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storiesforallfandoms · 3 years

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messed up internal clock ~ aaron tveit

word count: 1861

request?: yes!

“If you write smut, Aaron Tveit smut?? Otherwise non-smut is good too! Preferably Female reader. Love your work!!”

description: after night shoots have his internal clock messed up, and an unbearable neediness for intimacy, they decide to have a late night quickie to tame both of their needs

pairing: aaron tveit x female!reader

warnings: swearing, smut

masterlist (one, two)

It became evident very quickly that the night shoots were fucking up Aaron’s internal clock.

The filming was never meant to go on into the night. One on day of shooting they were having trouble getting the right shot and ended up filming until 1am. Due to this, they had to delay the early morning shoot the next morning so everyone could be well rested. Then that day of filming went until 2am again, and then the next day’s filming had to be pushed. It was an endless cycle until they decided they’d permanently move the schedule to be afternoons and into the night.

At first, Aaron could come home tired and worn and would go right to bed, but soon enough his body grew used to this new schedule. He’d come home after filming and stay up for another few hours before his body finally felt ready to go to sleep. Then he’d sleep right up until he was scheduled to go to set again. On his off days, he’d sleep nearly all day and be up all night.

Normally, this wouldn’t be a problem. It wasn’t anything new for him, he had a messed up sleep schedule before. It came with being an actor. Now, however, it wasn’t just him being affected by this. It was was his girlfriend as well. Due to his work schedule, Aaron didn’t get to spend a lot of time with (Y/N). Either he was constantly filming or constantly sleeping. Although she’d never complain about it, Aaron knew it wasn’t easy on her.

On one of the final nights of shooting, Aaron arrived home around 3am, as usual, and silently shut the door. He made his way to their shared bedroom to find that (Y/N) was already sound asleep. He sighed in slight frustration at his own lack of exhaustion. He didn’t want to disturb her but he also knew he wasn’t ready to lay in bed just yet, so Aaron decided to grab a quick shower before trying to sleep.

The hot water running over his aching body felt heavenly. He wasn’t sure why he had agreed to take such a physically taxing role, but he kept reminding himself that it would be over soon. Just a few more days before he could relax for a long time and spend his days with (Y/N), preferably in bed.

Thinking of spending the day in bed with her caused Aaron to picture (Y/N) laid under him, her hair splayed across the pillow and her eyes full of lust gazing up at him. He pictured her hands running over his body, nails digging into his back every now and then, and her legs wrapped around his hips. He could almost hear the intoxicating moans falling from her lips, followed by his name every so often. He groaned as he felt himself becoming hard.

It had been so long since he and (Y/N) were able to be intimate. The difference in sleep schedules plus his filming schedule and her work schedule left very little time for them to do anything else besides sleep and sometimes eat together. It was another one of Aaron’s biggest frustrations with the whole situation.

He stood in the shower for a while, head back to allow the water to wash over him, his eyes closed as he continued to picture (Y/N). His hand wrapped around the base of his dick and he moaned as he began to pump himself a few times, the small action alone sending chills of pleasure through his body. He tried to keep his moans and whimpers as silent as he could in fear of being too loud and waking (Y/N), but it was hard to do when this was the first moment of pleasure he had been able to have in quite some time.

He imagined it was (Y/N)’s hand wrapped around him, pumping him ever so slowly. He remembered the first time she had done it: they were sat together watching a movie and she just slipped her hand into his pants. The forwardness alone had almost made him cum in his sweatpants, but he had managed to hold out until she pulled his hard cock from his pants and stuck it in her mouth.

He was so lost in the pleasure he was feeling that he didn’t hear the shower door open, or the sound of clothes being discarded on the floor. It wasn’t until he heard the shower curtain move that his eyes popped open to find (Y/N)’s naked body joining him in the shower.

“Fuck,” he said, trying his best to hiding his throbbing erection. “I-I’m sorry, did I wake you?”

“No,” (Y/N) responded, shaking her head. “I just woke up and heard the shower running. I was going to wait until you got out, but then I heard you were having some fun without me.”

Aaron was glad the water was so hot or else (Y/N) might’ve been able to tell that he was blushing. “I-I just...just wanted to - ”

(Y/N) was nodding along as if she were listening, but while she looked up at him with her big, innocent eyes, she began lowering herself onto her knees. Aaron watched, his words fizzling out in his throat, as she took the base of his dick in her hand and the tip in her mouth. The sensation of her warm lips sucking on the tip made him throw his head back and let out a low moan.

She bobbed her head a few times, taking him deeper and deeper with every stroke, until his dick was nearly touching the back of her throat. She placed the hand that wasn’t around him on his chest, digging her nails into him and slowly moving them downwards, leaving angry red marks on his chest and stomach. Aaron took a handful of her hair, helping her to take a slower pace so he wouldn’t finish before he wanted to.

He placed his other hand against the shower wall, trying to steady himself. His legs already felt like jelly and he felt like he could collapse at any moment. The feeling of (Y/N)’s tongue gliding across his hard dick was driving him absolutely wild.

When she pulled her head back, Aaron pulled on her hair to pull her away from him. She looked up at him, expectantly, which made his dick twitch with anticipation.

“Up,” he told her. She smiled and excitedly got to her feet. With his hand still in her hair, he pulled her to him so he could kiss her deeply. He slipped the other hand between them so he could start playing with her clit. The moment his fingers touched it, she gasped, giving him the opportunity to slip his tongue into her mouth. “Does that feel good, baby?”

She nodded, her words stuck in her throat. Aaron smirked to himself before continuing to kiss her. He loved when he could make her speechless.

He ran his fingers between her wet folds, teasing her entrance with his fingers a few times. Every time he got close, or would seem like he was about to put them inside of her, then would pull back, (Y/N) would whimper against his lips. It was so hot to see her so needy for him after so long.

Aaron pulled away from the kiss so he could spin (Y/N) around. He bent her forward so her hands were pressed against the shower wall and positioned himself with her opening. He pushed himself inside of her slowly, making sure to give her time to adjust to him inside of her. She gasped and moaned as she felt him inside of her, a feeling she had missed dearly the past few months.

Aaron wanted to take it slow to make the moment last, but he had been so pent up that he could hardly control himself now that he was inside of her. He grabbed hold of her hips and began thrusting at a steady pace, the sound of their wet skin colliding against one another the only thing filling the room. (Y/N)’s back arched almost instinctively as she threw her head back in pleasure. Aaron’s fingers were digging into her hips in a way that she knew would cause bruises, but she didn’t really care. She would wear any marks he left on her with pride.

“God, I’ve missed this pussy,” Aaron moaned. “I almost forgot what it felt like to be inside of you.”

“I’ve missed you inside of me, too,” (Y/N) gasped between moans. “I’ve tried to replicate the feeling, but none of my toys can make me feel as good as you do.”

Aaron pulled (Y/N)’s hair so her back was touching his chest. “You’ve been playing with yourself without me? Naughty girl.”

(Y/N) smiled up at him. “I have to do something while you’re away. I have needs, Aaron.”

Aaron smiled back at her and kissed her before returning her to the position she had been in.

Despite wanting it to last so much longer, Aaron felt himself twitching inside of her. He was so close and he knew he wouldn’t be able to hold it back any longer. Before he could voice this, though, (Y/N) managed to stutter out, “I-I’m gonna c-cum!”

“Cum on my dick, baby,” Aaron encouraged. “I wanna feel how good I make you.”

His dirty words of encouragement were enough to push (Y/N) off the edge. She screamed his name so loud Aaron was almost sure the neighbors heard her. He felt her walls contracting around him, which was enough to also help him reach his own climax.

(Y/N) leaned against the wall, her legs shaking and her eyes suddenly feeling heavy. Neither had noticed the water had gone cold around them until that moment. Aaron carefully slipped himself out of her and turned off the shower. He offered his towel to (Y/N), wrapping it around her wet body and carrying her back to their bed. He retrieved another towel for himself so he could dry off his body before joining her in bed.

The moment he was under the covers, (Y/N) rolled over to cuddle into him.

“I miss you,” she admitted. It was the first time she had said it outloud.

“I know,” Aaron sighed. “I miss you, too. But filming is almost over. I’m planning on taking a nice long break when it is over.”

(Y/N) smiled although she knew Aaron couldn’t see it through the darkness. “I hope you know I’ll never let you leave again if you do.”

Aaron chuckled and kissed her forehead. “You say that as if I’d complain. There’s nothing I’d love more than to be held hostage by you in this bed.”

(Y/N) giggled. Her eyes were beginning to grow heavy and she struggled to fight against them. “Goodnight, Aaron.”

“Goodnight, (Y/N).”

And for the first time in months, Aaron actually felt tired enough to fall asleep with (Y/N).

#aaron tveit #aaron tveit imagine #aaron tveit smut #aaron tveit x reader #imagine #one shot #smut #request #fanfiction #fanfic #fandom

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kkulmoon · 4 years

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I KNEAD YOU | jhs ✦ m

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: You have had your mind filled with indecent thoughts of your spin class trainer, Hoseok, ever since you started taking his classes. However discreet you thought your antics had been, Hoseok had somehow found out and was more than willing to fulfil your fantasies.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Hoseok x Reader(f) | 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: smut, pwp? | 𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: 18+ | 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 7.3k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: cunnilingus, fingering?, slight praising, ass play, he has his hand around her neck, unprotected sex (wrap it up guys~), slight edging, groping, biting, spanking, bathroom sex.

𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐚 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐛𝐲: my muse and soulmate @inkedxclouds as well as the amazing @meowxyoong (thank u loves <3333)

𝐚/𝐧: nothing to say other than I seem to like butts more than I thought,,,,, also victoria monét’s “ass like that” was the very inspo for this au, cause that song is a bop and for some reason it gave me hobi vibes + “juice” by lizzo (though I doubt the fic gives off that type of vibe but oh well) enjoy 🥺

Three months down the line and you’d think you would have developed somewhat of a sweat resistance by habitually working out. No, not at all. Still as sweaty as ever, but maybe now it was less about hard work, and more about hard want. You relax onto the closed toilet seat sighing deeply at your unfortunate situation. The changing room wasn’t safe and neither was the shared portion of the washroom.

At every and any small intermission you were offered during the heated class, you dashed towards the toilets letting your sweaty fingers hectically slip against the cold metal of the tap handles. The cold water slipping past your fingers as you tapped its remains on your skin, hoping to cool down or at least seem cool enough. But there’s only so much a little bit of cold water could do for your overheated body. As aware as you were about this, you made it a habit, involuntary of course, to let some of that desire out in the confinements of one of the bathroom stalls.

Today is no exception. You rush to the toilet, rugged breaths filling the air as you snap the flimsy lock shut, bending over to roll off your snug cycling shorts. You think back to Hoseok’s instructions : “You should always keep an eye on your breathing while doing vigorous exercise, you want to avoid back pain and strain on your blood vessels.” Back in class you almost let your thoughts tumble through your heaving mouth. “I don’t think exercise is the one doing that”.

As obedient as you are, you let deep puffs reverberate through your chest before diving in. Your hands, tired from clenching hard against the handle of the cycle to stay on it, tremble their way down your folds swinging with the same dynamic present in Hoseok’s glistening legs while he pedals. Your eyes flutter, blinding you from your surroundings, mind tumbling through all the imprinted images of your instructor you have stored in your mind.

That’s all you need. For now.

While you suck at cycling and picking up speed in that circumstance, the image of Hoseok’s huffing mouth, stable legs, and bouncing brown locks, drenched with his hard work, sticking to him the way you wanted him to stick to you, was more than enough for the tentative deep plunge of your fingers to rival the set speed record for your spin class.

Remember: deep breaths Y/N. You slow down, finger languidly straining against your walls. You hit a particular spot, staggering on the one leg touching the ground as your other hand anchors your edged form onto the whimsy bathroom stall walls.

The slow pace allows you to revel in the imagery of Hoseok’s long fingers pointed high in the air to countdown to your thirty second long spinning sprint, imagining those long digits plunged into the same heat your fingers are scissoring. He would know exactly what to do, ordering consecutive gushes of arousal out of you, the same way his fingers point towards your direction when he sees your energy falter.

With Hoseok, nothing but one hundred percent was acceptable. While you couldn’t always keep the promise of giving him just that in all of his classes, if he were to ask you, whether it be after class or somewhere in the lobby of the gym building, you would say yes to showing him where you excelled without fail.

Heart beating a firing rhythm you would snatch his trained fingers to some designated corner of the building, ready to get on your knees and stay there to take it all, the one posture you knew you could manage to keep without fail. Anything for Hoseok really.

Dripping fingers, drying cycling shorts clinging to your heated flesh, you croak out a moan, doing your best to quiet it down in the sleeve of your gym top. “Shit—” your hips buck into your erratic palm as you knead the sensitive flesh of your bud, hissing through clenched teeth.

“What the fuck are you doing to me, Hoseok,” the whispered whine travels to the small cracks of the bathroom stall, the sloppy sounds of your continued assault on your wetness bounce against the walls to fall upon the ears of the figure entering the toilet room.

“Hmmmm, fuck Hoseo—”

Your anticipated wave of pleasure catches your breath, stuttering breaths colouring the air with its warm essence. “Ahhhh,” you sigh into the sensation rippling through your bones, fisted hand sprawling itself across the cool wood of the bathroom stall door. A particular touch of your knuckles against your clit has your nails scratch against the material.

In the heat of the moment, eyelids heavy and ears focused on recalling the authority of Hoseok’s voice, you fail to register the footsteps that sound in the room. Footsteps that stall themselves during your explosive demonstration of your instructor’s effect on your body only to leave the toilet room after you’ve calmed down and said in a condescending yet satisfied tone, “How pathetic, masturbating to your instructor in the bathroom like some teenager. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Puffing out what’s left of your pent up air, you drag your fingers from your settling walls, staring longingly at the wetness and wishing you could be looking at another pair of fingers glazed with your cum.

Hand hanging lazily by your side you do your best to lift your shorts back up to a correct position using your only available hand. You fiddle with the lock, slowly opening the door. You peek to see if there’s anyone there to whom you might reveal your latest conquest and only probe your head out of the stall when the coast feels clear.

As weak as legs might feel, you do your best to hurry up with the cleaning, washing the product of your forbidden fantasy down the drain just like the possibility of ever actually having the honour to let yourself be used by him in any way he sees fit.

Commanding words and strokes telling you exactly what he wants you to do for him, to give to him and you doing your absolute best to abide with clenched fists and a gagging mouth. You feel yourself fall down the rabbit hole, again, but you bring yourself back with a good shake of your head. You do not have another ten minutes to calm yourself down by attempting to fulfill your own lust.

You take one last look at the mirror to check that you do not look abnormally flustered before you leave to head back into the spinning room, face sweet and innocent, unlike the thoughts trying to invade your mind the moment your eyes focus on their inevitable target.

The hypnotising movement of his lips. Inviting and pink and shimmering from the quick swipe of his pointed lip against the surface. You sigh, in desperation, wishing for the presence of that muscle somewhere else. How pathetic of you, you think, almost releasing a single sobbing sound out of frustration. If only he knew.

You heave yourself into the cycle, fitting your tensed feet into the small caged armor of the pedal, unaware that Hoseok indeed knew and was very much ready to act on it.

His sudden constant and deliberate churning of your increasingly hot figure has you agitated, gaze meeting the floor. It is unusual for Hoseok to get off of his spin bike and personally assist you with your posture. Rather, he settled for quick commanding reminders that were shouted as enthusiastically as possible despite the sternness of his sweating face.

Yet for some reason, unbeknownst to you, he stops spinning and drags his taut slim legs all the way to where you like to stay at the back of the class, to personally adjust your swaying pelvis. “Engage your core. Squeeze your glutes.” He says, the order somehow managing to sound even louder than the blasting music. This is the first time he has touched you. You immediately stop spinning, hips swaying even more than before, chasing the inviting and rough heat of his short finger glove covered hands.

Your heart should have calmed down by the time he got back on his bike, but it doesn’t. You fail to admit to yourself that the coincidental eye contact you had with Hoseok in his classes, was more than enough to throw off your already fumbling posture.

If his wandering eyes are enough for you to follow their movement, accentuating each part that they laid on, his hands on your straining body is all you need to alleviate the ache of your muscles. You turn into a puddle, something that manifests itself right between your legs even before your body comes in contact with his.

“Okay guys, we have another half hour before we are done, so stay with me and there will be a sweet treat at the end,” Hoseok shouts out to the class, bursting your little thought bubble. Your eyes close as you nod, encouraging yourself to pull through, not for the sweet treat but for you. It’s the least you can do given how much you pay for these classes. But what a shame that your eyes are closed, unable to register the hungry and curious gaze Hoseok throws your way.

Twenty minutes have gone by, or maybe just ten? You feel so hot and disoriented from all the effort you’re putting in. Yawning, and trying your best to rid yourself of the final remains of sleep, you had theorised in your car that your goal for this class was to beat your old record, the one you had back when you came to class for the right reasons. Before the thought of riding Hoseok overtook your ambition to get fitter.

Calves burning, every muscle pushing itself to the verge of exhaustion, you think back to your breathing. Your mouth opens and closes as if you are giving birth, trying its best to collect all of the sweat ridden air needed to keep you going.

“Five minutes left. Keep going, you’re almost there!”

Your hanging head, that was focused on counting the sweat droplets falling from your face onto the shiny floor, shoots up to look at your instructor. It must be because of his job as a trainer and a coach that Hoseok flashes you his dashing smile the minute your eyes, gleaming with hope at the prospect of the class soon coming to an end, meets his own soft gaze.

Not wanting to seem rude or like a total nutjob, you tame your panting mouth into a simple smile, no teeth so as to not come across as too excited about something as infantile as eye contact. He winks in response and you swear you almost twist your ankle leaning forward to check if your eyes aren’t deceiving you.

Hoseok’s good at his job. He manages to keep your mind away from the propagating ache in your body as your legs chase time, looking to leave the room with your own small victory. He keeps you rooted and gives you the last bit of energy you need to make it. The timer beeps, startling you. You shake in your seat, breaking your contact with his warm brown eyes. If this is the power of his eyes, what the heck does his body have in store?

As much as you would want to let your mind wander to give you a probable hypothesis to the complicated case that is Hoseok, you’re too far gone to think that deep. Drained and sweaty, your arms dangle on your sides as you let your head lifelessly fall onto the bar of the spin bike. Too weak to push yourself back up but still wanting to know how far you cycled, you roll your drenched head onto the speed counter and stare down at it. At the sight of the double digit number, larger than the previous feat you had achieved, you sigh, a light laugh slipping past your dry lips. Finally some good news. As a way of congratulating yourself, you pat your thighs with the little force you have spared.

The surrounding claps invade your wandering ears, as people shout out, patting themselves in the back and congratulating others for pulling through. Nobody congratulates you but it’s nothing you haven’t had to handle before. Content with your progress, you step off the cycle.

You gather your items, hurrying as you feel the effects of gorging on too much liquid during class. With a drenched towel hanging of your forearm and an empty water bottle in your other hand you speed to the unisex toilet.

As you set your belongings on the sink countertop, someone enters. You don’t bother to spare them a glance, something you regret the minute Hoseok’s familiar tight fitting cycling top is reflected on the wide mirror. Your head instinctively looks his way to admire the soft slope of his nose and the harsh lines of his profile. He knows you’re looking to which he smirks softly. Your body shifts more to your right, afraid of what other things, sinful things, you might feel compelled to do if you stay so close to him.

You aggressively pump some soap into your palm, anything to remove the silence etched in the surrounding air. Hoseok does the same, except he does it graciously like everything else he’s ever done.

