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reiding-writing · 4 months

Note

hiii, i hope you're well! i saw that you are taking requests for spencer and i really like your angst fics so i was wondering if you could write one with unrequited love?

preferably bau!reader who has feelings for him but he doesn't and she watches him get with someone else and everybody knows how she feels about him but he is oblivious, ending is up to you but i love me a sad ending heheh 😸

transgression [ s.r ]

You’re in love with Spencer Reid. He’s in love with somebody else.

WARNINGS: SPOILERS FOR THE ENTIRE MAEVE ARC, LOTS of misunderstanding, Spencer is kind of a bad friend, lots of arguing, major character death

spencer reid x gn!reader || ANGST || 8.2k || masterlist!!

a/n: sorry for the delay, but i did warn you it was gonna be long so- also i listened to ceilings on repeat whilst writing this so take that as you will 🫶

did i bend the maeve arc to my will for this fic? yes. yes i did.

taglist (slashed blogs couldn’t be tagged): @babyspiderling @marsxoxo2 @vytvyvy @hpstuff244444 @frostooo @ohmysw33 @radioactiveinvisible @devilsadvcte @the-local-pendeja @kakashis-formal-simp @robinswrld

You suppose you did it to yourself.

Spencer’s migraines had gotten increasingly worse over the last few months, and after a few consecutive days of hounding him, he’d finally decided to go and see a medical professional about it.

You’d expected him to come back with news about how his brain stem was too active from how hard he was working himself, or that he’d managed to raise his blood pressure to an unhealthy high from all the stress he was under.

Instead he’d told you that they couldn’t find anything physically wrong with him and that he’d been referred to a geneticist to check if the cause of his sudden mind-numbing aching was due to an underlying condition that might have been passed down from his mother.

He’d come back and forth to you for weeks about his phone calls with the doctor.

How she was helping him with his sleep deprivation.

How she was helping to manage his diet.

How she loved classic literature.

How she and him had spent four consecutive hours on the phone debating over the logistics of a novel they both enjoyed.

You could see the change happening before your eyes, and you weren’t the only one either.

“Pretty boy’s chipper this morning,” Morgan joins you at the kitchenette, his eyes following Spencer as he takes a seat at his desk with all of the enthusiasm of a golden retriever puppy who’d been let off his leash for the first time.

You hum with a nod, focusing your attention on the two cups of coffee you were making, heaping tablespoons of sugar into Spencer’s Doctor Who mug to satisfy his insatiable need for sweetness. “They’re reading a book together,”

“Really?” You respond to Morgan’s raised eyebrow with a short nod and another hum.

“Thoughts in Solitude by Thomas Merton, apparently she finds the religious analysis ‘fascinating’,” You can’t help the small contemptment that seeps into your tone as you reiterate what Spencer had told you to Morgan, and you can practically feel his pitiful gaze as he watches you make your coffee.

“I’ve heard of that book before from somewhere,”

“I tried to get him to read it a few months ago,” You take a sip of your coffee at the end of your sentence, barely able to taste it over the scolding water but not finding the mind to care.

You leave your conversation with Morgan at that, taking the two mugs in your hands and walking back into the bullpen, placing Spencer’s mug in front of him and walking around the cluster of desks to reach your own.

He’s sure he doesn’t need to verbalise it, but Morgan feels increasingly sorry for your situation, noting how you skirt past Spencer’s “thank you” without a response as you bury your head in your files.

he can’t imagine how much the fact that Spencer had seemingly formed a crush on his geneticist ripped you apart.

And the worst part? He’d never met her in person.

All scientific laws of attraction be damned, Spencer Reid had fallen in love with someone he’d never met in the span of three months, and you we’re resigning yourself to sit on the sidelines and watch as the man you had been in love with for six years find the happiness that you longed for with somebody else.

How you managed to keep up your facade you didn’t know.

You’d offered him change for the pay phone he’d call her from when he was running short. You’d let him rant to you about her opinions on a novel that you had failed to get him to read. You made excuses for him to leave the office early so that he could spend his time on the phone with her.

You were the one that sent him to the hospital and caused him to meet her in the first place.

He never hesitated to remind you of that fact, thanking you vicariously every time he relayed his conversations with the doctor back to you.

As the weeks progressed he stopped calling her that. She wasn’t ‘the doctor’ anymore. She was Maeve.

He didn’t call you by your first name and you’d known him for ten times longer that he’d known her. He didn’t even call Morgan by his first name and those two were practically brothers.

And that part was probably what hurt the most.

Maeve.

A name of Irish origin meaning ‘intoxicating’. How fitting.

Apparently the Irish goddess of love and desire was named Maeve. You could see the glimmer in Spencer’s eye that told you his Maeve was just as important as the mythological goddess he was describing.

His Maeve.

“So why haven’t you two actually gone on a date or anything?” You take a sip from the mug in your hands, swivelling your chair back and forth with your foot as a pivot. “You’ve been talking for what, four months now? Surely it’s about time you actually met her in person,”

“It’s complicated,” Spencer sighs as he collects the loose papers he was working on in a pile. He didn’t want to divulge Maeve’s issues without her permission.

“You’ve been saying that for the last six weeks Spencer,” You roll your eyes as you discard your half-empty mug on the table. “If I didn’t know any better i’d say you’re putting it off,”

Spencer shook his head adamantly at your suggestion. You couldn’t have been more wrong. He did want to meet her. Desperately. He’d wanted to meet her since the end of their first phone call. But he also wanted to keep her safe.

How do you meet up with somebody who’s hiding from a stalker without endangering them?

“I do want to meet her. It’s just- she’s dealing with something personal and it’s put a rift our plans, that’s all,”

“So it’s her not wanting to meet up with you then?” You raise an eyebrow at him over your desks.

“Look it’s- You don’t get it okay? It was a mutual understanding from both of us.” You can hear Spencer’s tone become more defensive as you spoke, and you raised both of your hands in surrender.

“Okay, i’m sorry for prying-” You ended your apology with a laugh, trying to keep the conversation lighthearted despite feeling your heart deflate in your chest at the way the friendliness his his eyes fizzled out the longer you looked at him.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Spencer’s late to work this morning.

It’s 8:06 when he finally walks through the glass doors, the coffee you made him stone cold after sitting lamely on his desk for the better part of twenty minutes. He doesn’t so much as offer an apology as he picks up the mug and makes his way over to the kitchenette to pour the coffee down the sink.

You follow behind him in a mix of intrigue and a want to refill your own mug, swilling it out with some water as you watch Spencer load a coffee pod into the machine. “Phone call last longer than you expected?”

“Hm? Oh- yeah, we were discussing the literary analysis of Annabelle Lee,” Spencer’s demeanour seems to brighten immediately once he’s given an opportunity to discuss the details of his phone call with Maeve, although the beginning of his ramble is quickly cut off by the beeping of the coffee machine.

You wait patiently for his coffee to finish before you begin making yours, raising an eyebrow as Spencer pulls out a regular teaspoon instead of the usual tablespoon he’d incorrectly use to load his coffee with sugar.

Your intrigue only heightened when he pulled a carton of milk from the mini-fridge. Not even normal milk. Soy milk.

“Since when do you drink coffee like a normal person?”

His eyes flickered from his mug to your face as he tipped a single teaspoon of sugar into his drink before replacing the bag back where it came from. “It’s a part of my managed diet, Maeve thinks that my increased sugar intake might be one of the risk factors for my headaches,”

“Did she tell you to put soy milk in it too?” You don’t know why you have the urge to be petty, Spencer had long since needed to change his coffee drinking habits for the sake of decreasing his sugar intake and Maeve’s suggestions were beneficial for his health.

It was just the fact that it was her that ticked you off.

“She did actually, it provides the same amount of riboflavin as cow’s milk, which acts as a soothing agent whilst also helping constrict inflamed blood vessels, but without all of the excess fats in regular milk that might make my migraines more frequent, it’s genius really,”

He thought that her ideas were genius. Him. Mr ‘I have three PhDs and an IQ of 187’, thought someone else’s ideas were genius.

You’re sure that he already knew the benefits of milk alternatives, and yet he attributed the ‘revelation’ of what they could do to Maeve. Of course he did.

“When was the last time you made a decision for yourself?” The question comes out much harsher than you intend it to, and you can tell by the way Spencer furrows his eyebrows that he’s taken offence to it.

“Sorry, that came out wrong,” No it didn’t. “I’m just a little surprised that someone as independent as you is so… willing to follow blind instructions,” Your attempt at saving yourself half-works, that wrinkle between his eyebrows disappears and you can see that the glimmer in his eyes is returning slowly.

“She’s a doctor, of course i’m going to follow her suggestions,”

You give him a soft nod as you pick up your mug from under the coffee machine. “Yeah, no, that makes sense, it’s just a little surprising is all,”

You don’t give him a chance to respond to you before you’re walking away from the kitchenette to retake a seat at your desk, fearing you might say something out of pocket if you continue the conversation any longer.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

You were really pissed off now.

You’d arrived back in Quantico three days ago, and you were still piled up to your neck in paperwork.

Maybe you would’ve had it finished by now if Spencer would stop talking about the fact that he was “-finally going to meet Maeve in person,”.

You had half the mind to snap and tell him to just shut up, although by the saving grace of Morgan you thankfully didn’t have to.

“Reid, give their poor ears a break man,” Your thankful for Morgan in times like this. He knew you were knee-deep in your feelings for Spencer, and he knew that every time Spencer so much as spoke Maeve’s name it carved another hairline fracture in your heart.

You were close to shattering, and Morgan could tell.

“Oh- right, sorry,” Spencer offered you an awkward smile which you mirrored back at him.

“It’s alright, don’t worry about it,” You shake your head in a polite dismissal of his apology before turning your head back down towards your files.

“I take it you’re nervous then?” Alex’s voice cut through the beginning of an awkward tension between the two of you as she entered to bullpen with a cup of coffee in hand.

“Well- I mean- you know…” Upon being unable to find a sufficient response, Spencer resorts to shrugging into his chair. “I just don’t want to ruin anything,”

“But aren’t you curious what she looks like?” Alex raises an eyebrow with concern like Spencer was he son going on his first ever date.

“it doesn’t matter what she looks like I mean- she’s already the most beautiful girl in the world to me it’s just-”

You don’t stick around to hear the rest of the conversation.

You sudden upheaval from your desk stops Spencer’s sentence as his eyes follow you across the bullpen and out of the glass doors, followed shortly by Morgan as he jogs after you.

“Hey- Wait up a minute-” Morgan catches your arm before you have a chance to get in the elevator, and as you turn your eyes towards him he can see the beginnings of tears forming in your eyes.

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this..”

Morgan can do nothing more than pull your head into his shoulder and wrap his arms tightly around your back with a soft mutter of your name. “I know kid, I know…”

“He thinks she’s the most beautiful girl in the world,” You turn your head up from Morgan’s shoulder to meet his eyes, a single stray tear cascading down your cheek, illuminated under the florescent lights. “How am I supposed to compete with that..?”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Incidentally, Spencer’s date with Maeve didn’t end up happening. Conflicting work schedules or something, you weren’t really listening.

Maybe all of your subconscious thoughts had leaked into reality and finally gave you momentary release from the crushing defeat of having Spencer go on a date with someone else.

Maybe it was them punishing you further by forcing you to sit through him rant about the book she’d left him at the front of the restaurant.

It didn’t help that you already had a headache that made it feel like your eye sockets were being kicked by an annoying kid sat behind you on an aeroplane, leaving a dull ache in it’s wake and making you just want to bury yourself in a hole and hibernate.

“And right at the back she wrote ’Love is our true destiny. We do not find the meaning of life by ourselves alone; we find it with another’ it’s a quote from-”

“Thomas Merton. Yeah, I know.” You dig the knuckle of your left thumb into cavity of your eye socket over your closed eyelid, hoping to relieve some of the tension that’s lingering there and disrupting your thoughts.

“Thomas Merton’s ‘Love and Living’ specifically,” If Spencer noticed your discomfort he didn’t acknowledge it. “It’s a collection of his essays on the importance of love to live, so for her to have written it specifically knowing that I would read it means-”

“Reid.”

Your tone stops him from continuing any further, and he blinks at you with that sweet puppy-dog expression that would usually have you weak at the knees.

“No offence, but I don’t care about your over-the-phone girlfriend or the quote that she wrote in your book.” Your tone carried a harshness to it that Spencer wasn’t used to hearing from you. It was cold and detached and not like you at all.

“Are- you okay?”

“No, Reid, I’m not, and if you’d bothered to ask about my life every once in a while instead of using me like a human diary maybe you would’ve realised that already.”

You practically slam your file closed as you speak, pushing your chair out from your desk and leaving him sat in shock at your sudden change in attitude.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

After a bit of introspection, Spencer did realise that he hadn’t been treating you very fairly. He hadn’t asked you how your life had been in 3 months and 26 days. Four of those days he’d spent in damn near radio silence. He wasn’t sure he could take it much longer.

He missed you.

It was a bit ironic considering you sat directly opposite him for almost eight hours a day five days a week, but after you’d snapped at him last week, he truly realised just how much of his day he spent socialising with you, and just how much he missed talking to you.

So he decided that he was going to apologise.

And what better form of an apology for being dismissive of your feelings than putting a personal effort into something for you.

He walked into the office that morning with a leather bound copy of The Parasite by Arthur Conan Doyle stored cautiously in his messenger bag, pages scrawled with annotations from Spencer’s own reading of the novel that he hoped would be insightful to you as you read it yourself.

He’d remembered you saying how much you wanted to read the novel a few months ago, so he figured giving it to you as a personalised apology would show that he really did care about you and had listened to what you’d told him.

“Are you busy?” Spencer asks, though he already knows the answer to the question.

He’d been watching you from the other side of the room all morning, hoping for a moment or two of eye contact to see if there was a possibility of a conversation. A look from one to the other; even a smile would’ve been enough to make him feel validated and content. And he would have been willing to settle for that.

But you never looked up. Not even once.

"Mhm," You continue to not spare Spencer so much as glance as he speaks, turning over the page of the file you were working through.

“Can I take a minute of your time?” He tried to catch your gaze again, only to be met by your continued focus on your work. The last thing he wanted to do was disrupt your work routine, but he also knew that he needed to talk to you sooner rather than later.

“Please,” he said softly. “It’s important.”

You exhale heavily through your nose, exasperation written clearly in your expression as you leave your pen as a page marker to close the manilla folder on your desk. You turn your head upwards, raising an eyebrow and opening your hands to agitatedly indicate for him to continue.

You wouldn’t lie and say that it didn’t hurt being so openly cold towards Spencer, but you’d reached a breaking point, and you couldn’t bare sitting idly on the sidelines and letting him tear your heart to pieces anymore.

Spencer was relieved that you’d granted him your attention, but the look you directed towards him was enough to make him wince. You weren’t looking at him through a lens of indifference but rather cold, hard disappointment.

He took a deep breath, trying to gather the right words for what he had to say.

“I’m sorry,”

He seemed almost breathless as he spoke, like he’d just finished a tangent about something without taking the time to breathe. “I know that I’ve been spending too much time talking about Maeve and not enough paying attention to you.”

"You don’t say," You mutter the words under your breath to yourself, but your sure that Spencer heard you based on the way his eyebrows knit and the small gleam of hope in his eyes dwindles to barely a flicker.

He was trying not to react to your snide comment. Spencer knew that your tone didn’t leave any room to deny your meaning. He’d been selfish in talking exclusively about his relationship and hadn’t realised how it was affecting you.

“I’m sorry,” Spencer repeated. “You mean so much to me and I haven’t been showing that.”

"Thank you," Your thanks are polite but dismissive, like you were acknowledging his apology but choosing to not actually consider it as one, and it left Spencer with an expression of clear frustration.

He was used to being able to read your facial expressions and emotions in the past, but now you were just an unreadable wall of disappointment. He had hoped the apology would've been enough, but it was clear that you weren’t going to let him off that easily.

Time to pull out the last resort.

He bent over and fumbled with his bag for a few moments before pulling out the novel he’d brought with him face up.

“I uh… got you this,” He holds out the book towards you. “You said you wanted to read it right? So I uh.. annotated it for you to make it more enjoyable,”

You take the novel from him with a raised eyebrow as your eyes scan the cover, a clear flicker of confusion in your expression.

Spencer noticed your expression and furrowed his own brow in confusion. You didn't seem to recognise the book. In fact, the look on your face made him wonder whether you even knew this book existed at all before this moment.

“I hope you… like it,” he said nervously. “I was going off what you'd talked about before. You mentioned the book was a classic?”

"I… have never seen this book in my life,”

“B-But…” Spencer knew this was going to be awkward at some point, but he'd hoped not this early into the conversation. He could feel his cheeks burning from embarrassment, and it was only getting worse as he searched your face for an answer to this awkward situation.

“I… swear I heard you mention it once.”

You give him a short shake of your head and a pursed smile of awkward thanks as you put the book down on your desk.

Spencer looked away, embarrassed beyond belief. He hadn't even been able to deliver an apology properly, let alone make you feel special like he'd originally intended to.

How had he gotten it wrong? He had an eidetic memory for god’s sake.

When you put the book down on your desk, his eyes flicked back to the book. He'd spent almost 4 hours annotating and researching it and now it felt like all that effort had been wasted.

If you hadn’t mentioned it then who had? Someone must’ve. Someone he obviously equated with you to the point where he’d somehow managed to override his eidetic memory to mix the two of you up.

It takes him a few moments before you hear him whisper out a name under his breath, the palm of his hand dragging down the front of his face at the realisation.

"Maeve…"

The mention of her name had your eyes flickering away from the leather cover and right back to Spencer’s face, awkwardness completely rid of your features and replaced with a mix of negativity that Spencer wasn’t sure he wanted to dig into.

"Are you serious?" Your words come out less questioningly and more accusatory, and you hold the book up so that he can see it once more, the gold embossing on the cover glinting under the overhead light as if to only taunt Spencer further for his mistake.

“You apologise for continuously disregarding me for your girlfriend by giving me a book that she showed interest in?”

You could see Spencer's face fall as your words sink in.

He hadn't even taken the time to think over what he was apologising with. It was almost as if his brain automatically just reverted back to his girlfriend's interests as an escape from dealing with his own guilt and sadness.

"Damn it," he whispered to himself. And in that moment he realised he'd just committed the biggest crime someone could make when trying to apologise.

“Like you constantly flaunting your relationship in my face verbally wasn’t bad enough.”

"I'm sorry I-" he says again, voice teeming with sincerity and guilt.

"You are truly and utterly unbelievable Spencer Reid." Your words didn’t carry anger as much as they did disappointment, and he could see the astoundment in your eyes as you pushed your chair backwards to stand, dropping the book straight in the trash bin by your desk before walking off.

It’s where it belongs; Right alongside the small sliver of respect you still had for him.

Spencer could've said so much more: he could've admitted how ashamed he felt for his careless actions and he could've apologised again and again a million times if it meant you'd stick around and give him a chance to make it up to you.

But you had already made it clear that you weren't in the right state of mind to discuss this matter further.

The best thing he could do now was give you space as he watched you walk away, a deep pain in his heart that slowly ate him alive from the inside.

He’d well and truly fucked up.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Oh sweetheart, what’s wrong?” You were bordering tears by the time you reached Garcia’s office, unintentionally interrupting her lunch break with Alex in the process, though the two seemed to care less about the interruption and more about the fact that you liked like you were about to cry your eyes out.

You take in a sharp breath through your nose as you try to tape together the cracks in your composure, although with every one you seal three more seem to appear in it’s place.

“I-” You can barely get the first word out before the tears start rolling down your face, and Alex immediately stands from her seat to guide you to sit in her place.

