensome feeling that only faded when you were looking down the sight of your rifle, plaguing your every move and every thought. It was all-consuming.

A shot rang a few lanes ahead and you flicked your gaze up to the screen as you walked. They were half a centimetre or so off from the central aiming mark but the next shot was dead on. You snorted.

As you moved to pass, you spared a curious glance at the shooter.

Your body locked up.

Right in front of you, lying on his stomach with those long legs sprawled out, was König.

You seethed. You were suddenly overcome by a rage that, for once, did not wash over you with a flush of heat. Instead, you were cold. Ice trickled the length of your spine and your fingers went numb, pins and needles pricking at your nails.

Your face stung at the sight of him.

He was the reason you couldn’t look at yourself in the mirror anymore, he was the reason you looked like a fucking abomination. Your face was deformed and mutilated and here this fucker lay, his back turned to the world because he was not the one that got destroyed.

König ruined you and got away unscathed.

You waited for him to take another shot, using the cover of the resounding gunfire to put down your rifle. He had no idea that you were there, he was entirely unsuspecting. He was vulnerable.

Before you could comprehend what you were doing, your body had moved to stand over his prone figure. You could hear his breathing, see the rise and fall of his chest.

In, bang, out.

They had chosen this fucking imbecile to replace you? He couldn’t even breathe right, everything was wrong. His form was wrong, his breathing pattern was wrong, his shooting was wrong, and he was not built to be a sniper. He was built to destroy with his hands, with no finesse, no pinpoint accuracy- just a bludgeon.

There was no honour in what König was.

Again, your face stung beneath the gauze. A reminder. Encouragement.

You reached for the Glock strapped to your belt, cold sweat trickling down your neck. König took a breath in and you flicked open the buckle. But he didn’t take a shot as you had predicted, and he’d heard the noise from above him.

When König turned, you let him see you, just as he’d given you that mercy.

Then you struck.

Unlike before, König hadn’t been given the chance to kick the weapon from your hands before you descended upon him. A startled rasp ripped from his mouth as you dropped onto his body, bringing the butt of your firearm to strike his temple.

His head knocked back, bouncing off the mat beneath him.

How merciful, that it was not concrete? How gracious, that you didn’t grab his head and crush it?

König groaned, his hands flying up to defend himself, stunned by the sudden impact. You knew that his vision would be spinning, a loud buzz ringing in his ears. You knew too well.

But it wasn’t enough.

You pushed his hands away, bringing the gun down again. You felt his skin render from beneath the metal, a wet thud echoing through the booth as you split the skin of his cheek. The blood made your eyes widen. It wasn’t enough.

You would give him your scars. You would peel his skin from his bone. You would shatter him until he was unrecognisable.

This wasn’t enough.

König’s eyes flickered open, hard and betrayed.

You knew that the element of surprise had run out, but you were not finished. You’d just gotten started, the purple of his cheek and the red dripping down his temple only marked the beginning. But you couldn’t overpower the man below you.

When his hands gripped your biceps and he opened his mouth to yell, you pushed the barrel of your handgun past his lips until his teeth scraped the steel.

Everything fell still, his hands frozen on your body and his eyes wide. You hoped that he could taste the gunpowder, you hoped that he could taste his death. The sound of the safety flicking off resounded in the booth and the man beneath you flinched.

His fingers shook against your skin, his breath rattling in his chest.

König was afraid.

And at that realization, for the first time in over a year, a genuine smile twisted your lips. The soldier’s eyes widened, his body twitching beneath yours, groaning around the barrel in his mouth.

“How do you like it?” You whispered, the words a snarl as you leaned down close.

König’s emerald gaze was steady on yours and you could visibly see him attempt to calm his breathing. In, out, in, out. He was breathing wrong, everything was still just wrong, wrong, wrong. You pressed harder on the gun.

This wasn’t enough.

He wasn’t bruised enough, he wasn’t bleeding enough. You moved your left hand to cup his cheek and his eyes flickered. König wanted to buck you off, he wanted to disable you, maybe he even wanted to murder you. You hoped he did, you wanted to see the same hatred in his eyes that you saw that damned fucking night.

You wanted him to look into your soul and know that you were going to ruin him.

That you were going to kill him.

“You feel guilty?” You hissed, your fingers slowly digging into the skin of his cheek. “You feel bad for what you did?”

König’s eyes softened.

Don’t want your pity.

Kill him. Kill him. Kill him.

Finally, he hummed his affirmation around the barrel in his mouth. Your nails dug into the flesh of his face, dragging a jagged scratch inch by inch across his features. The man didn’t flinch, he didn’t move, and he didn’t make a sound- he only watched you.

When you leaned in to brush your lips against his ear, he knew what was coming.

Satisfaction flooded your senses, righteous anger gripping you by the throat and forcing the words that you’ve wanted to say for so long from your lips.

“Your fight is finished.”

König took in a sharp breath.

You pulled the trigger.

The sound was deafening and for a sweet, beautiful moment, you felt vindication. You’d won. You’d bested him. The man that had ruined your life had gotten what he deserved and he needed to die, die, die. That was the only thing that would settle his debt, the only thing that would serve the justice you felt owed.

With the simplest pull of the trigger, you had been avenged.

Then, you realised that the blood that had sprayed aross the space between your bodies wasn’t his. It was yours.

König was on top of you. The gun was gone, his mask was on, and your face was crushed. You couldn’t breathe you couldn’t think and the only thing you could feel was the searing pain of the knife twisting in your chest.

No, no, no, no.

This was wrong, this wasn’t what was meant to happen. Why were you back here? His hand was on your face before you could protest and you felt your head lift from the ground.

“Even in victory, you are nothing.”

Crack

“You will always be nothing.”

Crack

You were screaming, you could hear yourself doing it but your mouth wasn’t moving. Your teeth were caved in, your jaw had collapsed, you felt as though your face had melted from the bone. Yet you could hear the shrieks, hear the wailing.

The back of your head was wet, your skull felt like it was falling apart at the seams. The breeze tickled against your brain and your nerves were on fire.

You were broken, broken, broken.

“Birdy!”

This time you could feel every crack of your head into the concrete. This time you felt your brain matter smear across the floor.

“Wake up!”

Wake up.

You sat up with the gasp of someone who’d been drowning, clawing at your throat for air. Sweat trickled down your spine, the room was hot and the blankets were tangled between your legs but you were in your bedroom- you recognised it instantly.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” a rough voice murmured from beside you. There was a hand pressed flat against your chest, firm and grounding. “Breathe.”

“Simon,” you sobbed. The man hummed in response, his other hand rubbing your back with enough force to rock your body. He was trying to keep you rooted in reality, give you something physical, something tangible to hold on to.

“I’m losing my mind,” you gasped, your chest caving at the realisation. You didn’t know what was real or not, fact or fiction, tangible or imaginary- you lived on a plain of uncertainty. You were lost, you were broken and you were unreliable.

Price was right. You had become a liability.

“You’re late to the party,” Simon loosed a soft chuckle, pulling you close against his body. “I lost mine years ago, kid.”

You relished in his touch as you tried to regroup. You were in your room, you were in your bed, it was the middle of the night and you’d had a nightmare. Your clothes were soaked, sticking to your skin uncomfortably; and you had the horrid realization that maybe it wasn’t all sweat. You sucked in a breath, scrambling to push the blankets from your body.

“What-”

You ignored anything that the Lieutenant might of said, scrubbing your hands over your limbs, neck and face. The sweat threw you off and you checked your fingers in the dim light for crimson stains. You couldn’t deal with it again, you couldn’t cope with more damage. You were already disgusting, you were already mutilated and scarred. Unloveable, untouchable, irreparable, irevevocable, irremediable-

No more, no more, no more no more no more-

Simon gripped your hands, tugging them towards his chest and jerking your body forward. You dragged in a sharp breath, eyes wide and frantic.

“You didn’t hurt yourself,” the words were urgent and low, his gaze holding you still just as well as his grip. “You’re alright, Birdy.”

You took in a rattling breath and his grip tightened.

“You’re alright, kid,” Simon reinforced, that ocean gaze compelling you to calm your heart rate. He left no room for discussion with the way that he looked at you, there was no option to disobey. You pushed air into your lungs, following the pattern he’d set for you. “It was just a nightmare.”

You frowned. “Only at the very end.”

Not when you had been shooting, not when you’d been atop of your enemy with a gun in his mouth; that was not the nightmare. You’d felt vindicated, you’d felt insane but satisfied. During those moments in the dream, you were not afraid of König. You were not shaking, you were not whimpering or begging for your life.

You were strong.

Stronger than him.

“How’d you know I was–” You cleared your throat. “How’d you get in here?”

The silence that followed had you on edge, as Simon’s hand worked methodically across your back. He didn’t answer for a long while and your thoughts began to sober. Why was he in your room? How had he gotten there? How did he know you were having a night terror? His quarters were nowhere near yours, he was in the hallway over, divided by thick concrete walls; he most definitely couldn’t have heard your screams.

“Someone tipped me off,” the words were spoken through clenched teeth and his minsitrations against your back faltered. Your chest tightened at the implication. “They thought I’d be better suited to come help you.”

“How-”

“He’s down the hall, Birdy.” Simon interrupted and you could feel his fingers curl into a fist against your spine. “Everyone in this fuckin’ corridor could hear you.”

Your breathing began to pick up and heat flushed against your skin, the blood boiling from beneath the surface.

“That doesn’t explain how you got in,” you rasped, gripping the blankets at your side. You needed to ground yourself, you needed to be calm.

“He thought you were being attacked or somethin’ with the way you were yellin’,” Simon sighed. It wasn’t a direct answer but it was a good enough indication as to what had happened.

You let your gaze drift to the door, sucking in a sharp breath at the sight before you. The hinges had been ripped from the wall, the frame torn straight from the brick. The door itself was missing completely, and as you slowly leaned over to get a look at the floor, your heart dropped to your stomach.

Your bedroom door lay in pieces, the splintered remnants splayed across the floor like shattered glass.

NEXT CHAPTER

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allyricas · 7 months

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there's just something so delicious about friends-to enemies-to lovers

barely teenage steve and eddie who have a devastating end to what they both thought would be a forever friendship. maybe it's a misunderstanding or maybe it's just teenage angst that felt impossible to fix in the moment.

but i am feral over the idea that the only reason steve ever became 'king steve' strutting around with tommy and carol with his aloof, semi-mean girl attitude was because of the falling out with eddie. that he did it so he didn't feel so much hurt over it. still has no idea what he did to make eddie suddenly hate him.

same with eddie. he definitely liked metal and nerdy shit all along, but maybe he only leaned into the whole 'forced conformity, it's what's killing the kids' freak persona to guard himself. as armor. because he fucking misses steve as much as he hates him. so he glares and makes snarky comments. finds his solace in DnD and his band.

they fight with words and shoulder shoves in the hallway. each of them too proud to ever talk it out and fix things. to the point that their peers don't remember that steve and eddie used to be inseparable. everyone but steve and eddie forget the obvious affection and closeness they once shared.

it takes a bunch of freshmen to put them back into each other's orbit.

it takes the upside down, a dead cheerleader and an evil wizard for them to actually get along again.

because steve is meant to hate eddie but the moment he sees the trailer and hears the word 'murder' he feels like he might throw up.

Please, god, not eddie.

only to find out he supposedly murdered chrissy cunningham. despite all the animosity between the two of them, steve knows in his soul that eddie would never kill anyone.

even when he's against a wall with sharp glass pressed to his neck, heart racing as he looks into the eyes he tries not to think about, steve knows that eddie won't actually hurt him.

steve has the urge to stay with eddie at the lake house and make sure nothing else happens to him. instead, he stops forcing himself to be an asshole towards eddie. it's exhausting and he's never truly meant it anyways. the upside-down shit is threatening the one person he hoped would never be a part of it.

it takes eddie watching steve get pulled under lover's lake and attacked by demon bats to realize that the biggest misunderstanding was of his own thirteen year old self's feelings. that he could've lost steve and he'd have never even told him the truth of why he let their friendship implode over such a ridiculous misunderstanding.

that he wanted more than friendship and that scared the hell out of him at thirteen.

he sees steve bleeding and throwing himself into danger over and over. realizes that yeah, steve harrington is a good guy. his own personal munson doctrine is fundamentally flawed and untrustworthy and he's in love with this stupidly brave man, maybe since forever.

make him pay means i'm sorry, i love you, please be safe, come back.

it takes eddie nearly dying and his steve carrying him out of hell for eddie to realize that steve never hated him either. that what eddie always views as aloofness and superiority was hurt and steve trying to deal. regardless of whatever lays in the past, steve holds him together with his hands and begs eddie to stay. whispers that he loves him, always has loved him, always will love him.

eddie thinks about all the years they lost due to teenage angst and fear. fights to keep his eyes open and stay, because steve his sobbing and begging him not to go.

and when eddie finally wakes up in the hospital, it's steve and uncle wayne next to him. steve won't leave his side, maybe ever again. neither of them with any desire to ever look at each other with anything but love.

#steddie #friends to enemies to lovers #friends to enemies #enemies to lovers #feeling mildly angsty but still a sucker for a HEA #angst

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chrollohearttags · 6 months

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free smoke • portgas d. ace

content + themes: modern au, black!fem reader (also a firefighter), throat fucking, spit play, hate fucking, breeding, full nelson, spanking, shower sex, backshots, mentions of ovulation and pregnancy, missionary, enemies to lovers-ish, daddy’s used, calls reader a slut, brat taming, squirting

📝: firefighter ace is on my mind so enjoy my depravity until I put a proper fic out. (I’m like a sick dog in heat for this man omg) this is like pure filth, look away if it’s not your thing or if you still have a bedtime. In other words, minors, piss off.

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friends…it’d be the last word you’d ever use to describe the relationship between yourself and Portgas D. Ace. Despite working together day in and day out, fighting side by side to save lives regardless of your own safety and practically living underneath the same roof..you couldn’t stand him! Perhaps, even that was being a bit generous. You hated his guts. Granted, he was the man that you received all of your orders from at Fire Company Eight as he was the Vice Fire Captain and you were merely a rookie firefighter; having only joined the five man crew only a year and a half prior.

“Hey, rookie. Grab those boxes from over there and bring them upstairs.”

oh how you despised the moniker..a reminder of his superiority and ranking over you. Sure, he didn’t purposely wave it over your head like some proverbial flag but he certainly didn’t downplay either. He knew how much it ruffled your feathers so he’d repeat it in hopes of getting you agitated and riled up. Almost like clockwork, it done the trick everytime! “I have a name. Why don’t you try using it, asshole..” Oftentimes scoffing over your shoulder with cut eyes and a nasty glare. Even so, with much vitriol and vengeance in your heart, you’d follow his commands. It was no secret among the entire firehouse that you two were sworn enemies..or rather, he was on the receiving end of a one sided grudge. All beginning when you first started here and he treated you as if you were dumb. And it didn’t help that you were the only woman here. Despite graduating top of your class at fire college. The best scores, highest evaluations…none of it meant a thing to him! Your biggest issue with him was that carefree, lackadaisical attitude. Put simply, he was a jackass! He didn’t care about much including someone’s hurt feelings. Especially when he hadn’t done anything except his job. The way he saw it, until you surpassed him in rank, you could get glad in the same damn drawers you got mad in. “I suggest you watch that fucking mouth if you know what’s good for you..”

a warning you’d certainly heed once the rest of the crew heads out on a grocery run. Knowing that they’d be out for at least two hours, stocking up on food and toiletry items for everyone, that left the vice chief ample time to teach you a lesson. He knew your little charade was nothing more than show for the others because the second they were out that door, leaving you two alone, you were both in the shower..relieving those rising tensions..

“Open…there you go—see, you can follow instructions.”

“Fuck you—“

the words spewing like venom shortly before he gags you get again. The steamy droplets of warm water cascading over your nude bodies as they collide in the stand in bath. Your so called sworn enemy cuffing your wrists with one hand as he slowly thrusts into your mouth. His hard cock sliding between your plump lips and silky jaws, drumming up strings of spit..along with loud gagging sounds. All while his six foot four frame stood above you. Only muted by the downpour from the shower head as you sat fatefully on your knees, being used to his leisure. You may have been pretending to be angry and talking all recklessly but he could tell that you were enjoying this just as much as he was. Ace wasn’t fooled by your tough exterior the way everyone else was. Because he knew the one thing you needed above all else..was a good fuck. To be slutted out beyond comprehension; to have so many orgasms, you won’t even have the energy to be a bitch. And who better than to give you the treatment than your beloved boss? Hell, he had done it before. Many times in fact and although it didn’t shut you up for good, the satisfaction of seeing you sprawled and fucked out with his cum inside of you was enough consolation!