“Y/N, right?” He inquires, letting a steady stream of water wet his hands as he lathers them.

Your mind tells you he’s simply asking for formality’s sake. Did he plan to keep a conversation with you in the bathroom? How much could you possibly fit into the time it takes to wash your hands? Unless he plans on drawing it out and drying out his skin? Many more questions run through my mind as you bite your lips, eyes staring at the floor until they inevitably wander up his legs.

This is your verbal first interaction with him that doesn’t seem to hint at any subject related to your given roles in the establishment, a trainer and his trainee. No, he’s asking as Hoseok, curious to know about a certain regular Y/N who spends her free time thinking indecent thoughts about his body.

Realising that you’re taking too long to answer to your own name, you blurt out, “YES!” before clearing your throat in hopes to compose yourself. Swallowing thickly, you have another go at it, “I mean, yes, that’s my name. Y/N is me.”

While your ears warm up at your embarrassing behaviour, Hoseok’s soft chuckle manages to overpower the loud hand dryer. Usually, once someone’s done cleaning their hands they leave the bathroom and that’s exactly what you see Hoseok do. You watch him walk up to the toilet room door only to turn back around to face the mirror, doing your best not to let the dejected feeling in you overtake your features.

You breathe in, trying your best to catch your sanity. He was just being nice and trying to break the tension, one you seem to believe could only be perceived from your side. With eyes closed, you let the cool rush of the water provide some sort of relaxation and solution to your heated body. Your dripping hands reach towards the hand dryer on your side only to reach back when you think about the hot air, you don't need to get fired up again, so you decide to pat yourself dry with paper towels.

Ready to leave, you look up into the mirror to take one last inspection at your face.

Oh.

Hoseok’s eyes catch your own. He’s leaning against the toilet’s room door frame, head slightly hanging to his side and tongue dancing calmly in the small intrusion between his lips. You thought he left?

You want to look away, but you can’t. Not only because of the demanding energy coating his eyes, but also because of the entrancing way he runs a hand past his hair, heel kicking against the door as he pushes himself off of it.

He darts towards you. Or at least that’s what it feels like to you. An overwhelming wave of desire coats your senses forcing your legs to stagger backwards as your butt comes in contact with the hard and cold edge of the sink counter.

Those hands, those fingers, the ones you’ve fantasied about having buried inside of you or stuffed in your mouth, find their way on each side of you anchoring themselves on the hard surface as Hoseok corners.

He’s close. Close enough to hear your shallow breathing, to notice your confused yet intrigued eyes and to smell the fertilised desperation in your body. Head somewhat leaned down so as to reach your gaze, he lets his eyes take their own free tour around your face, mouth slightly parted.

“I don’t think it’s pathetic at all,” he breathes out, sloping down to bathe your hot ears in his warm breath, “it’s cute, actually.” The sweet tone is almost enough to deceive you of his intentions but the prominent scraping of his teeth against your earlobe makes it clear.

Your chest curls into itself at the action, slipping down, out of reach from his inviting mouth. You want to think it’s a coincidence that Hoseok references your words from earlier but to simply think isn’t enough, you need to confirm it. “Uhmm… I don’t kn–ow what you’re referring to.” It comes out more jagged than you intended to as he steps closer, so as to almost graze your heaving chest.

A pout on his lips, his gaze zig zags across your features, “See, cute.”

You feel like you’re melting. Your face finds refuge in the minor protection of your shoulder as you squeeze your eyes shut. This is all you had thought about. To have Hoseok look at you as if he already knew what is obscured from his sigh, for now, a sight he couldn’t wait to explore. To let his eyes, hands and mouth colour his imagination into reality.

“I mean that it would be nice if I could show you what I can actually do to you.” If you were properly breathing before you sure you aren’t anymore. His voice is covered with sweetness and curiosity. It acts as both a gentle threat and a request. He could and would show you.

The rub of your knee against his thinly clothed thigh says yes before you manage to catch enough air to utter an eager “please”, eyes opening to stare at his chest. “Go ahead,” at the sight of your yearning eyes he encourages you. The thin elastic material did little to protect your sanity from the hardness of his body.

Had your eyes been closed, you could have been fooled into believing that you were touching his naked chest. You pinch the material, tugging it off his skin only to let it slap back down. Something that brings a soft smile to Hoseok’s shifting lips. Hoping that he understands your wordless request, you repeat the action a couple more times.

He dodges your eyes more than once, letting his playful side show, before he leans into you. Your lips collide, strong enough to have your head inclined against the mirror, your body moving upwards at every hungry push of his determined body. You latch onto him, hands lacing themselves around his straining biceps as you match the feverish dance of his tongue.

If your moaning wasn’t already evidence enough of your state, Hoseok’s willingness to offer more encourages him to run a slow swipe of his delicate hands up your thigh and dangerously close to where you’ve imagined him placing every class that you’ve attended. The touch is prominent enough to have you squirming, letting whiny moans spill into his smirking lips as your legs bring him closer.

But Hoseok’s gentle yet clear tapping of your thighs tells you he has something else in mind. “Stand back up.” The order is clear yet in your current hazy state, you slide off the counter anticipating your weak landing, something Hoseok takes care of by pushing you flush against him.

Following through, he presses his long fingers in the soft flesh of your ass, spreading your cycling shorts covered cheeks all while pushing you closer to his straining cock. Spread out, head shying away from looking at his face, he leans in with a soft whisper, “Now tell me, kitty, how did you get an ass like this?”

Timid hands roam across his hard frame as your intended whisper becomes a rushing gasp, pulled out from you by Hoseok’s prominent kneading of your ass, “You.”

“What did you say, sweetheart?”

Hesitant, and quite frankly too hot to think straight, you let it all spill out.

“It’s because of you. You gave me an ass like this.”

“Huh, you think so?” His stretched palm travels up and down your clothed cheeks. You don’t respond letting the steady stream of strained moans be an answer in itself. “So you’re saying, my classes gave you this juicy ass,” He hisses out, firmly squeezing the jiggly flesh.

You nod your head against his shoulder, humming in agreement, the cadence at which the soft moans escape intensifying. Moans that you attempt disguise by biting into his cycling jersey.

“Don’t you think I should get to enjoy what I created?” The implications of his question makes your breath hitch.

What is he thinking of doing. Anal? Eating your ass? Spanking? Your mind is in haywire but you know what you think.

“You can do anything you want.”

“Anything?”

You nod once again, hardened buds tickling his covered chest. All Hoseok does is smirk at your eagerness.

“Not today, kitty,” he pushes lightly against your breasts, making your shiver at the friction, turning you around with a swift hand as he shakes his head, “I like it from the back.”

You’re now facing the mirror, able to notice the distraught state of your body as your desperation creeps further into your limbs. Hoseok finds himself caging you in again, but while you could have hid your warming face in his chest before, now you’re completely exposed.It’s something that brings a playful expression to his features.

As if he wasn’t already close enough to you, Hoseok drives his eager hips into the heated plumpness of your butt and your fingers tense further around the edge of the countertop. Every hitching breath of yours is complemented with his groans.

“What a beautiful ass I’ve made,” he says, pride in his voice as he crouches down behind you to give each cheek its own shameless squeeze. “Don’t you agree?”

“Hmm,” you hum breathlessly before a pointed strike to your cheek makes it clear that that’s not how he wants you to respond. Nodding, head straining backwards to catch Hoseok’s dark gaze, your knees buckle driving your ass closer to his face while you whine out a stuttering yes.

Hoseok’s your trainer. He knows how breathing works during physical activities and makes it known that, whether or not you’re in class, he rules still apply. It’s soft, yet commanding whispers to not forget to breathe or he will stop, tingling confessions that let his appetite for your body infest your nerves as you delve deeper into despair. You want his cock inside of you and, unlike your willingness to wait, his patience is much greater.

The continuous sway of hips quickens his breaths, and they land on your shoulder where they leave shivers that travel down your spine forcing you to shimmy your ass into his crotch even harder. “Come on, kitty, patience.” He breathes out, biting your scalding shoulder.

“Nghh, but plea—,” the hard slap that lands on your misbehaving cheeks has you stiffening, hands slipping against the glass. At this point you’re sure you’re not going to sit down on your train ride back home. Hoseok seems to want to leave you sore and marked.

“I said patience. I will give you what you need when I want to.” You nod lazily, not that your mind registers the sentence, but the alarming tone has you on your best behaviour.

Your compliant action earns you a few sloppy kisses along your covered shoulders, his hands snaking upwards to catch the zipper and let it slide down as you bend, body yearning for his touch until his determined hands engulf your freed and neglected mounds.

“Hmmm, just as soft and juicy as your ass.” He moans loud and clear and you fear someone outside might hear. Yet it still makes you melt onto his hard body. “Hose—yes, like that, ahhhh.”

Hoseok, given his position, does like orders, something he lets you know by running his fingers around your perked buds and squeezing them so hard you screech and bend even deeper. Fuck. As much as it hurts it also feels so good; your watering folds are proof enough.

“I don’t like to repeat myself, Y/N. Misbehave and I’ll keep drawing this out, leaving you wet and begging for me.” His tone is calculated and laced with a certain layer of pity that has you whining as you place one hand on his forearms to turn around and meet his eyes.

You witness the slowed blinking of his eyelids and hope that he can decipher your distressed eyes that ask for more. While Hoseok cares for his trainees, he likes to push them to see how far they can go. That’s what the smirk creeping up on his lips tells you.

“All in due time, kitty. First, let me taste something that I want to make mine.” One confident hand pats your dripping pussy to further awaken your sensitive nerve endings. Your thighs instinctively snap shut capturing his hand. Hoseok catches your eyes in the mirror, shaking his head before delivering another strike to your ass.

“Ahhh, shit,” you bite your quivering lips and let your hesitant thighs part to welcome the sweet slide of Hoseok’s fingers past your clothed folds as he hums in approval at the present wetness. “Just how I like it.” The praise compels a soft smile on your end.

You can’t hide the confusion that coats your features when he suddenly extracts his hand, something that has him snickering to himself. He enjoys torturing you and you want to complain but you don’t think your ass could handle anymore pain so you suck up your remarks along with some air.

Your head dances around, left to right and back again trying to figure out what exactly he plans to do as he crouches back down to face your butt. Before you can enquire in order to save yourself from any surprise attacks, he dives his head into the expanse of your globes shaking it as you squeal trying your best not to lose your stance.

He hums deeply, breathing in your scent and you whimper once his wet tongue pokes out to slide along your pussy lips, his saliva mixing in with your oozing arousal. His arms snake around your thighs, fingers digging into the flesh to push you further against his face. “Fuck, your kitty is dripping for me.” You manage to hear the muffled sound above the blend of his groans and your stumbling moans. But for once Hoseok doesn’t abide by his own rules as his hands rush to the hem of your cycling shorts, wanting nothing more than to rip them apart, to have you bare as to allow him to witness your clenching pussy– soon to be his pussy.

Exposed and wet, ready for him since the day you laid eyes on him, you stare down at his soft brown locks, where your hands will find refuge in shortly, and try your best to examine his eager expression through hooded eyes. He has your right leg up on his shoulder and you let the rhythm of his stroking hand guide your breaths. “So fucking pretty,” his other hand travels up your other thigh, “and wet,” he bites his lips leaning into your drenched center, “and mine.”

It’s only one lick but you already feel like falling apart, hands squeaking against the mirror. “Ahhh shit,” your hips move on their own accord, meeting his hot appendage and coating it with your increasing neediness. Either Hoseok doesn’t mind or your eagerness, looking to satisfy your own urge, doesn’t register in his mind as all that’s there is the goal to have you trembling and gushing all over his hungry mouth.

For each lap at your folds, he takes a breath away. Your fingers find the courage to place themselves on his head, soft hair left to be scrunched in your clenched fist. His head moves vigorously up and down, drinking up your juices under feverish groans and needy hands that latch on the cheeks of your ass to keep you from staggering away.

His tongue drives your pants, saturating your cunt with pointed licks coupled with soft nibbles at your throbbing clit, an action that has you quivering in surprise. “So fucking sweet,” he drags out the suckling of your vulva as he hums, satisfaction clear on his face as his tongue slides across his bottom lips. You mewl, hips bucking into the empty air. He plants a soft kiss on your heat, “Just for me. How cute.”

“Hoseok, please,” your strained plea runs from your lips without much thought to meet his mocking pout. You’re so close, you just need him to keep lapping at your soaked entrance, feasting on your juices and you would come undone before you know it.

However Hoseok seems to have other plans in mind as he stands back up, the straining in his pants all the more noticeable in his tight shorts. He leans in to kiss your neck, holding your behind flush against his cock. “Unfortunately, I can’t eat you out until you fall apart. We wouldn’t want anyone to come open the door, now would we?”

Your want has made you forget your predicament. You’re in the bathroom of your gym, ready to have the trainer you’ve been daydreaming about rail your neediness away. He made sure to lock the door but someone could soon start asking questions, looking for staff to complain to. Staff who would surely hurry to unlock the door, after all client satisfaction is important. Something that Hoseok is very aware of.

You shake your head as his husk approval meets your slick ear, “Good kitty.” He bites the shell of your ear, scraping against the heating flesh, “Now spread your legs for me.” You shuffle your feet side to side following his orders, legs too heavy to lift. “You’re doing so good for me,” he says, hoping to reassure you as his hands leave your body and you watch him, in the mirror, slide his pants down to expose his erect and flushed cock.

You almost turn around on instinct, one based on your countless dreams of having him in your mouth, weighing down your tongue. But you stay put, resorting to ogling his long and pretty dick. Hoseok doesn’t seem to mind as his hand goes to stroke lazily at the throbbing length while continuing to keep his distance from you.

His eyes lock with yours and you whimper because you know exactly what you could do to that dick of his if he’d just let you. However, he’s adamant on having his way with you. Maybe another time? Maybe. You close your eyes to let the sour thought of this being a one time occasion wash away and let Hoseok’s touch bring you back to the moment at hand.

His hand digs into the flesh of your hips and your needy heat clenches around empty air at the sweet and slow slide of the fleshy and precum glazed tip of his cock. Hoseok’s likes to drink up your reactions, staring into the mirror to admire your furrowed brows, your open mouth and your squeezed eyelids as he continues to run his pulsating member up and down your slit. He slips up, his enthusiasm getting the best of him as the tip grazes your clit and you bite into your clenched fist, your moan still managing to seep through.

Hoseok’s chest leans into your back as he places one of his hands above yours. He orders your gaze to meet his, the other hand hiding between your bodies to position himself at your entrance.

“This is gonna be just like our sprints in class. Are you ready, kitty?”

You munch on your wet lip, and repeat, through your panting mess, the only the only two words that seem to be in your mind, “Hoseok plea—ahhh”

His hard cock eases into your needy walls, slowly filling you up as his other hand moves back to restrain your only free hand. Chest against back, hands weighing on yours, and forehead bent down against your shoulder, he bottoms out and you release a combined sigh. You shut eyes spring open to stare at the delightful connection between your edged bodies. You can’t comprehend the situation, nor do you try to. This is really happening, huh?

It feels too good. Too good to be true and too good for your practically spasming pussy. Hoseok’s calm approach is short-lived, his second thrust as frantic as your breaths. The force at which he moves inside your slick walls, force strong enough to have the edge of the sink countertop dig against your stomach.

Your hand reaches back to hold onto his shoulder, trying your best to stay stable as each continuous attack of his hips sounds against your tender ass. Hoseok drags his dick out, making you moan and pant so much you’re clouding the mirror. He eagerly snaps back against your straining tightness, bottoming out as he puffs out laboured breaths and you gasp into your trembling shoulder. “Yes, yes, right there,” you sigh in between ragged breaths

He delivers another pointed thrust, pumping himself deeper into your warmth, “Here?” He breathes out and you nod hastily.

You can feel the short yet intense slap of his balls against your ass, the thrill of it all making you bend to spread your legs even further apart. Your face only centimeters away from the cold, metal tap, you shriek feeling the weight of Hoseok’s imprints on the small of your back as he pounds your sopping pussy. “Shit, all of this for me?” He pants, delivering his beloved strikes on the ass he’s made.

With your current limited vocabulary all you can do is nod, head bracing itself in the crook of your arm. Chasing your own pleasure, all while melting on the wonder that’s Hoseok’s cock, you move your hips to meet the now frantic pummelling of his straining dick.

One of his hands migrates to surround the soft and tender flesh of your neck as he pulls you up to reveal your fucked out gaze. “So fucking pretty.” He suckles the skin of your neck, biting into it to suppress his own moans. You wrap your hand around his forearm, chanting your go-to high-pitched request once again, this time managing to add one more word, “Hoseok, please, harder.”

Your heart is about to leap out of your chest at sight of the soft gaze he throws under heavy eyelids. “Anything for you, kitty.” And he gives you just that. He pumps in and out, hard, hand still around your neck, more so as a sweet gesture to help your head stay put as he admires his work. His other arm pushing you flush against his body, mushing your ass cheeks against his crotch. A feeling he welcomes with a low hiss.

Hoseok’s dick pulsates against your walls, as they suck him deeper, his length allowing him to graze spots in you nobody has touched before. The quick and pointed hammering makes your breath stutter. You’re so close, you think, but fail to communicate, mouth unable to form any coherent sounds apart from heavy moans and whines.

You spare a glance in Hoseok’s direction, to see his head nested in the crook of your neck, eyes shut and his cheeks puff out for every passionate thrust he delivers. Warmth, not the kind that comes from your current vigorous activity, but the one that’s born out of hope for more, overtakes you only this time you have no wish to dispel it.

Your free hand meets your sensitive bud, rubbing circles as his cock continues to make a mess of you. He must have felt the soft graze of your fingertips against his hot girth as his hands move to meet yours. He slides his fingers past your slick coating fingers that are soon placed back on your clit. Digits dancing around each other, your chest stutters into the bliss, back morphing into the bend of his chest. “Oh,Hos– ahhh, I’m clo–se.”

Hoseok finds the sounds that leave you endearing, a smile stretching along his lips. “Go on kitty, let my pussy cum all over me.” You shut your eyes, lips pressed against each other, glutes clenched to Hoseok’s striking approval, letting your pent up and often castoff desire for a certain man with a blinding smile, and inspiring ethic rush over your limbs, choked moans leaving your once sealed lips.

He thrusts on every breath intake, adamant on literally taking your breath away as his own unraveling follows shortly. Even in this state of frenzy, he manages, ever the professional and hard worker, to land his last thrusts just where he wants them. Deep within you, before he snatches his hypnotising member away from your ever yearning heat to decorate your back with a fat load, as he grunts out, “Ugh, hmph–mine.”

Strikes of white cum hit you as you sigh, trying your best to regulate your breathing all while hitting your face to convince yourself of the reality of the situation. You just fucked your trainer. The one you’ve been fantasising about for the past three months. You try to find some sort of guilt, looking to appease your mind and assure yourself that nothing bad will come out of this.

You’ll still be able to attend your lessons each week, sitting down at your same spot, staring ahead at him indifferently as he manages to not even break a sweat during his excruciating classes. You tell yourself that you’re sure everything will go back to normal once the two of you step outside the sex stenched toilet room. Everything will be just fine. You almost believe it, until you’re brought back to the present moment, as he swipes a cool water drenched paper towel against your ruined slit. Yeah, this is bad.

Mixing fantasies, longing stares and care can only lead to one possible thing. A bus you doubt he would jump on if it were to show up at his door steps. You scramble to retrieve the towel and proceed to clean yourself. Hoseok jumps at your less than gentle action, but decides not to give it much thought, unlike you.