“Hey, you’re alright, slowly,” Alex’s hands find your shoulders and rub reassuring circles against your shirt. The slow breath you take in doesn’t stop the flood of tears that’s blurring your vision, and you only manage to get out a single word, but it’s all the two need to understand what’s got you so overwhelmed.

“Spencer-”

“I swear I am two seconds away from smacking that boy over the back of the head,” You can hear the clear frustration in Garcia’s tone. “Surely he’s got to realise how much he’s hurting you by now,”

“He does… I lashed out at him and then left to come here…” You rub your eyes with the back of your hand alongside a small sniffle, trying to rid your vision of it’s blurriness from your tears.

“Good, the boy deserves to have some sense knocked into him,” You appreciate Garcia taking your side, but you can’t help that small lingering feeling of guilt that invades the back of your mind.

“He’s just in love, it’s not his fault…” The words almost physically pain you to say. The verbal acceptance that Spencer Reid was indeed in love with somebody. Somebody who wasn’t you.

“That doesn’t mean that he should be disregarding you though sweetheart,” Alex’s tone is soft and almost maternal, and your sure that it doesn’t help how emotional you are.

Garcia’s right hand reaches forward to straighten out the collar of your shirt, unintentionally crumpled as you try to wipe your face of your emotions. “You’re his friend, and you have been his friend for longer than he’s known this girl he’s talking to, it’s not fair for him to completely push you to the side,”

Garcia was right. It’s not fair. Nothing about how Spencer had been treating you since he’d started speaking to Maeve had been fair. And you were done making excuses for the boy just because you knees deep in your feelings for him.

You didn’t deserve to feel guilty. You didn’t deserve to feel bad for lashing out at Spencer for apologising for not showing interest in your life by further proving just how little he’d actually payed attention to you. You didn’t deserve to cry because he was the most stupid genius to ever live and couldn’t see that you were hopelessly in love with him. You didn’t deserve to suffer by his hand.

It wasn’t fair.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Maeve’s been kidnapped.”

You have to consciously suppress the small voice in the back of your head that celebrates the possibility that she might not be a part of Spencer’s life for much longer. It’s a horrible thought. You should never wish ill upon anyone, no matter how much you internally despised them.

Still, that part of you that was still petty, that was still infuriated with Spencer and Maeve, wanted you to tell Spencer straight to his face that you weren’t going to help him find her and that it was karma for how he’d treated you.

But you weren’t a bad person.

As much as you might hate her, she was still important to Spencer.

“I have a wealth of knowledge i should be applying to this case, but- i can’t focus on anything for more than four seconds at a time… which makes me the dumbest person in the room-” Spencer’s eyes are full of desperation as they scan across your teammates.

“So please help me… Please help me find her…” The desperation in his voice is heartbreaking, the remnants of tears staining his face as he explains the context of the situation through broken sentences.

“We don’t have an official case, so we’ll be working on personal time,” Hotch’s voice is much quieter than you’re used to. Softer, more considerate. “Does anybody want to leave?”

You can feel his eyes linger on you as he asks the question, and you subconsciously purse your mouth into a tight line to stop yourself from impulsively pulling out of the investigation.

You might be detrimentally frustrated with him, but you did want to help. Even if it ultimately resulted in your downfall.

Hotch gave you a short nod before turning to the rest of the team. “Good, let’s get to work,”

It didn’t take Garcia very long to track Maeve down, mostly attributed to her unique name and specialised job.

Dr. Maeve Donovan, a professor at Mendel University who took a sabbatical leave 10 months ago.

The group split into different groups once they’d found her, JJ and Morgan heading off to a loft her parents owned, Alex and Rossi heading to the lab she used to work at, and you and Hotch, accompanied by Spencer, going to speak to Maeve’s parents.

“Reid,” Garcia’s tone is soft as she looks over her laptop screen towards him as he begins to stand from the conference table. “I have a picture of her, do you want to know what she looks like?”

“No,”

Spencer’s answer is immediate, joined by a shake of his head.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

You and Spencer watched from behind the one way mirror as the interview progressed.

They’d last spoken to Maeve five days ago. Her mother had cancer. She was also a geneticist. They were suspicious of her ex fiancé Bobby.

Her fiancé?

You can see Spencer’s face drop at the words despite the low lighting in the room, and you can’t help but furrow your eyebrows yourself.

She had a fiancé?

Spencer practically storms out of the office after the questioning is over, and Hotch has to remind him to calm down as they reach the apartment of Robert Putnam with Morgan and Rossi in tow.

When the door opens the five of you aren’t greeted by Robert, but rather a girl, a girl who looked very confused.

You invite yourselves inside at the girl’s recognition that Robert was inside the apartment.

“And who are you?”

“I’m Diane, his girlfriend,” She raised an eyebrow as the five of you looked around, confusion cut short as Robert rounds the corner questioning the sudden voices coming from his living room.

“Hey babe what’s-“

“Robert Putnam, FBI we’d like to-” Spencer’s voice cuts him off harshly as he rushes to speak, although he stops his sentence halfway as a flicker of recognition falls across his features and his anger turns to dread.

“Hey, I know you,” Robert doesn’t have the time to say anything else to Spencer before Hotch forces him out of the room, shutting the door behind him to speak to Spencer privately whilst you Morgan and Rossi remained inside.

Hotch returned a few minutes later. Spencer didn’t.

You end up taking Hotch’s place as you push yourself out of the apartment with a small “excuse me,” to follow after Spencer as he walks out of the apartment building.

“Spencer- wait up a minute-”

He doesn’t stop at your call, and you’re practically running down the stairs by the time you get to him, already out of the front doors of the apartment building.

“Hey-” You take a second to catch your breath before turning your eyes back towards him again. “Are you alright?”

You could see the flicker of confusion in his eyes as he met your gaze.

The last time you spoke to him you threw away any remnant of your friendship with him in the bin alongside the book he’d given you, and now here you were, chasing after him to make sure that he was okay.

“Why did you agree to help?”

Your face falls from concern to surprise at his question, and he takes it as a sign to continue.

“I know that you don’t like her, so why are you here?” You could see the beginnings of tears forming in his eyes, clearly overwhelmed with how the investigation was going.

“She’s important to you Spencer. Like her or not I care about you. So therefore I care about her,” You don’t think as you speak, words spilling out of your mouth with no conscious filter.

“I’m sorry.” Spencer’s apology elicits a sigh from your mouth, and you shake your head softly at him.

“Forget it, let’s focus on getting Maeve home safe alright?” He obliges to your request with a purse of his lips and a small nod, turning his eyes towards the ground.

“What’re you thinking about?” His eyes fall on yours once more at your question, round with confusion and glistening with the starts of tears. “I can see it in your face, you’re calculating something in your head,”

He exhales through his mouth in a small laugh. You’d always been able to figure him out, and not just because you were a profiler.

“2,412 hours,” His tone is uncertain, mixed between gratefulness for you observance and something far more upsetting. “That’s how long Maeve and I have contacted each other counting letters and phone calls…”

“That’s what-” You take a second to do the calculation in your head. “100 days?”

“100.5…” He runs his hand backwards through his hair, pressing his eyes closed like he’s afraid tears will spill from them if he doesn’t. “What if that’s all I get?”

“It won’t be Spencer…”

“You don’t know that-“

“Yes Spencer, I do,” You have to consciously suppress the sigh that threatens to leave your mouth, pushing your lingering distaste for Maeve down with it. “She is going to be fine, I promise,”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Turns out Maeve’s ex fiancé wasn’t the stalker. In fact, he was being stalked himself, and whilst JJ and Garcia were looking over the images posted to Robert whilst him and Maeve were still together they discovered something that changed the entire direction of the investigation.

Maeve’s face had scribbled out in eyeliner.

You and the team spent the next thirty minutes rebuilding the profile from the bottom up.

“Celebrity stalkers are usually non violent,”

“You want to tell that to John Lennon Rossi?” Spencer looked up from his lap towards the group at the table, having separated himself from the group to sit on a sofa lining one of the walls so he couldn’t bias the profile.

It wasn’t going too well.

“What was it that Mark David Chapman said after he shot him?” Spencer stood from his seat, anger flaring in his nostrils. “‘It was like all of my nobody-ness and all of his somebody-ness collided’,”

You could hear the rise in his tone as he worked himself up the more he spoke.

“Spencer-“

“Maeve is somebody. And this- bitch is a nobody.”

“Spencer.”

Spencer caught your gaze, and immediately fizzling out of his eyes and replaced with guilt. “I’m sorry- I can’t be very helpful right now I should leave-“

“Yes you can Reid, you have 100.5 days of communication with this girl and a recall everything verbatim,” Morgan’s gaze is entirely concerned with Spencer’s outburst.

“There’s too much of it, and I can’t sort through any of it clearly-“ Spencer is clearly on the edge of breaking, and you can tell he’s not going to be able to keep his composure for much longer.

“Then pick one of us and we’ll go through it with you,” Hotch leaned his elbows against the table, his voice again portraying that soft, parental tone that said he knew how overwhelmed Spencer was getting.

Spencer didn’t even say anything, his eyes just silently flickered over to you and you knew you couldn’t refuse him.

You return his silence as you get up from your seat and pat your hand on his shoulder for the two of you to exit the room together.

Time to torture yourself for the sake of Spencer’s wellbeing.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Diane Turner, a research assistant working for her PhD in the same lab as Maeve. A student who had her thesis rejected because it contained a heavy sample bias that included both of her parents.

It took a while, but Garcia eventually managed to track down a loft that was owned under Diane’s parents’ names, less than 10 minutes away from Maeve’s apartment.

“Take your gun and vest off,” Diane’s voice is harsh through the receiver attached to the front of the building, and Spencer’s eyes flickered up from the silk blindfold in his hands to the metal box.

He doesn’t question the orders as he immediately begins stripping the vest from his torso, dropping it and his gun on the floor.

“Now come in alone.”

“Spencer.” You call out to him as he reaches for the door handle, and he gives you that look that makes your stomach do flips in your torso. Except this time it’s not that pleasant fluttery feeling, but instead an existential dread at the fact that he might not walk out of the building alive.

“I’ll be okay,” He gives you a nod of reassurance as he pushes the door open, and you find yourself clenching your hands around your gun to stop yourself from following after him.

The six of you wait outside for what feels like hours, and you lean back and forth on the balls of your feet as you become increasingly restless with the situation.

Then, a gunshot.

And a second.

And your heart drops in your chest.

You’re not entirely present as you rush into the building with the team following behind you, gun raised at your eyes.

Spencer had to be okay. He had to. He was going to be fine. You were going to walk into that room and he was going to be perfectly fine.

You hoped Maeve was alright too. As much as she was unintentionally causing you literal hell, you knew that she meant everything to Spencer.

You knew that he’d choose her over anything. He’d choose her over you.

And right now you don’t care. You just want him to be okay.

You force the door open to the loft with your foot, gun pointed straight ahead at the first person you see.

“Stay back-“ Spencer practically shouts from where he’s half lying on the floor, right hand clutching tightly at his left bicep, trails of blood cascading down his fingers and onto the floor.

“Stay back stay back don’t shoot-“

You let out an audible sigh at the fact that Spencer wasn’t critically harmed, although upon a whimper of his name from further across the room you turn your eyes up to the noise.

And you finally meet the girl that’s caused you ten months of hell. Held at gunpoint.

That small voice in the back of your head tells you that this might be your chance to finally rid her from your life, to let her succumb to whatever Diane had planned and leave Spencer to you.

But you take one look at the desperation in her eyes and any loathing that remained in your mind immediately fizzled out.

It wasn’t her fault. Of course it wasn’t. She was just a girl that happened to be in love.

“Diane,” Spencer pushes himself to stand, and you can see the pain in his face as he does. “There’s still a way out of this,”

“You never wanted me. Never!” Diane pushes the gun she’s holding hard against Maeve’s neck, and you can see her eyes squeeze closed as she attempts to keep herself from crying. “You lied!”

“I didn’t.”

Spencer shakes his head adamantly, and you glance over at Hotch as you spread across the back of the room, guns raised in Diane’s direction. “Diane, I offered you a deal, and you can still take it,”

“Me for her. Let me take her place,”

You only have a view of the back of Spencer’s head now, but you can tell by the tone of his voice that his expression is a pure display of desperation, one that you’re happy you can’t see because you’d lose your composure in an instant.

“You would do that?” Diane’s question is angry and accusatory, tears rolling down her face as she presses the gun against Maeve’s neck once more.

Spencer nods with no threat in his tone. “Yes,”

“You would kill yourself for her?”

“Yes.”

You practically feel your heart stop.

“Thomas Merton,” Maeve’s voice is almost exactly as you imagined it to be. Soft, smooth and, as Spencer had called it all those months ago, ‘dipped in honey’.

“Who’s Thomas Merton?” Diane’s tone contrasts Maeve’s tenfold, pitchy, uneven and overrun with manic anger.

“He knows,” You can see Maeve’s eyes flicker, and you assume that they meet Spencer’s as his shoulders drop. “He knows.”

“Who’s Thomas Merton?” Diane shakes Maeve in her grasp as if to intensify the urgence of her question, and you tighten your grip on your gun in instinctual response. “Who is he?”

“He’s the one thing you can never take from us,” Maeve’s voice is confident and defiant despite the clear tears in her eyes.

Thomas Merton could’ve been something between Spencer and you.

“No.”

You can see a clear change in Diane’s expression at Maeve’s words, and she lowers the gun from Maeve’s head only to hold it up against her own, staring directly into Spencer’s eyes.

“Wait-”

Spencer barely has time to shout the word before the gun fires, and you flinch at the sound as you watch Maeve and Diane both drop to the floor, dark red blood pooling around the two.

You can feel the tension in the room as everyone computes what just happened, guns lowering slowly as their eyes lock onto the two women on the floor.

You’re not focused on that. You’re focused on the tightness of Spencer’s shoulders as he takes sharp breaths in and out of his nose.

The way he seems to forget about the bullet wound in his arm as his legs give out underneath him.

The way a sob that leaves his mouth despite the fact that he tries to muffle it with his hand.

The way that Spencer broke.

He's crying. Big, heaving, heart-wrenching sobs.

His shoulders are trembling.

His hands are shaking.

His head is hanging downwards so that his hair is covering his face.

You approach him slowly, kneeling down at his side and placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

His eyes slowly shift from Maeve, his sobs only seeming to amplify as he meets your gaze. His eyes are red and closely with tears, his cheeks running hot and his lips trembling.

You don’t speak, knowing that you’ll break if you do. Instead, you guide his head into your shoulder and let him crumble in your arms, grieving the loss of the love of his life.

You’re sure you’re going to cry yourself to sleep when you get home, but right now, you needed to be strong. For him.

“I’m so sorry-“ Spencer speaks through broken sobs as you hold him, the rest of the team moving to secure the scene.

“Shh,” You shake your head against his softly, rubbing the palm of your hand up and down his back as you let him cry until he physically couldn’t anymore.

“I treated you so horribly-“ He pulls away from your shoulder to look into your eyes once more. “I’m so sorry- Please don’t leave me…”

You purse your lips into a line, your expression full of so many emotions Spencer can’t distinguish any of them.

“I’m not going anywhere,” You pull his head back into your shoulder, leaning your head against his. “I promise…”

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid angst #criminal minds angst #mgg #asks 🫶

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trashmouth-richie · 1 year

Text

Eddie x Fem! Reader

master list

w/c: 7k

A/N: this chapter is a little bit shorter than the last few but I hope you enjoy it regardless! huge s/o to @blueywrites + @jo-harrington for beta reading and helping me with parts ♥️

tw: 18+ no minors, depression, acts of depression, drinking excessively etc

Granules of brown sugar melt against heaping creamed rolled oats, nestled into the crisp white second hand vitrelle made Corelle brand bowls. The pattern of dainty brown flowers skim around the outer surface, one that Eddie is now rubbing softly with the pad of his thumb.

He had never noticed them before this very moment. The guitar string callouses skid along the cool surface of the bowl. The familiar feel reminded him of the soft skin on your back as he held you while you slept, strumming along your body to the tired tunes of your breathing.

A song he’d listen to forever if he could.

Eddie found himself noticing many new things he hadn't noticed before in the early daylight hours of the morning. He didn’t want to stir you, didn’t want to disrupt the beautiful sleepy angel next to him. Wrapping you tighter against him, pressing light kisses to your hairline, he soaked up the warmth of your skin against him. Drinking in your smooth breathing and matching it to his own.

Fluttering heart beating wildly in his own chest, he can’t believe you are here with him. Last night felt too good to be true. All these months of lonely pining, unsure if you felt the same, only for it to be true that you wanted him as much as he had wanted you.

He was elated, heart overflowing and spewing candy hearts from his eyes and mouth at the weight of your body tucked into him, fitting like a glove against the bend in his arm.

He was head over heels for you.

A wave of assurance washed over him when he woke this morning and found you curled in on yourself, the cotton sheets wrapped tight up under your chin, slack lips open and your eyelashes laid sweetly against your cheeks. A breath of relief leaves his muscles— you’re still here.

The rise and fall of your naked form when he pulled ypu into his side had him breathless upon first opening his eyes this morning. The sunlight basking through peaks in his bedroom curtains and providing enough light for the dust mites to dance their daylight waltz amongst the stuffy air and crowded surfaces in Eddie’s room.

Cotton sheets dipped into your curves. The smooth skin of your cheek pressed into his own chest. The steady whirring noise of your breathing in and out of your nose with your lips closed delicately.

Beautiful. Radiant. A thousand other adjectives he could use to describe you but there was only one he wanted to call you: his.

The toaster erupts with a metallic clunk, bringing him back from his day dreaming and focusing again at the task at hand.

Grabbing a knife from the silverware drawer, he smears cold butter against the warm toast, the knife scraping gently as the warm crusted pockets flood with butter and sweet grape jelly.

He finds himself daydreaming again. He pictures the corner of your lips coated in jelly, he’d reach forward and brush his finger against it, maybe his lips would kiss the crumbs away. You’d giggle at his stupidity and he’d melt like the butter into this toast at your warm smile.

You were perfect. Everything he had wanted and more. And years of being friends, then enemies, then roommates and now lovers. He was giddy, stomach filled with snowflake flurries resembling a winter storm.

He balanced the bowls of oatmeal in large hands, the toast cut in diagonals and stuffed like rabbit ears into the cooked oats. A pep in his step, he practically floated to his room, back to you, snug in his sheets, his pillows. He’s carried by the wings of the butterflies in his stomach.

A tickle on your cheek has your eyelids fluttering slow, the cool feel of unfamiliar sheets twisted by your chin have you jumping in your skin, but the warm velvet voice in your ear whispering good morning greetings and a peck against your ear tames your heart and softens the goosebumps on your skin.

The same calloused palms that held you in a protective manner last night now gently stroke the underside of your chin in a lazy pattern. Up the rounds of your cheeks, and circling the plump of your lips. Eddie’s hands are unusually warm against your skin, the heat from the bowls hot on his palms.

The mattress bends beneath his weight as he sits with one leg on the bed and leans on a hip over you. The bourbon colored ends of his curls sweep feather-like against your bare chest, like the white tufty pappus of a dandelion head.

You titter softly when his lips slide down your neck and blow a softened raspberry against your skin.

“Good morning, baby,” he sighs beneath your ear. The pearls of his teeth graze your neck because he can’t stop smiling. The silk of your hands wrap around his arms, fingers gliding over the carve of his muscles. And your eyes finally flutter open.

A halo of sunlight breaches his frizzy curls and pull every bit of amber from them, his smile cozy and familiar the warmth seeping through you as his blackened honey eyes drink you in.

