#that he loves me for some inexplicable fucking reason
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#I'm just fucking itching to tell someone at work about Max#I was alone with Roxy for like one minute and just wanted to tell her#Now I'm with Hood and Roxy and want to blab all about it#but Roxy tells me all the tea sooooo#but honestly I want to brag#Max is fucking hot#and kind#and a fucking dork#and i love him#and want to tell people that i get to#that he loves me for some inexplicable fucking reason#but I can't#so I'm sending it into the void#thank god the void is working on active listening ;)
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at level ten, if felix holds still, his passive perception is 31
#expertise + observant + inquisitive rogue advantage on perception if you move half speed or less (passive advantage is +5)#I am LOOKING I am PERCEIVING!!!#this is so fucking funny it feels like some munchkin bullshit but I literally just built for his concept#he has Observant mostly to gain lipreading#and THAT mostly tbqh because the DM made me jump through inexplicable hoops to eavesdrop that one time#oh okay. I actually don't need to get close to them or hear them actually so. pointlessly roadblock THAT.#this is a tangent now but I just wanna say this wasn't me being annoying digging for info the DM didn't want to give me#it was literally the plothook we'd been given I was LITERALLY trying to access the information the DM was TRYING TO GIVE US#it was just a 'largely inexperienced DM thing' more than anything I think. 'um yeah I should call for like three rolls here I think!!'#anyway. ANYWAY I didn't know inquisitive rogues get this at level 9 I only realized his build lines up this way just now agskfldgsks#I do really love this just for his character#it is VERY felix to sit quietly somewhere and peoplewatch and Notice Everything and Make Connections About Everything#(for all the same reasons his passive investigation would be 32 😊)#the lad has epitomized 'do one thing and do it well' he's here to figure shit out and by fucking god that's what he's gonna do#about me#my OCs#felix
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(SPOILERS) breaking down how obsessed Andrew is w/his sister bc he's a repressed lil liar and I'm going insane
This post got longer than I intended it to
1. He claims they don't spend enough time apart from each other to even begin missing her so he doesn't even know if he would, but just earlier in the game he was apart from her for probs like 30 mins tops to investigates some cultists and guess what???? He was already missing her 😒
2. Says "I thought you grew out of this touchy-feely crap" when Ashley asks for a hug, but earlier when he was cooking dinner, he was the one with the inexplicable urge to "pull this broody bitch into [his] arms and force her to stay until she smiles" 😒
3. Piggy-backing off the last screenshot: WHAT OTHER THOUGHTS, ANDREW??? yOU WERE JUST THINKING ABT HUGGING HER. WHAT DO YOU EVEN MEAN. THESE ARE SIMPLY INNOCENT BROTHERLY THOUGHTS ARE THEY NOT????? 🤨🤨🤨
4. Bro just can't keep his hands off her. And everyone thinks Ashley's the clingy one jeez (lol the way he springs apart from her when Mom catches them is definitely definitelyyyy not worth analyzing. nope. not even when it happens a second time on the couch. nope. nooope)
5. What. What is he thinking here. Don't think I don't see those grey lil blush lines. Is this connected to my third point somehow bc like... 🤨😬 Is "Andrew" is gonna start doing and being what "Andy" was too spineless and afraid of doing?? That's what the vow was partly abt right?? Does that include—
5. WHEWWW BOY that little flashback with his gf has so much baggage in it I just wanna dissect. His girlfriend's tryna have a serious discussion with him abt his weird sister for the sake of bettering their relationship bc she genuinely loves him, but he just gets caught up in fondly talking abt said weird sister instead??
6. He's awfully hesitant abt Ashley learning some independence, bc y'know what?? I think he doesn't really want her to stop relying on him. But what do I know y'know
6. Wants his gf to put tie her hair up in a ponytail, then when she refuses bc he'll pull on it, says it's just "how boys express their love". Well. You know who else puts there hair up in a ponytail??? You know who else's hair he's always pulling on and touching???
7. The voicemails in his gf's phone left by Ashley are heard by him in his dreams, and his dreams are a construction of his mind utilizing his memories, personal hangups, and knowledge of Ashley. The voicemails irl were left on his gf's phone, and for all we know, he never actually listened to them in person. Bearing this in mind... odds are the things Ashley's saying contain bits of truths he believes within himself, filtered thru her crude, hateful dialogue.
Here. I transcribed one of them...
"DO YOU THINK YOU'RE BETTER THAN ME!? Just because you can fuck him and I can't? You think that's love?! Are you fucking delusional?? Cumdumpsters like you are just that. He will never love you. Not like he loves me. I am the only one. I am everything. I am the secrets you'll never hear. When he lies in bed at night, and when he needs someone to hold on to… It's not you he seeks out. It is me."
8. Claims Ashley's the one with the jealous streak, not him, but I think he's just as bad. The only difference is that Ashley's never given him reason to act on it since all she's ever wanted was him, but at the slightest mention of her gettin it on w/someone else, even as a joke, he gets mad. "OVER MY DEAD BODY!!" he says, when she's jokingly contemplating getting knocked up via the neighbor so an ambulance would come for her. "I wouldn't let them," he says, when she's complaining abt not being pretty enough for the wardens to bang her
9. Going hand-in-hand with that fact, he's intensely protective of her. Didn't hesitate to cleaver the warden who found her in the closet (probs didn't even BLINK lmaooo he chose VIOLENCE), and when the cake-stealing cultist insulted her just once, he stepped forward just like that
10. In their apt, when they were lying on the floor talking abt jumping off the balcony, he was really caught up in the "romantic" fantasy of them committing a double suicide and dying with their bodies entwined so irreparably by the impact they form one unified corpse "never to be separated!" and they get buried in the same coffin together. UM??? Bro fr thought he was the sane one of the two. That wasn't even true before the cannibalism and demon summoning 😭😭😭
BONUS:
11. This might just be me, but his reaction to seeing the post-sex vision doesn't strike me as someone who's inherently opposed to the idea. Instead of disgusted, he was... flustered?? He acted like she walked in mid-guilty pleasure wet dream. This wasn't a "GROSS THATS INCEST" reaction which is... the most normal reaction to have. That's the face of a man that got CAUGHT bro.
He asks "we're not like that, are we?" and "why are you like this?" and questions the veracity of the vision, but he never actually explicitly denies wanting the vision to happen, more focused on Ashley and her reaction. He buries the elephant under the rug as fast as he can, bc yeah, it struck a landmine, but it probably wasn't a landmine for the reason Ashley thinks it is. I bet the vision just hit a little too close... :P
#the coffin of andy and leyley#coffincest#andrew x ashley#tcoaal#txt post#character analysis#andrew graves#bro is MESSED UP and I'm only scratching the surface#half of this post is analyzing his gf and I'm not even done man I didn't even mention how Julia is both a foil for Ashley and a lookalike#he both chose a girl completely different from her (mfer's compensating) and someone who reminds him of her
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‘1-800-fix it felix !’
in which; When your boyfriend has a problem he knows who to call! Can you fix it?
featuring: s.gojo x afab! reader
contains: masturbation, face time s3x , reader shows her br3asts over the camera, bathroom masturb@tion, pet names (babe, baby), reader being a tease, gojo being js a little bit subby
Satoru thinks of you all the time. He thinks of the new perfume you bought last week, of the pretty dress you wore to your last date. He thinks about how pretty you look when your hair is done all up, and about how sweet your voice sounds in this voice note you just sent him.
Fuck. He’s hard.
Can you blame him? You just woke up and for some inexplicable reason thought sending him a voice message while he’s at work is a good idea. Do you not notice the way you sigh your half-coherent words? Do you not notice the way you sigh out your words, barely coherent? Satoru swears he can feel his ears tingling at the longing in your voice for him.
You’re not making this at all easy.
Just as you start to drift back to sleep, there's a buzz somewhere around your head. Curses slip from your lips as you grope around the duvet, trying to locate your device with your half-asleep senses. With your eyes barely open, you try to read the contact name.
Of course it’s Satoru. Of course it’s a facetime call. He can’t settle for a damned text. It’s his brand at this point. You appreciate the attention, of course. But you’re sure you told him you’re going back to sleep in that voice note.
As soon as your finger swipes the little green icon to answer the call, you begin to speak, “I swear to god Satoru-”
“Hey baby,” he cuts you off. It sounds like he's in a confined space. A toilet stall, maybe? You're too sleepy to dwell on it. “I missed you”
“Mhmm..” You yawn. “‘Missed you too…”
The camera on his end is slightly shaky, and so is his breath. But in this sleepy state you can barely notice it really.
“What's up...?” you ask, flipping over and adjusting the phone, ”is everything okay?”
“Yeah—fuck—” his eyebrows furrow, giving you a moment of confusion. "You're looking so pretty—hah—baby."
“Satoru…” realization dawns on you, excitement stirring within. “Show me.”
The camera trembles as it takes him nearly a minute to respond to your request. Finally, his finger hits the flip camera button, giving you a shaky view of his fist wrapped around his length, stroking himself vigorously.
Pearly precum oozes from his tip, a thumb moving to spread it slightly before he goes back at it again.
“Oh? Is this all f’me?” You grin, observing his subdued grunts. It would be such a shame if someone were to come into the bathroom right now. “This early in the morning, too? Couldn’t you wait to get home at least?”
“Sh– hah– shut up,” he picks up the pace, starting from the very base, “at least make yourself– useful.”
Your tongue glides across your lower lip, considering your next move. While you love watching Satoru struggle on his own like this, relishing at the revelation that it’s the thought of you that makes him like this, you also think a little assistance wouldn’t harm.
“What do you wanna see?” You smirk smugly, enjoying this ordeal.
“Fuck– fuck– baby,” he’s quiet resilient with it, strokes increasing in pace little by little. “Sh-show me your tits, baby.”
“Hmm? What if I don’t?” Undeniably, you’re gonna regret this later. You savor the moment nonetheless. There’s a certain sort of zest in the control you have over this moment.
“Fuck you,” his fist tightens around his dick, veins popping out. You love the view. God, you wish you were there to help. Your thighs tighten to squelch the heat growing in your core. “Please, baby, ‘wanna see my girl’s pretty– shit– tits”
That’s enough to convince you. More than enough, actually. Without hesitation, you lift your t-shirt up, showing him a view that nearly makes him faint. He can almost feel the warmth of your skin against his. He feels his climax reaching. You move your fingers, massaging your breast. That was his endgame.
A string of curses begins to slip past his lips, along with a grunted “I’m gonna- fuck- I'm gonna cum-”
Your grin widens, biting your lower lip. “Mhm… so hard for me, ‘Toru..? Wish I was there to help…” Your words come out stretched, all on purpose. It causes a robust groan to thunder through him. The view begins to totter. With a final groan, milky robes seep out of Storu’s shaft, running down his white knuckles and onto his thighs. His breathes even out as he comes down from his high.
“You’re welcome,” you hum, satisfied. You put the phone to your side, pulling your shirt back down. When you picked the phone back up, the call was hung up. You almost feel offended, rushing to text him a ‘what the fuck?’
Before you could text him the half-angry message, your phone vibrates again.
‘sorry babe someone came in’ - 8:46 am
‘ill call u later’ - 8:46 am
‘love ya’ - 8:47 am
You roll your eyes, definitely planning on bringing this up later. Going back to sleep will be hard with the stain on your underwear.
Maybe you’re going to be the one to call this time so he could fix it.
#bella writes#gojo satoru#jjk#gojo x reader#jjk smut#gojo#gojo smut#gojo x reader smut#jjk x reader#jjk x reader smut#gojo satoru x reader fluff#gojo satoru x reader#gojo satoru x reader smut#satoru gojo#satoru gojo smut#satoru gojo x reader#gojo satoru smut#one more time hopefully
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hi hi! i’m sorry you’re day isn’t going well and i hope it gets better soon <333
and since you are taking requests….can you write price fucking his civilian wife on his desk in his office on base please and thank you <333
Love Buzz
Captain John Price x fem!reader
[“Love Buzz” by Nirvana]
[18+]
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• summary - price makes you ride his thigh then bends you over his desk lol.
• rating - 18+
• wordcount - 2.6k
• warnings - fem!reader, civilian!reader, unprotected piv, thigh-riding, praise, teasing, overstimulation, baby you're getting bent over the deskkkkk, soft dom!price, strong language
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It wasn't rare that you'd visit your husband at work.
On the slower days, days where he was bound to his office by chains of paperwork, you'd spend time with him. You'd lounge in the couch in the corner of the room, sipping your tea that Gaz had made you, watching Price puff at his second cigar of the day as he worked through mountains of paperwork.
Other times, you'd sit in one of the chairs on the opposite side of the desk, his hat on your head, staring up at the ceiling, listening to Price take numerous phone calls from other military captains across the world.
Some days, you'd even stand behind him as he worked, using your hands and fingers to work the stiffness out of his shoulders. He'd groan and grumble as you worked the knots from his shoulders and back, almost forgetting about the documents he was meant to be signing.
But then, there were times when, for some unknown reason, you were inexplicably horny.
Like today.
You'd been in Price's office for hours, having been on base all day. You were becoming increasingly more restless— hell, you'd cleaned the entire barracks, done Gaz's laundry, sewn up a tear in one of Ghost's balaclava, and given Soap's mohawk a slight trim.
But there was just something keeping you restless.
You were ovulating, by the feel of it, because you were so fucking horny it wasn't even funny. Diagnosed with lack of your husbands dick [LMAO].
So now, the day getting later and later, you wiggled around in the chair in front of your husbands desk. He looked so good. So handsome where he sat doing his work. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing taut, muscular forearms; large hands lined with veins shuffled paper and tapped his pen against the desk; his shirt clinging to his broad chest, the dips of his soft muscles visible through the fabric.
You were salivating.
You groaned. "John."
He spared a glance up at you, raising his eyebrows. "Yeah?"
You pouted at him, shifting in your seat. You sat up straighter, your core beginning to ache. Squeezing your thighs together, you released a short breath.
"Are you almost done?" You asked, sounding more than a little breathless.
Price picked up his simmering cigar from his ashtray, placing it between his lips as his eyes flicked back down to the stack of paper in front of him. He exhaled around the cigar, eyes finding yours again, before he extracted his cigar from his mouth and twisted it between his thumb and index finger.
"Still got a bit to do, sorry, sweetheart," he said softly, taking another inhale from his cigar before placing it back in the ashtray. "Did you want to head home without me?"
You shook your head quickly, groaning again. "No, no."
He furrowed his brows. "Are... you okay, sweetheart?"
You whined, squeezing your thighs together. The smell of his cologne and cigar smoke was driving you insane. His voice, deep and melodic, stirred your insides up until you swore you could feel a heartbeat pulsing in your underwear.
"I'm..." You were embarrassed for some reason, your body warming beneath his soft gaze.
"You're...?" He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. That made his muscles tighten beneath his shirt, his pecs pushed up beneath the fabric.
You chewed on your lip, suppressing an involuntary whine. "John. Don't do that."
Price looked at you, scanning your face with his soft eyes. A small, intrigued smile crept along his face, his lips quirking.
"Do what?" He smiled.
You groaned. "Stop being hot. I'm... Jesus Christ, I'm so horny."
He laughed, eyes crinkling at the edges. He sat up in his chair, shrugging, looking at you without any sympathy as he grabbed his pen again and resumed his work.
"Sorry, sweetheart, I've got to get this done," he said. He didn't sound sorry at all. "You can wait, can't you?"
No.
No, you couldn't.
You whined, rubbing your thighs together, watching your husband work. Your core was throbbing with need, and you'd no doubt be drenched if you had half the mind to put a hand beneath your jeans.
Oh. That's not a bad idea.
With a frustrated sigh, you got up, crossing the office and locking the door. You then returned to your chair, your husband ignoring you. Then, you popped the button of your jeans and unzipped the zipper— the sound making Price snap his eyes up from his paperwork to look at you.
Before you could dip a hand into your jeans:
"Don't." He whispered darkly.
You huffed, frowning at him. "Well if you're not going to do it, John..." You trailed off, sliding your hand into the front of your jeans, your fingertips grazing past the waistband of your underwear.
Price watched you for a split second before making his decision. Before your fingers even brushed past the mound of your pubic bone, Price stopped you with a sigh.
"Come here."
Excitably, you did— hopping out of your chair and hurrying towards him. He shuffled his chair back slightly so you could crawl into his lap, straddling one of his thick thighs. Immediately, the pressure against your core through both his and your denim was much needed. You whined, wrapping your arms around his neck.
You kissed him, and the kiss was slow and gentle. One of his hands rested on the desk behind you, the other settling on your hip. You licked past the seam of his lips, deepening the kiss with a satisfied sigh while his hand gripped your hip tightly.
Then, he began rocking you. He rocked you down against the thick muscle of his thigh, gently at first. You broke the kiss, panting into his mouth as he rubbed you against him. You whimpered softly, and he shushed you, pulling you down rougher and harder against him.
"I need to finish my work," he told you in a whisper. "So while I finish up, you can be a good girl and rub that pretty cunt on my thigh, but m'not gonna give you what you want 'til I'm done."
Your mouth dropped open in confusion as he shuffled the chair a bit closer to his desk so he could grab hold of his pen and resume his paperwork. He still had his left hand on your hip, but you could feel the movement of writing behind you, hearing the pen scratching against the paper.
"John, baby—"
"Get yourself off on my thigh since you're so desperate, sweetheart," Price told you. "Go on."
With a light pout, you began rocking yourself against the solid form of his thigh. Immediately, the throbbing in your core eased, replaced instead by the buzz of pleasure spreading through your lower stomach. The seam of your jeans added friction to your clit as you moved your hips back and forth, gladly— as Price put it— getting yourself off.
You struggled to maintain an appropriate volume, worried that if you moaned too loud that he'd make you stop. So you chewed on your bottom lip to stifle the mewls and whimpers falling across your tongue. You closed your eyes at the feeling, moaning lowly in the back of your throat, sliding your clothed core against him.
Price continued his work, ignoring the soft sounds that dropped from your lips and into his ear. You were warm against his thigh. He could feel how aroused you were, even through your jeans and his. He was going increasingly harder, his cock straining an uncomfortable tent in the front of his jeans.
Your legs were beginning to tremble as you worked yourself against Price's thigh, your clit swollen and puffy within your underwear, your cunt slick and dampening the fabric. Your movements picked up as you clutched at his shoulders, mewling desperately as you hurtled closer and closer to a much awaited climax.
Price was almost done completing the last sheet of paperwork for the evening. He could feel your body growing tighter and tighter against him as he began signing off the report.
"John..." You whispered, voice sultry and dripping with unadulterated pleasure.
He restricted a groan, cock throbbing.
"I want you to come on my thigh, sweetheart. You can do that, can't you?" Price whispered, the movement of your hips speeding up as you chased release.
You moaned loudly, not bothering to stifle your sounds. The pressure in your lower tummy built heavier and heavier until it released, and you moaned again— his name— as you came while riding his thigh. You sobbed out, hole spasming around nothing, slick pooling in your underwear, warm against your slit and making your face heat up. You buried your face in his shoulder, breathing hard.
Your body trembled against Price's as you came down from your high. Price noticed this, and began moving you again. Gripping your hip tight, he began the same movements that he had done all those minutes ago, forcing you to rock your clothed cunt against his thigh. You sobbed out a moan into the crook of his neck as he signed his name on the final document, then cast his pen aside.