“Thanks,” you attempt to lessen your rude behaviour. He gives you a lopsided smile, winking away your weakly established reassurance that you’ll manage not to think about this encounter from a point of view that’s filled with craving feelings and expectations.

“That was nice.”

You fail to suppress the laughter that’s screaming to be released, to see him flustered has you smiling, nodding reassuringly at his statement.

“Very nice, indeed,” you respond, throwing away the towel as you join Hoseok in putting your cycling shorts back on and closing the zipper of your cycling jersey.

Your eyes travel across the room to make sure that nothing is terribly out of place or different before your hands stroke down your front while you stare at the now silent man. You wait, expecting him to say something, wanting him to. When he doesn’t seem to have it in his plans to speak again, you turn around to walk towards the key he left in the lockset of the door.

A loud cough sounds behind you and you snap around, eyes eagerly staring at him to notice the full blown smile on his glowing face, making your heart skip.

His fingers gestures towards his back and once he notices your confused expression, he articulates his concern with a small laugh and scratch to his neck, “Uhm, you kinda forgot the back, my…. yeah, is still there”

“Oh,” you turn around to look at your back through the mirror. The sight alone of his cum has your mouth watering and legs clenching, something that doesn’t go unnoticed to Hoseok’s focused eyes. Just the reassurance he needed to feel like you weren’t completely regretting what just happened. “Right.” You sidestep him to reach for some more paper towels, hands trying their best to clean it up only to end up smearing it even more.

Hoseok’s hand reaches out. “May I?” Sighing you nod, discarding the ruined towels in the bin.

On second thought, you should have said no and struggled through the clean up on your own. The soft press of his digits against your back ignites your skin and pulls you back to the not so distant events in your mind. Your sharp breath intakes at each touch from his body further aids Hoseok in building back his confidence.

You definitely liked him, or at least your body did. He thinks and he would definitely not mind a repeat, preferably somewhere where he did not need to worry about time or intruders and where he could knead your ass to his heart’s content.

Once done, you step away, this time thoroughly cleaned and ready to leave. You turn back to follow your previous path, hand clenched around the key refusing to unlock the door as you await another interjection from his part. To unlock the door means this is finally over and as much as you might not believe this to be your best decision, you still want to bask in the awkward sweetness of the aftermath, just for a few more seconds. But Hoseok stays silent this time.

Your hand weights down on the handle, pushing it towards you. Sighing, you are brought back to reality as you stare at the bypassers outside of the toilet room. Your hand releases the handle, walking out and heading towards the changing rooms.

Your steps are slow, ready to halt upon his request. Yet, all your ears can hear is the shuffling of hurried feet and the sound of other classes taking place. Soon enough, you’re walking slow out of dejection rather than apprehension.

“Hey! Y/N!” Your skin shivers at the timbre of the familiar voice and you walk faster to stop a bit further away. You don’t want him to think that you were waiting for him.

Your body whips around, using the little resolve you have left to mask your delight at the sight of him.

“I’ll see you next week,” it comes out as a blend between a question and an affirmation and you can see in his eyes that he needs you to clarify the nature of his statement for him. To let him know there could in fact be more than today.

“I’ll see you next week, Hoseok.” You smile sheepishly as you turn around to scurry towards your intended destination, squealing into the palms of your hands. Hands that had touched him and had been caressed by him. Ultimately, hands that couldn’t wait to knead him the way he kneaded you.

Posted: July 16 2020

a/n: feel free to share any feedback, it’s always deeply appreciated 🥺

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farfromsugafanfic · 3 years

Text

Not So Silent Night

Genre: Quarantine Romance, slight Enemies To Lovers, Neighbors AU, Fluff, slight Angst

Pairing: Namjoon/ Reader

Warnings: none

Synopsis: Namjoon hadn’t intended to spend much time in his tiny apartment. And then a pandemic broke out. Now he’s stuck dealing with his noisy neighbor, you.

✦✧✦✧

Namjoon thought he was in the clear that Wednesday night. He'd heard the opening and closing of your front door, the clink of your keys in the lock, and the rustle of the groceries in your arms. He knew it was your Friday, which meant you'd usually turn on music while you cleaned your tiny apartment, or a play a movie on full blast while you devoured an entire pizza yourself.

It was nearly 9 pm and he hadn't heard a peep from you, not even the true crime podcast you sometimes put on. Namjoon, unlike you, had worked from home for months now. Even though most of his time at work was spent in his private studio, he had nearly an identical set up in his apartment.

He was still working, albeit, not on the songs he produced for other artists, but on his own. He'd just started editing the melody when heard the familiar bass chords of "What Makes You Beautiful". It was your favorite song to torture him with. Namjoon had nothing against the British boyband you seemed to love so much, that was until you started them playing them loudly at odd hours.

Namjoon sighed, pausing his work and rubbing his temples. He really needed to save up for a good pair of noise canceling headphones, although he wouldn't find it surprising if you somehow managed to invade his eardrums right away.

He tried to continue working, turning his headphones all the way up. Yet, all he could focus on was the way he heard the familiar bass line restart when the song ended.

Namjoon groaned and threw his headphones onto his desk. He'd only moved into this tiny apartment because the rent was cheap and he hadn't intended to spend much time in it. Then, a pandemic hit and suddenly, Namjoon was confined to four menacing white walls with the only company being his noisy neighbor, you.

He waited a half hour before he walked down the stairs to your apartment. Even though the city was under quarantine, the apartment building was snug and it was nearly impossible not to come into contact with each other. Securing his mask over his ear, he knocked on your door.

"Yes?" you asked, answering the door as if you'd been expecting him. You, too, had just finished looping the mask around your ear. It was a bright polka dot pattern that distracted Namjoon long enough that he managed to speak before noticing that your oversized T-shirt made it look like you weren't wearing shorts.

"Can you please keep it down, Y/N? It's the middle of the week for me and I have a Zoom call at 8 am tomorrow."

"That sounds like your problem," you said, leaving your door open as you tied the top of the trash bag you'd been getting ready to take out when Namjoon knocked.

A glint of annoyance passed over Namjoon's eyes and even from under your mask he could make out your familiar smirk from the way your eyebrows rose.

"Do you even own headphones?" he asked, crossing his arms. He didn't notice the way your eyes swept over his biceps and chest with his movement.

"They hurt my ears," you said, shrugging. Grabbing the trash bag by the tied top and heading back for your front door. "Now, be a doll and take this out for me? My legs hurt from work."

Namjoon looked at you with his eyes wide and mouth slightly agape. He didn't say anything as you shoved the bag into his hands.

"What? Why are looking at me like that?" you paused, dialing down your attitude for a moment. "Listen, if you do this, I'll turn it off so you can get your beauty sleep."

He watched as you reached up and pat his shoulder. Your nail polish was chipping and the gleam from your gold promise ring dulled. His eyes traced as your hand left the fabric of his T-shirt and came to the doorknob of your front door.

"Goodnight Namjoon," you said, shutting the door.

Namjoon stood in the hallway, his lips parted and a small breath. He scoffed as the familiar bassline blasted from your apartment.

✦✧✦✧

You'd had a long day. Work was keeping you at least an hour over every day and you felt your feet ache as slipped off your shoes. Even though you just wanted to fall into bed, you changed and washed your hands first, doing your best to feel clean before your skin hit the sheets. As a Pharmacy Technician, you were essential, and even if most of your job was counting pills and performing customer service, right now it was harder than ever.

With only ten hours until you had to be at work, you ordered food and eyed the laundry that was beginning to spill over the edge of the hamper like waves over a jetty. You sighed, taking out your phone and putting on music. You gathered up your clothes and laundry soap. Pocketing your keys and a handful of quarters dug out of the bottom of your purse, you made your way to the basement laundry room.

You let the music play. While you weren't particularly trying to get your tall neighbor's attention, or get on his nerves, like you usually were, you secretly hoped you'd get to catch a glimpse of his signature white T-shirt against his bronzed skin.

Loading your clothes into the shared washer, your phone began to ring and your boyfriend's face flashed across the screen. He was smiling widely in the picture, his hair swept back by the coastal breeze. At one point, it had been your favorite photo of him. Now, it just felt like a sweet apple that turned out to be poison.

You ignored the call and poured the detergent into the machine. Inserting the quarters, you heard footsteps coming down the stairs. You'd heard his feet on the stairs enough, that you recognized the soft one, two pattern as he made his way downstairs.

"I think the whole complex knows you're a fan of One Direction now," Namjoon said, coming into view. His hands were empty, having obviously come down purely because of your disruption.

"So be it," you said, starting the machine and glancing down as the music stopped and your phone rang again. You frowned as you rejected the call.

Namjoon noticed, his brow furrowing as his eyes glanced down at the phone in your hand. "You should've answered. At least you'd be less of a bother."

The two calls and the exhaustion weighed you down and felt yourself drifting below the surface. "I'm really not in the mood right now, Namjoon. Maybe tomorrow."

His sarcastic smile faltered. "If you don't want me to bother you, then don't play your music so loud." He crossed his arms over his chest, his muscles becoming more prominent as the fabric of his T-shirt stretched to accommodate the new position. You had no idea how he stayed so toned with the apartment gym shut down and such a small apartment.

"Maybe you should invest in earplugs."

"Maybe you should invest in headphones."

You scoffed and headed back upstairs, not feeling the banter. Your neck and shoulders were tense and you just wanted to finish your laundry and pass out for the night.

✦✧✦✧

Namjoon didn't think much of your sour mood. It was obvious that it extended beyond him since you rejected the phone call. He stood in the laundry room for a few moments and watched your laundry spin around in the washer.

He remembered back to the week before when you forced him to take out your garbage. A thought crossed his mind and he wondered if a good prank would lift your spirits.

With most coin operated washers, the doors locked right after the money is inserted and the washer starts. The ones at your apartment complex, however, had a loophole. Hitting the coin return button a few times, the quarters you'd entered fell into the coin return and the machine slowed to a stop.

Waiting a few moments to make sure you weren't coming back, he opened the door and took your wet clothes out of the dryer. He pocketed the coins, reminding himself to use them for your clothes later. Setting them on top of the washer, he rushed up to his apartment and grabbed his own laundry, starting it.

✦✧✦✧

The timer went off a half hour later. You were halfway through eating dinner but paused to go switch loads. You knew between your boyfriend' incessant calls and the hour long drying cycle, you were not going to get to sleep any time soon.

Shuffling down to the laundry room, you didn't even bother to throw on music this time. The heaviness in your eyes wouldn't be cured with Harry's sweet voice as usual.

Opening the door to the washer, your clothes were not there. A stroke of panic ran down your spine as your eyes darted across the row of washers, wondering if you had gone to the wrong one. All the other doors were open. You felt a stirring in your stomach as your mind raced with what to do.

"Lose something?"

You turned to see Namjoon coming down the stairs, carrying a laundry basket full of your wet clothes. Your heart beat out of your chest, your vision went black as your mind processed the sight.

"What the fuck, Namjoon?" you asked, yanking the basket from him. Tears came to your eyes as you looked down at the sopping wet clothes.

Namjoon's eyes widened at his words, having expected a snarky quip from you, he released his grip on the basket easily. Fishing for the quarters in his pocket, he held them out to you.

"God, I'm gonna get absolutely no sleep tonight," you said, shoving your half washed clothes back into the washer.

"Y/N?" he asked, his voice soft. "What's wrong?"

Once you'd restarted the washer, placing your body physically in front of it to block Namjoon from tampering with it once again, you eyed him.

"I'm only gonna get a few hours of sleep," you said, your voice surprisingly level. "My work clothes are in there." You leaned back against the washer, sighing as you looked down at the time on your phone.

"I-I'm--"

"Save it, Namjoon," you said. "Listen, I know we have this sort of relationship where we mess with each other. But, I'm really not in the mood for it tonight."

Namjoon tried to move towards you, but stopped himself, unsure of exactly what he was going to do or how he could help. He'd never seen you like this before. Dark circles around your eyes, your hair stringy and tousled from running your hands through it, and your posture so tense. Even though the lower half of your face was covered with a bright green mask, he could still make out your frown behind the fabric.

"Just le--" You were cut off by your phone's vibration.

Despite Namjoon having caused your distress, whoever kept calling you made your brow furrow and eyes water in a way that left Namjoon wanting to answer the phone and find out what they had done to you.

"Is everything okay?" he asked. "Who keeps calling you?"

Glancing down at the washer it had now moved onto the second cycle, you ignored. Meeting Namjoon's eyes, it hurt your chest to see the concern in them. After seeing you like this, after getting annoyed with him, he still worried about you.

"Just leave me alone, Namjoon."

✦✧✦✧

It was midnight on Wednesday night when the sound of yelling overtook the melody in his headphones. At first, he didn't think much of it. Many couples lived in the complex, and an occasional fight wasn't uncommon. Then, he heard your voice.

✦✧✦✧

"Jae-ho, what are you doing here? I told you you couldn't come."

"I just want to see you, baby." There was a softness in his voice, but it didn't reach his eyes. You'd been dodging his calls and texts for the past few days, hoping he would get the hint.

"Not until your test comes back negative," you said. "Plus, we really shouldn't be seeing each other that much. Especially since I'm still working."

Your boyfriend let out a long sigh and moved to walk inside. You blocked him, shutting the door slightly and wedging yourself in the gap. This only made him more frustrated, his hands reaching out to touch you.

You let him, allowing his hand to brush your own. You knew it was unlikely your boyfriend would get a positive result, his exposure limited and brief. But you couldn't risk it.

"Are you not scared of spreading it to me? To anyone?"

"I don't have it, babe. I've told you."

"You were still required to get tested. And since I see so many vulnerable people at work, I can't risk it." This wasn't the first time this was an issue. You'd been tested twice already. You job required you to come into contact with people all day, and more than a few confirmed cases had come through your pharmacy.

Jae-ho had had an issue those times too. Coming over when you'd told him not to, calling you until he got sick of dialing your number. You weren't sure how much longer you could take this.

"Are you cheating on me?"

The question lingered in the air as your mouth fell open in shock. Did he think that was the only reason you could not want to see him?

"No, of course not! I'm trying to protect you, Jae-ho!"

"I know you like that neighbor of yours. You still see him, don't you? Why do you see him and not me?"

"We're neighbors! This complex is so tiny, we can't help it!"

Your voice and his gradually rose with your emotions. You barely remember what either of you said after that, you only remembering sliding the promise ring off your finger and flinging it down the stairs.

✦✧✦✧

Namjoon walked down the stairs when he heard your door slam. He came upon your boyfriend, scoffing at your door. When he met the other man's eyes, Namjoon's immediately narrowed.

"Of course," Jae-ho said. He shook his head and walked down the stairs, pausing at the next landing. He bent down to retrieve something and Namjoon stopped focusing on the other man, reaching up to knock on your door.

Namjoon's knuckles didn't even make contact with your door before he heard footsteps coming up the stairs. Jae-ho stood a few steps down and held out the gold promise ring you always wore.

"Give this back to Y/N," he said. "I don't want it either."

He handed Namjoon the ring before turning around and leaving for good.

✦✧✦✧

"Y/N?" Namjoon's voice cut through the dark silence of your apartment. You'd everything outside, but not realized that it was Namjoon Jae-ho was talking to. "Are you okay?

You opened the door. You tried to wipe your tears before Namjoon could take in your figure, but it was fruitless. When your eyes met his, you saw his heartbreaking at the sight of you.

"I'm okay."

"No, you're not," Namjoon said, waiting for you to give the okay for him to enter your apartment. You knew that there was no hiding from Namjoon. The two of you literally lived on top of one another and saw each other almost daily when you did the laundry or took the trash out. There was nearly no way to avoid Kim Namjoon for long.

You moved aside and closed the door behind him. Flopping down on your bed, you looked up at him. "Sorry if we woke you up."

Namjoon shook his head. "You didn't."

"Sorry to interrupt your work then," you said, feeling like you owed the man an apology for more than just this one night. "I didn't mean for it to escalate like that."

Namjoon didn't say anything. He glanced around your apartment, sensing the way that his eyes on you made you uncomfortable.

"You don't need to apologize," he said. "For anything."

You stayed silent, hugging a pillow to your chest.

The silence wasn't tense, but it wasn't calm either. There was something lingering between you. Something keeping Namjoon in your apartment after making sure you were okay. And something that allowed you to let him in at all.

"You know, whenever I was upset or I had trouble sleeping. My mom would always make me milk and cookies. It seems counterintuitive that something sugary helped me sleep. But it never failed."

Namjoon left for his apartment for a moment, coming back with a package of chocolate chip cookies and two glasses of milk. He handed you one of the glasses and sat the package of cookies down beside you.

"Is it okay if I stick around? Just in case your boyfriend tries to come back," Namjoon said. He knew his explanation was flimsy. It was obvious when the man left that he did not intend on coming back.

"Yes," you said, reaching to pull out a cookie and dip it in the milk. "I'd like that."

The two of you ate in silence. Silence rarely occurred when you saw Namjoon, no matter how much he may want it to, but now, you could tell by the tension in his shoulders that it worried him.

"You know, I kinda look forward to hearing you every night," he said. "Lets me take a break from my work. Means I get to come see you."

You chuckled, smiling for the first time that night. "Why do you think I was always loud?" The crunch of a cookie filled your pause. "I knew you would always come complain."

✦✧✦✧

"I have a present for you, Y/N," Namjoon said.

It was the holidays now. Your family was far away and none of you wanted to get on a plane. It saddened you that you wouldn't be able to see your family, but Namjoon had become your solace. He'd usually hear when you got home and about ten minutes later, he'd appear at your door, asking what you were having for dinner that night. Most of the time, you ate together.

It was just like all those other nights, except you didn't have to work the next morning. Namjoon had met you by your door, takeout in hand, and a backpack slung over his shoulder.

Namjoon reached into his backpack and pulled out a wrapped package. The paper was a bit wrinkled, indicating he'd wrapped it himself. It made you smile.

"Oh, wait," you said, getting up and walking to the closet where you pulled out a similarly wrapped package. You handed it to him and looked down at his gift for you.

Tearing off the paper, you laughed when you noticed it was headphones. They were expensive too, which made your stomach turn thinking that he spent so much money on you.

"Open the box," he said, a smug smile on his face.

You ripped open the box, finding crumpled up paper. You felt around until you felt a thin object. Pulling it out. you found a CD.

"It's a mixtape. For you." Namjoon's eyes wandered around the room. "I--uh--hope you'll play it like you do One Direction."

You flung your arms around him, but he stopped you. "There's something else."

You looked down at the box quizzically before you began pulling out the paper. Reaching inside, you felt what you immediately recognized as a ring. Thoughts ran through your mind as you pulled it out.

It was your promise ring from Jae-ho, shinier than when you had last seen it. "He wanted me to give it back to you. But, I knew it might be painful. I had it cleaned and engraved for you."

You turned the ring to see the engraving on the inside: Be Loud - KNJ

#bts #bts fanfic #bts fanfction #btsimagines #namjoon #kim namjoon #bts fan fiction #namjoon fanfic #namjoon enemies to lovers #rm #rm fanfic #rm fluff #namjoon neighbors au #bts au fanfic #bts au fic #originally posted on wattpad #farfromsuga

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inber · 4 years

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Anon: Could you write a little thing of Geralt taking care of a depressed™ reader or something pls

Paths - Geralt x Reader Drabble

A/N: Butter my biscuit, I sure can! Feel better, lovely thing; know that the advice Geralt gives is so true. This is a lil' AU (Geralt up in yo' house; I bet he wears skinny jeans. Wait, do they make thicc skinny jeans?). Know that you are loved, and enough. Warnings: depression talk

You found it strange how the weight of nothing could pin you down like the wings of a caught butterfly on cork, exposing the frailty of your psyche behind a pane of glass for the bystanders in your life to examine. Your old sheets were worn soft by years of tumble-drying, and you thought of the churn of your laundry in a hot stink of soap and sadness. If only detergent could scour out the darkness tucked unrepentant in the cerebral folds of your mind. If only softener could blunt the edges of the knife-thoughts that sliced the meat of your moods. Rinse, repeat, you thought. That's what life was becoming.