His eyes trail your sleepy features, caressing your skin with each slow drag across your face. Taking in every inch of you he can.

“Sleep okay?” he purrs gently, planting a rose petal kiss on your lips.

Last night was perfect, everything you had hoped for and more.

You didn’t know sex could be so intimate, so passionate. Feeling how much he cared about you with every kiss, every touch of his molten fingers on your skin. He gave you the love and adoration you had yearned for. And it felt good.

So, so good.

Something that delicious should be enjoyed again and again. An indulgence, a finger swiping into the edge of a frosted cake for temptation deemed too strong. But unlike the taste of frosting melting away on your tongue, craving more and wanting another taste, you couldn’t.

Peering into his eyes, you can see how much he loved you. But the feeling sat sour on your tongue, and burned your belly in a lonely way.

But why?

You could push through this right?

Didn’t you want this?

Want him?

Heart hammering for Eddie, all green flags and sticky love, kicking feet and giddy heated cheeks, but your brain was screaming another sound, ringing bells of unworthiness loud in your ears.

You don’t deserve him.

His love won’t last.

A quick smile that doesn’t reach your eyes implants on your lips. Insecurity is evident among them when the twinkle of love is replaced by dark brooding agony. And if Eddie sees it he is blinded to it. So wrapped up in bubbly love for you he thought you hung the stars.

The way his brown eyes are gazing at you hurts your heart. Before hot tears can fall down your cheeks you blink rapidly. Wells of salt stinging in your eyes as you swallow them down.

Answering his question in a hushed almost whisper, you push yourself up on his mattress, clutching the sheet around your chest, suddenly aware of how naked you are. Bare beneath the sheets a once welcomed coziness now feels like shards of glass embedded into your skin.

Your knees tuck up beneath your chest, in a small attempt to shield yourself more from the man you wanted to love but couldn’t.

Eddie is all adoring dimples and pinked cheeks. His voice is laced with flowing sweet words of pleasantries. He places a pillow behind your back, so you can be comfy,.

The act cracking your heart deeper waiting to be split like the thin shell on a peanut m&m.

“I didn’t ask, but do you like oatmeal?”

You’ve never known a single smile burrowing into your soul deeper than his does. But it aches and burns. Nose tingling bringing up another wave of tears, you simply nod, you wipe your eyes hastily with the back of your hand as Eddie turns and grabs the bowls. Oblivious to your turmoil.

He brings the warm bowl of oatmeal to the bed and places it in your hands. Jelly having slid down the toast and snuggling with the brown sugar and oatmeal. Joining you on the bed Eddie sits beside you, his long legs stretched out in front of him as you sit shoulder to shoulder.

You don’t deserve him.

His love won’t last.

Lead filled arms hold the metal spoon to your lips, a warmth in your mouth that has no taste. For you are not hungry. The beast inside spreading its ferocious wings and sucking any amount of joy from you.

But he said he loved me.

He doesn’t. Don’t fool yourself.

Staring ahead you are trapped in your mind. A hostage to your demons. The sunshine of happiness is replaced with heavy thunderstorm clouds of acidic rain, eating away your insides like maggots on a carcass.

Eddie is talking between mouthfuls of his breakfast but you don’t hear him. The words unable to make sense against your ears as you stir your spoon around and around the bowl. A hypnotizing motion.

Unaware of the state you are in, Eddie is floating high on cloud nine. A pinky cheeked cherub shooting arrows of lust below him. He’s giddy and cheerful, a light of beckoning hope next to your brooding steel trapped mind.

He’s too good for you.

The voices shout louder in your ears and you fight tears away.

Just another notch on his belt, silly Tooty.

Run, before he does.

“Sweetheart?” your breathing is erratic and complacent. Sweat is trickling down your hairline. Wet beads in the space behind your ears and forming on your upper lip.

Run.

Choking down the bile of panic cradled in your throat, you croak a smile. “Sorry, what?”

The rest of breakfast is void of noise besides the ominous clinking of spoons against bowls and the gulping slide of oatmeal down Eddie’s throat. Chewing your toast to humor him you still taste nothing, barely registering your teeth are grinding together against themselves until Eddie asks if you’re alright.

Fine, you lie, easy on your tongue, the forced smile is harder, painful. Settling an unease in your bones that creaks and groans like a worn porch door batting against the frame in a windstorm.

Pulling hard to untuck the sheet from the one corner of Eddie’s bed that didn’t manage to come undone during the passion of last night, you wrap it around you fully, and scoot down the length of his mattress. The walk of shame gown held tight in your grip. Doubling as a shield of comfort around you, a flannel sheet of armor.

Not announcing where you are going in fear of breaking, you scamper from the room, quick feet on the carpet and shivering in the cool air on your shoulders. Eddie’s hot desperate eyes burrowing into your back as you lock the bathroom door.

He’s everywhere in this house, and your mind is suffocating. Lungs punched of any oxygen as you struggle to stand using the knob as a crutch.

What makes you think you’re deserving of his kindness?

The daunting demonic voice laughs mercilessly in your head, bouncing off the pinked brain matter and echoing lol against the hollow marble of your skull, scribbling along it in permanent marker.

Unworthy

Undeserving

Hot tears stream down your cheeks and you shed the cloak of flannel armor, reaching for the silver knob of the shower and turning it to the hottest temperature the small water heater will allow.

The stream of the scalding water sears your back like steak in a skillet, you welcome the burn with open arms.

Thinking of Eddie’s doting and how sweet he was to you made your stomach splinter. All he was doing was exactly what you had hoped for, wished for, stayed up long nights aching for.

But it wasn’t simple.

You were terrified. Scared shitless of his love for you. But you knew Eddie and you knew he loved big, and cared in ways that most people couldn't fathom.

Hot water rolls down the front of your shoulders and flows over your softened nipples, mixed with salty tears.

The tears only stop when there’s a soft knuckled bang on the door.

His endearing voice is small against the closed door, “hey babe?”

You don’t answer. Unable to free your mind from the double hell of feeling inadequate and petrifying anxiety of being loved by someone you can’t love back.

But you do love him.

You always have in one way or another.. even when you shouldn’t have. You did.

But the overwhelming feeling of his affection is too much, you don’t know how to feel, or act. Not as if Chad ever made you feel loved. Somehow the feeling of being loved is almost the same crushing feeling of being choked out.

Because you’re not good enough.

You don’t deserve him.

The bathroom door opens and Eddie’s calm voice breaks through the void. Makes its way through the silent sobs that are causing your body to shake violently.

His shadow is blurred against the shower curtain. Coy hands peel the cream plastic and blue fabric away slightly, opening the threshold to the shower and the steam rolling out, thick in his vision.

“Tooty?”

Back to first names.

Back to the basics.

Eddie wasn’t an idiot. He knew something was wrong. And he had spent the last ten minutes walking back and forth along the carpet, wracking his brain. Pulling his hair in frustration when tears stung his eyes and collected like puddles in his lashes.

Trying to figure out the solution to a problem he didn’t have the equation for.

No one did.

This was a fight within yourself, solving for x when Eddie barely passed basic algebra. Nobody could fix this.

Broken goods, sold at a discount and marked down.

Trash.

When you don’t answer he says your name a smidge louder. Reaching his fingers out to touch your shoulder and almost breaking on the spot when you coil away from him.

His touch once so protective and undeniably reassuring in your blood now threatens to make you react with bared teeth and steel eyes.

But you refrain, pushing yourself further away from him. Deeper into your sorrows of a life of despair, a valley of dread.

Relentless, Eddie won’t give up easy. His voice is meek and breaking with each cold shoulder of avoidance you offer.

You’re nothing.

“Baby,” he pleads, a tear running down his cheek, collecting in the column of his throat. “Talk to me.”

His cheeks return to normal color, his eyes don’t dance with twinkles, the corners of his mouth turn flat. He's beside himself.

The voices deepens now, roaring loudly like a river. A familiar tone. One that has terrified you for almost a decade, Chad.

You think someone could love you like me? Better than me?

Take it, fucking whore.

Yeah, cry for me.

“No.”

Eddie’s brows turn inward. Concern painting his face. “Tooty?”

Who would want you?

You’re nothing.

A hand on your shoulder makes your spine twinge with icy cold resentment causing you to flinch unexpectedly, shivering away from him. A wounded animal, protecting yourself.

“I said, no!”

When you turn to face him you are met with wet eyes, and the saddest expression you’d ever had the displeasure of seeing.

One that would bury itself in your mind and haunt you at night. More horrifying than a scary movie because it was real, right before your eyes.

Eddie doesn’t give you time to think before he twists his mouth into a question, “what’s going on? What did I do?”

This is not a conversation you want to have. You can’t.

Plain and simple.

“Leave me alone,” you beg, salt in the skinned wound. You turn the water off and shove past him, your warm wet skin sliding against his dry bare chest.

Unlovable

Undeserving Tooty.

The terry fibers of your robe cocoon you in a hug. And you’re reminded of the memories this fabric holds. The first night Eddie had moved in, and him wearing it with pride.

The night he defended you against the twins, when you were piss drink and he wrapped you up tightly to cover you up.

He was a good man.

And you were a bitch.

An unlovable shrewd, forcing someone to open up and then cutting them off because you couldn’t handle the thought of someone loving you when you couldn’t love yourself.

You deserved what Chad did to you.

Eddie is talking a million miles an hour trying to explain himself as you leave him in the bathroom. His throat aches from swallowing back tears and his heart is breaking.

Turning in a swift jerk of your head you face him when he begs you to look at him.

“Please, goddamnit please just talk to me. Help me understand what I did wrong!”

“There’s nothing to understand Eddie! We fucked! So what? No big deal.” It was the biggest lie you’d told yourself. It was a big deal. It meant everything to you, but you couldn’t do this.

He’s stunned, mouth hung open and his pink bottom lip starts to quiver. The same lips that kissed you so delicately and made you cum so hard it was like the Fourth of July behind your eyelids.

Not having any of it, his sadness turns to anger on the drop of a dime, his shaky lip flipped to a snarl, “Don’t you dare do this, don’t you dare turn this around as just some one night stand bullshit.” His eyes search your face for any tell on a sick joke. But he knows you better than that.

He can’t contain the fueling rage inside of him and he almost shouts in your face. “I know what it meant to you!”

“Really?” you voice in a shaky tone, crossing your arms across your chest in a manner that suggests you couldn’t give a single fuck about his feelings, but barely below the surface you were screaming for help. “If you got all the answers then enlighten me.”

His voice is softer, gentler. He timidly reaches out to hold your clothed shoulders, the tips of his fingertips grip them softly, thumbs rubbing small circles. Hoping his touch could bring you back to him, bring back the angel from his dreams and coax you out from this hellish nightmare he had fallen into.

“Don’t act like this baby, please.”

Your head hangs in defeat and you’re ready to give up. A sigh escapes you and he lifts your chin with a ringed finger. He licks his lips and he says the three words you couldn’t hear.

The three small words that confirmed the anxiety in your chest and made your heart crumble. And it kills you.

It kills you to hear the words come from the man you’ve been yearning for.

It kills you to know you won’t ever be able to say them back to him. Even though you’re dying to.

And it kills you to know you don’t deserve to hear those words from him.

His fingers feel like talons against your shoulders and you're caught in his grasp. A hawk swooping to catch a field mouse. You can practically feel the blood pouring from your skin by his nails through the robe. The sharpness squeezing your lungs and attacking your mind.

And like a bullet from a gun, you fire back. With hateful words and a dead tone, fire lit behind your pupils and your caged self inside of them begging to be let out. Begging to be let free and loved by Eddie. Slapping his hands away from you, you pull away from him, your back hitting the wall with a thud, the same wall you leaned on last night when he kissed you for the first time.

The word is final. And so full of venom it feels like poison on your lips.

“Don’t.”

Wounded like an animal he defends himself. His slapped hands are red and stinging as he hangs them limply at his side. He shakes his head and his lips glow with how hard he’s pressing them together.

“Tell me I don’t mean anything to you,” he yells, hurt and unable to contain his building desperate pleas to win you back, “Go ahead! Use your words Tooty. Tell me last night meant nothing to you.”

He’s a fiend for your poisoned drug and you are his dealer, giving him what he wants, directly to his vein of choice. The veil of hatred falling in your vision and coating your stone still features. A single tear welled into your eyes. Falling the exact time you tell him words you knew weren’t at all true.

“It meant nothing to me.”

He chuckles in a hurt tone trying desperately to hide his own tears, a sick smirk of dismay is displayed on his quivering lips. And he’s fighting like hell to stay standing on two feet.

“So now what? Huh?” His voice breaks and he clears his throat, hands on his hips and looking towards the popcorn ceiling, desperately blinking tears back, and once they’re hiding again he nods his head forward, one last attempt to have you break with him. To admit you were lying to yourself.

Crossing his arms he’s trying not to shake with fury and grief. Through gritted teeth he misters up enough courage to ask you something he doesn’t wanna hear the answer to.

“Tell me what you want since you’re so big and brave. Don’t be a coward now sweetheart, tell me what you want.”

You almost vomit on the spot. But choke it down long enough to spill the last lie from your pretty lips.

The nail in the coffin. The big finale.

“I want… you to leave.”

—

JANUARY

It took three hours and all the boys from Corroded Coffin to help Eddie move his things out. He took a few days off from work to get his affairs in order. Filling out the proper paperwork to change his address back to the light blue trailer in Forest Hills for the time being.

You weren’t home when it happened. He had made sure of it.

When you closed your eyes at night you could still hear slam of metal connecting to metal when he slammed his van door and the crunch of ice and snow beneath his van tires as he sped away.

You didn’t cry anymore when Metallica played on the radio. And nobody but you knew that every glass you had owned had been shattered against the front door when you came home to his empty room.

A reality that had your eyes swollen for days.

It took you two weeks to see the envelope on the table. A scrawl of shitty handwriting with your name on it.

Tucked inside the pristine white envelope was more than twenty $100 bills, fresh from the bank. And a small note:

“If you need more let me know,

take care of yourself - Eddie

That night you wept. Clutching onto the handmade shirt Eddie had given you, the night before the concert. The only thing remnant of him living in the house. Not counting the newer jar of pickles in the fridge, like the last— the lid was missing.

Hot tears slid out of your eyes faster than a tub draining. A call to Robin is broken with blubbering hysterics and honking noises of your nose being blown into a wadded Kleenex, and in ten minutes time—she manages to drop everything to come and look after you.

Countless hours slip by of her rubbing your back and even crying along with you, she swore Eddie and you were meant to be. Her words were blankets of comfort on you as she tried her best not to bring him up.

She had promised both Steve and Eddie to not tell you where he was staying, for your own good.

And like the kind hearted friend she was, Robin stayed for a few days. Taking off work and cooking meals for you even though you refused to eat.

On the third day of not eating and refusing to leave your bed, she put a call in to Steve. He was hands on his hips disappointed in you. Lecturing you about how your actions hurt people and how you couldn’t be a brat forever. He threatened to dial the Wheeler’s to have Karen step in.

But you wouldn’t budge.

When Nancy had shown up on a Wednesday morning, she immediately went to work. Making a schedule for you to follow, and taking absolutely no bullshit when you told her you were a grown woman and could deal with things on your own.

When she blacked out Eddie’s name from the calendar, silent tears fell down your cheeks.

Seeing his name brought you both solace and pain. A reminder that you had done this yourself. That he wasn’t coming back. And it was because of you.

You moved with the motions of each day.

Shower

Brushing your teeth

Eating breakfast

Getting ready for work

Going to work

Eating lunch

Working

Driving home

Eating supper

Brush teeth

Bedtime

You sat in silence when you weren’t at work. Finding little to no enjoyment in anything anymore. Avoiding everyone’s calls. Staring at the 4 walls in your bedroom like a prison cell. Eddie’s stupid jar of pickles tucked snuggly between your crossed legs, your supper for weeks now.

The only thing on your mind was him. He stuck with you in everything you did. He was everywhere. You even started drinking orange juice from the jug just like he did.

His laugh. The small giggly one he’d had since boyhood and the deep belly laugh he’d generate when you would roll your eyes at him, all of his teeth showing.

His smile seemed to stretch across the Milky Way. Wide and pearly, ear to ear. His cheeks prickled with deep dimples. Somehow getting cuter with age.

The darkest eyes full of mischief and wonderment. You could get lost in the Wonka chocolate river pooling in his eyes. Changing with his emotions like a mood ring, they gave him away.

—

Corroded Coffin hadn’t played a gig since A Merry Corroded Christmas. Hard to play a show when the lead singer couldn’t pull it together during practices or remember to show up to them.

Steve had stayed up with Eddie the first few nights, talking him off the edge of a violent end he didn’t see a way out of.

He wouldn’t allow himself to forget that night. The passion was cosmic. And he knew you felt it too. Whether or not you would admit you were lying to yourself didn’t interest him.

He was used to rejection.

Used to feeling like he was nothing.

What was breaking him was the ghost of you in his arms. Your sleeping body haunted his dreams, made the demons escape from hell and flood his vision.

When he woke and you weren’t there the pain surfaced tenfold. And no amount of whiskey or Rick’s finest trees would fix it.

The cycle never ending

He cared about you more than he cared about himself.

The day you asked him to leave was a blur. He woke up at Gareth’s apartment a day later, no recollection of how he had gotten there.

Your words etched into his skin like a tattoo.

I want you to leave.

FEBRUARY

Still Loving You by Scorpions is playing on repeat between Nothing Else Matters by Metallica again in the guest house behind the lavish empty pool of Steve Harrington’s new home on Cornwalis St.

Thirty some odd days had passed and Eddie Munson was nowhere near the man he used to be.

Where his skin was once smooth shaven was now replaced by a prickly sparse beard. His once sparkling chocolate eyes were now dull and almost ashen. Dark circles rim his eyes from lack of sleep and poor nutrition, a diet of Marlboros, whiskey and pretzels giving him enough energy to work and come back to the same space he had called home for a few months.

Throwing himself into working long hours at Boom’s he slept very little at night. When he did close his eyes he’d be jarred awake by a nightmare, one he hasn’t had since he was a kid. And he’d lay awake for hours replaying the same day over and over again in his mind.

Each time ending the same way.

Shreds of notebook papers cluttered the floor, each littered with blue and black ink, all different but entirely the same subject: you.

Poems, songs, haikus and even a poorly written sonnet he had attempted while drunk at 2 AM sitting in a lounge chair he had drug out from the pool shed to sit along the edge of the frozen pool cover.

His hair hadn’t been brushed in weeks. Leighanne offered to help comb out the tangles and mats but the burden was too much for him to handle. He denied her kindness, brushing it off with mumbled ‘m fine ’s and don’t worry ‘bout me ’s.

But in reality the thought of another woman’s hands in his hair only made the tears fall harder.

When Eddie first moved in, Steve and Robin were still in the apartment, and Eddie’s things were moved to a storage unit across town.

When the lease was up at the end of January, Robin moved into Vicky’s apartment over Surfer Boy Pizza and Steve purchased a house, along with an expensive diamond ring he would be anticipating on giving to an eager Leighanne, holding off until her birthday for the right time to pop the question.

The Harrington/Buckley apartment was then subleased to Eddie. A sublease that didn’t last more than a week before he was booted out by the landlord for destruction of property when he accidentally started a fire in the kitchen.

He was only trying to replicate your lasagna.

Steve graciously invited Eddie to move in. and Eddie kept to himself for the most part. And on nights when sad music was blaring from the small guest house, Steve knew better than to ask if his friend wanted to play cards or kick back with a few beers.