Ooh…fuck. You know something, rookie? I think you should’ve took a career in acting instead. Pretending to hate me in front of everyone else but sucking me off in the shower..you’re a strange girl.”

interrupting his praise to lob more saliva into your mouth in the form of a long string. Only to resume his rapid assault of your throat. Taking it all the way to the base..allowing his balls to slap your chin and his abs to brush your forehead, holding it in place until he saw fit. Taking full advantage of your nonexistent gag reflex. He’d withdraw to be met with your messy face and rewarded you with a kiss amid your heavy gasping. Even after working your mouth over and feeding you a couple faint slaps, you still had plenty to say! “Who said I was pretending? I still can’t stand you.” Which was all fine in theory but again, he wasn’t paying your ass any mind. Rather, he wanted to make use of this free time that you were granted and fuck the shit out of you. Tugging you by your arms, Ace swiftly spun you around so that your thick backside was pressed to his pelvis. He didn’t hesitate to impale you on his cock and begin feeding you deep seeded strokes. Your back bent and frame curved into a S shape as he pulled you back by your wrists..the recoil of your plush flesh bouncing against his own and sounding off. That sopping little cunt seeping with cream and slick each time he pounded into you. Ensuring you couldn’t move unless he granted so.

“You sure about that? Could’ve had me fooled, sweetheart…this pussy’s so wet f’r me, I can barely stay in it..”

drumming up a sheath of sticky membrane and more of your beautiful moans. Even drudging up some of his own. Ace would toss his head back and try not to focus too much on the ripple of your plump ass swallowing him whole. He loved the sound, the contrast..he loved how good you felt for him! “Fuuck! Fuck me…oh my gosh..just keep giving me that dick and shut the hell up.”blurting out and whimpering for him without a single thought. His fingers intertwine and clutch around your throat; bringing you back when you tried to run. Seeing as your hair was covered by the silk bonnet atop to your head. “Shit…ain’t gotta tell me twice….so sexy when you talk to me like that.” Spinning you around to kiss once more. Mirroring that of lovers moreso than a couple of people who were just arguing. The collision of skin and loins making it difficult for either of you to conceal your true feeling. Clawing at the tile walls, (y/n) cried out yet again and begged for him to go deeper. Even holding it open once he freed your hands. “That’s right, spread that ass…let me get in it..” grunting into your shoulder blade before forcing you back down. He wasn’t showing you any mercy. Smacking and spanking your cheeks rigorously..leaving stinging marks. “That feel good? Am I in it?..” “..yes, daddy. In my fucking spot..oh my God!” Bringing forth a hearty laugh and lewd feelings from your vice chief. “Daddy, huh? I was an asshole not too long ago. Wonder what changed.” Either way, he loved hearing it come from your mouth!

“C’mere..grab me.” In a moment of haste, the dark haired, dreamy eyed man would twist the faucet off to cease the shower and instruct you to wrap your limbs around him. Which you did so, seeing as how your legs couldn’t stop trembling. He had already worn a sore spot into the pit of your tummy but he was far from finished. Not when he was still throbbing profusely; leaking from that swollen tip when he pulls out of you. However, that doesn’t last long as he’s got to be one with you yet again. The two of you would shuffle back towards the bunk cabins, where two beds resided on each side; one atop the other. For convenience, he’d take the bottom one but not before pounding you all the way there. Hoisting you up midair and slamming you back down on his cock with sheer strength. Your nails digging ferociously into the giant piece of ink on his back; those clear, manicured nails scraping at his tattoo and he was loving every second. “Right there! Fuck!…gonna come..” whimpering into his ear as your face cradled into the crook of his neck. He knew it was a lot, it always but you took it so well..better than any other girl he’d ever fucked. You wrapped around him as if you never wanted him to let go.

“Damn..you’re close, aren’t you, baby? I can feel it..” whispering into your ear as he placed a kiss to your temple as a means to quell your quivering body. That ecstasy was hitting your body like a freight truck and there was no greater sensation. Bringing you to the mattress, Ace maintained his grip on your legs before standing straight back up and letting another line of spit lubricate your folds already sopping folds. Just to really get you shaking, he’d tap that shaft against them before gliding back in. Something about staring into your eyes whilst deep inside of that heat, was so much more raw and intense. You couldn’t hide or pretend anymore. He saw every emotion all over your face. Especially when those strokes were so rhythmic and beautiful, each one connected to your spot. Stroking that sensitive clit, Ace sucked his teeth and kept pushing forth, prompting you to take over holding your calves so that he could give you the brutal fucking you so desperately craved!

“Yeah..take it. Take this fucking dick..you little slut!” Bearing his entire weight down and through gritted teeth, Ace pounded your pussy until the bed frame underneath you was rocking back and forth. Fucking you with his hands cusping your throat. He knew how much it turned you on; apparent by the rampant twitches against his shaft. You’d claw at his wrists as he kept going…taunting you and talking his shit the entire time. He knew he had you exactly where he wanted and wasn’t going to let up until his abs and the floor was left a soaking mess. That deep voice causing pangs in the bottom of your stomach when he yelled at you. Hastily shoving his tongue back into your mouth, the vice captain kept going..despite running on the last of his energy, he’d find himself balls deep in you; practically hurled into a mating press now. Still, he wasn’t stopping until you emptied that sack for him and took every last bit of his nut. And you weren’t too far behind..delirium and cock drunkenness was setting in pretty heavily and you wanted to come for him so badly. Despite not wanting to cave. Hell, he was ducking you down so good, you were ready live in his skin and cook him breakfast! Repeatedly slamming into that core and making you cream for him immensely. Not to mention how erect your nipples were..you were sensitive and by the tears streaming down your face, that let him know one fact:

“Ooh..somebody must be ovulating. No wonder you’ve been such a mess, rookie. You just needed someone to come take care of you, huh?”

cooing to you in a manner that made it impossible to resist his charm. Sticking a thumb between your lips to pacify you, he’d get inside of your head..playing on your insecurities and talking you through those feelings. He could always tell when you were in that mood and when that time of month was near. Either you’d be in the foulest of moods and no one could bother you or you’d pick a fight with him just so he could give you some dick. It was almost like clockwork but he’d give in every single time. How a man that you despised knew you better than any partner you’d ever had was beyond words. Holding your face close, he’d cradle you in his palms and let your gazes meet one last time. When he saw your eyes, they were welled full of tears and brimming with lust. His theory was absolutely correct!

“I know, I know. Just breathe..” talking you through that inevitable orgasm. He’d calm you with reassuring words, kisses to your forehead and regressed strokes. Slowing down so he could meet you right there and you guys could come together. “Same time, okay? You and me.” He’d bog down and hone in for the last minute or so, knowing his climax was growing near. That tip prodded and swollen beyond relief as it oozed precum. Leaking and begging to burst. His full, heavy balls smacking against your asshole with a layer of sticky liquid between them. Clutching the backs of his thighs, (y/n) held him in place, begging for him to fill you to the brim. “Fuck! Just come in me.” And with that command, for the first time in ever..he’d follow. Releasing his load and lobbing yet another sloppy peck. One that lasted far longer than the rest. That warm seed spilling into you as he attempted to muffle his own cries. This was pure heaven if he’d ever experienced it. Your hands scaling his back and your limbs fully coiled around him as if you never wanted to let go.

“God, I swear you’re nothing but trouble, rookie. What am I gonna do with you?”

heavily huffing whilst examining your face. It was the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen. Caressing the side of his face with a gentle hand, you’d bat those beautiful eyelashes before bopping his nose with the tip of your finger. “Well you can start by getting me a Plan B, Mr. Weak Ass Pull Out Game.” Immediately sending him into hysterics. “Shut up, like you weren’t begging for it..damn brat.” The two of you would joke around and cackle as if everything was just peachy between the two of you. Knowing you’d go right back to being sworn enemies. Just then, the sound of footsteps and doors unlocking sounded off from downstairs. Maybe one day you’d settle your differences for real. “Our little secret?” “Of course.”

but for now, it was much more fun to pretend!

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

@hobiesrockstargf

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luveline · 1 year

Text

𝐢𝐟 𝐢𝐭 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐬 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

part one | part two

You don’t mean to make an enemy of Eddie Munson — he’s handsome, and talented, but he’s the biggest jerk you’ve ever met. Eddie thinks you’re infuriatingly pretty, emphasis on the infuriating. Too bad you just can’t seem to leave each other alone.

fem!reader, enemies-to-lovers, rival rockstars, mutual pining, slight miscommunication, angst, hurt-comfort, eddie has mixed intentions, sexual tension, TW bullying (in case), TW recreational drug use, drinking, smoking, swearing. disclaimer: I can’t play an instrument

𓆩❤︎𓆪

The Coral Apartments, California, November 1990

Eddie Munson looks good on TV. You try to convince yourself that it's the blurry imagery, the three-toned LED's, but you know it's because he's plain good-looking. Rockstar suits him. Glam suits him; eyeliner, ripped shirts, ever-bruised knuckles and cut up fingertips that speak of a wrought dedication to the music he plays.

You look away from the TV and push the sheets down with your feet, naked legs flat to the mattress and covered in your own cuts and bruises. It's not entirely Morgan's fault, but every time you see the shiny scar on your ankle you get mad at her again. She'd been sloppy on stage, pulled her mic tight and sent you reeling over it like a tripwire. You'd cut up your legs, sprained your wrist, and split your chin. On national TV. In front of thousands of people.

Your ego is pretty bruised too.

Worse was the bouquet of flowers you'd been sent the day after, huge and bursting with colour from a certain dark-haired thorn in your side.

Saw you ate shit. Stop day-dreaming about me during sets and you'll be fine. EM

You'd trashed the card but hadn't had the heart to fob the flowers. The last survivors of the bunch wilt slowly on the nightstand beside you, a much too pretty reminder of somebody you're trying to forget. Or rather, erase. You won't admit to yourself what happened at Monsters of Rock, because admitting it means he's winning.

Morgan pushes your door open with her hip. If she's perturbed to find you in your underwear she doesn't say a word, making a beeline for your bag. She takes out your Newports and taps the carton against her chest.

"What's up?" she asks, sliding a cigarette from the box and propping it between her shiny lips. "You still feeling sorry for yourself?"

"Morgan."

She lights her cigarette, laughing through an exhale of smoke. "How many times do I have to say sorry?"

"Once would be nice."

"Babe." Morgan sits at the end of your bed, in a good mood for once but still herself. "I'm sorry you fell over my mic."

She likely doesn't even see what's wrong with her apology. You accept it for what it is and hold your arm out for the pack and lighter. Knees pulled up, you settle against the headboard and light a cigarette yourself, but snuff it out after a shallow inhale. Nothing feels worth indulging in when the knot of anxiety in your chest keeps on tightening.

"Where's Ananya?" you ask.

"You're watching this again?"

You glance at the TV where Corroded Coffin play through their Monsters of Rock set.

"M'just waiting for us," you lie mildly.

"Sure… You know, you shouldn't feel bad about your spill last week. Look at Munson. Biggest crowd of his life and he's tripping over an E major."

She snorts, the two of you watching as the Eddie on screen looks to the left of the stage and misses his mark.

"How do you flub that?" She rolls her eyes. "Boys."

How did he flub it? You'd been standing on the side stage cleaned up and smiling like you were half in love with him. The recording is proof — whatever power it is that he has over you, you have something similar over him.

"Anya's in the lobby waiting for us."

You sit up.

"Why?"

Morgan points at the alarm clock on your nightstand with the smouldering tip of her cigarette. "It's Friday."

"It's Thursday."

She smiles at you. If you didn't know her, the look of pity on her face might almost feel genuine. As it stands, she's a magnanimous bitch when she wants to be. She's lucky that it suits her.

"It's Friday, babe. And we're," —she tilts her head to one side, the bemusement in her eyes unmissable— "ten minutes late."

"Shit. Shit." You stand up on wobbly legs. "Fuck."

"Don't worry! I got you something."

With Morgan, you aren't sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing. But you don't really have a choice.

—

Eddie won't admit to anybody why he finds himself in California. The band isn't touring, award season is mostly over. He should go home and see Wayne because fuck he's a bad nephew, a bad son, and Wayne deserves a whole lot better than one phone call a week when Eddie's too hungover to actually listen to what his uncle is saying. He should head back to Hawkins and make sure Wayne's actually cashing in the cheque's Eddie's been sending.

He shouldn't be hanging around parties hosted by people he only knows from TV looking for you, that's for sure.

The good thing about being semi famous is that introductions don't matter. Either somebody already knows you or they don't, and everybody assumes you already know them. Eddie can't count how many times somebody's pulled him in for a one-armed hug and said "Good to see you again," when they've never met before.

It could be the coke. It's probably the ego.

Eddie isn't extremely introspective or anything, but he hopes to fuck that he isn't an asshole. He knows he is in superficial ways. He's said some hurtful shit to people — to you — he wishes every now and then that he could take back. In the moment it had felt right to tease you, to belittle you as he thought you'd belittled him. He'd wanted to put his hand out and ask how high you can jump. But then he remembers how your bandmates had spoken to you, or your glitzy smile. He remembers the twisting pain in his chest when you'd fallen over on stage a week ago (though if anybody asks, he heard about it from somebody else). You'd smashed into the floor with a cruel force, arms twisted trying to protect your guitar, not a second spared to save yourself. You'd got back on your feet with blood dripping down your chin and played the rest of the song without complaint. Not one person had stepped in to clean you up.

It drives Eddie insane. He can't help it. He hates you and he wants to linger on the sidelines and watch you play. He can't stand the despondent look in your eyes when you look at him, when you look at the floor. He needs you to know that you're better than they tell you, but he can't make himself say the words.

So he'd sent you flowers and made a lame joke, hoping for hot and coming off desperate no doubt. He'd regretted it as soon as he'd hung up the phone, but he hadn't cancelled the order. Something colourful, he'd said. What flowers cheer people up?

The florist had laughed at his awkward tone and said that all flowers do the trick.

God, he hopes so.

Which isn't to say Eddie likes you. He can't stand you, actually, come to think of it, standing in the sticky pit of some actress' kitchen as he pioneers the radio and flicks through to Roller FM. Resentment burns like fire as the dial clicks beneath his fingers, turning the volume up enough to hear the radio host introduce your band.

"And tonight, a month before their new studio album hits the charts, Godless are letting us be the first to hear the second single. The outpour of hype after their first, Down and Out, was no small feat, and we have the lovely ladies here tonight to walk us through that fresh sound. But first, let's spin that new single. Ladies and gents, this is Silver Ringed…"

Godless are about as cohesive as Corroded Coffin. They have a unique sound as most chart toppers tend to have, and as much as he thinks your front woman is a total hack, she can sing. Her voice moves from sultry and quiet to aggressive and rasping. She isn't afraid to scream when she needs to, and you and Ananya obviously won't let yourselves be outdone. Your music is visceral. It's good. Not Corroded Coffin good, you don't have the clean cut sound they do, but Eddie knows that isn't the point. It's supposed to be a little dirty, and since they let you on the writing floor it's getting worse. Better. Whatever.

Eddie rubs his face with both hands.

When the song ends, the radio host asks some questions about the new album, inspirations, touring, promotional album covers, the works, and Eddie hates himself for waiting to hear your voice. He grows irritated at the sound of Morgan's raspy nonchalance.

"I mean, you guys are really stepping into a new genre here." It's true. Godless and bands like yours are more energetic, more aggressive than what Eddie plays. It's a divisive subject. Eddie likes it, but he knows a ton of metalheads who think it's immature. It's certainly not traditional. "Your first album was a whole lot different. And it was good, Godless broke into the scene! But this is new. You guys are more original and more popular than ever. Why the change?" The host laughs. "Well, she's sitting right here."

Eddie thinks he can hear you inhale, but it's Morgan who speaks.

"I wanted more for us, you know? Our first record, we just wanted to prove we could do it. This time we want to prove no one else can."

Jamison scoffs. Eddie looks up from the radio and finds his bandmate with a beer in hand. He tries to steal it and gets an elbow to the chest for the effort.

"Dick," he says.

"Get your own." Jamison tilts his head toward the radio in a show of tuning in. "Can't tear yourself away, huh? How's your girlfriend?"

"Christ," Eddie hisses.

"You need him. Aw, she sounds so sweet."

Eddie startles back to the radio, and sure enough you've finally been allowed to talk. Your voice is soft with nerves.

"It's a lot to adjust to, I think I'm slow to- uh, get with the program. But I'm so happy to get to make music and to be a part of something this sick. Uh, this amazing, I mean."

Poor girl, he thinks. By the end of your answer you sound like you want the ground to swallow you up. Thankfully the host is a professional, and laughs warmly.

"It's a big lifestyle change! We talked a little about influence, is there a track I can play you guys out with? What's your favourite?" he asks.

"Me?" you ask.

"Yeah, you."

"Oh, uh…" You laugh, sounding frazzled and sweet at once. "It has to be Black Sabbath, right? Do you guys have, um, The Mob Rules? Mob Rules is my favourite."

Eddie needs to get very drunk, he decides, and he does. He drinks until he can't taste the difference between the shitty craft beer and seven hundred dollar cognac. Until he forgets why he was drinking in the first place, to erase the sound of your voice and your Sabbath recommendation — who the fuck picks Mob Rules over Heaven and Hell? He's tipsy and he won't remember, but he wants to fuck you stupid just for that (affectionately).

He loves Mob Rules.

They move from one party to another, sloshed in the back of a car he still can't afford with his rockstar paycheck, more than drunk in the bathroom of a Studio City mansion kissing powder off of his fingers. Whatever he's been given doesn't last very long (though it hits hard), and he comes back to reality on a huge fancy couch surrounded by people, some he knows and most he doesn't.

"I need a drink," he says.

And he gets the shock of his life.

"I don't think that's a very good idea," you say gently.