Price held both of your hips now, rubbing you against his thigh faster than you had done. You sobbed out again, overstimulation smacking you across the face as he dragged your sensitive slit up and down the solid expanse of his thigh.
"This is what you wanted, eh, sweetheart? Just so needy that you needed to rub yourself on my thigh, eh?" Price mused, dragging you heavier and faster, making your breath stutter and your stomach flip.
"John—" You moaned, teeth grazing the sensitive skin of his neck.
"I want you to come one more time on my thigh like the needy girl you are, then I'll give you what you want."
You felt hot and sticky with sweat. Your heart was beating out of your chest as the buzzing pressure of overstimulation turned into newfound pleasure, and your second orgasm began building in the base of your tummy. You keened, arching your back, your chest flush with his as he pulled and pushed your hips along his leg.
You were thoroughly fucked out and he hadn't even fucked you yet.
Brain muddled, post-orgasmic thoughts fizzling away to make room for another, you muttered out a strained: "Captain."
You knew he was smiling like a fucking idiot.
"Come on, sweetheart, come on your captain's thigh," he whispered in your ear. "Be a good girl for your captain, come on."
Body shaking, you came across his thigh for the second time. You moaned his rank, and it made him groan, as you trembled down from your release. Your underwear was sticky against your core, and you'd be surprised if the seam of your jeans didn't have a wet patch.
Price wasted no time in standing you up, placing your backside on his desk while he got up. He ripped your jeans down your legs, discarding them hurriedly along with your shoes. Then, he spread your legs, and your whole body was warming up as his eyes locked onto your underwear.
"Just look at you," he mused, running a finger up your clothed slit. Your underwear was drenched. You whined as he pressed against your swollen clit through your underwear, before dragging his finger back down. "Soaked. Absolutely soaked."
Gently, he pulled your underwear down your legs, his eyes fixed on your cunt, shining with your two releases. He groaned, eyelids lowering further.
"Such a needy, needy girl for your captain," Price tutted, then he finally looked up to you. "You want me to take care of you, yeah?" He got to his feet, putting his hands on your hips again and leaning in close. "You want me to fill this needy cunt with my cock, do you?"
Two of his fingers eased into your cunt, and you choked on a gasp. He smiled at your facial expression, fucking his fingers in and out of your cunt quick enough that his office filled with lewd, wet squelches.
He chuckled softly under his breath. "Just listen. Poor baby just couldn't wait until we got home. Just so desperate for her husband's cock."
"Captain," you whined pathetically, shifting your hips to meet the movements of his fingers, trying to take him deeper. "Need you... please, fuck. I need you."
He grunted, curling his fingers inside you. "Just... be patient."
You whined loudly, impatiently, clawing at his back, fingernails dragging down the smooth planes of his shoulder muscles. "Please, Captain, please, I need you, I need—"
Price removed his fingers abruptly and pulled you off the desk. You yelped as, with one hand, he turned you around and bent you over the sleek wooden surface. At the same time, with his other hand, he unbuckled his belt and unzipped his jeans, pulling his hard cock out of the confines of his denim.
"You need," he muttered, cock bobbing against his abdomen as he kicked your legs apart and placed a hand to your lower back, making you arch for him. "You're just so needy all the fuckin' time."
You felt the warm head of his cock at your soaked core, and only had enough time to suck in a sharp breath before he was spearing you on it. You moaned loudly as he entered you in one fluid motion, the sound wet and pornographic, his balls slapping heavily against the curve of your arse as he bottomed out.
He groaned through gritted teeth when he pulled out and roughly slammed back into you, setting a pace with his hands holding your hips in place.
You moaned wantonly into the surface of his desk, eyes on the verge of rolling as the tip of his cock slammed into the spot within you that made you sob in pleasure. You had been begging for this, and he was giving it to you.
His fat cock stretched you open repeatedly, notching at the plug of your womb. You were wet and warm and tight around him, pulling grunt after grunt from his chest as his own pleasure built. It never took him long to come when it came to you. Just look at you.
"This what you wanted?" He grunted, fucking his cock deeper into you, hips slapping against your arse. "You wanted your captain's cock, yeah? You wanted it?"
"Yes—!" You moaned.
"Then fucking take it."
You moaned again as his thrusts became rougher, your body rocking against his desk. Your legs trembled violently as your third orgasm built quickly— so quickly that your cunt began squeezing Price's cock, milking him for all he's worth.
He groaned, cursing.
"I can fucking feel you, sweetheart," he groaned. "Come for me. Come round your captain's cock like a good girl... that's it, good fucking girl."
You came for a third time, and you swore you saw stars. You gushed around him, your arousal dribbling down your thighs as he rutted into you, fucking you through your orgasm.
He wasn't far behind, grunting and groaning and slamming into you like his own personal fleshlight.
"Needy fucking girl... my needy fucking girl... yeah, my good girl. M'gonna come... m'gonna..." he wasn't talking to you, but more to himself, before he moaned your name and came deep inside you.
He continued thrusting for a long moment, before he stilled with a shuddering breath, plugging his seed inside you. Then, he was draping himself over your back, kissing along your shoulder over the material of your shirt.
"I love you." He whispered.
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ended it here cause i'm lazyyyyyyyyyyy
oh and sorry for the lack of work recently
#captainfern#captainfernsalutes#captain john price#call of duty#call of duty mw2#captain price#captain price smut#captain john price x you#captain john price x reader#captain price x reader#price smut#price call of duty#captain john price x female reader#fem reader#captain'snirvana
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devastating trobed quotes (a list)
does thinking of troy and abed ever make you inexplicably upset? well, it's all in the text! aside from troy and abed serving as frequent comedic buffers, they are given some weighty emotional scenes throughout community's run. just look at the meat of these lines!
we just won't get masking tape (what a beautiful, simplistic way to portray how troy is able to think around abed's systematic manner of viewing their friendship in its beginning stages as well as an illustration of how he deals with conflict)
i love you (pure honesty in a moment of intense distress)
i know (both a reference, because it's easy, and the truth)
you don't like people who tell you what to do, and i don't wanna be one of those people (one of the more heartbreaking things said between the two of them, with troy knowing exactly abed's qualms and negative experiences with being controlled, not wanting to add to it, and still having to fall into the pattern for the sake of keeping him safe, fearing he's risking their friendship by doing so)
you weren't supposed to think those things (you of all people, the person i trust most in this whole world)
this is going to be the last thing we ever do together, we can't stop (what the actual fuck)
i know you hate when people do this in movies (whispered quietly to abed by troy, without anyone else hearing, one of the most romantic, intimate lines in the whole show, argue with the wall)
you're gonna have to trust that you're gonna have to trust me (said to someone with severe trust issues, and for good reasons, just an incredible invocation of the bond they have)
for the first time in my long history of being locked inside things, i knew someone would come (as someone who was bullied in high school, this line hits so fucking hard, aren't we all waiting on this moment?)
you were out there somewhere, and you weren't looking for me? (devastating in a way where i simply cannot believe they throw words like these around casually)
the floor can't be lava forever, the game's gotta end (troy, perpetually insistent on indulging abed, on letting him do his thing, on enjoying his imagination, has to be the one to bring him back to reality this time, and even if he tries to do it as gentle as possible, it will never not rip my fucking heart out)
it's not a game for me troy. i'm seeing real lava because you're leaving, it's embarrassing. i don't wanna be crazy but i am crazy so i made a game that made you and everyone else see what i see. i don't want it to be there either, i swear. i want you to be able to leave but i don't think the lava goes away until you stop leaving (fuck it, i'm putting the whole thing, not a lot makes me cry but abed so clearly experiencing disillusion and trying to assuage troy while also communicating to him how hard it is to accept him leaving all with an air of embarrassment and hopelessness and desperation will do it for me, thank you very much)
i'm not leaving, okay? i promise. the floor's not lava now, just give me your hand (all i can say is that i bet it tore abed to pieces hearing these words)
i think i might be able to let troy go now (the way he says it too)
when i cloned you i had to patch some missing parts of your dna with genes from a homing pigeon. you may notice side effects like a compulsion to come back (in other words, i am in love with you and i never found the right time to say it)
#this is lowkey silly i just like to talk lol#community#abed nadir#nbc community#troy barnes#trobed#abed community#troy and abed#troy community#trobed community#community analysis
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x gon' give it to ya.
MINORS DNI 18+ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ
NOTES: @fuckmyskywalker introduced me to the concept of talking to a pussy i think via an anakin smut post and it changed my life so i'd like to dedicate credit to the idea.
WARNINGS: fem reader | sex in the suit | deadpool calls himself daddy ironically and talks to your pussy.
A deep groan reverberates from low in DEADPOOL's throat. "Baby, I can't believe how good you look right now, seriously never looked better." he praises, commending the space between your legs as she's stuffed full of every inch of his dick. Another inexplicable thing about his mutation—he grew.
"'Talking to my pussy again, Wade?" you scoff, amused and breathless as you rock back on him, tossing a glance at him over your shoulder. Your spine is in a deep arch over the bed, and the nine inch heels you're wearing are the only reason you're able to compete with his height bent over like this.
"She needs to know what a good job she's doing otherwise she'll get discouraged. Poor thing needs a lot of love." he refutes your judgement, however playful, lovingly stroking the flesh of your ass with his glove. "Give us some privacy, please. Jesus." he tsks, shaking his head at you while you bury your face in the mattress. If his dick wasn't yanking your brains out along with it, you might have more to say. He turns his attention back where your bodies conjoin. "Thank God I put zipper on this thing. Who knew a onesie would be such a hassle to take a piss in?" The sounds of the room are filled with him running his mouth and your cunt's wet responses when he pulls out and shoves back in. "Now look at us." A particularly moistured sound squirts out, and he laughs knowingly, like your hole's said something entertaining at a tea party. "Zipper makes it too easy, you know? We've gotta stop meeting like this, maybe next time we can just sit and talk—"
"Wade!" you giggle, banging your fist onto the mattress. "Just fuck me, already!"
"Don't worry about her, she's just jealous." he tells your cunt, "You and I have something special, don't we? 'Specially when Daddypool says to christen the suit." A wave of wetness wells up from his comment, and he gasps in pleasant surprise. "Oh, you like that, you dirty thing. Next time I crotch-shot a bad guy he'll smell you all over, is that what you want, you freak? C'mere, I'll give you something real to leak about." Big rough hands grip on your hips, slamming into you so hard your ass ripples from the effect, and your happy pussy gargles around the dick it chokes on.
#[🃏]#indy: drabbles#ch: wade#wade wilson drabble#wade wilson smut#wade wilson x reader#wade wilson x fem reader#wade wilson x you#wade wilson x y/n#wade wilson imagine#wade wilson fic#wade wilson fanfic#wade wilson fanfiction#deadpool smut#deadpool x reader#deadpool x fem reader#deadpool x you#deadpool x y/n#deadpool imagine#deadpool fanfiction#deadpool fic#tw daddy kink
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a calm surrender II Roy Kent
Plot: Roy doesn't love her. In fact, he finds her irritating above anything else. And yet he manages to tell her in so many different ways.
Pairing: Roy Kent x female reader
Warnings: A lot of swearing, mentions of food and alcohol. Reader takes Keeley's spot in some plot points - no disrepect to her though she's my favorite.
Notes: This is inspired by a "100 ways to say I love you" List. It’s 8.3k words, It's a big one.
Likes, reblogs, comments are all much appreciated. I am German. Sometimes I get the tense wrong or make mistakes. I am useless when it comes to punctuation. Go easy on me, please
"It's enough for this restless warrior
Just to be with you"
Take my jacket, it’s cold & You can have half
She’s irritating. Everything about her manages to get under his skin. The way she’s always smiling that big radiant smile of hers or the perpetual scent of jasmine and vanilla that seems to follow her anywhere. She laughs too loud, she’s a terrible driver and even worse at parking. The music coming from the physio room is mostly cheesy 80s and 90s pop songs that make Roy want to give himself a lobotomy. She’s irritating in every which way you look at it — and maybe that’s the exact reason why Roy can’t keep himself from looking at her.
Tonight is no exception. For some inexplicable reason, his eyes manage to find her across the room and in the crowd, every single time without fail. It’s not like it’s a conscious choice on his part either. It just happens. That sparkly green dress of her’s just seems to call out to him like the damn light across the bay at the Buchanan’s dock.
And the worst part is that she noticed. She caught his eyes on her more than once, even had the audacity to smirk back at him. During the auction, for a small moment, he thought she might bid on him when her hand just barely twitched and her eyes held a sense of infinite mischief. She didn’t though and for a second he could feel a string of disappointment pull at his heart. Not because he wanted her to bid on him or anything, he just wasn’t particularly fond of the idea of having to spend time with Cheryl Barnaby.
He managed to find her across the room all night — except for right now. Everyone’s on the dance floor. Keeley, Jamie, Ted, even Beard. But not her.
No one’s paying attention to him right now, if he were to just slip out of here, no one will notice.
It’s not like he wanted to be here in the first place. Sure, raising money for underprivileged children is something honorable and he would never let his own disdain for overly glitzy social events get in the way of doing the right thing. Doesn’t mean he has to like it though.
Emptying his glass with one last sip he grabs his jacket from the back of the chair and steps out into the chilly air of a London night.
It’s funny, really, how the moment he stops searching, the green light calls back out to him and she steps into his vision. A glowing beacon of refuge, guiding ships through dark nights to safe shores.
The cold air nips at her skin, sharp and vicious and Roy doesn’t even have to get any closer to her to notice that she’s shivering. He can barely suppress the urge to roll his eyes at her. Of course, she’s cold, she’s only wearing the dress and some flimsy chiffon scarf thing around her shoulders. That’s gonna do fuck all to shelter her from the cold. Irritating. She’s so irritating.
The most irritating part though, is that he can’t help but slip out of his suit jacket. The most irritating part is that he can’t help but care.
“Take my jacket, it’s cold.”
There it is again, that smile of hers. The one he sees sometimes when he’s about to fall asleep. How ridiculous, he thinks, how foolish of him. How absurd it is to fall asleep to the image of a smile belonging to a girl that annoys him more than anything and anyone. (Except maybe Jamie).
“Are you — are you talking to me? Little old me? Are you being nice to me?”
“Jesus fuck, don’t make it weird. I’m always nice.”
She giggles and it’s bloody adorable. So adorable that a smile threatens to pull the corners of his lips upwards. See? Fucking irritating.
“You hardly talk more than 3 words to me when you’re in the physio room but — okay. If that’s your version of nice.”
“Take the jacket or not, I don’t care. I’ll let you freeze out here if you’re trying to be difficult. Means fuck all to me.”
That’s not true. They both know it. No matter how much Roy tries to deny or hide it, there is a soft heart buried inside the rough exterior. He just can’t risk showing that to everyone. Can’t have people getting the wrong ideas.
“No, please I — sorry I’m just — you make me nervous and when I’m nervous I talk a lot and then most of what comes out is just stupid nonsense or deflecting humor or something. I would really appreciate that jacket. It really is fucking freezing.”
Roy has been in the public eye for years now, he’s used to people being intimidated, nervous. Usually, it’s strangers though, people who don’t know him. Those that do, that work with him, usually lose that feeling pretty quickly.
“Why the fuck would I make you nervous?”
She just glances at him before turning her face back towards the street “Have you seen yourself?”
He’s not sure how to take that. Is it a compliment? Does she think he’s handsome? It’s not like it matters to him really. In fact, the thought that she might find him attractive is — say it with me — fucking irritating.
He contemplates asking her outright if this is something she does on purpose. If she’s deliberately trying to rile him up. The words are on the tip of his tongue when he notices her shiver once again and all that was on his mind vanishes against the desperate need to keep her warm.
“Jesus. Let me just — “
Jasmine. Vanilla. He smells it when he slips the jacket around her shoulders. He wonders if his jacket will smell like that, like her, when he gets it back. Wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. Not because it’s her or anything — just because it smells fantastic and Roy is not one to deny himself the simple pleasures in life.
“I really appreciate it, Roy.”
And the gratefulness with which she says it is not irritating at all. It’s endearing. It’s flutters-in-his-tummy kind of wonderful.
Instead of reacting like a normal, reasonable person with a simple “you're welcome”, he gives her one of his signature grunts. That’s as good a normal reasonable reaction as anyone can expect from him, really.
“What are you out here all by yourself for anyway? Trying to get kidnapped or something?”
“No,” there it is again, the giggle. Ugh. “ I’m waiting for my Uber. He’s — “She checks her phone, illuminating her face with the harsh blue light. He thinks she looks wonderful either way. Then scolds himself for thinking it. Some simple pleasures he has to deny himself. “ 12 minutes away.”
Roy isn’t quite certain whether or not he considers himself a good person. He tries to be, it’s a conscious effort each and every day. He helps out his sister, he gives in to all of Phoebe’s wishes even if it means having to play the princess yet again and never getting to be the dragon. He donates more money to charity than the press is aware of, leaves hefty tips whenever he goes out to eat and though he does swear a lot, he still tries to be polite if he can.
He tries to be a good person and a good person doesn’t let a woman wait outside in the cold dark night by herself. No matter how infuriating she is.
“Do you mind if I keep you company? Couldn’t live with myself if you got snatched up and I was the last person to see you alive.”
A laugh tumbles from her lips. A step up from a giggle and god does it send shockwaves through his traitorous heart.
“The press would have a field day if that happened. I can see the headlines, ‘Football legend Roy Kent involved in the disappearance of Richmond sports physio’ and then they use a picture of you from like 10 years ago with the really bad long hair that makes you look a little sketchy.”
“I didn’t look sketchy.”
“You looked a little sketchy.”
Roy glances at her through the corner of his eyes. She really is a dream in forest green, the sequins, and rhinestones reflecting the street lights like little kaleidoscopes. He’s almost certain he’ll dream in shades of green tonight. He’s sure he’ll see her smiling face.
“You look beautiful.”
The words fall from his lips before he can stop them and it makes him want to put his head through a wall. Fuck.
“Thank you —” she replies bashfully, “do you want some sausage roll?”
In all the scenarios running through his head of how this conversation could’ve gone, this is not one of the outcomes he expected.
“What?” he asks, one eyebrow raised in question.
“Do you want a part of my sausage roll?” she chuckles and pulls a brown paper bag from her sparkly clutch bag. “I wasn’t sure if they were gonna actually feed us or just serve us rich people portions so I brought backup. You can have half if you want.”
She breaks the flaky pastry in two and holds one piece out to him. Even her nails are painted to match the dress. If he was any worse a man he would risk it all for just one taste of her and whatever black magic she possesses that gets so deeply under his skin.
He is a better man than that tough, so he settles for a taste of the sausage roll.
“You’re a strange woman”
“Strange or smart?”
Taking a bite from the sausage roll, buttery and flaky and greasy, he must admit she has a point.
“Bit of both.”
“I can live with that.”
Silence settles upon them, well as silent as a London night can be. It feels weirdly comfortable. No expectations to be someone or do something. Just her and the city and the fucking Greggs sausage roll.
And — Elton John?
“Oh, I love that song!”
A string of pink lights adorns the top of the rikshaw as it turns the corner, loudly blasting Can you feel the love tonight. The driver catches sight of them and Roy can’t suppress the annoyed groan slipping its way out.