You heard the laundry door close, muffling the sounds of the machine. Geralt stood in the doorway; your eyes dragged a sluggish line from where they'd been fixated upon a paint-chip on your walls, to the strong silhouette of his body as he leaned against the jamb. He didn't need to be here for this. Fuck, why was he here for this? You could do so much better, you wanted to scream at him, you can't love this away. You can't fix a fractured pane.

"Today's not a winner either, huh?" He murmured, and you blinked slowly at him, wishing you had the energy to at least pretend to be worthy. To be enough. Instead, you soundlessly shook your head.

He crossed the room, sat on the edge of your bed, and put a tentative hand on your leg. When you didn't reject the touch, he ran his fingers in small, soothing circles.

"Why do you stay?" You rasped, your voice cracking from lack of use. He looked taken aback by the question.

"Because I love you." His answer was simple, and so sweet that it made the blackness flinch and fester, digging insidious claws further in. The best defense is offense. Hurt before you get hurt.

"You can't love broken glass." You told him, monotone. Rolling, twisting in those op-shop sheets, you faced the wall so you wouldn't have to look at him. "You'll just cut your hands."

He made a soft sound, and you felt him move. Maybe he was leaving. Maybe he'd finally had enough of the ménage à trois that you'd forced him into; you, him, and the demon of your depression.

Instead, he slotted in behind you, wrapping his arms around you, holding you close. He smelled like shower water and soap, like the fabric softener you always bought because he liked the duck on the label. You felt his fingers in your knotted hair, gentle, and closed your eyes.

"I've taken so many paths in my life." He murmured, "Some of them dark, twisted, rife with heartache and bloodshed. Some of them clawed my skin and left scars. Some of them were seemingly endless stretches of absolutely nothing, the absence of anything meaningful, just my own howling mind." You listened as he spoke, the prick of tears teasing your vision. "But all of them, all of them shared one feature."

You sniffled. "What?"

He placed a kiss against the shell of your ear. "When I reached the end, there was another path."

"More scars, and blood, and nothing." You presumed, spitting the words bitterly.

"Sometimes." He agreed, "But no. Not always. Sometimes I'd walk paths through warm spring rain, soaked with the feel of it until there was nothing to do but laugh at the squish of my boots. Sometimes I'd walk paths with friends, sharing a journey, trading tales of old walks. Sometimes I'd walk sweet, short paths of music, learning the lyrical inflections until they were tattooed on my tongue. At the end, there were more paths."

You fell silent, hearing the spin-cycle of the washing machine begin to slow. "What if I'm tired of walking?" You whispered.

"Then," He tucked your hair behind your ear, "Someone who loves you gives you a piggy-back ride, until you reach the next path." The imagery forced a smile; you thought of all the times you'd complained about sore feet and he'd argued fiercely with you over your shoe choice, only to end up carrying you - and the shoes - anyway. Or the time you'd stood at the beach at sunset, running away from the playful grasp of the lapping waves; he'd lifted you into his arms, twirling in the sand until you begged him to put you down before you threw up on him, through peals of your laughter. Or the time you'd been stuck at the back of the crowd at your favourite musician's concert, hopping up and down like a springtime sparrow 'til he'd hoisted you up onto his shoulders so you could see them play.

"What I'm saying," He continued, "Is that there will always be another path. This one? This one fucking sucks. And it's hard to walk on. But it won't go on forever." His arms squeezed as he hugged you tighter. "I promise you. I promise you there are paths worth walking. I promise they will come."

You traced his forearm thoughtfully, letting the stray tears sneak down your nose. "Thank you," You croaked, "Thank you for being here."

"Darling girl," He purred, kissing your shoulder, "One day you'll be carrying me on a path. And fuck, I'm a lot heavier than you."

The thought burst a bubble of laughter in your chest, a short sound. He hummed softly, ignoring the singing of the washing machine as it announced the end of its cycle. You felt the rise and fall of his chest, the drum of his pulse against your back. You felt his presence. You felt safe, loved -- enough.

"Maybe... I'll take a bath." You ventured, "And wash my face."

"Yeah?" He asked, non-commitally.

"Yeah."

#the witcher #fan fiction #the witcher fandom #witcher #fanfic #the witcher fanfiction #geralt x reader #fanfiction #fan fic #drabble #angst #depression #hold on #fortune writes #witchernonsense

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gophergal · 3 years

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Hooooo Boy! This took longer to write than I though, but with the help of @bucketofcowboys , I did it! (Encouragement from @bisexual-horror-fan was also a major motivator) enjoy this second chapter <3

I’m Not Lonely - Chapter Two

Word count:4 000+| Rating: M | Michael Myers x OC | M/F

Morning came, with all that entails. In the midst of her freshly awakened delirium, Jean was sure that the previous night's events had just been a strange dream. She'd been known to have dreams like that, especially when she was stressed. The paranoia induced by the news I listened to on the way home must have been the basis, she told herself. She had been exhausted and what she did in that dream was absolutely ridiculous. Never in a million years would she be so stupid as to do what she did. That would be like one of those foolish horror story protagonists that Jolene liked to tell her about. With a light chuckle, Jean changed out of her pajamas into the brown sweater and jeans she liked wear on cool mornings like this. There were plenty of things to do today, but none of them could be done on an empty stomach, so off to the kitchen it was.

As she reached the bottom of the stairs, the living room came into view, and suddenly her train of thought came to a screeching halt. The coveralls, with their dark stains and tears, lay on the floor, mocking her for her stupidity. Their owner, however, was absent, with no sign of his presence. Jean's heart began to beat far too fast in her chest as her mind raced with all the things that could go wrong. She turned suddenly to leave the room and crashed into a solid mass, stunning her for a moment. At once, she was hit with a wave of embarrassment as she was pressed against the chest of her uninvited guest.

“Oh! Excuse me, I didn't see you there,” She exclaimed, taking a step back from the man. Now, in the daylight, she could take the moment to realize how tall he was. He was about a whole foot taller taller than her, built like a football player, and, when she'd been pressed against him, solid muscle. “Um, I, well, I'm going to be making myself some breakfast. Would you like to join me in the kitchen?” He didn't answer, unsurprisingly, but she could feel his presence as she moved toward the other room. Her mind was a storm as she flipped an egg in the skillet. What am I even doing? She wondered, I don't know who the hell this guy is or what he did last night before he broke in.

Jean set a plate of eggs and toast in front of the stranger, then sat across from him with her own steaming plate. The air was heavy with tension as they sat, the man staring at Jean as she struggled to force her mouth to form words. Neither of them reach for their food and Jean feels the need to squirm in her seat. She spots her notebook and pen.

“Ah, I- Um, I never caught you name,” she pushed the paper and writing instrument toward him gently, “Mine's Jeanette. Jeanette Parrish. Well, I just go by Jean, because that's what everyone calls me.” She stuttered out. She would almost feel embarrassed if he weren't watching her in such an intimidating way. Like an owl watching a mouse scurry across the forest floor, waiting for the moment to swoop down with its talons bared.

Stop that, she thought to herself, you're working yourself up over nothing. The little voice of common sense returned, Or not. He very well could be dangerous. After all, how many good men just break into a person's home covered in blood, refusing to speak? Feeling a bit overwhelmed by the thoughts racing in her head, Jean pushed herself up from the seat a bit too forcefully, nearly knocking her half eaten breakfast off the table. She needed air. Somewhere without his eyes on her, forcing her mind to spin wild thoughts. She went outside to the utility shed, a basket of dirty laundry (she'd grabbed the filthy jumpsuit without thinking on her way out) pressed to her hip as she exited. The washing machine was set up to cycle and she leaned against it as it filled with water.

She let out a shaky breath, tapping her fingers against the cold metal as she calmed. The machine hummed and shook as it worked, the rhythm of it lulling her into a sort of relaxing trance, broken by the buzz signaling the cycle's completion. On autopilot, she removed the garments from the washer's drum and took them to the line, performing the repetitive motion of hanging them up to dry. When done, she went back inside, seeing no sign of the man when she did. He wasn't in the kitchen, where she had left him, the only sign of him being on the table, where his empty plate sat beside the notebook. Jean was amazed to see a name written down on the paper in a childish, unpracticed scrawl. “Michael,” she read softly to herself. Well, that answers one thing, she thought, but leaves a lot more for me to wonder about.

Michael watched from threshold undetected as the woman, Jean, flit around the kitchen tidying things up and washing the plates and silverware. She moved with purpose and care, reminding him much of the few nurses who cared for him in the sanitarium. One question kept coming to him, however: how stupid was this woman? When she first saw him, she did not scream or beg, or even run away. No, this one stood her ground against him, a thing of pure evil, silent and horrific. Admittedly, it intrigued him, her strangeness. He realized that she lived alone, yet appeared no older than his escaped prey, Laurie. Young women didn't tend to live alone, only old women and men did. She would have been an easy kill, had he chosen to do so.

Why hadn't he? Well he hadn't wanted to, of course. Why hadn't he, though? Enough. He wouldn't waste time on this line of thought for longer than he needed to. Only because you have no answer, The Shape spoke. He supposed that was true. He felt the same urges he had when seeing those girls Laurie surrounded herself with. The same urge he felt when he was young, seeing the life leave Judith. Jean was beautiful, and there was only one thing a devil could ever do to beautiful things: destroy them.

Jean felt eyes on her back as she put the clean, dry plates in the cabinet. She twirled around to see Michael in the threshold, head cocked ever so slightly to the side. She started to move again, not even noticing the pause she made in her movements. She walked past Michael into the living room, deciding to straighten the book shelves and sweep the floor. The usual intense focus she would fall into refused to come, the presence of another body too distracting for her to push from her mind. Why won't he leave, she wondered quietly.

Eventually, she gave up on the endeavor, choosing to flop onto the couch, frustrated. She picked up the book on the end table. Well, I could always start that book Jo recommended to me, she considered as she opened the book. She'd only gotten a few lines in when she felt breath on her shoulder, causing her to hesitantly look to the source. Michael stood, head tilted like a confused pup. She swallowed and pointed to the book, “Have you read this one? My coworker said it was good, but I'm not very fond of scary stories,” she said, “but, if you wanted, I could read it aloud and we could experience it together? You might want to sit down if that's the case.”

Truthfully, she just wanted him to stop hovering uncomfortably behind her like a cat ready to pounce. To her surprise, he did, though a bit closer than she was comfortable with, a closeness which was increased by gravity pulling her to the low spot made by his superior weight. She cleared her throat, “Well, I suppose I should start then,” a pause as she readied herself to read, “Chapter one: Job Interview. Jack Torrance thought: Officious little prick...”

She read until she could read no more, Michael sitting as still as a cold marble slab next to her on the old couch. When she looked up, throat scratching from the use, she noticed that it was quite dark outside and, upon looking at the clock, realized that she had missed dinnertime and her stomach was quick to confirm. Dog-earring the page she was reading, Jean set the book back on the table, rushing to the kitchen to get something to eat. She eats a plate of leftover meatloaf that had been in the refrigerator, and left a plate for Michael, should he decide to have some. With a yawn, she turned off the light in the kitchen, slinking up the stairs and looking over to the couch where Michael still sat.

The bedroom door was shut firmly behind her and she turned the lock to give her peace of mind while she slept. Are you so sure that will keep you safe, her common sense questions, when he's so close by? She pushed it from her mind, it's all she could do if she wanted to sleep. Besides, becoming paranoid wouldn't serve her well either. The bed wasn't comfortable enough to counter her stress and confusion over the situation she'd gotten herself into.

Jean awoke abruptly, horribly aware on this morning that the previous day and night were not, in fact, dreams. She was also horribly aware that she would have to leave her room at some point that day. Oh shit, she thought, I have to work tonight. Snuggling further into the soft comforter on the bed, she grumbled internally. She didn't hate her job, but she sure as hell didn't like it. Annoying, entitled customers weren't the only thing she disliked about it, but they were a big part of it. The next man to call her “sugar tits”, “babydoll”, or anything overly familiar was going to have to get her fist surgically removed from his face. She was a waitress, goddamnit, not a whore! And even whores deserved more respect than that. Both she and they were just working women, after all. How could that ever be undeserving of basic human dignity?

Rolling out of bed, she hissed at the cold hardwood under her bare feet. The weather is cooling rather quickly, she noted as she put on slippers, unlocked the door, and braced herself as she tiptoed down the stairs. There was no sign of Michael, which seemed to be the norm with him. She half expected to run into him again as she had the previous morning. He wasn't in the kitchen either. Or the bathroom. Or the closet. Not hiding behind her like the shadowy creature in an old monster movie. Finally, she checked the backyard, only to see that the man's coveralls were missing and in there place the clothes he'd borrowed had been lazily draped over the line.

It was- surreal in a way. He was gone just as abruptly as he'd appeared. It was almost sad to have him gone, in a strange way. The house felt emptier, like it was missing something. She shook her head. No, this was the way it was meant to be. She could only hope that he didn't decide to return. That settles that, she thought to herself, now I can just live my life in peace. All that left for her to do was get some breakfast and enjoy some time to herself. Same thing as every day. Eggs and toast. Get dressed. Tidy the house. Sit and read. She felt odd picking up The Shining again. It's rude to read ahead when you're trying to share a book after all. She put it down without a second thought. Picking up an old favorite, she began to read it all over again. It must have been the- what? Tenth time? Something like that. It was a comforting book to read, after all.

Soon enough, it came time to ready herself for the long shift ahead. Her clean, wrinkle-free pink blouse and black skirt reflected back at her in the mirror as she pulled her hair into a half ponytail in the back. She dragged herself to the car, an old gray clunker that had to be from the last decade or so. Jean didn't really know. It was granddad's from when he was a younger man, but she remembered how her brain would shut down every time he tried to talk cars at her. At least she knew how to change tires and oil, the mechanic could worry about everything else.

The door to the diner section of the truck stop swung open as Jean walked in. There was only one patron sitting at a table, a plate of meat and potatoes set before him. He looked up at Jean and gave her a friendly nod, which she returned with a smile. At least he wouldn't be a nuisance tonight. She walked back into the kitchen where Jolene leaned against a counter top as she chatted with Gus, the cook. He was a big man who's heart was as big as his biceps. He was an amazing cook too and, oftentimes, it made Jean wonder why he hadn't become a chef at some big fancy restaurant. He noticed her and grinned.

“Hey Jean, did you have a good day off?” he asked, deep voice carrying over to her. Jolene seemed to light up, turning to look at Jean.

“Yeah, it's never as fun around here without you!” she said. Jean smiled.

“Oh, y'know, same old, same old. I started reading that book you recommended to me though!”

“Really? What do you think? I know you're not one for scary stories, but I thought you might like this one.”

“Pretty good so far, actually. I didn't think I'd like it, but I've enjoyed it quite a bit. I like the atmosphere the author's set.” Jolene smiled at that.

“That makes me really happy, Jean. Now if only you'd just-”

The redhead was cut off by the jingle of the door as a customer stepped into the establishment. Jean flashed her a small smile as she made her way over to where the man sat down. She knew exactly what Jo was about to say next and felt as though she'd dodged a bullet when she got away. Now she'd just have to be sure she wasn't hit by the ricochet when they took their break. “Now sir, what can I get you?”

Finally, a quiet moment came where no customers sat in the dining area. Jean took the moment to join Jo as she left out the back door. Jolene stood in the light of the small bulb that flickered above the back door. She puffed away at a cigarette that she clenched between her peach toned lips. A grin quirked up to her lips when she noticed Jean, who sighed as she prepared for the usual lecture Jo liked to give her.

“Oh Jean, you wouldn't believe the guy that came in here yesterday,” Jo began, taking a pull off the dwindling white stick, “guy waltzes in like he thinks he's hot shit. Couldn't be any older than, what? Sixteen, I'd guess. Just some dumb fucking kid. And he says to me Ay, dollface, how's 'bout you get me a beer?”

She throws her hair around, “As if he thinks we won't card him, ha! I tell him about as much and say I'll bring him a soda, so Mr Tough Guy gets pissy, but agrees. When I leave to go get it though, the little bastard grabs my ass! What a pig, am I right?

Well, I know he's lucky that you weren't here because you would've been on him like that!” she snaps for effect, “well, Gus just threw him out and made sure I was ok, but still, what a little creep!” She finishes, throwing her hands up in the air as she did.

“Wow,” Jean began, a bit confused as she always was when Jo would go off on a rant like that, “the nerve of some people! You're right, I would've taught him some manners right then and there. Little bastard.” She swore.

“It's no big deal, I guess. It's not like I'm hurt or anything.”

“That's not the point! You know I can't stand when people like that act like they can just do whatever the hell they want.”

“I know, but there's no need to worry about it. Gus took care of it.”

“Not as harshly as he should have.”

“Well, you know that's just not how he rolls.”

“I do.”

“Now-”

“Oh no.”

“Don't you Oh no me! You didn't call my buddy Robert back!” She threw her hands to her hips, her brows furrowed.

“Jo, please-”

“You promised me that you'd give him a chance, Jean.”

“I did. We just didn't hit it off, I guess.”

“Ugh, that doesn't mean you get to be rude to the guy. The best thing to do is tell him up front.”

“I'm sorry,” and she was. Jo was just trying to help her, in her own way. This was the third guy she'd set Jean up with. It was sweet of her, but the help was unneeded and very much unwanted.

“I'm just- Well, I'm just worried about you. I don't want you to end up a lonely old woman, bitter because you never found anyone.”

“According to you, I'm there already,” Jean said, chuckling.

“Laugh it up, but when that happens you'll think: Oh, how I wish I listened to Jolene! She's always been so smart, why did I disregard her advice!” she danced about dramatically as she said this, throwing an arm over her head with the last word, making Jean snort-laugh.

“Alright, alright, you have a point.”

“Yes, I do! Now do you promise to keep an open mind?”

“Of course.”

“Pinkie promise?”

“Yes,” she said, holding out the finger, which Jo hooked with her own. The door opened gently and Gus stopped it with his foot.

“Something I missed?” he asked softly.

“No, no,” Jo laughed, “nothing at all!” Gus rolled his eyes.

“A'right then, well your break's up, ladies,” he said, holding the door open more so that they could enter.

Jean felt light as she drove home from work. Her shoulders were relaxed as the blackness surrounding her passed by. Talking to Jo and Gus was like therapy for her. She could almost push Michael and his intrusion from her mind. Almost. She was still a little worried that he'd show back up in the night. Thankfully, there was no figure on her couch when she unlocked and opened the door (making very sure to lock it back after her). There was no man sat at her table, no towering mass in her corner with intense black eye holes that made her feel weak and small. And that was how it stayed for days. That's how it stayed when she woke up to eat eggs and toast. That's how it was when she went to work and when she got home. For about two weeks.