-T-

January came and went and close to the end of February Josie told you she was cutting everyone’s hours, the salon would no longer be open on the weekends. The envelope Eddie had left for you was thrown into your night stand and you refused to use any of it.

No one in town was hiring for another hairdresser so you opted to driving fifteen miles out of town to find another job.

The job you had gotten was bartending at a rundown shithole bar worse than the Hideout. But the tips were good and your boss was sweet. A pot belly old farmer who only played country classics and served warm beer and peanuts, the shells making curved mountains on the filthy splintered wood floor.

It was refreshing to get out of Hawkins, but most importantly, it was the best chance you had at not running into someone who looked like him.

Your body started to ache at all times, tender in places that never hurt before. Exhaustion thick on your features

Months had passed and you hadn’t seen your friends. Nancy would call every now and then and check in. Jonathan and her were seeing a couples therapist for intimacy issues. She said Mike was hinting at proposing soon to El.

Eddie’s shadow lingered on your skin and you swore you could feel his breath in your ear. Whispering how he loved you.

Some days were better than others, but most days you would get so worked up you would vomit from the pain. Betrayal splayed in your guts. Your mind was working against you.

His teary eyes and hurt expression were all you saw when you closed your eyes. And every night you cried yourself to sleep, cocooned into a pile of too many blankets, dreaming that Eddie was holding you tight against his chest, never leaving…never letting you go.

MARCH

Eddie worked more than twelve hours a day, acting as two full time mechanics with how hard he was throwing himself into projects. Boom, although grateful for Eddie’s help and go-getter attitude, worried about him. Especially when he noticed the other two knot head mechanics he couldn’t afford to fire, helping themselves into his office flipping through personnel files.

“Sean told me he makes more money than me! I was just checking to see how much more you think he’s worth!

Aaron chuckled when Boom tossed him out of the office by his collar.

A secret motive snug on his Copenhagen smile. The Information he was seeking: found and a reward would be granted for his loyalty to a long time friend.

…

“… alright fine, I guess pineapple is pretty good on pizza.”

“Told ya, Harrington, ” licking his lips, Eddie reached into the cardboard box and grabs another slice, the melting cheese stretching for what seemed like miles, “I know good pizza.”

Steve rolls his eyes, taking it easy on his friend who finally is looking like his normal self again after two months of becoming almost unrecognizable.

The sad music didn’t play anymore. And his fingers didn’t bleed from writing songs about you.

He was accepting what happened. Still sad, a little depressed but moving forward with his life.

The date was approaching, Steve knew it and so did Eddie, neither wanted to talk about what he was going to do yet but Steve held his tongue for far too long.

“so.. that Metallica concert is coming up… you still g—”

Before Steve could finish muttering, Eddie was already finishing his sentence, chewing along with his explanation. His fingers twirl the rings on his other hand. A nervous fit settling in his stomach.

“—already sold ‘em. Gonna drop the money I got for them in her mailbox tonight.”

Steve shifts uncomfortably in his chair, threading fingers through his coiffed hair. “So that’s it huh?”

“So what’s it?” Eddie questioned, nonchalantly standing suddenly from the table with a scratch of the chair's legs against the tiled floor. Throwing his paper plate and napkin away, he stops at the trash can. Doubling back he almost cracks under the scrutiny of Steve’s eyes.

“Steve, she doesn’t wanna be with me, we’ve been over this. I fucked up, came on too strong.”

“I’m sorry man,” Steve apologizes, a drag of his large hands down his face. “I really thought she felt the same way—,” he huffs out a breath, “fuck, we all did!”

A shake of Eddie’s curls silences Steve’s words, the whirring noise in his ears, “I’m fine man, really. I’m gonna keep doing what we said we would all those years ago.”

Walking towards the front door and stomping louder than he should have, Eddie thrusts his arms into his leather jacket, the silk inside cozy along his faded cotton shirt.

His keys are hanging on the little hook by the door, Steve’s decorator thinking of every detail, he lets the brass teeth dig into his palm.

“Even if she hates me Steve,” one hand on the silver doorknob, rings clicking against it in his tight grip, he turns his head and looks into pitiful moss colored eyes, as he delivers the only truth he’s ever known, “I still love her.”

Slamming home the driver’s door to the van and turning his key into the ignition, Skid Row’s I Remember You plays gently through the speakers. Eddie hums along and pats his thumbs against the steering wheel.

It was true he was doing better.

His hair was combed through after using copious amounts of the cheapest conditioner Melvald’s had to offer. And he didn’t need the whiskey anymore to make it through the day.

He yearned to see your face.

Even if it was a glare his way or a raised eyebrow at something stupid he had to say, he’d do just about anything to see it.

Would you be smiling?

Were you happy without him?

He hoped you were doing well, and maybe would want to be friends again.

Turning onto Cherry Lane is pure nostalgia. It had only been a few months but everything looked the same. He felt different and maybe expected everything else to change along with him.

And there it was. Your house.

The house he had lived in, learned life skills he should have learned years ago, and most importantly shared the deepest love he’d ever felt with someone in his life.

The windows were dark, except for a small light in the kitchen, a candle he assumed. The smell of vanilla warmed his nose as he thought of the familiar scent you had kept burning.

The driveway held your car and another he didn’t recognize. By first glance he thought maybe it could be Nancy. But she had just brought her old station wagon into Boom’s last week for a tire rotation.

The license plates on the fancy BMW were not from Hawkins, housing the wrong number for the county on the Indiana plates.

His ears heated with jealousy. Throat closing tight trying to hide a choked sob.

How could you have moved on from him so quickly? The thought of you hooking up with someone while he was practically a dead man walking made him weak in the knees.

A punch to the gut. He had never felt so low in all of his life.

He couldn’t help himself when he jumped out of the van. Foregoing slamming the door. Stomping on cold concrete with shaky legs all the way to the front door. He fumed as he blinked back tears.

He was prepared to make an ass out of himself. He’d announce himself the same way he had when he opened the door the day he has moved in all those months ago.

A loud boisterous, HONEY, I’M HOME

With knuckles raised and his heart hammering in his chest like a bee trapped in a tin can, he was ready to knock.

Ready to see your shocked face with some faceless guy probably with a better job and stupid suits when Eddie’s wild hair and goofy grin was on the other side of the door.

But he is stopped short when a muffled shrill scream vibrates off the walls and finds his ears.

see you in volume 12

🐑 (sacrificial for readmore)

#eddie munson #eddie x fem!reader #eddie x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst

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hd-junglebook · 13 days

Text

"Hey Sugar"

-said with rizz

Luke Hughes x F!Reader, Trevor Zegras x Reader (platonic)

Masterlist Link

a:n I had so much fun writing this, I'm literally already starting part 2 because I can't wait to get Lukes's story started. Young dad over here. This part is just a bunch of flirting, can you blame y/n?

Warnings: throuple jumpscare, angry ex girlfriends, flirting, alcohol, maybe cursing, suggestive flirting

Summary: The story begins with you at a party with your close group of friends. Simmering sexual tension crackles between you and Luke, building through flirtatious banter and charged dancing.

Word Count - 5450

Part 1

It was one of those classic house parties - the kind where the music thumped through the walls and the smell of stale beer and desperation hung thick in the air. You sidled through the crowd, dodging wandering hands and spilled drinks, scanning the familiar faces for your crew.

Finally, you spotted them crammed onto a sagging couch in the living room, laughing raucously at something one of them had said. Making your way over, you plonked down next to your best friend Jessica.

"Hey! You made it!" she shouted over the music, throwing an arm around your shoulders. "Y/N, this is Luke. Luke, y/n."

You turned to find the source of the deep, gravelly chuckle beside you. Your breath caught in your throat as your eyes met Luke's - a pair of piercing brown pools that seemed to stare straight through you. A lopsided grin played at his full lips as he extended a hand.

"Nice to meet you," he said smoothly.

The party raged on around you - bodies gyrated to the rhythmic bass line, red plastic cups sloshed with cheap booze, and a thick hermetic heat radiated from the mass of people. But in that moment, the chaos seemed to fade away as you studied Luke's face, feeling your cheeks flush under his intense yet playful gaze.

You swallowed hard, Lady Gaga singing about love over the speakers suddenly feeling all too appropriate. "Likewise," you managed with a nervous laugh, taking his hand.

An electric jolt shot through you at the contact, his calloused palm rough against your skin. You quickly pulled away, hoping the dim lights concealed your reddening face.

And just like that, the spark was lit. As the night wore on, you and Luke traded increasingly outrageous jokes and stories, your friends looking on with delight at the undeniable chemistry.

The party blurred into a dizzying kaleidoscope - the acrid smoke burning your nostrils, the relentless thrum of music in your bones, and the warm press of bodies all around. Yet through it all, you remained hyper-aware of Luke's proximity, his rich laugh and musky scent enveloping you like a cozy blanket.

Every accidental touch, be it a graze of the arms or bump of the knees, set your skin tingling with electricity. The few times your hands brushed, it felt like an exposed live wire.

You could have sworn you saw his gaze linger a little too long whenever you tossed your head back in laughter, swiping away a rogue strand of sweat-damp hair from your flushed face.

"Oh my god, y/n, we need to grab you a drink - stat!" Your friend Maggy grabbed your arm, pulling you away from the couch area with a conspiratorial look. Jessica trailed behind, her perfectly arched brows raised knowingly.

You let them drag you into the chaos of the kitchen, dodging half-naked bodies and heaps of abandoned solo cups. Maggy was a force of nature - her wild crimson curls bouncing as she maneuvered the crowd with ease.

"Okay, spill!" she demanded once you reached the relative safety of the counter. Jessica busied herself fixing you a vodka cran, her slim fingers deftly working the sticky bottles.

Maggy smoothed her short ruffled dress over her curvy hips. "Don't tell me you've fallen for Hughes' charms already?"

You rolled your eyes, knowing exactly where this was headed. "It was just some harmless flirting, Mags. I can handle myself."

"That's what they all say..." she warned with a shake of her head, making her diamond studs dance. "I've heard the stories, y/n. That man is a bonafide panty-dropper."

Scoffing, you swiped the proffered drink from Jessica and took a defiant sip. "Well then it's a good thing I'm not wearing any panties tonight."

The three of you dissolved into raucous laughter, drawing annoyed looks from the nearby beer pong champions. Once you recovered, you fixed Maggy with a reassuring smile.

"Look, you know the last thing I need right now is another relationship. Nick and I just ended things. I'm simply enjoying the flirtatious banter, that's all."

Maggy held up her hands in surrender. "Hey, I'm just looking out for you, babe. We all know how charming Luke can be."

"Don't worry," Jessica chimed in with a wink. "Our girl can handle herself."

With that, you allowed them to whisk you back towards the living room, drink in hand. But you pulled up short at the sight of Luke engaged in a heated exchange with a beautiful, irate-looking woman.

"You've got to be kidding me, Luke!" the woman hissed, her face contorted in anger. "First you go radio silent for weeks, and now I find you here making moves on fresh meat?"

Luke? You shot a panicked look at your friends who seemed just as confused. Luke, however, appeared unfazed by the confrontation. A slight smirk played at the corner of his lips as he slowly looked the woman up and down.

"Relax, Amanda. You know how this works between us. We were over a long time ago," he stated coolly, taking a swig from a bottle of beer.

Amanda opened her mouth to retort, but seemed to notice your presence for the first time. Her icy glare landed on you as she sized you up with disdain.

You watched with a mixture of confusion and fascination as the gorgeous but venomous Amanda stormed away from Luke. Before you could even process what was happening, she was suddenly in your face, eyes blazing with contempt.

"Listen here, you little homewrecker," Amanda spat, jabbing a precisely manicured nail into your shoulder. "If you know what's good for you, you'll stay far away from my man."

Your friends tensed beside you, but before they could intervene, Luke was there - placing himself squarely between you and the irate woman. Up close, you could see the taut muscles in his back and shoulders straining against the thin fabric of his t-shirt.

"That's enough, Amanda," he said firmly, fixing her with a stern look. "We're not together anymore, in case you missed the memo. Multiple times."

"Oh, I got the memo loud and clear!" she retorted, throwing her hands up dramatically. "Doesn't mean I'm just going to stand by while you sow your oats all over town!"

Luke rolled his eyes so hard, you thought they might stick that way. He opened his mouth to respond, but seemed to think better of continuing this ridiculous showdown in front of an audience.

"You know what?" you interjected, hands up in surrender. "I'm just gonna remove myself from this situation."

Luke's brow furrowed in protest, but Amanda cut him off with a derisive laugh. "Yeah, that would probably be best, sweetie."

With that parting shot, you spun on your heel and made a beeline for the kitchen, needing to put some distance between yourself and the unstable ex-couple.

Your head was still spinning from the strange confrontation as you grabbed a fresh drink and settled into a miraculously empty couch in the corner.

"Wild night, huh?"

You startled at the unexpected voice beside you. A gangly, bespectacled guy around your age offered an awkward grin, clearly having witnessed the whole Amanda meltdown.

"You could say that," you replied with a rueful chuckle, scooting over to make room for him. "I'm Y/N."

"Trevor," he said, sticking out a clammy hand to shake. "Didn't mean to eavesdrop, I just got the best dinner and a show."

You couldn't help but laugh at his self-deprecating humor, feeling yourself instantly relax in his affable presence. Trevor had a dopey, teddy bear quality about him that put you at ease.

"So is that your girlfriend then? The one trying to claw your eyes out?" he asked with an amused snicker.

"God no!" you replied quickly, perhaps a little too emphatically. "I seriously just met that guy tonight. The crazy ex is all his."

Trevor's eyes widened comically behind his thick frames. "No shit? Well damn, Y/N, you really don't waste any time stirring up drama."

"Hey, I'm an innocent bystander here!" you protested with a laugh, giving his arm a playful shove.

He held up his hands in mock surrender, clearly emboldened by your easygoing banter. The two of you slipped into a conversational groove, chatting and laughing like old friends as the party raged on around you. You found yourself regaling Trevor with tales of your romantic exploits, your tongue rapidly loosening thanks to the alcohol.

"So to sum it up," you said, words starting to slur ever so slightly, "I did not come here looking for any more drama or dick after that whole Nick debacle."

Trevor very nearly did a spit-take with his beer at your crude candor. "Well, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, sweetie, but it sounds like both drama and dick found you tonight!"

You threw your head back with a raucous cackle at that. Leave it to Trevor to cut right through the tension with well-timed crass humor. You were really starting to like this guy.

"You know what?" you said, looping your arm chummily through his. "I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship, Trev."

…

"Y/N! Get your cute butt over here!" Maggy's voice sliced through the din as she waved you over to the makeshift dance floor.

You shot Trevor an apologetic shrug before letting your friend drag you into the sweaty mass of bodies. Jessica was there too, her eyes shamelessly roving over Trevor's lanky frame as he trailed behind.

"We've been watching you two lovebirds canoodling in the corner all night," Maggy shouted over the thumping bassline, giving your shoulder a playful nudge.

"Somebody's jealous they're not the center of attention for once," you teased back with an impish grin.

Maggy's cherry-painted lips curved into a Cheshire smile. "Please, I'm an eternal attention hog. And FYI, your dorky friend is kinda doing it for me."

You followed her gaze to where Trevor was awkwardly bobbing his head to the beat, hands shoved deep into his pockets. He offered a small, lopsided smile when he caught you looking.

"Well what are you two harpies waiting for?" you challenged with a salacious wink. "Go get your man!"

With a raucous whoop, Maggy seized Jessica's hand and the two descended on the unsuspecting Trevor - a flurry of hair tosses, wiggling hips, and bright laughter. You watched the spectacle with unbridled amusement, letting the bass pump through your veins as you swayed your hips.

This was exactly what you needed - to let go and get gloriously lost in the music, surrounded by the frankly ridiculous antics of your nearest and dearest. You threw your head back, shutting out everything but the driving rhythm.

That's when you felt it - a solid chest pressing against your back, large hands skimming over your hips to settle at your waistline. You turned with a start to find Luke's heavily lidded eyes staring down at you, a rakish grin playing at his lips.

"Sorry, didn't mean to startle you," he murmured, words barely audible over the pounding speakers.

You opened your mouth to respond, but he simply shook his head and leaned in closer, his mouth a whisper from your ear.

"I didn't mean for Amanda to make such a scene back there," Luke said, his breath hot against your neck. "I didn't even invite her here, but...she always finds a way. It's..."

You turned slightly so your lips were nearly brushing his chiseled jaw as you finished the thought: "Complicated?"

A low chuckle rumbled from deep within his chest as Luke nodded almost imperceptibly. "Exactly. Complicated."

One of his hands trailed up the curve of your waist, leaving a searing trail in its wake until it came to rest at the nape of your neck. You shivered at the contact, equal parts electrified and apprehensive.

"What do you say we get out of here?" he purred, dipping his head so your noses were virtually touching.

You wanted so badly to give in - to lose yourself in those smoldering brown depths and see where this tempestuous night took you. But the memory of Amanda's feral snarl flashed behind your eyes, quickly snapping you back to reality.

"I...I can't," you managed to rasp, hating the way your voice trembled with longing. "I can’t leave my friends. They might rip Trevor to shreds if they’re not supervised."

Luke's eyes searched yours for a beat, likely trying to gauge your sincerity. You could practically see the thoughts churning behind those blazing irises as he processed your hesitation. After a weighted pause, his expression softened into something like resigned understanding.

"You're worried about leaving those knuckleheads unsupervised, huh?" he murmured, one side of those obscene lips quirking faintly.

Though Luke aimed for a teasing lilt, you caught the undercurrent of knowing behind his words. He understood, perhaps better than anyone, the tangled responsibility you felt towards maintaining harmony within your dysfunctional found family.

Swallowing hard, you gave a tight nod - hating how your throat still felt obstructed by the press of yearning. "Something like that, yeah.”

Rather than argue or attempt to sway you, Luke simply held your gaze for another few suspended heartbeats. You waited with bated breath, half-expecting him to withdraw his heated proposition completely in favor of rejoining the main fray.

To your surprise, however, the pad of his thumb began tracing idle circles against the jut of your hipbone - calloused whorls raising delicious frissons across your sensitized skin.

…

The thunderous bass line reverberated through your bones as you swayed absently, still dazed from Luke's heated proposition. You were so lost in the lingering tingle of his phantom touch that you didn't notice your friends closing in until they were right on top of you.

"Earth to Y/N!" Maggy's raucous laughter pierced your stupor as she looped an arm around your shoulders. "Where'd you just go, girl? We've been watching you make heart eyes at McDreamy over there."

You blinked rapidly, struggling to refocus on Maggy's mischievous grin with Trevor and Jessica flanking her. The three of them looked like the cat that ate the canary as they not-so-subtly craned their necks toward Luke.

"I wasn't...we weren't..." you fumbled lamely, feeling heat bloom across your cheeks.

"Oh save it, we all saw that heavy flirtation!" Jessica crowed with a wiggle of her sculpted brows.

Trevor chuckled good-naturedly, giving your arm a consoling pat. "Hey, no judgment here, Y/N. I'd be a stuttering mess too if I had a stud like that whispering sweet nothings in my ear."

You rolled your eyes at his teasing, but couldn't quite suppress the giddy smile tugging at your lips. Leave it to your cadre of derelict besties to drag you out of an emotional spiral.

With a groan of mock exasperation, you shoved at Trevor's shoulder. "You're all ridiculous, you know that?"

"And you loooove us for it!" Maggy sang out as the first few lines of "Sandstorm" began thumping from the speakers.

She immediately launched into an embarrassingly enthusiastic dance routine, throwing shapes with reckless abandon. Trevor and Jessica were quick to join the absurdity, shouting the iconic intro at the top of their lungs while thrashing about uncoordinatedly.

