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sttoru · 8 months

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⟣ note. based on this panel of the veil manga :3 loved it sm i had to make a small fic out w/ toji && yes this is also ur sign to go read veil :>

⟣ tags. toji fushiguro + female reader. fluff. implied age gap (reader 20-ish, toji 30) ig..?, size difference. toji’s smoking. toji calls reader ‘little girl, kid, brat’ and is a big meanie. i’ve personally written it to be platonic but can also be read as romantic = completely up to you.

the night was a cold one; most citizens had escaped inside, searching for shelter in their houses due to the freezing temperatures and windy weather. therefore, the normally bustling streets had now transformed completely empty and quiet.

“fuckin’ hell.”

well—‘almost’ completely empty and quiet.

“what’s wrong?” you ask toji, who was standing beside you near a fence, looking down at the beautiful scenery the city lights created. you had begged him to meet up in this cold weather solely because you couldn’t sleep.

toji (reluctantly) agreed even though he was warm and cozy underneath his blankets the moment you called. he put on a random coat and went out to accompany you on your little stroll. you knew he wouldn’t do that for anyone else, though you don’t tease him about that fact; he’d probably turn around and go right back to his apartment out of spite.

“can’t light my cig up because of the damn wind.” the older man clicks his tongue, creating a small ‘tsk’ sound. he used his hand to try and block the cold breeze from blowing out the small fire from his lighter, but to no avail.

“poor you, having to deal with an anti-smoking wind.” your witty comment gains a huff and a gentle kick to the butt from toji.

“ha-ha. real funny, kid.”

you lean against the railing, hands cupping your own cheeks as you prop your elbows against the surface. the wind was strong and made you shiver just a tad bit, but the moment was still enjoyable. the distant sounds of the cars speeding across the roads, your coats rustling, the heels of your feet tapping against concrete and… the sounds of a man struggling and cursing next to you.

“still no luck?” you tease with a shit-eating grin whilst turning your face to the side, gazing at toji whose cigarette was still defeatedly dangling from between his lips.

“nah, none.” he scoffs and seemed on the verge of giving up when you clear your throat in an overly confident manner. you stepped closer to him—the faint smell of both alcohol and tobacco instantly filling your nostrils—and undid the two upper buttons of your coat.

toji’s eyes flicker from his lighter to you and he raises an eyebrow at your sudden interference. the look in your eyes seemed to hint at mischief, yet they also glimmered with pride at what you were about to do.

“c’mere.” you gesture for the older man to lower his head, hands parting your coat to both sides of your body, forming a protective shield from any winds. you stood on your tiptoes so toji could light his cigarette in the self-made cover.

toji chuckles at this; “pretty smart, ain’t ya?” he bends his head down, his hands carefully holding onto both your elbows, lifting you a bit higher up on your tiptoes so that he could reach you. toji then lowers his head a bit more until it was fully engulfed by your coat. the warmth radiating from your body almost makes him forget what he was supposed to do.

his thumb rolls against the sparkwheel, the little flame now being more stable as you try your best to keep steady on the tips of your shoes—eyes looking down at the top of toji’s head. his black hair was tickling your chin and you held yourself back from giggling, since it’d probably mess up the cover if you do.

after a second or two, toji finally gets his cigarette to burn up. he lingers there between the warmth of your coat for more than needed, but eventually pulls away and straightens his back—once again towering over your short figure.

toji stays silent as another strong gust of wind almost makes you fall back. your hair gets in your eyes and blocks most of your vision, making it unable to see if your trick helped him like intended.

“did it work?” you ask, voice slightly raised in case toji couldn’t hear you over the loud wind. there was no answer, but you could spot him holding the cigarette up to his lips, the small stick of nicotine resting between his index and middle finger.

seeing you helplessly try to wipe the locks of hair from your face was quite amusing to the man. he didn’t bother helping you like you did to him a moment ago.

besides, you’d survive without his aid—he’s just going to enjoy the view of your adorable self struggling against the wind.

toji moves closer to you after a couple seconds of just grinning at your useless fight against the weather. his free hand pushes your hair to the side, rough fingers gliding across the skin above your eyebrow and eventually coming to rest behind your ears—having tucked the loose strands away.

your obstructed view dissolves and is replaced by a sight you’ve seen many times before: toji, giving you that devilish smirk of his, the one he shows you before he does something to either tease or piss you off.

“guess it did work.” you hum as your eyes focus on the lit up cigarette. you felt proud of yourself for helping toji with that simple task and that lightly cocky expression somehow made you look even cuter to the assassin.

he really just wanted to squeeze and pinch your cheeks as hard as he could. was that called cuteness aggression?

toji takes a long drag of his cigarette before unexpectedly blowing the smoke out in your face, causing you to cough and pinch your nose, “hey! is that how you thank your saviour?”

your answer was a small snicker. toji averted his gaze from you to the city beneath your feet as you stood on a hill. he was having fun accompanying you on your late night stroll. it wasn’t every day that he got to relax like this—plus, you were the only one in his social circle who’d voluntarily hang out with him. others would solely meet up for business matters.

once you calmed down a bit, coughed the smoke out of your throat and fanned any remaining particles away from your face, you mumbled something among the lines of ‘never helping him out again’. the assassin shakes his head at your light-hearted complaints, your pouty expression only fuelling him to tease you some more.

“whadd’ya say there, little girl?” toji raises an eyebrow, one hand coming up to lightly grab your ear and tug at it, your body stumbling back towards his. you yelp and wrap your fingers around toji’s wrist—trying to release yourself from his grasp.

“ouch! let go!” a swat to his forearm did nothing; his bulky physique was easily overpowering you. your tugging and pulling was nothing but child’s play to him.

your lips formed an ever bigger pout, eyes narrowing at him as you tried to give him your meanest death glare. toji was satisfied once he got the reaction he wanted and let go of your ear, but not before rubbing the tingling area gently with his thumb and index finger—soothing the faint pain in his own way.

“seriously, toji?” you roll your eyes and give him one last smack against his bicep. you lean back against the fence and glance down at the streets, feigning your anger at him for teasing you twice in a row.

“you mad?” toji takes another long pull from his cigarette before blowing the smoke out the other way. he turns around and leans his back against the railing, granting himself the perfect opportunity to look down at your face which you tried to hide away;

“am not.”

“yeah you are.”

“am not!”

“…whatever you say, brat.”

#sttoru writes.#jjk x reader #toji x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #jjk fluff #jjk x you #toji x you #jjk fanfic #jjk fic #toji fluff

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pinkinku · 1 month

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He's Psychotic | Feyd-Rautha

fandom: Dune: Part Two (2024)

pairing: feyd-rautha harkonnen x irulan corrino

description: He’s psychotic, Irulan was sure of it. And she was about to marry him.

word count: 4k

warnings!: smut, wedding night, loss of virginity, rough sex, knifeplay 🔪, bloodplay🩸, where's my wife?, who did this to you?, concubines, blood and injury, praise kink, marriage.

He was psychotic, Irulan was sure of it. An animal, a beast, a sort of soulless creature no living woman could bear to stand.

And Irulan was about to marry him.

This wasn’t the plan, of course. She was supposed to marry Paul Atreides, Duke of Arrakis, but fate had different plans. Her fate took an unexpected turn the moment Paul’s lifeless body fell to the floor, with his enemy’s blade deep in his guts. In that moment, Feyd-Rotha’s black eyes bore into her and the smile of his was just as black.

Her father said, “You’ve won. What would you like in return for this victory?”

She shuddered, unable to take her eyes off the man before her as he walked back to Paul’s body, ripped out the blade from it and pointed the sharp tip towards her, the blood still dripping from it—drip, drip, drip.

“Had the Duke won, he would’ve gotten the princess. Now, as the victor, I have the right to her. I want your daughter.”

Her father didn’t oppose. Perhaps he wanted to but had nothing else to offer. Alas, Irulan was the thing he could give, in his mind, he had already given her up to Paul Atreides.

And so, three days later, she was dressed in traditional bridal garments: the ivory dress of the finest silk, a modest scoop neckline adorned with beading, with long fitted sleeves cascading down her arms with sheer panels, the skirt flowing out from the waist in a graceful line. To finish off, she wore a dramatic veil that framed her entire form and was held up by an ornate headpiece.

She was to be sacrificed to a demon.

Irulan walked down the isle, surrounded by a flood of the same harkonnean faces, all of them bald and pale and muscular, neither of them familiar, only one, at the very end, waiting for her, watching her every step, even the slightest movement of flesh underneath her garments – Feyd-Rautha’s eyes on her were like a hawk’s. She shuddered.

The road to her future husband in this hall at Giedi Prime. She walked, and walked, alone and exposed, and it seemed that the distance between him and her remained the same. But no, she was getting closer, because now she could see him better. His robes were of tight shiny leather with silver lining, they clung to his body like a glove. He stood tall and regal, a neutral expression on his face. Except for his eyes, of course. He held his hands in front of himself as if he was imprisoning his own body in one spot, as if he was trying to stop himself from eating away at the distance between them himself, as if he had to keep his hands from reaching out for her.

Irulan finally stood in front of him and, while the Reverend Mother spoke words of matrimony she couldn’t understand (she could understand the language, undoubtedly, only in that moment she wasn’t capable of understanding the meaning behind them), she watched Feyd-Rautha in all his glory. His dark gaze demanded attention. The only comfort was the veil that covered her face from him.

Sometime in the middle of the ceremony, Irulan heard a strange hissing sound. She turned her head very slightly to see three women standing behind her soon-to-be husband. All three of them looked the same—bald heads, black eyes, blackened teeth and pure hatred, addressed to her—different only in height. It took a few moments for Irulan’s frightened mind to realize that these were Feyd-Rautha’s concubines who were hissing at her. No one else, besides Irulan, paid them any attention, so she learned to ignore the hissing too.

However, Irulan was so focused on the concubines, she didn’t understand that the Reverend Mother spoke the last words of the matrimonial ceremony until Feyd-Rautha lifted his hands and unveiled her. She flinched, caught off guard, feeling small and vulnerable before him. His face moved closer to hers very slowly, as if he didn’t want to frighten her. The initial moment of his kiss felt like a butterfly’s touch to her lips—soft, tender, barely there. When her mouth opened to him in surprise, he explored it with his tongue, and the kiss soon turned passionate, wild all-consuming. It lasted far longer than a dutiful wedding kiss should’ve lasted and it left Irulan breathless once it ended.

She stared at his lips, now red from the kiss, even more so in contrast with his paper-white skin. His breathing was just as heavy as hers, their chests heaving in tandem, but he soon regained his wits, reaching out his hand for her, which she wasn’t cautious enough not to take.

He started walking her out of the hall and down the dark empty corridors, leaving the Harkonnens and the rest of Giedi Prime behind them. He led her to a spacious minimally furnished room but she could tell every single item there must’ve cost a fortune.

Feyd-Rautha let go of her hand only when she was standing in front of a canopy bed. Then he disappeared from her sight, and she was too nervous to turn around. He’s psychotic, she had to remind herself. One wrong move and he might attack like an animal.

She felt her headpiece being lifted from her head together with the veil. She saw his pale hands put it aside carefully. She turned her head slightly only to see he had taken off his top garments, and she saw his naked chest, tattooed with thick black lines. He watched her face as she peered into his nether region, then grabbed her chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing her to look at him.

“Are you scared of me, princess?” he asked.

Irulan looked into his eyes, searching for madness there, or for empathy. She found neither.

Swallowing thickly, she held his gaze.

“No.”

She couldn’t let him know how frightened she truly was.

Feyd-Rautha’s and moved to the back of his bottoms and he took out a knife, ornate and beautiful, like a piece of art. Irulan’s eyes widened in fear, her body shivered violently outside of her control. Her reaction put a smile on his face. As Feyd-Rautha moved his knife to the fabric of her dress, she closed her eyes, daring herself to get through whatever pain he was about to inflict on her. Most importantly, she couldn’t show panic.

She scrunched her nose, waiting to get stabbed, waiting for the blade to pierce her skin, then dig into her flesh, she waited for him to draw her blood, make her scream—until she heard fabric ripping in half. Irulan opened her eyes, drawing in a lungful of air like a man lost in dessert, breathing in oxygen for the first time. she felt the dress fall of her body before she saw her own nakedness, blushing from shame. She noticed Feyd-Rautha’s eyes on her even if she didn’t see him, she felt his hot breath on her exposed skin. Her nerves were akin to violin strings—tout and resonant—as he stood behind her like a looming threat.

As Irulan tried to calm her respiration, Feyd-Rautha’s fingers dug into her scalp, kneading at her hair and messing up the fancy braids that formed a bun, until her hair was freed, falling down her back in waves. She felt his fingers brush through her locks—once, twice—and then, to Irulan’s grave horror, he brought the knife to her neck, his other arm holding her down by her waist, pulling her bottom into his groin. She gasped at the cold sharp blade on her delicate skin there.

“Still not scared, princess?” he spoke lavishly into her ear.

This was a trick. He wanted a reaction out of her. But he wasn’t going to truly hurt her, otherwise he would’ve done so already. She wouldn’t let him trick her.

“No,” she repeated, although a slight tremor in her voice betrayed the truth.

He pulled the blade away from her, grabbing her by the throat with his other hand. His lips touched her jaw tenderly and she closed her eyes at the feeling.

“Good girl,” he whispered.

His hands guided her to get on the bed, slowly and barely pushing her as she complied. She lied on the bed on her back, feeling her hair fall around her like the sun. Feyd-Rautha’s widened eyes roamed over her body possessively, taking their time to appreciate the curve of her neck, her shoulders, her round breasts, her flat belly, until they landed on her apex. His gaze was hungry, wild, untamed, which she took as a compliment.

Still holding the knife in one hand, he unbuttoned his bottoms with the other and took them off. His cock caught Irulan’s attention immediately—long, thick, and veiny, monstrous just like its’ owner. Seeing where her gaze had landed, Feyd-Rautha smirked, kneeling on the bed as she moved away to give him space, but he grabbed her thighs, pulling her close. He spread her thighs, putting her ankles onto his shoulders, his black gaze boring into her sex. His lips parted as if he was trying to imagine how she would taste down there.

Irulan was hot, so very hot, and the way he stared at her, the way he handled her body was of no help at all.

It was the moment his fingers touched her burning center that she realized how sensitive and wet she truly was. Feyd-Rautha hissed, realizing that very same thing. He began playing with her flesh as if he was a boy with a toy, and she heart the sounds of her own sex dripping and parting for him whichever way he wished.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, making her even wetter. This was affecting him too, it appeared—his cock was so hard and aching it was slowly turning red.

But of course, he couldn’t leave his knife behind. As he brought the knife closer to her core, Irulan panicked, kicking at him and trying to get away, but his grip on her thigh was like vice, she couldn’t move.

“Shhh,” he said, caressing her thigh. “There’ll be nothing but pleasure, wife.”

Irulan was certain that his definition of pleasure differed from hers, so she kept squirming. Only slightly annoyed, Feyd-Rautha gripped his knife tightly by the blade and pushed the handle past her nether lips.

Irulan released a prolonged moan when his thumb found her clitoris and began rubbing circles while simulteneously thrusting the handle of his knife in and out of her.

“That’s it, wife,” he groaned, watching the way her face furrowed in pleasure. “Take my knife like a good girl.”

And she did. His moves grew aggressive, but even the sight of his blood as the sharp blade tore the skin of his palm where he gripped it did not deter her—she was too focused moving her hips in tandem with his thrusts, chasing her pleasure.

Only when she was at the precipice of her own release did he stop abruptly, pulling out the knife out of her and throwing it on the ground. Irulan was irrationally angry and disappointed, but that feeling soon ceased as Feyd-Rautha fondled her body, mostly her breasts and bottom, with his hands, leaving a bloody trail wherever he touched her.

Once finished, he began stroking his now-turned-blue cock, watching her soiled body as a mesmerizing painting. He then lined the head of his cock with her entrance and she tensed without meaning to. He put only the tip in, but Irulan tensed furthermore. He towered over her with his entire body, but not threateningly, it was more like a promise to keep her safe. Feyd-Rautha caressed her cheek, pushing in more, and she hissed from the pain that not even his tender movements helped soothe.

He was patient with her that night, but he wasn’t that patient, so after a few minutes of trying to slowly push into her, Feyd-Rautha thrust all of himself into her while kissing her at the same time, catching the pained scream that tore out of her with his mouth. He kept kissing her and moving inside of her until he was sure she wasn’t going to scream and that the pain eased a little. He pulled away slightly just to watch her breasts move at the rhythm his hips had set.

“Such a good wife I have,” he praised. “Taking me so well.” Irulan whimpered when the pain in her lower abdomen was slowly replaced with pleasure. “That’s it,” he said, moving his face closer to hers. “I want you to look at me as you come on my cock, princess.”

She did.

Irulan woke up. Her body ached and she felt disoriented, reaching out for the warm body that kept her close the whole night. She found the other side of the bed empty.

She washed off the blood from her thighs—her blood—and his blood from all the other places. It was foolish of her to expect Feyd-Rautha to stay until morning as a loving husband, but the abandonment still hurt.

She found a dress to put on and then sat down to brush her hair when a knock came.

“Princess Irulan, na-Baron is calling for you,” a servant said.

“Tell him I’m preoccupied with something.”

“I’m afraid this isn’t an offer, princess.”

And so, two minutes later, she was following the servant down the clinically sterile yet dark corridors, until he led her to a door, saying, “Na-Baron is already waiting for her.”

Na-Baron was actually not waiting for her at all, if his physical state was any sign of that. When Irulan got into the room, she found Feyd-Rautha in no need of any more attentions from another woman. He lied sprawled on a divan while his three concubines attended to his needs: two of them were sucking on his cock as if it were a candy while the third one kissed, but and nibbled on the skin of his chest, neck and shoulders. However, his cock, no matter what they did, remained flaccid.

Irulan reddened at the sight but more than anything she was furious. She would’ve turned on her heel and left right then, if Feyd-Rautha hadn’t already caught her with his eyes.

“There you are, wife,” he spoke to her. “After the magical night I spent with you, my concubines seem to be unable to satisfy me properly. I thought it would help the mattes at hand if you joined them. So, princess, care to join?” he motioned at the tow women sucking his cock. None of the three of them paid her any mind but she felt wrath emanating from them all the same.

Irulan didn’t move a single muscle. “I am your wife, not one of your whores, Feyd-Rautha,” she said coldly and tightly.

Feyd-Rautha merely chuckled at her defiance. She stayed in place like a tree grown into the ground, undeterred by his charming laughter.

“Of course not,” he said, still smiling. Then, in a voice that was firm and commanding, “All of you, leave.”

The concubines obeyed immediately, pulling away from him. The one who had his cock in her mouth took it out with a loud pop. They hissed as they passed her, and Irulan waited from them to leave from out the door, not foolish enough to have her back to them. But, just as she was about to leave, she heard, “Not you, wife. They are only pets. You are not one of them.”

Irulan turned back to him, regaining her composure.

He smirked at her. She noticed his cock was beginning to harden.

He beckoned her closer, “Come.”

She took slow steps toward him as he watched her every move with unblinking eyes. Irulan came to stand in front of him, raising her chin. “What do you want from me, Feyd-Rautha?” she demanded.

His grin only widened. “I want you to satisfy your husband. You didn’t like seeing me with my concubines? Then you do the job. Let me have all of you. Let me ruin you.”

Irulan stared down at him, seemingly unaffected by his words, although her insides were burning. However, he seemed to be seeing right through her. Neither of them said another word, both staring at one another, waiting for who will star first.

Irulan couldn’t handle it any longer, not when his cock was now as hard as ever and her own arousal was practically running down her inner thighs.

She leaned down and lifted her skirt just enough so she could straddle him. She didn’t sit on top of his cock, only the outside of their nether regions was touching. As she wore no undergarments, she could feel that his flesh was hotter than hers, almost feverish.

The smile disappeared from Feyd-Rautha’s face, giving space for a deeply focused expression. She moved her hips to tease his swollen cock and he hissed from the stimulation, grabbing her hips instinctively and hoisted your skirt enough to have her bared for his eyes only.

“Don’t tease me, princess,” he groaned. That was enough for Irulan. She lifted her hips and sank down onto him, eliciting a prolonged moan from the both of them. She was still sore and he was huge, but she soon found a comfortable rhythm that brought waves of pleasure to her core. Feyd-Rautha watched her intensely with his black eyes, but when your thighs began to give out and the strain on your muscles seemed like too much, he took over, thrusting into her from below, grabbing her by the back of her neck to bring her lips to his. He kissed her like a starved man, all the while untwining the braid she had quickly put together before running off to him. When her hair was freed, he sunk his fingers into it—she remembered him giving special attention to her hair last night too. It must’ve been one of the things his concubines couldn’t give him.

Whereas Irulan’s moves were slow and sensual, Feyd-Rautha set a vicious pace, one she couldn’t catch up with, so she let him grab her arms by the wrists and pull them behind her, taking full control of her entire body. She moaned and mewled on top of him, her breathing growing labored. She was on the edge of her climax, but stopped herself from coming, watching as Feyd-Rautha’s expression grew violent as he neared his own end. And just as he was about to come, she told him, “You won’t lie with your concubines anymore. They won’t entertain you and you won’t give them special treatment. If you want release, you will come to me and me only, is that clear, Feyd-Rautha?”

His face twisted from pleasure and Irulan leaned in closer, touching his forehead with her own as he thrust into her the last few times.

“Yes, yes, anything you want, my wife…” he answered breathlessly.

Satisfied with her work yet careful not to show him, Irulan pulled away from him and his cock, standing back up and fixing her skirt. Feyd-Rautha, still heaving, reached out his head as if to touch the fabric of her dress or the ends of her hair, but she had already found her way to the door, leaving him all alone.

As she walked down the dark corridors, Irulan was lost in thoughts of the scene that just passed between them, and so she didn’t notice someone lurking for her in the shadows. Three figures then stood in her way, and even though it was dark, the three concubines of Feyd-Rautha were hard to miss. They were hissing at her, fury evident in their abnormal features as they lunged at her, baring their black teeth. Before Irulan managed to scream or shout for help, one of them forced her mouth shut with her hand, the other grabbed her by the hair and held her hands down, and the third gripped her right hadn’t, exposing her forehearm. Irulan saw the sharp silver blade glinting in the low light. Her eyes widened and she squirmed, trying to free herself, but to no avail.

The concubine brought the blade to Irulan’s veins and spat in her face, “Na-Baron is ours,” before slicing her flesh.

Unimaginable pain reddened Irulans’s vision. She screamed and thrashed until all strength abandoned her, and, sensing that, the concubines released her, letting her fall to the ground. When her head hit the ground, Irulan was drowned in darkness.

Irulan regained consciousness in an unfamiliar room with an never-before-seen face in front her and a dull ache in her arm.

She blinked awake and tried to sit up in bed, but the man before her held her down softly. “Easy, princess. You’re very hurt.”

Irulan then noticed that the man was slicing a needle through her already mutilated flesh. The white thread that sealed her wound contrasted with the red-brown blood. She was sleepy and her mind was working very slowly, but all sleepiness evaded her once she heard a voice outside the room shout, “Where’s my wife!”

No one was there to answer Feyd-Rautha’s command, and they needn’t be—a moment later, he burst through the door like a sandstorm.

His eyes found her lying form immediately as he strode forward until he was right beside her. There was no smile on his face, nothing but ferocious outrage. His black gaze eyed the wound in her arm.

“Who did this to you?” he demanded, his voice low with rage.

She scoffed. “I won’t tell you. I don’t have a death wish.”

“Who,” he repeated.

Irulan narrowed her eyes at him. “They must have been listening behind the door as we… spoke.”

That was enough for him. After another moment of intense eyeing, Feyd-Rautha turned around and left. No sooner had the man that must’ve been her healer finished stitching up her wound that her husband was back.

“Come with me,” he said, reaching out his hand for her to take. “It won’t be far.”

She took it, despite how tired she felt.

Feyd-Rautha led her to a room with black walls and floor, and she noticed the three women lined up with their heads bowed low, their white skin glinting in the black darkness like fog. He made Irulan stand in front of them as he took his knife from the table besides and then came back to her.

“Which one of them hurt you?” he asked.

Irulan swallowed. “If I tell you, next time they will surely kill me.”

Without taking his eyes off her, without even moving—Irulan only saw his right hand slice the air swiftly—but it didn’t slice air, it slid the first concubine’s throat. Blood poured from the wound as the woman grasped at her throat in panic, trying to desperately stop the bleeding. She fell to the ground with a thud—the same way Irulan had mere hours ago.

“Was it this one?” Feyd-Rautha asked, never letting his eyes leave her.

Irulan shook her head. “She held my mouth shut.”

The other two bowed their heads even lower, visibly shivering.

The fury that overcame him was more visible by the way his muscles twitched under his skin. The second kill was just as smooth and barely visible, the same scenario repeating itself—Feyd-Rautha sliced the throat of the concubine and she fell dead.

“This one?”

“She grabbed me by my hair,” Irulan said.

He took a step toward the last of his pets, not sparing her a single glance, and the woman fell to her knees before him, “Na-Baron, I did nothing wrong, I’m begging you, she’s lying!”

Feyd-Rautha looked down at his concubine with nothing but wrath in his eyes. Then looked back up at Irulan.

“Did this one draw your blood?”

She swallowed, then nodded, watching with wide eyes as Feyd-Rautha’s blade sank into the left eye of the concubine. She screamed as blood poured from it, trying to stop the flow just like the other two before her. He pulled the blade out and repeated the process on the other eye. Then, more driven by a wish to end this as soon as possible rather than a sentimental feeling of mercy, he slit her throat, ending the third life.

Irulan watched in awe at the three bodies at her feet but Feyd-Rautha’s presence was the only one that demanded attention.

She looked up at him. He stepped closer, taking her face in his palm while the other hand held the bloody knife.

“I promised you, wife,” he said. “Anything you want.”