She got home after a late shift, more tired than she had been in a long while. It had been the stress, she guessed, of Jo reminding her that she had no plans for the holidays that were rapidly approaching. No loving husband and in laws to fill her home with joyful voices and good memories. Being alone had its downsides, it seemed. She flopped straight into bed with a muffled groan of annoyance, then fell asleep with ease. It was also with ease, however, that she was awoken. First slowly by the creaking of her window and the cool breeze that came through it, but then abruptly by the sudden presence at the end of her bed.

The foreboding black shadow just stood there, the moonlight obscuring the figure in silhouette. She at once felt panic rush through her veins as she kicked her legs out. They connected with the figure's abdomen, forcing a deep strangled grunt from it. She flipped out of the bed, staggering to her feet as they tried to carry her to the exit. Her arm was grabbed, causing her to slip and nearly fall, had she not been pulled roughly to the figure's solid chest. She struck out with her free hand wildly, which was caught in a vice-like grip and, using the leverage gained from having her hands in its grasp, the figure pushed her roughly against the wall, pinning her and knocking the air from her lungs. The figure breathed heavily.

Jean squirmed helplessly against the wall, her torso bared vulnerably to her attacker. She squeezed her eyes shut, turning her head away and holding her breath as she waited for the inevitable. When nothing happened she opened her eyes and looked back, catching the sight of a telltale white mask and blue coveralls. “What the hell, Michael?” She breathed through a clenched jaw. He responded with a head tilt, as though he saw no issue with the situation at hand.

“You can't just do that!” She yelled, which amused him because he could, and he did.

“Can I at least have my arms back?” She asked, as he pretended not to hear her, keeping her arms in his cruel grip.

“I'm sorry I kicked you, but you have to understand that I was afraid I would really be killed- Or worse!” Were he any other man, Michael would have chuckled. Not yet, Jean, the Shape supplied for him. That would have to wait. Regardless, he released her wrists, which she rubbed gratefully. She left the room, pausing to look over her shoulder expectantly, almost like she was waiting for him to follow her. And so he did, down the stairs and into the living room where she plopped herself down on the couch. He sat beside her, feeling as she leaned against him at first, then readjusted herself on the couch.

“It's been a while, huh?” She said softly, peering at him nervously. “Well, I'll admit, I can't get back to sleep with all this excitement. I'd like to read our book. Would you like that?” He tilted his head, first to one side, then to the other, which she took as a yes of sorts. She cleared her throat, then picked up the book, “Alright-y, where were we? Aha! There!” And she began to read.

Michael didn't pay much attention to what she was reading to him. On occasion, he would tune back in to her words to catch bits of the plot. Not that it interested him, but her voice, on the other hand- It was mesmerizing. He'd heard women's voices before. Obviously. Usually they held the tone of disinterested disgust, much like the nurses at the sanitarium. Sometimes it was in the midst of a pleasured moan, much like his sister, Judith mere moments before her life ended. Best of all was their fear, their pain, their death. The sound of it intoxicating, filling him with a sense of control and satisfaction. Something about Jean's voice, however, was very different.

When he heard her voice, regardless of what he would think on first seeing her (that being the desire to snuff her out like a candle), he would begin to feel a sense of calm wash over him. He felt like a child again, hearing his mother speak to him in soft tones. Mother. She wasn't quite like his mother, this woman, but it was a closer comparison than to either of his sisters. She was caring. Not like the nurses, with their fake chipper tones and needles filled with numbing drugs. No, she was real. For a moment, when she bandaged his wounds, he remembered Sunday school and the stories of angels he was told. Is this an angel? He asked the Shape. No, it responded angrily, this is flesh and blood. This is for you to rip and shred. To break into a million pieces. But not now, not yet. Now you wait. Now you remain patient.

And so he did.

#michael myers #slasher x oc #slashers #michael myers x oc #gopher writes #I'm Not Lonely

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radiojamming · 4 years

Note

This a weird prompt but would you write jonmichael? Asking solely because I want to read Elias and the archives staff dealing with that

good-ish AU where sasha’s still sasha and everyone’s cool with stuff, i guess? :DDD

- - -

The door-that-wasn’t-there-a-minute-ago slams open against the wall, shaking the shelves and knocking one cheap vase to the floor in a small explosion of sad porcelain shards and accumulated dust. Martin lets out a high-pitched, “Jesus Christ!” in surprise as much as raw shock when Jon Sims himself staggers out the door like a teenager doing the walk of shame. Granted, he’s bleeding from his hairline and one sleeve of his sweater appears to just be missing, but he looks more sheepish than injured.

Just as he makes the last step over the threshold-that-shouldn’t-be, Martin sees a vague person-ish shape wobble in the mysterious beyond. And it is, in fact, wobbling, like a bobblehead or one of those playground toys shaped like horses that waver on oversized springs until they fling some unfortunate child headfirst into sand. Extended metaphor it may be, but the wobbly thing gives a high, wavering giggle before cooing, “Don’t forget this, love!” in a voice tiered in multiple pitches like an eldritch wedding cake. Jon turns just in time for an arm-that-shouldn’t-be-that-long-oh-my-god-what-the-fuck to come shooting out of the door, an iPhone clutched pinched between its enormous fingers. Martin might be hallucinating, but he thinks the razor-sharp fingernails are lacquered in sparkly purple nail varnish.

He doesn’t have much time to dwell on it before Jon gingerly takes the phone with a mumbled, “Thanks,” and the hand recedes back into the hellish landscape beyond the door.

“Of course!” garbles the wobbly thing. Then, with a range of voices topped off with an impressive soprano flourish as light as meringue, it yodels, “Call me!”

As abruptly and shockingly as the door appeared, it disappears with a sharp crack, causing the shelves to slam back into place with a small cataract of old books falling into the pile of broken ceramic.

Jon and Martin stand in the stuffy office, each caught in the awkward position of how the hell do you talk about that?

Finally, Jon gives Martin the most soul-deep, weary look before quietly beseeching, “Please don’t tell anyone.”

All Martin can do is nod before Jon shuffles out to the hallway

- - -

Sasha sees him at the flower stall again.

Through the warped windowpane, she watches him scoop up a great, garish bouquet representing nearly every spectrum in the visible rainbow, and some colours that might not exist save for the eyes of the mantis shrimp. When she gets to ground level and sees him semi-properly, he’s just a blond man in a beanie, carefully regarding a sorry bunch of daffodils held together by what looks like clingfilm cinched shut with twine. Rather than being all spooky and mysterious, Sasha thinks he’s actually deliberating. There’s a pinch in his brow as he lowers the daffodils in favor of prodding the drooping lower lid of a sorry little orchid suffering in London’s less-than-tropical climes.

Sasha kind of feels… sorry for him?

Granted, he’s a monster with terrifying monster hands and monster tendencies and apparently a taste for caffeine, but he really looks caught on what to get. That in mind, she does remember that he bought lilies the last time he was around. Maybe that was less of a coincidence and this Michael creature really does like flowers; or he may have some fellow monster friend that he deems worthy of buying flowers for. Honestly, Sasha doesn’t want to think of what kind of friends Michael keeps.

Against her better judgement and sense of self-preservation, Sasha walks across the street to where Michael forlornly weighs his options. He looks up at her approach, and the first impression she gets is that his eyes are more like spinning tops prone to rotate anti-clockwise. She blinks and sees stationary blue eyes regarding her with confusion, and then… relief?

Huh.

“Sah-shah Jaaayymeeesss!” he almost sings, lifting up the dying daffodils like a salute. “What a pleasure to see your radiant face again!”

“Michael,” she replies, a little colder than she intends. Last time they met, there were far more meaty hands and worms involved, and she’d rather get to work unscathed.

If he thinks the reply is chilly, he makes no sign of it. Instead, he flops the tortured flowers around in his terrible hands. “Actually, I was hoping to see one of you lovely little Institute-dwellers around. I think I gave Martin a bit of a fright laaaaast time!”

Sasha frowns, but can definitely picture Martin having to be peeled off the ceiling after a Michael encounter. “Oh,” is all she says.

Michael goes on, gleefully undaunted. “You see, you and I have a mutual acquaintance! And I think he’s in need of a little—” He gives the daffodils a vigorous shake. “—cheering up these days! But I just don’t know what he’d like! Silly me for not being obseeeeervant!”

“I… A mutual acquaintance?”

“Yeeeessss! Your lovely boss!”

“Elias?”

Michael laughs. Well, more like he laughs in a way that sounds like he laughed ten minutes ago and ten minutes into the future, and then layered the sounds over one another like phyllo dough in a hellish baklava. It’s impossible, but Sasha hears it all the same. “Noooo!” he giggles. “Not in a million endless cycles of time or those dimensions yet unperceiveeeeeed!”

Sasha won’t even start on that statement, except that it isn’t Elias, which means it has to be—

Oh. Jesus.

Grubby, curmudgeonly, insomniac Jesus.

“Jon?” she gasps.

Michael laughs again, louder and higher so that a glass breaks somewhere in the distance. “Yeeeesssss! Poor Jonathan, always working so hard in that dismal cave you call an archive. I offered him office space that would appeal more to a sense of aestheticism, but he… Oh, what did he say? He thought it was a little heavy on the—” And here he speaks in an exact mimic of Jon’s dry voice when he says: “Impossible, improbable, and honest to God, Michael, my brain would shatter into a thousand pieces if I looked at that painting for another minute.” Michael dissolves into a fit of giggles before saying, “It’s just a lost Hieronymus Bosch painting, honestly.”

So Michael McMeatyhands is buying flowers for Jonathan Sims. Sasha’s having a hell of a time wrapping her head around that particular fact.

The infernal giggling stops and Michael seems to circle (spiral?) back to his previous predicament. Dying daffodils or suffering orchids?

For a lack of anything more to say, Sasha wordlessly points to a bouquet of slightly more enthusiastic-looking daisies, bobbing peacefully in a tin pail of water. “Those,” is all she can manage to say.

Michael looks thrilled. He actually hums some impossible tune (in full SATB with orchestral arrangement, all localised in his throat) as he puts the daffodils back, scoops up the daisies, and drops four quid into the stall owner’s hands with a wet, meaty thwap that the owner doesn’t seem to hear. Then, Michael swivels back toward Sasha and grins with the corners of his lips somehow curling up near his eyes like a particularly twisty Cheshire Cat.

“Thank you, Miss James!” he says. “You’re a lifesaver!”

“You’re… welcome? I think?”

But Michael’s already walking away, taking steps in a gait that doesn’t seem to match the rhythm of the rest of his body, like two halves of entirely different people drunkenly attempting synchronicity. Sasha half-expects his legs to walk away from his torso.

Toward Jon.

She sighs and rubs a hand over her face before heading in the direction of the Underground station.

- - -

The boss is dating someone. This, Tim is absolutely sure of. He’s watched Jon like a hawk for a week now, carefully comparing his moods in the morning with how early he left work the night before. Long work nights equal really bad mood. Long not work nights equal better mood with less shouting and calling people morons under his breath. This is good.

This is very good.

Tim is pleased with his enviable knowledge. Whoever somehow won the heart of the boss must be a pretty special person, or at least someone with an endless well of patience. Or maybe they’re Jon’s opposite? Either way, Tim’s got a hankering to send them a box of chocolate as a thank you for chilling the boss out and making him more tolerable to work with.

He tries to picture who this mystery person is, as Jon’s definitely not the type of person to take his personal life to work with him, inasmuch as he likes to take work home. Tim pictures someone easygoing, like a Margaritaville type. They balance Jon’s stick-up-assery out, maybe giving him massages over the back of the couch while Jon watches dry documentaries about the actual speed of drying paint. In his mind’s eye, Tim gives this person a hideously neon Hawaiian shirt and sunglasses, but a winning smile that melts Jon’s ice-locked heart and makes it so he can’t help but smile back.

Tim likes them, whoever they are.

And when he gives Jon a little wink after dropping off a follow-up report, says, “Had a good night?” in a way more than a tiny bit suggestive, he only relishes a teensy bit in how dark Jon’s cheek become and how he ducks his head down. He mumbles something before actually thanking Tim for the report.

Yeah, this is awesome. Tim owes Jon’s mystery partner a thank you card and maybe a cake.

- - -

“Eliaaaaas.”

“Michael.”

Staring. Lots of staring. Cold, unflinching irises to a set of psychedelic, rotating disco balls set in a grinning face. Behind Michael, blue and purple streaks like the top of a wildberry Pop-Tart flash about and dance madly as Michael gives him the strangest of staredowns. Occasionally, his head appears to flip upside-down a few times on his swirly straw of a neck, and half of his teeth try to glitch through his lips in a way that Elias thinks of as an attempt at a sneer.

Finally, Elias sighs and calmly folds his hands on the top of his desk, ignoring the waves of tangible static pouring out onto the floor and possibly leaving a stain on the carpet. That’s going to be difficult to explain to the janitorial staff. “We may have to set some ground rules,” he says.

“I’ll bring him home by eleven,” Michael cackles in reply.

Elias narrows his eyes just as he feels Beholding roll its great omnipresent gaze in irritation.

“I mean to say that you’re not to interfere in Institute business any further than you are right now,” Elias retorts. “I should completely ban all Spiral-related statements on grounds of personal involvement.”

Michael grins. His smile rises up to his forehead like a crescent moon before rolling down the side of his face and hooking back up into the empty space where a normal mouth should be. “I can make this weirder. I can spiral any statement in this place. Every little word can bend in and around on itself like a pipe cleaner.”

Elias glares. “You won’t.”

“You can’t stop me!” Michael sings. “But I’ll keep courting your Archivist nice and proper as long as I’d like, or he’d like.”

“If this is an attempt to draw him into the Spiral’s influence—”

When Michael laughs this time, it seems to be drawn from every laugh that was ever laughed in the history of the muscular and diaphragmatic spasms that caused them. It’s so charged, so loud and explosive that Elias nearly winces at it. And when it’s over, there’s a vacuum of sound in its wake, so it takes a full minute for Elias to hear anything properly again.

Then, Michael taps his horrible fingers on Elias’ desk, eliciting a sharp tak-tak-tak-tak-tak that repeats in on itself fifty times over. “Not everything is about influence,” Michael hisses through too many teeth. “Not every attempt on a person is to draw them in and mark them, unlike what you do. Maybe sometimes, one of us can authentically like one of them. Is that too hard for you to understand, Man-of-the-Eye?”

Beholding tries to truly See Michael, but something about the Spiral’s nature twists the image.

“No,” Michael goes on, followed by another round of tak-tak-tak-tak-tak. “I rather like the Archivist. And he likes me. Aaaand if you try to get in the way of us, I will peeeeerrrrsonallyyyyy claw your precious little eyes out of your sockets. Understand?”

Elias doesn’t have time to make a reply. Michael is gone in a gunpowder-bright flash of light and a shock of sound. If there was a door, it’s gone. So he sits alone in his office, staring at the space where the Spiral was, and he feels something terribly empty and terribly familiar.

- - -

Jon picks their next date and opts for something as normal as the last one was strange. He chooses a walk at St James Park, eating ice cream and admiring the pelicans while Michael regales him with some bizarre story that sounds more like a backwards recitation of the Jabberwocky poem. He pauses in between stanzas to eat more of his pistachio ice cream with a delighted gusto before he presses on in gibberish.

Something about it makes Jon feel oddly warm and content, even as the early spring wind chills him.

Their last date was to Annwn, which Jon had originally suspected was in Wales. He was half-right; it was Wales as much as it was also the traditional world of the afterlife in ancient Welsh rites. It was rather lovely and Jon thinks very highly of their honey cakes, although he suspects he probably wasn’t supposed to eat them.

But Michael looks just as pleased to be in this park as he was to be in ancient Welsh paradise. His Jabberwockish story comes to an end and he finishes the rest of his cone before throwing the little paper ring into a nearby litter bin. Then, he stretches his arms out to the side and sighs in contentment. “Just bonny, as they say!” he cheers before reaching down and taking Jon’s free hand in his. It’s got a mind-boggling weight and an odd texture, while appearing to be a normal hand. At first, it gave Jon such an acute sense of discomfort that he found himself involuntarily withdrawing. Now, it’s just another aspect of Michael that he’s learned to like.

Love, maybe. He hasn’t thought on that overmuch.

Yet here they are, holding hands like all the other couples in the park. It’s so simple, so normal. Jon’s life has been so ridiculous lately that the fact he’s holding a Spiral avatar’s nigh-impossible hand on a date in a park is just… maybe the most normal thing that’s happened so far. Michael’s not trying to kill him or throttle his mind to the point of madness.

They’re happy.

Jon’s happy.

He smiles, and so does Michael. Yes, Michael’s smile is making an attempt to summit his head like Everest before flickering back into place like he remembers where he is, but he does smile and it’s perfectly authentic.

It could be weirder, and for once, that thought delights Jon.

#prompt fill #tma #the magnus archives #jonmichael #THIS WAS RLY FUN ;w;#tried to fix the wonky mobile formatting!

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trillian-anders · 4 years

Text

chambers - xi

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

warnings: violence, angst, slow burn

word count: 3610

description: post-endgame. Steve Rogers has passed away from old age. The one remarkable thing is that no one knew his heart would be in the condition it was. He was able to save one more life. After receiving his heart, strange things start happening. Including something that would change your life forever. (Inspired by the Netflix series of the same name.)

note: this is where things actually start happening. enjoy the rest of your week loves.

“So what’s the plan?” You ask, sitting around the conference table. This was a full group gathering. The man in charge of training the recruits was even standing in the back of the room. A man you’d never seen before, but Bucky explained,

“We’ll probably be using everyone for this.”

Wanda sat to your left, half facing you. Sam stood at the front.

“Zemo is currently operating out of somewhere in New York,” Sam stated, he looked at the hologram of King T’Challa sitting to his right. “Have you found anything about the men in Tanzania?”

“We’ve recovered a cache of old weaponry, guns left over from the forties in their possession.” The weapons powered by the tesseract.

“But the tesseract doesn’t exist anymore.” Wanda interjected. “So they can’t have tesseract power if it doesn’t exist?”

“They contain fractions of power, just as you still do.” King T’Challa goes on, “But that’s not going to say they aren’t going to use these weapons for prototypes for a different power source.”

“Or if they already have.” Sam agreed. “We need to get back out on the streets.” Clint sat back in his chair, the archer eating pretzels.

“If he’s in a warehouse somewhere it’s fair to say, according to every comic I’ve ever read, that we should start at the docks.” Bucky rolled his eyes, spinning around in his chair to glare at him. Clint smirked and crunched down on another pretzel. Bucky looked at you, Wanda whispering into your ear about her earlier idea.

“Absolutely not.” Bucky said, “You’re not doing that.” Wanda glared at him.

“Doing what?” Sam asked. Bucky gave him a look.

“Using her as bait.”

“I don’t think,” You started, “That Zemo thinks I will take his offer, I think he knows I wouldn’t.” The group looked at you. “So I don’t think pretending to take the money would be the best approach, but if we find him, then maybe I could try to confront him and find out what his plan is.” You shrug, you look at Clint, “According to every comic I’ve ever read the bad guy always likes a monologue right?” He laughed throwing a pretzel across the table at you.

“You’re not an agent.” Sam said sternly. Protectively. “You’re not an Avenger.” You sigh,

“No, I know.” You put your hands up in defense. “I’m not saying I’ll go in and fight him or take him down or anything. I’m just saying…”

“We aren’t putting you in a position where he could take you.” Bucky stated sternly, “That’s final.” Sam looked at you oddly, eyes going soft for a moment.

“Bucky will train you to handle yourself if the moment arises.” Sam said, “I know he’s teaching you some self defense, but…” His eyes met Bucky’s steady glare. “I think you can handle him training you like a recruit, just in case.” Bucky opened his mouth to speak.