"Oh my god, you idiots..." you huffed through a peal of laughter, shaking your head at their antics.

It was then that you noticed Luke watching the scene with undisguised amusement - a lopsided smirk playing at his lips as he clutched a beer loosely in one hand. His gaze met yours over the bouncing heads, eyes twinkling with mirth.

Suddenly, Maggy seized your wrists and yanked you into the fray with surprising strength. You stumbled clumsily into the center of their ridiculous mosh pit, nearly toppling Jessica in the process.

"Y/N! Get in here and get LOW!" Maggy hollered over the thunderous refrain, demonstrating a particularly lascivious body roll.

You couldn't help but cackle at the sheer silliness of it all - these beautiful disasters grinding outrageously as the bass threatened to shake the walls down around you. Even Luke was chuckling now, biting his full lower lip in an utterly delectable way.

"Like this?" you shouted back with a wink, dropping into as crude a dance as you could muster.

That sent your friends into a fresh gale of howls and wolf whistles, cheering you on like it was a damn Olympic sport. Out of the corner of your eye, you caught Luke's intense stare tracking every roll and pop of your hips. The heated look in his eyes sent a delicious curl of desire unfurling low in your belly.

Before you could dwell too much on the implications, Jessica grabbed your arm and spun you around - purposefully flinging you in Luke's direction. You landed square against his solid chest with a tiny "oomph!", totally disoriented from the dizzying maneuver.

Large hands immediately bracketed your waist, steadying you as Luke threw his head back with a rich peal of laughter. You could feel the rumbling vibrato against your back as he tugged you more solidly against him.

"Careful there, sugar," Luke's gravelly timbre purred in your ear, his lips brushing the sensitive shell. "As much as I'm enjoying this dance routine, I'd hate for you to injure yourself on my watch."

You bit back a soft whimper at the feeling of his firm torso pressed against you, the scent of his sandalwood cologne utterly intoxicating. With your drunken bravado bolstered by your friends' raucous cheering, you leaned further back into his embrace.

"I don't know, big guy," you countered with a saucy grin over your shoulder. "I think you could handle me just fine."

Luke's eyes blazed at the obvious flirtation, his arms tightening fractionally around your middle. You could have sworn you felt his hips cant subtly against yours in time with the grinding bassline.

This charged dance continued for what felt like an eternity - your friends whooping and hollering in delight as you and Luke traded searing looks and teasing quips.

At one point, his hands drifted tantalizingly low on your hips, fingers splaying possessively. You retaliated by arching your back in a slow, filthy body roll that had his eyes darkening with naked want.

Just when you thought the tension might combust into something more, the song mercifully ended - leaving you both panting heavily with lingering desire. Trevor was the first to recover, clapping Luke heartily on the shoulder.

"Damn son, get a room why don't you?" he joked with a lopsided grin.

Luke merely chuckled darkly, finally releasing you from his iron grip so you could put some much-needed space between your overheated bodies. "Maybe next time, Trev," he shot back with a wink.

You busied yourself straightening your disheveled clothes, decidedly avoiding his molten gaze. But you couldn't deny the delicious new tension sparking between you.

"Hey, uh, not that this hasn't been a total blast and all..." Trevor piped up once you'd fully disengaged. "But I don't know about you hedonists, but I'm starving. Who wants to grab some late-night munchies?"

A raucous cheer went up from your breathless crew, with Maggy and Jessica readily agreeing. You opened your mouth to voice your assent when Luke cocked an inquisitive brow in your direction.

"You in, sugar?" His voice was midnight sin - rough and dripping with unspoken promises.

Something low in your abdomen clenched at the pet name, now inextricably linked to his heated stare and probing touch. Maybe it was the alcohol buzz, or residual adrenaline from your shameless grinding, but you found yourself nodding almost shyly.

Luke's answering grin was pure, predatory satisfaction. "Perfect. I know just the place."

…

The five of you made your way toward the exit with a chorus of giddy laughter, still riding the high of your dance-fueled flirtation. As you stepped out into the cool spring air, Luke fell into step beside you - though he kept a carefully measured distance between your bodies.

"I'm parked just up here," he said by way of explanation, gesturing vaguely down the darkened residential street. "That is, if you kids don't mind piling into my douchemobile?"

The teasing lilt in his tone made you huff out a laugh, still giddy with lingering adrenaline. "Only if you stop calling it that immediately and forever."

Luke threw you a rakish wink over the sloping muscles of his shoulder. "Whatever you want, love."

Trevor, Jess and Maggy trailed a few paces behind, whispering excitedly amongst themselves. You caught Maggy's pointed look in your direction and offered her a warning glare - though you were sure your flushed cheeks gave you away.

Sure enough, Luke's rumbling chuckle confirmed he'd borne witness to the silent exchange. The streetlamps cast his chiseled features in a warm amber glow as he slanted you an amused look. "I have a feeling I'm about to be interrogated by your overprotective friends, huh?"

You nibbled your lower lip self-consciously, considering your response. There was an undeniable spark between you - one that had been stoked higher with every heated look and lingering caress. The real question was whether you were brave enough to fan those flames further or risk getting burned.

Steeling yourself, you lifted your chin to meet his piercing brown stare head on. "Maybe. But I kind of like to make people sweat a little."

The remark clearly took Luke by surprise if his arched brow was any indication. But it was fleeting - that roguish half-grin quickly stretching across his kiss-stung lips.

"Is that so?" he rumbled in a tone that could only be described as molten sin. "Game on then, gorgeous."

You held his fiery gaze for a beat, letting the exhilarating tension build between you like a livewire. Only when the rest of the crew caught up did you finally tear your eyes away, turning to lead the group toward Luke's parked car.

The quiet streets seemed to amplify every sound - the crunch of loose gravel underfoot, the peal of distant laughter, your thundering pulse in your ears. You drew a steadying breath into your aching lungs, trying to center yourself amidst the storm of giddy adrenaline.

When you finally reached Luke's sleek black Mustang, he turned to the group with an almost apologetic quirk of his brow.

"She's not the roomiest ride, but we can make it work," he said, clicking the keyless remote to unlock the doors.

Jessica immediately scrambled into the front passenger seat with Maggy and Trevor piling into the backseat, leaving you and Luke to bring up the rear. He held the driver's door open in an exaggerated show of chivalry, one side of that delicious smirk quirking higher.

"After you, gorgeous."

You rolled your eyes at the pageantry, but couldn't resist shooting him a playful grin as you slid into the buttery leather interior. Luke followed close behind, the hot brand of his body heat prickling at your hyper-aware senses.

Once he'd maneuvered his large frame behind the wheel, he flashed you a Look from beneath those obscenely thick lashes. "You good?"

The simple question seemed layered with unspoken subtext, like he was silently gauging if you were ready to continue down this path of escalating tension and blatant flirtation. Were you?

You could have backed down, downshifted the energy into something more innocent and casual. But the memory of his firm hands on your hips, the hot scorch of his stare...your mind was made up.

"I'm good," you murmured back, holding his gaze unblinkingly as his eyes ignited with fresh interest. "Just tell me where to put my hands."

A muscle ticked in Luke's tensed jaw at the brazen double entendre, his nostrils flaring almost imperceptibly. You could practically see the war raging behind his blazing eyes - restraint battling with base desire.

Finally, he seemed to reign himself in with a huff of startled laughter, raking a broad hand through his tumbled curls. "Jesus, Y/N...I'm gonna have my work cut out for me with you."

The delicious promise in his gravelly timbre had your pulse kicking up another few notches. You wet your lips unconsciously, unable to tear your eyes from the searing heat of his stare.

"I'd apologize," you said, aiming for nonchalance but landing somewhere around breathless, "but I don't think either of us would mean it."

Perhaps it was the alcohol in your system, or the lingering high of the party thrumming through your veins. Whatever the reason, you were powerless to halt the breakneck freight train of flirtation between you two. And judging by Luke's molten countenance, the feeling was entirely mutual.

"Don't you worry, gorgeous," he rumbled, one side of those obscene lips quirking dangerously. "This is going to be fun."

With that tantalizing promise lingering like a heady cloud around you both, Luke finally started the ignition. The rumbling growl of the Mustang's engine was like a physical force pulsing through the car as you tore off into the night - laughing and shouting along with your friends.

The revelry continued as you wound through the darkened streets - one outrageous story segueing into another, punctuated only by riotous bouts of laughter. Maggy, as ever, was in rare form - dramatically reenacting an ill-advised tale involving a Thanksgiving turkey and far too much tequila.

Even Luke was in stitches by the end, so enraptured by the ridiculous saga that he swerved slightly on a tight curve. You cried out in surprise, bracing yourself instinctively against the solidness of his bicep. At your squawk, his gaze swung toward you - heavy-lidded and sparking with remnants of mirth.

"You alright, gorgeous?" he rumbled, that infuriatingly charming lopsided smirk back in place.

You aimed a petulant glare his way, but couldn't quite bite back an answering grin of your own. "Eyes on the road, hotshot. I'd like to make it to this mystery food destination in one piece."

Luke threw you a lazy wink, as if reading the lack of any genuine heat behind your words. "Don't worry, I've got great hands."

Your breath caught at the pointed innuendo as Jessica let out a scandalized gasp from the front seat - apparently eavesdropping on your hushed flirtation.

"Oh my GOD!" she crowed with delight, whipping around to face you with shining eyes. "You two are too much! When's the wedding?"

"I'm asking for a plus one," Maggy piped up from behind you with an audible smirk.

Leveling the both of them with a long-suffering look, you simply shook your head and settled deeper into the plush leather interior. Out of your peripheral vision, you caught Luke's answering eye roll - one corner of that lascivious mouth tugging higher.

...

For a while after, the inside of the growling Mustang lapsed into a companionable quiet. Your heart still hammered a staccato rhythm against your ribs, fueled by the lingering adrenaline and the heated promise in Luke's flinty stare.

Now that you were alone with him - temporarily freed from the raucous peanut gallery - the tension hummed between you like a livewire.

You felt him shift almost imperceptibly closer to you, the delicious warmth of his solid body ghosting along your side as he navigated the winding back roads.

He held the wheel in one large hand, his other arm draped casually along the center console - close enough for you to count the fine golden hairs dusting those corded forearms.

It would have been so easy then - to traverse that scant distance separating your bodies and slide your palm over his, to lace your fingers through his and seal this casual flirtation into something more. But you refrained, cognizant of your friends' continued presence just a breath away.

Still, you couldn't deny the delicious tension sparking between you and Luke. Nor could you ignore the way your body hummed in attuned response to his proximity, every molecule attuned to drinking him in.

A heavy silence had fallen over the car's occupants - the only sound the occasional burst of laughter from those in the backseat, quickly smothered under mutual hushing. Luke appeared singularly focused on the dark ribbon of road whipping by, his chiseled jaw tight and flickering in the intermittent glow of passing streetlamps.

Just when you thought the hot tension might calcify into something unbearable, he cleared his throat subtly. You startled at the quiet rasp, inclining your head slightly in acknowledgment as he slanted you a weighted look.

"So...Maggy seems delightful," Luke murmured dryly after a beat, their low timber thrumming through you. "Among other things."

You couldn't quite stifle the snort of laughter that bubbled up at his tactful observation. "That's one way to put it. Though I'd add 'loyal to a fault' in there too."

"Ah, so the protective smokescreen is merely for my benefit then?" he surmised with a sidelong glance, the barest quirk playing at those obscene lips. "Should I be insulted?"

Huffing out a rueful laugh, you shifted minutely closer to him - near enough to catch the cedar and smoke notes wafting from the open vee of his shirt.

"Definitely not," you assured him in a lowered tone, keeping your words confined to the intimate pocket between you. "If anything, you should feel fortunate. They don't extend that...dedicated brand of harassment to just anyone."

Luke seemed to digest this as he guided the Mustang around another tight bend, his jaw tensing almost imperceptibly before easing into an indulgent grin.

"Lucky me then," he rumbled after a beat, shooting you a Look from beneath those ridiculous lashes. "Should I be bracing myself for an interrogation?"

The sultry backnote in Luke's words hung heavy between you as the Mustang's growl filled the weighted silence. You were hyper-aware of each whisper of movement from him - every subtle flex of those chiseled forearms as he gripped the wheel, the shifting of corded muscle in his thighs as he worked the pedals.

It was enough to make your mouth go dry with longing.

You worried your lower lip, struggling to keep your thundering pulse in check as you murmured your response. "Well, if their interrogation tactics are anything like their dance moves, you'd better buckle up, Hughes."

The rich ramble of Luke's laughter seemed to reverberate through your very bones at the rejoinder. You stole a glance at the hard line of his smiling profile, bathed in the warm amber glow of the passing streetlamps.

"Is that a promise, gorgeous?" he countered without missing a beat, slanting you a Look from beneath those ridiculous lashes.

You held his molten stare for a heated heartbeat, caught like a moth in that blazing glare. Did he have any idea what he did to you with that stupid pet name and the sinful rasp of his voice? Probably, if the blatant flirtiness was any indication.

Before you could formulate a suitable retort, the sudden assault of bright neon lights up ahead shattered the electric tension. You blinked rapidly, struggling to read the flickering signs as Luke slowed the Mustang.

"This is the place," he explained as he smoothly guided the car into the near-empty parking lot. "Open 24 hours and right on the beach."

As he killed the engine, the overhead dome light bathed the car's interior in a warm halo of illumination. From this angle, you could make out the sharp planes of Luke's striking profile - that aristocratic nose, the razor cut of his stubbled jaw, and the artful sprawl of those ridiculous curls.

Good lord, the man was distractingly beautiful.

Any further appreciation was curtailed as the trio banged against the seat in a noisy clatter. You and Luke relented, pulling up the seats to free them. Maggy and Trevor came tumbling out in a gangly, graceless heap - seemingly having partaken in too much backseat horseplay if their breathless giggling was any indication.

"About time!" Maggy crowed dramatically once she'd righted herself. "I thought we'd be cruising the streets all night before Sir Lancelot here found a suitable dining establishment."

One dark brow arched elegantly over Luke's hooded eyes as he slanted her an imperious look. "I beg your pardon? This place is a fucking culinary treasure."

Jessica snickered indelicately, clearly gearing up to instigate whatever fresh hell was brewing. However, you opted to defuse the situation before it could fully detonate.

"Shall we, troops? I don't know about you animals, but I'm starving after all that..."dancing.""

The loaded pause and meaningful look you threw Luke didn't go unnoticed if his answering smirk was any indication. Egalitarian as ever, he merely chuckled and nodded towards the brightly-lit takeout counter in the distance.

"Lead the way, gorgeous."

…

Tag List <3

empty lol

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takami-takami · 7 months

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Like Idiots.

includes— hawks x reader. fluff. minors dni.

warnings— gn!reader. pining like idiots. keigo is a pain in the ass. the reader is worse. i had fun with this. <3

There is zero need for Keigo to make a confession when it comes to his crush. It would be entirely redundant to confess.

Your sigh at the thought is palpable. It really is quite a shame.

Part of you yearns for that passionate drama of an ending, where in some novela-inspired twist of fate, your adoring knight is forced to spill his love at your feet. In your daydreams— the ones dreadfully reminiscent of some lovelorn teenager's— a faceless villain from fuck-all-nowhere nearly ends the life of his beloved hero partner.

And the words spill from his throat like his lovesick sobs, clutching you close to his chest while you do your best to pretend you're not biting back a smile at the attention.

"I love you! I've always loved you," he'd cry.

Or something like that.

And you'd kiss, and sparks would fly, or whatever.

End scene.

You're not getting that confession, though.

It figures your love life would turn out to be a comedy. Par for the course of your life, you suppose.

Instead of a scrawled letter sealed with wax or a poem whispered under the imposing moonlight, your confession is written all over Keigo's face— well, not all over, exactly. Every centimeter of his face conceals his emotions meticulously, flawlessly.

Every portion of his face is perfectly practiced and impeccably controlled; except for two measly little points.

You prod at your food again with your fork in hand, all frowns as you sit across from your work partner in a booth at the diner he likes to drag you to on your lunch breaks.

And you stare uncomfortably into the most cartoonishly blown pupils you've ever seen.

"Um. Hawks?"

"Yeah? What's up, chickadee," he asks sincerely before chomping down messily on a battered chicken drum, moaning and letting his eyes fall shut as he does with every meal— typically an obstacle for your focus, this accidentally whorish display is actually a welcome reprieve from your racing thoughts.

When his eyes flutter open once more, you're faced once again with black saucers and the sound of reckless chewing. His pupils are still dilated like a cat tripping balls on the dealer's finest catnip.

"Hawks, I really think I should tell you that—"

Your intervention is rudely interrupted by a waitress in a 50's style apron and folded paper hat combo, likely rushing over notepad in hand to get first dibs on serving a celebrity.

You would prefer to be unfair. It'd be easier to displace your frustration for your lot in life onto this poor woman, to tell her that her hat looks stupid and pink isn't her color, that she should really just stop trying.

You decide to be an adult.

Keigo, on the other hand, does not. Like a child given free reign to order for himself at a restaurant for the first time, he explains that she should really heap on the sugar for his coffee.

"No, no, no. More than that. Like syrup. I want it to taste like it's gonna put me in an early grave and— wait, where are you going?"

The debacle brings to attention another phenomenon that you've grown accustomed to seeing:

The second his gaze meets her's, Keigo's pupils shrink to points once more, constricting to tight dots before bouncing back to their natural size. And predictably, once again, they expand like blown glass when you catch his attention.

"Hawks!"

"Yeah, what?"

His chewing ceases obnoxiously, chicken drum in his right hand and half-chewed remains in his left cheek.

You might as well rip it off like a bandaid. You let out a puff of air.

"Your eyes," you attempt to gently point out.

"Mm?" Keigo's head tilts to the side, pondering your observation for a moment.

"My eyes? Ohh," he drags his words as if in realization, treating himself to another chomp into the drumstick. "You gettin' lost in them, huh? Happens, dove. You can stare, I don't mind."

"No!" You squeak out your denial before smoothing down your shirt and tipping your chin high.

You have the upper hand here. Remember that.

"I mean," you correct your course, staring down and poking at your plate while a smile creeps up your lips. "It's kinda hard not to when your pupils look like they're gonna swallow your goddamn irises."

The silence that follows is deafening.

"Kei'?" You flick your gaze up toward him, worried now.

Under normal circumstances, it's an established habit for Keigo to slot one palm over his mouth when called out.

But this time, that hand bypasses his lips, crawling upward to reach his visor and wordlessly drag it down over the source of his shame.

A stronger person than you would hold back their laughter. They would take pity on the flush rising over his cheeks and neck like sunsets. Perhaps they would coo praises to soothe him, or even take it all back to ease the shame and discomfort that makes him feel utterly naked.

They would take pity on the man who, under the fluorescent high beams bolted to the diner's ceiling, looks just like a clown tripping on stage with the spotlight shined on his face.

You are not a strong person.

In your hysterics, you reach over to pry the barrier off his eyes, climbing into his lap and over him like tussling teenagers.

"Keigo, I didn't say it was a bad thing—"

"You're laughing," he laments like a kicked puppy, prying your face an arm's length from his with a single palm.

It's over. This is it for him. His life is over, he's going to have to change his identity.

He can start fresh with a new hero name, one not centered around red-tailed hawks— he'll need to rebrand as another bird, most likely. Preferably one with the same signature red feathers so as not to make a fuss for the merch department.

Maybe a parrot.

Winged-Hero Parrots.

"You're laughing at me!"