“Good evening can I interest you lovebirds in a — “
“No, fuck off!”
Elton’s voice gets quieter and quieter as the startled driver rides his rickshaw further away and back into the inky black of the night.
Lovebirds, he called them lovebirds. Thought the two of them were anything other than acquaintances. People pushed together by circumstances and coincidence. As if anything between them could ever happen. She’s already getting under his skin, sticks around his thoughts, and ghosts through his head without him ever giving her permission to do so.
She’s all he can think about lately and yes he knows it sounds repetitive but god it’s so damn irritating.
“I would’ve liked to hear the rest of the song.”
Roy scoffs “Figures.”
“What's that supposed to mean?”
He turns to face her and, for the first time since he’s stepped out of the building and into this tiny bubble they’re sharing for just this fleeting moment, he looks at her. Really looks at her.
With her sparkly dress and her lips painted a deep red like candy apples. With flakes of the pastry sticking to her lower lip and his jacket wrapped around her looking almost like this is where it’s always belonged.
He’s never had a heart attack before, he wonders if this is what it feels like.
“You play the worst fucking music when you’re working in the physio room.”
“Uh — are you insulting my taste in music? Are you really out here insulting the legend, sir Elton John? The Lion King soundtrack is a religious experience, okay?”
He hates that he can clearly tell by the glimmer of mischief in her eyes that she is joking more than anything. He shouldn’t be able to tell. Mere acquaintances can’t do shit like that.
“No, in fact, it’s a pretty fucking great movie. It came out when my sister was a kid though and I had to watch that shit a million times. You know how traumatizing it is having to watch Mufasa die over and over again?“
She grants him a look of understanding and shrugs her shoulders in agreement “At least it’s not Frozen, eh? “
“I have a 6-year-old niece.”
Roy Kent has a lot of things in his life that he takes pride in. His career and talent, all the hard work he put in to be where he is today. He takes pride in being a good brother and a loving uncle and maybe even a good friend and leader.
Making her let out a snort as she laughs at his Frozen-induced misery? That might be his proudest achievement to date.
“I’m glad you find my suffering amusing.”
“What can I say? You’re a funny guy, Roy Kent. So funny in fact that I almost bid on you at the auction.”
He wants to let out the most guttural scream in the existence of mankind. She can’t just go ahead and say stuff like that. Not when he is trying so hard to keep their interactions at the most basic level. Not when she already haunts his dreams. She’s irritating, Roy. Not charming or lovable or — beautiful. Or maybe she is all those things but most of all she’s annoying and infuriating and — oh he’s so fucked.
“Why didn’t you?”
“Oh, well I’m just a measly sports physician. Don’t get me wrong, it's good money but I don’t really earn quite enough to throw thousands of pounds at a man to have him spend time with me.”
He’d do it for free. Hate every second of it, naturally. But he’d do it for free.
Can’t tell her that though. Never. So once again he just grunts.
A silver Toyota pulls up to the curb, effectively bursting their little bubble of comfort as the driver leans down to look out the window. “You (Y/N) ?”
“Yes, that’s me.”
She makes a motion to slip out of the jacket, only for Roy to step in and hold it closed, keeping it in place, wrapped around her, and shielding her from the cold.
“Keep it,” his voice comes out all rough and husky. More than usual. It’s probably the jasmine scent getting to him, clouding his every sense. “Don’t want you to freeze on the way home. Just give it back another time.”
“Oh, okay. Well, thanks again. Goodnight, Roy.”
He opens the door for her and closes it softly once she’s settled into the car. Roy tries so hard to be a good man, a good person but in that moment all he wants to do is be a little bit worse, just a little bit. Just enough to rip the door open again, pull her out of the seat and kiss her stupid.
Instead, he wishes her a good night and sends her off before stepping out into the night himself. There is a smile playing on his lips all the way home and it’s so fucking irritating.
I was in the neighborhood & It’s okay I couldn’t sleep anyway
The door leading to her apartment is bright red and there is a little white sign and the picture of a dog with huge fucking ears that reminds him of Gizmo from the Gremlins. It says “Beware of the dog — might cuddle you to death.”
It’s cheesy as hell. He loves it.
He’s not quite sure how he ended up here. Losing is never fun. Feeling yourself slowly becoming unable to do the things you love, the things you were good at, and actively playing a part in your team losing? That’s absolutely mortifying.
Of all the places he could’ve gone, all the people he could’ve seen — he ends up in front of her door. Red and shiny like her lips that night.
It’s almost 1am and all things considered, this is a really dumb idea. She’s probably asleep and waking her up would be fucking rude. He should just go and forget this ever happened instead of knocking on her door in the middle of the night. That’s what the rational part of his brain tells him at least.
Roy was never really good at listening to the rational part of his brain.
Tiny barks, no doubt belonging to the dog on the sign, echo through the hallway before the door swings open just enough for (Y/N) to look at him with tired eyes.
“Roy?”
“I was in the neighborhood I — I didn’t mean to wake you. I’m sorry.”
It’s not a lie, really. He was in the neighborhood. He walked here specifically to knock on her door and see her.
“It’s okay, I couldn’t sleep anyway.”
Now that is most definitely a lie. Her eyes are sleepy, her hair disheveled and he can just about make out the pillow print on her cheek.
“Do you want to come in?”
He does. He shouldn’t but he really does.
The apartment is small but it feels cozy rather than cramped. The walls are lined with pictures, little reminders of happy moments and people she loves.
There’s one of him too, well him and Isaac and Sam and then her at the end of the line. He thinks it was taken at some get-together after a particularly hard-fought win. He likes to know that there’s a picture of him on her wall even if his appearance in the photo is probably more incidental than anything.
“I didn’t know you had a dog.”
It’s a stupid thing to say, there is so much he doesn’t know about her. He doesn’t know where she was born or if she has siblings or if she always wanted to be a physiotherapist. But there are things he does know, like the specific way she likes her coffee and that she always gets a snickerdoodle cookie from the bakery down the road from the stadium, every Wednesday without fail. How she scrunches up her nose when she’s frustrated and that she snorts when something makes her laugh really hard.
“His name is Yoda. He’s a papillon and also my best friend.”
��Don’t let Sam hear.”
“Oh, he’s also Sam’s best friend.”
Yoda, it’s a fitting name. He does look like a Yoda.
“So what brings you here, Roy? At uh — “ she glances towards her open kitchen and the digital clock on the microwave “ 1:04 am?”
Should’ve gotten his story straight before he came here. What is he supposed to say? I felt like proper shit and wanted to see your smile? Surely not.
So he blurts out the first thing that comes to his mind.
“Came to get my jacket back.”
Absolute dumbass.
“Your jacket? Oh uh. sure. Let me go get it.”
She regards him with confusion and curiosity, he can tell she’s not really buying his story.
“Or, if you aren’t in a rush, I was about to pop in a movie and pig out on some popcorn? Do you want to join me?”
This might be the first time he lets her see the smile she continues to put on his face.
“Fuck yeah, what are we watching?”
“Vernon is such a little bitch. Antagonizing fucking teenagers? What a loser."
“Right?,” (Y/N) agrees, taking a sip from her glass of rose before stuffing another handful of buttery popcorn into her mouth. “Bender needed someone to care, not just another adult yelling at him. "Such a loser. Hey, now that I think about it, you do give me John Bender vibes. All broody and mysterious.”
Roy just scoffs in response.
Her eyes fall onto his empty glass of wine resting on the little square table in front of the couch.
“You want a top-up?”
“No, I’m good. I should probably get going.”
He hates to admit it, it’s something he’ll take to the grave with him, but there’s something about rosé that gets to him. It makes him tipsy immediately. He doesn’t want to go home but the longer he stays the more he opens himself up to saying something stupid and fucking this up — whatever this is.
“Did you walk here?”
“Mmh.”
“Oh well I can’t in good conscience let you walk home, half a bottle of rosé in your system and dealing with all the emotions brought on by the breakfast club. Couldn’t live with myself if you got snatched up and I was the last person to see you alive”
Throwing his own words back at him should be infuriating, annoying. It isn’t. It’s lovely. She’s lovely.
“You can stay if you want. My couch isn’t the biggest but I think you’ll fit just fine.”
The sincerity in her eyes hits him like a dart to the chest. It’s something so simple as offering him her couch for the night but it means everything for a man who has grown so awfully accustomed to loneliness.
“If I stay, will you make me breakfast?”
“Fuck no”
Laughter fills the tiny living room and it takes him a second to realize it’s his own.
“I might be up for a Starbucks run tomorrow morning before work though.”
“Sounds great. I love peppermint lattes, those are fucking delicious.”
She grants him another smile as she gathers their glasses and the empty bottle and brings them to the kitchen before returning with a fluffy pink blanket for him. He thinks that smile could’ve just about killed him, thinks he might just die right here on her couch and it wouldn’t be so bad.
“Well goodnight, then. Hope you don’t mind Yoda”
The dog is curled up on Roy’s chest like a little bagel. It’s gonna be annoying later, he’s sure but hell will freeze over before he disturbs the little pup.
“That’s fine.”
“He snores, just thought you should know.”
“Makes two of us then, hope he doesn’t mind.”
Another laugh. Another tiny heart attack.
She’s by the door, just about to turn off the light and plunge the room into darkness, when she hesitates for a moment.
“Hey Roy,”
“Yes?”
“I’m sorry you guys lost today and I — I can see you struggling but I just wanted you to know that it was not your fault. I need you to know that.”
The entire way here, he tried to make himself rationalize that. Make himself understand that losing is part of the game and that he did his best. But knowing your best might not be good enough anymore is a hard fucking pill to swallow.
Hearing her say that it’s not his fault, it takes the weight off for a moment. Not all the way, never all the way. But a tiny little bit and that’s a whole lot already.
“Goodnight, (Y/N).”
“Night, Roy.”
He falls asleep with the taste of rosé on his tongue, the snoring of a little dog in his ears, and the sight of her on his mind, all sleepy eyes and messy hair. She never looked better.
It looks good on you & I like your laugh
He’s positively buzzing with euphoria. They won, something no one thought was possible. They won and he scored the winning goal.
Spirits are high as the team and their friends have taken over the Karaoke place. Shots and drinks flow with no regard to the tab they’re raking up or the headache that awaits each of them tomorrow. None of that matters right now. Tonight is made for celebrating. Consequences don’t exist right here and now.
Rebecca burns the house down with her rendition of let it go and after a short intermission by Dani, singing a Spanish song that neither of them managed to join in with their non-existent knowledge of the language, the opening chords to another familiar song fill the room.
“Well, thanks for making us all look like amateurs, Rebecca,” (Y/N) says into the microphone as she takes her place on stage. Her words are laced with happiness and laughter and Roy thinks she must have him under some spell because he can’t manage to not smile when she’s around. It’s a bit ridiculous if he’s being honest.
“I will most definitely not be able to live up to that performance but I thought we could stay in the Disney bubble for a moment.”
Her eyes meet his across the room and when she winks at him it takes everything in him not to get up on stage and devour her. Fucking irritating.
“I know you all know this song so sing along if you feel like it. This one’s for you, John Bender.”
He knows it’s one of the cheesiest love songs ever, written for a movie about a cartoon lion. But sitting on the couch at the karaoke place surrounded by his team, having just scored a winning goal and listening to the girl that haunts his dreams sing straight to him and only him, he thinks Elton has a point. He can feel the love tonight. It’s in the smiles of his friends, and the voices coming together all chaotic and off-key singing along to the song. And there is love in her eyes, clear as day and undeniable.
“And can you feel the love tonight
How it's laid to rest?
It's enough to make kings and vagabonds
Believe the very best”
The night is coming to an end, everyone’s found their way to their respective rooms — or whoever’s room they felt like staying at. Roy’s pretty sure he saw Rebecca’s friend enter Ted’s room but that’s none of his fucking business, is it?
“Okay, you can’t laugh though!” (Y/N)’s voice calls out from the bathroom and drifts towards the main part of the room where Roy is perched on the chair by the window.
This isn’t his room and really he knows he shouldn’t be here. But being alone right now sounded like proper torture. He wasn’t ready to leave this magical night behind yet. Not like this. Not when she sang to him and he had nothing to give her in return. So when she invited him to her room to watch yet another John Hughes movie on Netflix, he couldn’t do anything but accept.
“Are you sleeping in one of those weird fluffy onesies?”
“No, god no.”
“Then I don’t know why I’d laugh at you.”
When she steps into the room, he can see why she’d think he’d laugh at her choice of sleepwear. The white shirt looks not so white anymore, there is a hole at the bottom and a mysterious red stain by the collar. It doesn’t make him laugh though. It makes him fucking hard. Because that’s his name on the back of it. That’s a 2014 world cup Roy Kent England Jersey.
“Fuck me.”
He doesn't mean to let it slip but alcohol and euphoria have made his lips go loose.
“I knoooow, it’s embarrassing. I meant to bring something else but it’s just so comfortable.”
“It looks good on you.”
It does. He thought the green dress was it. Then he thought she looked absolutely adorable, all sleepy and natural. But this? This is the look that pushes him over the edge. This is everything.
“Yeah?” she asks and twirls around the room, not unlike Phoebe whenever Roy gifts her yet another new princess dress. He’s just such a sucker, can never say no when she asks him for something. “You just wait and see, I’ll steal your job soon enough.”
That makes him erupt into laughter yet again, he doesn’t think he’s laughed quite as much lately as when he is with her.
“I’ve seen you attempt to play before. I’m not worried.”
“I like your laugh,” she says, all warm eyes and wistful smile.
“Yeah?”
“Yes.”
Something takes over, an invisible force pulling him to his feet and making him walk up to her. She’s leaning against the wall as he places one hand on her hip, the other on the wall next to her head. This shouldn’t be happening, he knows this. It’s dumb to believe that whatever tension there is between them can lead to anything. That’s just not in the cards for him no matter how much he wishes for it.
Girls like her don’t fall for boys like him. They never did, they never will.
“Roy Kent, you won today.”
Winning the game is the last thing on his mind right now. How could he ever think about winning right this moment when her hand is softly resting on his cheek and her nose gently nuzzling against his and the —
A knock on the door cuts through the moment making Roy let go and take a step back.
“Fucks sake.”
In his defense, Sam looks apologetic as he stands in front of the door, signature smile on his face. Good-natured and lovable. If this was any other moment Roy wouldn’t have been able to be mad at him. But this is that moment and he is a little pissed right now.
“Sorry I didn’t mean to disturb, I was just wondering if you had another phone charger. I can’t find mine and I know you always bring extra so — “
“Uh, yeah let me go get it real quick.” (Y/N) says and turns back towards the room.
Roy’s eyes connect with hers for a split second and it’s like a bucket of ice straight over his head. They both know whatever magical spell they had been under, it’s broken and gone and all that’s left now is a big old pile of what-ifs.
“It’s getting late, I should leave. Goodnight, (Y/N). Night, Sam.”
“We’ll reschedule, yeah?”
Tiny smile on his lips he nods his head in agreement.
He gets a soft “goodnight” in return and though he hates to admit it, the touch of her hand against his cheek lingers there all the way to his room and even further into his dreams.
Call me when you get home & We’ll figure it out
Rain pounds against the roof and windows like tiny bullets. A rainstorm has Richmond tight in its clutches so cruel and unforgiving the team can’t even train right now.
And yet for some reason Roy still finds himself in the workout room, trying to push himself to do just 5 more minutes on the treadmill. Just 5 more.
Actually, it’s not entirely true. He knows why he’s here. Part of him hopes that if he just pushes himself enough, he can overcome the pain in his leg and all the issues it causes. That if he just tries harder, he can go back to being the talented overachiever he used to be.
But it hurts. A sharp stabbing pain rushes through his knee forcing him to step off the treadmill. He hates this. In fact, it’s his worst fucking nightmare. Football is all he’s ever been good at, he can’t lose that. It’s his entire life.
If he’s not Roy the footballer, who is he? Some bloke named Roy with a dead career and no one to come home to? Now doesn’t that sound delightful?
"Roy?"
“Jesus, fuck!”
There she goes again giving him a heart attack, only this time it’s not because she’s being cute or anything.
“Oh shit, I didn’t mean to scare you.”
The smile on her face falls as she catches sight of him holding onto his knee. He can almost see the thoughts running through her head. She knows about his knee. If anyone knows how bad it is, it’s her. She told him not to overdo it. Said that would only make it worse.
He knows she has pity on him and he hates it. It’s irritating coming from everyone. Irritating and misplaced. Why would they pity him? It’s his own damn fault for not being good enough anymore.
But coming from her? That’s even worse. No one wants a guy that’s getting too old to do his job properly. That’s falling apart and breaking.
— Not that he wants her or anything. Oh, Roy, who are you trying to fool here? Of course, he wants her.
“Don’t look at me like that, I’m fine.”
She raises her eyebrow in disbelief, in that bratty way that drives him crazy.
“I said I’m fine, (Y/N).”
“I hear what you’re saying,” she says and comes to stand next to him, crossing her arms in defiance. “but I can also see the way you’re holding your knee and that face you’re making. You’re in pain, love.”
Love. He doesn’t hate how it sounds when she calls him that. Irritating for sure but also — sweet.
“I’ll be fine! What are you even doing here?”
He hasn’t seen a lot of her ever since the night in Liverpool and while part of him was quite glad about it because he honestly wasn’t sure whether or not to bring up whatever had or had not happened between them, another part of him had missed her smile desperately.
“I work here.”
“You’re a fucking smartass, aren’t you.”
“I try.”
Fuck, even when she’s being deliberately difficult she manages to pull a smirk from him.
“I had some paperwork to do but by the time I arrived here, the storm was so bad that now I have to wait for it to stop before I can drive home. I hate driving when it rains.”
“Oh you should,” Roy returns, nodding his head in agreement “You’re a horrible driver in the best of weather.”
She responds with a scandalized gasp and a hand placed on her heart in mock upset “I am not a horrible driver! Take that back.”
“It took you 18 minutes to park your car the other day. I know because I saw it, we all saw it. Boys took the time and had bets going. Jamie won 20 quid.”
“Wha — okay I’ll have to have a word with the guys, you’re ridiculous. But don’t think you can change the topic on me, Mister. Is your knee getting worse?”
Yes, and he fucking hates it. Can’t even say the words out loud because that feels like admitting defeat. And that’s a terrifying thing to do.
Fortunately for him, he doesn’t have to say anything. A look is all it takes and she nods her head in understanding.
“That’s okay, Roy. We’ll figure something out.”
We will figure something out. We as in him and her. Since pretty much the beginning of his professional career, Roy had admirers. People who would latch onto everything he did or said and hold him to abnormally high standards he would never be able to reach. They adored him but they also didn’t know him. She knows him even when he tries so hard to keep her at arm's length. She knows him and is still in his corner, still has his back. The only people who ever did that were his family.
It’s an unusual feeling but he really really likes it. Even if it’s a little terrifying.
“What if — “ he takes a deep breath, trying to form the words that weigh so heavy on his heart “What if I can’t go back to how it used to be? What if this is the end for me?”
“Do you want me to be honest or nice?”
“Lay it on me then.”
“Things might not get back to how they used to be and there’s not really much you can do about it other than learn to accept it and then figure out a new place for yourself.”
“Football is all I have.”
“That’s not true but even if it was there is so much more about it than just the players.”
She’s right but it’s still a bitter pill to swallow.