THE END

#ao3 #fanfic #fanfiction #fanart #archive of our own #ao3 fanfic #feyd rautha #feyd x reader #feyd x you #feyd x irulan #feyd oneshot #dune movie #dune 2 #dune part 2 #harkonnen #austin butler #dune gifs #dune part two #feyd-rautha

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cuubism · 2 years

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some (semi)crack-treated-seriously for @magnusbae, featuring Hob (accidentally) rescuing Dream, the awkwardness of summoning your naked crush into your living room, and Hob being absolutely ride or die and ready to kill people at a moment's notice

---

It was pure luck that brought Hob to the antiquities sale. Later, he would wonder if perhaps Fortune herself was also an entity, and had been looking out for the Dreams which so often brought her to fruition.

Hob found the poster for the thing by chance when he stumbled over a curb on his way home and nearly faceplanted into a lamppost. And it was similarly by chance that Hob was available that night. By chance, it was not far from his home. So many moments of happenstance stacking up into a bit of luck he’d be grateful for for the rest of his life.

Hob was always interested in any supposed magical artifacts. He knew that magic of some kind existed – no matter that his Stranger refused to tell him anything about himself, Hob was well-aware that he was not human and held powers of some kind – but it could be hard to discern real from fake. Hence, his habit of attending whatever strange auctions might pop up – more for curiosity’s sake than for the need to buy anything.

This sale was different.

This sale had something Hob recognized.

He froze in front of the display case, grip going tight around his glass of wine. Behind the glass panels of the case, a familiar ruby pendant glimmered. It caught the light strangely, reflecting prismatic bursts of rainbow in obliquely wrong directions, and that alone would have immediately alerted Hob to its not being a normal ruby even if he hadn’t been intimately familiar with its proper owner.

Where the hell was his Stranger?

Hob had only seen the man—being—six times, and therefore couldn’t make a wholesale judgment that he never went anywhere without the ruby, but he knew for sure the Stranger wouldn’t have let it wind up here, about to be delivered into the hands of any asshole with enough money.

So where was he?

Disturbed, Hob returned to his seat, waiting for the sale to start. He was tempted to simply break the glass and take the gem, but getting arrested wasn’t particularly on his list of fun things to do on a night out. So he’d have to do things the legal way.

One benefit of being extremely old: Hob had a lot of money to throw around. And while something in him rankled at having to buy something that was clearly stolen from his friend, he had bigger concerns.

Concerns that rattled around his mind as he walked home, ruby tucked safely in his pocket. Concerns whose screaming rose to a fever pitch as he sat down at his kitchen table, looking at his Stranger’s gem under the lemony kitchen lights.

It felt warm in his hands, the cut edges of the gemstone surprisingly smooth. The crimson at the heart of the jewel’s many faces was full-bodied as an old wine and deep as the sea; easy to get lost in.

Hob tore his attention away, looking instead at the empty apartment. The pendant chain pressed into his hands as he held it tighter, the jewel growing ever-warmer between his palms.

“Where are you, Stranger?” he murmured to himself. Hob had no way to contact him, and there were forty years yet before they were meant to meet – if his Stranger even decided to show up. “I hope you’re alright; I hope this”—he squeezed the gem—“doesn’t mean something horrible’s happened.”

He sighed. “If only you were here.”

The room shifted around him, like Hob had taken two steps backward in time and changed direction. Hob might not have even noticed if he hadn’t been staring absently in the direction of the living room at the precise moment that his Stranger appeared on the couch.

Hob jumped so high he banged his knee on the underside of the table. His Stranger seemed equally baffled, looking at his own hands, touching the fabric of the couch as if unsure it was real, then finally looking up at Hob with wide eyes.

Hob stared back at him, breath quickening. Somehow—he could only assume—the magic ruby had fulfilled his wish and summoned his Stranger here, but why was he naked? Oh God, this was Hob’s fault for having one too many… uh… dreams—

“Hob Gadling,” murmured his Stranger, voice hoarse but with wonder in it. “You have rescued me.”

“How?” This was all a lot to take in, but Hob went over to him anyway, pulling a blanket from the back of the couch and wrapping it around his bare shoulders. It was unnerving to see him so… unrefined. Disheveled. Hair a mess and body unprotected. “Wait, rescued from what?”

His Stranger’s gaze zeroed in on the ruby, still lying on the kitchen table. Hob wondered if he might be angry, but he just tilted his head in curiosity. “Now, just where did you come across that?”

“Um.” Hob forcibly tore his attention from the narrow line of his Stranger’s neck and shoulders – had he always been that thin under all those fine clothes? Had he eaten at all recently? Rescued from where? – and back to the gemstone. “Bought it. Just a few hours ago. No idea where it was before that. Knew it was yours, though. But no way to get it back to you.” Shit, he was rambling.

“And you used its power to summon me.”

Hob rubbed at the back of his neck. “That… wasn’t intentional. Though, I mean, probably would’ve been if I’d known you needed summoning.”

His Stranger stood, walking on wobbling legs – again, Hob wondered with deepening concern, rescued from where – blanket wrapped around him like a cape, to pick up the ruby from the table. A shudder ran through him as soon as he touched it and he seemed to stand straighter, taller. “How did you use it?”

“Just— just wished you were here so I could make sure nothing horrible had happened.”

His Stranger’s mouth tipped up into that tiny, fond smile Hob had seen so rarely but missed so dearly. “So you could make sure nothing horrible had happened?”

“Hey, you yourself just said you were rescued. Was I wrong?”

“No.” His voice was resigned now. He turned back to Hob, still holding the ruby. It looked far more fitting in his elegant hands than in Hob’s. “You have pulled me from an unjust imprisonment, and recovered one of my tools. I owe you a great debt.”

“You owe me nothing, friend.” Hob cringed internally as the word slipped out, but his Stranger didn’t deny him this time. “I would do it again. Though I’m still not entirely sure what I did.”

His Stranger sat down at the kitchen table. He must have been exhausted, mustn’t he? Who knew how long he’d been imprisoned. God.

Feeling restless at the thought, Hob busied himself making tea, as his Stranger explained, “The ruby contains some of my power. In the hands of humans, it can… bend certain happenings. I am grateful it was not in your possession for longer; it has the tendency to drive men mad.”

Great, Hob thought, of course it does. Kind of like you, my friend. Not that Hob had ever claimed not to be mad, from the start. “Does it usually summon whole beings, though?”

“No. It is curious… I will have to explore this more at a later time.”

Hob placed two cups of tea on the table, nudging one towards his stranger until he, reluctantly, took it. Though as soon as his skin touched the warm ceramic, he wrapped his fingers tightly around it.

“Are you alright though, my friend?” Hob asked, sipping on his own tea. He kept his tone low, casual, gentle, anything not to scare him off. But could he be scared off? Could he actually do whatever sort of quick, magical departure he usually did to disappear before Hob could possibly follow him out of the White Horse? The thought that he might not have the power for it made Hob a little sick to his stomach. “I don’t know the circumstances of this… imprisonment… but I would like to know if you’re alright.”

“I am… alright,” said his Stranger, in a tone Hob did not believe whatsoever, “but I am yet to be truly free. Your use of the ruby sprung me from Burgess’s glass prison, and restored some of my powers, but the binding circle remains intact. Without breaking it, I am bound here.”

Hob gripped his mug so hard it started to burn his fingers. Fuck whoever this Burgess guy was. And he knew, just knew, that his Stranger was downplaying by several orders of magnitude how awful it had been. What gave this guy the gall to capture a being like his Stranger, a being so beyond their mortal plane?

A being so… exquisite. So independent. So free.

“So you have to head back to break it, is what you’re saying?” Hob asked, shaking himself.

“Yes.”

“Well, alright, then,” said Hob, taking a fortifying gulp of his tea. “Then I’m coming with you.”

His Stranger looked—to the extent he ever made such an expression—alarmed. “No.”

“Yes. I’m not letting you walk back into a place you were imprisoned with no backup.” Hob crossed his arms. “As you may know, I’m a fair hand with all manner of weaponry.”

The stubbornness settling on his Stranger’s face ceded into amusement. “I am sure.”

“So that’s settled, then.”

His Stranger didn’t protest again. Hob wondered when the last time was that anybody had tried to help him. How long had he been in there?

“If you come along, you may not like what you see,” cautioned his Stranger.

“Are you saying you’re going to wreak horrible vengeance on them? Cause yeah, I’d hope so. You better save one for me, though.”

Again, his Stranger looked startled, but Hob just grinned.

“So, are we going now, or do you want a fortifying supper first?”

His Stranger was starting to look as whiplashed as Hob had felt when he’d suddenly appeared. “You would… feed me… supper?”

“Can’t go around killing people on an empty stomach.” Besides, Hob thought, more tenderly, you look like you need some care.

But his Stranger shook his head, coming back to himself. “We must not tarry. I do not know how my realm has fared in my absence.”

“We’ll grab a meal later, then,” Hob said easily, and was rewarded with a tiny nod and smile.

He stood, and offered his Stranger a hand up. Their gazes met, and Hob caught a glimpse of that same wonder he’d seen briefly before, when his friend had just been summoned. Confusion and hope at having a hand held out to him. Hob just smiled at him in return.

After a moment, the Stranger took Hob’s hand, pulling himself to his feet with a strength Hob hadn’t expected after such an imprisonment. He clasped the ruby pendant around his neck, and it lay gleaming against his bare sternum. Hob suddenly had to look away.

“We should, ah.” He had to pause to cough, and could just see his Stranger smirking out of the corner of his eye, the devil. “We should probably get you some trousers first.”

#the sandman #dreamling #dream of the endless #hob gadling #my writing #listen magnusbae and i have a lot of insane crack headcanons and this is nowhere NEAR the worst #not even close

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jasmines-library · 7 months

Text

Spinning out.

WHUMPTOBER DAY 14. Prompt: Water inhalation. Fandom: Top Gun (Maverick daughter reader x Bradley Bradshaw)

Summary: When a mission goes wrong and you and Rooster are sent into a tizzy, forcing you to eject, you run into a sticky situation when your lifevest fails to inflate.

Warnings: Drowning, Water inhalation, Near death experience, minor ptsd.

Word count: 2K

Notes: I'm sorry. (Side note, this can be plationic or romantic.)

MASTERLIST ⛤ WHUMPTOBER WORKS

🕸 ⋆ ⁶𖤐⁶ ࣪⋆🕸

The sun was just rising above the skyline as the familiar rumble of the jet started up. Shortly after that came the weightlessness as it soared into the sky. It was supposed to be a simple mission, take down a couple of fighters that had stepped over the territory line, then return in time for a drink down at the ‘Hard Deck’.

You would never not admire the way the world looked from up here as you soared between the mountains towards the ocean, leaving the base as a tiny grey speck in the distance. It took your breath away.

“How’s it looking back there, Viper?” Rooster asked from the front of the jet. The com crackled in your ear.

“All good, roo.” You replied, glancing down at the multitude of buttons and screens.

Rooster has been your best friend since you were young. You had grown up with each other and worked your way through Top Gun to follow in your parents’ footsteps. He was the Goose to your Maverick. Literally. Although the two of you were only young when his dad passed, you had seen the way that it broke him, much like the way it broke your dad. And although you would never completely be able to understand Roosters grief, you stuck to him through thick and thin.

Once you were finally old enough to join Top Gun, your dad was hesitant. He had lost his best friend. He wouldn’t lose you too, though it was all you knew. It was all you had wanted to do since you were 6 years old and playing with model planes in the garden with Brad. And so, there you were; strapped tightly to the chair of a plane hurtling through the atmosphere as your best friend’s RIO. And you couldn’t think of anything better.

Time passed nonchalantly as the fighter edged towards the opposition. Although it was a standard mission that you had done hundreds of times you still couldn’t help but form an anxious knot in your stomach, especially when the other jets came into view.

“Bandits ahead.” You informed the Phoenix and Bob who were cruising along besides you.

“Copy.”

You watched the small dots dance across the green screen. The triangle of fighters heading straight towards the four of you. “Heading straight towards us.” You told Rooster, who nodded abruptly and began to manoeuvre the plane to the right.

“Taking evasive action.”

The jet swerved as it raced past the enemy, before setting in line behind them. They broke apart, scattering around you.

“Shit.” Cursing, you tried to adjust the monitors to locate the plane that had slipped from view on the monitor. “I’ve lost one of them. Bob, anything.”

“Negative.”

As Rooster flew, you kept a keen eye out for the third plane which had vanished within the clouds that obscure your view.

Thanks to his skilled training, Rooster managed to take down one of the enemy vessels without an issue. The second one was trickier, with both pairs of planes making a beeline towards it as it raced away, You could feel the force on your body making it harder to move as Bradley urged the plane forwards. You could see the two dots inching closer together until they were nearly aligned.”

“Rooster, I can’t get the shot.” Phoenix called out over.

“Copy. Just give me a moment.”

Narrowing his eyes, Rooster placed his thumb over the missile, twisting the jet so that he could get a clear shot. When the lines finally aligned and the control panel let out a happy chirp, he pressed the trigger down, launching the missile which hit its target and sent it careening into the water. Phoenix congratulated your partner as you continued to search the sky for the missing plane. Though seemingly it was truly out of sight. After deciding that it may have retreated, and receiving the go ahead from Maverick to return to base, you reeled back around and began the journey home.

“I’m glad I can bring you back in one piece Y/N.” Brad sighed from in front of you. “Now there’s one less reason for Mav to kill me.”

That was when the monitors began blinking, and the third dot reappeared on the scanner.

“Break! Break!” You yelled as they locked onto your jet, launching a missile towards you. Quick on his feet, Rooster swerved.

“Bandit found!” He called out over the comms as you moved to fiddle with the switches, although the frantic movement made it hard to move as it sent you sliding around.

The enemy was suddenly coming up in front of you, causing Bradley to break hard. “Shit!”

When it pushed in front of you, the force which it left with, shoved your plane harshly, causing you to slam into the side of your chair.

“Jet-wash!” He cried out.

There was no time to react as the force sent your plane spiralling. Lights flashed frantically in the cockpit as the high pitched alarm screeched. “Both engines out!”

Without the aid of the engines the fighter jet was forced into a tizzy, twisting as it spun out of control. At some point the motion had slammed you into the glass of the cockpit. You cried out painfully.

“Viper!?”

Your body screamed at you as you tried to move but the force of your body as the jet rapidly dropped in attitude was too much to allow you to move.

“Eject!” You told him, craning your head to twist towards the two loops that hung in between where the two of you were stationed. “I can’t reach the handles. You have to eject!”

Eyes wide and frantic, Rooster reached behind him , fumbling for the fabric. When his shaky hands wrapped around them, he gave them a sharp tug and then the two of you went tumbling from the plane and hurtling towards the bottomless ocean.

Rooster groaned against the heavy pull as his parachute opened. He watched anxiously for yours to fly open, letting out a breath when he saw it fly out behind you and your fall slow. But something was wrong, because when you hit the water, you didn’t come back up.

Your arms flailed frantically as you tried to keep yourself afloat, but you had hit the water hard and every movement you made with your legs sent agony across your body, and without the aid of your life jacket, which failed to inflate, the parachute which quickly absorbed the water began to drag you down. You took a gasping breath as you heaved, trying to keep your head above the churning water, but it w as no use. You vanished beneath the surface of the water.

It was dark. And cold. And your lungs burned for air that wouldn’t come as your lungs filled with water. You twisted, struggling within the fabric and rope which had wrapped itself around your body, tangling around you like you were a fish caught in a net. Your eyes stung with the assault of the water as you stared blankly at the inky green above you. Your movements slowed as your energy began to deplete, and soon you knew nothing but the dark and icy water.

Rooster watched in horror as your head disappeared below the water and you didn't resurface. Struggling against the water, he swam as fast as he could. The heavy weight of his parachute slowed him down, trying to drag him towards the same fate as you, but he pushed himself forwards. He had to keep going, he had to get to you. Barely registering the loud humming of the helicopter above, he swam to the green ink that leaked from your suit and began to dive down. The resistance of his life jacket tried to pull him back towards the surface, but he could see you now. Your hair floated around your face, drifting as you lay motionless in the water. Your skin was pale and your lips were turning a shade of blue. He could see the chute wrapped around your ankle and the def

He outstretched his hand until his fingertips brushed yours, but then he was yanked back harshly by the buoyancy-aid. Cursing loudly, he dived back into the icy water, propelling himself forwards. When he finally managed to wrap his hands around yours, he pulled you towards him. His lungs burned and tiny air bubbles escaped from his nose. Fumbling, he struggled to unclip you from the parachute, but after finally freeing you from the binds, your body floated up with his easily.

With a hard kick, Brad resurfaced and took a gasping breath, sucking the air greedily into his lungs and allowing the life jacket to do its job.

You lay morbidly still across his chest. Lips chapped and an ugly shade of blue. Bradley called out, crying your name and begging for your response but you said nothing. Did nothing. Not even your chest rose and fell. The helicopter settled above the water and soon there were hands on him, parting your lifeless body from him. He struggled against them, ignoring the pleading of the medics and the rescue team. He needed to get to you, but you were just too far away.

Maverick watched you anxiously from where you lay on the bed, hooked up to a line of machines. There was a cannula attached to your right side, so he held the left, bringing it up to his lips and placing a gentle kiss to it. Maverick would never forget the moment that he heard the alert come through on the radio. His body tensed and his heart stopped in his chest as though he had been gripped by one massive, icy hand. He refused to leave your side. Not even to sleep and that was because every time he closed his eyes, he was hit with the image of Goose, lying lifeless in the ocean. It was too similar; too much of a sick coincidence spat out by fate. But this time it was different. The two of you had clawed your way back. Rooster had been in a state when he returned; frantic and rambling. Mav hardly made him feel any better after yelling at him. The pilot’s stomach sank at that thought. Unmeaning to hurt the boy, scared he yelled at him- words he would never have said. The thought was relentless as it echoed in his head.

You began to stir, blinking heavily against the fluorescent lights. Maverick sat forwards from where he was slumped in the armchair. He greeted you with a gentle smile as you turned to face him.

“Hey kiddo.”

“Hm?” the noise you made was groggy as you shuffled. Your entire body ached like you had been bit by a truck.

“Oh kid…” He cooed, tracing circles on your palm. “I’m so glad you’re ok.”

You nodded, scanning the room. “Brad?” Your voice was hoarse.

“He’s…” Maverick didn’t have the heart to tell you that he had warned the boy away. But he was saved when the door peeled open and the tired boy pushed his way into the room. He had a small cut on his cheek and a blanket shawled around his shoulders. Bradley also shivered slightly. He stopped dead when he saw your eyes on him.

“Y/N.”

You smiled. “Hey, Roo.”

Maverick watched the two of you intently. His daughter and his best friend's son. He saw the way that his features softened around you and the way that your eyes glistened as you listened to him chatter away. It was a moment of tenderness that brought a proud grin to his face and in that moment, Maverick knew that as long as you two had each other, you would always pull through.

🕸 ⋆ ⁶𖤐⁶ ࣪⋆🕸

<-DAY 13 ⛤ DAY 15 ->

Taglist:

@senjoritanana

@deans-spinster-witch

@amaryllis23

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keulixeutin · 2 years

Text

Hard, Harder, Hardest

a/n: hi.

summary: during a hero panel, bakugou thinks about how he can’t help but orbit you and obey. bakugou x fem!reader.

cw: suggestive. 18+. no pronouns used, but fem!reader in mind while writing + mention of female anatomy; also, reader wears lots and lots of pencil skirts. bakugou pining after you and imagining the nasty. sub!bakugou and dom!reader vibes (at least, i tried anyways lmao). reader wears glasses.

word count: 2,183.

Despite the nonchalant way Bakugou was leaning back in the chair, anyone could see he was stiff and irritable: he was scowling and rigid, the curve of his back not quite following the curve of his seat.

He couldn’t help it though. He was supremely uncomfortable. He hated this shit, hated being on the stage, following some stupid itinerary, dealing with stupid activities and games to get people to see the “softer” side of him. What the hell did people need that for? Wasn’t it enough for him to do his job, protect the city, beat down the shitty villains, and be the fucking best? Number two hero or not, he didn’t sign up for this stupid celebrity shit. They could write a slew of articles complaining and criticizing him, but he hated sitting around in the spotlight.

You, his personal assistant, fucking knew this, yet you still, behind his fucking back, worked with his PR team (and that fucking Shitty Hair Hero) to accept the Hero Convention invite and add it onto his schedule (his schedule that you knew he didn’t look at because he trusted you to be good at your job)—and then to not even to tell him until ten minutes before he was supposed to get ready for it? He had been fuming.

Bakugou’s leg shook underneath the table impatiently and irritably. A woman dressed in a maid outfit with home-made Hawks wings stepped to the microphone and asked Round Cheeks about her martial arts usage in battles. The next fan, someone with blue scales scattering across their face and arms, asked a question to a sidekick three seats away whose name Bakugou didn’t know and didn’t care to know. Internally, he was pleased with this current line of questioning. As long as no one addressed him, he could sit and pass the time with an annoyed glare until this whole thing was fucking done.

But, obviously, the universe loved dashing his hopes. The next person that stepped up to the microphone was cosplaying an older version of the Dynamight costume, which was ego-boosting and cool to see, of course, but that itself wasn’t enough to make any of this entertaining or interesting.

“This question is for Dynamight,” the fan began. “What would you consider your hardest battle? Also, I’m your, um, number one fan…!”

It was an easy question.

People wanted to know battle specifics, but his hardest fight? To date? Currently?

Controlling his fucking raging hard-on whenever you with your stupid perfume and your mean laugh entered the room.

Bakugou hadn’t wanted a personal assistant. Shitty Hair and Raccoon Eyes stubbornly pushed their agenda onto him whenever they noticed at the beginning of the year that he had been swiftly losing control over his wildly hectic schedule. Between the patrol, the agency work, the hero work, and the unending meetings—all just the tip of the iceberg—he had been struggling to find any time for himself, personally and professionally. Despite his violent vehemence, Shitty Hair and Raccoon Eyes still strong-armed him by nagging him until they were red in the face and accepting applications on his behalf, narrowing it down to a set of five that he was to choose from.

He had picked you because you looked meek in your photo and you were soft-spoken in the interview; he figured that you’d run off after being on the end of his short fuse for a week straight.

But, by the end of that week, with him having just yelled about the type of tupperware his food was packed in, you had very softly and very firmly told him to watch his fucking tone, or you’d make sure that the only time he sat down for the next six months was on stage in front of an interviewer and audience with a fiercely binding contract that ensured he couldn’t skip without heavy monetary punishment.

(“I have my ex-lawyer-boyfriend wrapped around my finger,” you had said, your voice deadly calm as though you were telling him you had started a new hobby and not threatening your boss, the number two hero. “I will make sure there is so little wiggle room in that contract—every single Hero Convention from here to goddamn China will have you by the balls for the next six months in the strictest legalese. Do you understand me?”

He couldn’t lie—he was shocked into silence by how fucking hot that was, how fucking hot you were, wearing the tightest pencil skirt, shifting your metal glasses while you threatened him.

“Now eat your rice. The leeks, too, please.”)

He couldn’t explain it. Ever since then, things were—different. He was hyper aware of you, of how far away or how close you stood near him, of how you were usually in some sort of skirt; his eyes were glued to your backside, to the sneak peek of upper thigh every time you shifted in your seat, mind wandering to how it’d feel to have that thigh pressed against his neck and his face. He was suddenly obsessed with how you spoke, realizing he had mistaken your quiet for meekness, for submission. You were soft-spoken, yes, but there was a weight to your words, one that required obedience from those you were speaking to. Now he could see that your smile sometimes curled at the corners into a sneer, and that your eyes were sharp, narrowing with a finality he found himself unable to ignore.

Fuck, he was even aware of how you smelled. He often caught himself inhaling deeply as you passed by, trying to preserve the smell of your shampoo inside his chest. Whenever you leaned over to show him something on his calendar, he had to fight the urge to press his nose into your hair, to bury his face into your neck where your veins pulsed with perfume. Once, you had left your jacket at his place after a long night of explaining and rearranging the weekend itinerary to ensure nothing would be amiss while you were out of town. He had fallen asleep with his face pressed into the fabric the entire weekend, your scent lulling him into the most comfortable and serene sleep of his life.

Things got even harder when you caught on. Quick, too, two months in. The skirts got shorter; your shirts were unbuttoned enough for a heated glance of cleavage; and he frequently found you in compromising positions, bending over his table to grab something instead of walking around, or dropping things at his feet requiring you to lean over to pick up. It was hardest when you used this newfound power of yours to get him to do things he didn’t want to do—like attend interviews or take off-days. In his frustration and confusion in the early days, he had once furiously asked if you had a quirk he didn’t know about, to which you laughed wildly in your eyes but coolly said no.

“Dynamight?” The host pulled him from the memory that had began to take over Bakugou’s attention—the one where, after getting caught in a heavy downpour, you had graciously changed in front of him and cruelly wouldn’t let him touch.

Bakugou was about to respond that nothing had been hard because he was too fucking strong, but he made the mistake of glancing to you, standing off to the side with your phone against your ear. You were good enough at your job that you were able to efficiently multitask, paying attention to both the conversation on the phone and the Hero Panel. As if you could feel his intent, you gave him a hard stare, your fine eyebrow raising expectantly at him, almost daring him to put one toe out of line in this nationally broadcasted panel.

The look boiled his blood—and the heat went straight down south.

Yes, things had gotten extremely bad when you had realized your effect on him.

He was grateful for the table.

Bakugou gave an answer about a villain whose name he couldn’t remember but whose shadow soldier-producing quirk had irritated him the entire fight, and then he ended the response with a muttered thanks to the fan.

He glanced back to you, another mistake—“Good boy,” you mouthed.

Fuck. He bit back a groan.

There was a mean glint in your eye as you held his stare; it wasn’t a long one, but it was enough to create a heavy weight in the pit of his stomach; it was enough to make his heart stutter and jump. You turned away first, breaking the eye contact to finish the conversation on the phone, yet it felt like he was the one who had caved.