Eddie swings his head to yours, finding you in a nice dress, the gem of a necklace fallen down the valley of your chest. The lights are high and blaring and he can see the fine hairs of your face, the shine of your lipgloss like a siren call.

"Why are you here?" he asks.

You shrug. He watches your shoulders.

"I need a drink," he says again.

"Like, a beer? I don't judge but I think you’ll get alcohol poisoning if you drink anything else."

"Like a beer."

You look like you might stand up and get him one, for a second. He's ultimately glad that you don't. You twist around, elbow over the back of the couch, and your face beams like a star as you call, "Hey, Dornie? Could you toss me a beer, please?"

Eddie worries he'd wanted to see you so badly you've appeared as a hallucination, and he hates himself and it's all old news anyways, but you turn back with a cold as ice beer in hand and press it into his arm until he whines.

"I'm sobering you up," you tease, again so gently. He does not like how you're looking at him, like you feel sorry for him.

He takes the beer though the second sip makes him feel sick to his stomach, and tries not to look at you.

"What, you don't want to be my friend anymore?" you ask.

What has he said?

"Sweetheart," he says, focusing very hard on sounding solid, "a friend is the last thing I want from you."

"Could've fooled me… Hey, you wanna know a secret?"

"What?"

You lean in close, smelling of perfume, your face undeniably touchable. "I heard from somebody who heard from somebody else that they're kicking Tony Martin to the curb."

He blinks. "Sabbath?"

"Uh-huh."

"Why the fuck would they do that?"

"Think on it, baby."

If he couldn't smell the flowery punch of your perfume, or see the individual lashes that shield your waterline, he'd definitely think you were a dream. You're here, and you're talking to him like you like him, looking at him like you did, you cruel, awful thing, that day at Monsters of Rock when he'd pressed you up against a wall and kissed you until his lips burned. You'd kissed back. You'd responded, your lips pressing against his with more enthusiasm than made any sense.

Now you're calling him baby and telling him secrets, your knees tucked together and the outside of your thigh warming a stripe under his jeans. It feels surreal. Your body heat is sinking into his skin.

Somebody across the coffee table entices you into conversation. Eddie listens to you talk. Maybe high Eddie is a nicer guy than sober Eddie (unlikely), because you don't seem repulsed by his company. Considering how you left things, your little corner shop spat and his bruising kiss, he hadn't been expecting a warm welcome.

"Did you–" he starts, insecure and hiding it as best as he can, fingers itching for a cigarette, for something to do, "did you like the flowers?"

"You already asked me that." You peek down at his beer. "Could I have that?"

He hands it over numbly.

"It's not a good idea, you know? Drugs and drink, mixing them together. It messes with your heart," you tell him.

"Don't act all innocent," he says.

"No, I know, I'm not trying to lecture you 'cause I do shit I shouldn't do, but– you looked one bump from a heart attack. Seriously."

"Why do you care?"

You laugh. Your nose wrinkles. "I don't know."

It's not the answer he wanted, but it's the one he deserves.

He's spent weeks talking to himself, imagining conversations between you both. He's memorised defences, shamefully readied a few insults in case you'd prepared your own, but nothing comes to mind now. He's speechless.

You drink his beer and he thinks about how his lips had been at the mouth of it not ten minutes ago. It shouldn't matter. You've already kissed him. It shouldn't.

"I don't think I took what I meant to," he admits.

"Me neither. Morgan said they've been cutting with procaine around the hills. Did you get super numb?"

He can't remember. He doesn't want to talk about any of this with you. "I heard you on the radio."

"You did?"

"You were scared."

"No." You tear the tab off of the beer and put it in his hand. "I like high Eddie, he’s honest."

"I'm not, really…"

"Should see your pupils."

Maybe he is, then. That could explain why he keeps saying what he's thinking without pausing to check if it sounds cool. He has his defences up to the ceiling usually, wouldn't ever let you or anybody else in, not here.

He's staring at you.

You brush the side of his arm with your fingernails.

"Why are you being so nice to me?" he asks.

Your small smile flattens into a line. "I don't know, Eddie. Who are you gonna tell? Who'd believe you? As far as the tabloids and- and our friends are aware, we hate each other."

"It didn't feel like you hated me."

"I didn't."

"But you do now?"

You stand up. Eddie gets caught in your smile, charming with something worse lurking beneath. You brush the hair out of his face and station your hands at the base of his neck, dropping your head toward his ear.

"Not telling," you whisper.

He thinks for a moment you're gonna kiss him, his ear or his neck, but you scratch his scalp lightly and leave as he's getting to grips with the feeling of your breath against his skin.

—

Dolly Floor, California, December 1990

Dolly Floor is a club in West Hollywood frequented by movie stars. You're pretty sure you only get in because of Morgan's snow trail incident months ago, and you almost wish they'd sent you packing when you see how densely hedged it is inside. The temperature hikes up with every step you take inside, and soon Morgan's dropping your wrist in favour of one of her friends across the way, leaving you totally alone.

You're dressed in too much clothing for the occasion, a dress with sleeves and a leather jacket that isn't yours, big boots to protect your feet from crushing crowds. Morgan had thrown a pair of kitten heels at you in frustration. For once you'd told her no. She's been oddly friendly lately, letting you do as you please with nothing more than an irritated huff, and so you've got tights and socks alike stuffed into your shoes — you're sick of aches and pains.

If anybody steps on your toes tonight, you're going home.

The air is thick with humidity, exhaled breath, the scent of alcohol explaining the stickiness under your footsteps. You don't know many people, but you know Dornie and, irritatingly, half of Corroded Coffin, so you beeline for the band where they're holed up at the back and hope one of them will give you a drink.

There's gotta be thirty different people hanging out. How they can hear each other talk is a mystery. Dornie puts his arm out when he sees you and you slide into his side, reaching up on tiptoes to kiss his pale cheek.

"Careful," he says, "you'll make someone jealous."

You're affectionate with Dornie 'cause he's nice. Just plain nice, which is hard to find in Hollywood. He's the very first friend you've made that's yet to break your heart, and better, he hasn't tried to sleep with you.

Not that you think you're some unresistable notch.

"Who'd be jealous of me?" you ask.

"Of me." He rubs your shoulder through leather. "It's good to see you, doll. Your chin's healing up nice, yeah? Or is it make-up?"

He taps your chin.

It unlocks a reluctant memory, the shadow of a different hand, heavy with intoxication but painstakingly gentle.

"It's a bit of make-up," you admit, lifting your chin so he can see it.

"Still, it's getting better. How are your knees?"

Hiding behind your tights. "They're gnarly. Doesn't hurt to walk much now though."

Dornie grins. He has a pretty smile with white wonky teeth and three lip rings on one side. His hair is shorn short, unlike most of the guys here rocking hair to the ears or even longer. His eyes are a light brown, emphasising the bruising bags under his eyes. He looks tired.

"Don't look, but I'm getting some serious glarage from your favourite guitarist."

"You're my favourite guitarist," you say, and you mean it. His arm is a comforting weight. It feels so good to have a friend.

"Your second favourite."

You step completely into Dornie's view and look up at him. "How's he look now?"

"Chilling. Want me to guide you over to the bar like we're lovers?"

"Don't say it like that."

Dornie pulls you across the floor back to the bar, where blessed cool air seeps down from the air-conditioning and the drinks leave pools of condensation the second they're put down. Dornie buys you a mystery cocktail that tastes more like water than juice. You sip at it happily, using your more neutral vantage point to get a good look at Eddie.

He's sprawled against a booth wall with one arm behind his head, a cigarette sending smoke up to the wall. He looks better than the last time you'd seen him. There's colour in his cheeks, though that might be the lighting. Dolly Floor is a strange venue, like a strip club without the workers, or a restaurant without food. It doesn't feel like a club, but there's a small stage around the corner from the bar where good music plays live, and it doesn't take much convincing for Dornie to come and watch the show with you for a bit. Some of his friends join you, a woman called Natalie, a man named Matfield, and they're both as nice as he is.

"We heard the new record!" Matfield says across the high table, the golden watch on his wrist a beacon under the reflections of the harsh stage lights.

"Hated it?" you ask.

He chuckles. "All the screaming isn't for me, baby, but that shit doesn't matter. It was good. How's it doing?"

"I honestly haven't looked," you say, opening your box of Newports and offering them out like candy. Everybody takes one.

"Better not to know tonight," Natalie says agreeably, her perfect black hair curled toward her face like a seraphim shifting as she leans in for a light. "All you have to do is celebrate."

You'd wanted, foolishly, to celebrate with the girls. Ananya had dipped as soon as she could and you get it, she has her own friends, but Morgan knocking the door of your room had been a great relief. If at least one of them wants to spend time with you, that's enough. Only, Morgan had made it clear as she was sifting through your clothes that she was going to try and find, "like, someone who's actually interesting." You'd taken it about half as personally as you would've a few months ago.

Hence Dornie. You'd called him on the landlines and he'd said, "Yeah, babe, I'll meet you there."

Thank whatever's watching for Dornie.

He buys you another drink and then another, says your money's no good and tonight's about you. His friends are great, including you in all their jokes and smiles, and when the lights go down and the music gets louder you head out onto the glowing tiles and dance with them.

Eddie finds you not long after. Slinking up from your peripherals, hand in his pocket.

"What Eddie am I seeing tonight? The nice one?"

Eddie doesn't flinch at your sudden question. "You look good."

He'd approached from the left. You'd felt it rather than heard him, and you'd guessed right. He steps further into view, not smiling, not not smiling. He looks good too.

"I heard the album."

You hate how much you care. "Yeah?"

"It was good. It wasn't metal, but it was good."

You're laughing before he's even finished, turning away from him in a feigned sense of superiority. I don't care what you think.

Eddie doesn't grab you. You wouldn't care if he did. He follows by your elbow and says, "Come on, you know it isn't."

"Just 'cause it doesn't sound rooted in the 70s," you say with a smile.

"That's the whole point. It's baseless, there's nothing traditional in it. It isn't metal, but it's rock, and it's good, and–"

"Slow down, Munson. A girl'd think you liked her."

"I'm objective."

"You're not."

"I'm not, but my opinions are right. Everybody says that, but when I do it's true, so…"

You look at him properly. He looks present in a way he hasn’t before in front of you. There’s a total clarity behind his eyes that you yourself don’t have tonight. He looks sober. Not that you thought he was an addict, not that you didn’t. There’s a certain blasé attitude to substance abuse when you get a kick of fame. Everybody has something in their pocket and you’ll admit to buying into it, taking stuff you shouldn’t in unfamiliar places. You know, of course, that drugs are fucking dangerous. But you hadn’t been freaked out by them until the other night, when you bumped into Eddie outside of the bathroom in Dornie’s friend’s house and he hadn’t recognised you for a solid ten seconds.

He’s chewing on nothing.

“I didn’t do it to hold over you,” you say.

“What?”

“Look after you. It wasn’t… I mean, I wasn’t making fun of you. And I’m not gonna tell anybody.”

“Generous.” His eyes narrow subtly.

“So if that’s what you’re doing.” You look down to his neck where a silver chain rests, thin, new and hidden under his shirt. “Checking to make sure, I’m not.”

“You think I’m here to make sure you don’t tattle?”

You’re too tipsy to feel embarrassed. “You’re here to buy me a drink, then. I want a cherry margarita with extra shiny cherries and all the salt on the rim, please. Please,” you add, because the second one hadn’t felt polite enough.

Eddie nods and half turns. “Shiny cherry?” he asks. You almost miss it, his soft tone nearly lost in the noise.

“Maraschino… they’re pink.”

“You’re not gonna come with me?”

“Get lost often?”

Eddie holds his hand out. You’re supposed to think of how his hand looks, his callouses, his rings, the cut across his thumb, the size and length of his fingers. You think about them enough when he isn’t around, but now, right now, your heart thuds against your chest. Your thoughts are a mess until they aren’t — hold his hand. You put your fingers against his palm and he squeezes them together like he’s collected them, tugging you out of the crowd and across the room to the slick black bar.

You’re still angry with him. You’re wounded, knife to the gut and all the red blood because he’d been right, you’re a dog, you do what people tell you to, you’re doing it right now, but then he squeezes your hand with a light enough pressure that you’re sure you’ve imagined it until he does it again, leaning up against the bar as he gives your order. “Extra cherries,” he says to the barkeep with a smile, letting your hand go in favour of his own drink.

The crowd surges with a new song and people brush your calves as they walk around you. You and Eddie stay at the bar. He sips on a bottle of water. You wait for your margarita.

“Your cut’s healing up,” he says.

You try not to notice your touching arms. “It was bad, right? It must’ve been. You felt so sorry for me,” —the words burn— “you sent me the biggest bouquet I’ve ever gotten in my life.”

“I didn’t feel sorry for you, sweetheart, can you read?”

“Between the lines, yes,” you say, nodding your head once, emphatic as you accept your margarita. “Thank you.”

“I didn’t feel sorry for you. Felt bad for you-“ He holds up a pale palm. “My fault an’ all, I’ll try to be less daydream worthy.”

“I wasn’t thinking about you. Did you see it? She tripped me up with her mic doing a shitty Stevie Nicks impression.”

“Wrong genre.”

You laugh at him. “Exactly! That’s the point.”

“Yeah, I saw it.”

You raise your eyebrows. Eddie’s head tips forward and his hair hides his cheeks, the subtlest impression of his cheekbones lost to a curtain of curls. He twists one of his rings around his finger.

“She- You should be more careful,” he says.

Everything’s raw with him, criticism most of all, but you’re feeling generous. You fish one of your shiny cherries from the margarita glass, surprised to find its stalk intact, and break the delicate skin between your teeth. You mull over what he’s saying as the sweet flavour aches in your jaw. You could’ve been more cautious. You’d been having fun, and you’d thought you could trust the people you work with to have your back. It was a little silly to assume; neither Morgan nor Ananya have ever shown you much second thought.

“Yeah, I think I should be,” you say finally, putting the cherry stalk in your mouth.

“What are you doing?”

You ignore him and try to tie a cherry stem knot. You keep trying until you think you’ve got it. You pull the stem from your tongue.

“Shit,” you curse, glaring at the curved stem. “Thought I had it.”

Eddie grins and leans into your space, fingers quick to pinch a cherry from your margarita.

He brings it to your mouth. You keep your lips pressed closed and search his face for a trick. Nothing peaks out, not a hint of cruelty to his pinked lips or flush of soft lashes. You try not to breathe as you open your mouth, and Eddie pushes the round of the cherry over your bottom lip slowly.

You bite down.

Eddie takes your stalk and places it on his own tongue. He closes his mouth, and within five seconds he’s taking out a knitted stem with a prideful buzz about him. Any smugness he’d held dissipates. He looks adorable.

“Beat you,” he says.

“Arrogant doesn’t suit you.”

“Arrogant absolutely suits me,” he argues, the corners of his lips twitching up, up, up. He’s smiling so much. He reminds you of somebody. “Sore loser doesn’t suit you.”

“You’re one to talk.”

“What’s that mean?”

“What’s that mean?” you repeat. “I smile at you across a stage set and you push me up against a wall.”

“Smile? That’s what you’d call that?”

You’re facing each other now. Eddie inches closer as he speaks, each word said with a precision that can’t be unpracticed. “I’m playing in front of near enough a hundred thousand people, kind of crowd I fucking dreamed of as a kid, in front of actual real life rockstars, and you stroll up to side stage dressed like–”

He cuts himself off. An olive branch. A stopper. A dam. His inhale infuriates you.

“No, go on. Dressed like what, superstar?”

“Like a fucking groupie.”

You know he’s only said it to try and get a rise out of you. He knows that you know. He looks like he wants to take it back.

You want him to push it further.

“And you liked it,” you say, angry. Quiet. “You liked it and you couldn’t get a handle on it.”

“No,” he says, knowing what you’re implying, voice hot and fast, “I kissed you because I knew you wanted me to. I knew what it would do to you.”

“I wanted you to?” you ask.

“Didn’t you?”

“I wanted to mess with your head ‘cause you fucking harsssed me–”

He cuts you off, “You wanted to mess with me because you hated that I was right about you. Not everything, but enough. Those girls treat you like shit. And you let them, or you’ll be the next Millyana, sitting at home watching the rest of us on TV wondering why you couldn’t make it out.” Something in his expression flickers like a rubber band has struck his skin.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

For the first time, you mean it. You worked hard to get here, had people treat you a whole heap worse than Eddie’s hot and cold, than Ananya's indifference and Morgan’s narcissism. Hours in buses with your neck craned against a short ceiling scribbling music and days toeing the line with a guitar falling apart in your hands. You scrimped and saved and starved for this.

Eddie smiles at you. For the second time that night, he looks like somebody else.

“I know,” he says. “I think we’re finally on the same page.”

—

Eddie buys you another drink. Your tipsiness had felt so far away when things got heated, but now your bubbly smile is back, and you’re actually talking to him. About music, sure, but the movies, the weather, the fancy apartments the record company put you up in.

“Finally got my own room so Ananya can stop complaining about the noise,” you say with a wink.

He chokes on his water. “The noise?”

“I’m a very dedicated player.”

You let a small silence pervade before bursting into giggles, hand patting his upper arm. “I’m kidding! She gets mad ‘cos I’m trying to learn YYZ but it is so, so hard.”