“Just in case, Buck.” You spoke soothingly. His eyes met yours across the table. Just in case. Sam nods,

“So here’s what we’re going to do…”

Sam and Bruce were weirding you out. Whenever you’d walked into a room they would immediately stop talking. If it wasn’t for the fact that Bruce was usually quiet during your testing you’d think that was strange, but what was strange about it was that he was suddenly fine with pushing you a little harder than you’ve pushed before.

“Your body is adapting,” Peter said astounded after watching you run 45 miles an hour, “It’s incredible.” Your body…

...is adapting.

This watered down serum that you’ve had pumping through you for almost three years seems to thrive under the new routine.

“If we are going to train,” Bucky stood above your bed like a jackass holding a flashlight in your face, “Then we are going to train.” It was 4 AM. He ripped your covers off and you groaned covering your face. “C’mon, get up.” He seemed peeved about it. As though him doing this would make you say ‘oh nevermind, I would rather sleep in.’ A sweatshirt was thrown at you soon after and you were slipping your sneakers on a minute after that, grumbling as you followed him outside for the warm up.

Peter made these little clear fingertip sized electrodes to attach to yourself before a workout. They would wirelessly record data that would then cycle into your file for them to look at later on in the day.

“I don’t think it’s fair that Peter gets to sleep in and just be like that.” Like super strong and able to lift a truck over his head. You panted as you’d topped out at fifty miles an hour for the first time since shredding your legs. The muscles had become more defined, stronger.

“When Steve got the serum it immediately gave him the muscle mass he needed to use the power he was given,” Bruce explained, “You didn’t have that muscle.”

But you were getting it.

You were sweating while Bucky stood above you, watching you press fifty, then seventy, then a hundred pounds. You’d begun squatting with just the bar, your legs and core now being able to add a hundred pounds to that as well.

You’d punched Bucky in the jaw yesterday. It had been morifying. His head whipping to the side, a dribble of blood on his lip while you covered your mouth and saying “I’m so sorry.” Over and over again until he gave you what must have been the sexiest look you’d ever seen in your life and saying,

“Good, do it again.”

Eric was very apologetic for not catching you, “It just happened so fast, I just didn’t—” You shook your head, holding up a hand to stop him.

“It’s okay,” You laughed, “Really, it happens very quickly.” You still didn’t know what you wanted to do about this. Eric was a great guy, he was kind, he seemed to really care about you. He was a great kisser, but it just didn’t feel the way you thought it would.

It didn’t feel the way…

You looked over at Bucky who was pointedly not looking at you. You sighed, rolling your shoulders back and tuning back into Eric’s story about what happened that day at training. “We should have dinner again,” His fingers brushing down your arm. A chill went down your spine and not a good one. Maybe this is when you can tell him that maybe now isn’t a good time. Dinner.

“Tonight?” You stepped to the side to let another recruit pass you, luckily taking you out of range for his soft touch. He nods,

“Sounds good.” The group behind him calls his name, bringing his attention away from you. “I’ll see you later.” A soft peck to your lips and he was gone. You let out a heavy sigh and placed your face in your hands. You’ll tell him tonight.

“What do you want?” You asked the figure standing in the middle of your room. “Why are you here?”

Steve’s eyes followed you as you walked into the bathroom, turning the sink on to wash your face. His figure appeared in the reflection of the mirror behind you. His eyes were soft. Hands in his pockets.

“If you’re going to throw me into a memory at least let me lay down.” His eyes moved from yours, turning to look at the bed, then back at you. You sighed, drying your skin before walking by him, your shoulder phasing through his chest. “I don’t understand.” You lay on the bed, “What these memories are supposed to be showing me. Or why any of this is even happening.” His figure loomed above you before his hand came up to gently cup your cheek, his blue eyes soft, caring even. Apologetic.

A moment,

Then another,

You felt your eyes roll back in your head and then you were gone.

How do you start over? How does it happen?

People blipped back right where they’d disappeared. Patrons in their seats, servers mid step towards tables. There were car crashes, fires, and some people fell from the sky. It was a horror show. Almost as hard as people disappearing in the first place. Families were torn apart. Divorced. Kids lost would reappear to a broken home, their parents not being able to cope with their loss and separated. Some had siblings born during the blip that were now older than them.

There was a rush for jobs. For work. Files lost or discarded. Apartments and homes boarded up or sold to someone else.

The reversal of the blip. The loss of Tony Stark. It was felt. Everywhere. Murals started popping up. Tony Stark, Natasha Romanov. The world was at a loss.

But you had been one of the lucky ones.

It had always just been you and your parents and the three of you survived the blip. You all lived those five years with no extended family. You’d lost a couple of coworkers, but the sickness you had kept you from keeping many friends anyway.

Life went on.

It was quiet. A couple weeks after the blip. A slow night at the bar. You’d been focused on sneaking some chips and guac behind the service bar where guests couldn’t see you. The four men watching whatever semi-pro sports event was going on that night. They were wearing one of the teams gear. A couple that was talking about the people they worked with, the woman speaking about the job she’d been promoted into and how it was up in the air now because the man that had the job before her had come back.

A man walked in. An old man in face only. He walked steadily. Didn’t hunch. He was fairly tall. He smiled at you as he approached the bar, scooting the stool out and plopping down, casting his eyes to the television screen above him that was mutely playing the news.

“Hi,” You smiled, grabbing the beer list and a food menu from behind you, “How are you tonight?”

The old man smiled softly, “I’m doing well, how are you?” His eyes drifted to the raised scar poking out of your shirt. An old one. For a heart that you were on borrowed time with.

“I’m alright,” You lay your arms on the bar after placing a coaster down, “Would you like a beer?” It was a brewery after all. The man nodded, looking down the list before picking your seasonal pilsner. “Did you want to order some dinner as well?”

“Maybe in a minute.” He took a sip of his beer before placing it down on the coaster, gesturing up towards the tv screen. The Avengers compound, or what was left of it anyway. “What a mess that is.” You turned to look. They were going to start rebuilding soon, but hadn’t quite started yet. You could see cranes in the background.

“Yeah,” You breathed, “I couldn’t imagine.” You shook your head.

“Being an Avenger?” He asked, taking another sip of his beer. You laughed,

“Yeah, definitely couldn’t imagine that.” You were called to the end of the bar, the guys wanted another round.

“I heard that Captain America retired.” The old man said, the menu now laying open in front of him.

“Huh…” You looked back on the screen where the news reporter was talking. A picture of Tony Stark and Natasha Romanov behind her. “I don’t blame him.”

“No?” The old man flipped a page in the menu.

“That job is probably very taxing.” You explain, “Especially after a fight like that. I’m sure he was close with his teammates.” You leaned on the bartop towards him. “It must be hard losing people you’re that close to.”

“You’ve never lost anyone close to you?” He asked, flipping another page.

“No, it’s just me and my parents.” You shrug, “We all survived the blip…. And I’ve never had any other family so…” He nods, eyes growing soft for a moment before saying,

“You look just like your Mother.” You gave him a strange look.

“You know my Mother?” He shook his head,

“No, I mean you probably look just like your Mother, I’m sorry.” He laughed, “It’s this old brain of mine, the words don’t come out the way I intend them to sometimes. Can I get a cheeseburger?” The old man sat at your bar long after the other patrons left. Closing time is still a little too far away for your liking.

“You can ask about it,” You joked. He had looked at your scar four times now. “It’s okay.” He cleared his throat,

“Have you had any luck?” He asked. You shook your head.

“I’ve had two different hearts now, this one I’m sure I’m on borrowed time with.” You wrung out a towel, wiping down the bar where the couple had just left. “Whatever is supposed to happen will, I guess.”

“Have you always had medical problems?” He asked, wiping the corner of his mouth with a napkin. You nodded, sticking the glasses in the dishwasher.

“They thought I wasn’t going to survive childhood,” You said, “I was always sick as a kid, not even just with the heart problems, even though that was their main concern.” You came to rest your arms on the bar in front of him again, sitting on the ledge behind the bar. “I couldn’t tell you how many times I had pneumonia.”

“Sounds like you lost the genetic lottery.” He jibed. You grinned, laughing.

“Yeah, sounds like it.” You didn’t know why you were so comfortable with this man. He seemed so familiar. There was something about him that made you just feel so safe. On his left hand shined a gold wedding ring.

“I’m sure it’ll work out.” He says, “And then maybe you could get out of this bar, doing something incredible.” You shake your head, scrunching your nose.

“I'm probably going to die in this bar.” He chuckled,

“What did you want to do?” He popped a fry into his mouth, “When you were a kid, before you realized that without a new heart you wouldn’t be able to do anything?” Your eyes met his. Blue, with a little bit of green.

“I wanted to be a superhero.” You laughed, “I think every kid wanted to.” You turned your head towards the television screen, voice trailing off as you said, “Just like Captain America….” The news of his retirement. Breaking News of his retirement. You looked back at the old man across from you, his wallet out, thick plastic covering pictures of family.

“I hope one day you’ll get everything you ever wanted kid.” He stood from the stool and grabbed your hand softly, a bundle of cash pressed between your palms, “Have the best life.” A kind smile, eyes heavily crinkled in the corners and he stepped back. Two finger salute. And he was gone. .

He showed you your own memory. Eyes blurry, regaining focus. Panting with heavy breath like you’d just resurfaced from underwater. He was still there, standing in front of you and you could almost see it.

The wrinkles by his eyes. His grey hair. The wedding band. The tan jacket.

“You knew.” You accused, legs shaky as you stood from the bed. He didn’t move. “Did you know?” His jaw clenched, unanswering as always. You stood chest to chest, staring into his eyes asking a question you never thought you would ask. You opened your mouth and closed it once, before opening it again and asking, “Did you know that you were going to give me your heart?”

…

The elevator binged before the doors opened and Bucky watched Eric stepping out into the common area. His teeth immediately grinding. The fork he’d just been stabbing broccoli with clanged heavily on the side of the plate as he dropped it, scooting the stool back as loudly as he could, taking the man’s attention away from your door and to Bucky’s hulking figure.

“What are you doing up here recruit?” Bucky knew what he was doing up here, but he needed to go. Sam was busy assigning tech and filing forms. Everyone else had gone home. You had disappeared to your room not that long ago, there was no one in between them now. No one tugging on Bucky’s leash.

“Oh,” Eric grinned sheepishly, “I was just heading over to have dinner with Y/N.” Bucky stepped towards him. Eric shifted, nervous.

“I don’t think you will.” Bucky stepped a little too close for comfort. Eric stepped back, his back pressed against the wall next to the elevators. “I think you’re gonna go back to your bunk with the rest of the recruits.” Eric’s face contorted into a glare.

“She wants me here.” He spat, “She likes me.” A beat of silence then a smirk pulled on his lips, “But you like her.” A shit eating grin, “Wow.” He scoffed, “The Winter fucking Soldier, jealous because of a stupid crush.”

“You need to mind your damn business.” Bucky spat, “And go back downstairs before I put you on suspension.”

“You don’t have that kind of power.” Eric took a step towards Bucky, the nervous facade he’d put on earlier dissolving, “Sam has that power though, doesn’t he?” Bucky’s fists clenched at his sides. “Because Rogers made him Captain… and not you.” Bucky laughed, shaking his head.

“You really think I wanted to be Captain America?” Bucky fisted his hands in Eric’s shirt, slamming him back against the wall, “You need to stay away from her, if you know what’s good for you.” Eric didn’t falter, smirk still on his face.

“I think that’s up to her.” He said, “Don’t you?” Eyes rolling, “But you’re from the forties right? Where men make the decisions and women stay in their place? So you think you can just make that decision for her?”

“Eric I think you should go,” You voice came softly from the hallway. Both men turned to look at you, Bucky’s heart dropped. You’d been crying. Your eyes shifted from Eric’s to Bucky’s. “Tonight isn’t a good night.” Bucky released him, taking a step back. Eyes still connected to yours.

“Y/N?” Eric stepped towards you, “I thought we were going to have dinner? What’s wrong?” You wrapped your arms around yourself,

“Not tonight,” You looked at him and noticed his fists were clenched, “Another time, I’m sorry.” He sucked in his teeth, nodding.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then,” His voice tense. Clearly unhappy. When the doors to the elevators closed Bucky watched your eyes turn to meet his again, watering.

“There’s something I have to tell you.” Bucky faltered for a moment, his anxiety spiking.

“Are you okay?” Your hand reached out for his, fingers brushing before interlacing. You hugged him toward the couch, sitting softly and he followed suit. You traced his fingers for a moment, sniffling. “Doll,” His metal fingers touched your chin, pulling your eyes to his, “What’s wrong?”

Your lips parted, chapped. You shook your head to clear it, “I just had another memory.” You explain, his fingers tightening around yours. You look at him with watery eyes, tears beginning to roll down your cheeks and you say, “Steve knew he was going to give me his heart, years before he did.”

You watched Bucky’s eyes widen a fraction, and his hand squeezed yours reassuringly. And then he sighed heavily, blinking hard before meeting your eyes softly, “I know.”

…

The sun was setting over New York City. Cars were bumper to bumper, jammed in the streets. Bikes bobbing and weaving in between. In the center of Manhattan, the tourist spot of Times Square was booming with activity.

Teens lounged on the red steps, people in character outfits were tricking tourists into giving them cash. A couple corners had men handing out flyers for a comedy show they were trying to fill the seats of that night. A couple other corners some guys were selling their own mix cds for $10 a pop.

Shoppers had handfuls of bags and the hundred adverts you see changed and shifted effortlessly on the LEDs. The New Years ball sat idly at the top of One Times Square, the dark numbers of 2027 sitting until they were to be changed for the New Year.

The ball suddenly began to rise.

No one noticed at first. The steady climb that usually didn’t happen but once a year.

In a security office a man who had been idly sitting sipping his third coffee of the day suddenly choked. The camera showing the roof of the building showed the ball disappearing out of sight.

People began to stop.

Stop walking. Stop driving. The teens on the steps pulled out their phones capturing the malfunction that would surely be trending later.

The ball reached the top. 2027 lit up. And then the ball began to drop again.

People began counting. Jokingly. Ready to say Happy New Year, a loud chorus shouted to be recorded and posted on every social media platform available.

Some people moved on, seemingly unbothered with their day. A group of tourists visiting from Missouri in matching t-shirts took a picture of themselves with a selfie stick.

A man was arguing with his wife, the two ignoring what was going on if only for the fact that she wanted to look at his phone and he wouldn’t let her.

A Mother picked up her child, pointing at the ball. The lights glowing in the darkened sky.

An explosion.

taglist // @nutellakirb @witch-of-letters @torntaltos @emotionallysalty @an-lover @lbuck121 @bookish-shristi @saturnki @jennmurawski13 @geeksareunique @the-soulofdevil @tinmunky @albinotigerpython

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #the winter soldier #sebastian stan #the falcon and the winter soldier #tfatws #sam wilson #clint barton #wanda maximoff #bruce banner #the falcon #captain america

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steve0discusses · 4 years

Text

Yugioh S4 Ep 27: Joey Punches Valon to Death and Seto Kaiba buys a Car.

My favorite character is back!

THE STORYBOARDER.

Like clockwork, the best storyboarder of all of Yugioh saw in the episode notes “This is the one where we shall Destroy Joey Wheeler” and he was like “Yes! this is extremely my thing!” and he’s back at it again, destroying Joey Wheeler with such finesse.

Like it’s so hard to explain in caps because you can’t see stuff move, but this animator is so good at the Yugioh vibe--he makes these character designs WORK for him (or her? No idea the identity of the mysterious storyboarder (or team of storyboarders--maybe this was one little group they freelance out to that worked really well together? I dunno) ) they really capture what Yugioh IS in a really unique way and still remain fairly economical in the animation sense. They do not hold back on any pose, and go completely ham into this ridiculous concept of a card game where you put on a special suit and punch eachother in the face.

Mind you, it’s still a card game and I skipped all that, but man...this is such a good storyboarder and I know that next episode they’ll be gone but for now I’m just gonna bask in it.

First off, Rebecca manages to figure out Seto’s 6-letter password in order to access billions of people’s personal data off of a satellite (we don’t get to find out what the password was) and although the storyboarder is great--they did make one fatal mistake.

The bane of every Californian who leaves California. LA is like a completely different country to San Fransisco but everyone only knows of two Californian cities and assumes we’re right next door to each other.

And it’s like...no, man. I don’t have Disneyland. Do I sound like a cheerful person that lives next to Disneyland? Do I say “bruh” and smile with the force of 1000 suns as we surf the coast on the backs of Lisa Frank dolphins? No dude, I have a strong Bay Area accent that makes me sound like a dry sarcastic asshole and I wear sweatshirts to the freakin beach because it’s very cold and filled with great white sharks.

(Sorry I just had to delete like 10 k words where I compared the entire cast to US cities by saying cryptic stuff like Joey Wheeler : Seto Kaiba is like LA : San Fransisco and like it was the biggest random tangent that only makes sense to me. Quarantine brain, y’all, I got SERIOUS quarantine brain. Anyone else? Anyone else just find themselves wasting like 2 hours thinking of which cities match the personalities of different characters on a show that came out so long ago? Man I need distractions right now.)

But back to what’s happening on the show, Yami is coming to terms with Joey’s struggle about as well as Yami does.

Which is mostly Yami saying “I’m pretty sure I killed Joey in that card game with Bakura in S1 and Tea had to bring him back from the graveyard so like wtv.”

(read more under the cut)

This was like 2003??? I think I keep forgetting when this season came out but we had printers at this point. We had google maps and a printer.

I don’t think I’ve touched a map like that since the 5th grade, where we had this competition to make a hypothetical road trip across America. It was Awful, and if you won the competition to get from SF to New York with the shortest distance, you would win something like pizza and a cool engraved name plate. We did not win pizza, because I could not even unfold this asshole map.

And now we have Google so like thanks, Mrs. Lambert, it was cool, but I’ll never use that information again. I hope. It was such a vivid frustrating memory that these maps still fill me with anxiety to this day, hearkening back to my 5th grade self just desperately trying to use string to measure how many miles the freeways across the midwest contain. (spoiler: a lot)

How OLD is this kid? Rebecca’s like secretly a 68 year old. She’s secretly Mrs. Lambert.

At this point we had a swell in the music as each friend of Joey joined in to announce their willingness to risk danger and save him.

Were they...not going to join him the whole time? It just seemed like a weird thing to bring up sooo after the fact.

Yami then turned to Duke and was like “but not you. You stay here” and he was like “Oh, thank gods.”

Rebecca stayed behind because the animators don’t want to draw her. Honestly, she’s incredibly helpful and they were mad stupid to leave the only smart one in the car. But youknow...this team loves being mad stupid. It makes the show more entertaining.

As they left we had a weird aside where Arthur Hawkins reflected “Rebecca is having just a REAL hard time trusting Yami” and it’s like--Arthur Hawkins! You’ve been dumping on Yami for like an entire season, that’s why. Like don’t pretend you’re all on team Pharaoh now. Why ever stop dunking?

But youknow, character development, Rebecca is going to learn the trust the ghost that possessed her crush/best friend that she’s had for 2+ years on a kid who’s been living in Japan this whole time who literally forgot who she was 2 weeks ago. You trust that ghost, Rebecca.

Or not. I mean you really don’t have to. You don’t owe Yami anything, dude. You don’t need to blindly trust idiot men, Rebecca. You just do you. Trust that instinct of “is this guy not trustworthy?” because yep. Chances are if you’re having that thought, that he’s totally not.

Storyboarder!

Storyboarder what ARE you???