The rest of the panel continued with Bakugou scowling at a spot on the table or the wall behind the audience, but he participated more than he had originally decided to. He answered the questions directed at him and remarked offhandedly on other people’s answers whenever he felt like it, eliciting laughter from the fans and eye-rolls and playful arm smacks from Round Cheeks.

At the end of the panel, the heroes had twenty minutes to decompress before the meet-and-greet. Bakugou and the others were ushered off the stage and back into the make-up room to relax. After the make-up artist checked that nothing needed to be reapplied, you appeared with a phone against your ear still and a tote bag over your shoulder.

“I’ll check his calendar and get back to you,” you said. “By the end of tomorrow at the latest. He’s currently doing the Hero Panel, but if I can find a moment to check and confirm, I’ll let you know earlier.”

You paused, listening to the person on the other side. Bakugou took the moment to rake his eyes over your form. Your pencil skirt stopped inches above your ankle, but there was a slit over your left leg that traveled up—up, up, and up—to your tantalizing thigh. Your skin was creamy and smooth with lotion or oil. Whenever you shifted your weight in irritation at something that was said, the fat of your thighs rippled in a way that had his mouth watering.

“…As I said,” you continued, “Dynamight is currently occupied with the Hero Panel. If I can grab a moment, I will check with him and his calendar, but I’ll be sure to give you an answer by the end of tomorrow. Yes, of course. Yes, you, too.”

Your voice was light and polite, but dry and firm. You hung up, and then your attention was fucking finally on him.

You pulled several plastic containers out of your tote bag and set it on the table in front of him.

“Don’t scarf it all down,” you advised. “But eat a little. Regain your energy and pick up your mood so you can meet the fans.”

“Not hungry,” he grumbled, wondering if he could convince you to let him rip the slit a little higher.

“Eat the fruits at least,” you said, moving the containers around until the smallest one was on top and opened, revealing grapes and cut apples and mangos.

“You eaten yet?” he asked.

“No, but I’m fine,” you said, but you picked out a grape anyway. His eyes honed in on the way your fingers push the fruit past your plump lips.

Bakugou swallowed, neck tense, heart hammering in his chest. He didn’t know when the leash had tightened so heavily.

“What?” you asked, noticing his gaze.

“Nothing.” He averted his eyes.

“Oh, I see,” you said, amused, and he found that he hated your tone and simultaneously ached for it. “You want a reward for earlier, hm?”

He didn’t respond, but he didn’t need to. Despite his attempt at disgruntled nonchalance, his body was obedient to your voice in a way he couldn’t physically deny or control, no matter how much he dug his nails into his palms or ground his teeth. There was always a twitch and shift in your direction; there was always a fiery red on his cheeks; there was always the need to orbit and obey.

“You don’t get anything for properly answering a question the way you’re supposed to, Katsuki,” you remarked.

“Tch. Whatever,” he grunted, suppressing the involuntary shudder at his name on your lips.

“But if you do well today”—you plucked another grape and then pressed it against his mouth—“maybe you can get a reward later.”

You slid the grape into his mouth, fingers lingering at his lips in a scandalous way that journalists would kill to capture.

His body was buzzing at your words. He couldn’t help but hoarsely ask, “What’s the reward?”

“Whatever you want it to be,” you answered, smug as if you could read his thoughts, as if you knew he was imagining you suffocating him with your cunt and thighs, as if you knew that he hadn’t been able to help himself on stage, looking to you as though he would’ve said anything to hear good boy again.

#╰【 FILED UNDER … 】❖ ━━━━━ ❛ novae writes 」#╰【 FILED UNDER … 】❖ ━━━━━ ❛ 18+ 」#╰【 TAGGED AS … 】❖ ━━━━━ ❛ reader「 no pronouns used 」#╰【 TAGGED AS … 】❖ ━━━━━ ❛ reader「 she/her 」#╰【 TAGGED AS … 】❖ ━━━━━ ❛ fandom「 bnha 」#╰【 TAGGED AS … 】❖ ━━━━━ ❛ character「 bakugou 」#╰【 TAGGED AS … 】❖ ━━━━━ ❛ titled「 hard + harder + hardest 」#bnha x reader #mha x reader #bakugou x reader #katsuki x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #dynamight x reader #bnha reader insert #bnha fanfic #bakugou fanfic

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mychoombatheroomba · 4 months

Text

Better This Way

Between the Bones (Leon x GN! Reader) - Chapter 13

You're both better off this way. At least, that's what you try to convince yourself of.

(Cross-posted from Ao3)

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Chapter Index

As much as he stared at it that night, the ceiling of the barracks held no answers for Leon. No advice. Just roof paneling and shadows, the sort of bland nothingness that he could get lost in, that his mind would give shape and form.

He didn’t even have to wait for dreams to relive this newest shame. Shame, confusion and all manner of other emotions that ran through him. There would be no quieting his mind. No escape from it. All he could do was try to make sense of it all.

You’d kissed him. You had been the one to lean up, to initiate it. He was sure of that. He was sure that he’d kissed you back.

He was also sure that you’d stilled against his lips just before he’d pulled away.

What he had to take time to decipher was the look you’d given him when he pulled away. There had been no change - no sign that you were surprised by his actions. It hadn’t been anger or hurt. It hadn’t been anything at all. You were somewhere else - detached from yourself. The same way you would look when Leon asked a question you wouldn’t answer, he realized. Somewhere safe.

You’d retreated just as he had.

You just hadn’t flinched away from him. That was what really ate at him: the fact that you’d opened up to him in a way he’d wanted so desperately, and he’d gone and fucked it up. All for the memory of a woman who’d used him. Betrayed him. A woman he’d only known for a handful of hours.

A woman who, when the time came, still chose him over her mission.

Sleep found him out of necessity, at some point in the night; the kind of sleep that felt like he blinked and then it was time to get up. Still, when he did push himself out of his bunk, dragging a hand across his face to ease the weariness from himself, Leon had come to a conclusion:

He shouldn’t have left it like that.

He couldn’t leave it like that.

And so, when breakfast came, he made his way to where you were sitting, even as each step made his insides jumble. There was tension between the two of you, big and real enough that Leon could feel it pushing and pulling at him, driving him away and urging him forward.

“Can we talk?” Leon’s voice was low, so the rest of the mess hall couldn’t hear.

Even so, you looked up at him like he’d just shouted the events of the previous night to the heavens, your eyes flitting around like you were checking that no one had heard him. Or maybe you just didn’t want to look him in the eye. After last night, he couldn’t blame you. It was hard enough for him to be standing there, but he needed to do this. He owed it to you as much as himself.

He would extend the olive branch. It was up to you to take it, now.

When you finally met his eyes and let the gaze linger, Leon wondered for a moment if you would just refuse him. You had a right to, he supposed. He would deal with the grief if that was the case.

“About . . .” you didn’t speak it into reality. Didn’t need to.

Leon just nodded in response. Felt his throat go a little dry.

You looked at him then, and Leon wished he could say he knew what was happening in your mind. He wished he could find his own words more easily. He wished for so many things, and many of them began to crack and spider-web when your eyes hardened. “Don’t know what there is to talk about. I fucked up. Won’t happen again.” Your words snagged on something - anger, Leon supposed. It wasn’t directed at him.

Whatever it was, the thread it pulled loose left Leon feeling like he was coming apart at the seams. He said your name, and the sound of it made your jaw clench. “You didn’t do anything wrong-”

“Yes, I did,” you countered, and Leon knew he wasn’t the only one unraveling. “Just . . . just give me time. Let me sort myself out. Then we’ll talk. Okay?”

Your tone gave him pause, because you sounded so genuinely overwhelmed, even with how quiet you were making sure to be. You’d never pleaded with him for anything in all the time he’d known you, and seeing it now, Leon realized just how shaken you were. So, even if it wasn’t what he wanted, even if everything in him was demanding he set the record straight, Leon nodded.

“Okay.”

He knew what it was to need to be alone, after all. Even if you were the one who had broken him free of that need, he would respect it for you now.

Still, that night when he found the training yard empty of you, something in his heart twinged.

Major Krauser - or whoever was choosing the tracks back at the radio station that night - either had a cosmically, ironically bad sense of humor, or the universe really just wanted to kick Leon while he was down. That was what he decided as he heard the Beatles playing from the bunkhouse radio.

“There’s a shadow hanging over me-”

“Oh, yesterday came so suddenly-”

Of all the days the bastard decides to choose a new station . . .

Leon listened to the song as he took up a knife and began running old drills, imagining an opponent in front of him. Imagining you.

⧫⧫⧫

You hadn’t realized just how much you’d come to rely on Leon Kennedy in these last few weeks. That harsh reality came crashing down on you as you returned to your solitude. You’d come to enjoy his company, but that was obvious, wasn’t it? The problem was that you’d come to enjoy it too much. Enough to ignore sense and kiss him.

Time would help. Time would be what you needed to get your emotions under control, so that the two of you could get back to preparing for what actually mattered.

At least, that was the plan.

So, you trained alone just as you used to - or asked your squad mates when it became necessary. “Not going to be with the pretty boy tonight?” Valeria asked when you approached her.

Any response to those kinds of questions was brief, because you didn’t want to think about it anymore than you had to. “Not tonight.”

You knew that you were leaving him out to dry - especially with assessments approaching. Maybe it would be good for him, you reasoned. Maybe it would force him to branch out - seek other help, if he needed it. You didn’t have all the answers, after all. You wouldn’t always be there to offer advice, and what were you all being trained for if not to be able to adapt on your own? Leon was skilled. More so than he gave himself credit for. He would be fine. Still, as the days went by and Krauser instructed your unit on what you would be doing, you found yourself wanting to reach out. To give him some hints about the storm that was coming.

Cowardice stopped you. You wanted to give it another name, but you knew deep down what it really was. Cowardice and the memory of what it was to be made alone instead of choosing it.

This was for the best.

If you could forget your feelings, then you both would be safer for it.

Easier said than done, you realized, as those days went by and, in those quiet moments, you would find yourself lingering on how Leon’s body had felt atop yours. Or how soft his lips had been. You longed for that feeling in the late hours, even as it gave your guilt more power over you. More than that, you longed for Leon’s smile. His laughs. His quick wit. His presence.

Him.

And that was exactly why you felt you had to stay away.

“You with us?” Krauser’s question one day made you realize you weren’t hiding your thoughts as well as you’d hoped.

“Yes, sir,” you nodded, only then realizing that he was holding something out towards you. A dark shape with straps and two glass lenses. A gas mask, you realized. So similar to one you’d seen before. To one you saw almost every night.

“It’s called ‘at attention’ for a reason.” Krauser was eying you like a puzzle to be solved. It set you straight quicker than anything else could.

“Yes, sir.”

Whatever he was searching for in you, he didn’t seem convinced that he’d found it. Still, he gestured towards the rest of your squad, all of them filing in through a metal door. Darkness waited on the other side. “Fall in.”

At least it was an easy order to follow.

⧫⧫⧫

The bruises that painted Leon’s skin told the story of the following days - days spent pushing himself to his limits. You wanted time, and he would give it to you. After all you’d done for him, it was the least he could do. Even if every day that passed made him want to speak to you more - to clear the air. Even if your avoidance gave him some selfish anger. Training was the easiest thing to focus on, so he threw himself into it completely.

He hadn’t fully realized just how proficient he’d become with a knife - when he was up against you every night, there was a constant reminder of how much further he had to go. Now that he was just fighting his own squad, each day was filled with more success than failure - more victories than defeats. Leon felt like he couldn’t even savor those victories. Not fully, because there was no one to share them with at the end of the day. No one pushed him to become even better.

So, part of him was almost grateful when Alenko approached him. Another part of him wanted not to be bothered. The man was older than him, but not by much - square jaw, dark eyes and close cropped hair befitting a soldier. He sported his fair share of bruises, too, and Leon guessed that was why he ended up finding his way to Leon in the training yard on that second day of solitude.

“Not working with the Sergeant?” Alenko asked, and Leon hoped the frown he made didn’t give away too much.

“No, not lately.”

Alenko didn’t seem to read much into the answer. “Well, if you’re looking for a sparring partner, I could step in.”

Leon paused, struck by how little he wanted to say yes. Still, he ended up nodding anyway. He needed practice against a real opponent. Even if, in the end, he wound up winning more often than not against the soldier. The last fight of the night ended with the soldier straining against the ground, and Leon holding his arm in a lock you’d used on him so many times in the past. “Hell of a showing, Kennedy,” Alenko complimented, taking the hand Leon offered when he let him up. “Guess all that work’s been paying off.”

But it didn’t feel like it was. Not when the dreams went on, reminding him of all that he’d failed to protect, and all that stood to be lost.

So, on that third day without more than a distant look from you, Leon went in search of someone who could teach him something new - who would know how to point out the flaws in his fighting and help him become better.

Major Krauser, when asked to spar, grinned and Leon was reminded of that hard truth he’d learned so early in training. “Careful what you wish for, rookie.”

Those bruises that Leon had already acquired were given like company all too quickly, and Leon found his eyes wide and his heart beating fast as the Major circled him. He’d fought Krauser before. Everyone in his squad had. That didn’t make this time any easier. There was never a chance in hell that he’d win, and he knew that going in. Still, he found himself getting angry with each defeat. His frustration had him baring his teeth, shoving himself off the ground and attacking again.

Or maybe it was more than the frustration of losing over and over. After all, he’d long since grown used to that feeling.

“Ah, you’re getting sloppy,” Krauser observed, when Leon swung a wide attack at him - one the Major easily dodged. Leon was punished for the reckless attack with a kick to the side, one that cracked hard against his lower ribs. “Thought you wanted to fight.”

Leon answered with violence and was met with it in equal measure.

And then he was grinding his teeth as a blunted knife was driven into his gut.

“Focus!” Krauser hissed, pressing the knife into Leon’s stomach harder before backing away, punctuating his command with steel.

The rough treatment made Leon’s anger flare, but he didn’t attack. He knew that Krauser was baiting him. Instead, he waited, watching as Krauser switched to a reverse grip. He loved that grip. It fit him, too. To Leon, it seemed more vicious - just the way Krauser liked to fight.

He brought that knife down in an overhead stab, and Leon moved. Ducked when Krauser slashed at him.

Leon brought his knife across for an attack at the Major’s side but knew mid-swing that it wasn’t going to hit. That he’d made a mistake.

Krauser caught his forearm and Leon’s eyes widened as he saw the knife coming at his throat. His hand braced against the Major’s, stopping it. Leon’s eyes flit about, looking for where was open. Where next to attack.

He wasn’t even really sure where he was going for, but whatever it was, Krauser stopped him with one hand on his wrist, the other moving like lightning to his neck. And over the glinting steel, Leon’s commanding officer looked disappointed.

“You don’t get to choose to have a clear head in a fight. You either set your shit aside, or you die.”

“I know.”

“Do you? ‘Cause you’re sure as shit not here.”

Leon looked down, his brows lowering as Krauser stepped away. He was here, and that was the problem. He was here in a place he hadn’t chosen, training for a fight that had been forced on him and doing it all without the support of the one person who understood it all. So, yeah, he was pissed. He was pissed, but Krauser was right. He couldn’t let it become a hindrance to him.

“Sorry, sir,” Leon breathed.

The Major just shook his head. “Don’t be sorry, just fix it.” He sighed, rolling his shoulders as he studied Leon. “You, your Sergeant . . . feel like a goddamn broken record.”

That caught Leon’s attention, sure as a favorite song. “Sir?”

Krauser, for the first time, seemed genuinely exasperated as he spoke. “Same thing I’ve been repeating since Finland. Thought I was finally getting through, but then lately it’s been more of the same.”

It was a statement that had a thousand questions growing off of it. Even so, even with all of them, Leon knew with certainty which one he was going to ask first. “You were there? In Finland?”

Krauser’s pale brow furrowed. “Thought you two traded horror stories?”

Leon pursed his lips, more than a little troubled by the fact that Krauser knew. “I’ve . . . heard pieces of it. Did you see-”

“What? Bioweapons?” Krauser seemed to read Leon’s mind. “No. Just the aftermath.” The older man seemed to make up his mind on something before he went on. “We lost contact with the base up there, so they sent us to investigate. All we found was fire, bodies that didn’t look like men and one survivor bleeding out in the snow outside.”

The words set a chill in Leon’s blood. You’d never said outright that you were the only survivor of what happened. He could have put two and two together, he supposed - you hadn’t made a claim to know anyone else on base, and you hadn’t spoken of your past comrades. Still, hearing it outright . . .

“I pulled ‘em out of there, gave my report, and then the government handled the rest. Anything else isn’t my business to tell.”

Leon nodded. He wouldn’t want to learn all the finer details from anyone but you.

“All this to say: both of you need to focus on the here and now. You especially, because I’m not going to give you any special treatment because of what you’ve been through, or because you showed up here a rookie cop without a day of training.” It wasn’t true, but Leon knew Krauser wasn’t talking to be correct. He was trying to make a point. And that point found its way home.

“I can handle whatever you throw at me,” Leon resolved. He didn’t flinch when Krauser grinned.

“That’s what every rookie says. We’ll see if it’s true.”

Krauser could be as skeptical as he wanted. It wouldn’t change the fact that Leon had been through this much already. He’d survived what no one had any right to. He could pass whatever tests Krauser had planned. And he could give you time if you needed it. He could bear being alone for a while, and he would bear whatever you decided to make of what was between the two of you. So long as you could be there for each other in some way, that would be enough. Even if it was just offering advice on how best to survive in this terrible new world you were both living in.

⧫⧫⧫

Leon rose bright and early the next day with the rest of his squad to an announcement. Krauser greeted them all before breakfast began, his beret a bright red against the lights illuminating the dark.

“You’ve all made progress. Some more than others. Now, it’s time to see if you can put what you’ve learned to use.” Leon braced himself. His whole squad did. They all knew what was coming next. “Now, normally, you’d be tested to see if you’re ready to move up to the next stage of training. Firearms, weapons maintenance, the works. Pass or fail. But that’s Army. This is STRATCOM, and you’re all very special students, aren’t you?” His smile was as big a warning as they would ever get that what was to come would not be easy. “They want the best, and the best get more difficult tests. Those tests begin right now. Consider every second of the next forty-eight hours to be go-time. Everything you do will be measured and evaluated. If, at the end of it all, you’ve done well enough, then congratulations! You’ve gotten through a taste test of what’s coming your way. Are we clear?”

“Sir, yes sir!” the unit responded. As if there was any other answer.

“Good. Now, grab your gear. We’re going for a ruck.”

And so the day began with a run and without any breakfast. It set tempers high, but everyone knew better than to let it get to them, now. This was a test, after all. One of resolve. Leon paced himself as best he could, glad of the cool morning air if nothing else. He used the opportunity to try and prepare for what might be next.

“Fitness, marksmanship, combat. Everything he’s taught you so far . . . and maybe some things he hasn’t.”

That was what you’d told him about the assessments. What you’d been preparing him for. He was grateful for those nights spent at the range, or in the training yard as the day went on. He found himself focusing solely on the task at hand as he disassembled a rifle and put it back together in record time or fired off a near-perfect round of shots into the targets down range. He was doing well. All of his squad was. They’d been run hard, but it was paying off, now. In those first few hours, things didn’t seem like they would be so bad.

The thing that gave Leon pause was when he realized you weren’t at lunch.

He’d made a habit of looking for you over the last few days, even if he was a little embarrassed to admit it. It had been mostly to see if you were ready to talk at last, and in those four days, you had remained seated with your squad, eating silently. Now, though, there was an empty spot where you usually were.

And an empty table that your squad usually occupied.

“Where is everyone?” Williams asked, picking up on the same thing that Leon had.

“Maybe they’re running training off-base?” Alenko offered.

“Or maybe something’s up,” Leon murmured, feeling suddenly on edge.

He searched for you and your missing squad mates as afternoon drills went by - eyes scanning the base as his unit faced each other down in sparring matches. He almost lost one such match, he was so focused on where you might be.

Then came the second run of the day, this one longer and under the hot midday sun. No one complained, they just ran through the exhaustion as they had been trained to, and Leon kept your words in mind. “Maybe some things he hasn’t.” He kept an eye trained on the tree line, looking out for movement. When there was none to be found and everyone made it back to base well enough, that feeling of anxiety didn’t leave.

Especially not when he found that you and your squad weren’t at dinner, either.

The day was wrapped up on the obstacle course, the time there taking up what would normally be time Leon spent training with you. By the time lights out came around, Leon and the rest of his fellows were well and truly drained. It was all shaky legs and hunched backs as everyone made their way back to the barracks, and even Leon who dreaded sleep felt it pulling him down into his bunk. With no other choice but to lie down, Leon let himself lie back against the uncomfortable blankets and pillow, his body relishing the moment of respite.

His mind, though, was alight.

Even as rest tried to take him, Leon fixated on Krauser’s warning. “Every second of the next forty-eight hours,” he’d said. He’d promised no moments of safety, and this was the one time of the day everyone was forced to have their guard down.

So, he waited. He fought against the heaviness of his eyelids, trying to see if any shapes moved in the dark.

Nothing.

He cataloged the space in his mind. Six windows, two doors. Twelve beds, nine of which were occupied right now. He watched the doors as best he could. Kept an ear open for the steps of whoever was on fire watch at the moment - something Krauser admitted to being mostly pointless, but for getting in the habit of having someone keeping an eye out. It was Shinoda now, Leon remembered. The soldier gave him a few false jolts of adrenaline as he passed Leon’s bunk, but it kept the rookie awake, he supposed.

Still, nothing.

He wished you’d told him more of what to look out for. What to expect.

“Well, giving away everything would defeat the point of the test.”

He missed your little teases like that. He missed getting you to laugh, or when you would make him laugh in return. Maybe, when he passed this test, you would be ready to talk. Maybe you would kiss him again-

He jolted awake.

When had he fallen asleep?

How long had he been out?

The barracks were still dark. The beds around him still filled. No sound but the occasional muttering of someone in their sleep . . .

. . . No sound but that. Not even the footsteps of the man on watch.

Leon sat up, eyes straining to see in the dark.

He didn’t see anyone patrolling the barracks. What he did see, as his eyes adjusted, was the tiny stream of light as one of the two doors opened. A shape hovered just behind it, and even if Leon couldn’t make out the face, he did see that light reflect off of two glass lenses, right where the eyes should be.

Then he heard a clink . . . clink clink against the floor.

“Everyone up!” he called, every nerve in his body humming with newfound energy.

The rest of the recruits barely began to stir before there was a pop. Then, for a split second, Leon smelled something decidedly chemical.

His eyes went wide just in time for his skin to start to burn.

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Chapter Index

A/N:

Oop, jumpscare.

That fight between Leon and Krauser was also lifted from the opening flashbacks of RE4 where they're training together!

Shoutout to Yesterday by the Beatles for being the in-world song for this chapter, while the song I listened to while writing was "Where Did Your Love Go?" because Dawid just gets me, ya know? He gets the angsty vibes.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy #jack krauser #resident evil x reader #resident evil 2 #resident evil 4 #resident evil #between the bones #gender neutral reader #leon kennedy x you #no y/n #angst

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lanaxoxoxoxoxox · 9 months

Note

ALSO CONSIDER ANOTHER BASED OFF A SONG:

kiss you by one direction.

ranboo is crushing, but reader is a teeny tiny bit oblivious. ranboo is always finding ways to hold onto reader, touching them, holding their arm/hand, touching their shoulder, fixing their hair for them, etc etc. one day, maybe after talking to wilbur or phil, ranboo finds the god damn courage to go out with them privately and say "please, just let me kiss you."

SORRY IM BRAINROTTING IN YOUR INBOX ILY /p

, kiss you ! ୨♡୧

ranboo x gn!reader (they/them pronouns for y/n)

warnings: the most adorable fluff you'll eva read ♡

a/n: ladies and gentlemen, joy is now supporting us with some amazing brainrot once again !!! srsly @heiijoy has the best requests /gen go read their works !! ♡

words: 965

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

One thing that was obvious about Y/n was that they were incredibly oblivious and carefree. In times, that was very useful, especially as they were a streamer with a larger fanbase and community. In other times, it wasn’t as.. Helpful. Especially when their best friend of 3 years had a crush on them. And their best friend was indeed, Ranboo.

Ranboo had always considered themselves a “hopeless romantic”, someone who believes in love no matter what relationships or situations they’ve been through personally. Ranboo always tried to be near y/n, doing at least something with him. He constantly tried to give small little hints to y/n that he had a crush on them, but most of the time, those hints would click inside other people’s brains, and not y/ns, leaving Ranboo to get teased by his friends. He would constantly leave very obvious gestures to y/n, but nothing seemed to work.

During Vidcon panels and restaurants, Ranboo would always sit right next to Y/n, purposely making sure that their hands, legs or arms were touching in some way. If Ranboo, Y/n and some other people were walking to go somewhere, Ranboo would also offer y/n his hand or arm to hold onto, and he would be a blushing and stuttering mess if Y/n accepted. Although, y/n’s oblvious self would assume Ranboo was acting that way because of the weather or some random thing.

During a convention that Y/n and Ranboo were speaking at together, Ranboo and Y/n hung out backstage along with Wilbur, Tommy and Niki. Tommy and Niki were talking, and Wilbur was grabbing water to drink before the panel. Y/n was scrolling through Twitter, laughing at the tweets in the Twitchcon panel hashtag from the audience.

“Hey, Y/n, come ‘ere for a second.” Ranboo spoke.

Y/n looked up from their phone and shut it off before shoving it in their pocket. They came a bit closer to Ranboo. “What’s up?” they said.

Ranboo’s cheeks had a bit of a red hue to them, wishing in his head that Y/n couldn’t notice. He reached his hands up into Y/n’s hair, tucking away a few strands behind their ear. Y/n sucked in their breath, and Ranboo swore he saw a bit of tint on Y/n’s ears.

Ranboo pulled away his hand. “There.” he smiled.

Y/n smiled back at the tall boy in front of them. “T-thank you.”