“…and with that smile of yours, you can always go into modeling. I’m sure they’re always looking for new faces in the toothpaste commercial business.”
“Oh fuck off.”
“See! There’s that smile I was talking about.”
“You’re fucking insufferable sometimes.”
She is. He adores it.
“Oh, but you like it — right?”
“What?”
“You do — like it? Like me?”
It’s the first time he’s seen her act insecure. She’s always so bubbly and happy and smiling, he hates that he put any doubt in her mind that he does anything but cherish her.
“You irritate me, woman. Drive me up the fucking wall, every day.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No! Don’t say sorry. I love it. I think you’re a fucking knockout. Best thing since sliced bread.”
He does, he truly does and it feels nice to say it out loud for once. To admit it to her and to himself. It feels nice when she comes closer and when she rests her arms around his neck and it feels fucking phenomenal when her nose brushes past his and he can almost feel her lips on his.
Almost.
That’s until her phone beeps and she pulls away altogether.
“Ah shit, I gotta go.”
“Fuck sake. The universe hates me.”
“The universe doesn’t hate you, Roy Kent. We just have bad timing. ”
He’s not convinced.
“What about the storm?”
“I think the rain stopped, listen.”
Roy hears nothing. Where raindrops were drumming against the roof and windows just minutes ago, there is silence. He’s never wished for a rainstorm to persist more than he does at that moment.
“Well, call me when you get home at least. Roads will still be wet.”
“Aw, Roy, are you worried about me?”
His lips say no, but his eyes and his smile tell a different story.
You can stay & Is this okay? Can I hold your hand?
This is it. This is the end. He’s seen this one coming for a while now but he tried so hard. He trained and pushed and it was all for nothing. They’re losing and his career as an active footballer is over for good.
The door to the locker room opens slowly, almost cautiously and he’s just about to yell and whoever dares to disturb him, when his head snaps up and he sees (Y/N) standing in the doorway.
“What are you doing here? Game is still going, you’re the fucking Physio.”
“Good thing there’s more than one of us. I have to make sure all my players are okay.”
I’m not okay. That’s what he wants to say. He wants to scream it from the rooftops. He’s not okay. He’s not sure he ever will be.
“Get out, (Y/N).”
She can’t see him like this. Defeated. Broken. Old.
Instead of listening to him, she sits down beside him and holds an ice pack to his injured knee.
“As a physio, I need to tell you that what you did was really stupid.”
He knows it was. It was a calculated risk he was willing to take and if nothing else, he kept Jamie from scoring and the fans appreciated it. That was all that mattered at that moment.
“But as a friend and Richmond fan, I think it was brilliant. I just wish you didn’t hurt yourself in the process.”
Silence settles over them and (Y/N) is just about to get back up when he grabs onto her arm and pulls her back down. “You can stay.”
“Okay.”
And for a long while they just sit. No words, no expectations. Just them.
Softly, almost like a whisper, he feels her touch against his hand, sliding her fingers between his.
“Is this okay? Can I hold your hand?”
It’s not okay. It’s phenomenal. It’s everything he could’ve wished for in that moment but never would’ve had the nerve to ask. It’s a promise that he isn’t alone in this. There is someone there holding his hand through the darkest of times.
A green light guiding him to safe shores.
“Don’t you fucking dare let go.”
Stay there, I’m coming to get you & I can't wait for tomorrow
Turns out, retiring from a successful football career does not mean you suddenly have a lot of free time. In fact, Roy doesn’t think he’s ever been this busy doing shit he doesn’t like.
Everyone wants an interview, a statement, a “what happens next”. It’s a lot of paperwork and contracts and shit he doesn’t care about. The point is, he’s fucking busy. So busy he hasn’t seen (Y/N) in quite a few days. Nothing has really changed since their moment in the locker room but somehow everything feels different.
It’s exactly 4:12 am when his phone rings. He almost doesn’t want to answer but calls at 4am usually mean bad news and he’d never forgive himself if something happened to his sister or Phoebe or (Y/N) or even (and he will deny this if you ask him about it) Jamie just because he couldn’t be bothered to answer his phone.
“Hello?”
“Royoooo.”
Oh. Oh!
A smirk pulls at his lips.
“(Y/N)?”
“Sorry —” she says and stops for a giggle “Sorry to wake you. I just — I was out with the girls and I didn’t plan on drinking but I did. They had a buy one get one free deal. It would be stupid to say no, right?”
“Right.”
"So, yeah."
“Go on. Didn’t just call me to tell me about the drinks, did you.”
“Oh, no. I just wanted to talk to you while I wait for my Uber. I miss you.”
“Do you?”
“So much!” her words are slow and slightly slurred. “Every fucking day. Like — god, I just wanna see your stupid handsome face.”
“It’s handsome, innit?”
“You have no idea! I just want to kiss you, so badly.”
Kiss him. She wants to kiss him. Sure, it almost happened twice but it’s still different hearing her outright say it. But then again, she’s drunk and by the time she wakes up tomorrow, she probably won’t remember half of what she’s saying right now.
“Where are you?”
“It’s that weird little bar around the corner from Sam’s restaurant. The one with the green door.”
“Go on and cancel that Uber.”
“Then how am I going to get home?”
“Stay there, I’m coming to get you.”
Roy isn’t quite certain whether or not he considers himself a good person. He tries to be, it’s a conscious effort each and every day. He tries to be a good person and a good person doesn’t let the woman he’s absolutely head over heels for wait outside in the cold dark night by herself. No matter how infuriating she is.
“Okay,” she agrees, a giggle slipping past her lips “Thank you. Can’t wait to see you.”
And though Roy had other plans for his weekend than picking up a drunk girl at 4 in the morning, he also can’t wait to see her.
“…and like it was mostly sugar, right? So I thought why not have another one. Turns out it was mostly vodka.”
“Who could’ve guessed.”
She’s cuddled up on his couch in one of his shirts looking into his eyes and retelling her night in vivid detail. Her story is slurred and a bit all over the place, blame it on her tipsy brain. It takes her forever to get to the point and when she does, the point doesn’t even make all that much sense. It doesn’t matter, he’d listen to her ramble forever if it meant he got to spend time with her wearing his shirt sitting on his couch — looking into his eyes.
“You’re going to feel like shit tomorrow.”
“I know,” she shrugs then scoots closer to him and wraps her arms around his “but you’re here so it’s only half as bad really.”
“If I’m feeling generous I’ll even make you breakfast.”
“You really are the dream, Roy Kent.”
She’s clawing at his chest, prying open his ribcage and burying herself where his heart used to be. Metaphorically speaking, of course.
“You have to stop saying shit like that. People are gonna think you’re in love with me or something.”
She pulls away slightly and looks up at him with those big eyes of hers before resting one hand on his cheek.
“Roy, I am. I thought you knew.”
He had a hunch, of course. Fostered a spark of hope in his heart that there could be something between them after all. But once you grow accustomed to loneliness it’s a little hard to let yourself believe.
“Do I need to show you to believe me?”
She pulls his face closer to hers and for a millisecond he wants to let go, but when he smells the alcohol on her breath he pulls back. This isn’t right.
“Did I do something wrong?”
“You’re off your tits. I’m not kissing you like this. Our first kiss is not going to be some inebriated tongue-wagging. You hear me? I’m a hopeless fucking romantic, that kiss is gonna be special. I’m gonna kiss you stupid.”
She bites her lips to suppress the smile from taking over.
“So if I were to ask again tomorrow, you’d say yes?”
“Mh.”
“Promise?”
“Yes.”
At that she snuggles further into his arms and rests her head against his shoulder, a content smile on her face as she closes her eyes.
“Oh, I can’t wait for tomorrow.”
He doesn’t admit it, but neither can he.
I think you're beautiful & I’ll meet you halfway
“Roy?”
Her voice echoes through his house as the eggs sizzle on the stove.
“Why is there a small child looking at me?”
“Phoebe, stop staring at her you little creep!”
“She’s so pretty.”
She has a point.
10 minutes later the girls join him in the kitchen, walking in hand in hand and big smiles on their faces. Seeing them get along makes his heart grow approximately 12 sizes. That being said, the two of them teaming up against him sounds like trouble to him. Good trouble though. Trouble he loves to deal with.
“Good morning, Roy.”
“Morning. Pheebs, go sit down, breakfast is almost ready.”
“Okay, Uncle Roy.”
Once she’s out of the immediate earshot he turns back towards (Y/N). Though she tried her best to conceal it, yesterday's makeup is still smudged around her eyes and her hair is a downright mess. She’s wearing his shirt though, standing barefoot in his kitchen after bonding with his niece.
Sometimes life is fucking sweet.
“Don’t look at me like that, I know I look like a mess.”
“I think you’re beautiful.”
“You’re delusional.”
“That’s not what you said last night. Think you called me the fucking dream if I recall correctly. Said you were in love with me.”
(Y/N) leans against the kitchen island, her hands flat against the countertop and her eyes trained on Roy.
“I did say that, didn’t I?”
“Yes.”
Roy mirrors her position, arms resting on the kitchen island across from her. God, she really is so beautiful.
“Remember what you said?”
“Do you?”
“You promised me something, Roy.”
Roy Kent doesn’t make promises lightly. He thinks there’s hardly anything quite as heartbreaking and awful as breaking a promise. He prides himself in keeping all the ones he’s made.
It’s only right to keep this one too.
“Phoebe,” he calls out to the little girl without moving his eyes away from (Y/N) for even a second “Blindfold!”
The 6-year-old slaps her tiny hands over her eyes obeying her uncle's orders with no hesitation and no questions asked. He’s proud of her. Silly little idiot.
Leaning across the counter, his lips almost reach (Y/N)’s. She’s so close. So close.
Only —
“Fuck, I can’t reach. My knee.”
There’s so much love in her eyes as she regards him. It almost knocks him out.
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll meet you halfway,” She says and gets up on her tiptoes.
Across the counter their lips meet. There are no fireworks or butterflies or an angel choir singing. But there is her tasting of toothpaste and smelling his deodorant. Her and the feeling of belonging. Of comfort and domesticity and love. He loves this woman, undeniably and irrevocably.
It’s a great kiss. Fucking mindblowing. There is no need for rom-com-induced fairytale fantasies when you have the real thing and it is so much better than any story could ever be.
“Hey Roy,” she whispers against his lips as they come up for air.
“Hmm?”
“The eggs are burning.”
“Fuck!”
“You owe me a pound, Uncle Roy!”
Irritating! Both of them.
They’re his whole entire heart.
I love you & I love you
“I love you.”
It’s a normal fucking Tuesday when she says it for the first time. Really says it. Using those exact words. There’s nothing special about that day but with those words, she puts magic into it. The way she puts magic into his life every single day.
“Fuck you!”
“Sorry, what?”
She’s laughing. She’s always laughing and smiling that goddamn smile that makes him go all soft inside. Beautiful, lovely, knockout that she is.
“I said fuck you. I’ve been thinking about how to tell you all fucking week and here you go and say it first. You’re infuriating.”
Softly she rolls over so she’s resting on his chest, fingers softly tracing patterns into his skin.
“You’ve said it a million times before, Roy.”
“I love you, (Y/N).”
Can’t hurt to say it again.
“I know. I knew. I always knew. From the moment you gave me your jacket.”
Of course, she knew. She took one look at him and it was like she got a view straight into his soul. Straight into his heart with all the vices and virtues, all his triumphs and defeats. All the good and the bad.
How fucking irritating. He loves her for it.
#roy kent x reader#roy kent x female reader#roy kent x f!reader#roy kent x fem!reader#roy kent fanfic#roy kent fanfiction#roy kent imagine#roy kent imagines#ted lasso tv show fanfiction#inbloomwriting
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𝑳𝑶𝑽𝑬 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑾𝑨𝒀 𝒀𝑶𝑼 𝑳𝑰𝑬
Part I / ?
pairing: kai anderson x fem!reader
summary: you are the key to his climb on the political ladder. and maybe something more.
warnings: sfw. talk of masturbation, kai being a creep. not throughly proofread + english is not my first language sorry
a/n: part 2 is pure filth, so here’s a bit of buildup i guess
𝜗ϱ
.
His gaze bore into you with an intensity that felt suffocating, twin tar pits of darkness that left you feeling exposed and vulnerable. As if you were a lab specimen on a dissection table, waiting to be cut open and examined. Your stomach churned with nerves, knowing all too well the workings of this ritual. Kai had the ability to unearth your darkest secrets and wield them against you like a gun.
Unease prickled at the edges of your consciousness as you sank into the chair opposite Kai, his elbow resting on the table's hard surface. The solitary light overhead created a fucked-up, blue halo around his hair.
A slow smile spread across his lips as he extended his pinky toward you. With a resigned sigh, you reached out, locking your pinky with his, your elbow thudding softly against the table.
“First question,” Kai's voice flowed smooth and velvety, sending a shiver down your spine. You held your breath, bracing yourself for the interrogation.
“When you masturbate. Who do you think of?”
You stared at him stupidly. The question sounded so natural, rolling off his tongue. As if he were talking about the evening news.
“I- I, um..”
You wanted nothing more than to curl into a ball and disappear, to escape this fucking creepy basement and his clinical scrutiny. Like always, Kai was ruthless. His face hardened.
“Answer the question, you know the rules.”
“You,” you confessed, cheeks burning with embarrassment. He simply nodded, as if he had been expecting that all along. Asshole.
“How much are you willing to do to help me with my cause?” Dark eyes bore into yours, searching for any sign of hesitation.
“I'll do whatever it takes,” you answered, then added, “I would do anything for you.”
His gaze softened for a brief moment as he leaned back, seemingly satisfied with your answer.
“Good girl,”
You basked in the validation in his words. You answered correctly, because you were a good girl. His good girl. Just as you began to relax, his next question was like a slap to the face, a kiss on the lips. It filled you with dread.
“Do you love me?”
“Yes. I do,”
The words coming out of your mouth made you feel like you’d ransomed your soul to the devil. Your blood ran cold, not because you lied; no, because you did love him, for some inexplicable reason beyond comprehension and better judgment, you truly loved Kai Anderson, as tainted and flawed as he was.
The true reason his question frightened you so much was that you knew what would come next— the last time he asked this same question during a pinky power, he had made you do something horrible. He had instructed you to murder someone. And like a good girl, you had done exactly what you were told.
You waited with bated breath, bracing yourself for the command to carry out another unspeakable crime. But instead of issuing another kill order, Kai shocked you by smiling softly, his eyes alight with a warmth that sent shivers down your spine.
“I love you too, so much,” he murmured, clasping your hand in his, leaning forward.
The softness of his lips and the warmth of his touch stirred something dangerous within you, a flicker of hope. For a fleeting moment, you allowed yourself to entertain the possibility that this was real, that maybe, just maybe, there was some semblance of truth buried beneath his manipulation and deceit.
So you indulged yourself, kissing him back with fervor borne from desperation. Kai groaned against your lips, hand sliding further into your hair and kissing you with a focus that made your knees weak.
When you finally pulled away, Kai’s eyes snapped open and he groaned softly, this time with frustration. But he wasn’t mad at you, at least. Smiling ruefully, he brushed his thumb across your cheek,
“I wish you could be mine forever,”
“I can be,” you replied without hesitation, the words slipping from your lips before you could stop them. He beamed.
“Then let's make it official,”
“Huh?”
“I'm going to marry you,” he stated matter-of-factly, “Because you're strong, resilient, intelligent, and beautiful.. you’re everything I dreamed of having in a partner.”
Despite the warm fuzzy feeling spreading in your belly, you didn’t buy it. Not for a second, as much as you desperately wanted to believe it. With your pinkies still locked, you mustered the courage to ask,
“What is this really about?”
For a moment, he fell silent, his expression caught off guard by your boldness. Perhaps he was even a bit offended by the questioning of his motives. But then, the mask of calm slipped back into place.
“It's about us,” he began, words measured.
“Oh cut the bullshit, Kai. If I'm going to be in on this charade, I want to know what I’m getting myself into,”
A flash of annoyance crossed Kai's features like summer lighting before he quickly composed himself once again, the mask of calm slipping seamlessly back into place.
“Fine,” he gritted, “It's part of my strategy okay? Conservative voters don't take me seriously because I'm not 'family-oriented' enough. Marrying you, presenting a united front, we could change that perception.”
You weren’t surprised, not even mad or disappointed by his admission. You had suspected as much all along, but hearing it confirmed still left a bitter taste in your mouth.
“Fine,” you echoed morosely. Now he was the one who looked surprised.
“Really?”
“Yeah.” With a tight-lipped smile, you pulled apart your locked fingers and stood up, the scraping sound of the chair against the floor was deafening in your ears.
“Thanks. You're my first choice, you know,” he added hastily, “I was hoping you’d say yes,”
You turned away before he could see the tears that had begun to form. A part of you wanted to believe him. Really did.
⟡ 𝓙: here’s a lil playlist to make up for the shitty writing
ılılı love the way you lie—eminem, rihanna ・i should hate you—gracie abrams・i know you—skylar grey
TAGLIST @acidbrainstorm @evanpetersmybf @alittlesil @kaiandersonsdevotedwife @baby-doll1989 @newwavesylviaplath @warrenpikasgirlfriend @violet1737 @slvt4jamesmarch @kaismanwich @maddaline @evpeters87 @lacucarachapisser @howtobesasha @lissasharp @feefymo @nickrhodeslittledarling @bluerthanvelvet444 @r8ttenapples @nahoyasboyfriend @kai-slut @imsoamazing26 @silence-in-the-silver-state @coentinim @doll3tt33 @taintandviolent @babygorewhore @babydollxxblood @stveharringtn
taglist form
fear-is-truth 2024 — all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content.
#kai anderson x reader#kai anderson#american horror story#ahs#evan peters#ahs cult#kai anderson x y/n#kai anderson imagine#evan peters x reader#evan peters x y/n#ahs season 7#tate langdon#kit walker#tate langdon x y/n#kyle spencer#kit walker x y/n#tate langdon x reader#james patrick march#jimmy darling#ahs fandom#kit walker x reader#kai anderson smut#ahs kai
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I don’t even know but for the love of god PLEASE more age gap/ dads best friend trope with Joel Miller 🥵
I got not one, not two, but THREE requests with age gap reader x Joel Miller, so here we go, this one's for you babes 😌
Not enough || Joel Miller x f!reader**
summary: Joel is not happy when your recklessness nearly puts your lives in danger.
word count: 1.8k
WARNINGS: age gap (Joel is in his 40s, reader is like late 20s), unprotected doggy, cum play, choking, enemies to fwb.
AGELESS/EMPTY BLOGS & MINORS WILL BE BLOCKED!
gif: @azertyrobaz
Oh, he’s pissed. He’s pissed, alright. You can tell in the way he’s pacing around the room, hands on his hips, brows furrowed in sheer anger. Your negligence has been more than an inconvenience today; it could’ve risked a lot of people’s lives, including your own and Joel’s.
And Joel is not a man you wanna fuck around with.
Well. Not technically.
You just so happen to be in the same shift for the night watch, that’s all. And he just so happens to be Tommy’s brother, so you know from a solid source that he’s got a temper. Inexplicably enough, you find yourself gravitating around him quite often, and not just because duty calls. He’s got an attitude too, which makes him annoying more than anything. He makes your blood boil, makes you want to scream at the top of your lungs.