“Shit is hard,” he says. “Do you even have time for that? You start touring again in a month, maybe you should, you know, slack off?”

“No, because if I’m doing nothing I’m nothing.”

Eddie — fuck fuck fuck — shouldn’t pry.

“You’re not nothing.”

You wrinkle your nose at him and he loves when you do it. It’s not cute, really, but everything you do is cute in a way he refuses to unpack. “No, I’m not, I don’t know why I said that.”

“I get it, though. You feel like… maybe it's all gonna stop one day. Wake up with a bad case of the yips and no matter how good you were…”

“Yeah.” You take a very noisy slurp of margarita. “I’m so afraid that I’m gonna be nothing that I can’t stop.”

Eddie throws his gaze around the room. It’s no coincidence that your friend Dornie keeps looking his way; the night is winding down and there’s barely anybody dancing. It’s home time.

“You won’t be nothing,” he says, easing the margarita out of your hands. He might’ve bought you one too many. “I’m sorry for, uh, getting you drunk.”

“I got myself at least three parts there. Out of five.”

“At least three parts,” he agrees.

He wants, very badly, to touch your face. Hold your cheek in his palm. “Hey,” he says lightly. “Uh, you got something. On your cheek.”

You brush your dewy skin with an embarrassed look about you, shoulder risen and eyes all droopy with booze. “Here?”

“Higher.”

He watches you scrub at nothing. He’s tricking you. He feels awful.

“Still haven’t got it?”

“‘Fraid not, baby.”

“You get it.” You brandish your cheek.

Eddie keeps a good distance. He knows what he’s doing is weird, he just wants to touch you for a second. He rubs the pad of his thumb down your face, tracing the path of a tear you haven’t shed. Eye to chin.

“You’re good,” he says, dropping his hand.

“Thank you.”

You’re slurring. He thinks you’re more tired than you are tipsy (though you are, undeniably, inebriated), and he wonders where all the time went, how it’s suddenly been an hour with you and your conversation. There’d been a moment where he thought he’d fucked it and your eyes had shone with hurt, but you’re smiling, he’s smiling, and Dornie looks aggrieved. All good things.

“I think you better get going,” he murmurs.

“Sick of me?” you ask, not teasing.

“No. Your friend’s waiting for you.”

You look over your shoulder and your smile glows. You start babbling about how that’s your friend Dornie (he knows, you’ve only told him five times) and how Dornie is sooooo nice. You deserve somebody being nice to you right from the start. Eddie’s trying to make it right but he’s said some shit he can’t take back. He wants you to have someone who’s a hundred percent sweet on you, he just doesn’t wanna have to hear the adoration in your voice when you talk about it.

Eddie’s a dick. Self-admitted.

You go home with an arm looped around Dornie’s waist. (Dornie said high-pitched, wide-eyed.) Eddie pulls a handful of bills from his wallet to pay for the drinks he’d bought, stuffing the change in a tip jar on the way back to the dregs of the coffin crew. Jamison’s long gone and Jeff didn’t wanna come, but Gareth’s smoking a cigarette with another guy’s hand mysteriously lapward.

He clears his throat. “I’m going home and taking the car.”

“Wait for me?”

Eddie cringes. “Sure.”

Eddie sits in the car. One hand on the wheel, the other in his pocket. He thinks about tonight, your hair, your smile, the way your arm had brushed up against his. He wonders if this is the right move. Eddie’s not mad at you anymore for forgetting who he was, for your teasing at the Prover Theatre or your rookie comments. And Monsters of Rock, that had been half spite and half bravado. Spur of the moment bravery. Idiocy. Yeah he’d kissed you to piss you off, but he’d also done it because he wanted to.

He sighs and takes your discarded pull tab out of his pocket. He thumbs the rounded edge, thinking harder than one guy should ever think about anything that isn’t metal. Shit, he thinks. I gotta go home.

𓆩❤︎𓆪

note: they are not done hating each other I am just warming up! thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed <3

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson #stranger things fic #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #rockstar!eddie #rockstar!eddie munson #rockstar!eddie munson x reader #rockstar!eddie x reader #eddie munson fic #eddie munson angst

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loveliest-venus · 8 months

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bittersweet - straw hats crew x reader

includes: Straw Hats crew x f!reader warnings: major character death summary: In your last moments, your crewmates reflect on their time with you before saying goodbye. content: angst, slight fluff, can be read as romantic or platonic, no spoilers, 1.5k words.

Dying was never part of the plan.

Then again, none of this was ever part of the plan, from getting experimented on to meeting a rowdy pirate crew that called themselves the Straw Hats to end up joining them, thus starting what would be the biggest adventure of your whole life. Of course, you regretted it from time to time, it was a wonder how this wasn’t one of those times.

Well, maybe a little bit. You didn’t like seeing tears further dirtying Luffy’s face. It didn’t suit him, you weren’t used to seeing him with anything but a huge smile on his face, the smile that gave you hope despite everything. Your ears were still ringing but you thought you could vaguely hear Nami’s cries, or were they Chopper’s? It was hard to say, the poison had spread fast and you were certain that the blurriness in your vision wasn’t because of tears, as your eyes were dry and bloodshot, most likely from the toxins pumping through your veins, making each breath just a little more painful and… Was it just you or was Zoro screaming? You honestly couldn’t tell anymore. Your eyes closed as your body fell forward, stopping as Luffy’s arms wrapped around your torso to hold you up, making your chin rest on his shoulder.

“Hang on!” Your captain called your name hoarsely, snapping his head to the side, desperate yells piercing through the air as Chopper clumsily dashed over to where you were, slumped over Luffy’s shaking form. “Chopper!”

“D-Don’t worry, I will save her!” Chopper’s fur was wet, snot and salty water mixing as he cried, his voice cracking at the vowels of your name while his arms reached out to help stabilize you. It hurt your heart to see them so distraught and you hated that there was nothing you could do to comfort them.

“Chopper… Stop.” Both of them froze, Luffy’s body growing stiff against your clammy skin. “It’s okay… I’m not scared,” the words tasted bitter in your mouth, in contrast to the serene look on your worn-out features. Blood was trickling down your forehead, hanging on your eyelashes and joining the tiny trail spilling from the corners of your lips. “I’m happy to die… for my crew.” You meant it, your heart had never felt lighter.

“Oi! What the fuck are you going on about?! You can’t just–!” Zoro’s voice was unmistakable, rough like the numerous knives on your body. From the looks of it, your peaceful declaration hadn’t settled well with him. You wished you could meet his gaze one last time, blissfully unaware of the milky sheen on yours. It was then that Chopper realized, with a heartbroken sob, that it was truly too late. “Chopper, do something! Hurry up!”

“Moss-head…” Zoro’s earrings jingled when he turned to look at Sanji, ready to cuss him out until he saw the look on his face, somber and pleading. It dawned on him that the cook had already begrudgingly accepted that this was it. But the swordsman wasn’t known for admitting defeat that easily, if ever.

“Save it, you damn– ,” he was cut off when a pale, delicate hand landed on his broad shoulder, Robin’s lips set in a thin line, the only thing betraying her true feelings was the tight grip she had on him.

“Zoro.” Her eyes were fixated on your battered form, her brow furrowing at your labored breathing. “This isn’t the time. She’s too far gone.” It was Franky’s turn to lose composure, aggressively kicking away the remnants of what had once been a beautiful tree. Taking away the destroyed flora, the unconscious enemies around you and your own blood splattering the ground, this could’ve been called a scenic place to die.

“B-B-But Chopper can fix her up! He always can! R-Right, Chopper?! Tell Robin that she’s wrong!” Usopp’s arms were tightly wound around Nami, both of their eyes growing misty, holding each other up in a fruitless attempt to hold it together. At the archeologist’s soft murmur of your name, their hopes were shattered, Nami’s knees buckling under the weight of her grief, almost taking Usopp with her, forcing him to stand up straighter than before, for once staring at death right in the eye. If only it wasn’t your bloodied face staring back…

Brook remained silent, for once devoid of all joy. It was happening again, someone he held dear was being taken away from him all too soon, your life cut short at the capricious hands of fate. Jinbei had a similar expression on his face, choosing to honor your wishes as you clearly didn’t want to leave them without a proper goodbye.

“Why…?” Luffy, who hadn’t stopped crying, tried shaking you as if that would rip you out of your dazed state, your hair tickling his cheek as you didn’t have enough strength to lift your head up to look at him properly. “Why did you do it?!” He kept yelling your name, now crushing you against his scarred chest, refusing to let you go. “You can’t leave us!” A choked sob rocked his body, a shiver running down your spine at the sheer pain lacing his youthful voice.

Chopper was clinging to your leg, burying his face in your calf to hide his swollen eyes. “I’m sorry, I-I’m so sorry! Please…” The mink was talking to himself at this point, stuck between begging whatever deity was listening and apologizing to you for not getting to you in time, for not being smart enough to find a cure. Zoro’s grip on the hilt of his sword tightened, loathing the helplessness wrapping around their group viciously, refusing to look away from you, still being held up by the devil fruit user’s embrace. His heart was fighting tooth and nail to keep itself from breaking, minuscule cracks growing the heavier your eyes got. Unbeknownst to him, there was already a scar in the shape of you.

Sanji gritted his teeth, taking a few steps in your direction, blinking away the moisture building up in his lash line, he didn’t want to miss any detail in your face, knowing it was the last time he’d ever get to admire it. In his eyes, you were as beautiful as ever, not even death could take your beauty away from you. Nothing would convince him otherwise.

Their allies could only watch, growing restless as the silence continued, were you gone already? None of them were close enough to see your face clearly, your crewmates had formed a circle around you, protecting you from unwanted eyes. Each of them had different opinions on your rambunctious group, however, none of them could deny that you were fiercely loyal to each other and seeing such a tight-knit crew lose a member was disheartening, a few of them inching closer to their own. It was an unspoken agreement, to pay their respects to the person who had given it her all to win this battle, saving them from a similar fate.

“Because… you called me your friend.”

Your soft voice cut through their thoughts seamlessly, a few gasps escaping from Nami, Usopp and Chopper. Zoro’s eye widened, almost losing his grip when the meaning behind that phrase registered in his brain; whereas Sanji chose to let his feelings take over, slowly sinking to his knees. Brook hung his head, and if he had eyes, he would’ve closed them, not wanting to witness the inevitable. Franky, on the other hand, kept his steely gaze on you, his fists growing tighter with each droplet of your blood that had touched the ground, none of this made any sense to the cyborg whose robotic body shook with the strength of his pained weeping. Your sweet words were like a knife to Jinbei’s kind heart, all of his memories with you as part of the crew playing like a cinematic sequence in his mind, you were one of the first to approach him when he had finally accepted Luffy’s invite. Robin could only smile, finally allowing her tears to drip down her face, wishing she could hold you for one last time. Life without you was unfathomable to them at this point, could this truly be reality? Wasn’t there any way to rewind time to save you?

None of them could see Luffy’s face, his reaction to you admitting that you were willingly exchanging your life for theirs in the name of your friendship. But it wasn’t hard to guess, seeing as he’d pressed his face into your neck, inhaling your scent to soothe his racing heart, torn to pieces by you and his inability to help you. He knew from the moment that he saw you that you would become an important part of his crew, however, he never imagined that it would end like this. He wasn’t ready to continue his journey without you. How could he become the King of the Pirates if you weren’t by his side?

“You truly are the best crew I could’ve asked for. I’m thankful for you… From the bottom of my heart, thank you.” Your eyes were fully closed, the corners of your lips curling up ever so slightly in a loving smile. It was a breathtaking image that would be branded into their hearts forever, sealed with your very last words to them.

“I love you.”

#one piece x reader #one piece angst #op x reader #one piece imagine #op imagines #venus.works #venus.sfw #venus.angst

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saekkas · 8 months

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gojo satoru's day always starts with a cup of coffee and ends with those stupidly chewy strawberry mochi he can't get enough of. in the unpredictable life of a jujutsu sorcerer, he rarely gets to choose how he spends his days. it's a blessing enough that he gets to stick to his routine, no matter how boring it may seem to people.

lately, he's lost track of time. the mornings and nights blur into one, his thoughts hazy as if someone's filled his brain with cotton and insists on shaking his head non-stop.

as of today, he chooses to blame you for that fact.

"have i ever told you how pretty you look in your uniform?"

from the day he met you, satoru realizes that you've made him irrevocably yours. you make him disregard all rationality, melting any and every thought he has into a puddle of goo under his feet.

and every single time, you do it with such a sweet smile on your lips. like the way you're doing now.

"yes, you have." it's airy, the way you chuckle, the sound sweet and low in satoru's ear as if you're keeping what he said a secret from others. "you've told me plenty of time already."

"yeah?" he breaths out, almost breathless in the way he sighs out the word. "how about today? have i told you today?"

satoru's eyes have always been the gate to his soul— so bright and full of life, the whole ocean and seven seas put into orbs for him alone to possess.

"you have." you watch, enraptured, as they glow a startlingly clear blue. you hold the center of his attention, the full weight of his six eyes peering down at you. "you've told me multiple times actually, gojo."

and yet, what you've come to realize with startling clarity, is how his eyes soften at the edges when he's staring at you. as if he's looking at the one who's planted all the stars in the night sky just for him.

"it's satoru," he tsks after breaking out of his own stupor. satoru's cheeks redden, both enraptured and embarrassed at himself for staring so blatantly. "satoru. how many time have i told you to call me that?"

"multiple times too," you giggle, shaking your head at his adamance of using his first name. "i still don't think we're close enough to be on a first name basis. don't you?"

satoru gasps, placing a hand on his chest dramatically. he looks at you in mock hurt, his expression twisted into a pout that highlights his pretty features.

"and here i was, thinking that we were the best of friends." the way he says it makes it seem as if you've betrayed him— as if you've given the last piece of mochi in the whole world to his biggest enemy. "i'm hurt. i don't think i'll ever survive this pain."

you snort, patting his shoulder in response. "so sorry. anything i can do to make it up to you?"

"i'd tell you to smile more often," he answers without missing a beat, the pout on his face already turning into a boyish grin. "you're so pretty when you smile but maybe you shouldn't."

you blink, taking in his smug expression with a quirked eyebrow. you watch the way he lowers his glasses, staying still when he pushes them onto your head with gentle fingers.

you know better than to fall for his tricks. "why's that? do you like my scowl better?"

"not at all," he giggles, his hand making contact with your face, moving to cup your cheek. he's always been like this, touchy and sweet in a way he isn't with other people. "i'd like to personally reserve it for me. i don't like sharing with other people."

you don't move, not when he takes his glasses from your head, nor when he moves to kiss your cheek. all you know is that your expression has automatically shifted into a lovestruck grin, one that perfectly mirrors his.

it's a shame really, how satoru's always failed to realize that your sweetest of smiles and giggles are reserved just for him. even if you make it seem like they aren't.

"i'll pick you up tonight if you still want to make it up to me!" he calls over his shoulder, already moving away from you towards the direction of his office.

satoru is nothing but a cheeky bastard— he knows the effect he has on people, especially when he winks, sending a flying kiss your way. "wear something pretty and remember! that smile is reserved only for me. for satoru!"

"i'll make sure to dress the prettiest i can. make sure you're not late! i'll be counting the hours, satoru."

you can only laugh when the strongest trips over his own feet, gaping like a fish out of water from his spot across the field.

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teyvathandymenclub · 2 months

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Genshin Men - Pregnancy Reaction (P.2)

Story: You just announced your pregnancy to your partner.

Characters: Itto, Wriothesley, Ayato

TW: None

Notes: Tublr won´t let me upload the whole thing (it´s too long?), so I will post Ayato´s story later.

Itto - After you tell him the big news, his loud laugh almost makes you jump.

“Pregnant? With me?!” he suddenly asks out of nowhere.

“No, with your worst enemy.” you roll your eyes at his absurd question.

“How could you?!” Itto´s puppy eyes instantly fill with tears.

“I am just joking because you ask stupid questions.”

He quickly brushes his hair with his usual sass and pokes you in the arm. “I knew that you were joking the whole time. Can you imagine? Baby Oni running around causing chaos just like his father?” Itto laughs.

“Well, it is time to get prepared, because that part was true.”

“Wait, wait, wait! REALLY????” Itto grabs you and pushes his ear on your belly. “But I don't hear anything! Are you sure that the baby is there?”

“I am sure. It is just too soon to hear anything.” you laugh, but Itto interrupts you with the biggest kiss he ever gave you before he runs out the door yelling “I have to tell the boys! And Auntie Kuki! She will lose her mind!”.

In the next weeks, Itto keeps coming home with arms full of many different things for the baby. One day he came with a huge pregnancy pillow that in the end he kept using himself, so he had to buy another one for you. But the biggest joy brought him a baby carrier that he could strap on himself so he could take the baby to work. He was really upset when you told him that it was not a good idea.

Wriothesley - When you told him that you would stop by during work hours he immediately got nervous. It took a lot out of him to keep his composure so no one would suspect a thing. Is the Duke feeling bad? This type of news would spread at the speed of light across the whole fortress. His mind was occupied by your unexpected decision to visit him the whole day. Are you fed up with him working all the time? But he already warned you that sometimes he would not make it home… Wriothesley was even on high alert to not cross Sigewinne. She would immediately know that something was going on. Finally, a few minutes before your arrival, Wriothesley prepared a freshly brewed tea and your favorite cake. He certainly felt a little ridiculous when he asked one of his men to go up there just for a piece of cake. But for you? There is nothing he would not do.