Wilbur looked over at Ranboo and Y/n, moving his eyes back and forth between the two. He finally settled making eye contact with Ranboo and raised an eyebrow. Ranboo sighed and felt blush rise onto his cheeks once again. He looked back over at y/n quickly, and pulled out his phone.

After the panel, Wilbur and Phil texted Ranboo to come meet them in one of the creator lounges, and I quote reader, “In private.” Usually when Wilbur or Phil say something like that, it’s usually meant as “We need to talk/ask you about something” (it’s worse when it’s both of them say ‘in private’!)

Ranboo sucked in his breath and headed over to the destination they were supposed to meet at. Ranboo finally got there after 10 minutes of walking, and saw Wilbur leaning against the wall talking to Phil as Phil drank his cup of coffee.

Ranboo walked over to the two men and cleared his throat. “So, what did you want to ask me.. In private?” Ranboo said.

Wilbur looked over at Phil. “When were you going to tell us that you and Y/n are dating?”

Ranboo’s eyes widened. “U-uh, we’re not dating.” Phil raised an eyebrow.

“I promise you, we’re not together!” Ranboo responded, raising his arms up in defense.

Phil spoke up. “If you’re always acting like that towards Y/n, and you two aren’t dating, then I assume you have a crush on them, correct?”

Ranboo’s mouth tightened. “You can tell us, you know. We’re basically your family.” Wilbur added, smiling.

Ranboo looked at both of them and sighed. “Yeah, I think I do like them..” The smile of the two men’s faces could not be wiped off throughout any of that day when Ranboo and Y/n were anywhere near each other.

Reader, ever since that day, when Ranboo was basically forced to tell Phil and Will about his admiration for y/n, let's just say his head was even more filled with thoughts of y/n. Now, before the conversation with Wilbur and Phil, he already was swarmed with thoughts already. But now, it was even more than usual, to the point where he would tell himself to stop and clear his mind a bit before continuing to whatever he was doing. He knew it was a sign to tell y/n, and he finally brought himself to do it.

Ranboo and y/n were walking alone on the Brighton shore, watching the waves crash along the sand and their feet. The sun was slowly setting into a beautiful shade of baby pink and tangerine with the daisy yellow sun painting the horizon.

Ranboo and y/n both stopped in their tracks and sat down on the rocky floors of the shore and admired the beautiful sunset in front of them. Ranboo sighed and looked over at y/n.

"I love you, y/n." Ranboo spit out quickly, almost tripping over their own words. Blush rose to Ranboo's cheeks at what words he spoke, as he meant to say them a little later on in the evening but couldn't hold his tounge back.

Y/n looked over in surprise.

"Shit, I-I. I do love you y/n. Gosh, I just wanna take you anywhere you like, and show you off to everyone, and j-just-." the boy stuttered.

"Want to what?" Y/n said, smiling.

"Please, just let me kiss you."

"Kiss me, then." y/n spoke back.

And they did, reader. They did.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

oh my garsh this is too cute for me to handle !!!!! 😭 /pos

thank you so much @heiijoy, my very lovely moot, for sending this ask in! its a bit late, so sorry abt that!

my requests are still CLOSED, im just currently clearing up my drafts/inbox and writing whatever i feel like if i have the motivation to do so :]

please support my work by liking, replying, following me, or reblogging! anything helps to continue my writing ♡

love you all mwah xoxoxoxo

#mcyt fanfic writer #fanfiction #mcyt #dream smp #mcytblr #requests closed #wilbur soot #philza #ranboo #ranboo x reader #ranboo fanfic

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jahayla-parker · 8 months

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King Of My Heart : Nikolai Lantsov x Reader Series

Part 1

For warnings, descriptions, and previous parts, see series masterlist here.

Nikolai hated y/n for as long as he could remember. His family and y/n’s family had spent nearly every summer together since he was a small child. It made summers the most despicable time of year for him. Her family was tolerable; just your standard royal family. But, y/n? Nikolai couldn’t stand her presence.

Y/n couldn’t stand Nikolai. She knew the feeling was mutual between them, but it didn’t make things less tense between the two. In fact, their obvious mutual hatred towards each other only made her more frustrated that Nikolai’s family proposed a marriage arrangement between the two. Y/n thought Nikolai’s hatred towards her would’ve been strong enough to cause him to act against such a suggestion. Unfortunately for her, Nikolai did no such thing.

Even though y/n heard him approaching, she refused to make eye contact with Nikolai, her betrothed. She ignored him as he neared her side while she stared out at the palace gardens.

“We’re supposed to uphold a façade, you know,” Nikolai scolded, leaning on the balcony railing.

Y/n pursed her lips as she shook her head. She could feel Nikolai’s eyes on her, but she still refused to look at him. “You really hate me enough to force me to marry you?” Y/n asked him, eyes focusing on the stars above the shadowed gardens.

Nikolai rolled his eyes. He huffed loudly, still watching y/n closely. “You really think I want this?” Nikolai asked rhetorically. “Summers were torturous as it was, I don’t need all year… for the rest of my life”.

Y/n shifted her jaw, briefly looking at Nikolai from the corner of her eye. “Yet, here we are,” she sighed loudly. Y/n steepled her hands on the railing, refocusing on the dark sky.

“Why are you so mad about this?” Nikolai questioned. He watched the brief confusion on y/n’s face shift into anger.

Y/n turned to Nikolai. Her eyes shot daggers at him. “You don’t get it do you?!” She hissed. Y/n looked towards the patio doors to ensure no one was around. “I have no choice in this. I knew I’d likely never be able to marry for love,” she admitted with a sigh. “But, I didn’t expect to be married off to …”.

“To?” Nikolai asked with a loud breath.

“To someone like you,” y/n answered breathily. “To someone I cannot stand to be around. To someone who hates me just as much as I hate them,” she explained.

Nikolai hummed loudly. “Why do you hate me so much?” he asked.

“I could ask you the same,” y/n retorted with a knowing glance.

The newly betrothed couple fell into an uncomfortable silence. The only sounds were the faint musical tones seeping through the closed patio glass and gold paneled doors.

When y/n shook her head, still not looking his way, Nikolai smirked. “Silver lining is you’re marrying a fairly handsome prince, you could do much worse,” he bragged smugly.

Y/n nearly snorted. She quickly covered her mouth to silence the sound. “The only silver lining I see is that life is short,” y/n remarked.

Nikolai taped y/n’s head jokingly. “Yeah, so are you,” he snickered. Nikolai groaned when y/n rolled her eyes in response. “Keep rolling your eyes at me, maybe you'll find a brain back there.”

Y/n laughed humorously. “At least I’d have something to find,” she muttered.

Nikolai watched y/n’s face as she tried to focus back on the gardens, clearly trying to distract herself. He sighed and whispered, “be honest with me”.

Y/n huffed, glancing back over at Nikolai. “But why? Why would I do that?" She asked sharply.

Nikolai smirked at her. “Because we have to spend the rest of our lives together,” he reminded her.

“Don’t remind me.” Y/n groaned. She prepared herself for whatever Nikolai’s next attack would be. After waiting a few silent moments, she sighed. “What?” Y/n asked, indirectly agreeing to be honest as he had requested.

Nikolai turned completely towards y/n. “Why are you going through with this if you hate me so much?”

Y/n sighed loudly. She slowly moved her gaze from the gardens over to Nikolai. Once she was facing him, she took a deep breath. “Because I love my country, and this,” y/n said, pointing to herself and then at Nikolai. “Evidently, is what it needs,” she explained. After all, that was truly the only reason she hadn’t run away by now.

Nikolai nodded silently. He wordlessly gazed out at the gardens.

“You?” Y/n questioned, understanding that distant gaze.

Nikolai turned back to y/n. “What?”. When she simply raised an eyebrow at him, he smirked. “Oh, you just couldn’t get me off your mind?” He winked.

Y/n scoffed loudly. “Why are you going though with this if you hate me so much?” she asked, echoing Nikolai’s question to her.

“Mmm,” Nikolai hummed. “Are you quoting me?” His smirk grew.

Y/n rolled her eyes at Nikolai. She silently turned to leave. Her ballgown’s skirt floating across the concrete balcony during her turn.

Nikolai reached out and grabbed y/n’s wrist. He quickly let go when she turned to glare at him. “For Ravka,” he answered.

Y/n nodded in understanding. She forced a small smile. “At least we have one thing in common,” y/n agreed. “Other than our hatred,” she added on her way back to the welcoming party.

Zoya smirked as Y/n approached her. She’d known the Princess for quite some time. They often spent time together during the summers after Zoya moved into the Little Palace. She hugged y/n in greeting, not having been able to see her upon her initial arrival today. “I should have David whip me up some earplugs”.

“What?” Y/n asked. She was confused as to what Zoya was trying to joke about. Y/n knew Zoya long enough to know she was making a joke. But y/n couldn’t tell what it was.

Zoya smirked and nodded her head towards Nikolai. He was standing across the hall from them, Zoya having watched him saunter in not long after y/n. Zoya then turned and nodded at y/n, finalizing her joke.

Y/n rewarded Zoya with an exasperated and offended look. “Excuse me?!” She tried to keep her voice down as to not draw the attention of the other guests, but it only added more tension to her tone. She knew of the Prince’s rumored less-than-pure activities, but couldn’t believe Zoya would think y/n would participate; betrothed or not.

Zoya nearly choked on her drink as she began laughing. “Not what I meant,” she smirked, raising a taunting eyebrow. “I was referring to the slamming doors that always happen when you two are forced to spend time together,” Zoya explained with a laugh.

Nina walked over to join her friends. She wrapped her arm lovingly around Y/n’s shoulder. “But! Why did your heart go up when you thought she was talking about you and Nikolai having-“ the heartrender asked.

“Enough Nina!” Y/n smacked Nina’s arm, making the girls laugh. “Because I was appalled is why,” she defended. “By the way, hello to you too,” y/n laughed, trying to change the topic off of her hatred of Nikolai.

“Mhm, if you say so,” Nina whispered. She smirked with Zoya as they shared a wordless knowing look.

“Saints, I already have to spend time with Nikolai even though I hate him,” y/n said exasperatedly. “Don’t go and make me hate you both too.”

Just as Zoya’s smirk widened while she opened her mouth to release some snarky comment, Genya waltzed over to their group. She smiled widely at y/n and shook her head softly. “Still so beautiful y/n/n,” Genya cooed as she cupped y/n’s face.

Y/n bit her bottom lip. But, she quickly stopped, letting the slightly inflamed lip pop back into place as Genya’s gaze scolded her for the action. “Thank you Genya,” y/n said with a grin.

“Of course Miss Y/L/N,” Genya teased lightly. She always used ‘Miss’ or ‘Princess’ whenever joking around with y/n. “Or, should I say Mrs. Lants-“ Genya began.

“No, you should not,” y/n advised. She shook her head firmly, glaring around at her taunting friends. Couldn’t they see the situation she was being forced into here?

“True,” Genya sighed. “Perhaps it’s a bit too soon, hmm,” she agreed. “I should’ve said soon-to-be Mrs.-“.

Y/n rolled her eyes. She held up a hand to stop Genya’s tease and silence her other friends’ giggling. “Can we talk about something else?” Y/n pleaded with a groan.

“Are you kidding?” Nina huffed. “We have a royal wedding to plan,” she giggled, smirking.

“You have to work on hiding your disgust,” Zoya commented when y/n groaned over Nina’s comment.

“No promises,” y/n mumbled. She glanced sharply over at Nikolai for a brief moment before back to her group.

Zoya sighed sympathetically. “It’s for the country,” she reminded y/n more warmly than normal. When y/n nodded and relaxed some, Zoya decided to indulge herself a bit. “Besides, he’s not bad on the eyes.” She winked.

“Oh my Saints!” Y/n gushed. She shook her head adamantly. “You need to stop,” y/n pleaded, trying to resist the urge to smack her own face with her palm.

“What’re we talking about?” Nikolai asked. He’d made his way over once he caught y/n glancing at him. It had been from the corner of his eye, but he saw it. And Nikolai could tell they were gossiping about him. While he didn’t care to come over, he’d heard whispers from some guests doubting the strength of their courtship.

Therefore, Nikolai pasted on a polite smile and placed his hand on y/n’s waist. When he saw her eyes snap to him with fury, Nikolai just nodded subtly in the direction of the spectating guests.

Y/n sighed quietly and forced a smile. She silently pleaded with her friends for help with the situation. There wasn’t much they could do, but y/n was hoping for at least a distraction to get her mind off the fact she could feel the warmth of Nikolai’s hand on her waist through the material of her dress.

Genya hummed. “I was just saying, Y/n is going to make my job so easy,” she said, answering Nikolai’s question. “Don’t you think she’ll be such a beautiful bride, moi tsarevich?” Genya questioned smugly.

Y/n shook her head at her friend. “I don’t know which I want to do more, thank you or slap you, Genya,” she hissed.

Genya laughed and raised her eyebrows at Nikolai.

Nikolai paused and pretended to ponder the notion, taking y/n’s appearance in. “Perhaps the tailors won’t have to work overtime to make the wedding look half decent,” he conceded.

“Geee, thanks,” y/n sassed. She rolled her eyes, making the girls laugh.

Nina gasped. “Wait!”. “That reminds me, let me see your hand,” Nina gushed, grabbing y/n’s hand.

Nikolai knew everyone’s eyes were cast down to y/n’s hand, not just his. Yet, as his eyes landed on the Lantsov emerald ring on her hand, he felt short of breath. Nikolai swallowed thickly as he caught himself thinking that it almost seemed like it belonged there; to her, to y/n. But, he mentally shouted at himself to stop that delirious thought. After all, it was surely only Nikolai’s sense of duty to his country that had him thinking that. He hated y/n. Even if she was what was needed to help Ravka.

“Are you unpacked?” Nina asked y/n, pulling Nikolai from his distracting thoughts.

Before Y/n could answer, Zoya answered for her. She answered matter of factly, “of course, the staff should’ve un-“.

“Not quite”. Y/n cut Zoya off in order to accurately answer Nina’s question.

Nikolai turned to y/n. He raised his eyebrow and formed a smug grin. “Too enthralled by the elaborate decorations my parents thought were necessary?” Nikolai teased, sarcastically waving at said decorations.

Y/n stared at Nikolai and rolled her eyes. Her eyes softened as she turned back to the rest of the group. “I prefer not to have others handling my things,” y/n admitted.

“What are you hiding? Sneaking in a personal tailor?” Nikolai asked. His implied insult was clear and had the others staring at y/n expectantly.

“Awe,” y/n cooed. Her tone dripped sarcasm as she continued her taunt. “You think I’m so pretty I must have snuck a tailor?” Y/n smirked through her grin. When Nikolai faltered, her smirk grew. Returning to the actual question at hand, she shrugged. “Just a sword and an escape bag,” y/n teased, eyeing Nikolai. “For when this becomes as disastrous as it already seems it’ll be,” she explained.

It took Nikolai a moment to recover from her earlier comment. But he shook his head and pulled himself together enough to issue a comeback. “Ahh, running away from one’s duties?” Nikolai huffed. “Admirable,” Nikolai scoffed.

Y/n laughed humorlessly. “Really?!” She choked. Y/n shook her head as she rolled her eyes at Nikolai. “That’s rich,” Y/n chided, copying his loud scoff.

Nikolai merely squinted in response.

“Sturmhond,” y/n mumbled, making Nikolai falter. As his eyes widened dramatically, she smirked. “Close your mouth, moi tsarevich,” y/n mocked, “or you’ll catch flies”. In response to Nikolai’s scarlet cheeks, she decided to continue her remarks. “And, duty or not, I don’t kiss men with bugs in their teeth,” y/n smirked.

Nikolai’s cheeks flushed darker as he found himself at a loss for words. He watched silently as y/n sauntered away for the night. When Nikolai turned back to their group, the others girls were smirking at him. “What?”

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shion-yu · 2 months

Text

A Safe Place (part 3) [day 18]

A feverish Cliff is seen in the emergency room. For @monthofsick Day 18 “Unfamiliar surroundings”. 2,965 words, original work, TWs emeto, hospital content.

Part 1 | Part 2 - I swear this was supposed to be 2 parts but now it’s gonna be 4? Lol whoops.

Elliot supported Cliff into the busy ER. It was a Saturday, of course there were a lot of people there, Elliot thought regretfully. Silly to hope otherwise. Elliot eased Cliff into a seat as close to the reception desk as possible and then checked Cliff in, presenting Cliff’s ID and health insurance card. He was grateful Cliff’s wallet and phone were the two things his boyfriend had actually brought with him when he left his parents’ house, although a jacket and his inhaler would have been useful third and fourth choices.

“What’s this visit for?” The receptionist asked after scanning the cards and handing them back to Elliot.

“My boyfriend is having trouble breathing,” Elliot said, hoping this concerned her as much as it concerned him. “He has asthma, he’s wheezing, and he has a high fever. He didn’t know who I was earlier.”

The receptionist stood up a little to catch a glimpse of Cliff in his seat, who did look like he was struggling. “Okay, we’ll get him triaged as soon as possible,” the receptionist said. Elliot chose to believe her for his own sanity’s sake. “In the meantime, have him wear a mask.”

Cliff sagged against Elliot when Elliot sat next to him. He was in no shape to do paperwork, so Elliot tried to fill it out as much as he could. Fifteen minutes passed. Cliff was whimpering in pain and his wheeze had grown louder. “Just a few more minutes, Cliffy,” Elliot said, hoping it wasn’t a lie. Thirty minutes passed. Cliff was now insisting he was fine after all, and that they ought to go home. But that was when he was lucid, which would last only a minute before he’d follow up by saying something that made very little sense and reminded Elliot exactly why they couldn’t leave. Finally, about forty minutes after they’d checked in, a nurse called Cliff’s name and brought them to a small room between the waiting room and the actual ER. Elliot repeated the story he’d given the receptionist although more aggressively this time as the nurse nodded and took Cliff’s vitals.

Elliot never wanted Cliff to be so sick. However, his vitals did prompt some action and for that Elliot was grateful. Cliff’s fever was 103.5 now, his oxygen running lower than expected at 92%, and his heart rate and blood pressure were both high. The nurse led them to a stretcher in a curtained off bay and told Cliff to change into a gown. Elliot had to help Cliff climb up, his boyfriend’s coordination poor. His hands were shaking too hard to button his own gown up, so Elliot did it for him.

“Don’t feel good,” Cliff mumbled, swaying even as he sat up on the stretcher.

“I know, just lie back,” Elliot said. “They’re gonna help you.”

Thankfully, this time they only waited about ten minutes before a new nurse came in with a small bucket full of supplies. She introduced herself as Anna and said she was going to insert an IV, take some blood, and hook Cliff up to oxygen and fluids. She was also going to swab Cliff for flu and strep, but Elliot explained the urgent care had already done that. “Well, this tests for some other stuff too, it’s a full respiratory panel. I’d recommend we just do it anyways.” Elliot agreed on Cliff’s behalf; Cliff seemed to be communicating only in nods at this point.

Nurse Anna looped some oxygen tubing over Cliff’s ears first and plugged it into the wall. She also attached a blood pressure cuff and oxygen probe that she said would stay on for now for monitoring. Elliot felt like all the devices only made Cliff look sicker. Anna swabbed Cliff’s nose, which made him cough harshly to the point of gagging, and then got ready to insert an IV.

Cliff looked to Elliot in panic, swallowing rapidly. ‘Faint,’ he mouthed to Elliot helplessly. “Um, I think he passes out when there’s needles,” Elliot spoke up for him. Cliff nodded gratefully.

“Well you’re in the right place if you do,” Nurse Anna said. She lowered the head of the stretcher and told Elliot to hold Cliff’s hand as she looked for a vein in his other arm. “I’ll go super quick,” she reassured them, and she was right. It was quick. But Cliff turned sheet white and got really sweaty and by the time she’d collected enough tubes of blood, flushed and secured the hub and hooked him up to a bag of fluids, Cliff was barely conscious. “Don’t worry, it happens,” she said. She put a pillow under Cliff’s legs and told him to breathe deeply through his nose. Elliot found her calm demeanor the only thing keeping him calm, because it seemed terrifying even if it was normal. Cliff followed her directions and eventually gained some color back. Anna said his blood pressure was coming back up and that he should just lie there with his feet up for a few more minutes, then left the room.

“I’m sorry,” Cliff apologized miserably for the tenth time since they’d come back here.

“Baby, please, stop apologizing,” Elliot told him. “You’re here because you have to be and you’re not doing anything bad or wrong. Just rest.”

Cliff’s eyes filled with tears and he covered them with his forearm. “I suck,” he whimpered, Elliot’s words clearly not having reached him as intended. Elliot sighed and put one hand on Cliff’s head to stroke his sweaty hair. It wasn’t worth fighting Cliff on this right now. Elliot just had to be there for him.

Cliff fell asleep to Elliot’s relief. Elliot texted his mom what was going on and hoped this wasn’t as bad as it felt. Cliff snored quietly until a woman came with a huge portable x-ray machine. “Sorry to wake you up,” she said, “Cliff? I’m here to get your x-ray. I’ll go fast.”

Cliff opened his eyes and stared blankly at her. Elliot wasn’t sure if Cliff knew what was going on at this point so he stroked Cliff’s arms and explained, “Cliff? She’s gonna take the pictures of your lungs now.” He helped the x-ray tech manipulate Cliff’s torso so that he was lying on a hard board. Elliot stood in the doorway while they did the films.

“Alright, take a nice deep breath for me and hold it,” the x-ray tech said. “I know, good job, got it. You can cough.” And cough Cliff did, that same desperate wet cough that had made Elliot’s mind up to bring him here. He managed to catch his breath, but it wasn’t over. “One more,” the tech said, moving the boards and machine around to point at Cliff’s side now. “Again. Deep breath. One, two, and good. Let it out.”

This time Cliff didn’t seem able to stop coughing. He coughed until each gasp sounded like a Herculean struggle and Elliot wasn’t sure that any of that air he was gulping in was actually reaching his lungs. The machine that was measuring Cliff’s oxygen levels started to beep and the tech told Elliot she was going to find the nurse. Elliot held on to Cliff and tried to soothe him, but it didn’t seem to work. Cliff just kept coughing until suddenly his eyes flew open and he spewed a sharp wave of vomit from his mouth all the way to the end of the stretcher. Elliot winced, pulling back and trying not to look at the mess. Cliff spluttered and coughed between additional harsh gags that produced little besides a stream of thick brown saliva that pooled in his lap. Elliot prayed the nurse would come in soon and hesitantly rubbed Cliff’s back. He didn’t know what to do and Cliff seemed frozen, unable to lift his head or close his mouth.

Thankfully the nurse showed up then and said, “Oh no!” Oh no was right, Elliot thought anxiously. “Did we just get coughing too hard?” She glanced at Cliff's oxygen levels and turned a small green dial on the wall, which made a quiet hissing noise for a second as the flow of oxygen increased. “Don’t worry hun, we’re going to get you cleaned up.” She found a change of sheets in one of the cupboards behind the stretcher and changed the blankets and top sheet in record time. She checked Cliff’s fluids which were nearly done and then charted standing in the room for a few minutes on her rolling computer.

Cliff was silent, hunched over holding a pink plastic basin in his lap in case of another incident, and Elliot couldn’t tell if he was just out of it or humiliated. The room still smelled of putrid stomach acid; Elliot breathed through his mouth. His phone dinged in his pocket and he saw an alarmed text from his mother. He didn’t have time to reply though, as the doctor walked in at that moment.

“Doctor Jim,” Anna greeted him politely, scooting her computer farther away from the bedside. “He just threw up coughing and I turned up his oxygen.”

“I’m not surprised,” Dr. Jim said. He looked to be in about his forties, was mostly bald and had tiny round glasses that looked too small for his face. “Cliff? I’m Jim, I’m a physician here. How are you doing today?”

Elliot thought that was a stupid question. Cliff looked at Dr. Jim with hazy eyes and mumbled, “Sick.”

“Well, that makes sense. You’ve got yourself a nasty case of double pneumonia,” Dr. Jim said. Elliot’s heart sank. “Has this ever happened to you before?”

Cliff shook his head no. He moved his hand to the edge of the bed that Elliot understood as a silent signal to hold it, which he did. “Well, I think it’s best if we admit you for observation overnight with the vitals you have. I’m going to order two IV antibiotics and some steroids, try and get that swelling down in your lungs and hopefully you’ll be feeling better in no time. How’s that sound?”

Cliff didn’t answer. “That sounds fine,” Elliot said, squeezing Cliff’s hand. “Can I stay with him?”

“Once we move him to the floor, visiting hours are eight to eight,” Dr. Jim said. “But you can stay with him for as long as he’s in the ER.” He turned to Anna and gave a few other orders for Zofran, Tylenol, albuterol and budesonide treatments. It all seemed so casual to them, but Elliot was still disturbed by how sick Cliff looked and seemed to him.

Dr. Jim physically examined Cliff next. Cliff shuddered and Dr. Jim apologized for his cold hands, but Elliot knew that the temperature hadn’t had anything to do with it. He hummed a lot, wrote down some notes, and then left with a “Hope you feel better soon.” Elliot wondered if he told all his patients that, or just the ones who could actually get better soon. Nurse Anna also excused herself to get the ordered medications, leaving Elliot alone with Cliff once again.

“So… pneumonia. That sounds pretty bad,” Elliot said. “Why didn’t you tell me you felt so sick?”

“You were at work. I didn’t want to bother you,” Cliff said in a tiny voice. “And then I tried to text you but none of the letters in my phone made sense.”

Elliot felt his chest clench painfully hearing that. “Cliff, you wouldn’t have bothered me.”

“But I’m bothering you now,” Cliff whimpered.

Elliot frowned. “I didn’t say that.” Silence from Cliff. Elliot sighed and grasped Cliff’s hand in his own. “Cliff, Cliffy, can you look at me?” It took a second, but fever-bright, hazel eyes eventually focused on Elliot. “You’re my boyfriend. I want you to be okay. Can you at least try to trust me?”