STORYBOARDER!

after this followed a scene that I’ve seen gif-ed just so, so often that I assumed it was in a Yugioh Spin-off. I don’t know why I thought it wasn’t in this OG series, but I didn’t expect it to be here, in the Dartz season. But, it does make sense that this scene was under the best Storyboarder‘s direction because *chef’s kisses * it’s perfect. Every frame is a joy. The amount of sinister expressions on Mokuba, the level of sass coming off of Kaiba. It’s such a freakin shame that this man’s best work so far only lasts like a few seconds.

PS my bro looked it up and this car salesman has a wikipedia page.

He also looked up if anyone has shipped this car salesman and it’s our lucky day because this ship does not exist with any human ever in the world. Thank you, humanity. But, they DID make a wikipedia page so maybe we’re just putting off the inevitable?

I’m not even gonna cap it because I KNOW this is a gif you can easily download from everywhere but mm--this is a SOLID piece of animation. This animator is just flexing so hard, man. Yugioh did not deserve this much care and attention to detail.

Shippers rejoice, Seto Kaiba did briefly consider helping out Joey (before he absolutely drove away in the opposite direction)

(They’re clearly in the financial district already, PS. They are driving 5 ft to Dartz’ house.)

At some point Joey nabbed Valon’s card and so now he also gets to wear a bunch of stupid armor outfits.

This one is weird! It’s very Kamen rider-ish...but it’s a color scheme that feels very valentines day. It looks hard to wear. Good thing it’s animated.

I may need to capture this walk sequence though...if I still have the energy...the picture does not display his very energetic arms-in-the-air walk cycle I haven’t seen since that one Season zero episode. I dunno if it’s a reference to that, but I can’t think of any other reason why Tristan is walking like that.

This is when Mai finally shows up.

Valon lost his helmet during this fight, which lead to this:

What a good note to end on.

Anyways, I have no idea what my update schedule will look like or be, so if you’re new here and you want to start reading these from the beginning, I have a link for that:

https://steve0discusses.tumblr.com/tagged/yugioh/chrono

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rimmers-swimming-certificate · 4 years

Note

"Why are you helping me?" for the prompt.

This one got away from me length-wise again. I’m going to try to keep the next ones a bit short and sweet, but I’ll probably fail miserably.

(Dialogue prompts)

Kryten hummed to himself as he walked to the laundry room with a basket of dirty clothes tucked under one arm. The sound of the washing machine had moved on to the high-pitched whine that indicated the final spin cycle, and he estimated he had just under five minutes before he could take out the first load, pop it in the dryer, and get the next pile washing. Then, with Mr Lister’s dirty socks sloshing happily around the washing machine, he would be able to kick back and do something he really enjoyed: ironing.

At least, that was the plan. A plan that came to a grinding halt when he entered the laundry room to find somebody else already standing at the ironing board.

Kryten blinked, took a few nanoseconds to run a quick diagnostic on his visual acuity circuits, made sure that he hadn’t bypassed his sanity chip and started hallucinating, and finally, one at a time, removed his eyes and gave them a quick rub with a cloth before popping them back in.

He found, to his dismay, that the scene before him had not changed,

“Mr Lister?” he asked a little hesitantly, still not one hundred percent certain that he wasn’t suffering from some kind of malfunction.

Lister was unclothed from the waist up, meaning that either he had forgotten to get dressed, or there had been some kind of laundry disaster. He was standing behind the ironing board, iron in one hand, the other hand holding a shirt in place. He pushed the steam button on the iron and a cloud of water vapour hissed out into the garment below. Lister pressed the iron down hard and wobbled it from side to side as he erased a crease.

“Alright Kryten,” he said. “Don’t mind me, I’ll be out of your hair in a sec.”

As Kryten carefully placed the laundry basket on the floor next to the washing machine, Lister pushed the steam button again. Again. Twice in one minute. It was madness. “Sir,” he said. “Are you... helping me?”

Lister frowned, then shrugged and nodded. “Yeah, I guess so. Kind of.”

“But… Why are you helping me? You detest ironing, sir. In fact, I distinctly remember you telling me that there was no point in it because the creases always fall out anyway once you’ve worn something for a few hours.”

Lister shrugged. “I stand by that,” he said. “But I needed a shirt. And I mean, yeah, normally I’d just put it on. But I wanted this shirt, and it was so creased up that I just knew if you saw me, you’d make me take it off so you could iron it.”

Kryten looked at the shirt on the board. “Ah yes,” he said. “That was from the challenge pile.”

“The what?” asked Lister.

“Well sir,” Kryten said. “I love ironing, as you know. But even I have to admit that sometimes it gets a bit samey. So I decided to liven things up a bit.”

Lister pushed the steam button again. “Liven things up?” he repeated.

“Yes. By challenging myself. Every time I do laundry, I pick two or three items to screw up into a ball,” he said. “I really twist them, fold them at awkward angles and generally do everything I can to make sure they’re covered with deep creases, then I leave them to dry like that. It’s not good laundry practice, I’m afraid, but it ensures that ironing the creases out is a real challenge.”

Lister shook his head. “I guess that explains it,” he said. “Well, I wanted to wear it, and I figured if I did, you’d demand I strip down in the middle of breakfast so you could iron it. So I decided to spare myself that and help you out at the same time by just doing it myself.”

He pressed the steam button again, and Kryten flinched. “I see. Well, I’m here now sir. So would you be so kind as to stop helping me?”

Lister frowned. He put the iron down on the heat resistant pad at the end of the ironing board. “Why?” He pushed the steam button again, this time not even aiming downward. The steam escaped uselessly into the room.

“Please, sir,” Kryten begged. “You’re overdoing it. I love the steam button as much as the next droid; the soothing hiss of the steam forced out of the iron at pressure, the gurgle of the water inside as it moves to fill the space left behind, and best of all, the way even the most stubborn of creases surrender in the face of it. It is absolutely the best part of ironing, but this is too much.”

“If you hadn’t deliberately creased up my favourite shirt so much that even I couldn’t wear it, I wouldn’t have to,” Lister said.

Kryten edged slowly closer, feeling very tense. Ironing was his job. What if Lister decided that he liked it too? They would end up fighting over who got to do it, and as Kryten was programmed to defer to the will of a human, he knew that he would be the loser of that particular battle. “How about I take over now?” he said. “You don’t really like ironing, do you sir? And it’s so dangerous. Imagine if you got burned, I’d never forgive myself. And honestly, if you carry on like that you’ll wear that steam button out. Four times for the same garment? Goodness me, don’t you know that the iron releases steam anyway? Pushing the button is reserved for crease emergencies only.”

“Crease emergencies?” Lister shook his head. “Oh you mean like when you accidentally iron a crease into your clothes and it won’t come out? Yeah, it’s okay, you can relax Kryten, it was a crease emergency.”

“You ironed a…” Horrified, Kryten stepped closer still, hoping to put himself between Lister and the iron. “Sir, please. Step away from the iron. I’ll finish it for you.”

Lister shrugged, and to Kryten’s extreme relief, moved away from the ironing board. Like a negotiator that had finally talked a gunman into handing over his weapon, Kryten grabbed hold of the iron’s handle the second that he could. He allowed himself a moment to relax and enjoy the victory before he looked down at the shirt to assess the damage.

“You know, this is a little bit insulting Kryten,” Lister told him. “I mean, I kinda resent that you think I can’t iron a shirt. I know I normally don’t, but I could if I wanted to. I’m not a total idiot.”

Kryten let go of the iron and ran his hands over the shirt, checking for creases. There were none. Surprised, he turned it around and checked the back, then the arms, then finally the collar.

“See?” said Lister with a grin.

Kryten stared down at the shirt in horror. This was a disaster. If Mr Lister could iron his own shirts, then he could potentially do it at any time! Kryten could arrive to do some ironing that he had been looking forward to, and find it already done! No no no, this wouldn’t do at all.

He couldn’t lie, not to Mr Lister. Not convincingly, anyway. Mr Lister had taught him the skill, and he could always see right through him when he tried to use it. There was only one other answer; deception.

“It’s… not bad sir,” he said, “But… Oh look, what’s that over there?” He pointed at the other side of the room, where there was absolutely nothing of interest.

When Lister glanced briefly away, Kryten picked up the iron and quickly but carefully ironed in a crease. By the time Lister looked back at him, the iron was in the same position it had been in before, as though nothing had happened. “What?” Lister asked

“Oh, nothing,” Kryten said, then made a show of looking down at the shirt. “Oh, would you look at that,” he said. “A crease. Never mind, sir, I’ll take care of that for you.”

Lister folded his arms and watched as Kryten ironed out the crease.

“There we go sir, now it’s perfect,” Kryten told him. He handed him the shirt. “So, I think that definitively proves that I am the superior ironer. Maybe you should just leave it to the expert next time, sir. Can you imagine if you had put on the shirt with that giant crease? What would Mr Cat have thought?”

Lister rolled his eyes. “Yeah, you’re right Kryten. No more ironing for me. It’s probably for the best.”

Lister put on the shirt and walked away while still buttoning it up. Kryten allowed himself to indulge in smug mode for a moment in celebration of his completely convincing deception, until the washing machine finished. He hurried over, eager to get the new load in so that he could enjoy the rest of the ironing.

#red dwarf #red dwarf fanfic #my figures #dave lister #kryten #what? did I actually write something without Rimmer in it?#Surely not!

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claitynroberts · 4 years

Text

A Tale of Two Alphas: Chapter 9

Summary: (A/B/O alternate universe) After running from her family, (y/n), a female Alpha, turns to a life of hunting. Answering a call from Bobby to assist Garth and two other hunters on a vamp mission in Branson, she meets Sam and Dean Winchester. Determined, independent, and sassy as hell, Dean can’t control himself around her; causing him to become a not-so-smooth wannabe ladies man. When her family comes after her determined to make her take her place in the familial hierarchy, will (y/n) allow Dean to help out? Or will she give into her family’s wishes?

Word Count: 1869

Characters: FemaleAlpha!Reader, Alpha!Dean, Beta!Sam, Beta!Garth, Beta!Bobby

Pairings: FemaleAlpha!Reader X Alpha!Dean, all other pairings platonic

WARNINGS: strong language, canon violence, a woman not taking shit from anyone, smut (inevitable), A/B/O dynamics (heats, ruts, scenting, claiming, etc.)

A/N: So apparently it’s been over a year since I’ve updated this fic. Whoops! Finally got my inspiration back and wrote a Chapter 9. It doesn’t go anywhere, this one is kind of a filler BUT I think it’s kinda funny, so give it a whirl! If I tagged you and you wish to not be tagged anymore please message me! I just went off my old taglist. Hopefully, I can crank out the rest of this series and wrap it up after letting it sit for so long. Thanks for reading! Reblogs and asks are welcome!

(In my A/B/O au all genders are the same as the typical A/B/O rules/dynamics, except female alpha’s, in which mine are not hermaphroditic nor do they experience ruts. Instead they have typical lady parts and also experience heat cycles.)

_______________________________________________________________________

Chapter 9: Cracky Cover-ups

Sam returned from his impromptu hunt a few days later, the smell of oversexed Alphas permeating the air rushing at him as he opened the bunker door. Resigning to breathing through his mouth, he trampled down the iron staircase and made a beeline for the exhaust fan’s switch before tossing his hunting equipment on the War Room table. Once the fan began pulling the thick stench of sweat and pheromones from the bunker, Sam began to breathe easier. He puttered around, unpacking his things and putting the weapons away before making himself comfortable at the kitchen table with a glass of water. He grabbed a whole grain muffin and placed it neatly on the corner of the table as he began reading the day’s headlines.

Down the hall in the newly mated Alpha’s room, Dean slowly drifted out of his peaceful slumber. His eyes fell on the beautiful woman beside him. She was lying on her stomach, her face half-squished into the pillow she had clutched beneath her torso, and one leg thrown over and wrapped around Dean’s own. Tenderly he brushed the hair tickling her nose back behind her ear as he placed a soft kiss on her forehead. Carefully disengaging himself, he padded across the room to pull a pair of sweats over his bare form before slipping from the room.

Dean hadn’t felt this good in ages. He’d been sleeping more soundly than normal and he finally found his mate. Knock on wood, but things were going pretty well for him. He felt renewed, invigorated, like nothing in this shit-hole of a world could bring him down.

With a new pep in his step, he strutted down the hallway toward the kitchen elated at the turn of events. As he turned the corner--entering the room holding the shrine to the dark liquid of life people called coffee--Dean was midway through singing and bopping along to the chorus of “I Kissed A Girl” as he set about preparing the dark brew.

The younger Winchester say quietly, allowing the elder to finish his makeshift concert and the glass pot back onto its warmer before speaking up. “Katy Perry?” Sam questioned from the table.

Startled, Dean jumped, spinning around and swinging his arms in karate chopping motions before settling into a crouch, both arms bent at the elbows, hands flattened for chopping would be attackers. His eyes wildly combed the room until they landed on his younger brother at the table attempting to hide his smirk behind his glass.

“Geez, dude! C’mon,” he shouted indignantly as he broke his stance.

“What?” Sam chuckled. “I wasn’t intending to sneak up on you.” He gulped his water, before swallowing and adding, “but I can’t say it didn’t have its perks.”

“You could have said something,” he mumbled as he turned, taking two mugs out of the cabinet and filling them to the brim. Once the mugs were full, Dean settled himself at the laminate table across from his brother. “How was the hunt,” he queried, sipping deeply from his mug,

“Fine, actually. Just a salt and burn in Minnesota. Garth came by to help out, so really it was nothing.”

Dean furrowed his brows, doing the math in his head. “So why were you gone so long?”

“I went to see Jody and Donna,” he shrugged. “No offense, but I really didn’t want to be around after what I—,” Sam cut himself off, clearing his throat, “—walked in on.” He raised his brows pointedly as he drank from his glass.

“Oh…” Dean blushed, remembering that night with a smirk. “Right,” he grinned.

Sam scrunched his face. “Ew.”

“I thought I heard voices,” y/n announced from the doorway.

Dean turned to look at her, his grin growing impossibly wider as he took her in. She was dressed haphazardly in a pair of his boxers and the t-shirt he wore the day before; her hair was mussed from sleep, and the remnants of the night’s slumber clung to her eyes.

“Hey, Sweetheart,” he replied. “Coffee?” Dean pointed to the steaming cup at the place beside him.

“Yeah, thanks,” she said, giving him a half-grin as she settled into the chair next to his, imbibing the dark, bitter liquid.

“No problem,” he grinned, kissing her temple lightly.

“Sam,” y/n acknowledged with a smile and nod of her head, “How was the hunt?”

“G-good,” he coughed trying not to remember the moment he walked in on before he left. “Had some help from an old friend.” He smiled awkwardly.

Possessively Dean reached over and pulled her chair sideways so it was flush against his own before slinging his arm around her shoulders and pulling her into his side. Unconsciously, y/n pulled her feet up beneath her in order to lean into him better.

“I’m glad it went well,” she replied.

“It did, i-i-it did,” he stuttered, nodding his head and shooting her a polite smile.

The trio fell into a comfortable silence as Sam returned to reading the news, y/n and Dean content to just be for the time being as they cuddled together drinking their coffee. A few moments later y/n’s eyes were wandering around the room taking in the kitchen. The few times she’d been in here for an extended period of time was to eat and to…

Nervously her gaze dropped to the corner of the table where Sam’s muffin resided. There. The muffin was sitting on the laminate top. No plate. No napkin. No paper wrapper. Taking her coffee mug in her left hand, y/n nudged Dean in the ribs with her opposite elbow. “Dean,” she whispered lightly from the side of her mouth.

Turning his head he buried his nose in her hair above her ear. “Hmm?” He hummed dreamily, placing a soft kiss to the side of her head.

“Look at the corner of the table. The one by Sam,” she mumbled low enough for him to hear.

He turned his head far enough for him to cut his eyes in the direction she ordered. Pivoting back, he breathed, “It’s one of his gross wholegrain things. What about it?” He pulled away to look down at her, his brows questioning.

“That’s the corner... You know?” Her eyes were wide.

Dean paused for a minute. “Yeah, it’s the corner. The table is a rectangle,” he stated confused.

Sam glanced up at the pair, one brow quirked up. “Dean, I think y/n can handle basic geometry,” he chuckled, turning back to his paper.

Y/n cleared her throat, and smiled awkwardly. “Thanks, Sam,” she said with a forced chuckle before turning back to Dean. “No, you idiot,” she smacked him in the chest.

Dean let out an oof! as he brought his hand up to rub away the pain. “Ow!” he groaned with a scowl.

“Dean, that is the corner where you…” she trailed off hoping he would remember. His quizzical look told her she was clearly going to have to spell it out for him. “It’s where you got me off,” she whisper-yelled low enough for Sam not to hear her.

Realization dawned on him when he remembered the night he claimed her. How he had bent her over the table, her clit rubbing against the corner as he pounded into her. In the haze of the last couple days, neither of them had cleaned up the bunker. His eyes grew wide realizing what she was implying. Her answering gaze nearly identical.

“H-hey, Sam,” Dean said to his brother flustered, pivoting his head back to his direction. “C-could y/n have that muffin? She’s pretty hungry and she just absolutely loves whole grain muffins,” Dean lied as Sam looked at them confusedly.

“I do?” She questioned him. When Dean’s elbow landed in her ribs, she stuttered out, “I mean, yeah, I-I do! I’d really love that one!”

“Um, yeah. Sure.” Sam picked up the muffin and handed it over to y/n who took a giant bite out of the top.

“Mmm,” she mumbled through bleary eyes and a forced smile. “So good!” She chomped a few more times before getting up to get a dishrag and some sanitizer. “Oh no! I got crumbs everywhere!” She hollered through a mouthful of the cardboard tasting baked good. Motioning for the boys to pick up their things so she could clean, y/n sprayed the table and wiped it down.

Once she was finished, she retrieved her coffee mug and the remainder of the muffin and retreated toward the bedroom. “Thanks Sam,” she said through the mouthful of wholegrain nastiness.

Dean thumbed toward the door, mumbling something about following her as he rose from his chair and nonchalantly strode out of the room. By the time he entered his bedroom, y/n was standing with her head in the trash can, vehemently spitting out Sam’s dry, grainy muffin.

“Ugh! Coffee,” she declared, slamming the waste receptacle down and turning to look to the desk. “Where did I put my coffee?!”

Spying it on the nightstand, Dean grabbed her mug and brought it over to her. “Here, Sweetheart.” He chuckled.

Y/n glared at him over the rim of the white porcelain as she swilled a large mouthful before swishing it around her teeth. With furrowed brows she spit the errant crumb mixture into the trash can. “Y/n loves wholegrain muffins,” she hollered at the eldest Winchester as he hid a laugh behind his hand. “Dean Winchester I could throttle you right now.” Y/n’s chest was heaving with embarrassment, anger, and mirth.

On the one hand the situation was funny as fuck, no matter how embarrassing. On the other hand, Dean was an asshole for throwing her under the bus like that.

“But Sweetheart, you did so good in covering it up,” Dean teased, as he closed the distance between the two of them.

“No matter how amusing the situation is Dean, if Sam starts trying to feed me healthy food, I’m going to tell him in detail what you did to me on that table.” Y/n stared back at him, gaze hard.

Dean’s jaw bobbed as he searched for what to say, ultimately deciding to play it safe with a well timed ‘yes dear’ and a peck on the lips. Quickly that peck turned heated, but as Dean slipped his tongue into y/n’s open and waiting mouth he broke the kiss with a girlish giggle.

“What?” She glared at him.