“Wrio!” the echo of your voice fills the whole office.

“My dear!” he jumps out from his chair rushing down the stairs to meet you.

You hug tightly and after a longing kiss, you laugh.

“Fresh tea? Just for me?” you smile.

“Of course.” he smiles and offers you his hand. “Let´s have a seat.”

As you come upstairs, you spot your favorite cake on the table. “I am sorry that I made you nervous.”

“Why would you think that?” he asks innocently as he sits next to you on the sofa.

“You always do this. Every time you think that there is something wrong. You show me how amazing you are.”

“Are you implying that there are times when you do not think that I am amazing?”

You both laugh and after a few silent sips of the tea you rest your head on his arm.

“I need to tell you something.” you whisper.

His body immediately stiffs.

“Actually, I want to show you.” and you reach for your bag.

Wriothesley watches you silently. All he can hear is blood rushing through his veins. What is going on? He always has everything under control and this whole situation is new. Are you trying to leave him? He was on his own almost his whole life. This cannot happen. Not after he gave you his heart. He knew it. He was a fool for opening so much, people always hurt you…

“Wrio?”

He finds you sitting next to him again but now you are holding something.

“Are you ok? If you are not feeling well we can do this another time.” you try to read his face.

“No. No! I am fine.” he smiles. “Just a long day… So? What do we have here?” He points his finger on the small box.

“I don´t know.” you smile. “But you can look and find out.”

Wriothesley slowly opens the box. He frowns as he takes out the small plush wolf.

He looks at you with confusion. You can not help but smile so much it almost hurts. He looks back at the plush toy. It is so small. Small wolf. Small… Wolf… And it hits him.

“What do you think about growing our little pack…” but before you can finish whatever you wanted to say, he grabs you into a painfully tight hug. Afterward, he looks back at the toy and stares at it for some time. You know what is going through his mind. His family and his past flashed before his eyes. You did not say a word until you spotted silent tears coming down his cheeks.

“My love.” you reach for him and kiss him on the face after you dry his tears.

“Yes,” Wriothesley says.

“What do you mean?”

“Yes, I want to build our little pack with you.” he smiles at you knowing that he will do everything to be the best father under the sun.

#genshin #genshin impact #fanfiction #fanfic #itto #arataki itto #itto x reader #arataki itto x reader #arataki itto x you #itto x you #wriothesley x reader #wriothesely x you #wriothesley

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starillusion13 · 6 months

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Imagine your friends!NCT are secretly mafias, falling in love with you…

[I’m doing with my bias line so if your bias is missing means they are my bias wreckers and as am being ot23(I will always be their supporter so don’t expect I love any of the members less) please read the end note.]

Remember this is my top bias line:

Lee Taeyong

Being the leader of the biggest mafia gang, NCT he is very passionate about his life. Never for once he thought of getting you in his life. An innocent but suicidal girl but also a very daring girl. He is attracted to you because of your multiple personalities and this is the reason he finds you different from other girls. He is good at pretending that he is not getting attracted to you day by day or simply he is deeply in love with you. But what about you? No one knows as you are just friends with him, a very close one. It’s a very simple story. But the problem is that you are only familiar with mafias in story book but you don’t know the dark secrets of your cute and handsome friend, Lee Taeyong.

Kim Doyoung

Your most caring friend who literally takes care of you like an older brother but he has made it clear not to call him your brother. He treats you more than you ever need. He takes you on luxury friendly dates when Taeyong(his bestfriend) is busy or that man would not leave his chance to tag along( you are afterall spending his money even with Doyoung). His gummy smile is everything you need before going to work. Those gummy smiles hide the devilish smirk when he is torturing his victim brutally and his sharp eyes watching the helpless condition of them. But to you, he can heal your every pain as a true friend.

Jung Jaehyun

the most charming guy you have ever met. Anyone would want him as their boyfriend including you but you bet he has girlfriend as you feel he hides things from you and that can be possible if it’s his gf. Once late at night you came across him on the streets and you thought him as any celebrity and that’s how your friendship began. He has the show-off attitude and would always buy you costly dresses, jewelry and other accessories and urge you to wear them on friendly dates and workplace. He has this possessiveness in his every move and words as if he owns you. He is a loyal NCT mafia member who has swear not to get distract by anything but why he is losing his mind for you.

Lee Mark

the sweetest and the most innocent guy. You feel this urge to protect this silly boy from this cruel world. Cruel world? He is a walking devil with a facade of innocence. His silly speech, his innocent heartily laughs and his securing embrace is like alluring you to trust him with your whole. But it’s a trap to keep you close. You don’t know how his awkward behaviors in front of you are just the opposite when he plants bullets in his enemy’s head and throat. His soft big and innocent eyes are the dangerous hell-hole for his victims.

Lee Jeno

well, you doubt him as a gangster sometimes because of his physique and personality. But He can’t be because next moment he is giving off his eye smile melting your heart along with his sweet gestures. A perfect soft boyfriend with some dominating aura. He likes to order you around like those are simple and sweet but somehow he has that controlling attitude. His helpless and worried expression if you are hurt for some reason is just the opposite from the one when he makes sure to burn the victim or bury it 6-feet under and his eyes burning with the rage of revenge, nowhere to be seen those cute eyes looking at you in awe and adoration.

Lee Haechan

a playful menace. You question sometimes why you are being friends with him in first place. His teasings are out of hand and loses your mind but the next moment he is the dearest friend to you. But you have fun with him in sleepovers, sneaking out for late night long drives playing ‘Highway to Heaven’ and he sings along the song’s bridge, his fav part ‘oh she’s so bad, I’ll make it last’ and looks at you in your eyes. Even behind his mischievousness, there is a lover boy. He cuddles you to comfort and a perfect bestfriend and you are thankful for such a nice friend. But you don’t know that the annoying boy with heavenly vocals is a hacker of the ruthless mafia gang, NCT.

Na Jaemin

a total cat person. He even has an insta account for his cats and mentioned himself as their father and you as their mother. A boy with heart on his sleeves and he doesn’t let a moment to fall in vain without making you blush. A family man and not gonna lie you have a little crush on him. His endearments and sweet gestures always make you feel like that you are a couple and sometimes some people even assume it. Even if you deny it, he proudly smiles and agrees with them. But this sweet Angel boy is the devil who can shoot someone and bury them in a stance and then act like he tugged his cats in bed to sleep.

I’m writing such above things just casually because even if it’s late at night yet am not feeling sleepy😭 actually I was preparing a NCT! Mafia draft so felt like sharing some imagines. If you guys need any particular member imagine then you can send me asks(also Yuta Lucas Renjun Ten Yangyang and Kun are also in my bias list tho🥹)

Should I make a NCT! Mafia series with my bias line x reader? Of course after finishing ‘Like We Just Met’?

Perma Taglist: @mymoodwriting @justhere4kpop @anyamaris @yeoobin @icchyi @jwnghyuns @piratequeen-queenofgames @dinonuguaegi @oreharuuu @hwanring @sanwifesstuff @kiwiisnthereoops @kiwiraccoon [open!]

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respectthepetty · 3 months

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How does it feel to stay winning Petty? Also who would've guessed that baby Barcode would be the one of the BOC boys to collect kisses from all the homies!?

Anon, I appreciate you sending this because, right now, I feel like an elite status female rapper. Like CL from 2NE1 rapped in their 2011 hit, "I am the best", Be On Cloud owns me, and y'all can't tell me shit about this show.

I know I have some Wild Ass Theories and I'm always clownin' in these BL streets, but I love when my theories actually hit their target like . . .

When I knew Teacher Chadok was in a relationship with Teacher Dika since the first episode of The Eclipse.

When I knew Kanghan's house was going to be robbed and his dad would be shot since the third episode of Dangerous Romance, even though I thought Saifah would do it.

When I knew Pat was working with Joke to win over Zo since the first episode of Hidden Agenda.

I love making Wild Ass Theories no matter how crazy they are, like my belief that the twins' dad is involved in this whole murder and sex work plot in Playboyy. No matter what happened in this past episode, I still believe it and am eagerly awaiting the upcoming chaos to see how hard I clowned.

Which is why I LOVE Dead Friend Forever.

I want the record to state that no matter what happens after episode seven, that at this exact moment in time, I love this show. It makes me happy to be alive at the same time this is airing, and I'm not joking. I want to remember that at one point, this show was everything to me, and even if it goes down hill, it had all my attention in the first seven episodes. I want to appreciate it right now because regardless of what happens, it did everything right in the first half.

With the way some shows keep losing their footing in the end, sometimes we forget how good they were in the beginning, and the emo in me doesn't want to forget this feeling. Some of my favorite movies are Scream, Heathers, and Jawbreaker so this show has been giving me the explicitly queer version of kill your frenemies since the very first episode, and I love it.

My internal alarm went off the second Tee got upset that Phi was speaking to White in episode one, then the dark hand touched him making him enemy #1. I didn't like the way he told White he needed to obey him, and I feel like the dark hand wasn't too pleased with it either. It was a vibe.

And now Non has a hurt hand in the past from falling off the bike . . .

Then, Jin was the main character of the previous film, so he was either the killer or the biggest baddie.

But Phi was just so sus, that I clocked him as a killer.

Which meant Phi and Jin were the killers, but Tan has no backstory and people with no history are intentionally hiding it, so they can kill everyone and peace out.

So in my mind, Tan and Phi were regulated to the killers, Tee was the second to last to die, which I'm hoping it's by his boyfriend White who he thinks disobeys him, and the rest of the squad would die as needed. Which left Jin to be the baddie.

All of my theories could blow up at any second because we don't know if Jin actually sent that video or if his computer fizzled out before it finished uploading, so he could still be a killer avenging Non instead of a baddie who wronged Non (but he took the video and that is messed up regardless of what he planned to do with it).

But either way, I'm hoping it comes down to Phi and Jin in that forest because the show started with them.

And I don't think Jin realizes who Phi is to Non since Jin never got a good look at Phi's face in the past.

The Twitter folks spotted that Phi's dad was the police chief from the letters the boys got calling them in for interrogation in episode six.

And now the knife from episode two is showing up in the past in Non's backpack.

Up until this point, I feel the show has laid out a solid story with a good cast, and I think Be On Cloud relied on their KinnPorsche casting to throw people off in this show because who expected Us to be doomed in the first episode? That was like Drew Barrymore dying at the beginning of Scream.

People have felt off about JJ's character, but the show wouldn't really have JJ do anything bad to sweet Barcode, right?

And Barcode and Ta being paired together was a pipe dream for the Macau x Porchay shippers, so it could never happen here!

Especially because Ta and Copper won The Hidden Character, which meant they were going to be the main pair of this show, right?

WRONG!

Barcode is gonna be involved in some fucked up shit, and according to those MDL comments, people are realizing they messed up making any assumptions before this show started based on what the actors previously did.

I truly feel like BOC looked at its lineup and said "Baby Barcode was babygirled so hard for the past two years that the audience won't even think his character is capable of such things"

and I love that for us.

BOC gave these youngsters (19-23 in age) a script from Dr. Sammon and the Pit Babe writers and said "go HAM, bitches"

And the audience stays winning.

This isn't about my Wild Ass Theories coming true. This is an appreciation post for what this show has given to me up until this point - a good mystery.

Every week I have more questions and none of them feel like they will go unanswered. Is Non dead? Did Jin actually upload the video? Is Tan a killer? Why did Phi hook up with Jin? Will White finally snap, crackle, and pop like a bag of Rice Krispies treats for the mere fact that he simply wanted a nice weekend getaway with his boyfriend and now has to deal with all this bullshit?

But most importantly, when did Phi realize he was going to kill all of them after making them run around scared for their lives?

Because by time the show makes it back to the present day, I'm sure we're all going to want to watch these kids suffer in the worst ways possible.

Manipulate, Murder, Mayhem

#dead friend forever #dead friend forever the series #I got wild theories for days #but all I know for sure is I love this show #please don't disappoint me show #you have all my attention #don't break my heart #phi has to be in on this #he must want revenge #and a confession #let me have this!

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mrslankyman · 4 months

Text

Can I Call You Mine?

Montague (fortnite) x (fem) reader

->If I chose you life could’ve been different

->2K word

TW: guns & death

——

You were untouchable like a distant diamond sky. He couldn’t understand why he was so caught up in you. It wasn’t like you gave a shit about him.

You were one jewel he couldn't steal.

No matter how good of a thief he was.

The dreams of holding you in his arms and calling you his was what gave him strength to keep going everyday.

You had chosen the other side.

That heist changed everything. The biggest regret of his was choosing that medallion over the one thing he cherished most.

You.

He left you behind; speeding off in that stupid silver car.

Leaving you to rush off and fend for yourself.

The next time he saw you was at a meeting with the other millionaires he had gathered into his Society.

You had joined a group called the UnderGround. As one of their leaders.

Learning that he was on top of your hit list sent shivers down his spine.

He didn’t wanna leave you. He was just blinded by the idea of wealth.

Pretending like you were an enemy hurt his heart. He didn’t know what he would do if he ever came face to face with you.

The lingering reality hung in his mind.

It’s you or him if it came to that.

You were leader of the UnderGround and he was leader of the Society.

One of you had to go.

Yet he would let you pull the trigger if it came to that.

He couldn't kill you.

He was far too caught up in you.

Which is why the night he caught you sneaking in hurt him. He had heard the noises coming down stairs. Somewhere near the vault. The thought of him just hearing things crossed his mind yet it was too loud for him to just be hearing things.

Heading down the stairs from his master bedroom he eyed the door to the vault. His hair was messed up, dress shirt loosely buttoned and dress pants without a belt. He looked like a mess.

“Who’s there?” His voice came out slightly shaky, holding up his pistol. Aiming it at whoever might be down there.

The rustling noise stopped. He headed down the steps to the vault, the shadow of a person coming into view.

“{Y/N}?” He dropped his aim slightly.

“Montague.” Your voice seethed as you looked up at him.

His eyes softened and he stepped down a few steps to get a better look at you.

Instinctively you raised your own pistol, aiming straight at his head.

“Woah- come on.. Let’s not do this.” Montague raised his hands; pistol in one.

“Hand over the medallion now.” Your voice was so demanding, much rougher than he remembered. “Come on.. Let’s talk.” Pleading wasn’t something he did often. He would rather be shot than anyone hear him beg. For you on the other hand. He would do anything to have just a moment with you again.

He missed how you both could talk about anything. Sit in an abandoned building and plan out the next heist.

Stealing was the way you both lived. You had grown to trust each other in those heists. Robbing banks, jewelry stores, and random rich people.

Montague had become the person he swore to you he wouldn't.

“We are doing this Montague.” He couldn't see through you like he used to. You seemed so truthful. Like you were serious about blowing his head off if you had to.

“{Y/N}... please just let’s talk. I’ve missed y-.” He had taken the last few steps to reach you; hands still in the air.

He felt the end of your gun press to his forehead. His eyes stared into your scrunched up ones. Anger prominent in your {e/c} eyes. In that moment he knew he lost you. He just wanted you.

“Why miss me? You were the one who left me behind. Without a second thought.” That silky voice of yours despite seething with anger was so angelic. The feeling of the gun pressing against his forehead harder snapped him out of his thoughts.

“I know what I did.. I know.” His voice was soft and pleading. He looked you in the eyes as he spoke.

He had missed them.

“If you don’t give me that medallion now, I’m gonna blow your head off and take it myself.” You shoved him against the wall holding the gun to his head. He didn’t even flinch. He just liked that you were somewhat touching him.

“I miss you.” Those words hit your ears and for a moment the grip on your pistol faltered.

His voice was almost a whisper and his breath tingled your neck.

“Don’t do this to me Montague.. I can’t let my group down.” The feeling of the trigger between your fingers reminds you of how you controlled the situation despite his words.

“I miss you, I miss you more and more everyday..” He stared into your eyes so desperate to change the emotion in them. He wanted to see that smile.

The happy look in your eyes when you’d see him.

He missed that.

“I’m not falling for this Montague.. Let me in the vault.” You demand voice breaking between anger and sadness.

He tore off his medallion and held it in front of the vault's scanner. The vault unlocked as it scanned the diamond.

Your eyes widened slightly as you watched the vault open before turning back to him.

“I don’t want to hurt you {Y/N} trust me when I say that.. I didn’t mean to leave you behind. I was stupid for it..”

You hesitated between letting him go and getting what you needed or holding him there against the wall.

The way his eyes pleaded for you almost made you believe him.

If you didn’t know him so well you’d think it was an act.

“You’re right. You were stupid for it.” Was the only reply you gave before kicking him in the crotch. His low groans filled your ears. You almost wanted to say you were sorry.

Too bad you weren’t

He fell to the floor holding his crotch, letting out foul language in his native tongue.

You quickly stepped into the vault looking around before grabbing the map you had been searching for. Just where Hope said it would be stored. Montague really wasn’t that good at hiding things.

Something you always knew he faltered at.

A good thief but a terrible hider.

You walked out stepping over Montague who laid on the floor still.

You stopped and turned around to look at him.