“I do trust you,” Cliff whispered, voice hurt.

“Then let me care about you.”

Cliff fell quiet again and Elliot sat back but kept Cliff’s hand in his. Cliff had his eyes closed, but it didn’t do much to hide the tears that escaped from the corners of them. Elliot didn’t say anything, just brushed them off of Cliff’s cheeks with his sleeve. Once Cliff was asleep, Elliot finally allowed his own silent tears to fall.

Eventually a CNA came to bring Cliff down to the short-stay unit. She rolled Cliff’s stretcher down the hall and into an elevator. Cliff looked nervous and kept glancing at Elliot, making sure he was still right next to him. Elliot always was. They got to a small room that had a real hospital bed in it and the CNA and Elliot both helped Cliff take two steps from the stretcher onto the bed. It was painful for Elliot to see how difficult even this brief transfer was for Cliff, and Cliff started another one of his long coughing spasms afterwards. Elliot rubbed Cliff’s arm, unsure what else he could possibly do to help. “Water,” Cliff croaked hoarsely between deep, rattling coughs.

“Sure. Um…” Elliot looked around him but this room was barely more than an ER bay. It didn’t even have windows. “Let me go check,” he said, and went to go look for the nurse’s station. There were two tired and rather bored looking, middle aged women sitting at computers at the end of the hall. “Excuse me? My boyfriend just got here and he could use some water…”

“I’m almost there,” one of the nurses said, which Elliot thought was a weird thing to say when she very much wasn’t almost there. Regardless, they didn’t seem to like him hovering very much so Elliot went back to Cliff’s room. There was nowhere for him to sit, so he stood at the bedside. Cliff had managed to stop coughing at least.

The nurse, despite her indifferent demeanor, did show up with a little bin that contained hospital socks, meds and a large plastic jug of water. “Clifford Barrows, hmm? I’m Carey. And you are…?” She raised an eyebrow at Elliot.

Suddenly feeling extra protective, Elliot quickly said, “His boyfriend.”

“Alright. Mr. Barrows, are you okay to have Elliot in here?”

Cliff nodded a yes. Elliot thought it was so weird to hear Cliff called by his last name. They seemed too young for that.

“Well, your boyfriend will have to leave after I finish this admission paperwork as visiting hours are over soon, but remind me to get you a chair for tomorrow,” Carey said. She started a myriad of questions, which included Cliff’s emergency contact.

“Make it Elliot,” Cliff said quickly, looking at him. “Um, will my dad know I’m here?”

“You’re eighteen, right? Not unless you tell him,” Carey said. “But I see your dad is the primary insurance holder so he may see the invoice after you’re discharged. It shouldn’t show any details though.”

Cliff grimaced but nodded. At least there would be no confrontation in the actual hospital, Elliot thought to himself. Carey kept asking questions, which ranged from did Cliff smoke to could he walk up a flight of stairs to did he have any plans to hurt himself right now. They seemed a little ridiculous to Elliot, but Cliff was able to answer all of them with simple yes’s and no’s pretty quickly since he was for the most part entirely healthy.

“You’re easy,” Carey said, winking at Cliff. “Boyfriend? Visiting hours are over now honey, so you say your goodbyes and you can come back at 8am tomorrow morning.” Elliot thought she was kind of like those old ladies at diners who yelled at you for your order but called you honey so you couldn’t feel totally attacked.

He nodded and gave Cliff a quick hug. He thought about kissing him, but Cliff didn’t like to be kissed in front of other people so he just squeezed Cliff’s hand instead. “I’ll be back in the morning,” he promised. “Get some rest and tell them if you don’t feel good, okay?”

“Okay,” Cliff said. He looked scared, so Elliot hugged him again and kissed the top of his head this time.

“I love you,” Elliot said. “I know you can be strong for me. You’ve got your phone right here.”

Elliot didn’t look back as he left, because he could feel Cliff’s kicked puppy expression trailing him and knew if he did, it would be ten times harder to leave. He walked to the parking lot without thinking, got in his car, and drove home without Cliff beside him. He made it to the park a block away from his parents’ house before he pulled over and cried for a solid ten minutes.

Cliff was going to be okay, Elliot told himself. Cliff was stronger than he seemed, and realistically Elliot couldn’t be there for him every second of the way. But he’d promised Cliff they weren’t going to the hospital, and then he promised Cliff that he’d be right there next to him the whole time. He’d broken both of these promises and now Cliff was sleeping in a hospital bed, in a tiny room with no windows and only a crotchety old lady to keep an eye on him. Elliot felt just terrible and wondered if he’d made the wrong choice dragging Cliff to the ER. All he wanted was for Cliff to be okay, though, and he really hadn’t seemed okay today.

Elliot wiped his tears away and told himself he had to be strong. This seemed so intense and adult, but Elliot couldn’t let it overwhelm him. He tried to remember the coping mechanisms his therapist had taught him back in high school. Deep breaths. One second at a time. He could do it, and so could Cliff. Elliot turned on the car and returned home by himself.

[Part 4]

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thegridgoddess · 1 year

Text

Prove It | Charles Leclerc Pt. 2

One Shot | Part 1 | Part 3 is here!

Pairings: Charles Leclerc x fem! wolff! driver oc

Summary: It's the start of the season and Charles and Riley are at each other's throats, but she's beginning to think there's something more to the situation.

Warnings: Enemies to lovers, angsty Charles, slow burn till it hits you in the face. George Russell being the best supportive friend, Pierre... I'll let you find out about him, and Toto Wolff kinda sucks here (not a good dad!). Also did I mention the angst?

A/N: This is part 2 so make sure to start from the beginning! Also, let a girl know if you trust the vision and want to see more. Riley will be making friends with more and more drivers along the way, much to someone's dismay.

Word Count: 3.2k

______________________________________________________________

It was still hours before the race, but Riley couldn’t stop pacing in her driver’s room. The sun was setting outside of her window and she could hear Charles laughing over in the next room. George was nowhere to be found and she couldn’t get over her nerves.

She didn’t mean to run into her father earlier. As a matter of fact, she made it a rule to never interact with the man at all. But it’s hard to avoid other team principles when it comes to journalist panels and interviews.

His eyes said it all when they met hers and then promptly looked away with a heavy sigh. Don’t embarrass me, was what they told her. Nothing new, but it didn’t mean it didn’t sting.

George was unreachable and she didn’t have the guts to go looking for him. Not in the Mercedes garage–Riley would not step foot in there.

She could go talk to Alex, she supposed. But she wasn’t as close to him as she’d liked to be. While the two did bond over the course of their year together at Williams after George’s exit, their relationship still paled in comparison with what she has with George. Moreover, it didn’t feel fair to her to drop in on Alex unexpectedly when he had other things to worry about–like the tough drive he had ahead of him today starting from last on the grid.

Riley didn’t have many friends in the paddock. It’s not that they were all necessarily unfriendly to her, but there was a certain barrier she felt separating them all. George had been her main ally thus far. The rookies were all but unknown to her, not much chance for interaction between them all yet. On the other side of that coin, she didn’t see herself becoming besties with the veterans like Alonso and Checo. And despite the popular belief of the camaraderie between them, she wouldn’t touch Lance with a ten-foot pole. Their situations were too similar and she could just see the nepo-baby headlines now.

All signs pointed to Riley needing to make more friends here–preferably her own age. She just had to get out of her own way. From one problem to another.

The knock on his door was unexpected. He wasn’t sure who it could be seeing as Pierre was already in the room with him and he’s already met with his trainer. He opened the door and looked down to see Riley standing before him with her Ferrari racing suit hanging around her hips.

“Can we talk?” She said to him.

Charles scoffed as he opened the door wider for her to step in, curious about what the girl could possibly have to say to him–before the race nonetheless.

Riley looked toward Pierre and she suddenly wished she knew more about the Frenchman as she stepped into the lion's den. Thankfully Pierre stood to leave.

“Riley,” Pierre acknowledged her with a casual smirk. He turned to Charles, “Be nice to the pretty girl. I’ll find you later.” Whether later meant after this conversation or after the race was unclear to Riley, but the boys seemed to have understood each other.

“What is it?” Charles asked, annoyed that Riley was taking up his pre-race time.

“I just want to clear the air between us before we go out there today,” she said. “I know you don’t like me very much, but we’re still on this team together and I just want to do the best I can when I’m on the track and not worry about you.”

The Monegasque man nodded his head in contemplation, taking her words into account. “So you’re worried about me?” He finally responded.

Of course that’s what he would take away from that speech. Riley took a deep breath. “You don’t even know me, so stop pretending like you’re better than me.”

“But I am,” he said, a sly grin creeping onto his face, “better than you, that is.” He was unbelievable. Why did she even bother coming to talk to him? “I’m better because unlike you, I’ve earned what I have.”

This had Riley fuming. “Maybe if you finally got your head out of your ass you could see that there are other people around you. Maybe,” she thought viciously, “you wouldn’t have gotten a penalty for pushing Albon off the road.”

“I didn’t know he was there,” Charles explained, snapping his head away.

“Obviously,” Riley returned bitterly. “I bet you won’t even be able to recover from it,” she spit out, pushing past him to make her exit. She should have known coming here would lead to an argument.

He reached his hand behind, grabbing onto her arm and stopping her as she gripped the door handle. “How much?” He asked, not looking at her.

“What?” Riley asked, rolling her eyes preemptively at whatever Charles would say next.

“How much do you want to bet that I won’t be able to recover from P17?” And then he thought better of it. “No–that I won’t be able to get past you.”

Riley paused to think. If she could hold off Charles, maybe he would see that she was a good driver. That’s if he could even make it up by her in the grid. He might even be kinder to her after this. She turned to face him. “If I win,” she said, “you’ll introduce me to your driver friends.” It was an embarrassing request, to say the least, but Riley was growing desperate. She wanted to have friends like Charles, more than that, she wanted to be liked by Charles. It meant more to her than she cared to admit and she wasn’t quite sure why.

Charles laughed at her request. “Isn’t that what you have Russell for?” He asked, referring to her best friend.

“George is…” She couldn’t say what she was really thinking. That he was great, but he was working for the enemy? That she couldn’t count on someone that was beholden to the whims of her father? “It’s not important,” she finished finally. “Those are my terms.”

“Trouble in paradise I take it?” Charles asked sardonically. “In any case,” he said, “if I win, you’ll leave me alone.” Sounds simple enough. “And you’ll promise never to fight with me on the track.”

Now that was just ridiculous, and frankly, insane.

“You’re on.”

______________________________________________________________

Riley tried to put Charles out of her mind–she really did. Tonight was not about him. It was about her, and her debut race with Ferrari. The only race that matters is the one ahead of her, not the one with the man behind her.

Unfortunately for her, the race ahead of her was with George. It’s not like they had never toughed it out on the track before, but something about their new circumstances made everything feel more intense.

She still hadn’t found the Brit and was beginning to feel like he was avoiding her–which was just simply not George. When she did finally see him, he was already seated in the car in the row ahead of her. Various mechanics and engineers that scattered the starting grid were making their exit. George’s weirdness was a matter that would have to wait because the Bahrain Grand Prix was about to begin.

Those five red lights were all she paid attention to. She could practically hear the, “And it’s lights out and away we go!” as the last light went out.

Pedal to the floor, Riley shot off. She had a good start, but not good enough to get past George. The first corner came immediately and Riley saw her chance to overtake George on the inside. She tried to go right, but suddenly George was there, cutting her off abruptly and forcing her to brake earlier than she wanted to. And then the other black Mercedes livery popped up next to her. Lewis. He took the opportunity to pass Riley on the outside to her left, catching up to his teammate.

Great. It’s been barely 20 seconds since the start of the race and Riley had already lost a position. It was to be expected, but she was really holding out for the alternative. Things wouldn’t be looking so good for Ferrari if Riley lost positions with Charles at the back of the grid.

Things calmed down after those first couple of corners and Riley put her all into defending. Lewis (and George) fell further out of her reach.

“Current position is 5th,” her Engineer’s voice came through the radio. “Pierre is behind. Gap 3.2.”

It was a warning. That she was hearing the gap from the person behind her instead of the one in front was never a good sign. Whatever she did, she could not let Pierre get past her.

Defend. Defend. Defend.

Pierre could not get past her and a few laps in, there was a little more air to breathe between both cars. But Riley couldn’t relax. She took in a breath. All that mattered was the road before her.

“Box, box.” Riley heard the command to pit. She was concerned about pitting with Pierre right behind her, but to her surprise, he trailed after her as she entered the pit lane.

For a brief second, the smell of burnt rubber wafted through the air as the mechanics switched her over to hards. She was praying for the Ferrari strategy to be enough. The pit was fast enough that she still maintained her position ahead of Pierre. Thank god for at least that.

She pulled out of the pit lane and adjusted herself to the proper position on the track and Pierre followed suit behind. And then, behind Pierre, a flash of red in her mirrors. “No,” she said to herself in disbelief. There was no way. He started 17th!

“Who is behind Pierre?” She asked her engineer.

“We’re not worried about that right now,” her engineer replied curtly. But at the risk of sounding bossy, she demanded again, “Who is it?”

A sigh and then, “Charles.”

She would not allow herself to react. Not audibly at least. This was not good. If Charles got behind her, either two things could happen. Number one, he passes her, embarrassing her capability in the process. Or number two, team orders. If Charles had a better pace than her, which seemed impossibly true at the moment, the team could demand the two to switch places. But it was way too early in the season for anything like that to happen, right?

This was all hypothetical anyways until Charles passes Pierre–oh fuck, Pierre might pass her. She was so distracted that she didn’t realize just how much the Frenchman had crept up on her. He was close enough that he would surely get DRS on the next straight.

Her red car and Pierre’s pink one went back and forth, trading spots after almost every corner. Then sure enough, as she pushed ahead of him in turn 10, his DRS activated once they hit the straight, and Riley was done for. She could have sworn she saw a little wave from Pierre as he went around her. The prick.

On the bright side, there was no way she didn’t have better tires than Charles. She still couldn’t comprehend how he had made it from 17th all the way to 7th.

Lap after lap, Charles kept his distance. Probably nursing what’s left of his tires. The team couldn’t ask her to switch spots with him. It wouldn’t look good on them. It’d be favoritism from the first race.

Then with ten laps to go, there he was. Riley was too focused on Charles, but she could imagine the crowd around them growing wild as the gap between them closed off. At some points, Riley would have the advantage and be out of his reach, and then at others, he was right beside her, threatening to take her spot and win the bet alongside it.

She had almost forgotten all about Pierre. No doubt the live coverage was focused on the battle for 5th. She was in a terrible position, sandwiched between the two old friends.

Coming into the last corner, just when victory was in sight, Pierre braked early, throwing her off.

“Did he just brake check me?” She yelled into her mic.

“We’ll look into it,” her engineer answered.

Because of Pierre, she had to slow down in an instant, pace and traction declining rapidly, allowing Charles to casually slip past her across the finish line.

“P7, Riley,” she was told over the radio.

It was chaos in the stands, but completely silent in Riley’s head. “I’m sorry guys. We’ll do better next time,” she said, trying not to sound as dismal as she felt. She knew the cheering red caps and shirts she saw in the crowd weren’t for her. They were for Charles. The realization saddened her.

When her car finally came to a stop, she just sat there for a moment. This wasn’t how she anticipated her first race of the season to go with her new team.

A voice crackled through her radio. “Pierre will be getting a 5-second penalty for the braking incident,” she heard. “That puts him just behind you. You are P6 now, P6.”

She’d take it, but she wouldn’t celebrate the little victory–she had Charles to compare herself to. And no doubt he won Driver of the Day with that ridiculous drive.

She climbed out of the car and took off her helmet. Her hair had to resemble that of a bird’s nest. Then she spotted Charles and Pierre talking together by the Alpine garage and felt a sting of dissatisfaction. It wasn’t fair how good the male drivers looked post-race. The way sweat clung to their hair somehow only made them more attractive. And the way they wore their suits around their waist–she’d die before ever admitting her thoughts. George had asked her once how he looked after a race, and she quite literally ran away.

As if her thoughts summoned his attention, Charles gave her a once-over. His gray eyes bore into hers even from the distance. Pierre took notice and looked her way too. Both boys kept their eyes on her as she went to do interviews, helmet in hand. There was something charged about the interaction. It felt like their stares held a message in them she couldn’t decipher. It was odd, but there was little she could do about it. She promised Charles she’d leave him alone if she lost. She didn’t even want to consider the other terms of their agreement right now. If this was how every race was going to be, then it would be a long season for Riley.

Pierre suddenly appeared by her side and Charles vanished. “What do you want?” She said, forcing him to walk with her. She tried not to the primal instincts she felt when looking at Pierre affect her stoic behavior.

“To talk,” he responded casually with that standard smirk on his face.

“The media will think we’re arguing after that stunt you pulled,” was all Riley said.

“Let them think what they want,” he said coolly.

“Easy for you to say,” she muttered. Her curiosity was too strong. “Why did you do it then?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” he said. At her confusion, he continued to explain. “You’re little bet with Charles.”

Riley’s face flushed. “Oh. It doesn’t matter now,” she said. And then quickly, with an eye roll, added, “I asked you first anyway.”

“You’re not the only one making deals with the devil,” he answered cryptically. What was with these short quips? It wasn’t as if Riley and Pierre had ever bantered before. “But maybe I just wanted a good reason to come talk to you.” Was he flirting?

Riley scoffed, choosing to focus on his first statement. “You mean to say that Charles played you?” Whatever Pierre was hoping to get out of this could not have been worth the loss to both her and Charles. There was something else going on here.

She reached the media area where George seemed to be waiting for her having just finished up with interviews of his own. He stood against a wall drinking water. Her friend finished fourth, not bad at all, but probably not what he wanted.

“Then it seems we already have something in common,” Pierre said smoothly. He nodded at George and then strolled off, taking his mysterious aura with him.

Riley tried to shake the way Pierre’s words managed to unsettle her. What did he mean by–well anything he said? She’d have to keep an eye on him.

“I’m sorry, Riles,” George said to her. “You’ll do better next time. I’m sure of it.”

Riley ignored his comments, more concerned about other things with George than the race. “Where have you been?” Obviously, she knew exactly where he was, but she wanted to know why George hadn’t responded to a single text of hers or come to see her before the race as they had always done.

“Yeah, about that,” he said, pulling her off to the side in a hushed tone. “Toto thought it’d be best if I didn’t get distracted before the race.”

“So he told you not to see me,” Riley reiterated for him, partially exasperated. This was the least of her qualms with her father.

Her father, Charles and Pierre, and now George? Screw all of this, she thought.

As if reading her mind, George said, “Well, he can control what I do before the race, not after.” There was a mischievous glint in his eyes with a genius idea brewing in his mind. Riley recognized his thinking face. “We are going out tonight!” He exclaimed loudly enough for several people to turn their heads.

She gave George a look that said “seriously?” in response.

“Come on,” he said, “you can’t say no to this face. It’s scientifically proven.”

A shout came from out of nowhere in response. “It’s true!” The voice came from across the paddock and belonged to Lando Norris. The boy in the orange suit was beaming.

“Fine,” Riley responded.

“Yes!” George cheered at the same time as Lando.

“Did I miss something?” Riley asked in confusion over Lando’s sudden insertion into their dynamic.

“Oh, Riley,” George shook his head. “The things I do for you.”

______________________________________________________________

“You didn’t have to do that, mate,” Charles said, back in his driver’s room, cooling off.

“She almost had you,” Pierre laughed. “What else was I supposed to do?” He said it as if it was the most obvious choice in the world.

“Not get a penalty in the first race of the season,” Charles countered. It wasn’t like Pierre to be so reckless so early on.

“You’re one to talk,” Pierre said. “Besides, I don’t think your little deal will work out how you want it to anyway.”

“So this is sabotage then?” Charles furrowed his eyebrows. What could his friend possibly get out of this?

A grin crept onto Pierre’s face. “Something like that.”

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monstersandmaw · 2 years

Text

Male ‘yautja inspired’ alien x gender neutral reader - Part Three (sfw)

Disclaimer which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

___

Well, folks. You’ve absolutely floored me with your support for this story. I don’t know where to begin to thank you. Without further ado, here’s Part Three. It’s only had one edit this time, so please forgive any mistakes???

I will just quickly remind you that this isn’t technically a Predator/Yautja fanfic. It’s heavily inspired, but to the people ‘correcting’ my lore mistakes with asks that I’ve largely ignored, it’s not supposed to be ‘canon’ or accurate. It’s just a story with aliens who look like predators because I don’t want to spend time doing research and I love the design. Yes, they are basically a feral predator and a jungle predator, but just not in name and not in lore detail, so there’s no need to ‘correct’ me. Thanks. (Also Croc is gonna get his own story at some point in the future, I’m determined. Just not with this reader)

Contents: mention of loss of comrade’s life, thunderstorm, all the tropes, the start of some classic pining, some misunderstanding, some soft chat, Croc starting to be an exasperated wingman, and everyone’s favourite trope to finish with: there was only one bed... Wordcount: 4744

Part One (sfw), Part Two (sfw)

Neither of the aliens was anywhere to be seen when you finally stepped out into the chilly, misty morning after a night of broken sleep. Your neck twinged and your back hurt something fierce after so many nights with nothing but a flimsy camping mat between you and the lumpy forest floor. Arching your spine and hearing it pop quietly in the still air of the campsite, you moaned and wished for a comfy bed and a hot bath.

“The hell am I doing…?” you whispered.

Groggy, stiff, and more than a little sticky and gritty after days of hiking alone through the pine forest, you knew that face wipes were just not going to cut it for the fourth day in a row.

Given that it would be three days until their backup arrived, you figured you’d hang around the crash site — see if you couldn’t get them to open up a bit more about their culture, and about these other terrifying aliens they were hunting — and then slip away well before their help arrived. No need to push your luck with a species that was not known for being universally peaceful with strangers; after all, their backup might mistake you for the reason they were shot down…

You poked your head into the now-cool wreckage of their ship and stared around at the dark grey, polished metal walls and surfaces. Some areas though looked more like black, woven carbon fibre than metal, with glowing gold panels behind like carved, back-lit amber. They were too far off to see properly though, and with the grounded ship sitting at that angle, it was difficult to make out much else. There were a few doorways and compartments you could have poked around in, but since neither Big Red nor Croc was anywhere to be found in the limited area of the grounded ship that was still accessible, and since you couldn’t read the glyphs on any of the surfaces, you decided to leave it all well alone.

Their stuff was all still at the campsite though, stacked neatly beneath the tarpaulin. They hadn’t tramped off during the night to meet their rescuers at a different rendezvous point then, and you stood with your hands on your hips and stared around the campsite. Your breath fogged the air in front of you and you watched it twist and billow.

For a moment, it seemed as though the scent of fresh smoke drifted through the silent trees, but it could just have been coming from the wreckage, eddying in slow-spiralling drafts around the crash site. The acrid smell of it got in your nose and made you scowl and cough.

Your canteen needed refreshing and a glance down at your hiking gear brought a grimace to your face. After digging out a camping towel and the rest of your dirty laundry from your pack, you headed back to the stream from the previous night to rinse it out, wondering all the while where your two companions were. Even though the autumn air was cold, your clothes were all made of light, quick-drying fabric, and with an abundance of summer-dry pine wood all around you — half of it conveniently shattered to kindling from the impact of the crash — you’d have no trouble starting a fire if you needed a bit more heat.

With no one in sight when you reached the creek, you started by rinsing out your clothes in the clear water. The cold bit into your hands, piercing right down to the bone and making your movements slow and clumsy, but with that eventually done, you draped your laundry temporarily over a branch and weighed up whether you wanted to risk hypothermia just to get yourself clean for a while.

Deciding that getting briefly cold was preferable to remaining perpetually sticky, you stripped off and stepped down into the gully again. The basin of rock at the bottom was just deep enough and wide enough to stand in so that the water came up to lap around your ankles, but it wasn’t the kind of dreamy plunge pool worthy of a travel blog. It was slippery, slimy with green algae, and excruciatingly cold. Still, it would be enough for what your grandmother used to call a ‘cat’s lick and a promise’.

Stark naked, you dunked your upper body into the spattering stream of water and bit back a shriek as it hit your flesh. Hunched over and leaning close to the mossy wall, you rinsed your head and face, scrubbed beneath your arms and briefly between your legs, and then turned your back on the stream to rinse off your shoulders and back.

Turning around revealed a sliver of the view between the trees of the horseshoe valley below, and, more immediately, Big Red standing on a boulder about twenty paces away.

He wasn’t watching you though. Quite the contrary, he had his back to you and was staring off at the same sliver of forest framed by trees, but nevertheless you yelped in surprise at finding him there.

“I will not look,” he said in response.

“Fucking hell,” you spat back at him through chattering teeth as your whole body started to spasm from the cold. “How long have you been there?”

“Not long. I heard movement as I was coming back up the hill, but discovered… you.”

“Right.”

Perfect.

An alien had probably just seen you buck fucking naked, even if for only a second.

“Fuck. Fuck it’s cold.” You thought you heard him chitter a little laugh as you careered and splashed out of the stream like a panicked wildebeest and floundered up towards your camping towel to dry yourself off.

All the while you flailed around with the towel, Big Red remained completely silent and unmoving. Eventually — dry, dressed, and a little bit warmer — you turned around to find him exactly as you’d last seen him, staring out at the misty forest below.

There was something eerily melancholic in the set of his colossal shoulders and the stack of his spine though, and you paused, leaving your laundry where it was and approaching him quietly from behind.

Perhaps it was the cold that had taken the majority of your brain cells offline, but you came over to stand beside him on the flat rock and looked up at him. “Are you alight?” you asked in a soft murmur.

At that, he tilted his head down at you, mask glinting in the misty morning light. “Yes,” he said. After a beat he added, “We — ‘Croc’ and I — We burned our fallen squad-mate’s body at dawn.”

That explained the smoke on the air. With all the goings on of the previous evening, you’d forgotten that he’d said there had been one more.