“Y-you taste like muffin,” he guffawed. “I can feel the little gritty bits!”

Forcefully, y/n rolled her eyes and shoved the oversized Alpha away. “I’m going to go shower and brush my teeth,” she grumbled, heading for the door. Hearing heavy footsteps treading after her, she spun on her heels and shoved her finger in his face growling, “Do. Not. Follow me.”

“But! Y/n--” He whined.

“You’re not invited!” She replied with a yell, spinning back around and leaving the room.

“C-can’t we talk about this?” Dean asked hopefully, praying she’d change her mind.

“Nope!” Dean heard her voice echo down the hallway.

“Dammit!” He whined, as he set about tidying the room and getting dressed for the day.

_____

Taglist: @couldabeenamermaid @speakinvain @stusbunker @katsanders @shamelesslydean @waywardrose13 @akshi8278 @captainsherlockwinchester110283 @thekatherinewinchester @pisces-cutie @mzbones108

#ATTA #A Tale of Two Alphas #SPN #supernatural #readerinsert #spn fanfiction #spn fic #chapter 9 #cracky cover-ups #reader x dean #dean winchester #sam winchester #sorry its been so long guys

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clericbyers · 5 years

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[ based off this prompt on the topic of Mike realizing the crush he has on Will when Will returns to Hawkins with a new style and confident air about him ]

Will is more confident, more outspoken, more stylish, more himself than everyone ever knew before. Well, besides Mike. This is the Will he’s always known existed, the confident heartfelt smiling boy they had rarely seen since his disappearance all those years ago. 14 months away from Hawkins let Will be that person for the world instead of just Mike in the privacy of just the two of them. Mike isn’t sure how to feel; he’s happy that Will is happy—how could he not be?—but there’s a sizzling pond of jealousy blocking him from making the leap into complete satisfaction about this “new” Will.

He also hates how Will’s smile has got his heart doing laps in his chest. Oh, and how warm Will’s hand is against Mike’s bicep when he grips him while laughing. Also, how deep his voice has gotten, and how he glows a little when they make eye contact and Will states again how much he’s missed Mike.

Mike though has always been surprisingly transparent with his friends when it comes to his emotions, so when Will leaves to get changed into more comfortable winter clothing for their Party stroll, the rest of them turn on Mike with the speed of vipers.

“What got lodged up your ass and died, Wheeler?” Lucas scoffs with shock in his tone. “I thought you’d be more, well, excited to see our best friend back.

“I’m fine,” Mike spits back but his hands are fidgeting at his side and his cheeks are going pink. “And I am excited, Lucas.”

“You could have fooled me,” Max snorts from his side. The two are linking arms and Mike’s eyes linger for a moment before darting back to the door Will currently resides behind. “Are you and Will okay?”

“We’re fine. Peachy. Dandy. Why are you acting like this?”

“Because you’re acting like this,” exclaims Dustin. “You’ve been brooding since Will walked through your front doors, Mike, and you can’t say you’re not because it’s very obvious.”

Mike sputters. “Brooding? I’m not—I mean, seriously it’s just—no, I’m perfectly happy and satisfied right now.”

Dustin and Lucas exchange a look and Mike cries out in anguish. Max laughs heartily and then suddenly cuts herself off with a whistle. Mike whips around so fast his neck hurts a little but he can barely notice the pain when he spots Will standing in his bedroom doorway. Mike’s lips unconsciously part and his brain melts in his skull before any complete, coherent thought can be drafted.

Will’s wearing a soft beige sweater that’s a little big on him and pools over his shoulders and arms into sweater paws hiding the rings on his fingers. A golden necklace sparkles on his neck and Mike is struck with the sudden thought that perhaps it’s a necklace his girlfriend gave him and that swamps Mike with emotions he doesn’t want to parse ever. What he does remind himself though is that Will never mentioned having a girlfriend over the phone so it’s probably just Mike’s lizard brain jumping to conclusions.

Mike’s eyes trail down the dark wash jeans that seem really long—Will’s grown a lot, still shorter than Mike, but a lot taller than before—and look nice on him paired with the sweater. His sneakers look pretty new as well, not hand-me-downs like he’d been wearing for years. Mike pulls his eyes back up and takes in another deep breath when he locks eyes with Will. The bowl cut is gone, his forehead and ears are visible and he looks so—well, Mike can’t find a word for it because handsome is too formal and cute is for girls, but the quiff and trim haircut that’s so perfect for Will’s face has Mike’s hands sweaty and his mouth dry and he really can’t think straight.

“How do I look?” Will asks and he’s got that voice, his Mike voice as El put it once after a call a few months back. Even if Mike didn’t already assume Will was asking him and not the group at large, that voice would have confirmed it.

“Uh, you look,” and Mike’s brain cycles through hundreds of words from vocabulary tests over the years and yet, he still settles on, “pretty.”

Silence consumes the hallway outside Mike’s room and Will turns bright pink with a squeaky, “W-what?”

Mike is quick to shut his mouth and cough into his fist in an attempt to regain control of the conversation. He crosses his arms and leans against the wall with a huff. “I said you look shitty.”

“Shitty,” questions Will with a knowing smirk and Mike might actually die if Will does that again. “I’ll take it.”

The confidence raidiating from Will makes him far more touchy than ever before. Mike doesn’t even realize until Will’s return how much he himself always initiated contact between the two of them. Now that Will is the one reaching out to grab Mike’s arm, or patting his shoulder, or standing close enough that their pinkies might brush, Mike doesn’t know if he still has any brain left to compute the fact that Will is quite possibly flirting with him.

The more frightening part is that Mike really doesn’t mind it at all.

“I, uh,” stutters Mike when Will steps to his side and faces the rest of the group. “We should go? Before more snow falls. You know, uh, the weather said there would be more snow. Which makes sense because it’s winter. December. Snow season.”

“I can’t tell if brooding Mike or flustered Mike is better,” Lucas stage whispers to his girlfriend who giggles in response.

Mike sends him a dirty look before letting his gaze dart to Will beside him. The other boy is looking up at him and when they make eye contact, Will smiles, Mike’s heart flips, and Dustin makes kissy noises from the other side of Max. Mike flushes terribly and storms down the hall yelling at his friends to make their way outside. He gets stopped by his mom at the door where she forces his hands into gloves, wraps a scarf around his neck, and slaps a beanie atop his curled locks.

“Cute,” laughs Will when he passes Mike on the way out the door. He pats him on the arm on the way and Mike kinda stands in the doorway watching everyone else and wondering why in the hell he can’t stop thinking about Will.

El makes her way behind him and slips her hand into his own. Mike turns to share a smile with her before they both close the door and head over to the others. He definitely doesn’t let go of El’s hand once he notices Will watching them, it’s just that his glove is a little loose and he needs to adjust it. He definitely doesn’t find a way to stand next to Will while the Party crunches through fresh snow just to be near him and possible let their shoulders brush every few steps, he’s just falling into old habits from their younger years. He absolutely does not laugh a little harder at Will’s dumb jokes and stories about his new friends, and he certainly does not keep mentioning that he and El are friends now as if everyone doesn’t know that already. He just wants to make it clear to everyone that he’s very much single.

At some point during their stroll, Will and Mike end up behind the others chatting about simultaneously nothing and everything. It’s so familiar hanging out with Will like this that Mike can almost forget that he was gone for over a year. Will suddenly sneezes and Mike pulls them to a stop with concern. “Are you good?”

“It’s just a sneeze, Mike,” he huffs with a roll of the eyes. “I’m fine.”

Mike scowls and unwraps his own scarf. He loops it around Will’s neck, ignoring the thumping in his chest from being so close and, well, intimate with this act. Will won’t stop looking up at him, big colorful eyes swimming with something Mike can’t decipher but it keeps his gaze when he pats the scarf down. It keeps his gaze when his fingers trail up the scarf to caress Will’s pink-cold cheeks.

“Your nose is red,” whispers Will and the comment should have broken whatever this moment is but he’s using the Mike voice so Mike only smiles and hopes he doesn’t look like some lovesick fool.

“Yeah? Your’s too.”

Will grabs at Mike’s biceps and steps a little closer. Mike feels his heart leap into his throat. Will’s eyes are so green and there’s snowflakes on his lashes—oh, they should head back before the snow starts falling too hard. Mike opens his mouth to tell Will that maybe they should get to the others but Will closes the gap, leaning up on his toes, and Mike is shocked into silence.

Mike wonders if the snowflakes falling on his face are melting from the pure heat in his cheeks brought by Will’s kiss. His eyes flutter shut before he can think about the fact that he’s kissing Will, he’s kissing a boy, he’s never been attracted to boys before but it’s Will Byers, so it’s okay. This is okay. Mike does love Will, always has, and this kissing stuff is new, but it also feels so inevitable as the next step in their friendship. So Mike leans in, tightening his grip on Will’s face as he melts into the kiss and takes what Will is giving him.

They only break apart when Mike gets smacked in the back of the head by a snowball. He cries out and spins on his heel to glare at Dustin, who is cackling and doubled over in laughter. Lucas and Max are smiling and El is grinning at Dustin’s side with a happiness Mike hasn’t seen in a long time. Will laughs and Mike turns back to him, a question in his eyes that Will answers with a soft smile. He takes Mike’s gloved hand in his and pulls him forward with a call for the others to follow his lead.

Mike is a little dazed for the first minute or so, but once his brain comes back into his body, he tries not to have a complete breakdown before they make it back to the Wheeler house. Will gives him a glance and then squeezes his hand in comfort.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for years,” he comments casually. “Never had the courage to do so and then, well, El came into our lives and I never had the chance.”

“Will,” Mike croaks into the cold air. He watches his puff of breath and then sighs. “I—I didn’t know.”

“About?”

“How you felt. How I feel.”

Will hums. “Sometimes it takes being away from the situation to realize what’s there.”

They walk hand-in-hand through the streets for a few minutes before Mike speaks up again. “I, uh, I didn’t say you looked shitty back at the house.”

“I know.” Will grins up at him. “You called me pretty. I’m honestly flattered, Mike.”

“Hey! I just—you look so cool and awesome and you. Just, you.” Mike’s voice faulters. “I missed you in more ways than I thought I guess.”

“Yeah? I guess that explains your brooding.”

“I wasn’t brooding!” scoffs Mike. “I was just surprised seeing you so open with everyone else. It’s weird.”

“Jealous much?”

Mike shoves Will and grins when the boy laughs happily and turns to shove Mike back. Mike grabs him by the arm and pulls him in, taking an arm to his waist before spinning him around. Will yelps once his feet are off the ground but then giggles once he’s brought back to the ground. Mike is so overwhelmed with emotions—he’s never been good at keeping a good reign in on them—that he kisses Will so desperately as if the moment might slip from his fingers if they aren’t kissing.

Mike laughs as he pulls away, Will a little discombobulated but still smiling despite the sudden kiss. He knows that they have to talk things through at some point, what with Will living far enough away and Mike himself coming to full terms with, well, liking Will and wanting him this way, but for now, under the slowly falling snowflakes with twin smiles on their lips, Mike can only think about keeping Will at his side for as long as possible. Preferably forever and then some.

#byler #byeler #mike wheeler #will byers #yams writes #short thing to fill out that prompt #mike calling will pretty #uuhhhh i love writing mike #he’s so fun bc he’s so emotional #otp: palaric

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vintagevalentinex · 4 years

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Laundry

So I had this idea for this Benny story this weekend! It’s not one of the longer ones I’ve written, but I still really like it! I hope you do as well!

This story was inspired by Etta James singing I Just Want To Make Love To You. Like always, I strong encourage you to listen to the song while you are reading or do so beforehand!

Please let me know what you think! :)

@icecream-and-winchesters @bovaria @abaddonwithyall @aprofoundbondwithdean @spnfanficpond @theerinpage @bkwrm523 @kittenofdoomage @ohfora67impala @maraisabellegrey @im-an-octopus

Title: Laundry Author: vintagevalentinex Words: ~1675 Pairing: (Benny x Reader) Warnings: Laundry smut.

“Love to you, ooohooo, Love to you…” You swayed your hips as Etta James blasted out from the bedroom you shared with Benny. You had only thrown on one of his henleys and a pair of panties to do the wash for the week. You were putting the clothes into the washer, still singing the the music, your thoughts kept going back to that handsome man you shared a bed with. Benny. Unf. Why on Earth that gorgeous brute of a man wanted you, you’d never know, but you certainly were not going to question it. You were definitely the first person to admit that the relationship you had with the vampire was anything but simple, but you were enjoying yourself. He was a good man; he was loyal and devoted, not to mention that he was the most beautiful thing you’d ever laid your eyes on. Benny was built sturdy, all muscle and scruff, yet despite all of that, he had the most beautiful, kind eyes you’d ever seen. When you first met him…er…when he saved your ass from that vampire nest…also known as ‘Sam and Dean get you into the worst situations ever’…you didn’t know what to do. He was so gorgeous and he fought his own kind to save you…but yet he was still a vampire. You were so conflicted. You smiled to yourself as you remember that night…the night that completely made you rethink the way you thought about hunting.

You sat as far as you could on the other side of the truck as it raced away from the abandoned building you were being kept in. You couldn’t believe you were so foolish as to allow yourself to be kidnapped by such a stupid nest of vampires. They had been planning on nearly draining you dry before you were saved by…a vampire? What the hell was going on? You were so confused and tired, growing more and more frustrated as you got farther away from the dump you were being held captive in. You stared out the window, wishing you were even farther away than you were now, and as far away as you could be from the vampire sitting on the other side of the truck.

“M’not gonna hurt ya, cher…”

“……”

“S’not exactly the thank you I was expectin’…”

“…didn’t ask to be saved…”

“…so she speaks…good ta know, darlin’…”

You turn your head, watching him intently as he continued to drive on, stealing glances at you as he continued to steer.

“…why?”

“What are ya goin’ on ‘bout, darlin’?”

“Why did you save me? You just killed a complete nest of you kind…to save me…I’m nothing to you…”

He scoffed bitterly. “They aren’t my kind, shug. M’nothin’ like dem. Might be hard for ya ta believe, but m’on your side.”

“…on my side?”

“Sure thing, darlin’…Dean sent me after all.”

You rolled your eyes. And there it was. Of course Sam and Dean knew a damn vampire. The absurdity of it all made complete sense for that pair.

“So…what now?”

He smiled, chuckling a little. “Well…was figurin’ that ya wanted ta clean up a ‘lil and maybe sleep some before ya hit the road…”

You chewed on your lip. That did sound amazing actually.

So amazing that you actually never left.

You continued to sway your hips, giggling to yourself as you popped the rest of the laundry into the washing machine, your fingers trailing to the bottom hem of Benny’s henley that hung loosely from your body. You froze up when you heard a low, appreciative whistle behind you.

I don’t want you to be no slave I don’t want you to work all day But I want you to be true And I just wanna make love to you Love to you, ooohooo Love to you

“Don’t stop on my account, shug…jus’ enjoyin’ the view.”

You turned around; smiling as you rolled your eyes at him, shaking your hips again as you defiantly smirked at him.

“Well…this shirt does seem to be a little dirty from last night’s…festivities…”

He grinned at you as he stepped closer. “Oh does it, cher? Ya might as well throw it in wit’ the rest of the wash then, no?”

“Yeah…I guess that’s for the best…”

You started to mouth the words to the song as you slowly pulled Benny’s henley up, letting your skin slowly be revealed to his hungry gaze.

All I want to do is wash your clothes I don’t want to keep you indoors There is nothing for you to do But keep me making love to you Love to you, ooohooo Love to you

You finally pulled the shirt off, throwing it at him as you continued to sway your hips, your bare breasts on display. Your hands trailed up your own body, smiling saucily at Benny as you cupped your own breasts, chewing on your lower lip, looking up at him through hooded eyes as you ran your hands back down to rest on the elastic of your cotton panties, careful to pull one side down and pull it right back up, giggling softly as you watched Benny’s wolfish grin turn into a scowl. He stepped closer to you and you put your hands up.

“Not yet, Benny-boy…”

He groaned at the nickname you gave him as you continued to laugh.

“Get on with it, Buffy…”

Now it was your turn to roll your eyes. Leave it to Benny to binge-watch Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

“I can always put more clothing on…”

“Now tha’ would be a tragedy upon all mankind, darlin’…”

You let out a loud laugh as you turned around, facing away from him, continuing to sway your hips as your fingers hooked into the sides of your panties, slowly bringing them down past the swell of your ass, bending over as you let them pool around your ankles before stepping out of them.

And I can tell by the way you walk that walk And I can hear by the way you talk that talk And I can know by the way you treat your girl That I could give you all the loving in the whole wide world

All I want you to do is to bake your bread Just to make sure that you’re well fed I don’t want you sad and blue And I just wanna make love to you

Love to you, ooohooo Love to you, oooh

He was on you in an instant. He pressed himself against your bare ass, bracing yourself against the washing machine as you could hear him growling in your ear.

“I can’t take it anymore, shug. Need ya right here, right now…”

You moaned breathlessly as he continued to grind against you, your knuckles going white from the sensation. You could hear him rustling with the buckle of his belt, the tell-tale sound of a zipper being pulled down, and finally hearing his pants pool around his ankles. One of his hands pawed at your ass, the other cupping your mound, caressing at your folds.

“B-benny, please, need you…”

You could practically hear him smiling as he rubbed against your entrance, taking in a sharp air of breath.

“You already wet for me, darlin’? That lil’ show of yers really put ya in the mood, huh? Turning yerself on like dat, lil’ baby? Lemme give ya what ya need.”

With that he slid into you, your breasts pressed hard against the cold metal of the washing machine, which had just gone into the spin cycle. You let out a loud groan as the vibrations rocked through you as Benny thrust into you harder, the sounds of skin slapping against skin and the sound of the machine muffling your pleasured cries. He let out a loud grunt before pulling out of you, much to your dismay before turning you around, pressing his lips to yours hard as he lifted you up, wrapping your legs around his waist. He pushed you against the machine as he entered you again, continuing to thrust into you as he claimed your mouth with his. Your hands went to his hair, holding on tightly

“Thas’it lil’ baby, give it to me…give it ol’ Benny…want dat lil’ pussy…”

You nearly exploded, his drawl nearly making you combust as you felt yourself tighten around him, gripping his cock hard inside of you as you started to cum, closing your eyes tightly as he thrust into you, following you soon after.

And I can tell by the way you walk that walk And I can hear by the way you talk that talk And I can know by the way you treat your girl That I could give you all the loving in the whole wide world

Oh, all I wanna do, all I wanna do is cook your bread Just to make sure that you’re well fed I don’t want you sad and blue And I just wanna make love to you

Love to you, ooohooo Real love to you, ooohooo Love to you, ooohooo

Benny lifted you up, settling you on top of the washing machine as it finished its cycle. He pressed his lips to yours again, hands running up and down your back as he calmed the both of you down. It felt absolutely perfect to kiss him, like your lips were meant for his. You could live in this moment forever. The both of you jumped as the buzzer for the dryer went off, signaling that your sheets and bed linens were ready. Benny chuckled as he grabbed them out of the dryer, wrapping you in them as he carried you off to the bedroom. As he threw you on the bed, he grinned, predatorily crawling up the end of the bed to hover over your naked form.

“S’no point in havin’ clean sheets if ya don’t get’em dirty again…”

You laughed. I will never finish this laundry ever. Your thoughts were interrupted however by the glorious burn of Benny’s stubble rubbing at your neck.

Who needs clean clothes anyway?

#spn #benny lafitte #benny lafitte x reader #benny lafitte/reader #repost #new blog #my vampirate

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