And yet, your eyes search for him in a crowd, eager to spot that bitter face you’ve grown to detest.
Usually, your disagreements are easily solved: he grunts, you mumble, both of you cuss out loud, maybe yell a little, and call it a truce. In many ways, he doesn’t think of you as equal, you believe; why should he? He’s a skilled hunter, gunsman, and you’re just some gal in her twenties, doing your duty towards Tommy and the people in Jackson.
But today, you’ve really done it. You know it; you just refuse to give Joel the satisfaction of knowing he was right.
He told you to wait for the group to return, then you can go check for clickers. You told him for hours on end that you’ve heard about clickers in the area, and yet Joel refused to believe you. “Till I see it with my own eyes, there ain’t nothing out there,” he said. “No reason to worry everyone”. But the group took too long, and you’ve grown more and more impatient, so you sneaked out the perimeter and went to check for yourself. Surely enough, your instinct and sources have been correct, and there you were, face to face with at least a dozen clickers. Just you and your shotgun against them all.
“Are you really this stupid?”
His question makes your forehead crease with anger as well.
“Well?” he pushes. “Are you?”
“I am far more capable than what you give me credit for.”
Joel snarls, the sound mocking in and of itself, and, weirdly enough or not, you relish into it. There’s something primal behind it, something that suggests care, and that has your undivided attention.
“You could’ve been killed,” he says. “Those fuckers could’ve come in here, have their way with us. All because of you.”
“What the fuck do you want me to say, Joel?! You wanna hear me beg for your forgiveness? Want me to beg, on my knees?”
He gulps. You see it, it’s undeniable. It’s not quite the reaction you had in mind, so it takes you aback for a moment.
Joel inches closer towards you, his face reading the same anger as before, eyes darkened by some emotion you couldn’t name at this very moment.
“Do you?” you boldly repeat.
“You’re on mighty thin ice here,” he warns, voice husky and intense. “Don’t push me.”
“Or what?”
Joel stares at you, half incredulously and half impressed. He’s always been impressed by your candor and your boldness, your uncanny ability to just face danger without a second thought and come to the others’ defense.
But today, less so. The thought of you getting infected, getting hurt in any way… he’d hate you forever if that were the case. He’d hate himself for it, too.
“You don’t know what you’re asking for here,” Joel seems to warn.
But you cock an eyebrow, causing him to gulp again and question his every moral, and every portion of his sanity.
“Give me some credit here, Joel,” you say in a ridiculously sultry voice. “I think I know what I’m looking for. If only you’d stop treating me like some kind of—“
Your words are cut abruptly by the harsh press of his mouth against yours in a surprisingly hot and needy kiss. On the one hand, you’re thankful he acted before he might’ve asked you to beg for it, like you cheekily said. You’re somewhat embarrassed that such a thing was insinuated, let alone acting upon it. The two of you do not get along, after all. He might actually hate you, simple as that.
But this right here, his calloused hands slipping underneath your shirt to feel your skin and his mouth clamping on yours, this is anything but easy. The amber light breaking through the window as the sun is setting allows you a final clear glimpse of what is happening, and your body shivers at the sight: Joel is hastily undressing you first, as if he’s in some sort of race to see you naked before you see him. You realize that yes, you do want to see him, all of him, just the way that he is, and feel him in this inappropriate moment.
It’s obvious it’s been a long time for both of you; all of the sloppy and rushed movements, getting right to it, suggest a desperation that can hardly be verbalized. Your hands drop to the hem of his shirt, tearing off some of the buttons that keep what’s underneath concealed. You take but a rushed moment to admire the scars covering his chest and belly, as well as the chest hair that you’d love nothing more but nuzzle in. nothing but a stolen moment, though. You wouldn’t want to ruin this moment with anything.
Your hands drop to his jeans, removing his belt and watching him shimmy his way out of them. Your eyes widen in surprise when you brush against him, feeling him rock hard in his boxers.
“Turn around,” he commands, and you obey.
You find yourself bent over the couch in his living room, a strong hand keeping you in place. Anticipation is killing you, the perverted thoughts soaking your mind and pussy alike. it’s ridiculous, really; how the fuck are you soaked when all you’ve done so far is argue with him? Him, Joel Miller, of all people. It feels wrong and forbidden in some way, but at the same time, it feels exactly right. Like this is what you’ve been missing all this time. Him, his arms, his eyes and mouth devouring you alike, and his cock slipping inside you.
Which is precisely what he does.
You can’t possibly control or prevent the wanton cry that comes out of your mouth when you feel his cock sliding inside of you. He pushes with ease, and in any other case it would’ve been alarming to acknowledge how soaked you are, but now, it feels oddly understandable.
“Fuck, you’re soaked,” you hear him grunt. “Have you been wanting me to fuck you like this for too long, sweetheart?”
Motherf—
Again you moan when he pushes so far deep inside you, you think you’re gonna black out.
“Answer me,” he grunts.
“Screw you, Miller,” you smile.
He chuckles, because of course he does. “Isn’t it the other way around now?”
He grabs a handful of your ass, squeezing it as hard as he can, and he drags his cock all the way out just to push back inside, burying himself in you to the hilt. Then, he just starts slamming his hips into yours, deeming that he’d given you enough time to adjust and all that. After all, this is rushed, needy, and far too agonizing to prolong. It doesn’t mean anything. Why should it?
Fuck, you wanna see him right now. You wanna see the crease on his forehead that betrays his intense concentration, the way a few locks of hair fall down and the way he’s working up a sweat just by staring at your ass brushing up against his cock with each additional thrust. All you can do is moan brokenly as your body is being used as leverage for him to propel himself into, but hell, you could not possibly complain.
Neither of you says much except the occasional cuss word or grunt. Those are the only sounds filling the dead air. It’s hard to focus on actually doing what you’re doing and saying something. Maybe you don’t need to; adding words to this already complicated situation would only make it more meaningful when it’s just about blowing off some steam.
Although you cannot ignore the waves of pleasure that rip through you when Joel’s hand curls around you from the very same position he’s fucking you. A cry leaves your throat, currently held by one of his calloused hands, and Joel smiles in some delirious ecstasy.
“That’s right,” he teases, almost breathless. “This is all you needed—isn’t it?”
If you couldn’t speak before, you certainly can’t now. Joel doesn’t tell you how good it feels to feel you this way. He doesn’t tell you how feral it makes him to have your body at his will, to fuck you this hard and fast from behind like you’re running out of time.
Maybe you are, maybe you aren’t. All he knows is that the buildup in his belly is gonna erupt soon, but he needs to feel you first.
“C’mon, sweetheart,” he says, leaning over and squeezing your throat just a little more. “Make it a good one for me, hm? How ‘bout that?”
It’s like he presses an automatic switch as he says that; within the next few seconds, you clamp down all around him, your body seizing up and soaking his cock with your juices as you reach the throes of ecstasy.
“J-Joel—“you finally manage to get out.
He fucks you through your climax, only to pull out as abruptly as he entered you, stroking himself to completion right on your ass. Breathless, he can only stare at the hot, messy canvas he’d painted on your body. The image triggers something inside of him, something deep and primal, urging him for more.
But he can’t. He shouldn’t. There are about a dozen reasons why he shouldn’t, and yet, he just did.
A final smack over your ass lets you know that the exchange of bodily fluids and pleasure has come to an end. When your eyes lock, he doesn’t say a word to you, and neither do you. Instead, he grabs a towel to clean you gently with, a stark contrast between the feral man from mere moments ago and the current one.
“Don’t make me care about you,” he warns.
“Wasn’t planning on it,” you say, highly doubting that sentence.
#joel miller#joel miller x reader#joel miller x you#joel miller x female reader#joel miller x f!reader#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller fic#joel miller smut#the last of us#the last of us fanfiction#the last of us fic#the last of us smut#tlou fanfiction#tlou fic#tlou smut#pedro pascal#pedro pascal fanfiction#pedro pascal fic#pedro pascal smut
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Dangerous Games - III
✮ Pairing: Aonung x Tayrangi/Omotikaya fem reader (possible Neteyam x reader as well)
✮ Tags: Reader POV, friends with benefits, p in v, aftercare, fluffy fluff fluff, Aonung x Reader, slight Neteyam x reader, reader has intimacy issues (childhood traumaᵕ̈), jealous Aonung, jealous Neteyam <3
✮ Word Count: 5.4 k
PART 1 HERE | PART 2 HERE
Note: this (backstory and character dynamic) is heavily based of my wattpad fanfiction "Dangerous Game", it's just a little more mature than I would post on my WP so I'm doing a Aonung x reader part now instead of the Aonung x OC in the fanfiction ˙ᵕ˙
You didn't exactly make a mistake, you know that, yet it's not the best position to be in. On one hand, there's a massive, obnoxiously hot skxawng that is obsessed with you, happy to do anything you like, but on the other, the principal for not giving in to his endless and amused attempts at seduction has dismally failed.
Yet every few days different encounter isn't exactly making you regret your acceptance of his "friends with benefits" offer.
You might get hot from training, or Aonung might be frustrated with his unsuccessful attempts at ikran taming, and suddenly you're finding his head buried hungrily between your legs, or bent over as he's balls deep and roughly thrusting, all the while smoothing your hair and whispering his moaned praise.
You're always careful to not get attached, to never pay too much attention to the sincerity of his words and his surprising gentleness with you when you aren't in the middle of one of your "benefits", but you can never miss it.
It's starting to worry you, the way you're now starting to like the tender touches, the way he brushes your hair out of your face and tells you how well you're doing.
No one has ever been this careful with you, bothered to try at look after you like this. You know it's your fault that you push everyone away, but Aonung is the first to refuse to be pushed away.
He cares, for some inexplicable reason that makes no sense to you. He's infuriatingly stubborn, just like you are.
So weeks after the arrangement began, you begin to notice the other things, things that only mean one thing.
"He really likes you, you know."
"What?" you say, snapping out of your daze and looking up at Kiri, who smiles, her eyes darting to where yours had just been watching Aonung with Rotxo in the river.
You, the three metkayina and the Sullys had taken the day to go to the river so Rotxo, Tsireya and Aonung could swim.
Neteyam looks up from besides you as you frown at Kiri.
"What are you talking about?" you clarify.
"Aonung is obviously down fucking bad for you," Kiri grins. "I mean, he can't ever pull his eyes away from you, and when you aren't around him, he's always looking around to see where you are."
"No he's not," you scoff. "He-"
"Loves you," Neteyam finishes, his face blank and bored, as though he's pointing out the fucking obvious.
"No," you shake your head. "He just had a little thing for me at the start that-"
"Has grown into an unbearable love?" Kiri suggests. "The only question is if that love is unrequited or reciprocated."
"No!" you exclaim, covering your face. "We're just... friends. ish. Friendish."
"Right..." Neteyam says, raising his brows at you. "So you don't fuck."
"That's - that's- no- well, yeah but- I mean NO-"
"Oh Eywa," Kiri says, her incredulous laugh interrupting your awkward, desperate stammers. "You totally do!"
"That's not a big deal," you snap. "He's attractive and it doesn't mean anything, we're just... helping each other out, I guess."
Kiri mouths the words helping each other out, before turning and shooting her brother a disbelieving look. Neteyam's gaze is still and expressionless, flicking between your flushed face and Aonung in the river.
You follow his gaze to see Aonung staring at you, and you quickly turn away, grabbing Neteyam to do the same.
"It's just sex, nothing else," you say strictly.
"Yes," Kiri sighs. "But you're old enough to have more. You could find a mate. Besides, you deserve to be happy-"
"You don't have a mate," you say defensively.
"She has Rotxo," Neteyam points out. "Lo'ak and Tsireya have each other. You're the only one who-"
"You don't have a mate either," you protest.
"Well that's different," Neteyam sighs. "I'm the next Olo'eyktan, remember? I can't just pick anyone for my mate, and besides, who I want-"
"WHO?" you say excitedly. "Is there someone else?!"
Neteyam doesn't answer, and you tackle him to the floor excitedly, shaking his shoulders and demanding he tells you who. Neteyam reluctantly opens his mouth to speak, but then he looks over your shoulder and quickly closes it.
Aonung is standing there, so massive that you have to crane your neck to look up at him. You have to admit that it's hard to not stare too hard- his paler smooth teal skin is glittering with little gleaming droplets of river water, and when you're this low besides him, you're kneeling for a very different task.
You don't need him to speak to understand what he's thinking about, but it's a question of why. However you just slide off of Neteyam who was still pinned underneath you and stand up.
Neteyam's face hardens as he watches you face Aonung, brows raised and waiting for him to speak.
"Can I speak to you?" Aonung asks dully.
Kiri is gaping, Rotxo and Lo'ak are laughing to themselves whilst Tsireya is adorably oblivious, and Neteyam is watching silently and emotionlessly as you nod and follow Aonung through the trees. You can feel his cold golden gaze burning into your back until you slip between the trees, and even when you know he couldn't see you any longer, you can feel the ghost of his inexplicable gaze between your shoulder-blades.
"Yes?" you ask, once you pause a little while away.
"Is there something between you and Neteyam?" Aonung asks, frowning down at you.
You blink confusedly back. You weren't expecting him to speak- expecting more of the usual quick fuck so you could both release some tension then head back to the others.
"What do you mean, something between me and Tey?"
"You call him Tey, for one thing," Aonung points out. "And you're with him a lot-"
"Funny," you say, folding your arms. "Because he says the exact same thing about you."
"But we're actually fucking," Aonung says, without any pretence of a smile in his blunt, deep voice.
"What are you trying to say," you ask with narrowed eyes.
"Do you- uh -have any other friends," he asks, arms folded and blue eyes fixed challengingly in your golden-amber ones.
"What does that matter?"
"Because I want to know what I have to share," Aonung growls.
There's a strange, almost possessive glint in those ocean eyes now. Share. He thinks that he needs to share you.
"Why would it matter," you whisper. "We're not anything, this is just an arrangement. You're free to do whatever you like too."
You think for a moment that you broke Aonung. He is completely still, glaring so irately down at you with those blazing, large blue eyes as you try to guess what he's going to do next. But he still manages to surprise you when he leans forward and crashes his lips onto yours.
Everything has always been tentative, frightened to cross the barrier that would be too much for the other, but Aonung just doesn't seem to give a damn right now.
His mouth is warm and hungry, fangs lightly nipping your soft lips, hands roaming and grabbing and caressing with careless oblivion in a way that makes your skin ache afterwards in a welcome sting and bruise.
Then suddenly you're lifted up and you're on your knees right there on the forest floor. You can feel Aonung's breath hot and heavy as he nips at your neck, folded over your much smaller, arched body and sliding your tewngs away with quick hands.
"Is this-"
"Yes it's fine," you say, gasping a little as you feel yourself being stretched open, small stings of pain shooting through you as you drop your forehead to the ground and grunt. This is different to before, bent completely over with your face pillowed against the ground.
When he starts to move, it completely knocks your breath out, so you're left gasping for air you never manage to catch as he thrusts again. His grip on your waist is bordering on strangling, yet you find yourself unconsciously following him, pulling yourself back to meet each one of your thrusts with a choked moan.
His sudden roughness and hunger and desire is startling yet undoubtedly welcome. So this is what it's like when he's unrestrained, hot and animalistic, rutting fast and hard, pushing you into a further arch while his sharp teeth nip at the back of your neck and shoulders.
It's starting to get too much, the coil in your stomach growing too close too soon, and your moans are starting to border on lewd whines and whimpers as you sink your teeth into the flesh of your arms.
You're clutching the ground for dear damn life, arms attempting to pillow your face as your whole body rocks forward with each rough, almost ruthless thrust.
"I'm going to-" You gasp, your thighs trembling as you sob against the floor. "Oh, god, oh fuck, oh shit, I'm going to-"
You can feel him twitch inside of you, and you moan at a particularly hard thrust. Each rock of his hips knocks every breath, every thought out of you until your heart is pounding in rhythm with each increasingly rough, deep, animalistic thrust of his cock rutting between your legs.
"Wa- wait," you gasp, as another thought occurs to you. "Aonung, the others."
"What about them," he grunts, not slowing down for a second, hand absent-mindedly moving to your shoulder-blades to push you into an even deeper arch.
Between choked whines, you manage to say, "They're right over there. They're going to hear!"
"Guess you're just going to have to be more quiet," he says carelessly, no doubt knowing that there wasn't a fucking chance of that happening.
You just bury your face deeper into your arms, hoping that they'll be enough to hide the moans knocked out of you with each of his deep thrusts.
He has you pinned firmly beneath him, yet it feels snug and comforting despite the pain of his grip. It feels like he's fucking everything into you, even his scent, so each thrust is enveloping you in his warm, tropical scent.
Then finally with a loud cry that you tried so hard to stifle and kill, your entire body pulses as your orgasm blazes through you like fire as Aonung continues to fuck you through the quivers of your release.
You yelp as he speeds up now, brutal and animalistic as the last tenterhooks of his strained restraint snaps and he buries himself deep inside you.
You just give out, going slightly limp so he's holding you up as he comes, hair spilling over you as you just rest against the floor, breathing heavily in an attempt to steady yourself as you choke at the sensation of impossible fullness.
Then when he finally stops, he seems to return to himself, realising that you're just lax on the floor, only held up by his rough grip on your slightly bruised hips, flushed and slightly tear-streaked face hidden shamefully in your arms and curtained away by your long dark hair.
"Shit, are you okay?" Aonung asks, pulling out and lightly tilts your chin so he can see your face.
You just groan weakly and attempt to swat his hand away, a mortified little smile on your face as he sighs in relief and flops to the ground beside you.
"Feeling better?" you croak, wrinkling your nose at him.
Aonung exhales shakily with a small laugh. He turns to look at you, and there's a note of something in his eyes that you just don't understand- like he's trying to see if he would be able to get away with something.
Then he tentatively reaches out and tucks your hair away. When you don't protest or pull away, he lightly pulls you closer, so your head is resting between his shoulder and his neck, your arm draped tiredly across his chest and your body nestled cozily against his larger one.
You're tense. You've never done this, never cuddled, never allowed someone to be this fucking close. But then again, you've never fucked the same guy twice, and you've been in this arrangement with Aonung for weeks.
But this time was different, aggressive and desperate and hot and messy and overwhelming, and you're completely fucked out.
"Are you alright?" you ask Aonung quietly.
That's weird too, that you're asking Aonung about how he is. That you care how he is.
"What do you mean?" he asks gently, nuzzling closer into your neck. You try to ignore how comfortable it is having his lips resting warmly against your collarbone.
"Well," you say, with a bitter, shaky laugh, "it looked like you were a little... pent up."
Aonung groans and buries his face deeper into your hair.
"Aonung," you say gently, turning so you can see him.
You are inches apart, nearly nose to nose as you rake your eyes over his face. He looks torn between mortified and as though he's trying to hide from you. You wonder if it's this frustrating for him when you hide like this.
"I just forgot about the arrangement," Aonung mumbles, not meeting your eyes. "I just- I..." Surprising yourself, you tentatively reach up to brush your fingertips against the soft teal skin of his flushed face. His eyes instantly flick to yours, and his lips part just enough for you to lightly touch them too. "I just... I didn't like seeing you with Neteyam."
"Oh," you says softly. You have no idea what to say to that- especially when its something that you always kind of knew, but never expected to be told. Especially when it never processes in your mind that you could be loved. "Neteyam's just a friend," you laugh lightly.