Your heart twisted in your chest at his words and you reached instinctively for his bare bicep to squeeze the solid muscle with half-frozen fingers. “I’m so sorry,” you said, and turned to leave. “I won’t intrude.”

“Your presence is… welcome,” he rasped, though he returned his attention to the view. “You do not have to leave, though you have lost a lot of heat in that water.”

With a cosy fleece on to help warm you up, it was hardly an inconvenience to keep Big Red company for a while.

Neither of you broke the silence for a long time. Red just stood there with his hands cupped under his elbows, arms hugged across his bare chest, staring out at the trees in the crescent-moon valley below. It was choked in a pale fog beneath a heavy, iron-grey sky, and the details of the landscape blurred into nothing after no more than a quarter of a mile. Birds were still singing though, and Red seemed completely captivated by it.

Eventually, rocking on the balls of your feet to try and keep warm, you glanced back up at him. “What’s your planet like? ‘Secundus’, I mean.”

He spoke without looking down at you. “It is… not like this —” he gestured with his hand towards the gap in the trees “— Prime is more like this, but… the jungle there is… hot.”

“We’ve got hot and sweaty jungles here on Earth too. Croc might be happier there.”

Big Red nodded once.

“What about you?”

“I am used to… arid deserts,” he said. “Heat, sand, rock… Not trees for miles. Not… cold.” He said the word with such bafflement that you wondered if perhaps this was the coldest place he’d ever been.

“You’re cold now?” you asked and he nodded. With a little smirk, you said, “Well, maybe you should wear some more clothes then, you big exhibitionist.”

At that, Red did look down at you. At least, you thought he was looking. It was hard to tell with the mask on. His mandibles pinched inwards, puckering his mouth into a tight kind of scowl. “You are still below average temperature for a human,” he said.

“I’m warming up though. The walk back up to the camp should help too.”

Big Red nodded. “You should go.”

“Do you want me to?”

After a pause, he shook his head. The movement was so tiny you might have missed it altogether had not his braids clicked together softly.

“Can I ask you something else then?”

Again, he nodded. “So many questions.”

“Can you blame me?”

He laughed quietly at that and shook his head.

“Do you see in heat? In infra-red, I mean?”

Another nod. “I can see with my eyes too, but… they are weak. Especially here. The mask… lets me see the distance… and details.”

“Is that why you keep it on all the time?”

A long moment of silence stretched between you. “No.” He didn’t seem to want to elaborate more on that and you inhaled deeply, wondering what to ask next.

“How does it work?”

He sighed and raised his hand to his face. He lifted the mask off and immediately turned his face away from you again so that you couldn’t see him properly.

He was almost tall enough for it to work.

In profile though, you could just about see the delicate, prehensile mandibles, and a flat looking face that sloped up towards his large cranium, and you even glimpsed small, very deep-set eyes. His skin was a greyish red, like campfire ash, that faded to a pale, speckled gold in the centre of his face, and he didn’t seem to have the coronet of short spikes that Croc did just before the start of his cylindrical ‘braids’.

Without turning towards you, he stuck his hand out and offered his mask to you, inside facing upwards. You took it carefully in both hands, tearing your eyes away from what you could see of his face to stare at the mask, turning it over to stare at the smaller details. It was heavier than you’d expected it to be, but while the outside was made of stark, smooth bone, the inside was a warm, dark metal, similar to that of the ship’s interior. It was obvious that there were no eye-holes like there were in the metal ones you’d seen in the footage back at the base, and there were tiny little pads all over the inside that tingled when you ran your fingers over them. Some kind of electrode, perhaps.

“Is this how I saw all those images yesterday?” you asked and he grunted assent. “Never imagined I’d be plugging my brain into a piece of alien technology like it’s the fucking Matrix.”

He chirruped in confusion and almost turned to look at you, but caught himself in time. “I… do not understand.”

“It’s a film from the late nineties,” you muttered, returning your gaze to the mask and turning it over to look at the bone side. Trailing a fingertip along the tiny, almost cuneiform carvings that had been delicately engraved into the surface in an interlocking pattern, you asked, “Do you guys have movies?”

“Yes, but not like you do. They are… generated with… something close to what you call computer.”

“Boring. No actors and celebrities then?”

He shook his head. “We have famous warriors.”

“Naturally,” you quipped and he clicked his mandibles at you in amused agreement. “I think you’d like The Matrix,” you said, glancing up at him again. He was still angled away from you but you could feel his whole attention on you just the same. “I wonder if you could watch it in your head with this… Actually, that would be kind of perfect. The premise is that humanity is trapped in a kind of simulated reality, while machines feed off our bodies for energy but there’s this one guy — you know what, never mind. You should just watch it if you can.”

His mandibles twitched into what you’d come to assume was a slightly exasperated smile. He clicked at you but didn’t say anything in English.

When he didn’t move for a long stretch of minutes, either to take the mask back or to show you his face, you went out on a limb and asked, “Why don’t you want to look at me?”

He tensed and rotated his torso just a fraction further from you and shook his head, making his waxy ‘braids’ rattle against each other across his powerful shoulder and back muscles. The desire to touch, to feel his cool, hard skin beneath your fingertips was almost overwhelming again.

Exhaling in resigned defeat, you nudged his mask against the crook of his elbow and turned away while he took it in fumbling fingers. You left him standing on the rock and headed back up to the camp without looking at him. You were different species, after all, and you couldn’t expect to understand every little nuance of custom in a single day. Maybe Croc would explain it to you, if you could get him alone.

Croc was actually already back at camp when you trudged in with your armful of wet laundry, and he had started a cheery little campfire going too, despite the damp weather. You used the bit of spare cabling he offered you from the ship to string a temporary washing line between two trees, and draped your wet clothes over it to start drying off. That done, you approached Croc’s fire and asked if you could sit.

He grinned up at you from where he was perched on a crate and nodded enthusiastically.

“Big Red told me about your friend. I’m sorry,” you said.

Inclining his head formally, he said, “He is… at peace now. It is… the way of all our warriors.”

With a nod, you left the matter there. “How’s your arm?” It looked blackened and burned, but he seemed oddly sanguine about such a significant loss.

Again, he just shrugged.

“Is it… painful?”

Croc nodded. “A little,” he admitted. “But when we are… back on the mothership, I will… have a… How do humans call it…?” He mimed slotting something over the stump with his hand.

“A prosthetic?” you ventured.

“Yes! Though I have seen yours…” He didn't look impressed. “Ours are… permanent. Many warriors have… lost limbs… fighting the enemy. It is not so bad to… get made a new one.”

You nodded. “We could use tech like that,” you said under your breath. “Red told me a bit about this ‘enemy’ of yours… where are they from?”

The fire cracked and popped, and Croc told you what he could in his faltering way about the enemy they had fought for millennia on their planet. Apparently they had begun to spread off-world, and so his kind had followed, hunting them down. Croc then began to ask you a bit about your life, and about humans in general, and while you were sitting there, the mist thickened into a sheeting drizzle. You raced to pull in your laundry while Croc watched and laughed at you for trying to save the fabric, and once you’d dumped it all in your tent in a damp pile, you returned to sit with him again under the shelter of the tarp.

“Wear no clothes,” he said. “Then nothing to worry about!”

“Easy for you to say,” you scoffed, laughing. “Look at you! You’re both built like a tank!”

The rain drifted across the crash site in thick curtains, and despite the fleece and the protective tarpaulin, it wasn’t long before the elements started to creep down your collar and make you shiver.

“Red’s gonna get cold out there,” you murmured. There had been no sign of him for hours.

“Boss knows… how to take care of… himself,” Croc shrugged, but he didn't say it with his usual, affable confidence. He was worried about his friend too. “I must… take care of my weapon,” he announced, and you hoped to God that wasn't a euphemism.

Luckily it wasn’t, and he rose and returned a moment later from the ship with a complicated looking weapon that resembled some kind of sci-fi blaster gun. He laid it down on top of a crate, took out some kind of maintenance kit, and got to work.

You watched in silent fascination while he worked, and when he was just tightening the last screws on the casing, you asked about Red’s mask.

“Croc? Can I ask you something?”

He straightened up from his work, a tiny screwdriver held in his thick, clawed fingers like a surgeon’s knife. His yellow, reptilian eyes met yours, openly intrigued and he nodded. He seemed to enjoy answering your questions when he could.

“How come Big Red wears a mask all the time but you don’t? Is it a different species thing?”

Croc laughed at that, and half-turned his attention back to tightening whatever it was in the weapon that needed it. “No. But you have great honour… in seeing a warrior without their… helmet,” he said. There was a playful lilt to his tone that was almost self-effacing. From the way he said it, you got the impression that it would have been a great honour if he’d actually been given the choice about it, but now that it had happened, he didn’t mind.

His words kindled a sinking feeling in your gut though; Red clearly didn’t think you worthy enough of the honour of seeing his face, despite having saved his squad-mate’s life. Then again, you supposed it was fair enough. You barely knew him, and you were an alien too, in his eyes. Why should you get the honour of seeing him anyway?

Croc watched your reaction carefully. “My helmet…” he said, “It was destroyed… in the crash. When —” he cut off to make a series of clicks that clearly formed a name, though it didn’t sound like Red’s “— was killed and… that hole was blasted into the ship,” he said, indicating the gaping maw in the hull, “My helmet took… damage. Broken. I will manage without technology though.” With an honest-to-God, conspiratorial wink, he added, “Boss would struggle without his… He cannot see well with his eyes. And I am… much smarter than him. Adapt much better to Earth…” With another coltish grin he leaned in closer and added, “And much better looking, even to humans.”

Without warning, just as you barked a loud laugh, a small section of pine log hurtled through the air towards Croc. He spun and shot it out of the sky with the freshly-conditioned weapon, where it shattered to a spray of tinder on impact. He roared a belligerent, joyful challenge while debris rained down around you, and you turned to see Big Red standing on the far edge of the clearing, his shoulders rising and falling noticeably as he breathed. Then he spread his jaws as wide as he had when he’d charged you down the day before, and bellowed back at Croc.

Croc laughed and shook his head, responding to his superior in their own language. Croc then shot you a look when you just stood there in shock. “He challenges me. You are doubly honoured, human,” he said with a wry intonation that wasn’t dimmed by his difficulties in getting the sounds out around his sharp mandibles. “You get to watch two great warriors of our kind fight.”

“But… your arm,” you faltered, horrified. “Croc, you’re still healing…”

The shock must have shown in your face because he just laughed again. “We spar, small human… Not a real fight. Though,” he added with a few taunting clicks of his mandibles in Red’s direction, “Boss will not hold back.”

The ensuing fight took your breath away.

Croc reached into the cavity of the ship and tossed a small, metal stave over at Red, who caught it deftly and activated it to turn it into another one of the long, harpoon-like spears that were holding up two points of the canvas roof over part of the campsite.

The clearing naturally formed a kind of fighting ring, and the two circled each other with the familiarity of old sparring partners.

Croc said something that was clearly a taunt, but Red didn’t fall for it. He let Croc go first, whirling the spear around one-handed with surprising deftness. He clearly missed his other arm though, and went to grab the spear with a limb that was no longer there a few times, but once the two got into their stride, it was incredible. They danced around each other until finally Red struck with whip-crack speed. He swept Croc’s legs out from under him and held him in place on his back with the spear point steady at his throat. When Croc clicked at him, Red stepped back formally and waited for him to rise.

Red was faster and more precise than Croc, but Croc, even with his recently-acquired disability, was as powerful as his namesake, and more than once he knocked Red to the ground with a grunt of expelled air from his lungs. Once he even nicked Red’s upper arm with the blade at the tip of the spear, sending a trickle of lime green blood down his rust-red skin.

The way they moved together through the rain in perfect synchrony was mesmeric. Time passed, and it could have been minutes or hours before they finally drew to a halt.

They bowed, breathing hard, mandibles open, and then stepped close to one another. Touching foreheads as they had done the previous day, they touched their fang-tips to each other’s and then relaxed, turning away. Both of them were breathing hard, chests rising and falling while the rain poured off them like water down a cliff face.

“I’ve seen the soldiers on the base fight before…” you said as Red stalked over and grabbed a canteen of his own from the ship’s supplies, upending it into his stretching maw. The liquid was an unappetising pinkish-purple, the same as the plants you’d seen in the footage of the alien they were hunting, and although he drank deeply, he was obviously listening to you. “…But I’ve never seen anyone fight like that. You two are…”

“Impressive?” Croc grinned, coming up beside Red and slapping his commander on the small of his back, well out of the way of his braids.

Red tossed a snide comment over his shoulder at Croc, who laughed. “I can still… almost beat him… with only one arm. Boss is losing his… edge. Even with an audience.”

Big Red shook his head and quietly offered Croc the bottle, which he took.

The three of you settled down by the fire after that while the weather worsened, and by late afternoon, you had listened to them tell you, in their stilted, awkward way of speaking English, about how their ships worked, what the structure of their society was like, and roughly how many of their kind there were on Earth at the moment. Not many. Not enough to face the enemy, you realised.

“You’re going to need humans to get involved in this hunt too, aren’t you?” you asked, and after exchanging a brief look, both Croc and Red nodded. “You want me to talk to my boss when I get back?”

“I will show you… what you need to know… about them,” Big Red said, tapping his mask with a claw again. “You can tell them. Prepare.”

Puffing your cheeks out, you exhaled and nodded.

They ate rations that seemed similar to what you were living off — necessary, but not something they’d pick given the choice — and as night closed in and the weather picked up to a lashing rain, you dashed across the muddy crash site and dived into your tent for the night to write up your notes. You had a small camera with you, but you hadn’t dared ask them if they would consent to being filmed, and something about it made you feel… wrong somehow. It turned them from a vastly intelligent, sapient race into something akin to laboratory specimens for analysis, and that didn’t sit right with you.

Three hours later, as a full-blown storm crashed down on the forest outside, you began to shiver. It wasn’t so much the cold, though the damp was creeping up through the earth, through the groundsheet and into the mat, but good, old-fashioned fear. You’d never been outside in this kind of weather before, and although your tent was military-issue, its flapping walls felt very flimsy.

A tree fell with an ear-rending series of cracks a little while later and you forced yourself to breathe steadily. It did absolutely nothing for your galloping heart rate, and you curled in on yourself, huddling more tightly in your sleeping bag and trying not to whimper. Like a child, you wanted to draw something over your head and hide away until it was all over.

An indistinct roar rose above the howling wind and you opened your eyes to see a figure silhouetted against the fabric of your tent like a slasher from a horror movie. For a wild moment, your mind went completely blank until you recognised the timbre of the roar. It was Big Red.

With shaking fingers, you unzipped your tent and a face full of rain and spray blasted in almost immediately.

“Not safe…” Red growled, reaching into your tent with his huge hand and practically yanking you to your feet.

“Wait!” you shrieked, flailing. “Let me put some boots on before you drag me out into a fucking storm!”

Red released you and stepped back. Water cascaded in rivulets down his bare, hard skin, and the contours of his body were illuminated by the steady glow of a flashlight that must have come from their ship.

You stuffed your feet into your boots, grabbed your phone and the small emergency pack from the top of your rucksack, and bundled yourself up into a waterproof.

Praying that your flimsy tent would still be there in the morning, you stepped out, zipped it up again, and scuttled at Red’s side towards the hole in the side of the hull of his ship.

“Now what?” you yelled up at him above the racket of the wind that raced past the opening.

Red didn’t waste time with words, and just pointed. A small hatch was open in the ship’s inner wall that you could have sworn was closed earlier, and you ducked unquestioningly through it to find a cosy chamber, though everything was rotated ninety degrees after the crash. A bunk had been bolted to the bulkhead, but Red had dragged the mattress off it and laid it on the wall which was now the floor.

“If you do not… mind,” he said. “You may sleep here. It is safer than out there.”

You nodded. “What about you?”

“I will go with Croc.”

Red turned to go, but something made you call out to him. “Wait.”

He stopped halfway through ducking out of the doorway and regarded you.

“You could stay,” you said. “I’m smaller than Croc. You’ll have more room.”

“You… would not… mind?”

With a little smile, you shrugged out of your waterproof and crossed to hang it from a peg near the door. He watched you closely, as though expecting you to change your mind.

The water that was still dripping off your coat made a musical little rhythm as it hit the floor and you shook your head. “So long as you dry yourself off first, I don’t mind at all.”

___

Next Chapter --->

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courtingchaos · 1 year

Text

Rent the Space Inside My Mind

1 I 2 I 3 I 4 I 5 I 6

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Female!Reader

Summary: Man, remember that picture you found? I wonder how you two decide to deal with that little hiccup...

A/N: I've finally come to the realization that this little fic is a labor of love for me. It's my baby so it isn't ever really going to have a real updating schedule. All of that to say, thank you for sticking around and reading you guys! Not a spoiler but just so you know, the end kind of reads like An End, but I have a lot more planned for theses two. This is just like, and end to the pining.

Also, I know others are reading this, but I'm giving a whole shoutout to @fracturedarkness who has been the best cheerleader for me with this story from essentially day one. Literally a ray of sunshine 😘😘😘

(If y'all want a soundtrack at all, just listen to Hozier's Wasteland! Baby. Seriously it's basically all I listened to.)

Warnings: SMUT! There's smut! Halleluiah! 18+ NSFW Minors GTFO

In sixth grade Eddie had caught mono. It was the first serious illness that Wayne had to deal with since taking guardianship four years earlier. Eddie had moaned around the trailer for two weeks, unable to stay awake for more than a few hours at a time. He’d been exhausted and couldn’t swallow right. The fever he’d get at night made him nauseous those first few days and that’s the only thing he can compare this sick twist in his gut to.

Between the picture clutched in your fingers and the intense look on your face, Eddie thinks he might just turn inside out.

“Ed?”

It sounds like an accusation in his ears. You’ve found him out, evidence catching the light where it waves around between the two of you. Forget trying to tell you his feelings, he’s got a date with buckshot later.

He takes it back actually, this feels the same as the day you accidentally met his dad. The sudden visit on a rare stint between prison stays. The lead weight of fear and sadness and pure fucking rage making him go cold and numb.

Eddie is so tired of shit going wrong in his life.

“Eddie?” How do you sound so soft when he has clearly screwed up so bad?

Also, he went for one shower after making a stupid mess and you decided to what, go through his shit?

Don’t start

There’s a black mood he gets in sometimes. It creeps up his insides, stains him dark. It makes him mean and he doesn’t want to be mean, not to you. Not to anyone really.

He knows on a deeper level this is his fault, it was only a matter of time before you found the picture. Tucked in books and forgotten in his sheets he’s honestly surprised it’s taken this long.

“Eddie!” The sharpness of his name jerks his head out of the haze he’s in. Sees your eyes clearly and you’re not mad, in fact he thinks that might be a smile hidden under all the confusion.

“Where did you get this?” Even and calm. Could you lend him some of that? His throat clicks when he tries to swallow.

“I think uh, I think I took it. On ha-Halloween. Last year.” He doesn’t recognize his own voice, the deep scratch of it. “We were drunk at Hagan’s. I don’t know wh-“

“You took this?” Another wiggle of the polaroid. Your grip on the box of weed is still white knuckled. Okay, maybe that wasn’t a smile. He can’t really tell anymore, the panic settling in firing off all his alarm bells.

“You weren’t supposed to find it.” He’s so quiet, hasn’t been quiet like this in a long time. Wasn’t even this quiet sneaking into bedrooms.

You take a step forward and he launches back. Head hits the door frame and if god is real he would let the paneling swallow him whole right now.

“Why do you have this? Why all the-” you gesture behind you, “why all my shit? You told me you hadn’t seen my Theo figure anywhere and she’s in the drawer with all my shit!” Your voice gets tight, face scrunching up in complete confusion. “I thought I was loosing my stuff but you’re just stealing all of it! My zippo! Eddie what the fuck?!” No, right, there’s the anger. He’s pressed so firmly against the door jam it’s guaranteed to leave marks for a week. You take another step forward and he has nowhere to go, pinned under your scrutiny and words and the waving hand holding his shame. But where your voice was rising in anger, it drops suddenly, slides into something softer. “Why do you have this?”

Yeah Eddie, why do you have it?

It’s a total accumulation of, let’s be real, two years of unrepentant pining. Two years of being a dick and going after easy girls because you were off limits in his own doctrine. Too good a friend to ruin the relationship, and too good a person to ruin with himself. It’s nights spent at the bookstore waiting for you to get off, watching with a burning in his gut as the dipshit college guy you work with tries to edge his way into a date. Blunts and cigarettes shared like kisses between lips he isn’t allowed to taste otherwise. It’s the grappling like two idiots fighting, breathless giggles and rough shoves that end in headlock hugs and usually him tapping out first, unable to stand being in your embrace if it isn’t for keeps.

“I…” the space in his room is somehow bigger than it’s ever been, leaving him adrift in the chaos of his things and your things and the too thin air that you’re somehow breathing in just fine. There’s a stutter in his chest where he’s not catching his breath, the familiar heat behind his eyes where the tears are trying to rush forward. “It’s just-fuck! It’s such a creep…move I know and I just didn’t want to l-let it go because it was a good night and-and a good picture and your hand…” he’d dropped his eyes to stare at your feet, unable to say his half-assed explanation to your face. “Your hand. On my leg.” Just a whisper. Swings his hand limply toward you. “I just, it was a nice thought.” His throat is tight and he’s afraid if you keep looking at him he might cry.

He’s watched you take enough steps forward so you’re practically toe to toe with him. In his peripheral he watches you toss the box behind you onto the bed, your other clutching the evidence lightly taps against his chest and rests there.

He looks up through his lashes and his hair, keeping his sight obscured like it’ll protect him from whatever you’re about to say.

“I can’t believe-“ you cut off with a laugh and a shake of your head, that small smile he thought he saw turning back up. “I feel so fucking stupid.”

Eddie’s stomach has disappeared along with the rest of his insides. There’s never been a real foundation of proof for him, just stolen glances he’s caught you in. That lingering look you’d give him, the way you’d hang onto him longer during a hug sometimes. Mostly just blind hope and his own low simmering ego to egg him on.

“Do you want to know what I did this morning?” He nods, he really does want to know. There’s the smallest drip of warmth trickling down his back with your words.

“I woke up and I thought about you. First thought of the day.” A deep breath and he can see the pink blooming up out of the collar of his shirt you’re wearing. “I thought about you and I felt so stupid after, for sitting in the dark and pretending that you’d ever-“ You stop yourself again and drop your eyes to stare at your hand on his chest.

“You thought about me?” He asks and you nod slowly. He’s got an idea about what that might mean. “Do you maybe also have a secret polaroid?”

A break in the tension and you take a step back, laughing. A real one he knows, warm and happy. The photo hits him in the chest where your hand just was, where you’ve just flicked it at him. “How long Eddie?”

“What?” He grabs for the photo but it flutters to the ground.

“How long have you liked me?” Your wide eyes and breathless question challenge him. When he doesn’t respond fast enough for you, you reach out and push his bangs away from his face, smoothing them back. His wispy armor is gone and with it, surprisingly, some of his fear. Your eyes are clear and waiting, smile still pulling at your lips.

“I don’t, I don’t have like, a date. Like, a-awhile.” Eddie stutters like he’s never spoken these words before. Nerves replacing fear when it starts to finally dawn on him: this isn’t going to end in flames.

The hand at his forehead slides down and rests on his cheek. He hasn’t taken a full breath in since you pushed his hair back, never mind now that your cradling his face, but the fear has been slowly melting off his shoulders while you’ve been staring at him and when your eyes trail down his face, it and the sudden nerves all just disappear.

He feels your fingers flex along his jaw and he finally takes that breath.

“I’m not reading this wrong am I?” Barely a whisper but he hears you. Shakes his head and opens his mouth to talk but you cut him off, just as quiet, “I don’t want us to make a mistake.”

“You think this’d be mistake?” The hurt leaks through without his meaning to.

“God no, Eddie I-“

There’s a bloom of confidence he hasn’t felt before, something that twist up through his ribs and around his spine. “Good.”

Reaching out for you feels natural. He’s reached out to you a hundred times before but he’s never slid his hands into your hair. Tucked them up behind your ears and pulled you in close, felt you gasp when he brushes his lips against yours. Your hands pull at his shirt where they’re both fisted in the thin material, keeping him close. When you push into him he feels your mouth open, tongue grazing along his bottom lip; white static across his thoughts.

It’s 10pm on a Thursday night and your kissing him in his room. Wearing his t-shirt and pushing him against the wall while your kissing him. He feels one of your hands flatten against his chest and his heart rockets off and your still kissing him. There’s your tongue again begging entrance and he yields, feels that barbell slide across his own tongue and he’s done for. It’s better than he could ever fantasize. He wants more of it but you just aren’t close enough. He grips at your hair to pull you in, to try and deepen the kiss but there’s no where else to go. You mumble something against his lips but he just swallows the sound and slides a hand down your back till he can get his fingers up under the hem of the shirt, palm laid flat against the small of your back.

“Eddie.” You sigh his name and he makes it a personal goal right then to get you to do it again. Your hands wander down his chest and he starts his own wandering down your neck, lips finding any open skin he can kiss. “Hold on, Eddie-“

“I’m not holding on for shit.” He says in between kisses. “I’ve been thinking about doing this for months.” Your laugh vibrates under his mouth and it makes his eyes roll. “Do you want me to stop?” He pauses under your ear, panting against you.

“No.” You sigh and shake your head, leaning into his hand still in your hair. “No I don’t.”

He spends a few more minutes pulling little sounds out of you that he’s filing away for later. Nipping at your skin when you run your hands under his shirt and push it up.

“Can I?” The question isn’t even finished before he pulls the shirt over his head and throws it behind you on the dresser. “Oh!” A giggle when he lays his hands back on you, hands rucking up your own shirt where he can run his palms over your midriff. There’s no finesse to his kisses anymore, just laying them wherever he can, anything to make you giggle again. He moves his hands higher, pushing your shirt up so he can finally see your tits again. It’s been a whole ass year since your wore your dress and he’s dreamt about this every day since. He kisses the tops of them and is mesmerized by the way they bounce back under his touch.