"I'm not laughing at—" another uncontrollable wheeze. His wings flap in indignance once, slamming against the cushions of the pink diner seat before drooping down like a dog's tail between its legs. You pluck the visor and raise it above your head out of arm's reach, one hand planted against his chest for stability.

"Not laughing at you! Baby, I promise—"

"Baby?" He repeats.

The silence is worse the second time around— but luckily for you, Keigo is a stronger person than you are. No laughter erupts from his chest, no smirk settles on his face.

If anything, your slip up seems to elevate his heart rate more than yours.

"We really should—"

"I think we need to—"

Both sentences collide in the small space between you, his lips completely still and mere inches away from yours.

You're reminded of the feeling of your fingertips about to touch metal after being charged with static, the skin crackling with the air's tension as you contemplate whether to just get it over with and touch.

And slowly, as if suddenly cognizant of your bodies and environment, you both crawl off each other and scoot toward the furthest edges of the booth seat.

Your knees make their way toward your chest for comfort, while Keigo's wings drape over his shoulders like a cocoon.

"We should talk."

#🖋 writing #🍧 sugar #hawks x reader #keigo takami x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #x reader

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cobaltperun · 3 months

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Woe out the Storm (5) - Beast

Wednesday Addams x female Reader

Summary: It took some time, but eventually you came to realize only Wednesday Addams could look at the raging storm of chaos and destruction and make a home out of it. Only she could listen to the cacophony of the roaring thunder and hear a melody.

Story warnings: Wednesday Addams, violence, slow burn

Story Masterlist / First part / Previous part / Next part

Word count: 3.6k

-I'm not hiding from this, I’m fighting with this beast inside-

Somehow Weems figured assigning you to Weathervane, of all the places she could have assigned you to. You would have been fine with anything, but no, you had to work with Galpin and Weems could keep an eye on you. If she asked for coffee and you had the chance to make it for her you'd make sure to put salt instead of sugar.

"No luck with my assignment. I got Weathervane. What did you get?" you glanced over Wednesday's shoulder. "Uriah's Heap? You know, I actually think you'd like it if you didn't need The Pilgrim World," before Wednesday could respond Enid ran up to the two of you with a wide grin on her face.

"I got Pilgrim World!" she exclaimed, shaking you slightly from her excitement. "I do have natural people skills and a love for performing, so kind of an obvi choice!"

"Great, trade with me so I can trade with Wednesday. Unless you want Uriah's Heap," you grinned, offering your assignment paper to Enid.

"Ewww, no!" Enid glanced at your assignment and seemed to think it over. "Weathervane is fine, but what are you two up to?" she winked at you and you couldn't help but frown, remembering how Enid decided that you had a crush on Wednesday. That was probably what won her over and convinced her to trade with you.

"I need to get into Pilgrim World," Wednesday explained as you and Enid traded assignments, and then her and you traded as well. She looked pleased, or as pleased as Wednesday could be, that things were going her way.

"Anyway, I'm off to make sure you," you pointed a finger at Enid as you took several steps back. "Get a chance with Ajax," you grinned at her enthusiastic squeal and a quick hug.

"You're the best, Y/N!" she exclaimed.

~X~

If you had to say one thing about Uriah's Heap it would be that it was certainly more welcoming to outcasts than most places in the town. Also, you got lucky. Ajax got Uriah's Heap, Xavier got Weathervane and convincing Ajax he didn't want to get electrocuted in case of a storm was easy. Xavier was fine with anything as long as he got to avoid Galpin.

"You're not going to blow this whole place up if there's a storm, right?" Xavier asked as the two of you dusted the shelves,

You paused, smirking. "Scared, Thorpe?"

"Can you blame me?" he asked with the tiniest hint of teasing in his voice. "There's no where to hide here."

You rolled your eyes at that, but before you could respond the bell rang and both of you looked to the doors to see Wednesday walking in. She looked around, her eyes finally zeroing in on you.

"Wednesday!" Xavier's face immediately lit up. "I thought you were supposed to be at Pilgrim World?"

"I deserted it while my sanity was still intact," she said dismissively and pulled out a map as she approached you. "The old meeting house, the one from 1600s, do you know where it is?"

You nodded. "Cobham Woods," you pointed a finger at the spot on the map. "Right around here," frankly, you were annoyed you didn't remember it when you recognized Crackstone.

"Come on, I need to check it out," she was already turning around to leave.

You grinned, grabbing your back off the floor and going after her.

"Wait, what about the storm?! You could hurt Wednesday if it starts while you're outside!" Xavier went outside after the two of you.

Wednesday was the one to stop and address him. "I have no reason to fear a bit of lightning," she stated.

Xavier lifted is hands up in surrender. "Sorry, sorry, I'm just trying to help you!"

"Go back inside and make sure Weems doesn't realize Y/N isn't there if you want to help," she didn't even wait for his answer. She just turned around once again and left.

The moment the two of you were out of Xavier's sight you sped up a bit and while walking a bit ahead of her turned to look at her. "A bit of lightning? Really? I can't decide whether to prove you wrong or be thankful for what you said," you shook your head, genuinely offended by her words.

"Prove me wrong," she didn't even blink, just sped up her pace.

~X~

When the two of you reached what was left of the old meeting house it didn't take being a raiju to know you had to hurry. The sky was clouded, and while you were sure it was exactly the way Wednesday preferred it, you were worried about the upcoming rain.

"I'll check around, maybe there was something around here other than the meeting house," you said, after all, Wednesday could take care of any potential danger that was inside the decrepit house. She just nodded so the two of you split apart, her heading into the house and you going around it.

You weren't even sure what you were expecting. It's been almost four hundred years, if there was anything around the house to begin with it was gone. Well, with that monster lurking around it wasn't the worst idea to check the immediate surroundings. Still, you didn't find anything aside from occasional fast food paper bag. You heard commotion and saw a man running away. Well, at least Wednesday was having more fun than you were.

"I'd rather dye my hair pick than ask my mother for help," you heard her say when you slipped inside the meeting house.

"Why not both?" you offered with a grin as you looked around. "No luck?"

You ignored the daggers she was glaring into the side of your skull. Knowing Wednesday it probably wasn't daggers, but some massive drill turning your brain into mush...

"No. There's nothing here," she sighed.

Thing scratched at one of the fallen wooden pillars.

"Oh, you want me to prove it to you?" she touched a pillar. "No," she went over to the wall to her right and placed both of her palms on it. "Nothing," she said.

You had to turn your head to the side to hide a small smirk. She was being dramatic and it was quite possibly the best thing you have seen since coming to Nevermore. You'd have to get Thing a hand lotion or something just for this.

"Ah, I bet this will give us some real insight," she even faked a tiny bit of excitement as she lifted up a paper Taco bell bag and shook it, throwing her head back with a hum.

Forget possibly, Wednesday being unnecessarily dramatic and theatrical was the best thing you saw since coming to Nevermore. Period.

"My visions are about as predictable as shark attacks," she sighed, annoyed at wasting all this time.

You moved to the side, letting her go through the doors first, but as she touched the handle she froze, her head snapped back and she began falling.

"Wednesday!" you caught her before she hit the ground and looked at Thing. "Is this how she is during visions?" you asked. You never saw Wednesday have one, you wouldn't even know if Wednesday didn't explain why you were looking for that book Rowan had and how she knew what it looked like.

Thing signed a 'yes' and you lowered Wednesday to the ground. You weren't sure if she should be moved while she had these visions.

And then the first drop of rain fell on you. "Shit!" you cursed, getting back on your feet and stepping outside the meeting house. The rain immediately started pouring and as the lightning began flashing through the sky you knew you had to get further away. "Keep watching over Wednesday! I need to stay away from you two!" you yelled.

You only knew one thing as the rain soaked through your clothes. This wasn't going to end well for you.

~X~

The vision Wednesday was having was like no other she experienced, it wasn't a flash of the future or fragmented moments from the past. She was seeing the entire event that happened in the old meeting house. She saw the girl, who she now knew was named Goody Addams, be declared a witch and thrown into the meeting house by Joseph Crackstone. She saw the building being set on fire while dozens of outcasts were shackled to the floor. She was now seeing Goody trying to release her mother.

"There is no time, child. Leave me, save yourself! He's chained us all to the floor!" Goody's mother spoke as the outcasts cried, panicked as the heat became noticeable. It wouldn't be long before the flames engulfed the building.

"I shan't leave without you," Goody refused, still trying to free her mother.

"Run! Avenge us and save out future! Raiju!" Goody's mother cried out and Wednesday's eyes widened slightly. "Raiju, wake up! Take Goody away from here!"

Wednesday watched as Goody turned to the male near the middle of the group. He looked a bit older than Goody, with messy blonde hair, with a pained grunt he got up to his knees, his eyes turning blue.

"Diego!" the relief in Goody's voice seemed to be fleeting as she, and Wednesday along with her, realized he had a gaping wound in his chest.

With a battle cry, the lightning burnt through his shackles, leaving burns on his wrists and ankles but setting him free. Wednesday watched in awe as the man stumbled away from the outcasts, which also meant closer to Wednesday, and shifted in a burst of lightning, a blue wolf appearing where he was. The beast was huge, bigger than the biggest wolves Wednesday had ever seen. It was maybe four or five inches shorter than Wednesday, while on all fours. There was lightning emerging from its body, from the back, the legs, and the eyes, it truly looked as if the beast was made of lightning. But then the lightning faded and in a blink of an eye it tossed Goody onto its back and jumped through the roof.

The smoke engulfed Wednesday and she began coughing as the scenery around her changed. It looked more like a forest, but she couldn't tell because of the fog.

"He won't stop until he's killed us all!" Goody emerged from the fog, the wolf limping close behind her.

It began growling as it stepped behind Wednesday, clearly aware of something that was coming.

"He's here," Goody realized as Crackstone appeared.

"There will be no escape for you!" for the first time Wednesday felt fear as she looked into his eyes, and she stumbled back, falling to the ground.

"Use the raiju!" she heard Goody's voice as her vision came to an end.

Wednesday's eyes snapped open and she sat up, looking around for Thing and you. She saw Thing standing near her, but you weren't anywhere close to her. She could smell the burnt wood though. "Thing, Thing I saw her, the girl from my visions! Her name is Goody Addams and I believe she's my ancestor from 400 years ago," she then realized rain was falling and she got up. "Where's Y/N?" granted, she didn't know much about raiju, but she knew how they were in the rain.

Thing gestured outside and Wednesday quickly stepped out and saw you. You were breathing heavily, back against the tree trunk that was cracked open, red sparks crackling around you, and with a cry that sounded a lot like thunder, you zapped into a nearby tree, breaking it in two before you zapped back to where you were before. You landed on your knees and with a muffled groan leaned against the tree once again. Wednesday took her surroundings in. Almost all the trees near the ruined meeting house were either cracked or destroyed, and each one of them was smoking despite the heavy rain that was falling.

"Took you long enough," you gritted out, looking at Wednesday with fierce, red eyes.

On some level Wednesday knew you were strong. It was hard to imagine lightning not being strong, but she had to admit she underestimated just how strong you'd be. Guess she was proven wrong. And you weren't even in the actual lightning beast form.

She wanted to see it. The kind of destruction that could be caused if you weren't restraining yourself. She stepped closer to you, not for a moment worried about the lightning you were surrounded with. In fact, that lightning encouraged her to approach even further. She's never been struck by an actual lightning before, she wondered if it was different from the electric chair or electroshock therapy.

"What are you doing?!" you shouted, lightning that crackled around you intensified, but Wednesday still approached. "Wednesday, don't," you should have known by now she was too stubborn to listen to you. She was intrigued

"You said you wanted to prove me wrong," she taunted, aiming to get you to comply with her unspoken demand, but you zapped to one of the trees, even as out of control as you were, you managed to keep hold on the tree. It sizzled under your palms.

"Not like this," you groaned, pressing your forehead against the tree trunk.

Climbing after you would be a futile waste of effort. You'd just zap down. "Let's get going before Weems hangs both of us," she suggested. She could see you nodding and figured you would come down, instead you just zapped to a random tree in the direction of the town. For a moment Wednesday thought you were in control, but then you took a hard left turn, grunting as you hit the tree.

There was something else you were suppressing here, it wasn't just lightning. Sure, you were suppressing the lightning as well, you didn't want to harm her or Thing, but given what she saw in her vision, you were more than likely stopping the shift into the beast.

If she didn't want to see it and what it could do, she might even be tempted to compliment your self-control.

~X~

By the time you went back to Jericho, you couldn't do anything but sit in the crowd, not even paying attention to anything going on. Statue of Crackstone being revealed and then burning as Wednesday played her cello? You were barely aware of it. You wish you weren't like that, you really wanted to see how she did it.

Either way, you were back in your dorm and you just wanted to relax and read your comfort book for the night.

"Too much?" you heard Enid asking and glanced just for a moment before pulling the book up once again. You were glad Enid got her date with Ajax and you'd be a good roommate and hurt him if he ever hurt Enid, but you were staying out of any preparations Enid was having at the moment.

"Wednesday?" she turned to Wednesday now that she figured you weren't going to help.

Wednesday sighed. "I feel like you just napalmed me, Enid," there was no need to see Wednesday's expression, you knew she was done from just one glance at the colorful shirt in Enid's hands.

"So glad I have my date with Ajax tonight. Get my mind off that trainwreck of an afternoon. I literally think I have PTSD, I mean I didn't even get to do my dance routine!" Enid complained, mostly to Wednesday.

"What a tragedy," Wednesday said with so much sarcasm dripping from her voice you almost glanced to the floor to see if it was flooding the room.

"What kind of twisted psycho would want to sabotage such a life-affirming event," Enid asked no one in particular.

Wednesday stopped typing for a bit. "You're going to be late," she eventually said and went back to typing.

"Wish me luck!" Enid exclaimed.

"Good luck!" you pumped your fist up toward her.

"If he breaks your heart I'll nail-gun his," Wednesday said, causing you to nearly drop your book as Enid left the room.

"Aww, that's sweet, you do care!" the moment those words left your mouth you wondered if you had a death wish. The moment you couldn't hear the typewriter you instinctively lowered your book just enough to take a peek at your surroundings. It looked like everything was fine. Until you saw a glimmer of a blade slicing through the darkness and you yelped as the knife lodged itself into the wooden board right next to your head.

"Too bad, I missed you," Wednesday commented evenly.

"Wednesday, what the fuck?!" you cried out, your heart beating way too fast for your liking. Actually, that was wrong. Considering that knife nearly split your skull open you were liking the way your heart was beating very much. "How did you even throw the knife like that?!" it curved! Basically took a ninety-degree turn! "Where did you even keep it?!" actually that was probably a stupid question.

"Refrain from unnecessary assumptions," she actually sounded bored when she said it, as if she didn't just throw a knife at you.

"You don't have to tell me twice," you couldn't even hide beneath the covers, in case she had another brilliant idea.

Ten minutes later, when you were sure no other knives would come flying through the room, you slowly pulled the knife Wednesday threw at you out. It was beautiful, a black blade perfect for throwing in the dark, but the handle... It felt so good in your hand, easy to grip and wield, comfortable, and good for throwing, slicing, or stabbing. The edge of the blade had white wave-like patterns, and the handle had white lines running horizontally across it. Simple, but there was beauty in it.

Another ten minutes passed before Wednesday stopped typing and stood up, soon enough she entered your part of the room. You didn't pay much attention to that, the bathroom was connected to your part of the room. She didn't open the doors though, instead, she approached you and held her hand out.

You sat up and crossed your legs, carefully observing the open palm before grinning and giving Wednesday a low five before she could even register what just happened. The flabbergasted look on her face as she looked at her hand, as if offended by what just happened made everything, even the dangerous glint in her eyes as she looked you in the eyes, worth it.

"Hand over the knife," she seethed, but you were too far gone to back away and let her win this.

"Nope. You threw it at me. It's mine now," you couldn't wipe the grin off your face, even if you knew every second Wednesday spent looking at it might bring her closer to the point of no safe return. And you'd be paying for the ticket back. Probably in your blood, or something like that.

"Y/N," she warned, taking a step closer so her knees were touching your bed.

"It's my lucky knife now, back off," you clutched the knife to your chest.

Thing got between you two, trying to prevent any bloodshed from occurring.

"Thing, move," Wednesday ordered, glaring at you.

Thing refused, pleading for your life. You weren't sure whether to feel touched or like he was being overdramatic. Probably the combination.

"She won't hurt me, Thing," you declared boldly.

Wednesday's eyebrow twitched. "What makes you so sure of that?"

"I win if you do," getting her so riled up that she would actually attack you felt like a win in your book. After all, that would be like Wednesday admitting you got to her. Wednesday was proud, she answered violence with violence and words with words, not words with violence. She wouldn't attack you. Not really. Even the knife she threw was meant to miss you. You were still very impressed with her aim.

You could hear Wednesday gritting her teeth, but she didn't attack you. And then an idea came to your head. One that was even worse than keeping the knife. "Would you come to the dance with me?" you asked.

"What dance?" well, at least Wednesday didn't immediately shut that idea down.

"Rave'N, a school dance. Next weekend," you felt like you were pulling teeth with how difficult it was to say each word. "Come with me, Wednesday," somehow the words that should have been the hardest to say came out without a hitch.

Wednesday took a step back, and you were sure she would shut the idea down. "Why?"

"Why not?" to you it really was that simple. And as spontaneous as it was you didn't think there was anyone else you'd go with.

"What do I get out of it?" you could work with these questions.

"Not your knife back," you grinned at her annoyance. "A chance to irritate Weems and/or Thornhill by not matching the theme of the dance. An okay night with your favorite raiju. What more could you ask for?"

"You're the only raiju I know," she argued much to your amusement.

"Exactly! So, what do you say? Will you go to the dance with me?" you relaxed and leaned back against the wall. The worst Wednesday could say was no, right?

She remained silent, her gaze searching for any signs of deception or anything of that nature. "Fine," she didn't say anything else, she just turned around and went back to her part of the room.

You couldn't suppress the grin that was now on your face. You didn't even try to really, as you slipped under the covers and closed your eyes. You missed Wednesday glancing back at you, clearly more than a little puzzled by your behavior.

A/N: Nothing to say here, thanks for reading!

#wednesday addams x female reader #wednesday addams x you #wednesday addams x reader #wednesday netflix #wednesday addams #enid sinclair #jenna ortega x reader

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minhosimthings · 6 months

Text

Skz under the Mistletoe

Pairings: bf!Skz × implied fem!reader

Warnings: FLUFF FLUFF NOTHING BUT FLUFF, mention of food, a bit suggestive in Minho and Changbin's

A/N: I needed something to help refresh this dumb brain of mine cause I CANNOT work on any of my smut wips rn so here ya go! Also I know it's not Christmas yet and this is really Christmassy but y'all I live in Scotland. ITS ALWAYS CHRISTMAS MUHAHAHA

Bang Chan/ Christopher

this mf would start giggling so hard

I'm like a hundred percent positive he would deliberately hang mistletoe above you

Imagine you're baking cookies and you're too busy to give him a kiss

And he just pouts and stalks off ☹️ somewhere to do God knows what

And then you find him sitting on the couch with mistletoe on his hair

"baby quick! Kiss me I'm under mistletoe! Don't you know it's bad luck if you don't kiss someone under mistletoe?"

You'd give in of course, not wanting to sadden your adorable boyfriend,🥺 who looked even more adorable with heaps of mistletoe stuck to his curls

Please save me I am obsessed with this man

Lee Minho/ Lee Know

This man

This man istg

HE WILL STRAIGHT UP REFUSE TO KISS YOU

"I wouldn't kiss your dumb face normally why would I do it now?"