There's a slight crackle behind you like twigs snapping, but when you look up, there's nothing and no one there. You frown, but Aonung lightly guides your face back to his before you can think more about it.
You sit like that in silence for a little bit, but it surprises you how it's not awkward at all. It's comfortable and warm and quiet, pillowed against his muscular body with his head tucked gently beside yours, hands absentmindedly playing with your hair.
Usually you would never allow this, but you're frankly fucked out, and you doubt you'd be able to push him away even if you wanted to. So you just close your eyes and rest for a moment, until he speaks.
"So when do I get an ikran?" Aonung asks, shifting slightly so you're facing each other now, yet you're still close enough for him to hold you.
"Soon," you shrug. "You can ask Neteyam to-"
"What if I don't want Neteyam to take me," Aonung asks.
"Lo'ak or Kiri might be free," you shrug. "If you manage to pull them away from Tsireya or Rotxo."
"What if I don't want the Sullys?" he asks, eyes glittering with amusement and slight incredulous annoyance as though you were being stupid.
"Then who-" you start to say, a confused look on your face before Aonung cuts you off, rolling his eyes with a fond little grin, his hand gently snaking to tilt your face as he kisses you.
You have half a mind to snap at him, to remind him that kissing was a little too personal, too intimate for the agreement when you weren't actually fucking, to shout at him for cutting you off, before you realise you don't actually mind the intimacy of the kiss when you're nestled in his arms, his hands gently caressing your cheeks and holding you close, his heart beating warmly and comfortably against you.
In fact, the thought of him pulling away seems worse than the actual closeness, tenderness and suggestiveness of the kiss, then suddenly he is, and you're frowning at the sudden, tiny, yet extremely unwelcome distance between his lips and yours.
"Can I kiss you," he asks, just a little late.
"Yes fine," you grumble impatiently, yet by his little, delighted smile, you know he took it for what it secretly meant, yeah you'd better kiss me skxawng.
"So you'll allow this?" he grins, inching closer. "It doesn't break the agreement?"
You have a strong temptation to smack that smug, delighted expression off his face, but you are just fucking exhausted, and his kisses are like coffee. But before he can lean back in and satiate you, there's stupidly familiar voices though the trees and you're panickingly staggering up to not get caught.
"Bro," Lo'ak says, looking you up and down before raising his weird hairy human eyebrows at Aonung. "Are you trying to mark her now?"
You flush deeply, only now noticing the little purple bruises his grip had roughly left, as well as the little nips and hickeys that now adorned your body. You feel even more aware of Aonung's marks when you look back up and meet Neteyam's gaze, his rich-golden eyes blazing bright as they trail over the bruises, hickeys and love bites before turning coldy on Aonung.
Aonung returns Neteyam's golden gaze with his own icy blue one, and an unspoken challenge seems to be passed between the two boys. You expected Neteyam to react like the others, amused like Lo'ak or scandalised like Tsireya, but he remains cold and expressionless, not looking at you or returning your nervous smile. Instead of laughing off or denying Lo'ak's question, Aonung just smirks slightly and looks away, and Neteyam swallows hotly.
The walk back to the village is a strange one. There's some weird confusing tension between Neteyam and Aonung that you probably couldn't decipher in the best of times, let alone when you're so completely fucked dumb that you're putting all your best efforts into walking normally enough so the others don't know that you're whole body is turned to jelly.
Tsireya is laughing with Lo'ak at the front of the group, but Kiri and Rotxo seemed to have noticed your clumsy tiredness because Kiri links her arm with yours and gently leads you along and Rotxo distracts you with quiet, sweet conversation.
But you're hardly listening, because you can feel two gazes blazing straight into you from behind. Although no words are spoken between them, the weirdness between Aonung and Neteyam seems to radiate straight into you.
Whatever, you'll figure it all out when you're back to normal, when you aren't so weak that you're susceptible to Aonung's tenderness and intimacy, when you aren't so fucked so dumb and stupid and reckless that you aren't wanting to kiss him again.
But there's no mistaking the intensity of the gazes on your back as you reenter the village. One blazing gold, the other icy blue.
In the next few days after that trip to the river, you're terrified. Terrified of what happened between you and Aonung.
Not of the sex, no that was doubtlessly the best you've ever had, but of what happened after. Of the cuddling and the kiss and the tenderness with which he cared for you and the fact that you let him be so tender and intimate.
So okay, maybe seeing your whole clan get murdered and destroyed by sky people at a young age could be traumatising, maybe even give you a few silly little intimacy issues, but your total aversion for intimate affection had always been uncomplicated.
No one could betray or hurt you if you never let anyone get close enough for you to care about them. No one could ever get hurt by you if they never cared for you in the first place. But Aonung has. Yes he's pussy-whipped, but he's liked you from the start and you knew that. No matter how hard you tried to discourage him or push him away, he's just as stubborn in liking you as you are in not liking him.
And now you don't know what you like. You think you know what it means that you trusted him to take care of you, that you let him get close in a way that wasn't just meaningless activity and was genuine care and intimacy. So you have to stay away from him.
Which is why for the past few days, you've only been in your kelku. You refuse to go out, knowing full well that no matter where you go, to the forest or around the village, Aonung will track you down and ask why you've been avoiding him, be all concerned and sweet and ARGH.
You groan and flop back down onto your woven bed. You're running out of things to do- stuck in your kelku. You've woven an obscene, unnecessary amount of jewellery, carved two new knives, beaded several new tops that you can only wear if you one day summon the courage to go outside and face the prospect to running into Aonung.
You're snarling with annoyance of being self-isolated in your kelku, hissing to yourself under your breath as you string together the beads of a new top when someone ducks into your kelku. Your body stiffens, but you quickly relax when you realise who it is.
"Hey Tey," you grin, as he smiles slightly back at you. "What are you doing here?"
"I haven't seen you in days," Neteyam says, frowning slightly at you. "I was getting worried- you seemed... off, that day by the river."
"I was tired," you say, brows furrowing at your friend. Usually Neteyam would be sitting with you talking about a guy, torn between slight protectiveness over you and slight amusement at your scornful attitude to intimacy. But now he's frowning, worried about you. "Aonung tired me out."
You expect him to grin, to joke, to maybe even make fun of you, but Neteyam isn't Lo'ak. Your close friendship with each of the Sullys is different, but you always considered yourself closest to the eldest, training with Neteyam, bonding over the struggles you both went to to prove yourselves.
Since you sought refuge with the Omotikaya at a young age, you and Neteyam had been the closest of friends. As you got older, he was busier with his various duties as not only a warrior, but the future Olo'eyktan of the clan. The two of you never really discussed it, but in the last few years, when you both started having 'experiences' with others, you grew apart slightly.
It's not like your relationship had ever been romantic, but there were certain elements of intimacy and jealousy you had always just assumed to be the closeness of your friendship. But now Aonung pointed it out, was even jealous of Neteyam himself, you have to wonder if there ever was more between you and the prince of the Omotikaya.
Then the Sully's had left for a bit to the reef, and when Neteyam came back, you had both grown. Even without any spoken elements of romance between the two of you, the obvious fact that both of you had had several if not many sexual and romantic experiences with others just seemed strange for a friendship forged in childhood.
You lower your beading and look up at him to find those golden eyes are fixed straight in your own, bright in the afternoon light filtering into your kelku from the gap in the weaving he left slightly ajar, his lips slightly parted as he tries to decide what to say. Fuck. No. Okay so maybe Aonung is getting in your head. Maybe Aonung is opening your eyes, because now Neteyam just looks... different.
Since the reef, Neteyam has gotten more muscular, more than the typical Omotikaya yet without the broad physique of Aonung. It's probably all the swimming or the diet of tropical fruits and fish or something, you suppose, but why did you never notice how he's just so... attractive, with his blazing golden eyes and smooth handsome features.
Sure, all you'd heard from other girls for years was how Neteyam was so handsome and hot and strong and a good lover, but that had all just been silliness because Neteyam was your friend nothing more, to either of you.
"Can I help you with something?" you ask, swallowing heavily, horribly aware that you had just spaced out and stared blankly at him for way too long.
"Are you okay?" he asks, frowning and moving closer to you, setting down a pile of stuff so he can get a better look at you. "You're acting weird."
"Am I?" you ask nervously, swallowing hard and blinking way too much.
"Yes," Neteyam says slowly, crouching beside you and frowning deeper. "You've been in your kelku for days, you haven't seen anyone, talked to anyone, and everyone was starting to get worried. I was getting worried about you Rey."
His nickname for you, shortened from Reypaytun and meaning blood red, was one of the first things you ever shared with him as your first friend among the Omotikaya. It was a fond name he chose given the blood red war paint favoured by the Tayrangi that you never got the chance to wear, and ever since he called you Rey, the little warrior, the last Tayrangi.
He seems to notice the way you pause at the nickname Rey as a flood of memories from your childhood washes over you, and he places a comforting hand on your leg, saying, "It's me. You can tell me if something's going on. Is it Aonung?"
The sound of Aonung's name snaps you back. The one you've been having all these strange feelings for, the one that mentioned Neteyam having feelings for you. You swallow hotly again, and Neteyam frowns. Again.
"Yes," you say quietly. Instantly, he coldens, scowling and hissing protectively.
"Did he hurt you? You looked a little bruised but I didn't say anything because I thought maybe you-"
"No there's nothing wrong like that," you say quickly. "Aonung didn't hurt me, not at all. He's been... well I've been... um..."
Neteyam sighs, his ears drooping slightly as understanding dawns on his face, his hand sliding off your leg and dropping towards the ground. The absense of his touch feels like a sign, like your friend is slipping away just as his hand had. That the two of you are growing even further apart than ever.
"I know Rey," he says gently. "I mean, it was pretty fucking obvious from the start that he liked you. I tried to tell him that it wouldn't end well, that you never let anyone get close, but you proved me wrong like usual."
"What do you mean?" you ask quietly, your tail sweeping behind you. You miss your friend.
"For years I thought we were the only ones you'd let love you," he says, now looking slightly wistful. "I never thought it would be Aonung of all people that managed to get your heart, not when literally every guy ever is head over heels for you."
"You aren't," you point out, though even to yourself, your voice sounds unsure. "Right?"
Neteyam doesn't reply, just smiling wistfully and sighing, his strong jaw clenching. You try to think of something to say, when the rest of his words clink into place in your brain, and you sit up quickly.
"What do you mean get my heart?" you ask sharply. "He hasn't- not-"
"Rey please," Neteyam says, not looking at you. "You literally let him cuddle you, take care of you, play with your hair. It goes beyond banter and pointless sex and you know it. You know it means more to him, and you know that it means more to you too."
You make to shake your head, but then you realise your body isn't moving, as though it refuses to say that Aonung means nothing. Fuck.
"Fuck."
Neteyam laughs humourlessly as you sit up, face twisted in distress as the stupid damn truth of your friend's words sink in and you frown at him. Neteyam isn't looking at you, hiding his face from you, and your harboured suspicion that he's secretly laughing at you is immediately stomped out when you notice.
His ears are drooped all the way down, and his hands are lightly fiddling with his necklace. It's a small habit he only fell into when he was agitated or upset- you often found him fiddling with the beading of the traditional warrior necklace when he found expectations too much, when he got in trouble with his father, when he felt he wasn't enough.
"What's wrong Tey," you ask, lightly reaching out to touch your friend's head in a friendly pat. But it feels different now that you're both all grown up and grown apart- he feels too big, not like when you were inseparable children.
Neteyam looks up, his face suddenly so large in your hand- no longer the adorably delighted childish face it once had been, now all chiselled and handsome and suddenly twisted with almost concealed, melancholy bitterness as he sighs and pulls away from you. It means something, that he pulled away.
"It's just weird," Neteyam says, with a poor attempt at a smile. "I always felt proud knowing that you let me close to you. That I could help you and protect you, that we would be so close forever. Then shit happened and I had to leave and we just grew apart slightly I guess. I just never thought that when we came back, Aonung would be the one to get you."
He swallows and looks away, obviously having said more than he meant to. You are about to reach out to your friend before remembering him pull away, his hand slipping away, his gaze somehow refusing to reach your own. But you're closer to understanding now more than ever, and being the ridiculously stubborn person you are, you can't just let it go now.
"What are you trying to say Tey?" you ask, frowning at him. "Aonung said... he said..."
"What?" Neteyam asks, now completely abandoning the pretence that he isn't annoyed and letting the confusing, uncalled for bitterness seep into his words. "What did your Aonung say about me?"
"That you..." you start to say, throat feeling dry under his suddenly blazing golden gaze. "He thought there was something going on between us."
With that, the last remaining light in Neteyam's face just snuffs itself out, and you feel your heart sink desperately. His tail stops flicking agitatedly behind him, thudding listless and dead on the floor behind him, his gaze dropping away somewhat as the fire in those blazing eyes dies, as though you put it out.
"I mean," you hastily say, trying to get him back to normal. It makes your heart ache in a terrible, painful sort of way to see Neteyam look so doleful and betrayed, makes your whole body shiver at the thought that you made the prince of the clan look so broken. "He thought you maybe liked me. But I told him- you only see me as a friend and I-"
"It's fine Rey," he says quietly, not meeting your gaze. "I get it."
"No!" you practically cry. "I don't even know what I'm trying to say- please stop! You don't need to get anything, Aonung was just being stupid and I don't even know what's going on."
"He wasn't stupid," Neteyam says quietly.
"What?"
"He wasn't stupid," Neteyam snaps, standing to leave. "He was right."
"About what?" you breathe, heart hammering uncomfortably in your chest. You know exactly what Neteyam is going to say next- but it just can't be true.
"That I liked you. Like you," he says angrily, taking a deep breath before rushing his next words. "But I know that you see me as a friend, and that you have your whole fucked up thing with Aonung going on."
You exhale shakily, squeezing your eyes shut for a moment and trying to think of what to say. When you open them again, Neteyam's blazing eyes are filled with fiery possessiveness again. It's everything you've always marked as friendship that is so clear in his gaze now, and you swallow heavily when he steps closer.
"But I know you Rey," he whispers, suddenly towering over you as he steps closer. "And I could be better than Aonung."
At that, you freeze. This is Neteyam, your friend Neteyam, the most desired man in the clan, the prince of the Omotikaya standing over you, blinking down at you with his large golden eyes and telling you he's better than the other boy you fuck, who's also his friend. What. The. Fuck.
"What are you saying?" you whisper, hating how squeaky your voice sounds.
"Let me prove myself," Neteyam shrugs, now just a foot away.
You mouth wordlessly. On one hand, all you've heard for years is Neteyam's incredible talent with women, his amazing looks and bravery and size working wonders for every girl in the clan, but then again, Aonung was also completely and utterly satisfying and hot and muscular in himself. You aren't tied down though. Just because you had been having a good time with Aonung didn't mean you couldn't with anyone else.
But your friendship might not last with Neteyam if you took this step. Yet then again, it's already changed, even more so now he's told you he likes you, absolutely now he's offering what he's offering.
It seems a little as though he's stepping on Aonung's toes- along the same lines of impressing you, proving himself yadayadayada, but as you meet Neteyam's gaze, you can't seem to find a problem with anything.
He's staring down at you, inches away from your lips yet still a foot taller, blazing golden eyes staring straight into your own.
fuck.
#aonung x reader#aonung x female reader#aonung fic#avatar smut#aonung fanfiction#avatar fanfiction#avatar#avatar fandom#avatar the way of water#aonung#neteyam#neteyam smut#neteyam sully#neteyam x reader#avatar neteyam#neteyam x y/n#neteyam x reader x aonung#threesome?
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No Mercy Part II
This was requested a lot. The hate-love-story between Carl and Y/N, who is Negan's daughter, evolves... Everyone is 18 or over.
WARNINGS: smut, nsfw, unprotected sex, slightly violent sex (consensual), angst, abusive language
During the following weeks you and Carl just couldn't stop doing two things: Fighting hatefully and fucking each other. It almost became a ritual. And the more violently you argued, the better the ensuing sex, which was always rough. After you spent an evening at Ron's to watch a movie with him and Enid, Carl was convinced that you had been drooling over Ron. "You were checking him out the whole time," he kept angrily accusing you as you headed home to Rick's house. "You probably want to fuck him."
"So what if I am? What's business is it of yours, Carl?" you snapped. "Maybe he's better than you? Not that it's that difficult."
By now you'd reached the house. Carl opened the door, roughly dragged you over the threshold and immediately pushed you into the pantry next to the kitchen, where he ripped off your jeans and panties, shoved you face-first against the wall and without foreplay penetrated you from behind, fucking you with hard thrusts. "Carl, yes, please," you whimpered, pressing against him as your head kept hitting the shelf above you.
He buried his face against your neck to silence his moans. "I've wanted to rail you all evening, but you presented yourself to Ron like a slut! How many times do I have to tell you that you're my personal fucking property?" snarled Carl, pounding even harder, aggressively rubbing your clit with his right hand. He covered your mouth to prevent the other people in the house from waking up as you cum and screamed out loud. " Do you see? See? You hate me, and every time you cum on me you beg for more," he gasped contentedly, enjoying his orgasm. His cum dripped onto the floor as he pulled out of you. Upstairs you continued, the whole night was filled with angry sex, and in the morning you both had quite a few bruises, hickeys and scratches to hide.
Subsequently, the situation between you began to change slowly and almost unnoticeably. You started sneaking into each other's room more and more often in the late evening and eventually having sex in bed. What was new was that you didn't always argue beforehand. Then a few times you found yourselves lying together afterwards, cuddling and exchanging caresses. Whenever you became aware of it, one of you would angrily stop it right there and start a fight, whereupon either you or Carl would storm out of the room and the old ways would be reinstated. You hated Carl, and he hated you, and sex was just a way of expressing that hatred and it had to be violent.
Then the day came when Carl went out with Rick and some others, but they returned without him. "Where's Carl?" you asked in a squeaky voice, looking all around for him.
Rick looked utterly distraught. "We lost him," he muttered.
You felt like you'd been thrown into ice water. "Is he... dead?" For some inexplicable reason, the thought of never seeing Carl again shocked you. Even more unbearable was the idea that he might have turned into a walker, soulless and distorted.
"We don't know, we were separated by a bunch of walkers. We need to get back out there now, with more people, and search for him." Rick ruffled his hair.
For the next few hours you couldn't think clearly, nervously pacing from room to room, and when you finally saw Rick and Michonne approaching the house with Carl between them, you felt sick with relief. Carl looked pale and exhausted, and he was completely sweaty, filthy, and stained with blood and other weird substances. "You stink," was the first thing you said to him, and you turned up your nose. „It’s disgusting.“
"Screw you," he said wearily.
You waited for Carl to go into the bathroom and entered ten minutes later when he turned off the shower. He was sitting on the toilet lid, and was busy patching up his numerous bruises. Hastily he adjusted his bandage to hide his missing eye from you; you had never seen it. "I really thought you got killed, Carl," you blurted out.
He stood up and met your gaze in the mirror. "You would have liked that, wouldn't you?" he asked with a sneer, but there was something else in his beautiful blue eye. The one he still had.
You quickly nodded. "You bet," you agreed with him. "Anyway - I'm disappointed you're still alive," you said venomously, and went to your room.