“I won’t be so nice next time.” Your voice was icy cold in warning. He simply looked up at you: regret covered his face.

“{Y/..N}” He closed his eyes tightly as tears pricked the corners. You didn’t know what to do. Leave him there or stay. He used to be your best friend. Your ride or die. Now he was just..

Nothing.

The sound of your feet coming closer gave him strength to sit up. You crouched down to his level offering a small smile gaining one in response from him.

“You’re so beautiful.. I wish I told you that sooner. I wish I told you a lot of things before I fucked us up.” His hand reached out and cupped your cheek. Letting yourself lean into his touch made memories flood back.

How close you two used to be.

His touch always calmed you down. No matter the situation. It still did.

“Oh Montague..” Your voice cracked slightly as you allowed yourself to soak up his warmth.

“Please.. Don’t go.” He begged as he pulled you closer to him. His arms wrapping around you.

“I have to.. I can’t let my group down.. I’m sorry Montague. It’s you or me. I can’t let it be me who gets left again.” Your words slowly soaked into him. Before he could react your pistol was back at his head. Tears streaming down your face.

It was a hard life now. No more fun and games of stealing stupid things no one would notice.

Stealing a life would always be noticed.

A heinous crime.

Something that could not be undone once done.

You knew that.

You had to do this.

You had to win this battle.

Jonsey, Hope, the whole organization was counting on you.

“I love you.”

Those three words made your whole body shake. How could you kill him after that?

“I know you have to do this. I know that only one side is going to make it out of this thing alive.” It was his turn to start truly crying. But not from the fact he was going to die.

No.

He was crying because at least even in his last few moments he gets to see you again.

It was all he could ask for in this cruel world.

“I love you too..” Your confession was all he needed to die happy. To know that he wasn’t chasing some dumb dream every night. You did like him back..

“Can I call you mine.. Once?” His question made your tears flow harder.

“Yes.. you can.” You sobbed harder as he leaned closer.

“I’m so glad you’re mine, mon amour.” His lips pressed against yours. For a moment you almost let your gun fall.

Wouldn’t it be so easy to leave and run off with him?

Possibly in your dreams.

You would be hunted down and never forgiven for that act.

You had picked your side to stay loyal to.

As did he.

So as you kissed him and lived in this moment of bliss you let it be the last thing he remembered.

Before you pulled the trigger.

Leaving him with his last dying wish.

To call you his.

#montague fortnite #montague x reader #fortnite #monsguefortnite x reader #montague fortnite is hot #montague fortnite fanfic #angst #sad ending #montague loves reader #confession

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yuna542 · 10 months

Text

[1]<-

[2]

›Bad Idea‹

Pairing: Hong Woojin × Reader

Genre: Smut, Fluff, Angst, Enemies with benefits to Lovers

Warnings: 18+, explicit Smut, under 18 DNI!, suggestive Themes, Swearing, pet names, hate sex, ANGST, fingering, bruises

Word Count: 6.1k

Note: Part 2… God I have so many ideas for Storys yet so little time to actually write them. But good news: I‘m soon on vacation, that means I‘ll have a lot time for writing. Hope you like this part. There will be big drama soon~ Much love

Summary: As Gunwoo‘s little sister he wanted you to finally meet his best friend. Unfortunately you don't get along. He gets on your nerves, you fight all the time and yet you can't stop messing with each other. One evening you get into a dangerous situation and end up bruised and bloody at his apartment. And you suddenly have to ask yourself: Why do you feel so attracted to that idiot?

Chapter 3:

The Mistake

Waiting, you stared at him when he made no move to turn around.

"Do you want me to change in front of you?" you asked accusingly, and that's when he seemed to remember his manners. With a wry grin, he ran a hand through his hair.

"Well, I wouldn't mind."

Stunned, you grabbed a pillow from the sofa and threw it at him to hide how your face flushed with redness. But he caught it and laughed derisively.

"Okay calm down! I'm going to take a shower too. Can you watch the ramen? It just needs a few more minutes."

Then he disappeared into the bathroom as well, and you heard the water being turned on.

After slipping into his clothes, which were of course too big for you, you had to admit that they didn't look as bad as you thought.

But you definitely wouldn't tell him that.

You continued to prepare the ramen, filling it into two bowls that you placed on the living room table, and just as you were tasting it, Woojin came out of the bathroom.

You nearly choked on a noodle at the unannounced sight of his wet adonis-like torso. He had a towel wrapped around his hips, surrounded by refreshing steam and you were sure it only took a gust of wind to loosen it. The mere thought made your whole head glow and you tried not to let on how hot you thought his entire appearance was. It was wrong to think such things and you were disgusted by your own mind. It was Woojin after all. A dickhead and an idiot with no manners or empathy.

He rubbed his hair dry with a towel and as he did so, his biceps stood out and his abs tightened. You felt reminded of history class because he looked like one of those ancient statues carved out of marble depicting naked bodies of the gods.

The bruises and red marks all over his ribs and stomach already looked nasty, and you scrunched your nose as he came closer.

"Does it hurt a lot?" you asked, pointing to one of the biggest bruises that was just below his chest.

He looked down at himself, threw away the towel in his hand, and shook his head. Casually, he dropped down on the sofa next to you and grabbed one of the bowls and chopsticks.

"It's no big deal," he dismissed it, lying.

In fact, every breath hurt like hell and he feared that a rib or two had been broken, but he would never have admitted that in his life. Not in front of you. You stared at him in disbelief for a while and before you could stretch out your finger, he caught your hand and looked at you with a warning tone:

„Don’t you dare!“, he said and you snorted amused. So you had your answer that he was just playing the hero. But you left it at that, because his tight grip on your hand was already messing up your insides again. With one last warning look, he let go of your hand and tried to look unbothered.

As you continued to eye him concerned, he shook his head like a wet dog, and when you nudged him in annoyance at the drops of water hitting you, he just grinned broadly.

"Bon appétit!" he said enthusiastically, and so you ate in silence.

The fact that he was wearing only a towel played with your mind and you tried not to stare at his body all the time, although that was getting increasingly difficult.

It wasn't long before your bowls were empty.

Woojin took them to the kitchen and when he returned, you nibbled your lower lip uneasily. He looked at you unobtrusively.

It was strange to see you sitting cross-legged, in his clothes on his couch and despite everything you looked like a princess. A sight he never imagined to see.

"Ah shit," you cursed and groaned in pain as you put too much strain on your hand.

Silently, he sat down next to you again and grabbed your hand as if it was natural. He turned it and looked at your scraped knuckles in the light. With a furrowed brow, you watched as he palpated your wrist and pulled your hand away with a hiss as a sharp pain shot through your arm.

"Ouch! Be careful, dickhead! What are you doing?" you whimpered, and he glared at you again.

"Stop bitching around! I'm trying to help so Gunwoo doesn't rip my head off. Luckily you just bruised it because you snapped your wrist when you punched him."

Questioningly, you looked at his hands, which he demonstratively clenched into fists.

"You see that? Your wrist must always be tense when you punch, otherwise you can break your hand," he explained and you made a fist as well.

"Like this?" you asked curiously, holding it out to him.

Carefully he enclosed it with his strong fingers and straightened your wrist. His skin was warm on yours and you resisted the urge to grab his hand at the last moment.

"Almost. That's it. You have to keep it straight and tense as you punches," he said, smiling delightedly. It was clear how much fun he was having teaching you some of his passion.

You caught yourself smiling pleasantly as well, as you watched the enthusiastic gleam in his eyes while he spoke. He continued to hold your hand and that's when your eyes met.

As you gazed at each other in silence, the air became electrically charged and something in your stomach fluttered uneasily.

"Do you want me to take a look at that? That looks pretty bad," he said then, pointing to the wound on your eyebrow.

Before you could even answer, he already fetched a first aid kit, which he probably needed often, and spread it out in front of you.

"Can you put some clothes on first?" you asked before he could come closer, fearing you would lose your mind if he touched you like that too. You waved your hand in front of his chest, while you tried to avoid eye contact:

„That is irritating...“

He himself seemed to have completely forgotten that he was half naked and took a pair of boxershorts from the pile of clothes and slipped into them without further ado.

„Oh really? I thought you could handle a real man“, he provoked and was obviously proud of his stupid saying. You just crossed your arms and looked up to him with raised eyebrows.

„I could if there was one here.“

Offended, he mumbled something unintelligible, which certainly was an insult and rummaged in the pile of clothes. Then he put on a black shirt with the typical 'Metallica' lettering printed on it, before he sat down in front of you again and leaned your head on the chin to the side to have a better view of the cut on your eyebrow.

With skillful moves, he prepared disinfection, a wound ointment and a plaster. It was obvious that he was skilled at this. You already knew the procedure from Gunwoo as well.

You had treated him and his best friend countless times when they came home after training or a fight. Not only boxers knew quickly about such things, but also their environment.

"Now that hurts a little bit. I'm counting to three. One..."

And already he pressed the swab with the disinfectant on the spot and you squeaked loudly in pain. It was obviously the revenge for your mean comment.

Angrily, you punched him in the shoulder. This time your wrist was tense, yet it seemed to have no effect on him.

"What the hell! You said on the count of three!" you snapped at him, squinting your eyes as your entire head seemed to be on fire. God you hated him so much.

"It must come unexpectedly. It’s better," he replied, clearly amused, and dabbed the ointment on your wound with such gentleness as you were not used to from him.

Expertly, he stuck a plaster above your eyebrow and looked at his work with satisfaction.

"Voilà!" he presented it with both hands and smiled.

"Now it's your turn!" you said then and he nodded curtly.

"Okay. But please don't make it worse than it is," he replied teasingly and you gave him an annoyed look. As you set to work dabbing the wounds, you asked in passing:

"Why did you help me?"

"You're my best friend's sister. So you're my responsibility, too."

Your eyes met for a moment and there was that crackling energy again, making your skin tingle. Quickly you averted your eyes and pressed the swab with disinfectant on his wound to stop whatever was happening. It was almost panic as you avoided his gaze. He twitched slightly, but didn't make a sound.

"I mean how did you find me?"

The question had been burning on your tongue ever since he had suddenly appeared and beaten the assholes to a mush.

"I stayed at the party to keep an eye on you. Then when you left, I followed you."

Briefly, you paused and looked at him suspiciously.

"That's kind of creepy..."

He leaned against the back of the sofa with one arm and tilted his head a little.

"Oh well, you're lucky I was there."

He was right about that. Without him, something really bad would have happened. You didn't even want to imagine how it would have turned out if he hadn't shown up like a knight in shining armour.

But then something occurred to you.

"You've been watching me? The whole time?" you asked, thinking about your little makeout session with the guy. Had he seen all of that?

"It wasn't my idea... Gunwoo wanted me to watch you."

That made more sense. Your brother had told him to do it. Woojin probably didn't care at all what happened to you. You breathed a sigh of relief when he didn't bring up making out. He probably hadn't even noticed.

You nodded slowly and began spreading the cream on his wounds.

"Thanks anyway."

He watched as your eyes wandered intently over his face, trying to get every detail. How your eyebrows lifted slightly when you spoke or how you nibbled on your lower lip when you were thinking or concentrating.

Your slender fingers felt comfortable against his skin and he secretly wished you would never stop touching him.

"There is one thing that does interest me..."

"Huh?"

"Why did you just leave the poor guy? Was he that bad?" he asked, and immediately your heart flipped over and heat shot into your cheeks. Embarrassed, you cleared your throat and tried to avoid his gaze.

So he had seen it after all and couldn't just let it go.

And the worst part was that he clearly enjoyed the way shame turned your cheeks red and you uncomfortably brushed a strand of hair behind your ear.

"No... he... I was... that's not the..."

You cursed yourself for only stammering coming out of your mouth, but Woojin had caught you off guard. Why were you so uncomfortable talking to him about it, and why didn't he stop looking at you so piercingly? Under no circumstances would you have told him the truth. That you had been thinking about him while someone else was all over you. You hated the fact yourself and still blamed it on the alcohol.

The corners of his mouth twitched knowingly and only now did you notice how close his lips hovered in front of yours. You had been so focused on treating his wound that you hadn't noticed how close your faces were in front of each other.

If you wanted to, you just had to lean forward a little and you could touch his lips with yours.

"So?" he asked teasingly, his voice getting a lot deeper.

His shimmering eyes made you all jittery and when he put his hand on your hip, your breathing only faltered.

"He just wasn't my type," you tried to end the subject, spreading the last of the ointment on his cheek.

"What's your type?" he continued to ask, and you hated his handsome face, prominent jawline and those engaging eyes for making you a flustered mess.

"Why do you want to know?" you mumbled, putting the ointment down and freezing as he lifted your chin with his index finger so you had to look him in the eye.

"Just out of curiosity."

Was he flirting with you? No he couldn't be. He was just messing with you and would laugh at you at any moment for taking it from him. After all, he didn't even like you and you didn't like him, so what was all this about?

"I can tell you what's not my type..."

"I'm listening."

His eyes were luminous in the dim light of his apartment. Your voice was low, but soft as velvet.

"Guys who are cheeky and ruthless. Act stupid all the time. Who don't know when to shut up. Who prefer to solve their problems with their fists rather than their mind. And think with their dick rather than their brain."

"Then I'm your walking nightmare."

You snorted in amusement and there your noses brushed against each other. The brief contact was enough to make everything go crazy in your head.

"And you? What kind of girls are you into?" you asked, just to say something.

Maybe to stop what was about to happen. He put his hand gently against your cheek and you could feel his warm breath brush against your lips as he spoke. You were both fighting an internal battle, wanting to break away from each other and put as much distance between you as necessary. However, your bodies did not obey.

"Until now, I thought I knew."

The rasp in his voice gave you goosebumps. Everything in you screamed to flee, to push him away and never speak a word to him again. But the heat rushed in your ears and your body no longer listened to you.

"What do you mea..." you were interrupted when his lips collided with yours and he pulled you stormily closer.

The defiant voice in your head grew quieter and the kiss was chaotic, emotional. Just as you knew Woojin and sensual at the same time.

His tongue slid over your lower lip and as soon as you opened your lips a little, your tongues fought for dominance. His hands slid to your hips, reaching for you, and you buried your fingers in the fabric of his shirt at his chest. Soon the whole thing was just a mess of tongues, teeth, groping and greedy touches.

All the tension between you, the anger and adrenaline of tonight unloaded between you and he tasted so addictive you never wanted to taste anything else. You didn't know if it was minutes, maybe hours, when you broke away from each other, panting.

Only then did you remember what was actually happening.

"What the... How," you stammered and ran your hands through your hair, overwhelmed. You couldn't bear to look each other in the eye for even a second, afraid of what else you would conjure up.

"I'm sorry. That was stupid," he muttered, and then you dared to look at him again. His lips lured seductively.

It all didn't matter now anyway, did it?

"Yes. It was."

He took a rasping breath as you grabbed a handful of his t-shirt and roughly pulled him closer again.

"Do it again!" you murmured, and he didn't need to be told twice. Relieved, his hands flew to your hips and your lips crashed together again. He pulled you onto his lap and you buried your fingers in his hair as you licked incessantly into each other's mouths.

The kiss was heated and more passionate than anything you had ever experienced. Like a fire it burned everything to ashes and his hands explored your body everywhere the fabric revealed a strip of skin.

"Shit you taste like candy," he murmured between kisses to your lips, spreading them along your jawline. A sigh escaped you as he grazed the sensitive spot behind your ear and you unconsciously rolled your hips against him.

He turned you on in a way that made your heart pound and your head spin. Briefly he paused and looked at the strangulation marks on your neck left by the gorilla.

Carefully he stroked the reddened areas and you thought you felt relief only from his touch.

Then he gently brushed his lips over them, caressing your skin as if he could heal it like that, and you laid your head back with your eyes closed while he worked his magic all over your neck. It was unreal how he melted your whole body just with that.

He ran his hands under your shirt and stroked your belly, your sides, up to your back. Gradually you couldn't stand it anymore. Your core pulsed excitedly and you wanted everything from him at once.

"Stop teasing!" you gasped as he sank his teeth into your neck. He lifted his gaze and looked like a puppy with those shiny eyes and excited smile.

"I can't help it. You're too cute, the way you're so desperately grinding on me."

Startled, you only now noticed how you rolled your hips against his middle. Your body had taken on a life of its own, desperately trying to create more friction to soothe the immense desire in your lower belly.

"Are you blushing?" he teased, squeezing your hips.

"Are you shy after all?"

Annoyed by his jokes and arrogance, you unceremoniously pulled your shirt over your head and tossed it aside. You could play this game, too. He should realize that he wasn't in control.

Surprised, he raised his eyebrows and his gaze was immediately glued to your naked body. He stared at your perfect breasts that he had imagined so many times when you came rushing into Gunwoo's room in those short pajama shirts that were way too small for you to yell at them to turn down the music.

"Fuck... Your tits are really perfect," escaped him and he immediately grabbed your breasts with both hands, cupped them and groped them while he spread kisses on your collarbone again.

"Do you think about my tits often?" you asked provocatively, gasping as soon as he sucked your skin and kneaded the soft flesh of your tits in his hands. The heat flowed together in a river between your legs and you could feel his hardened length through the fabric of his boxers.