“Hello old friends.”

“Old friends?!” When you laugh they move with you and he has to force himself to look back up at you.

“Yeah, you saw the picture. We’re well acquainted.” He buries his face down in your cleavage and you hear him take a deep breath. “How do you always smell so good?” He’s layering kisses again and you’re trying to move around until you can pull your own shirt off. “Hey don’t rush this, I have this perfectly planned.”

“Oh, so you left the drawer open on purpose?”

“Absolutely, it’s been my months long plan.” He takes a step forward to force you back one. Eyebrows scrunched together he scoffs, “I almost let you catch me for a while and then it happens by mistakeand I act like it’s the biggest fuck up ever and now I’ve got you shirtless. Listen, I plan campaigns babe. You know I can write ten steps ahead.” He’s walking you backwards till your legs hit his bed, fingers holding onto your belt loops to keep you close.

“Eddie?” You hook your fingers into the waistband of his flannel pants, pulling down till they shift off his hips.

“What?” He’s distracted by your fingers sliding around his hips.

“You’re so full of shit.” He laughs when steps out of his pants and sees you look down, an immediate tilt to your head. Your fingers still against his skin, skimming the elastic of his boxers but he knows you’re staring at the growing bulge. The clever remark he had ready dies in the back of his throat when he hears the quiet ‘hmm’, watches your tongue poke out to swipe across your lips.

“If you keep staring I’m gonna get self conscious.” One hand covers his mouth to muffle the end of his sentence while the other lightly rubs up against his dick through the thin cotton. Somehow he stays upright, mouth falling open under your hand to pant against your palm.

“You got any other surprises for me Munson?”

Are you talking to him? He can’t get a braincell to function with the heat of your hand pressed against him, barely moving at all. The button on your jeans is about all he can fathom, getting them opened and remembering how a zipper works is next. Your breath bouncing off of his chest makes him shiver and kind of brings some of his brain back up and running.

“I uh, I got a few tricks up my sleeve.” He tips you back till you sit and he follows close, making you lay down. You laugh when your back hits the bed and you keep laughing, body shaking as he works your jeans down your legs.

“What’s so funny, giggles?”

“I’m just…this is the first time I’ve had sex in a bed.”

Eddie stops moving and looks up at you from your feet. “I’m sorry, what?” He hopes he’s just hearing wrong, on account of his brain short circuiting a moment ago.

“Yeah, it’s just always been in the back of cars.” You say it so flippantly, like it’s just a thing that happened to you. “I mean, It’s whatever. I just realized no one’s ever pushed me back on a bed before.” Your grin is hazy when you look down your body at him but he’s stone sober now. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to any of those assholes and he knows it. You’re the best thing to happen to him, and somehow you’ve gone this long with shitty car hookups.

“No.” He shakes his head and pulls your jeans off fully. Slides your socks off and tosses them in the pile of your clothes. “You’re lying, please tell me your lying.”

“I’m not! There’s so much more room!” You wave your arms next to you like you’re making a snow angle in his sheets. You sit up quick, bracing yourself on one hand to reach behind yourself to undo your bra when he stops you.

“You don’t have to do that, I can help.” He’s crowded up against your legs where you’ve dropped them both sideways.

“I know that, I was just making it easier.” His face must drop because you huff at him. “Look, I’m not stupid Eddie. I just, haven’t had the best track record I guess. I just assumed-“

“That I was gonna be like the other guys.”

You shrug. “Yeah, Hawkin’s finest. You know.”

That’s a little bit of a blow, he won’t lie, but watching you slam up your walls when they’ve been nonexistent all night makes him switch tactics.

“You deserve better than that.” He swings his legs to the side so he can lean over you, one arm braced against your hip, the other tilting your chin to look at him. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen you pout before, your bottom lip sticking out pink and wet and he wants to bite it. “I’m serious.” He leans in close, lips brushing yours. “Can I be nice to you?” He whispers against you and your face flushes immediately, eyes darting down to stare at the bed. He can’t stop the grin spreading across his face, delighted with how flustered you get.

“I-you’re always nice.” You mumble, chin fighting to get away from his hand holding you still.

“I can be nicer.” He closes the small gap and kisses you again, still holding your chin. He can feel your breathing speed up when it ghosts over his cheek where you’re nose is pressed. When he’s certain you won’t pull away he moves his hand to your back, unhooking the clasps one by one. Eddie pulls back to look at you properly, fingers lightly pulling the straps down your arms. “Can I?”

“You don’t have to ask.” You say, still nodding your head at him anyways.

“It’s good manners.” He says simply, wiggling your bra off of you, tossing it to join the growing pile. You’ve shifted back to your elbows, further away from him but giving him a better view. None of his fantasies are measuring up to real life. Just watching the way your tits lay when you shift has him practically drooling. He runs a fingertip from between them and down to your navel, marveling at the softness of your skin. Runs that same fingertip over to a hip and you jump just a little. “Ticklish?”

“Maybe.” Your voice is wobbly, chest rising and falling faster. He lays his palm flat against your stomach and runs it up your side, thumb brushing the underside of your breast and you sigh, letting your head fall back between your shoulders.

“You are so fucking pretty.” Eddie means it. Even before all the crushing and jealously he could see it. With your head back he can watch the blush creep down your chest and he marvels at that too.

“Eddie you can’t just say shit like that.” You sound strained from the angle your at. He runs his thumb under the swell of your breast again just to watch you shudder.

“What, that your pretty?” He leans down to place a kiss on your chest, can feel your heartbeat tick up faster. He’s only got so much restraint before he grabs you up into his lap but he’s trying hard to be a gentleman about it. You deserve that much for your first time. Well, not overall but with him? Eddie’s determined to make you forget about every other guy who’s even looked at you.

“Look at me.” He’s dropping kisses along your collarbone trying to get you to lift your head up. His hands have been itching to grab your tits but he wants you to stop being shy for a minute. “Please.” He’s trying to kiss up your neck when you finally lift your head. “Can you scoot up for me?” He asks and you oblige. As soon as your head hits his pillow he’s leaned back, pulling your knees back up so he wedge himself between them. He grabs your hand and pulls it up to kiss your open palm and you close your fingers around his cheeks, making him laugh.

“Will you stop being cute and just touch me?”

“How?” He kisses down your wrist, watching you get more flustered.

“I don’t know, whatever you normally do?”

“No, that was with them, they don’t matter anymore.” He makes it to the crook of your elbow before he lets go and crawls over the top of you, getting in your face to stare you down. “What’d you think about this morning, hm?” He’s keeping track of all the little whimpers your making, the way you bite your lip when he makes you nervous. You won’t meet his eye so he follows your line of sight and you huff at him.

“Stuff, Eddie. Oh my god.” You cover your face with your hands and he thinks he can feel the heat radiating off of you. It’s driving him crazy in the best way, he doesn’t think he’s ever had this effect on anyone before.

“Aw c’mon. Tell me.” He kisses each finger before moving down to your knuckles and honestly, he just can’t help himself anymore when he brings a hand up to knead at your tits, a quick pinch of a hardened nipple and you gasp into your hands. “Was it this?” He pinches again and you wiggle under him, hips jumping up against him and he drops his head. You’re hot everywhere, and the core of you pressed up against him through his boxers is going to do him in if he’s not careful. “If you don’t tell me I’m gonna have to guess and this could be a long night.” He rolls his hips into you to try to get his point across and to try to get some relief.

“Is that such a bad thing?” You ask, pulling your hands down to just cover your mouth. Your eyes are wide and glassy, pupils big and dark.

��No, but I want to know what I do in these dreams of yours.” He moves back to your neck to make a path to your chest where he laps at your nipple. “Something like this?” He asks before wrapping his lips around and sucking, tongue flicking over sensitive skin. You arch your chest up and there’s a laugh caught in your moan. He moves over to your other side, nipping at you before mouthing at your other nipple, hand teasing at your hip. He snaps your underwear against you and you let out a quiet ‘ow’ and try to swat at his hand. “Or was I somewhere else?” His fingertips graze under the band and inch down. Your knees pull up tight around him and he’s so close to saying fuck it to his own game.

“You were-fuck Eddie, you were going down on me.” You get so quiet, the one hand still on your mouth muffling your voice.

“Oh?” He lets your nipple go with a wet sound, big grin already set in place.

“If your gonna make fun of me…”

“Absolutely not.”

You watch him over your hand place a scattering of kisses down till he hits your underwear, giving you one last questioning look before he hooks his fingers in and pulls them down. You’re also starting to feel a little self conscious when you realize he hasn’t taken his eyes off you.

Payback

“Ed.” He just runs his hands up your legs, big palms warm against your thighs. He pulls your knees out a little further before leaning down and re-situating himself between your thighs, leaving open mouthed kisses along the inside. You’re torn between wanting to watch him and wanting to cover your face in embarrassment when he makes the decision for you, pulling at your elbow to drag your hand down to his head. He’s got that lazy smirk on his face and you can feel his breath skipping across too sensitive skin.

“Give you something to hold on to.” You want to laugh but he’s too quick, fingers moving in to hold you open for him. Your head drops into the pillow when he licks a broad tongue from your center right up to your clit, your back arching up and Eddie’s laugh vibrates through you.

“Oh fuck.”

“I haven’t even started yet.” You can hear the proud smirk in his voice and if you’d like to say something smart back you won’t, too focused on his mouth working you over. His tongue is soft, even when he points it, uses it to prod at your opening and you forget any remarks you might have had for him.

“Eddie.” You pull at his hair when he wraps his lips around your clit and he groans. You’re stuck concentrating on his mouth until he slides one finger in and you choke on a gasp. He pulls his mouth away and lays his head against your leg, watching you from under his wet hair.

“Is this what you thought about?” He can see you nod into the pillow, hand twisted next to your head in the fabric while he pumps his hand slowly.

“It’s what I thought about.” He hooks his finger up, trying to find that soft spot to make you melt. “I think about it all the time.” The grip on your thigh is tight, keeping it close against his cheek. “Ever since you told me about those shitty dates.”

“Seriously?” You lift your head, eyes half lidded and face scrunched up.

“I should have nutted up and said something. They didn’t deserve you.” He pulls his finger out and you watch him suck it into his mouth, watch his eyes roll in his head. You groan and he adds his middle finger before he pulls his hand out, spit slick fingers running up over your clit, teasing you before he slides both back in. He leans in to run his tongue through your folds, watching you from under his lashes while you wriggle around and clutch at the pillow. The hand in his hair grips tighter and your legs squeeze up around his ears and he’s surrounded by you, the low chanting of his name keeping him planted in place. He finally finds that spot, feels you shudder under him before you moan, tilting your hips up to chase his touch.

“Eddie Eddie Eddie fuck!” You keep rolling your hips against his face and he can’t help himself. He’s been pathetically rutting into the mattress listening to you whine and he can’t take it anymore. He taps under your thigh to get your attention, really gets it when he fully pulls away and you look down at him all concerned. “Why are you stopping?”

“Good reason.” He stands up and pulls off his boxers, rooting around his nightstand for the condoms he knows are in there. He’s oblivious to you on the bed, sitting all the way up now and staring. Of course they’re not where he left them, instead tucked behind his lamp but he grabs one and climbs back on the bed before he realizes what he’s done. “Oh.” Eddie feels his face heat up when he looks down at himself. “I probably should have done that better.” He’s expecting you to laugh or sigh or say something witty but you just snatch the foil out of his hand and tear it open. You only pause for second before wrapping your hand around him and he’s positive this isn’t going to last as long as he’d hopped. When you roll the condom down he hisses and drops, head falling into your shoulder.

“You okay champ?”

He just nods and whines when you give him a few easy strokes, watching your hand move up and down his cock. You’re so much more gentle with him than he is with himself. Eyes half open and mouth hanging he’s sure he looks fucking stupid but he doesn’t care, doesn’t want you to stop touching him. When you scoot closer and pull his face up it takes him a moment to realize you’re kissing him, for him to react and do something.

“C’mere.” He shakes out of his haze enough to move back between your knees, pulling your hips so your ass is flush against his thighs. He pulls your leg up to hook over his hip, placing a quick kiss on your knee before lining himself up. He rubs the tip of cock against you, catching on your clit twice and making you whimper.

“Please Ed.” He doesn’t need to be begged twice, grabs the base of his dick and sinks in slow. Sees your breath catch and your eyes roll, “Oh fuck it.” He bottoms out, can feel you clenching around him tight and hot and gasping and laughing and he looses all composure. Fingers dug into your leg wrapped around him he snaps his hips back and into you, punching out a sharp peal of laughter. He does it again, loves the way he can hear the choked off gasp in your throat. When he picks up his pace you grab at the sheets, twisting them up off his bed.

“Fucking th-thank you-u!” It’s stuttered out between thrust, your face flushed and twisted up in a smile.

“You know how many times I thought about this?” He has to talk, if he doesn’t talk he’s going to blow his load and he refuses to let your first time together end before a full minute passes. “Every time I looked at that picture I thought about it. I should have fucked you in that bathroom.” Your nails scratch at his thigh where they try to find purchase. “All the rides out to the lake oh fuck- I should have done this sooner, yeah?” He licks his thumb before bringing it down on your clit, running tight circles around it. Your back arches off the bed and he feels you clench around him. “Is that it? Right there-ohmygod.” It almost sounds like you’re crying his name just before you come, nails digging into his thigh when it crashes into you. He watches you tense up and then collapse against the bed, pliant under him where he starts to loose his rhythm. The heat that reached up fast burns up his spine while he watches you revel in your aftershocks, already trying to grab him down to you. The hazy look in your eyes and that grin you’re flashing him send him over the edge, burying himself with a deep groan, your name scattered between curses. He’s whited out until he can catch his breath, gripping your thigh until he can see straight. In the distant ringing in his ears he can hear your giggle under him, soft like the hands trying to pull him closer.

“Hey.” Your eyes find his in his own haze, slowly coming back down to earth. “Come here.” Gentle tugs to get him to lay down but he shakes his head, asks for minute. He pulls out to get rid of the condom and disappears into the bathroom for minute, leaving you to roll around his bed. When he comes back he turns off his light. Sees that you’ve pulled the blankets up under your chin, one finger poking out to beckon him back in. “I’m cold.”

Eddie would like to pinch himself just to make sure this is real. In all of his imaginings he never let himself have this part. The sex was easy to think about but this hurt too much to ever linger on. He finds his pants first before crawling back into bed, snaking a hand around your middle and pulling you into him. He wedges his nose up under your jaw and hums, leaving a few soft kisses in his wake.

“Are you always this cuddly?”

“I don’t normally get to cuddle.” You’re both quiet in the dark, hushed tones under the blankets.

“Huh.” Your fingers tangle up in his hair, nails lightly scratching over his scalp. It sends a deep shiver down his spine and he has a split second where he feels like crying. “Their loss.” He feels the kiss you leave on his forehead and just buries his head further into your neck. You smell like you always do, sweet and deep and now a little like him. He drifts off without meaning to.

It’s not daylight yet, but his room is lighter. There’s no alarm clock going off next to his head so he looks around, trying to find whatever it is that pulled him out of his warm cocoon.

Bleary vision in the dark, he can barely make out your form jumping quietly into your jeans. He’s peering at you from under the covers, watching you get dressed. You stop mid jump to pick something up, staring at it before padding over to his dresser and tucking it into his mirror. He’s basically awake when you turn to open his door and he quietly asks you where you’re going.

“Jesus fucking Christ you’re gonna give me a heart attack.” You clutch you chest and try to search through the dark for his eyes, finally see him when he pulls the sheets back a bit.

“Seriously, where are you goin’?”

“It’s almost 5. I figured Wayne was gonna be home soon so I cleaned up the living room and like, I didn’t know if I should hang around?”

“You sleep over here all the time.” He slides a hand out from under the covers to make a grabby hand at you. “He won’t care.”

“Well I mean, I’m not usually naked in your bed dude.”

“Then leave your shirt on.” Eddie doesn’t understand what you’re not understanding. “I mean it, Wayne isn’t gonna care. If anything he’ll be happy I stopped bitching about you.”

“You bitch about me?”

“No, I bitched about not having you. There’s a difference. Now come here, I’m cold.” He lifts the blankets up quick, making a sweeping motion for you to get back in. “Plus, he won’t say anything unless you do. He likes you too much to embarrass you.” You’re out of your jeans again and crawling over him, trying to avoid kneeing him.

“Aww, he likes me?”

“Well I like you too.” You’re barely settled before he’s wrapped around you, leg hitched over your thighs and pinning you down. “What’s that get me?” He’s nosing along your jaw again.

“Depends what you’re looking for.”

“Mm. Concert tickets to see Ozzy in Indy.”

“Oh that’s a big ask.”

“I see. How about a kiss?” He pulls back to smile lazily up at you.

“I can do that.”

❣Tag List❣

@edsforehead @fracturedarkness @munsonsguitarpick @bebe07011 @ali-r3n @cantreadbutcute @eddiethesexy @emma77645

#Eddie Munson x Reader #Eddie Munson Smut #Eddie Munson #Eddie Munson fic #My Work #My Fic #5.7k WOO FUCKIN HOO #if you wanted on it you gotta let me know again #bee tee dubs my tag list is all over the place #srry babes #Rentfic

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wing-ed-thing · 10 months

Text

Little Tea Cakes (Jean x Reader)

Synopsis: You and Jean were left to hold down the fort, but when night falls, and your friends aren’t back yet, you start to worry. Jean has the perfect plan to take your mind off of things and enjoy your cozy night in.

Word Count: 2k

Tags/Warnings: Fluff

Notes: I’m ready to make this recipe

You stared out the window, practically curled up on the ledge as you waited. Jean had lit lanterns that flickered on the outside porch. If it weren’t for those, you wouldn’t have been able to see how the rain poured down in sheets outside in the blackness.

You saw his reflection as he loitered behind you, unsure what to say. With the night as dark as it was, you could see in the glass how his mouth opened and closed again as he put his hands on his hips. He stared momentarily, watching as you kept your eye on the night.

“They’re fine,” he finally said. Jean slipped his fingers into the pockets of his slacks. He didn’t exactly sound sure of himself. “I’m sure they’ll be back any minute now.”

“It’s coming down really hard out there,” you trailed off, rubbing the underside of your bottom lip with your finger. A large puddle had begun to form at the bottom of the wooden steps outside your cabin. You looked over your shoulder at Jean. “What if something happened to them, and they need our help?”

Jean came to stand next to you, leaning the slightest bit back against the dining table. He stood with you, looking out the window at the storm. The wind howled outside, causing a few hung lanterns to sway and knock against the wood paneling. You watched the reflection again as Jean bowed his head acutely toward you. You noted the shrug of his shoulders.

“Captain Levi’s with them. They’re probably just caught up kickin’ ass.” Jean gave you a gentle nudge, but you couldn’t tear your eyes away from the window.

A moment went by as the rain continued to pour. You found yourself lost in your worries, hardly registering as Jean pivoted to stand in front of you. A warm touch found your forearm. Your head shot up as you broke out of your daydreaming, and he gestured again with his head.

“C’mon,” he said with a semblance of a sigh. You blinked a few times, caught off guard by your own spacing. Jean tugged at the fabric of your sleeve, gesturing again toward the kitchen. He repeated himself, and reluctantly, you let yourself be dragged over to the sink. You looked back over your shoulder.

“But—”

“They’re fine.” Jean washed his hands with the rigor of a surgeon, leaving the water running as he motioned for you to do the same. You followed as he proceeded to raid the cabinets. You waited, drying your hands on a towel hung on the island in the center of the kitchen.

Jean closed a cabinet somewhere to your left. You almost jumped as Jean placed a large mixing bowl in front of you. You stared into his honey-colored irises.

“No use in worrying about something you can’t control.” He ducked down for a moment to pull something out of the island’s storage. Jean placed the container on the counter and shoved a cup between your fingers. “Two of those in the bowl,” he said, patting the container.

You did as you were told, and by the time you were finished, several other supplies had appeared on the counter. He handed you a series of spoons, giving similar instructions for the next three ingredients before Jean wandered off to start the oven. The rain continued to pour outside.

“What are we making?” you finally asked, staring down at the bowl of mixed powders. Jean appeared to your right with a pile of sliced butter cubes and a tool that looked more like a claw than a kitchen utensil.

“Tea cakes,” he answered softly, dumping the butter into your mixture. He handed you the claw. “My mom used to make them on rainy days. I’m sure everyone will love them when they get back.” You stared at the appliance in your hand, missing the pink that tinged Jean’s cheeks.

“What am I supposed to do with this?”

“It’s to mix the butter in so that the mixture becomes crumbly.”

You gave him an uneasy look, gingerly placing the pastry cutter into the mixture and attempting to mix. Jean hummed apprehensively, his hand hovering over the bowl before firmly placing it over yours.

“Like this,” he muttered, maneuvering himself behind you as he guided your hand. He held your opposite elbow as you kept the bowl steady, almost as if you’d shatter in his arms at any moment. Focused on your task, you hardly noticed the bright shade of red that slowly overtook the pink on Jean’s face.

Once the mixture turned crumbly and the butter was well incorporated, Jean pulled away from you, his retreating body heat leaving a small chill in his wake. He exchanged your larger bowl of dry ingredients for a smaller one, placing two eggs in front of you with a cup of milk, honey, and a tiny dish of flavoring. During the time it took to measure the dry materials, it had apparently been enough time for him to portion out all the wet ingredients.

One by one, you added them to the new bowl. Jean took the discarded eggshells for the compost and tiny dishes that held the preportioned ingredients to the sink. You went to place the pastry cutter back into the bowl of wet ingredients to demonstrate what Jean had just taught you, but Jean gently replaced the claw with a wooden spoon instead.

You smiled at him sheepishly. Jean leaned on the counter, ankles crossed as he leaned on his elbows, watching as you beat the wet ingredients. Once incorporated, you were instructed to pour the liquid into the flour mixture. Jean watched you work as raindrops continued to hit the rooftop.

“See, you’re already getting the hang of it.” Jean nodded. You worked the spoon to incorporate the bit of flour left over on the side of the bowl.

“Did you eat these a lot growing up?” You slide the finished batter toward him. Jean had already prepared a greased baking tin.

“More than I’d like to admit.” He let out a light chuckle. The softness in his voice wasn’t lost on you as he spooned the batter into the tin. He scraped down the sides before handing you the bowl to put in the sink. “A lot of rainy days, I guess.”

You took to the dishes as he placed the tin in the oven. You stared out the window as the remaining batter stuck to the bowl washed down the drain. You were just starting to wonder what you did on rainy days as a kid when you felt a gentle nudge.

“I got it,” Jean said, gradually prodding you out of the way until you had no choice but to leave the bowl and sponge. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and once the sponge had been replenished with soap, he took to vigorous scrubbing.

You studied him: the way his bangs waved with his efforts, the curve of his nose, and the squareness of his chin. He placed the first clean bowl onto the drying rack, eyes flickering up toward the window for a split second as a clap of thunder resounded throughout the sky. Jean pursed his lip, and as he met your gaze briefly, he quickly glanced away. You wondered if he was as secretly worried as you were.

You tugged open the cabinet to your right. Luckily, the kettle didn’t sit too high up.

Jean had just finished the dishes by the time you came to fill up the kettle. His brows twisted up in confusion as you pivoted the faucet. You offered him a shrug. Jean dried his hands on a nearby rag.

“You said tea cakes. What’s a tea cake without tea?”

“Mama always served them with milk,” he trailed off, the movement of his hands slowing as he found himself lost in thought. The realization of what he said aloud must’ve hit him instantly. His eyes widened, only to be met with your mounting expression of amusement. “I, uh—! I mean—”

“Don’t worry, Jean-boy. I’ll grab some milk,” you said, putting the kettle on before making a beeline to the fridge. Jean continued to fidget with the towel in his hands.

“You really remember that?” he asked sheepishly, a twinge of cringe causing his eye to twitch. You prepared two cups, placing a milk carafe between the two of you. The air in the kitchen had already begun to smell sweet.

“Nothing wrong with having a mother who loves you.” You poured him a glass of milk. “How is she doing?” You stood across the island from him, watching the oven.

“She’s alright.” Jean nodded, slowly picking up the cup. He brought it to his lips. “I think she gets anxious while I’m away. Lonely.” You played with your empty cup with a sigh.

“That must be tough… You should visit her when all of this is over. I’m sure that after all the chaos, we’ll get to take a bit of a break.” Jean let out an amused puff, staring off at the near-boiling kettle.

“Think so?”

“I’m sure she’d be happy to see you. Know that you’ve been thinking about her.” Jean didn’t get a chance to respond, cut off by the high-pitched whistling of the tea kettle. You perked up in surprise. “Oh, that was quick.” You grabbed the hand towel that Jean had thrown on the counter.

“I should probably pull out the tea cakes.”

By the time you reconvened at the kitchen island, Jean had already put down two trivets. The tea cake had puffed up into a golden, brown pastry that steamed deliciously in the dark pan. You fixed yourself a cup of tea, cooing over the hot dessert.

“That looks so good!” you exclaimed, the smell alone making you impatient to try. The corners of Jean’s lips twitched upward into a boyish grin. He gestured to you with a bow of his head.

“Well, it was all you. You should be proud of your good work,” he said, leaning the side of his cheek in his palm as he studied the shiny top. “I’ll cut it into squares when it cools down a little.” The thunder that cracked outside sounded so far away.

“Thank you,” you said, playing with the warm rim of your cup. “For distracting me and for sharing this.” You met his eye just in time to see the visible gentleness overtake his expression. Jean’s shoulders relaxed as he nodded.

“Of course.”

A figure moved on the balcony, passing through your peripheral. Just as quickly as you saw it, the front door slammed open. A dripping-wet Captain Levi stormed through the door, removing his boots at the entryway before stalking to his quarters. He gave you a stout, meaningful look as he went, and wordlessly, you worked on preparing him a cup of tea. The rest of the squad followed, a chorus of compliments about the aroma from the kitchen jumbled together as the squad shuffled to the kitchen.