It wasn't long before Carl showed up to throw you on the bed recklessly and wanted to fuck you. You had hoped he would do so; your whole body was craving him, and eagerly you wrapped your arms around him.
But he stopped the attempt shortly after with his face wrenched in agony. There was a bloody Band-aid stuck to his stomach. "Carl, what is it?" you asked, startled. "Are you in pain?" Before he could stop you, you grabbed the Band-aid and loosened it. It wasn't a bite, just a nasty cut that looked infected. The wound was located just below the scar he already had when he had been shot back then and Hershel had saved his life.
"It's not that bad," Carl claimed, taking the Band-aid away from you and reapplying it to the wound.
"Yes, it is," you countered, "You need antibiotics."
"Why do you even care?" he asked dismissively, frowning.
"Oh, I don't," you promptly returned. "Go and do whatever you want. I couldn't care less how you feel. But you can't rail me in this state anyway, so you're useless, so piss off," you hissed, pushing him away and tossing a pillow at him. Carl gathered up his clothes, showed you his middle finger and left the room - but not without turning around once more, winking at you and mockingly throwing you a kiss. You shook your head with an annoyed grin and switched off the light.
Then everything happened very quickly. The next morning, Rick caught up with you in the hallway as you were about to go to the bathroom. Carl had taken some medicine - in the end, he had listened to you - and now he was fast asleep. "'Get your things together,'" Rick ordered. "You're leaving."
"But... why..."
"Your father's people captured Gabriel," Rick informed you angrily. "The Saviours have a hostage, we have a hostage. We'll trade you."
Stunned, you stuffed your few belongings into a bag, then Rick hustled you into the car and drove you to the main gate. "I'm sorry you didn't have a chance to say goodbye to Carl," Rick said.
"Carl and I hate each other," you said coldly. Rick looked at you with amusement, but made no comment.
After some mutual accusations and insults between him and Negan, you were handed over to your father at the same time Gabriel was walking towards the Alexandria gate. Before you realized it, you were sitting next to your father in the car, and you were on your way back to the Sanctuary.
Negan looked at you from the side. "Are you alright? Have these bastards done anything to you?"
"No, Rick treated me well," you said tersely. You had been caught completely unaware of what had happened. Ten minutes later, you felt the sourness of stomach acid filling your mouth. "Stop the car. Stop the car right now. I'm going to puke," you managed to say. Negan stopped the car, you yanked open the door just in time and vomited onto the asphalt.
"Are you sick?" your father inquired as he restarted the motor. "Maybe the fish from last night was rotten," you evaded the question.
(yessss there will be a part 3... tell me if you liked the plot development 🥰)
#carl grimes fanfiction#carl grimes x reader#carl grimes smut#carl grimes#carl fanfiction#carl grimes x y/n#twd#carl grimes imagines#the walking dead
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thoughts about jon, gender, n hair
aka i've literally wanted to write a fic centered around this concept for like over two years but. well. anyway. i still might write the fic at some point but lord knows when that'll happen so in the meantime here are my jon jarchivist headcanons centered around hair and gender, ft. my personal flavor of jon: persian, w/ a white grandmother, n amab nonbinary transneutral/transfemme
⁃ jon's hair was always kept short as a kid. short hair was for boys, his grandmother had said, and besides, she didn't have the desire nor energy to learn how to care for his thick persian curls; the shorter they were, the less tangled and unruly, the better.
⁃ jon explored some more fem/gnc presentation in college, some of which included growing out his hair. he attributed it back then more to just the fact that he was exploring his queerness (in a bi and ace sense) in general & that he spent a lot of time around georgie (also transfemme), and didn't really think about the actual gender accompanying it -- he wasn't actively thinking much about his own gender. questioning and coming to terms with his sexuality was already a lot.
⁃ but he liked the way his hair looked and felt long. he liked the quiet rebellion of it. he liked the way georgie ran her fingers through it. he liked how many different ways it could be worn long -- in ponytails and buns and braids and just loose down his back. he doesn't remember much of his mom, but he's seen in pictures her long, dark, curly hair, just like his now, and he likes the reminder.
⁃ he keeps it long after college, though upon getting hired as a researcher at the magnus institute, he has a bit of a crisis over whether or not to cut it, re: standards of white cishetero "professionalism" and decorum and masculinity, all of which he's doing his best to perform. maybe even early on in his research days he cuts it a bit and decides it makes him feel so bad (for some inexplicable reason) that he decides to just leave it long, though tidy and brushed and straightened and pulled high up into a tight bun so it looks neat and out of the way and functionally short anyway.
⁃ similar thing happens when he gets promoted to archivist. i personally like him deciding not to cut it here because i like him being allowed to keep one (1) thing, though i def understand other hc's where he does cut it short for S1 / being the archivist. he's still very much keeping it pulled up in a tight bun and out of the way, and removes anything else remotely feminine about his appearance -- earrings, more fem clothing, nailpolish, etc.
⁃ i read mossy's @coulson-is-an-avenger "shopping for gender in a british wal-mart" fic like 2.5 years ago and i still love it so much and it's still canon to me basically re: he tries a skirt Once to work at the sort of peak sweet point where he's settled in enough to feel comfortable trying to wear a skirt but not yet paranoid enough about Prentiss. sasha talks w him about gender and femininity and stuff, though he's not quite ready to confront it yet.
⁃ then prentiss/season 2 hits and he regresses again hard into self-defense mode; the performative masculinity goes Harder. his hair is still long but it's messy; thick curls and flyaway strands frizzing about his sleep deprived and paranoid face.
⁃ by the time s3 rolls around, everything else in his life has gone to shit, so mostly he's just like "fuck it" re: his presentation in general, including his gender presentation. there's also a sense of just.. "this it the one thing in my life I have control over," so he sort of starts just wearing whatever. even if he's not really acknowledging the actual gender feelings to himself. but his hair and his clothes are One thing he can control about himself, one thing the watcher can't really take away from him. so with s3-s4 it's like. yeah he feels like he's becoming less and less human and yeah he's being kidnapped once a month and yeah the world is going to end but at least he can wear a goddamn skirt.
⁃ i do think there's also an element of it too where, there's obvious anxiety and concern about him being a visibly brown and trans/gnc person in fucking London of all places, but as time goes on i do think there's a bit of like. even if i face violence for this what does it matter. i hardly leave the archives anyways, and even then, would that really be anything? in the face of everything else that's happened?
⁃ in the safehouse jon and martin (who to me is a trans man btw) talk about gender a bunch and Jon realizes they want to try using both he and they pronouns and maybe jon decides they want to do some more feminine things, want to try wearing skirts and maybe painting their nails again and martin braids flowers into their hair and things are good
⁃ and then season 5 and the apocalypse hits.
⁃ for the first little while in the safehouse jon's hair is still long. but before they leave, he cuts it, for several reasons -- first like, if keeping it long and presenting femininely was partially about control for Jon, this is them letting Go of that, of what he perceives to have just been an Illusion control. yeah it might make them a bit dysphoric but so what, my body was never mine tobegin with.
⁃ and i think he's also doing it as a mental preparation for leaving the cabin, after jon and martin have had the initial talk about eventually leaving. long hair is a liability; hair can get pulled on and tugged on when being kidnapped and grabbed at; hair can be drenched in shampoo and twisted by plastic hands; hair can be tangled and snag on the walls of a coffin; it can be full of dirt days and days later; hair is a hassle and a hazard and an illusion of control and above all it was a comfort to jon and this is no longer a world where you can trust comfort, martin.
⁃ martin walks in on jon in the bathroom staring at themself in the mirror with a pair of scissors. they ask martin to cut it for them. (martin gets a haircut too, in a show at solidarity and some levity. also undercut martin rights)
⁃ anyway, Somewhere Else Jon wears flowy dresses and grows his hair long and leaves lipstick stains on martin's face when they kiss and hikes his skirts up above his knees when they work in the garden and their hair is long and dark and thick and curly and he likes it; likes the way it looks and feels, the way martin runs his fingers through it, the way it reminds him of his mother and the way it makes him smile at the person they see standing in the mirror.
⁃ and it's good. it's really good.
#tma#the magnus archives#jon sims#jonathan sims#jonmartin#martin blackwood#georgie barker#magnuspod#magpod#tma headcanons#lgbtq#queer#trans#nonbinary#quasartalks#quasarwrites#literally literally have discord messages from two years ago of me yelling abt this and making a fic abt it#(from which i typed up a lot of this post)#and yet here we are#two years later#ficless#so have this instead. i care them
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Times Like These
(The Anniversary Edition)
Link to anniversary post
Now with amazing FANART 😱
When Eddie finds himself back in his living room, staring down a very alive Chrissy Cunningham, after just having bled to death himself in the middle of a nightmare world, he was rightfully very, very fucking confused.
-Or-
What happens when the new guy, who only just got inducted into the fucked up world of monsters and mayhem, gets stuck in a time loop and finds himself responsible for saving everyone?
Chapter 1: The Hell Loop
WC: 2,902 | AO3 link
Eddie could hardly breathe past the blood that was flooding into his mouth, threatening to choke him before he even had the opportunity to bleed out. He tried to keep it together for Dustin’s sake. The last thing he wanted was for the kid to get hurt or have to see something like this, hence the cutting of the rope, but traumatized was a hell of a lot better than dead, so he couldn’t regret either of the choices he’d made.
“I love you, man.”
Eddie forced the words out, coughing and sputtering
“I love you too.” Dustin replied.
Eddie couldn’t see anymore, but the tears in the younger boy's voice were hard to miss.
It was the last thing he heard before he died.
Dying didn’t hurt, quite the opposite actually. Eddie could pinpoint the exact moment he passed on, because it was the same moment the pain stopped. He found himself floating away into an unfamiliar blackness and couldn’t even bring himself to be scared. He was too relieved at being free of the agony and guilt.
Before he could do much more than wonder where he was floating off to, a loud almost overwhelming rushing sound hit his ears. Instinctually, he tried to cover them to drown out the noise, only to realize he didn’t exactly have a body right now. No ears to cover, no hands to do it with.
With that frightening thought his eyes shot open, -oh thank fuck he had eyes again- and his feet hit solid ground. Inexplicably, he was back in the trailer. He looked up to find that the ceiling was intact, and Chrissy Cunningham– whole, and alive, was standing just a few feet in front of him, looking nervous and jittery.
“Are you sure you have it?”
What the actual fuck?
“Holy shit, Chrissy! You’re alive?!” Eddie gasped.
Her face twisted up in confusion, a feeling Eddie was also becoming intimately familiar with. What was this? Some life-flashing-before-your-eyes-on-the-way-to-the-grave bullshit? But he was already dead, he was sure of it, so that could only mean…
“Oh shit, I’m so sorry,” he blurted out.
Why he was apologizing to some visage of the past that probably wasn't even real, he did not know, but it felt appropriate.
She’d been through a lot.
“You’re probably not alive, actually, if you’re here. Since I'm, y’know– dead, and all.” He continued, letting out a frankly deranged sounding laugh as he began to pace around the room.
“But why are you here?” He mused, thinking out loud.
It could actually be her, he reasoned. She was dead too, right? But that would mean they wound up in the same place and that was absolutely ridiculous.
A sweet little thing like her?
Guaranteed one way ticket to the good place.
And Eddie?
Well, he never had any doubts about where he was going to end up.
The realization hit him like a Mack truck, stopping him in his tracks.
“Oh my god, I’m in Hell. This is Hell. I ran away. I ran– I didn’t even try to help you and then I fucking died!” Eddie let out a painful sob as he dropped to his knees on the floor, hands covering his face. Now that he was back here, having to face her again after what he’d done, It was all hitting him at once.
His voice shook as he continued rambling. “Right in front of Dustin too… and- and now this is my Hell. I’ll probably have to watch you die, over-and-over-and-over again.”
He felt the air shift, heard the light footsteps as Chrissy took a few hesitant steps towards him.
“Watch me die?” She said, voice cracking, sounding so, so small and scared. “Eddie, please… you’re kind of freaking me out.”
Shit, he really couldn’t stop fucking this up could he?
Even if Hell-Chrissy wasn’t real, he still felt horrible for scaring her. None of this was her fault. He rubbed at his face hard and took a deep calming breath before looking up at her again.
She wasn’t looking at him anymore though. She was rigid, staring straight ahead at something he couldn’t see, only the whites of her eyes visible as they rolled to the back of her head.
He jumped to his feet, every instinct in his body screaming at him to run, again, but fuck that. He was already dead, probably, and none of this was real– he was almost sure none of this was real, but maybe he could still try to help her.
Music had snapped Red out of it, maybe it would work for Chrissy too.
Eddie raced to his bedroom, snatching his Walkman off the bed before sprinting back to the living room. He knew it was pretty fucking unlikely that the head cheerleader of Hawkins High was a secret Metallica fan, but it was the best he could do under the circumstances.
He gently placed the headphones over her ears and pressed play, the volume loud enough that he could just make out the sound of the opening riff to Master of Puppets.
-
It didn’t work.
He hadn’t really thought it would.
He forced himself to watch as her body began to float.
Listened to the sickening snap as each of her arms and legs were twisted, and broken.
Stood frozen, a silent witness, unmoving until her body dropped to the floor like a ragdoll.
He didn't even scream.
He’d tried, and he hadn’t let her die alone. It was all he could do.
Hell or not, Eddie wasn’t keen on hanging out with a dead body if he could help it. So finally, he let himself go, grabbing his keys off the counter, and rushed out to the van.
–
Eddie drove slowly, aimlessly around town, at a bit of a loss for what to do next. It was a far cry from the way he’d peeled out of the trailer park and sped down the road on the night of Chrissy’s actual death, heart racing like a trapped rat desperately seeking shelter from a predator he couldn't even see. This time around he just felt numb.
Not knowing what else to do, he decided to follow his previous course of action. If he was right in assuming that he was being made to relive his greatest hits from the last 7 days, at least this way he knew he’d get to see Dustin’s face again. He drove towards Lover’s Lake, already dreading spending another night at Rick’s.
–
The morning after a sleepless night found him back in a boat, hiding under a tarp, and clutching tightly to the neck of a broken beer bottle. The numbness had faded hours ago, leaving the door open for anxiety and terror to return in full force. In short, Eddie was freaking out.
He wasn’t sure how much time had passed since he’d left Chrissy's body to grow cold on the living room floor, but the second he heard the voices outside the boathouse he went into panic mode, just as he had the first time, unsure of what or who might be coming for him.
Would it be more visions from the past? Or had the devil finally sent his minions to collect.
A few confusing moments, and a jab to the ribs with a fucking wooden oar later, Eddie was, for the second time in his life, throwing Steve Harrington violently against a wall and shoving a jagged edge of glass close enough to his throat that one deep breath would draw blood.
He stared into the other boy's eyes from inches away, and he wanted to drop the bottle. He remembered every single thing Steve and the others had done for him as he faced down the worst week of his life, but this could very well be Hell.
And that might not be the Steve he’d come to trust.
The one he’d come to know wasn’t the same stuck up asshole he remembered from high school, who had proven time and time again that he was a good guy.
And he couldn’t afford to be wrong.
“Eddie! Stop!” The thing that looked like Dustin shouted. “Eddie, it’s me, it's Dustin. This is Steve, he’s not gonna hurt you. Right, Steve?”
Eddie, wanting to believe it so badly, actually did lower the bottle a little, only to accidentally drop it to the ground, his only weapon shattering at his feet.
He fisted a hand into the front of Steve’s shirt.
“What are you doing here man, what do you want from me?”
Steve dropped the oar, all the breath whooshing out of him at once. “Dustin and Max wanted to find you. I’m just here to keep the little shits safe, I swear.”
Eddie caught movement out of the corner of his eye as Robin and Max began to approach from the side cautiously. Right, they had been there too, he'd almost forgotten.
“We just want to know what happened, Eddie. We wanna help,” Max said.
It was the earnestness in her voice that got him, that made him finally break and move away from Steve, allowing Robin to rush to his side.
“You won’t believe me,” Eddie said, barely recognizing the sound of his own voice with the way it trembled.
He was sure they wouldn't believe it. If it even mattered, if they were even really here, if any of this was even real.
He was still pretty convinced this was all just some form of divine punishment, and only happening in his own head, after all.
It wasn’t about what happened to Chrissy. He knew they would believe that, they had once already, but whatever else was going on here? This deja vu flashback thing or whatever it was? They had no reason to trust he was telling the truth about the fact that he was dead– or had died temporarily? Or that this had all happened to him before.
It was, admittedly, unbelievable.
So, he made a choice. He didn't tell them that part. He told the same story he had the first time around and they in turn told him a very short history of the Upside Down. It didn’t hit so hard this time, since he’d already heard it all once before, but it was still wild to think about everything this group had been through. He couldn’t believe it’d all been happening right under his nose.
Despite himself, he watched Steve through most of the explanations. Eddie had been so focused on his own experience at the time that he hadn’t paid much attention to him after the attempted throat slashing. He looked dejected, sad, already resigned to the fact that the monsters he’d been protecting these kids from for years now were back, again. Eddie sympathized.
-
The week flew by in a blur of blood, sweat, and tears, events unfolding in the exact same way that he remembered, and he never said a word about it to anyone.
He kept expecting it all to end somehow.
On the rare occasion that he fell asleep, he thought for sure he would wake up from this nightmare either back in his bed after having the longest most fucked up dream of his life, or somewhere– else, preferably on a fluffy cloud after having served his penance for petty crimes.
Unless god actually did hate the gays… then he was fucked.
It wasn’t until he and Dustin were alone, after fortifying the trailer and getting his guitar set up that he decided– maybe he’d been an idiot to just keep going along with the script like this. It’d been days without so much as a hint of fire and brimstone, so either he'd been sold a bill of goods his whole life about what Hell would be like, or, this was really happening.
Again.
At this point, neither possibility was a particularly good one. If he’d been somehow sent back in time and given a second chance, he had absolutely screwed it up.
Fuck it, he might as well tell Dustin now at least. See what happened.
“Alright, uh, listen, I have to tell you something– and I’m not sure you’re going to believe me but I swear I’m telling you the truth.”
Dustin laughed, bright and incredulous as he checked the plugs on the amp one last time. “After everything we’ve been through the past few days, and the shit I’ve seen over the last three years, do you really think there’s anything I wouldn’t believe?”
Ok, kid had a point.
Eddie took a deep breath and squared his shoulders.
Here goes nothing.
“I’ve been through this before, all of it, with you guys. For a while I thought I was in Hell, y’know? Doomed to relive Chrissy’s death over and over again, and between you and me I’m still not totally sure that isn’t the case, but then you guys found me in that damn boathouse just like before, and everything else has happened exactly like I remember, and I-”
His speech was cut short by Dustin screeching, “Are you serious right now?! You have to be fucking kidding me! I can’t believe you… you’re in a time loop and you didn’t say anything?!”
Eddie’s mouth dropped open, eyebrows raised up nearly to the bandana he had tied around his head. “Wait, you believe me?! Just like that?!”
Dustin put his hands on his hips, in a gesture that was eerily reminiscent of a certain babysitter that Eddie definitely hadn't developed the habit of staring at at every given opportunity.
Not the time!
“I wouldn’t say, just like that.” Dustin said, snapping his fingers. “If it was anyone outside of the party I would think they were crazy, but this is you we’re talking about. And like I said, after everything? This is not that hard to swallow. I mean, why would you make something like that–”
Dustin stopped abruptly, his entire demeanor changing on a dime as if he’d just discovered something awful. Belatedly, Eddie realized his mistake.