"No wonder when you dress so slutty...you always run around in those short clothes at home when I'm there," he shot back less eloquent, completely distracted by your curves and soft skin. Soon his mouth closed around your nipple and he also worked your soft skin on your breasts as if he couldn't get enough.

You pushed him back roughly on his chest until he hit the back of the sofa and looked up at you with a mischievous expression on his face.

"You're insulting me while you're groping me all desperate?" you asked incredulously, taking advantage of the moment to take a breath.

"I thought you couldn't stand me?"

He pressed your hips harder against his in response, so that his hard dick pressed right up against your needy cunt. It was a little scary how big he felt through the fabric.

"I can't stand you. But I still think you're hot. Stop with the sass mouth. I know you want me!" he replied sharply and you laughed in amusement.

"You have a really overrated self-esteem."

Nevertheless, with greedy fingers you finally ripped his shirt off his body and stroked his bruises with care. His abs felt hard under your fingers and you sucked in a sharp breath as he began to rub your hips against his hard length.

"Do you trust me?" he asked, placing kisses all over your chest, nibbling on your neck. You threw your head back, growing,

"Fuck, If i didn't I wouldn't be half-naked on you."

Satisfied, he grabbed your ass and stood up with you as if you weighed no more than a feather. You held onto his neck and so he carried you to his room.

Red LED lights bathed the small room in an spicy atmosphere and in the corner of the room was a bed on which he placed you. He stepped between your legs and climbed over you until he was looking down on you.

He enjoyed the sight of your exposed body beneath him and before he could gape any further, you pulled him down to you and kissed him again.

At the same time he helped you get rid of the sweatpants and couldn’t stop touching your skin everywhere. You could feel his dick pressed against your thigh through his underwear, and your cunt tingled excitedly as his hands traveled agonizingly slowly down your belly.

"You want me to touch you, don't you?" he whispered in your ear, his fingers playing across the surface of your underwear and making you very, very aware of how wet they were.

"You are so arrogant. It's disgusting you know?" you said with a razor sharp tone that made his eyebrows twitch. It was the typical expression you always saw when you got on his nerves and managed to make him angry.

You tried not to look particularly impressed as he brushed his hand over your inner thigh, and yet as soon as he stroked your covered middle, you exhaled loudly.

"Uhh... Do you think you can resist much longer? Just admit you want me," he purred and god he had no idea how much you wanted to tear the last shred of fabric from his trained body, so that he would fuck you senseless. But instead you stubbornly withstood his gaze and let your fingers wander in circles over his chest.

"Do you really think you can satisfy me? You seem to have quite a bit to compensate for.... ah"

A short cry, more like a surprised moan escaped you as he slipped his hand unannounced into your panties and sank two fingers inside you.

Smugly, he began pumping them into your wet cunt while your mouth was open and you clung tensely to his upper arm, which he used to support himself next to your head. He looked down at you with a dangerous grin, like a predator eyeing its prey, and you could no longer hide what his touches were doing to you.

His thumb began to massage your clit at the same time and the heat in your lower abdomen clenched into a coil of pure fire. Whatever he did with his fingers made you drift off completely into the fog of ecstasy and the sinful moan he tore from you was like a reward for him.

"That sounds so much better... If I had known your moans sounded so pretty, I would have shut you up by doing this much sooner."

His words made the anger rise in you again. Why could you absolutely dislike each other, and yet it was the hottest thing you had ever experienced?

He sped up the motions of his fingers and the room was filled with the wet sounds and your moans as he memorized every expression on your face. You were beautiful the way you looked at him out of those angry big eyes, but couldn't hide the way your high rolled relentlessly closer.

"Don't you dare stop!" you gasped breathlessly, and he just laughed softly as your fingernails dug into his arm and he felt your cunt clench around his fingers.

"Don't worry. I want to see your face when you come around my fingers," he breathed against your ear and sucked on your neck, working his way back down and wrapping his lips around your nipple. He bit into it lightly while you were already starting to see stars.

His long fingers and mouth on your heated skin was enough to drive you over the top.

Trembling, you buried your hands in his hair and tugged on his strands overwhelmed as the world around you faded into white while you moaned his name as you came.

He savored your high to the last second and then he pulled his fingers out of your panties. While your chest rose and fell frantically and you tried to get back in touch with reality, he slipped his fingers into his mouth and licked your juices off of them.

Then he leaned down to you again and kissed you. With the kiss you slowly drifted back to reality. He had given you the best orgasm of your life only with his fingers. You could only imagine what it would be like to feel his dick.

The kiss was messy and hurried, tongues exploring every corner they could find and gradually swayed into sensuality. He grinded his hard dick against your inner thigh and you could clearly feel how impatient he was getting.

You felt how you became addicted to more, which is why you ran your fingers down his stomach. Even though you saw him half naked every day at training, it was something else to feel his muscles. Firm and seductive pressed against your soft body.

Almost playfully, you let your fingers wander over his waistband of boxers, sliding them in a bit as he greedily licked into your mouth and kneaded your breast with one hand.

He exhaled rattling as you rubbed your covered pussy right against his dick and he felt the soaked fabric even through his underwear. Your body was like a drug he would probably never get off of again.

His dick was so hard it was already painful and you smiled as he broke the kiss, breathlessly almost begging:

"Can I fuck you?"

"Just shut the fuck up and do it already!" you replied and it was as if you had given the starting signal for a boxing match. He tore off his underwear and got rid of your panties in record speed.

When his cock jumped free and bounced heavily against his belly, you couldn't suppress a surprised gasp.

He was indeed big... Very big.

When he noticed your gaze, he smiled with satisfaction and lined himself up with you.

"Still think I need to compensate for something?" he asked mockingly and you could feel his tip already at your entrance.

"Do you want to talk or fuck me?" you shot back as your cunt was already pulsing impatiently and you wanted to finally feel him. Even if it would hurt.

"You're so incredibly annoying..." he grumbled, and held your hips in place, so that you couldn't move back from his massive cock. Before you could retort anything snarky, he pushed in one unbroken movement inside of you and your entire body came alive with electric pleasure that has you gasping as he held you there, with his hands firmly on your hips to stop you from wiggling away. As he draws back and pushes back in so hard your vision splits with stars and heat explodes beneath your skin.

It hurt as he stretched you out and you could only see through the tears how much he enjoyed your fucked out face as he proved to you that he wasn't just talking stupid. You clawed at his back and your gasps quickly turned to pornographic moans. The pain was flooded and washed away by the arousal the more he stretched you out.

His thrusts hit something inside of you that made you soon choke on your moans, because you were still so tangled up from his fingers teasing you that you were close again already, and you knew exactly that he's never going to let you live this down.

Woojin was a professional athlete, you knew that. But now you realised behind closed doors, under the sheets, he was an olypian.

He set a fast pace, hitting your sweet spot with every thrust, deeper inside of you every time. The world around you blurred in arousal and you wrapped your legs around his hips as he seemed to hit deeper with every thrust. His bed squeaked dangerously and banged loudly against the wall. Woojin's neighbors would probably barely be able to sleep a second, but you couldn't care less.

"You feel incredible," he gasped, intercepting your whimpers with intense kisses, and you felt yourself falling apart at any moment. When he perceived that your body was tensing, he intertwined his fingers with yours and pressed your hand into the mattress beside your head.

"Woojin... fuck... I'm gonna..."

You didn't remember how to form words or put them in proper order, but he understood you even without words. He read your reactions and your body like a book.

"It's okay, dollface! Come around my cock!"

At that moment, something exploded in your head and your orgasm gripped you with such force that you moaned his name loudly and your walls almost crushed him. It was like your body was burning and your brain was turning to mush. If you died now, you would be beyond pissed because you were with Woojin, but at least you had the best sex of your whole life.

"Fuck... oh fuck," he moaned, and a low growl escaped him as he too was on the verge.

"Come inside me! I'm on the pill!" you gasped and he moaned at your words.

„Shit... You're naughty."

He only thrusted into you hard one more time until he too came and shot his load deep inside you. After a few sloppy thrusts, he collapsed on top of you breathing heavily and buried his face in the crook of your neck.

So you slowly calmed down, listening to each other's heartbeat, and you stroked him dizzy over the back. It took quite a while for both of you to gradually drift back out of the thick fog of fuzzy state.

Neither dared to say a word for fear of what would happen. Silently you traced the lines of his marine tattoo and he grumbled comfortably, making your body vibrate.

"What did we do...", you whispered after a while and that's when he lifted his head, took another deep breath of your scent to store it in his mind and then rolled off you onto his back.

Suddenly everything was like before, only the heavy smell of sex in the air was new. You swallow at the awkward aftermath because you didn't think this far. You never even thought this was a possibility in any universe.

You both stared at the ceiling, trying to understand what had just happened. You pulled the blanket around your body and rolled onto your side, with your back to him.

What was that fluttering in your stomach? Why couldn't you bear to look at him?

Restlessly, you nibbled on your bottom lip and closed your eyes. Hopefully you would just wake up in your bed and all this had never happened. It would just be a dream, that you could be ashamed of, but nobody would ever know about it. Especially Woojin would never know. You had a feeling that everything he did would now somehow remind you of sex with him.

"Still hate me?" he asked into the silence and you replied:

"Definitely"

"Just as much?"

"Maybe a little less"

You raised your eyebrows in surprise when he actually laughed. You stared at the opposite wall until the corners of your mouth went up as well and you giggled too. The whole situation was too surreal to be true.

First your mortal enemy saved you from thugs and then fucked you senseless.

That's when you turned around and looked at him. He ran his hand through his thick curls and when your eyes met, you grinned like idiots. Never in your life had you expected this situation.

He also rolled onto his side until your faces hovered close to each other.

"That was a mistake," you mumbled after a while and he nodded.

"Yes... Gunwoo must never know about this."

For the first time, you fully agreed with him, and the mere thought of your brother getting to know even a glint of it gave you goosebumps. Still, you couldn't stop looking dreamily at the other and admiring each other's features. Were his cheekbones always this sharp?

"Then let's not regret it until tomorrow..." he then murmured and that was okay with you. Silently you nodded and that's when he reached out and pulled you closer by your hips under the covers.

You snuggled against his chest and he put his big arms around your body, squeezing your ass teasingly.

Just for tonight.

That's what you kept saying to each other in your mind. It was just for tonight and tomorrow all this had never happened.

After all, the whole thing had nothing to mean.

So it was okay when your lips lay on each other again and your hands wandered over each other's bodies. Just for tonight. You delayed the morning as long as possible, until you fell asleep snuggled close to him, relaxed and secure.

And with a smile on your lips.

The next morning, when Woojin woke up, you were gone. So were your things, and he looked in his closet for safety. Only when he saw that his clothes were indeed missing, he believed that he had not imagined the whole thing.

While eating breakfast, he glanced at his phone and spotted a message from you:

"If you tell anyone about this, you're dead."

Despite the threat, he smiled slightly and looked at the sofa where the first aid kit still lay.

You had disappeared in the early morning. It would be too strange to look him in the eyes in the morning. You didn't know what you would say and you would have liked to leave the country, never to see him again.

The worst thing was that you just couldn't stop thinking about last night. On the bus you unconsciously smelled his shirt you were wearing again and you would have loved to punch yourself.

Quietly, you unlocked your front door and were about to sneak into your room, but Gunwoo was already awake and packing his training bag. When he heard the door, he turned to you and froze when he saw the wound on your temple.

Then his gaze traveled down your body and only when he had silently looked at your torn dress in your hands as well, did he ask:

"What happened?"

You couldn't say anything. You just stood there and suddenly everything fell away from you. The attack, the beating, the feeling of the gorilla's hand around your neck, and finally the bruises in your palms from the rope.

It all came back with such force that you trembled and tears welled up in your eyes.

Immediately, your brother came up to you worriedly and wrapped you in his arms. You let everything you held in your hands fall and buried your face against his chest, while your body was shaken by heartbreaking sobs. The hopelessness and fear you had felt reverberated within you, but Gunwoo's smell and warmth softened the helpless feeling.

He was the only one you could admit your weaknesses to, and your heart instantly lightened as he stroked your hair and just held you close.

"It's all right. I'm here," he murmured reassuringly and as soon as you caught your breath, you sat down at the kitchen table where his boxing gloves were.

Then you told him everything. Well, almost everything.

You left out the thing about Woojin and the sex. After all, that had never happened.

Gunwoo's face darkened with every word and his knuckles stood out white, so tightly did he clench his hands into fists. After you finished, you restlessly played with one of his bandages lying on the table.

"Are you mad?" you asked quietly, and that was the first time he really looked at you.

"God no! I'm just glad you're okay. I should have taken better care of you..."

He blamed himself. You quickly shook your head and reached for his hand across the table.

"No it wasn't your fault. Besides, Woojin was there to save me after all."

He nodded, but his jaw twitched tensely. Then he stood up and hugged you so tightly that you could barely breathe. But that was okay.

As he continued packing his things, you took your first real look around the kitchen. The cabinet under the sink was open and there were pipes and towels everywhere.

"What happened here?"

Gunwoo zipped up his bag and slipped into his jacket to leave for training.

"A pipe broke... I've already called a plumber and Mom really wanted to fix it herself. Could you help out at the café today?"

"Sure. Then I'll bring you pastries to training this afternoon."

Gunwoo's eyes sparkled with delight and he nodded vehemently.

"That sounds good. I'll see you later then."

He pressed a kiss to the top of your head and you tousled his hair in revenge before he disappeared through the door.

Shortly after, you fell back into bed and slept for another hour before heading to the café.

-> [3]

—

Taglist (open):

@marked-unknown @littlebaby-bunbun @officialshania @choisoorin @fanaticnae @lola2004sworld @penny44224 @artisticbirb @amnmich @tasteskz-sworld

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schoenht · 1 year

Text

IN EVERY LIFETIME !

j. viper x reader smau

synopsis: y/n was shoved into a world where they would have to play the therapist. but when someone adamantly refuses to be helped, even while being friends, the only question that remains is why? the best way to find the reason is to look for it, all while harboring a secret crush on both ends.

genre: smau, slowburn, idiots to lovers (idiots in the sense that neither believes their own feelings are there), angst, crack, fluff.

warnings: a lot of cursing.

note: listen. there are no jamil smaus and i decided to make one myself. also there are many chapters bc it forces me to actually do a slowburn so LMAOOOO yay! tbh though, do not be surprised if i delete some chapters in case it feels like i have nothing to write for that chapter. COMPLETED!

playlist

the fish mafia | scarabia's best (worst) residents

act one.

i. azul's mom has got it going on

ii. ace, actually die

iii. spare dabloons?

iv. mr worldwide becomes mr universe

v. you wanna kiss me so bad

vi. cry about it

vii. alvin and the chipmunks from walmart

viii. the spelling b(itch)

vix. charles' angeles

x. australia called, they want floyd back

xi. your zodiac element: hurricane

xii. no wifi

xiii. beat his ass, bro!

xiv. dude he's got some pretty eyes

act two.

xv. punch the crow shaped piñata

xvi. neige leblanche >:(

xvii. auditions

xviii. rook needs to stop

xix. rehearsals pt. 1

xx. y/n's future as a sports announcer

xxi. vocaloid era

xxii. play mamma mia by abba

xxiii. heart eyes

xxiv. maybe the real bad place...

xxv. ...was the friends we made all along

xxvi. who is u?

xxvii. the punching of the pretty boy

xxviii. 50k enemies to lovers hurt to comfort angst

act three.

xxix. pinkity drinkity

xxx. are you lost babykrill

xxxi. little einsteins

xxxii. gatekeep the gatekeeping

xxxiii. humpty dumpty's biggest mistake

xxxiv. shakespeare monologue, go

xxxv. a little fixer upper

xxxvi. the Date(tm) ✎

xxxvii. rewind, restart

xxxviii. there is no answer

xxxix. but y/n is the answer

xl. the wave returns to the ocean

xli. epilogue

#twisted wonderland masterlist #twst masterlist #twst smau masterlist #jamil smau #jamil viper smau #jamil x reader #jamil x y/n #jamil x yuu #jamil x mc #jamil viper x reader #jamil viper x y/n #jamil viper x yuu #jamil viper x mc

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adventuringblind · 7 months

Note

Enemy territory part 2 please!!! I need the angst 🥵

Enemy Territory Part Two

George Russell X Horner Reader

Summary: The end of a very good relationship

Warnings: Everybody is sad, Lewis is kinda the villain here (I'm sorry!)

Notes: IDK WHAT HAPPENED?! I posted the first part as a full fic but when I went to look at it to see if I could come up with a second part it was gone! This is really just the ending that was supposed to be on the first part....

Masterlist

Max had been doing his best to throw Christian of your trail for weeks. You and George, to your credit, are very good at sneaking around.

But Christian is not a stupid man, and he knows his daughter well enough to see that something is going on. He's noticed how she smiles at her phone more often. He catches her, walking around the paddock with no destination he knows about.

Max is probably the best distraction she could ask for. The Dutch doesn't need an excuse to be chaotic.

Which is how you managed to escape to see George before a race and steal one of his sweatshirts. It's cold. You really can't be blamed for needing to stay warm.

As is routine now, you creep through the Mercedes territory. Ducking, dodging, and weaving around all the staff.

George lets you in as soon as you get close. You claim he has some sort of radar with your on it. He can find you at the other end of the paddock, in clubs, in hotels, all without ever asking where you are.