Meanie 😐

But he'd immediately melt on seeing your pouty face and sad expression

So like the great boyfriend he is, he'd tie strings of mistletoe to Soonie's collar and send her to you.

"alright we need to kiss your mom on her stupidly cute face so go to her and don't mess this up."

Soonie would walk up to you followed by Minho and he would just meekly be like "Mistletoe?"

CUTIES NXJSJS

Would a 100% pick you up and throw you on the bed, saying that mistletoe doesn't only consist of kisses 😏

Changbin/ Seo Changbin

ISTG I WILL COMBUST RIGHT HERE

Bang Chan part 2

He'd be so giggly and blushing so profusely when you both would notice you're under mistletoe

Like if it was at a party or something, and everyone was shouting "Kiss!" At the both of you, how could he refuse?

Would definitely do that thing where he squeezes your waist

It would be such a soft kiss istg

Would probably take you up to the bedroom after the kiss though

Hyunjin/Hwang Hyunjin

GIRL THE WAY HE'S BLUSHING SO HARD YOU'D THINK HE SMEARED PAINT ON HIMSELF

You'd decorate his art studio with mistletoe

Specifically putting it above the place where you'd pose for him when he's painting you

This man would probably be confused at first like he's so immersed in painting,

And then you're like "Hyunjin look mistletoe!"

Bitch will be like "You want me to paint the mistletoe in the picture too?"

Truly the leader of PaboRacha

But afterwards he'd give you the most precious kiss ever

Just so soft, warms wrapped around your waist

"Wanna make some hot chocolate darling?"

I need to stop Hyune is wrecking me too hard

Han/Han Jisung

Ngl he would be the one badgering you

"ooh baby where did this mistletoe come from?"

*holds the mistletoe above your head*

Would pout when you'd say you'll give him kisses later, because you need to get ready for work

Literal sparkly eyes begging you for a kiss

You'd give in eventually, how could you refuse the power of the Han Jisung puppy eyes?

"baby did you kiss me because of the mistletoe or because of my charms?"

SO FUCKING ADORABLE

Felix/Lee Yongbok

Alright I'm imagining this is Australia because obviously you guys went to visit his family for the holidays

His sister's would a 100% prank him with mistletoe

NAUR cause they'd hang mistletoe over your bed, and when you and felix spot it, they'd pull out their phones to record you guys kissing

DEFINETLY did not do that to my gf once nope

"oh sunshine look mistletoe! Should we have a kiss then?"

MY SWEET POOKIE BROWNIE SUGAR PUMPKIN PIE I love him saur much

Seungmin/Kim Seungmin

Bruh this guy

I swear to god this guy

KIM MF "it's a childish thing to do" SEUNGMIN

NAUR he WILL make fun of you for wanting to do it

Like you're just goofing off, decorating the house for Christmas

And you decide to jokingly put mistletoe on his hair

He'll just roll his eyes and go back to his book, completely ignoring the grass on his hair

And you'd be like bitch kiss me we're under mistletoe

"Seriously pup, you still believe in that childish crap?"

And he's done it, he's upset you great job Seungmin (I don't know why I'm so salty towards him rn)

And then he'd just sigh, looking at your pouty face

Then he'll proceed to grab your face in his hands and kiss you in the most devastating way ever

"next time when you want a kiss, just ask for it darling."

Wodjdjeb you will not survive

I.N/Yang Jeongin

AHH INNIE KDISSHD

Lemme calm down first

THIS GUY WOULD BE SO AMAZING

Look if there's anyone in Skz who believes in miracles and the holy spirit and whatnot

IT'S HIM

Flashback to when he wanted to be a priest

Giggles and blushes part 3

Girl he legit kiss you for so long if you do that

Iike sir you need to breathe too stop with the smooches

He'll legit kiss you in the middle of a store if there's mistletoe there

Like just in the middle of the hygiene aisle, where there's mistletoe decorating the shelves

Just BAM his lips are on uours

"We can't resist the power of the mistletoe honey."

I swear to God this man will be the death of me

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betterfettered · 6 months

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Hello hello we'll be back to our regularly scheduled obey me programming soon but I'm so down bad for blade from honkai star rail right now so I wrote a real quick little thingy about him.

Your yandere kidnaps you

(Gn!reader x AMAB!yandere, please let me know if reader is gendered)(noncon)(violence against reader)(kidnapping)(forced affection)(masc rage)(plus size reader 💖🫡)(18+ readers only please, mdni)(Please let me know if I am missing a TW)

Part 2

[This is fetish content and rape and abuse are disgusting and inexcusable in real life.]

You thought your master’s bondman was not just cute, but also harmlessly so. “Blade”, he called himself, which you thought was so melodramatic that you could not help but smile whenever you happened to see him. On greeting him, you bent your knee and lowered your face as a maid ought to, but surreptitiously peeked at him from beneath your fringe and pressed your lips together to hide a laugh at the stilted way it made him hold himself, the apathy in his expression stirred up into a vague discomfort. For all the chagrin his name heralded, you could not help but see an awkward man who liked heaps of sugar and a touch of salt in his tea, one who would nudge your arm with his knuckles before demanding in monotone that you reaffix his barrette and shivering when your hands brushed his scalp. A hissy cat, a moody kid with overgrown bangs – you were fond of him, and nowhere near as scared as you should have been.

In fact, that lack of fear made it hard to understand what was happening when he first locked you away. His expression not budging out of its typical hollowness, he simply wrapped his hand around your arm and began to lead you; you followed, as a servant did, through halls and down many stairs. You didn’t question it when he led you to a part of the compound you had never been to until a door shut behind you, hard, and you turned in time to watch him slide a bar into place to lock it. When he faced you again, it was to glare down his nose at you with his typical emptiness, this time with more intensity than you were used to.

There was a brief pause, then he raised his hand to your cheek, letting his fingertips ghost just above your skin until you raised your own hand to push his away.

“I o-ought to be going,” you said, taking a step back. “I’ve plenty of work to do.”

That was not the right answer. This time he seized your wrist, hard enough to make you hiss a little, and dragged you further through the hall you had been sealed in. It was hard to focus with your heart pounding so hard, but you tried to scan your surroundings to see where you were and only recognized that you were somewhere dark, poorly lit by dim bulbs and no windows, with his feet leaving prints in the dust telling you that no one had been down here for quite some time in a way that makes your stomach drop, because you have a bad feeling about anything he could need privacy for–

Your fears were validated as he pulled you into a tiny room, some defunct servant’s quarters you’d imagine, containing nothing but a small bed covered in threadbare sheets and a rickety nightstand. Panic overwhelmed you, and you immediately began to struggle against him like mad, your chest seizing up so hard that it took you a while to realize that that loud noise you could hear was you screaming, apologizing, promising to do anything else that he wanted if he just let you leave.

He had been uncomfortable trying to approach you gently, unsure how to do it with his hands reforged specifically for killing and only killing. Subjugation, however, was his only nature, and once you began to act like prey, he allowed his instincts to take over. The nails of your flailing hand caught his face but seemed to have no effect on him whatsoever; he wrenched you forward by your arm hard enough that you stumbled and then kicked your feet out from beneath you while still holding your arm so that he could press you onto your back as you fell. It was relatively easy to pin you after he did that, and he did so by planting his knee downwards into the soft flab of your stomach, driving it in a little deeper when you tried to squirm away and loosing a knife from his belt to remove your clothing with.

He fucked you like a punishment, pushing into you with no foreplay and holding you down by both of your wrists as he thrusted into you hard enough to make your fat thighs clap against his skin. He watched you rather emotionlessly, unmoved by the tears pouring from your eyes and down your temples into your hairline or the whimpers that occasionally escaped your lips despite how hard you were pressing them together. Wracked with pain and with humiliation at your body suddenly being so exposed and shock at how things had turned bad so quickly, how you were suddenly being pinned under him like this used like some disposable toy, you looked just beyond the side of his head and traced cracks in the ceiling while you waited for him to finish. The room had been quiet but for the hoarse creaking of the bed, so you were surprised when you suddenly heard a grunt from him: he freed one of your wrists to bring the back of his hand to his blushing face, covering his mouth as he finished, his eyes growing distant as he stared down at you and his cock pulsating inside of you, making you feel sick.

You expected him to fix his clothes and leave you there, back to his same nonplussed demeanor, but instead he continued watching you the moment that he came back to his senses. As though that would make him vanish, you squeezed your eyes shut and only felt what happened next. He grabbed hold of the bottom of your face with his horribly cold hands, the bandage wrapped around it feeling clammy with his sweat, and then his lips pressed onto yours and his fringe tickled your forehead. You recoiled in shock and disgust, retreating backwards into the mattress and turning your face away from him, wiping your mouth before you could stop yourself. You flinched, expecting to feel the bruising of his hands roughly handling you again, but instead he lied down on you a little gently, resting his head in the crook of your neck.

“Wrap your arms around me,” he commanded.

It took you a second, but eventually you complied.

“Now say that you love me.”

“I--… I can’t,” you whispered back.

“You will. Say it.”

It took a long time for you to finally comply, and to his credit he waited in your embrace without moving as he awaited you saying it; eventually, your disgust was outweighed by your worry that he would never pull out of you and leave if you did not obey, so eventually you did finally whisper it into his hair, tears welling up in your voice as you pried the words from your throat.

After what felt like an eternity, he eventually left, but you were not allowed to because he locked the door from the outside when he went. In fact, you were kept in that tiny room so long that you lost track of time. You tried to measure your days by the showers you took in the adjoined bathroom, or the times you’d get hungry and eat some of the food you’d been left the day before, but you could not stop the time from blending together into slop no matter what you did.

It was easiest to measure time in when he suddenly reappeared to see you.

The first few days, upon just the sound of him unlocking the door keeping you shut in here, you would shake uncontrollably and fix your eyes to the ground. Once he entered, you tried to put as much distance between him and you that you could, though that was only a few steps or so. That ruined feeling, the unfamiliar slickness and soreness between your legs would rush back over you in memory and you’d feel overwhelmed to the point of dizziness, your trembling jaw barely able to form “please don’t” as he stared you down impassively. The second or third time you did this, he lost patience with it and dragged you kicking and screaming back over to the bed, but this time he only lied down beside you and rested his head on your chest, then demanding the same two things: to put your arms around him and say that you love him. You obeyed, sobbing, but sooner rather than later you got used to your new routine and became proficient, or comfortable even, in the new ritual of greeting him.

“Welcome back,” you’d tell him when he entered, going over to him and wrapping your arms around his neck and swaying him back and forth. Then you’d say you missed him or you were thinking of him or you were happy to see him. You started to wonder if that was actually true: he was your only human interaction, and after (what felt like) a few weeks you felt almost excited to see him, especially when he bought you things you requested, like wine and puzzles and lube and books. You felt like you could kiss him when he brought you a video game from his companion, though he seemed not to be sure what it was.

Well, more like you could kiss him and want to, because you often kissed him, actually. After greeting him you often led him, still emotionless as he always was, over to the bed where the two of you would lie down in the same position, his head on your chest and your arms around him. When you could stomach it, you’d roll over onto him and press your lips to his and moan into his mouth and grind on him, doing your very best to arouse him. Your hope was that if you preempted his lust with seduction of your own, maybe the sex would be easier, maybe you would have fewer nightmares that woke you up screaming. Strangely, your success with this strategy was variable: often times, he allowed your ministrations and then let you ride him until he came, his hand gripping your hip hard enough to bruise while his other hand covered part of his face. Other times, he seemed to grow overwhelmed with your affections, flipped you back over and rested his head on you again, burying his reddened face into your chest so you could only see the top of his head. You’d be confused, not sure what to do, and he’d quietly command you to do the same thing he always did: wrap your arms around him and tell him you love him.

Still, no matter what you did, you could not escape that often he wanted to hurt you. You could predict it based on how much blood he was covered in when he visited you or how he seemed to bristle away from your touch, but most reliably he was in this violent mood when he woke up from nightmares of his own, seemingly gripped with unwavering rage that drove him to want to destroy, whether that be furniture or himself or you. If you were unlucky and he went for you first, you’d be awoken by him striking you, hitting your face or dragging you by your hair or roughly tearing your clothes from your body. You learned better than fighting back quickly, as that only made him angrier, and so you just tried to shield your face and go somewhere else in your mind until it was over. Sometimes he’d fuck you dry, hard enough that you bled a little after, other times he’d hit you all over your body until it hurt to move, other times still he’d twist your arms painfully behind your back, lean into your ear, and tell you exactly how he was going to kill you in gruesome detail that made you want to vomit. He only seemed satisfied when your tears had run out and you stopped moving, overwhelmed by pain and despair, and then the room would fall into silence but for the sound of his panting, slowing breath.

After these rages were the only times he’d hold you and tell you that he loved you in a way you knew was meant to be comforting but only sounded flat and disturbed.

Eventually, he let you go (later you learned that it had been around two and a half months after you’d been captured). It was unceremonious – he simply left one day and did not shut the door behind him. It took you nearly an hour to summon the courage to leave, as you could not help but fear that this was some sort of trap, that he’d be waiting just beyond the threshold to punish you if you left. In the end, though, it was not, and after some walking you found yourself back in a central corridor of the compound with business as usual happening around you. It was hard to comprehend how other people were talking, laughing, cleaning, working without bone deep, paranoid fear strangling them. You’d dreamed of your freedom for a long time, of the relief you’d feel to be out of his clutches, but there was no relief to be had.

You could not sleep with any semblance of normalcy after getting out, so you often lied awake at night and wondered why he had gotten rid of you. Had he grown tired of you, bored? Had he moved on to someone else? Had he seen that there was something within you that he had irreparably broken that made you not worth using any more? Part of you worried about this so endlessly because if he was angry that you failed him, you needed to figure that out so you could prepare for him to return in one of his rages.

But another part of you, one that you could not bear to acknowledge, had grown used to making him and his comfort the center of your universe, and now felt lost without him. You wished that he had just kept you until you died.

#yandere #tw noncon #tw non con #yandere x reader #yandere smut #cw noncon #tw: noncon #honkai star rail #hsr #hsr smut #hsr x reader #hsr blade #betty fetty

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p1nkcanoe · 2 months

Text

the polaroid collection: mountain

this is part six of the polaroid collection, based off of 'picture this'. you can either find the masterlist here, read on ao3, or read below:

Mountain is a predictable ghoul. Detail oriented. A strict schedule follower…

Every morning he gets up at the same time and puts on the same mud-stained apron over his work clothes, brews himself a steaming cup of coffee with a splash of milk and two sugars, and heads out to the greenhouse. He works for about four hours, sometimes more to ensure everything is growing and green, lifting heavy bags of dirt over his broad shoulders and organizing a million containers of seeds with calloused fingers until he’s sore. Then he’ll head back in towards the den around lunchtime and place his dirt-covered sandals right outside the door, dusting off his clothes on the lawn to make sure he doesn’t spatter the stone slab in front of the door with soil – because it would be so rude of him to leave such a tiny mess for someone else to step in.

It’s almost infuriating how perfect he is.

But after he gets a bite to eat, eating the leftovers in the fridge and scrubbing the dirty dishes, he then disappears into his bedroom to cleanse his body of the lingering filth of the gardens. And for the majority of his packmates, they believe that that is where his strenuous morning routine ends; a nice, relaxing bath. What they don’t know is that the earth ghoul always takes a lengthy, less-than-glamorous moment to jerk his rock hard, stress-induced erection to completion before hopping into the bath.

Always.

It’s like clockwork at this point. Swiss listens for his heavy footsteps outside the hall, listens for the quiet click of his bedroom lock, and then it’s only a matter of minutes before the soft groans begin floating in through the old vent connecting their rooms. It’s a blessing it’s there, really. It’s like music to Swiss’ ears when he hears him. That big, sweet, considerate ghoul with a huge heart and an even bigger dick…

Oooh and he really likes it when Mountain works longer hours than usual, because it means that he can smell him. And fuck does he smell delightful. A dizzying combination of sweat and stress and lustful pheromones that drive the multi ghoul absolutely mad despite only being able to imagine what he looks like on the other side. He wants to eat him up, get a taste, and it doesn’t help that he stinks particularly strong today.

His feet carry him out of his desk chair and through Mountain’s bedroom door before he can fully process the possibility that Mountain may not be alone. Cock already generously tenting the front of his shorts, the sight of the ghoul half-naked on his bed with his fist wrapped around his dick is almost enough to make him forget entirely about the camera clutched in his hand.

He looks really good – Swiss knew he would. He’s got his tight undershirt bunched up around his chest to keep it out of the way and his dirtied cargos are bundled in a heap around his ankles. The sudden intrusion into his space has the earth ghoul more than surprised, his cheeks pink and his breathing heavy, but Swiss doesn’t care.

Upon bursting in, Mountain’s scent had hit him in the face like the bus they ride around in during tour. So gross, so pungent, so thick. Swiss watches as his hand struggles to fight between continuing to get himself off or hiding himself away. Nostrils flaring, pupils dilating… Mountain cups his balls with his other hand under Swiss’ intense gaze, suddenly insecure.

“Hey, big guy,” Swiss says, an unnatural lilt to his voice as he gives the other ghoul a big, toothy smile.

The suspicion doesn’t leave Mountain’s features as the multi ghoul stalks closer, eyes raking over the other’s form like he’s sizing him up. Then he finds the camera in his grasp and things begin to click into place at the same time that the heavy wooden door clicks into its frame. That look of confusion contorts into something cunning, his lips curling into a smirk as his fingers flex around the base of his shaft, wiggling the tip like a worm in front of a hungry fish.

Green eyes flit from the camera up to find brilliant gold and a singular fang peeks out from behind Mountain’s chapped upper lip.

“You know,” he starts and tilts his head to the side, “I heard about this little photography project you’ve had going on and I was wondering when you were gonna finally let me have my turn.”

Swiss huffs, surprised at the shift towards confidence, his change in demeanor unexpected, but continues to encroach upon the other’s space until there’s only a few steps to separate them. He feels his cock stir again, pre welling at the tip and soaking into the fabric that struggles to constrain him.

“Well you didn’t think I was gonna forget about you, did you?”

Mountain shrugs. Much too smug to have his pants around his ankles like a little boy. “I’m not too sure. I was beginning to think that everyone was gonna have their turn and I was gonna be left out in the mud.”

Swiss stalks a little bit closer, close enough to reach out if he wanted to. He doesn’t. His dick leads him in whichever direction he desires to go.

“Oh, but darling, you know I love it when you get a little dirty.” A gold-tipped digit extends and begins to trail downwards over a flaky patch of dirt smeared over Mountain’s strong bicep. Swiss watches as his finger descends, Mountain watches his face. “And besides, you smell so delicious, I couldn’t possibly stay away.”

The bigger ghoul falters for a moment, brow furrowing in slight confusion at his confession.

“You could smell me?”

Swiss finally meets his eyes and there’s a dangerous glint somewhere in there as his finger continues to linger on his skin, dragging down, down, down until his touch is feather-light.

“Always. I know your schedule like the back of my hand, dirt boy.”

Mountain glances upwards towards the rusted vent in the ceiling and Swiss chuckles in a way that makes him flash hot with embarrassment. He’s certainly heard more than he’d like to admit of Swiss’ late night rides and grinds – as has the other – but he had no idea that he could smell him.

His eyes darken and he tsks at the multi ghoul, “you naughty ghoul…”

Swiss’ finger drifts over to flick at a pebbled nipple before pulling away and shifting his weight back onto his heels, arms crossed across his chest. “Keep doing what you were doing,” he says and motions to him with a flick of his hand. “I wanna watch.”