“Eddie, why would you think you were in Hell? Did you… “ The kid trailed off, and when he spoke next his voice was thick with unshed tears. “Do we lose? Did you…die?”
Eddie sighed heavily and ran a hand through his hair. “Shit, I didn’t think– I guess there’s no way to tell you I might be repeating time without admitting it. Yeah, I… died. As far as Vecna, I have no idea. I was gone before Steve, Robin, and Nancy got back.”
Before he could respond, the Walkie in Dustin’s hand came to life, with Robin’s voice crackling through the small speaker. “She’s in, move on to phase 3. Over.”
“Guess that’s it. Time’s up.” Eddie muttered.
Dustin bit his lip as he looked at Eddie, eyes questioning and full of fear.
Eddie shook his head, silently answering the unasked question. He didn’t want Dustin to tell them, or try and stop this. It was too late. He refused to risk the kid, or somehow make things worse by changing the plan this late in the game.
Dustin squeezed his eyes closed and pressed the button on the handset to reply, “Copy that, initiating phase three. Over.”
Eddie gave the kid his best reassuring smile as he pulled the guitar strap up over his head and with shaking hands began to play, knowing there was no time to waste.
-
Bleeding out wasn’t any more fun the second time around.
Eddie had given it his all, fighting tooth and nail against those flying leeches, but there was no use. There were hundreds of them, and only one of him. Just as he had the first time he took off on that bike to lead the bats away, he’d known the fate he was resigning himself to. The difference this time was, he actually had a sliver of hope.
If the impossible happened once, maybe it could happen again.
“Sorry, kid.” Eddie said, choking back blood as he watched Dustin limp towards him. “Didn’t notice the leg last time–“ He paused, panting, trying to catch his breath. Talking had already become difficult. “Shouldn’t have cut the rope, s’not like it stopped you.”
He forced a smile, trying so hard not to let it show on his face just how much pain he was in. Not that there was much point, the kid had eyes. He could surely see the red ruin Eddie’s body had become.
Dustin sobbed openly and it broke Eddie’s heart.
“God damnit, Eddie!” He shouted, shaking his head and pounding the ground with his fist. “Promise me if you get another shot at this that you’ll tell me. Tell me as soon as you possibly can about the time loop. Please! We have to come up with another plan.”
Eddie wanted nothing more than to be able to scoop the boy into his arms and comfort him, might have tried anyway but he couldn't move. “What if you don’t believe me?” He choked out.
“I'm adopted,” Dustin blurted out through his sniffles. “My mom only told me last year. No one else knows, not even Steve, but… I trust you, Eddie. I’d believe you without it, but if you need to, tell me that and I’ll believe you.”
Eddie nodded, or tried to, and felt Dustin’s hand slip into his.
“I love you, man”
“I love you too”
Chapter 2
Thanks to @penny00dreadful for being the best beta, friend and cheerleader.
Shoutout also to @theheadlessphilosopher @withacapitalp and @hitlikehammers for the help and encouragement to do this.
Tagging a few friends that expressed interest or I think might be interested? I am ALWAYS happy to tag or remove - just let me know!
Taglist: @hitlikehammers @pearynice @cranberrymoons @thoroughlycollected @blubblesandink @finntheehumaneater @brbsoulnomming @estrellami-1 @hellion-child @mentallyundone @manda-panda-monium @spicysix @kikidoesfanfic @dreamwatch
#steddie fanfic#time loop#pov eddie munson#stranger things#steddie#steve harrington#eddie munson#steve harrington/eddie munson#steve x eddie#steddie fic#fanfic#hbyrde's anniversary project
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The Kissing Game
The two times you and Eddie almost kiss and the one time you do
Fluffy,minors dni, 18+, jealous Eddie, soft Eddie. Idiots in love and mutual pining.
❤️
It was one of those stormy days in Hawkins, rain battering off the windows, the wind whistling through the trees, the weather forecast said it wasn't to let up all night.
This is how you and Eddie were currently stuck inside his trailer. He point blank refused for you to drive home when the weather was so bad.
So here you are bundled up in Eddie's room as he plays his guitar. Testing out a new song for Corroded Coffin, he scribbles down lyrics and mouths along to them, makes sure they fit into the song.
Eddie had told you to get comfortable and to be honest, there was nothing you liked better than listening to him strum on the guitar. It was bliss.
"What's the new song about Ed's?" you ask him curiously and to your confusion, a deep pink coats his cheeks. He's rarely one to blush, like ever.
Was this about some girl? It's the only thing you can think of that would make him blush so badly. Jealousy gnaws inside you, no matter how hard you try and push it down.
You and Eddie had barely been hanging out less than a year, still it was surprising how close the two of you had gotten in such a short amount of time.
"Uh, it's special. It's for someone special" he mumbles and there's a burst of agony in your chest that some lucky girl was going to have Eddie, pouring his heart out to her.
"She's lucky," you murmur and his eyes widen, he scrambles to his feet and moves closer to you. Some strange tension fills the air between the two of you.
Instinctively, you move closer to him too and shiver in pleasure as his hand reaches up to caress your cheek. Fuck. Was he going to kiss you? You wait with baited breath but just as something was going to happen, the front door opens.
It's Wayne. You and Eddie jump apart as he enters Eddie's room, smiles at you both and talks about making a nice, warming casserole for dinner, as it's chilly as fuck outside.
All the while that almost kiss stays in your mind all night.
❤️
You and Eddie don't mention the almost kiss. In fact it's an unspoken agreement that said kiss didn't even happen. So if you were both being a little weird at least according to Robin and Steve, then so be it.
Eddie was acting stranger than usual though, anytime you were near Steve his eyes narrowed and turned impossibly darker. Considering the fact, that him and Steve had been getting on extremely well, bonded over their love of annoying and looking after lost sheeples, it was a surprise to you.
It was meant to be a relaxing movie night. Hosted by Steve for the kids and the rest of the gang, except you were finding it extremely hard to relax at the moment. Worried that Eddie was going to make a scene for whatever inexplicable reason.
What was wrong with him? He was perfectly fine yesterday and didn't have a problem with Steve a few days ago at Family Video.
Was it because Steve hugged you a little longer than usual today? Whispered in your ear about his latest date and made you giggle... Was it possible that Eddie was jealous...
No. No way, he doesn't like you that. You'd know if he did surely?
...
By the end of the movie night, you were extremely pissed off. Followed Eddie to his van in an attempt to get some answers from him.
"Eddie, do you want to tell me what the hell is your problem with Steve?" Eddie ignores the first question as you both head into the van, you stare at him expectantly and he avoids your questioning gaze.
"Do you like Steve or something?" He spits out after a few seconds and you gape.
"Of course I like Steve, he's a great guy" you point out and Eddie looks frustrated, runs his hand through his hair.
"No. I mean do you really like him?" Flustered you realise what he means and shake your head.
"Not like that. He's just a friend Eddie" something akin to relief passes over Eddie's face. A small smile graces his features and he looks happy, certainly happier than he did throughout the movie.
His fingers entwine through yours and you feel your heart begin to skip several beats, your hand fits in Eddie's perfectly and the way his thumb strokes over your skin is making you feel heady, you don't want it to stop.
It seems like you have the same effect on him as there is a slightly dazed look in his eyes. This time when he moves closer to you, there's no hesitation this time and your lips are mere inches apart.
However the moment is broken by Dustin, Max and Lucas. "Hey, Steve is taking everyone else home so can we get a ride from you Eddie?" Dustin asks hopefully and you and Eddie exchange frustrated glances.
"We were in the middle of something you little butthead" Eddie huffs, but starts up the van and begins the journey taking the kids home. All the while your mind is racing.
That was the second almost kiss in a week. There was no denying what was going on now, but would you ever get to kiss Eddie? Something always seemed to get in the way...
❤️
Eddie had had enough of obstacles getting in the way of you and him. Twice now, the two of you had been about to kiss and each time you were interrupted. First Wayne and then Dustin, yesterday the two of you attempted to hang out alone but were interrupted by Robin and Steve.
Honestly, Eddie was at his wits end. For weeks he has been trying to tell you how he felt about you, he was even writing a song for you and couldn't wait for you to hear it.
You almost did the other day, the day of the first almost kiss. But the song wasn't ready, he wanted it to be perfect. He wasn't exactly in his comfort zone writing a love song, he was used to the heavy metal vibes of Corroded Coffin.
For you though, he wanted to try and get this song right.
Today he was going to do it. He was going to kiss you and no interfering little buttheads, friends or otherwise was going to interrupt.
The moment Eddie sees you he almost chickens out, almost. Quickly he shakes away his nerves and walks over to you.
There's a similar determined glint in your eye and you take Eddie by complete surprise, when you kiss him first. He's speechless when you pull away which for him is a rarity.
"Wow, he murmurs and you smile happily, about fucking time huh princess?" He teases you and you shut up his gleeful words immediately with another kiss.
Now that he is kissing you, Eddie doesn't want to stop, he also plans to kiss you all the time, annoy the shit out of the sheeples and get his revenge on them for interrupting the two of you the last time.
Yes, revenge was sweet. Eddie doesn't think much about his plan after that, when you nibble on his bottom lip and all his thoughts temporally cease for the moment.
❤️❤️
💞
#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson fluff#eddie munson x you#eddie munson x y/n#soft eddie munson#eddie munson
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Yes I would still love the Lee tang smut!!
Convenience Store Guy
Summary: Confronting your coworker about the weird messages you've received doesn't go as planned.
Warnings: Language, Dark Themes, Stalking, Threats, Slight!DeadDove, Gaslighting, Convenience store era cus that was the best, Unstable Tang, Smut 18+ (Minors DNI) Rough Sex, Choking, Degradation Kink, Kinda Virgin!Tang, Dom!Tang
Stalking is bad. If someone is Stalking you, 100% don't do what y/n does, please.
The more he spoke to you, the more he found it increasingly difficult to act like a good person.
“And guess what else?” The chill in your voice has nothing to do with the oppressive winter weather.
“You're pregnant.” your co-worker says.
You laugh and he laughs because you laugh.
It took a certain level of skill, Lee Tang likes to admit - being able to time exactly when you’d crane your neck back, letting your complaints reach the artificial fluorescents while he lowered his incriminating eyes to your cleavage.
“Remember that unknown number I told you about? The one that kept sending all the weird messages?” Tang hums, bopping his head as he slyly adjusts the front of his jeans, obscured by the counter.
“Shit, don't tell me you got another one,'' As the words leave his mouth, you're already handing your phone to him.
“This was sent to me last night,” You say, swinging your head away from the cash register and towards the wide windows displaying the night beyond. Anyone out there could be the person terrorising you. Anyone could be out to get you.
The text simply and succinctly read:
Wear the same colour tomorrow.
And while Lee Tang attempted to feign uncomfortable ignorance (as one might when your coworker tells you she might be getting stalked), he couldn't help but notice that you were, in fact wearing the same colour. Bright yellow.
For some inexplicable reason… you listened.
“What were you wearing?”
He already knew.
“Is that important?” You step aside, making way for the final customer to be rung up. All the while, Tang nurses an even bigger boner than before.
He did not… exactly intend for his moves to get so bold but texting you and having you listen to hus demands… the demands of a stranger… the whole thing is something akin to shooting pure heroin straight into a fresh vein.
Perhaps you weren't so innocent in the exchange.
“That's not important,” You say quietly before swinging your head towards him again, “I thought we should focus on the very real fact that I might have a stalker?”
“Maybe you should respond to the poor guy and see what he has to say- that'll be ₩5000,” While Tang entertains his customer, you immediately grab your phone before stuffing it into your back pocket. The convenience store buzzes with the exit of the final customer.
“Because entertaining a stalker is exactly what they tell us to do,” you accompany your sentence with a small eye roll.
“We don't know if it's a stalker.” Tang didn't like that term. He'd much rather prefer ‘walking you home from a distance,’
“All this guy has done so far is send a couple weird messages.”
Not a stalker. Not a stalker. Not a stalker.
“Why don't you just block him?”
You'd think by the self gratification in this voice that Tang solved world hunger. You let him dwell in his ignorance, partly because you were afraid to dissect how deep this iceberg went.
You were afraid to admit that you had already blocked the Private number… twice.
Initially you had hoped the messages were the effects of some virus, but they kept getting worse by the second.
[17:59] Just wanted to know if you've had a nice day? :)
[20:22] My cat’s sick. Idk what's wrong with her.
[20:23] I don't have a cat lol
[22:23] Where'd you get your cat?
[01:00] I love talking to you
[01:05] You're so fucking hot
[02:03] I love you
You were afraid to admit that you waited for his message at the end of every long monotonous day.
While you wrestle will all sorts of the moral implications that came with enabling you stalker, Tang couldn't take his eyes off your dress.
Had you really worn the dress for him?
Tang couldn't suspend disbelief even for a millisecond to imagine a world in which that was possible. When he sent that message, he obviously didn't expect a response.
He always believed he was nothing but a fragment of furniture in the workings of your life.
The convenience store guy you occasional spoke to.
Everything began to feel more and more brighter in your presence. The clinical musk that hung in the convenient store began to smell more and more like jasmine and time seemed to grow wings and take off whenever you swung by, chatting his ear off about your latest inconvenience.
One moment you were an irritation, the next Tang found himself seated at his desk, surrounded by a halo of used tissues while habitually scouting out porn where the campy lead actress resembled you more and more. He found it concerningly easy to get off when your eyes, your smile and those beautiful fucking tits were clouding his mind eye.
It was around this time when he started walking you home.
For a while, a vaguely heavy silence sits in between you two. Tang, with his head bowed, chooses to ruminate in an emotion very new and complex to him…guilt.
He is completely unaware that you're watching him, until you sigh loudly. “You know… you could at least try to sound convincing,” your words cause his neck to snap up and he watches with wide eyes as you round the counter, dragging your finger against the cold surface.
“I think I'd find it way more endearing if you don't try to lie to me, Tang.” You're walking closer and closer and he feels like his entire mental state has imploded on itself.
“Fuck, I'm going mental,” he screws his eyes shut and pats his cheeks rather hard. When he opens them, youre still there. His breathing picks up as your warmth penetrates the radius surrounding his flustered, agitated body and Tang immediately sends a worried gaze up to the CCTV nestled in the corner above.
“Some girls respond better to just being asked out.”
A billion lies try to flash across his mind's eye. Anything that might get him out of this situation unscathed. He comes up empty. Eventually, all Lee Tang is capable of, is a droop in his shoulders as he asks, “Are you going to call the cops?”
You don't respond immediately. Choosing, instead, slide your finger over his on the counter. Your warm hands encircling his had the power to knock the very life out of him.
“I should call the cops,” you state very gravely,” you look up at him with a grim sort of fascination.
Lee Tang has mentally checked out. His droopy, ringed eyes are stationed on your lips alone.
“You really should.” He says, before bending down ever so slowly as if to bridge the gap between both of your lips.
“You're sick, you know that? You had me fearing for my fucking life,” You're whispering. Why are you whispering?
“Don't say shit like that,” he whispers back.
“Why?”
Almost before he can talk himself out of it, Lee Tang grabs ahold of your hand, the one stationed on his own and he presses your palm directly onto his bulge. His eyes nearly roll back at the warmth of your small little hand alone and you watch, absolutely mesmerised as he begins to rub your palm up and down and up and down.
“Wait-”
“No.” He states, before motioning to bend down and kiss you, but before he can, you stop him with a hand against his chest.
There it was. That all too familiar pang of rejection. That nauseating, acidic feeling that ate away at his insides.
It made him want to hurt you.
How dare you try to stop him?
How dare you bring him this far, only to take it all away?
How dare you?
“Wait.”
“What?” Your eyes widen at the slightly louder quality in his tone. Sensing that you might have disrupted something that was well on its way to blossoming, you're quick to try and appease his nerves. You watch the conflict in his eyes dissipate and when you step closer towards him, your front pressed against his as you whisper in his ear, “Not here,” before spinning around, in the direction of the break room. It takes a moment for his brain to process your words, but when they do, he's ambling his way onwards, away from CCTV.
The very second he shuts the door to the break room, he's charging at you in a quick, frantic gait.
You're only allowed to feel nervous for a total of 5 seconds before he's pushing you against the wall, forcing his tongue down your throat as if it were his first kiss. His movements are jilted and frantic and so incredibly messy. If it were anyone else you might have been disgusted by his haste only proves to be contagious. You can feel it rubbing off on you with the way you mewl against his mouth, shoving your fingers into his mop of dark, unkempt hair.
“You're so perfect to me, F-Fuck,” he whispers in between kisses. He never strayed too far. Your lips stayed connected by a line of saliva. You were both absolutely wrecked.
“So, long…” he whispers, before shoving his hand over your boobs and squeezing, “I've thought about this for so fucking long. I've jerked off to you for so fucking long- I just-” He breathes out, before flattening his thumb against your pebbled, clothed nipples, “I've always fucking wanted you,”
“How long?”
“Since I saw you,” he whispers before dipping his head in between the crook of your neck. Instead of splaying lazy kisses there, you gasp at the sound of him completely inhaling you. “F-Fuck…” he whispers before pulling back, enough to fiddle with his belt, “I need to fuck you,” he simply and succinctly says before bringing his other hand up to your collar. “You're not gonna go anywhere, yeah?” As he asks this, he curls his fingers around your throat, alluding to the real and very daunting fact that he wouldn't allow you to go, even if you wanted to…
“I'm not going anywhere,” you attempt to coax him yet again but he still keeps a firm grip around your throat as he slides, quite sloppily into your slippery cunt. Now his eyes roll back and he exhales the biggest groan he's ever let out. “I already know I'm not gonna fucking last,” with his free hand he swipes his fingers across your clit, stimulating you to the highest level as you whine and mewl into the air.
“So long,” he continues muttering as he ruts into you, “ s-so fucking long… s-so tight. You're too tight-”
You're caught in the throes of the pleasure of being fucked so throughly and so roughly that you completely miss his question.
“Hey?” He says all too quietly while slapping continuously at the side of your cheek as if trying to bring you back down to earth, “You're such a slut you didn't even hear what I asked you?”
You manage to shake your head.
“I asked if you were a virgin.”
You stilled at the question, sensing that you were walking on dangerous ground. Which, you were realising is a norm around this guy. While you were thinking you had to choose your words correctly, Tang dips his head in between your neck and shoulder once more.
“Doesn't matter,” He ruts against you, feeling himself get closer and closer as his grip on your neck becomes tight.
“I'll kill him-” and for some inexplicable reason you cum at that very moment. Your moans reach the dusty ceiling and you fall apart against him so absolutely.
“You're gonna make m-me-” He's already cumming inside you, all while completely cutting off the air to your lungs. He watches you through his spell of pleasure as you claw at his hand and it only makes him cum harder.
“F-Fuck,” he whispers when he empties the last of his seed inside your weeping cunt. You gasp for all the air you were deprived of and he watches with morbid curiosity as life flows back into your eyes.
“That was way better than porn.” Now that he had you, he didn't plan on ever letting you go.
#killer paradox#killer paradox fanfic#killer paradox smut#lee tang#lee tang x reader#lee tang smut#choi wooshik#choi wooshik x reader#lee tang x you
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