“Oh wow!” Sasha cried, practically drooling at the sight of the warm, golden pastry. Jean shooed her away, waving the hand towel at her as he protected the dessert the two of you had worked so hard on.

“Hey! You’re dripping everywhere!” he chided with a scowl. Jean crossed his arms. “There’s enough for everyone once you’re dry.”

“You don’t gotta tell us twice. I’ve been wanting to change out of these wet clothes all day.” Connie tugged at Sasha’s leather straps in exhaustion. “C’mon, I’m ready to get warm.” You pulled out some more mugs.

“I’ll make everyone some tea!” you smiled, relieved that all your friends made it back safe. You missed the sentimental expression on Jean’s face as he stared at you.

“I’ll cut the cake!”

Thank you to all who liked, reblogged, followed, and supported. Your support means so much and is greatly appreciated.

Notes: I am definitely Jean when it comes to baking, so it was kinda fun writing someone who doesn’t bake haha. It was hard writing this because all I did was want to make the recipe! Maybe one of these days I’ll work in the kitchen to perfect a nice honey tea cake recipe and I’ll post the link here lmao. It’ll be “Kirstein Tea Cakes”!

I feel like the tea cakes were supposed to be made in something like a cupcake tin. But I also thought that Jean’s mom might not have one of those. Or maybe being a mom it’s easier to just put the batter all in one dish, hence why Jean calls them tea cakes when it’s just one cake sliced into squares.

#jean x reader #jean kirschstein x reader #jean kirschtein fluff #jean kirstein #aot x reader #attack on titan x reader #shingeki no kyoujin x reader #shingeki no kyoujin #reader insert #x you #x reader #aot x gn!reader #aot #snk

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talltalesandbedtimestories · 5 months

Text

“Hard Boot” - Dean x Reader

Part of the “Control Panel” Series

Rating Mature

Dean x Reader (Newly Established Intimate Relationship)

Tags: Dean Angst and Self-Loathing, Inability to Word, Adult Language, Dean POV

Word Count: 2500

After one night of sexual exploration, a case lured you both back into hunting mode. There was hardly time to breathe, let alone figure out how you were collectively supposed to handle this new aspect of your relationship. Is it any wonder Dean had to go and mess it up? That’s his expertise.

Note: You don’t have to read the first part, Factory Reset, to get the gist of this “What the heck are we supposed to do now? Friends to lovers” trope. But if you’re intrigued by these two, please try it.

I'm participating in @jacklesversebingo and this part will fill my "Admit it." square.

Image created in Canva (credit for photo used: Supernatural/Warner Bros.)

The shot glass tinks atop the counter. It’s barely audible. Dean glances up and the bartender appears, summoned by the tell tale call of a drunk.

Not just any drunk. The Fuck It Up Seven Ways To Sunday kind of drunk. Also known as Dean Winchester.

The bar is deserted. It’s 1:00 pm on a Wednesday outside the touristy parts of New Orleans.

The bartender tips the whiskey bottle in her hand. Dean nods. She pours.

“So, what exactly are you tryna drown, cher? Cause it might be easier to head a little north and walk into Lake Pontchartrain.”

Dean snorts. “Trust me, that’s crossed my mind.”

All the wrinkles in the older woman’s face droop along with her frown. “It can’t be that bad. Unless you’re broke… or your heart is.”

Dean shifts atop the stool. “My wallet’s full, thanks. Leave the bottle.”

Dean grunts at his inability to put one foot in front of the other trekking down the hallway to the hotel room. The air is spinning around him in a vortex, forcing his body to lean to the right even though his brain tries to rationally push forward. He’s in an anti-funhouse of his own creation.

He doesn’t remember how he finally gets into the room. Just that he is. He flops on the bed. Breathes in deep and holds it. Staving off the nausea that he deserves.

You should be here. Beside him. Celebrating a win.

He closes his eyes and lets the pain and loss keep him company instead in the late afternoon.

Sleep eludes him. He tosses. Turns. Spends time with his head hanging over the toilet bowl.

He stares at the alarm clock on the nightstand as it ticks over into 10 PM territory. When his eyes peel open again, it’s sometime after 1 AM.

He sniffs the air.

He smells you.

Before he can realize it’s a mistake, he springs to sitting. The hammer nailing together a house in his head takes a back seat to the elation seeing you sat at the foot of the bed.

You look demure in your side saddle position. The patient stare has Dean wondering how long you’ve been watching him sleep.

He wants to ask. But he’s afraid anything he says is going to be wrong. So he just stares back.

Your face is void of any discernible emotion.

And that freaks Dean out more than anything. Because even when he couldn’t read you like a book, he could at least hazard a guess. Even if it was wrong, it was something.

But all he sees now is a shield. A wall that he’s caused.

“I’m gonna head out.” You state in a curt tone that leaves no room for debate.

“You already were out.” The head pounding irritation preoccupies him enough that the sass spills out, uncontrolled. Your lids slit for a second. Well, he got some reaction.

“I-” You straighten up. A sorry attempt at a laugh huffs out. “Forget it.” You’re up off the bed and snagging items dropped around the room. Things are stuffed into your bag with haste.

Dean wants the elation to return to the room. Twenty-four hours prior, you were smiling. Eager to track down the Djinn. It had been a day’s drive from Lebanon to New Orleans, with a 6-hour stop in between at the Cradle Rock Motel.

Dean would have done whatever you wanted in that motel room. All that possibility and you had him flying high on adrenaline. You’d handled him with kid gloves and given him an experience he’d cherish, even if he was still sore. He would have let you strap on Marvin again and fold him like Origami. He wanted that again. He wanted it all with you.

But all you had wanted in the end as you laid in bed was to curl up and sleep in his arms. You wanted to rest before getting back on the road in your separate rides.

And the simple act of being with you. Static. Stationary. Silent. That was wonderful, too.

There was the promise of staying in bed for days after you took care of the monster together. Lingering lips. Suggestive smirks. Greedy gropes.

All of that was a distant memory now.

You throw the duffle over your shoulder. “Bye, Dean.”

He bungees off the bed. Rushes to the door to wedge between you and the exit. “That’s it?” His stomach roils at the exertion but he pushes it down.

Your voice doesn’t waver. “For now. Yeah.”

Dean holds his ground for another second. Two. Three. Four.

“Don’t make it worse.” You plead.

That reminds him the ownness of this whole mess is in fact on him. And he relinquishes.

And watches you walk out the door.

Dean clinks down the iron bunker stairs. Three weeks of hunting non-stop has joints creaking, muscles aching. He plans to beeline it to the showers and let the glorious water pressure ease some of the pain. There’s also an 80-year old bottle of Macallan in his bedroom that will ease everything else.

Sam’s out at Eileen’s. The texts back and forth earlier were short and mainly for informational purposes. Sam gave up trying to find out what was going on with Dean two weeks back. As long as he checked in and provided proof of life, Sam didn’t pester for details.

Dean marches through the war room, into the library, weaves the labyrinth of halls to get to his room.

He keeps his head down when he rounds the final corner. He doesn’t want to glimpse the door marked number 16 at the end of the hallway. It’s your bedroom. Well, whenever you crash at the bunker it’s yours.

There’s a twist in his gut when he realizes you might never sleep in that bed or cross the threshold into the Men of Letters homebase again.

He’s been avoiding returning because of all the reminders of you. The wound is as fresh and festering as it was when you left him in New Orleans. He can distract from the pain during moments occupied with cases and bad guys. This, not so much.

He opens his door, good ole number 11.

When he left this room last, you were here with him.

And goddammit. You’re all he can see no matter where his gaze lands.

The duffle drops onto the mattress. Another musty bed in another room in another hallway might be a better alternative tonight.

He considers it. He’ll decide for sure after his shower.

Dean grumbles when he gets back to the room.

It shouldn’t be possible and his mind must be playing tricks on him, but he thinks he catches the scent of you.

Yeah, he can’t sleep in here tonight.

He runs a hand through his towel dried hair and peels off Tad’s robe. He toes out of the slippers and tugs on a pair of sweats and a well-worn henley. The realization he’s donned the shirt inside out takes a backseat to the more important matter of grabbing the bottle of Macallan.

He shuffles over in bare feet and squats by the cabinet under his desk. His mouth is watering in anticipation of that smooth amber-colored nectar coating his throat.

“What the fuck?” he mumbles in confusion.

The bottle is gone.

“Looking for this?”

Dean stills at the question floating over his shoulder.

The voice isn’t something he expected to hear back at the bunker anytime soon. Maybe ever.

He rises, inhales through his nose. Mentally prepares for when he turns and faces you.

When he does rotate on his heels, he purses his lips into a tight line. He can’t let the impulse to smile win out.

You're wearing one of his flannels. It’s the black, white and gray one he hasn’t worn in ages. And the way the sweatpants hang loose and baggy and obscure your feet; well, he’s pretty sure those are his, too. Leaning against the doorsill, you look as if you’re trying way too hard to appear casual about any of this. The bottle of Macallan in your grip is displayed as a peace offering.

There’s the tiniest grin quirking up your lips. You look at the bottle, then to Dean. “I was keeping an eye on it.”

Dean inspects the liquid level of the scotch as a distraction. If he stares at that mouth of yours a second longer, he’ll forgive you for anything. “That’s about four fingers lighter than when I left.”

Your brows raise. Mouth opens. Dean knows you're ready to dispute his measurements. But something else clicks in Dean’s head and he doesn’t give you a chance.

“How long have you been staying here?”

You sigh and enter the bedroom. The bottle rests on the tiny corner table. You collapse into the chair beside it. “This’ll be my third night.”

Dean stands there. Blinks. You settling in is hopefully a good sign.

“Sam gave me a heads up that you were coming back some time tonight.”

“Why didn’t you high tail it out of here when you got wind of me?” Dean asks.

Your mouth tilts into a frown. “I came here to wait for your slow ass to return, Winchester.” You thumb at the bottle. “I may have needed some liquid courage during my stay to, you know, stick around.”

Dean crosses his arms, determined not to give an inch. Doesn’t matter how goddamn sexy you look. How your hair’s mussed from laying in bed. How his oversized shirt is unbuttoned enough at the collar to display the lovely expanse of skin from the column of your neck to the round of your shoulder. He prepares for the flailing you must have been wanting to give him so badly that you camped here for days. He tries not to think about how much he’d love to bend over so you can give him a spanking.

You stare up at him from the chair. “Oookaayyy.” Palms run over cloth-covered thighs. “I wanted to explain myself. Back in New Orleans.”

Dean shrugs, his crossed arms lifting up with the movement.

“We were a mess on that hunt.” You start. “All sorts of wrong. Second guessing. Getting in each other’s way. That Djinn got the upperhand on us because we were sloppy.”

Dean scoffs. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“You tackled it while I was about to kill the fucking thing.” You counter.

“You were getting choked out WHILE it was lighting up like an electric smurf.” Dean’s voice rises.

“I had the silver knife to its throat UNTIL you hip checked and then rolled around with Mr. Sandman doing the horizontal mambo.”

“Who was trying to pull it off me only to get a nasty throat punch?”

You raise both hands. “Look, my point is we were off our game. And I’ve never, ever had to worry about you having my back. Until that hunt.”

Dean rolls his shoulders like he’s ready to take flight. “What the hell does that mean?”

“Do you think I’m a good hunter?” you ask.

“What the hell kind of question is that?”

“A simple one.” A tap on the table precedes your rise. You stroll with purpose towards him. “Do you think I’m a good hunter?” you repeat.

“Of course I do. You might even be the third best hunter on the planet.”

You smile and, dammit, Dean melts a little. You clear your throat and the smile fades. “Then why didn’t you let me do my job?”

Dean stills. He watches your frame relax. The bravado seeps from your posture.

“Things are different between us now.” You sigh. “I hoped that what we did would bring us closer. More in sync on a hunt. But it did the exact opposite.” Another step brings you right up into Dean’s space. You latch onto a forearm. “Your head wasn’t in that hunt with me.”

“It was.”

You shake your head. “No. Your heart was. And so was mine.” Your voice breaks a little. “All I could think about was how I needed to protect you.”

“When do we not think about protecting a hunting partner?”

“That’s gotta go hand in hand with the mission, though; not take over.” The warm fingers drop from Dean’s arm. “I told Sam what happened.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “And what did Mr. Know It All have to say?”

Your shoulder lifts and almost touches your ear. “He said ‘welcome to the club.’”

“Huh?”

“Sam said you must care about me an awful lot if you were constantly undermining my ability to actually get the fucking job done. That sacrificing yourself is part of your DNA.” A full-watt smile - the one that makes Dean’s insides warm up - graces your face. “That you’ll die a hundred times over to prevent the recipient of all that care and concern from even getting a splinter in their thumb.” The snark in your tone is sharp and cutting. “Admit it.”

“Well, that’s just a flat out exaggeration.”

Suddenly, all of the playfulness in your expression is gone. You frown. “You don’t care about me like that?”

“What? No. I mean, yes, of course I care about you like that.”

“Good.” The smile returns. “Because I know for a fact that none of that is an exaggeration where Sam is concerned. You’ve figured out how to make it work with Sam. You and I are going to have to make that happen, too.”

Dean’s grinning back. “Any suggestions?”

“You could follow my lead and do what I say at all times.” You offer.

“I’m all about that in almost every scenario. Except when we’re hunting.”

You nod. “We’re not hunting now.” Dainty fingers clasp over his hand. “I’m sorry I ran away.” You whisper, staring into his eyes.

Your small frame belies your strength and formidable capability when it comes to a hunt. And though Dean’s only had one taste of your dominance in bed, you handled him with care and exerted contained control. But now Dean needs you to know how much he intends on proving his worth to you. He’s more than a deft hand wielding a machete. More than reliable backup. More than a decades long friend who can keep up with the tequila shots. He wants to be more than all of that for you.

He wriggles from under the grip to clutch your face with both hands. “I wanna tough it out with you.”

Your head tilts up and down in his hold. “Me too.”

You raise on tiptoes as he dips his head. Your lips meet in a gentle brush of skin. Dean’s skin tingles all over.

It’s only a peck. Dean pulls back so he can witness the bliss on your face. Eyes closed, mouth parted. You release a sigh. “Can we…” you start to ask.

“Anything,” Dean murmurs.

“Can we go to sleep? Start fresh in the morning? I missed you.”

Dean thinks his face will crack at the force of his smile. “Absolutely.”

#jacklesversebingo23 #dean x reader #spn fanfiction #angst with a happy ending #dean x you #dean x female!reader

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daddykylokenobi · 1 year

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can you pls write matt the radar technician smut their simply is not enough of it in this world

Thank you so much Anon for this request! I’ve never written anything Matt before so this is a really fun change of pace from my usual characters. I hope you enjoy!!!

Warnings: piv sex, Dom!Matt, begging, fingering, use of the petname “baby”, cussing, overall filth.

Matt the Radar Technician x Y/N

You had Had your eye on Matt for some time now, always checking him out when you’d pass in a hallway, watching him from the other side of the common room, any chance you got to melt over him you lavished in each second.

But you had only spoken a few times, always small talk about what work you each had that day, the current news or gossip around the ship, or little questions you’d sprinkle in to try and get to know him better. This specific day you two had matched eyes in the cafeteria, you were watching him as always and he had finally caught you, he’d seen you staring out of the corner of his eyes before but whenever he looked over to meet your gaze you had quickly looked away with red flushed cheeks.

This time instead of darting your eyes away as quickly as possible to evade any awkward feelings later you decided to hold your ground, you both stared forward ahead at eachother, lost in each others gaze you felt that familiar heat you’d get when watching him rise to your face. He saw the mauve shadow begin to color your cheeks and a little devilish smirk crossed his lips. Matt was feeling bold as well this day, he in a split second decision flashed a wink to your blushed face.

Panic set in as this happened, without thinking you pushed yourself away from your lunch table and headed straight for the elevator to run, hide, get away from this blaze that was growing in your core. As much as you hated to admit it you were quite shy around people you liked, especially ones like Matt. He was much taller than you and broad shouldered, his messy blonde hair and dark eyes enthralled you from the second glance and ever since you had busied yourself each night by thinking of him, thinking of what he’d look like beside you in bed, that stupid gray jumper he had to wear thrown on your floor along with Your clothes. Part of you felt guilty for touching yourself while thinking of Matt, but when it was late and you couldn’t sleep from the ache inside the only thing that seemed to satiate that desire was imagining him on top of you, burying himself as deeply as possible while you cried out his name.

Just as the doors of the elevator were about to close a large hand slipped between them causing them to slip back open, you jumped slightly as this stole you away from the impure thoughts raiding your mind. You looked up and watched the same thing you were running from step into the elevator, Matt stepped silently beside you then leaned forward to close the elevator doors.

He then stood beside you and you both watched the doors close, you swallowed hard while peeking to your left to look at him, he was already peering over at you.

“H-how’s your day going?” You nervously asked while trying to pretend that 30 seconds ago he Didn’t wink at you after catching you staring at him.

“Fine.” He answered plainly, “You?”

“Uh it’s been pretty good, boring I suppose.” You mumbled while hiding your stare to the floor.

Just as the words left your mouth the elevator stalled causing you both to stumble back, Matt grabbed your arm firmly to help you stand back up and you both started quickly looking around the elevator, the lights had begun to blink and stutter then finally shut off except for a small red emergency light in the corner that was dimly lighting the small room.

“What the hell?” He hissed under his breath, he let go of your arm then reached over to grab the com device from the elevator panel. “Hello?” He asked into the small box.

“We are currently working on the problem, the elevator should be back and running soon.” The voice on the other end was robotic and stiff, a hint of annoyance in their voice. “The rest of the elevators are down too so just give us a few minutes.” Then the voice cut off.

Matt stepped back to your side then looked at you. “Hope you didn’t have anywhere to be.” You could practically hear him roll his eyes, Matt had.. a bit of a anger issue problem, you had seen him flip out more times than you’d have cared too.

“Eh no I actually didn’t, my work was done for the day so..” Your voice was almost at a whisper, how in the galaxy could you two have gotten stuck in an elevator together just seconds after your first flirty encounter? You felt your body begin to rise in temperature and you quickly began to strip your jacket off your shoulders.

Matt eyed you up and down then asked with a smirk, “Hot?”

His question was like a stab to the stomach, his voice dripped seduction and the way his mouth curved to the side was making you feel a certain way.

“A little..” you quietly answered, you knew your face was red, you could feel the heat radiate from them even just being so close to him.

Matt turned to face you, “So.. what was that about earlier?”

“What do you mean?” Your lip shook as he asked this.

“You running off?” He scoffed with a raised eyebrow. “Just after I thought we.. had a moment.” He said while stepping towards you.

Instinctually you stepped back, 2 more and your back had hit the wall leaving you no where to go, Matt followed and put his hands on each side of the wall behind your shoulders, you were trapped.

“I-I just had to leave…” You stuttered as you looked up at him, he was easily towering over your smaller frame.

He tilted his head down to look you in the eyes, his glasses slipped down his nose giving you the first naked glance into his eyes that you’d had. You felt his hot breath wash over your face as he huffed out lightly.

“Uh huh.” He said with an uninterested tone, he brought his mouth down towards the side of your exposed neck, you shook with him being so close.. his mouth so readily available to do whatever it was he pleased…

“Matt what a-are you doing..?” You whispered as you squeezed your eyes shut trying to pull your raging emotions together.

He grabbed your chin with his thumb and pointer fingers then lifted your face upto his, you creeped your eyes open and felt your breath catch in your lungs as you were met with his face directly in front of yours.

“I thought this was what you wanted..? You’ve only been watching me for weeks now..” He had one eyebrow raised.

You felt embarrassment take over, you thought he hadn’t noticed your casual stalking but knowing now that he had…

“I-… I’m sorry I wasn’t trying to be weird I ju-“

Matt cut your defense in half as he roughly slammed his mouth to yours, he exhaled through his nose loudly while pressing his body against yours.

You were left breathless at this, his lips were warm and his mouth engulfed yours, he quickly began to lick and suck at your bottom lip, leaving no time to warm up to the sensation.

For a moment you tried fighting back, you pressed your hands to his hard chest and squirmed underneath of them before giving into the euphoric feeling his lips were giving you.

“Hmmphh..” you moaned against his mouth as he slid his tongue past your lips to taste you deeper, he was sporadically grabbing and pulling at your hips trying to feel you as closely as possible.

Without thinking you began to bring your right thigh up to curl around his leg, in one swift motion he momentarily bent down to snake his left arm underneath your leg to then pick you up and push you against the wall.

“Hey-!” You yelped.

He then dove himself into the right side of your neck where he wasted no time to start biting and sucking dark hickies into you.

“M-Matt wa-wait” you stuttered breathlessly as his lips against your neck started to soak the space between your legs.

“I know-… you want this..” He said inbetween breathy moans.

You wrapped your legs around his waist and arms around his neck, you were too embarrassed to answer his question, you just moaned into his shoulder as your reply.

“That’s what I thought..” he sighed.

He continued marking your neck up and down each side, you could feel his erection against your inner thigh and again the breath in your lungs seemed to disappear, you had fantasied about this kind of thing so many times but now that it was happening it felt unreal.

Just as you noticed his bulge he began to grind his hips forward into your core, raspy rhythmic breaths escaped his mouth with each roll of his hips.

“Oh… Matt..” you whined as his lap lined up perfectly with your wide open legs, his hard erection was grinding perfectly aligned with your own heat, it gave you Just enough friction for your walls to clench around themselves, aching for something to fill them.

“Fuck” he hissed as his tip rubbed up and down against the inside of his jumper.

You brought your hands forward to start undoing the front zipper, it trailed down his chest then followed all the way down to his hips. You pulled his jumper down off his shoulders and helped him pull his sleeves out.

He roughly grabbed onto the sides of your pants and yanked them down, you let him pull each side off until the only thing between his heat and yours were 2 thin layers of clothing.

He continued intertwining your tongues, he sucked hard on your bottom lip and you knew that in the morning it would definitely be bruised from him biting it.

You began to whine and cry out to him, “Matt please…” you pleaded with him as you looked down to his large bulge which was pressed against the outside of your underwear.

Again that mind numbing smirk crossed his lips, he brought his hand to your front and began to rub his palm up and down against your pussy. “Tell me what you want.” He demanded.

“I-I-…” your body shook at his dominant request. “I want you i-inside me Matt..” your voice was shaking just as much as your body was.

He breathed out like he had been punched in the stomach, “Fuck baby, that’s all you had to say.” He cursed as he reached down to grab your underwear and slip them down your legs which he then placed back around his waist.

You pulled his face closely to yours then started to lick and kiss at his jawline, pathetic whimpers left your lips as he rubbed his middle finger up and down your slit, you were soaking wet as he slipped his fingers inside of you.

“Ah-ahh!” You cried out as he pumped his fingers roughly in and out of your tight entrance.

After a moment he pulled them back out and brought his fingers upto his lips.

You watched in adoration as he slipped them into his mouth and licked each finger clean while keeping eye contact with you the entire time.

Your gut begged to be full of him, quickly you moved your hands down to push down his boxers and reveal his aching member. You let out a sigh of satisfaction at his size, you wrapped your hand around him and knew just from the girth alone that he was going to fill you up So good.

He hissed as your small fingers wrapped around him, he grabbed your wrist tightly then pulled it away.

“You have to ask for it.” He said while trying to catch his breath.

You stared up at his eyes with bewilderment, you didn’t expect him to be so dominant, so demanding. You also didn’t expect it to have the submissive power on you that it did.

“Please..” you whimpered. “Please Matt I Need you so bad..” you could’ve cried from the aching in your core.

As you said this he lined up his tip with your entrance then in one slow thrust he pushed himself deep inside of you hitting your back wall easily.

“Haahhh..” he moaned out, he then began to push and pull himself in and out of your seeping wet hole.

You dug your fingers into his back as he stretched your walls so perfectly, your head felt so heavy with euphoric sensations that for a second you wondered if you were going to pass out.

You muttered out little moans and whimpers against his chest as he continued abusing your small entrance.

“Ugh fuck baby, you’re taking me s-so good” Matt was leaned against your shoulder with his mouth huffing hot breath on your neck.

He took his right hand back down to your heat and started rubbing little circles onto your clit, your entire body twitched at this new addition of pleasure and you knew it wouldn’t be long before you’d crumble underneath of him.

“Matt I-I’m gonna cum” you quickly breathed out as you felt the wave rising inside of your stomach.

“Come on, beg for it” he groaned into your neck as his thrusts started to become stuttered from his own orgasm nearing close.

“P-please… please Matt I wanna cum for you s-so bad!” You yelped loudly as he let his last few thrusts become painfully rough but blissfully pleasurable.

And then as your orgasm crashed through the surface your hot walls clenched around his slick length, the pressure sent him over the edge as well and he released hot bursts of cum into your hole.

You both heaved in and out loudly as you leaned forward onto each others bodies. A few moments passed as you each caught your breath, slowly he leaned forward and placed you back on the floor. You scrambled to find your clothes and pull them back on, Matt was already zipping his jumper back up when the light in the elevator flipped back on and you both felt it begin to move again.

You flashed eachother a glance then Matt cupped your right cheek, he leaned his tall body down to meet your height then pressed a quick kiss to the top of your head, this small gesture made you melt even more than the sex just had.

You looked up at him with doe eyes and a tiny smile graced your lips.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this.” He confessed.

You were shocked at this, you didn’t think he liked you the way you did or for how long you had either.

“Me to..” you whispered.

He leaned down once more to deliver a kiss to your mouth, this one was longer and not just filled with lust, it was caring, and warm.

In this moment you realized that you and Matt weren’t just going to be small talk friends who flirted for fun, you were going to be something more.

#star wars #matt the radar technician #Matt the radar technician x y/n #Matt the radar technician x reader #Matt the radar technician smut #Matt the radar technician fanfic #adam driver #adcu #adcu smut #adcu x reader #adcu fic #adcu fanfiction #adcu community #kylo ren #dkkmumbles #dkkrequests #dkkadcu

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