George tugs you into a tight embrace. "I miss you."

"I miss you, too. Can I come to yours tonight? We can partake in the steamy extracurriculars I know you enjoy." You wiggle your eyebrows playfully at him.

You did manage to make it to his room unseen. It's not like the hotels are far apart. Plus, Max and your dad are out celebrating another victory. Less ducking and dodging around her own hotel.

They thought they were in the clear. That everything was going to be alright and they could spend the night in each other's arms. However, in their escapades, they had failed to notice Lewis catching on to them. The two are now completely unaware that Lewis holds photo proof of their meeting.

Everything goes smoothly until the next race weekend. Your father is in a practically spur mood all Thursday morning. Max doesn't have a clue as to why. Until you receive a text asking you to meet your father at the Mercedes hospitality. Then you proceed yo have a lovely breakdown in Max's driver room as he tries to convince you that you and George will be okay.

You end up convincing him to walk with you. It's a short walk filled with anxiety. People give you and Max odd looks as you enter the building and locate Toto's office.

Lewis is standing outside the door. Inside is her father, Toto, and George. That all-consuming guilt and dread Max had tried to help is back with a vengeance.

Max waits outside and tries to give you one last reassuring smile as you close the door behind you.

"How long has this been going on?" It's Chirstian who asks the first question. Arms crossed over his chest to show his disapproval.

George places himself in between you and the other two males. "About ten months now."

"George, you're entertaining the daughter of our biggest competitor. Either you split with her and never see each other again, or I'll be forced to find a new driver."

"You're giving us an ultimatum?" You're asking me to choose?" The Brit spits venom from his mouth. His anger wet with what his boss is asking of him.

"Could you give us a moment, please?" You ask in such a small voice it's almost unrecognizable.

The two older males leave the room. Immediately, you can see the heartbreak in George's eyes. The situation itself isn't fair. It's not what either of you want.

"I'll leave. I won't drive anymore."

You shake your head no and reach to sup his face in your hands. "You have a championship still to win. Dreams you've yet to achieve." It hurts seeing the tears pool in his eyes. "I'll still be cheering you on. You've given me the best year I could have ever asked for." You kiss him. A final kiss goodbye. A promise to not forget the happiness he'd given you. "I love you."

You leave George in the office alone. Barely stopping to drag an enraged Max with you. He'd been chewing out Lewis since he found out it was him who told.

Then you break.

It's 2026, and Mercedes has been doing fantastically well. George is in the lead for the title this year.

A woman watches on the television as he crosses the line in first, finally taking his first championship title.

She tears up a bit. What she'd given up those years ago finally paying off for him. The cruel heartbreak she'd had to endure was paying off.

She watches as George jumps out of the car. He hugs his team. Celebrates with his friends. They yell and chant.

Then he kisses another woman. He'd moved on from her. Found love once again.

She'd not been able to. Her life became a loop on repeat. Distanced from her family and friends. Her mind finds horrendous ways to cope.

People had reached out. Namely, Max. Even coming to check on her when he could.

But for now, she's satisfied. Her soul finally at peace. A broken heart mended by seeing his accomplishment.

She wipes her tears away when she hears the patter of small feet. "Did I miss it, Mama? Did I miss the race?"

Two and a half years go by horribly fast. The little boy rubs sleep out of his eyes and looks between her and the screen. "We can watch again, baby."

"Did Uncle Maxy win?"

"No, your favorite did."

His eyes light up as he does some kind of victory dance to celebrate. His eyes wander up to the screen where George is getting doused in champagne.

They show a close-up of his face. Just when the little boy turns to look at her. It's amazing how he has George's eyes. They look exactly the same.

"I wanna meet him!"

"I hope one day you do, Georgie."

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prettyboypistol · 6 months

Text

TF2 Medic x M!Reader || Unreliable Nurse

[Hurt/Comfort] [Understanding Medic] [Period Accurate Homophobia/Xenophobia towards Gays/Germans] [Coworkers to Ambiguous] [GORE WARNING]

You were a mercenary. You were hired to kill people day in and out for the gratification of your superiors and you were not allowed to stop until the day your contract ended. Every morning should have been the same- wake up, gear up, shoot up.

So why the hell were you holding your Heavy's torso open with spreaders while your Medic bug around in his organs?! You were supposed to end lives, not mangle them back to life!

"Medic, why am I even here?" You grunt in disgust as Heavy's organs squish against your bare palm. They are disgustingly alive. Should intestines move like that on their own?!

"Well someone has to hold the ribcage open, and my hands are rather busy at the moment!" Medic responded cheerfully. He was right though; both of his hands were what you could only describe as groping Heavy's lungs and heart with a sadistically pleasures look in his eyes.

"Eugh, you look like you're getting off to this." You growled as Medic finally seemed satisfied with his curiosities. The lungs he had installed in Heavy were significantly bugger than your head- would the torso even close up?

"Nonsense, I am a professional- er, mostly." Medic chuckled to himself. He waved your hold away as he healed Heavy back up to his usual hulking self. Well, at least someone seemed happy about the surgery that wasn't an absolute psycho.

You had no idea why you helped Medic clean up after the surgery, you could have left at any time, yet you didn't. Maybe it was because you held a burning question on the tip of your tongue that begged to esca-

"Do you actually get off to like, gore and stuff?"

Shit.

Medic perked up, a quizzical look on his face as he flushed the blood into the storage bags. "Do I really give off that vibe?" He sounded rather genuine in his question too. Fuck, you felt like the world's biggest asshole.

"I mean, Scout seems to think so- plus uh, you do this thing with your face that kinda well-" you stumbled over your words as you swept up the bone fragments into the dustpan at your feet. Bending over, you finally finished your sentence. "I dunno, it just looks like you're some kinda sadist."

Medic shook his head as he placed the bloodbags into the fridge. His eyes flickered over where the Spy head used to be before the enemy Scout stole it back. He was a rather funny conversationalist.

"No, not a sadist in the regard. You all are perfectly safe from me!" Medic attempted to joke. You nodded and gave him a small laugh of acknowledgement.

"Well, I suppose I should tell Scout the good news. He's been spouting about how you've been trying to inject him with homosexual serum to see if you can turn him." You informed him. You and the team knew that Scout was spouting bullshit, but your curiosity to Medics reaction was what pulled you to tell him.

Medic slammed a fist down onto his vivisection table, his expression rather grimly stern.

"I've had it with that ungrateful little brat." He muttered. He looked to you, but when you nodded in understanding, he started to vent. "He's always getting himself into shit, then begging me to fix him back up!" Medic threw his hands up, mocking Scout's voice. "always 'Oh medic, heal me!' 'Oh medic! I broke my arm again!'" Medic growled as he slicked his hair back and sighed. "All while calling me a goddamn nazi when I prioritize Heavy!"

You let Medic rant. Clearly this had been on his mind and weighing on him, if the nervous pacing and dramatic gesturing was anything to go by. Yeah, you had heard Scout make a few jabs about the SS and war camps to Medic, but you never really had gotten involved before- it wasn't your business anyway and Medic could handle himself- so you thought.

"I'm not a fucking nazi! I was sixteen and drafted as a Medic!"

You interrupted Medoc with a hand on his shoulder. He turned to look at you, shocked and clearly hurt in his brow.

"Yeah, I'll bust him up for that. Didn't know it was that bad, if I knew I woulda stepped in." You apologized- at least, this was your version of an apology. Medic took a calming inhale before he tried to return you a weak smile.

"I try not to let the words of the youth get to me too much. Hell, do you think he was alive for the war?" Medic laughed weakly.

"Isn't he about 25? Probably was born just on the outskirts of it." You mused. You were a few years older than Scout was, but Medic outmatched you with the streaks of grey in his hair. He shook his head softly with a muttering of "Ah, the blissful ignorance of the young."

"Well, if it's any consolation, I don't think you're a nazi nor do I think you're some weird psychosexual freak trying to turn us all into homos." You promise with a playful punch to Medic’s shoulder. "Besides, you can't turn what's already there, yeah?"

"You're-"

"Mhm, don't go telling anyone though, I could lose a job if that info came out."

You thought it was only for that you were open to Medic, since he was gracious enough to be honest with you.

"I thought I was the only one!" Ah, there was that excitedly happy chirp you were scaredly fond of.

Maybe being an impromptu nurse wasn't so bad after all.

#tf2 #team fortress 2 #fanfiction #tf2 x reader #tf2 medic #team fortress medic #tf2 medic x reader #medic x reader #medic x mreader #tf2 x mreader #tf2 x male reader #tf2 mercs x male reader #tf2 mercs x reader #prettyboy pistol

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heliads · 1 year

Note

req with nikolai lantsov x reader. they are married for convenience but are friends and support each other until they fall in love and everyone notices but them. reader and nikolai kiss a few times and sleep together but never talk about it. when zoya becomes queen nikolai asks reader if she will want to stay married to him and reader says she loves him, with or without a crown. angst with a lot of fluff at the end please!

anon i love the way you think (also all hail dragon queen zoya)

masterlist

Your husband may be joining you shortly.

It’s still strange to be saying that. Your husband, your king, your friend above all. Nikolai Lantsov has always been a great conspirator, a wonderfully clever thinker, so you trusted that he wasn’t merely making a drunken mistake when he asked for your hand in marriage over too many drinks one late night. Nikolai doesn’t do drunken mistakes. In fact, you think he gets drunk on purpose when making difficult choices to twist his enemies into thinking that they’ve got the upper hand, all so he can trick them when their eyes are closed in self-congratulation.

It might be a habit left over from his time burning the seas as Sturmhond, or it could just be Nikolai himself. Always the schemer, him; always the planner, the one with the ideas. His eyes glint like ice, his hair shines like metal. Both can cut if given the chance. No Lantsov would ever let themselves go into the unknown vastness without a weapon, even if the only one left is their own physical flesh and bone.

No, Nikolai wasn’t kidding when he asked you to marry him. By all accounts, it was a logical choice. The other nations had been clamoring for him to wed one of their daughters for quite some time now, and marrying you gave Nikolai an easy way out. You were a Ravkan noble, and well-connected to the independence cause while the Darkling was still in power. Having you as his bride would alienate no foreign powers just as it would connect him even further to his own people.

That’s the reason he gave you at least, his fingers tented in the shadow of a half-empty glass of champagne. The two of you were somewhere inside one of the Grand Palace’s mammoth rooms, far from the slippery wastes of the shadows outside. Nikolai always gambled best when his feet were on his own ground, when he didn’t have to fear anything or anyone interrupting his flow of thought. He could trick you into pledging your loyalty regardless of where he stood, of course, but it could never hurt to get the odds all in his favor.

You had said yes. Of course you had. You are Nikolai’s best friend, or so you like to claim. You think it could be true at one point. Maybe that will come after the veil descends over your eyes and a ring appears on your finger. Still, you think you’ll remember the way Nikolai’s gaze had sparked with triumph upon hearing your answers for years to come, as well as how he’d finally allowed a tipsy flush to descend upon his cheeks. Perhaps it wouldn’t be a terrible mistake after all.

The wedding served its political purpose. The biggest change the marriage gave your life was that it handed you a permanent spot in the Grand Palace. Before, you were always temporary, forever having your terms of service extended as your help was needed more and more in the war effort. Now, you’re a fixture for real, never having to worry about being gradually cut out again. It certainly allows you to make it to meetings on time with that much more certainty.

Also, you’re not alone anymore. You never were, not really; Ravka is a cramped sort of annex, the kind of place in which you can hardly go down the length of a street without bumping into at least half a dozen people. The palace is on a whole separate level, however. Here, there are guards stationed everywhere, First and Second Army alike, then all the Grisha there with the Triumvirate or having arrived to report from the Little Palace just around the corner. Factor in palace staff, random diplomats, and spies, and you’ve got an audience fit for any queen, no matter how recently crowned.

No, hardly a dull moment indeed. Still, in the times when you need company most, those late nights when you’re certain that Ravka could never possibly come back from all the fights it has chosen to pick, you have someone there with you, someone who understands. When the moon has hung overhead for quite some time and the lights are off, Nikolai sits by your side, whispers that it’s going to be alright. Neither of you believe it, but it makes it better to hear someone you trust speak the foolish hopes aloud.

In all honesty, you think you’re growing to rely on him a little too much. At the beginning, you and Nikolai both agreed that this was strictly a marriage of convenience, that you had started this whole affair as friends and you would end it as such as well. Yet when Nikolai presents you to everyone in his path as his wife with that same giddy look on his face, it’s easy to pretend that his feelings could be elsewhere.

Elsewhere, just as yours are now. You had not intended to fall for him, but Nikolai does not make it a difficult task. He never has. There is another reason you agreed to his proposal, one you would not tell him in a thousand years: you assumed that you would never get such a chance again. Nikolai is, after all, a royal, and you are not. If you had declined his offer, it would only be to watch him wed someone else. At least now you get to claim his heart. At least now it is halfway yours, even if he grows to love someone else. On paper, he is chained to you.

Some days, that is enough. Others, you won’t satisfy yourself until you know for sure. There are a few nights when both of you want to prove something, when you take kvas instead of water for too long and let yourselves pretend that your alliance is something more than mere politics. You have kissed him more than you thought you would, even when no one was watching and there was no audience in need of a ruse to be kept up. You did it because you wanted to, and he kissed you back because he needed it just as much as you.

You never offer up an explanation for those nights, and neither does he. In the morning, you both go about your business as if nothing had ever happened. In reality, it hasn’t. Small altercations involving both of you ignoring your duties have no place in the future. You are wed for Ravka and you’ll die for her too. Falling in love is only a distraction, and not one that will serve you well. You learn that soon enough.

Your husband may be leaving you shortly.

Nikolai is not a Lantsov, not really. The rumor mills have known it for some time, and you think Nikolai has as well. Of course it would all come to ruin at some point. Nikolai has had an incredible grip on his broken country for quite some time, but all those petty shards just sliced his hands to ribbon. It would all drop eventually, and no one could blame him for that.

The nobles wanted answers. They always do. What you did not expect, however, was to walk out of a conference in which Zoya Nazyalensky was named as ruler of Ravka instead of Nikolai. The general of the Second Army is a worthy queen, of course, and you easily hand your title over to her; the stress could gray your hair like a silver tiara, but it still leaves you wondering what comes next.

It also makes you think about Nikolai. Nikolai, who wed you to avoid political conflict. Nikolai, who is no longer in that same position. Nikolai, who has absolutely no reason to remain married to you at all.

Your thoughts race in a tumultuous rhythm all the way back to your quarters after that fateful meeting. It’s going to hurt. What will? And: of course it will. What in this world doesn’t? You close the door behind you and walk halfway into the room before coming to a stop again. This has been your place for so long. It almost feels cruel to leave it.

The door opens behind you. You don’t have to turn around to know who has intruded on your shared space. You have long since been able to identify Nikolai by the turn of his step, the even rush of his breath, the quiet shuffle of his fingers in his gloves.

“Do you hate me for not giving you more advance notice?” He asks. Nikolai is careful to keep his voice neutral, but you hear the way his breathing hesitates as he waits for your response.

“No,” you say, although you do not turn around, “I knew you came up with it about thirty seconds before you said it. You didn’t have time.”

Nikolai exhales slowly. “We’ve had a lot of time.”

You close your eyes. This is the part you’ve been waiting for. This is when he ends it. Nikolai has no more use for you, not after he’s done his political maneuvering and finally managed to get himself out of the whole mess of kingship. You have always loved Nikolai for his mind, but Saints, if it doesn’t hurt sometimes to feel it used in the wrong direction.

“You could do it, you know,” you whisper, “No one would blame you.”

Nikolai had been starting to walk towards you, but his heels come to an abrupt click-stop on the floor. “What?”

You let out a bitter, quiet laugh. “End it. The marriage. People are already asking if you’re going to cut it off. We only made this agreement so you could fend off the other Ravkan nobles while you were king. You’re no longer king, why keep this around any longer? I won’t force you to stay with me if you love someone else.”

Nikolai is deathly silent for a moment, then two. You tense your shoulders, waiting for the blow to land, but it never does. Instead, he walks to your side and takes your hand.

“Do you always have to be such a martyr, sweetheart?”

Your lips part in a silent gasp. “What?”

Nikolai has the nerve to smile as if he hasn’t upset your entire world. “I know you didn’t just marry me for politics. I didn’t ask you just for politics, either. We wanted something. Maybe I still want it.”

He squeezes your hand; you squeeze it back, two beats of a heart. “You could marry Zoya, though. If you still wanted the crown.”

Nikolai laughs. “I don’t want the crown, and although I am certainly grateful to Zoya, I don’t want to marry her, either. No, Y/N, I want you. I want to wander through Ravka without having to worry about all the responsibilities of my office. I want to rent a rusted schooner and show you the sea. I want to get us in trouble and out of it again and again. I want to do a thousand things with you that we never could have done as king and queen. I want to die having loved you, and having loved you right.”

You smile, unable to stop for a second. “We can grow old without anyone needing us.”

Nikolai closes his eyes for a moment as if picturing it. “I think I’d like nothing more.”

You stand in a room that is no longer yours, in a palace that no longer calls your name. You think you have never been happier about it. You still have your husband. All else is a mere triviality.

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