Now that Mountain knows what is up, he is happy to perform. He jerks his dick in long, slow strokes, kicking his pants off the rest of the way so that he can spread his knees and show all of himself off. Swiss stands just in front of him, so close yet so tantalizingly far away, watching intently with lust-blown eyes as the ruddy head of his cock appears and disappears in his fist.

His hands are filthy, it’s obvious he’d made the decision not to wash them, and a sticky combination of fertilizer and dirt create a muddy residue that makes his dick all gritty and messy. Something about that is arousing.

“Not afraid to get a little dirty, huh?” Swiss asks, eyes still fixed on his ministrations.

Mountain rubs the muddy concoction into the folds of his foreskin and hums all pretty, ignoring the accusation in favor of being a little nasty. He likes nasty.

“I’m pretty sure I’ve fucked you over a fresh bag of mulch before.”

“Well we don’t have to get into specifics…”

“A little uncharacteristic of you now, is it not?”

Swiss rolls his eyes dramatically and tells the other ghoul to scoot back further onto the bed. Then he peels off his own pants, his hard cock springing up to attention and bobbing as he walks forward to crawl into the massive earth ghoul’s lap, camera placed adjacent to them on the bed. It’s on, blinking and ready for whenever he decides to use it.

Swiss gives himself a few strokes for good measure and to make sure he’s at full mast (he is) and keeps his eyes trained on the way that Mountain matches his pace with his own hand. He glances up and finds those pretty green eyes that are as blown out as his own and surges forward to capture his chapped lips in a kiss.

It’s less of a kiss that they fall into, and more of a spit-slicked, open mouthed tangle of tongues. They steal each other's air when it escapes from their lungs and drink in each other’s noises that they make in their throat, replacing them with new ones until they’re throbbing in their hands and Swiss is moaning from the fresh bite of mint lingering on Mountain’s tongue. He tastes better than he imagined he would, and he sucks the taste directly from the source, drinking up the saliva that’s laced deliciously with the cool herb.

“What’ve you been up to in there, hmm? Taste good.”

Both of their voice’s are breathless, spoken directly into the other’s mouth.

Mountain tugs at the flared ridge of his head and groans deep in his chest, “come visit me sometime and I’ll give you a tour.”

Swiss pulls him in again by a hand on the back of his nape, biting on his swollen bottom lip and sucking on the tip of his tongue, and in the heat of it all Mountain nudges his hand away from his cock to slide their lengths together. The feeling of hot, slick skin against hot, slick skin makes both of them shudder all the way up their spines and the noises they make could make a demon blush.

It’s Swiss who breaks their devouring kiss to peer down and watch as Mountain works their lengths together in one of his overly large hands. Some of the dirt already begins to rub off onto his underside.

Mountain’s fat tip kisses Swiss’ frenulum with each and every stroke, sending intense jolts of pleasure up his spine with every little touch, no matter how intense.

It feels way too good just to be rubbing their cocks together, and it looks even better.

Mountain is so large. The sheer size of his girthy appendage nearly dwarfs Swiss’ own (which is no easy feat), and despite Swiss sitting atop his thighs, Mountain’s tip nearly matches up with him in length. Swiss reaches in to gather up a slick combination of their pre on his middle and index fingers and smears the digits over the other ghoul’s lips. He pushes them into his mouth and Mountain sucks gently, cleaning them with his tongue until they're clean and holding dangerous eye contact the entire time that he does.

Gold and green, gold and green, gold and green…

They’re lucky it’s not mating season– the sight of him with his fingers in his mouth makes Swiss’ belly flip a million times.

“The things you do to me…” he whispers, nearly inaudible, and Mountain parts his lips to let out a breathy laugh, carding his clean hand through Swiss’ thick curls and tugging his head back towards the ceiling. Swiss’ fingers slip out past his teeth coated in saliva. Swiss sucks it off.

When Mountain suddenly decides to use both of his hands to get them off, squeezing an twisting his wrist and creating a pocket for them to fuck in tandem, Swiss feels himself being guided rapidly towards the edge of euphoria – and much faster than he’d anticipated. Both of their cocks are flushed dark and so shiny, and Swiss begins to spit curses through his teeth when Mountain shifts his magic touch to their leaking heads.

“I’m gonna cum,” Mountain gasps out against Swiss’ jaw. He nips at the skin with his teeth, “are you gonna cum with me?”

He almost sounds desperate.

“No,” Swiss forces out. He surprises himself with how sure he sounds. The tightening in his balls begs to differ. Mountain’s brow scrunches together and he drops his jaw, clearly doing his best to stave off his impending orgasm.

With the last ounce of control he has left, Swiss reaches for the camera, lining up the shot blindly at where they’re pressed so hotly together.

“Want it just like this,” he moans and Mountain grips them both at the base, “so hard, so flushed, fuck, Mount, you’re so big…”

Mountain lets out a moan that's so loud he has to throw his head back towards the ceiling to get it out. The muscles in his abdomen ripple and go hard.

“Swiss– I’m gonna-”

“Don’t you dare ruin my shot.”

“Fuck, you’re such an asshole-”

Swiss bites his lip hard between his teeth when Mountain’s cock jerks and jumps pressed flush against the underside of his own.

“Shut up and flex it. Do that again.”

Mountain gives them another tight stroke then holds them firmly together at the base, exhibiting them in all their filthiest glory for the lens. A thin string of pre connects their leaking heads and the realization makes Swiss jerk violently, balls tightening, and he forces his finger to press down on the button milliseconds before he shoots hot and thick all over his own thighs and Mountain’s fingers.

“So much for not cumming,” Mountain teases, cheeks pink and forehead slick with sweat, but his little poke at the other gets cut short when Swiss wraps his hand tightly around his cock. “Whatever. We got the damn picture…”

#mountain ghoul #the polaroid collection #picture this #mountain x swiss #swiss ghoul #p1nk ficlet

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vvishes · 1 year

Text

ORDER 001 !

you (an indie streamer), the xsoleil boys and nina met up for an off-collab cooking stream and the boys are pretending to not know how to cook so you can help them out !

ft. doppio dropscythe, hex haywire, ver vermillion x afab!reader (nina is there too)

99% sugar - added crack too ! this will generally be a fluffy and funny post. that 1% is for ver’s part btw.

warning - just ,, funny

a/n - thank you @lonelysimpfor2dmen for the dm request ! i had fun writing this , especially on ver’s part. i hope you enjoy it <3

i am writing for the vtuber’s persona and model, not for the real person behind the screen.

it was all quite random timing for the guys in xsoleil and nina to have an off-collab with you , but you did agree that it was one of the funniest experiences to ever occur in your life.

the stream was taken place in your apartment, and you started streaming as if it was a regular cooking stream — all on your own.

plenty of people started tuning in to your stream as you were explaining what you’d be cooking and that you were waiting for a delivery to arrive.

your chat was flooded with suspicion that you weren’t actually going to cook, and instead having food be delivered to your door, but little did they know they were absolutely incorrect.

the doorbell started ringing and it was audible for chat as well.

“oh, that must be the delivery. i’ll be right back, chat !” and you ran off to the door. the chat kept filling the chat box with joking remarks, and some were speculating a special guest.

It must be a burger..

SPECIAL GUEST IKZZZZ

👀👀👀👀👀👀

chat heard footsteps walking back to the stream setup however they didn’t hear the usual sweet voice from you. it was many voices, from something that would come out of a chaotic streamer. a voice then came up rather close, dangerously close to the mic and started babbling random words.

“hey guys, i hope you like.. don’t mind us joining the stream,” the voice mumbled in a calm, smooth tone. the chat started connecting the dots and realised that the voice was actually ver. so if ver was there, that must’ve meant that doppio and hex would’ve been there too.

XSOLEIL ??

TSKRR VER

VER OMGGG ‼️

a mature, feminine voice joined in the conversation. it was indeed fox mum, nina. chat became nothing but chaos as you and the others proceeded to explain what was going to happen during the stream.

DOPPIO DROPSCYTHE ;

doppio .. doesn’t actually know how to cook

so obviously he’s going to need help from you

and god , he was a mess

babbling heaps …

if you got mad at him he’d pout at you and give you puppy eyes

nina thinks it’s adorable of piopio to act like this

she senses things too

but of course , she won’t say that on stream

“…[name], how do you do this part of the recipe ..?”

you turn from the stovetop to face doppio who is pointing at the directions on the sheet of paper. your eyebrows furrow.

“don’t you think it’s quite self-explanatory, doppi ?” you asked, concerned for his lack of cooking skills.

hex walked up to doppio and snatched the piece of paper, reading the instruction carefully. “you don’t know how to seperate the egg yolk from the white ..?”

doppio’s face turned into a shade of tomato red as he slowly averts his gaze from hex. you start to pity him, so you ask nina to look after the stovetop as you go to assist him.

“alright, doppio, watch this. you see the egg ? crack it into the bowl.” you said, switching gazes from the egg to doppio. he looked quite hesitant at first, but after lightly smashing the egg a few times on the counter, he was able to successfully crack it into the bowl. an accomplished smile plastered on doppio’s face.

“yay, you did it, doppi !” you pat his shoulder a few times. chat had also been sending in praises and clapping emojis.

doppio looks at the next set of instructions and gulps. seperate the egg yolk.

you stare at him concerned, but you knew deep inside that he had some sort of potential.

“how do you seperate the egg yolk ?” doppio mumbled.

never mind then.

“alright, you see that egg yolk ? scoop it up, and you use your other hand and do it like this.” you follow the directions you just explained to doppio and the egg white slowly slipped in between your fingers. you placed the yolk in to the appropriate bowl and turn to doppio.

“ta daa ~” you said sarcastically.

“w— hey, not everyone is good at cooking !”

HEX HAYWIRE ;

okay.

we all know this man has super malewife skills

like bro , he can cook , clean

give this guy a maid dress too and he can do all those things in style !

tell him to like bake you a 3-tier cake and he probably would in a time span of like 2 hours (that is short for making a good quality cake)

but … his malewife skills disappeared.

they’re gone

for now at least but they’re gone !!!

everything was going so smoothly for the past 5 minutes of preparing and cooking, where did everything go downwards ? you knew yourself that he is a good cook, the perfect malewife even ! why was he asking how to do things now ?!

“hey, [name], what does this part of the instructions mean ?” hex asked, looking a bit too worried. you glared at him, eyes full of irritation. they dart to the instructions and you were in disbelief.

“you’re joking, aren’t you.”

“no, seriously ! i actually don’t know how to sauté onions !”

ver and nina slowly turned to hex in shock, and so did chat … virtually. you let out a big sigh and reluctantly head over to the stove.

“grab the butter, please.”

“what is butter ?”

everyone pauses. you felt like your eyes were going to pop out of their sockets.

nina chimes in, “hexy honey, where are your super malewife powers ?”

it wasn’t that audible, but ver was trying to keep in his laugh — he probably knew what was up.

“just get the damn butter, hex.” you said. hex awkwardly walked over to the fridge where the butter was and came back with a block of salted butter.

the rest of the stream was chaos.

VER VERMILLION ;

ver id say is also quite a decent cook

but then again , he wants to see if you can cook too !

he is so sneaky and cheeky about it too

do the right things for him , and he will give you headpats

if agency vtubers were allowed to show their faces , the chat would be spamming ‘tskr’ HEAPS

“[name], you shall receive headpats for helping me so nicely.”

you don’t care about the headpats , you just want ver to do things for himself ,,

“[naa~me] ! can you dice the onions for me ? i need to microwave this.” ver said in a rather polite voice. a hint of mischief could be heard from his tone, which caught on your suspicion.

“alright …” you reply. ver’s eyes glistened like those of a child as he sprinted towards you. catching you off guard, he started to ruffle your hair.

your cheeks turn into a pink-ish red hue as ver proceeded to pat your head. why is he doing this, you thought to yourself.

ver walked over to the microwave and added what ever ingredient he had to microwave.

still startled from the sudden contact, you start to cut the onions — and you started to understand why he gave the job to you.

“GOD, MY EYES STING !” hex started yelling from across the kitchen, and soon enough, everyone could feel the chemicals slowly waft in to their poor eyes. wretched screams filled the room as the nijisanji en members started tasting the bitter rawness of the onions.

but you ? you were in the most pain cutting those onions. man, you wished you declined the request but here you were, tearing up hysterically chop after chop, sending the chemicals straight into your eyeballs.

despite the tears rolling down his eyes, ver let out a soft giggle. he could see the frustration on your face and it satisfied him quite a lot.

“VER ! PLEASE CUT THESE ONIONS I’VE HAD ENOUGH !” you cried (literally), blubbering and begging for mercy — everyone was begging for mercy. but of course, ver wanted to relish the moment as you and the others slowly suffered from onions.

“VEEEER !” you cried even louder, almost a screech.

“no ! chat is enjoying this moment !” and yes, they were. half of them were laughing their asses off, balling their eyes out even ; and the second half, well, they were rather confused in the moment, but they did enjoy it.

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aurora-daily · 3 months

Text

AURORA hosting Tearjerker on BBC Sounds!

On the first episode called "The First Tear" she "shares a playlist of nostalgic songs from her younger years that have provided solace and comfort, from the first songs she cried to, to the music she still uses for support today. Featuring pieces from Chopin, The Chemical Brothers and Nick Drake." [link 1]

Tracklist of the episode 1:

Prélude in D Flat Major (Raindrop), Op. 28, No. 15 by Frédéric Chopin

The Brothel by Susanne Sundfør

Sofia (feat. AURORA & iris) by Askjell

Hanna's Theme by The Chemical Brothers

The World Spins by Julee Cruise

Adoration by Florence Price

Anthem for No State, Pt. I by Godspeed You! Black Emperor

This Woman's Work by Kate Bush

Lump Sum by Bon Iver

That Home by The Cinematic Orchestra

Après un rêve, Op. 7, No. 1 (Arr. for Cello and Piano) by Gabriel Fauré

Tchaikovsky: The Nutcracker, Op. 71, Act II: No. 14c, Pas de deux. Variation II Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy

Landslide by Fleetwood Mac

Three Hours by Nick Drake

Suzanne by Leonard Cohen

The second episode called "Songs for the lonely" AURORA curates "a playlist to make you feel less alone. Featuring music from Erik Satie, Radiohead and Anna Clyne. Plus Aurora has a listener submission for the "Song That Saves Me"", as "It’s hard to be a human today. Somehow we can all feel lonely with the weight of the whole world on our shoulders, but music has the power to make us feel less alone." [link 2]

Tracklist of the episode 2:

Where Life and Death May Dwell (Icelandic Folk Song) - Upright Piano by Snorri Sigfús Birgisson

Gnossienne No.1: Lent by Erik Satie

Lover, Where Do You Live? by Highasakite

To Speak Of Solitude by Brambles

Hymn for Khadija by Anna Yarbrough

Exit Music (For A Film) by Radiohead

The Armed Man - A Mass For Peace: XII. Benedictus by Karl Jenkins

Fólk fær andlit by Hildur Guðnadóttir

Spiegel im spiegel by Arvo Pärt

It's Hard to Be Human (feat. Marissa Nadler) by Lawrence Rothman

Streymir (Voiceless) by Gabríel Ólafs

Tell Me About It by Thea Wang

Hoppípolla by Sigur Rós

The third episode "Beautiful sounds for human connection" celebrates the power of music that connects and brings us together: "Humans have always sung. Music is a natural part of us, and it has always been. Since the first sorrows, we sang to release the pain. And from the first births, we sang to celebrate. Music connects us. And when we sing together, and experience music together, we truly reconnect to a part of ourselves we were dangerously close to forgetting. In this week's episode of Tearjerker, Aurora celebrates the music that brings us together with pieces from The Staves, Clara Schumann and Astrid Sonne. Plus, Aurora has a listener submission for the 'Song That Saves Me'." [link 3]

Tracklist of the episode 3:

Journey to the End of the Night by Lisa Morgenstern

Down To The River To Pray by Alison Krauss

Love Is Colder Than Death by Questo Mostrarsi

momentary - choir version by Ólafur Arnalds & VOCES8

Whitacre: Lux Aurumque by Eric Whitacre

No Me, No You, No More by The Staves

happiness by Taylor Swift

cellophane by FKA twigs

Boadicea by Enya

Kiuá by Andréa Daltro

Io by Miyako Koda

Hide and Seek by Imogen Heap

Soirées musicales, Op. 6: II. Notturno. Andante con moto (Version for Harp) by Clara Schumann

Strong, Calm, Slow by Astrid Sonne

#aurora #aurora aksnes #interviews #recommendations

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tozettastone · 6 months

Text

re: naruto oc

I made a sketch of the character!

This is the nameless oc on a regular work day when she's not actively pretending to be anyone.

Some character notes:

She's 166cm (5'5") tall.

As a nod to the standards of the setting (which I have grudgingly accepted) she has puttees, bare toes (thanks, Kishimoto) and fishnet under her cropped shirt. She's got a waterfall hitae-ate because I decided she first learns about Kakuzu when she's growing up in their shared old village.

She will claim this look is entirely free from artifice because she's not using any illusions, but she's around fifty and the list of things she's doing to maintain this look ranges from preserving muscle tone past menopause (by using a mix of medical jutsu and the secretions of butchered animals), to checking her makeup every time she passes a reflective surface. She is also absolutely not a natural redhead, and although those long curls are naturally occurring, she has to catch them at a highly specific point in the greasy-clean cycle to have them look cute, and she has a very active job, so if you touch her hair (do not) it's so loaded with product that it's basically like touching cake frosting. Her array of insanely expensive floral bathing and body products mostly cover the smell of hair stuff. Don't worry, she didn't pay for them.

If you ask ask her about her complexion, she'll say it's bathing in milk and sugar scrubs. It isn't.

Looking how she wants is basically its own part time job, and half the time nobody even sees her because her hobby/job/primary occupation is that she's hiding under an illusion 30 paces away from some incredibly dangerous missing-nin.

She might look like she's unarmed. That's because she's carrying, like, three knives, and one of them is for eating. Basically, if she gets involved in some kind of protracted dramatic set piece fight, she's already fucked up beyond belief. She doesn't need heaps of weapons.

She does need bare hands and unadorned wrists. She has light fingers and she'd hate to make a noise by accident.

As a jounin-level ("level") missing-nin, her strengths are: her genjutsu, chakra control and precision, lying her black little heart out, overhearing fascinating information, never paying for anything, identifying and using useful plant and animal products in the field, slipping things into strangers' drinks, stealing shit and minor medical procedures (she doesn't really have the interest). Her chakra control and genjutsu speciality have some overlap with ninjutsu, so she's above average at that but she doesn't have a huge repository of techniques. She really does know an enormous number of illusory techniques, though, and she invents her own for fun and profit.

Her weaknesses are: her low physical strength (especially her upper body strength), her taijutsu, a comparatively limited chakra supply (no giant beast summons for her :'( ), her people and teamwork skills (she's been a transient missing-nin hiding from observers all alone for 35 years. it shows), she has no patience for any of the sealing stuff, and she suffers from a genuine emotional dependency on the state of her hair.

#naruto oc: red #my art

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kaiso-woo · 6 months

Text

Sugar or Spice

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺

-> Masterlist

BONUS #2 - no real relevance to 'Stay Series'... I mean you could slot it in somewhere I s'pose.

WC: 2k | Synopsis: Chris comes home after work! Pretend Skz all lives together in like an apartment complex kind of thing, and you can easily just visit everyone’s rooms.

Notes: Whiny!Chan, Blindfold, Restraints (Using a Tie), Smut-ish, Slight Exhibitionism? (not really, just an interruption and then a door slammed), Safe Word Exists (not used), Second Person Narration, Skz Fluent in English, Swearing, Idol!Chan, Fem!Reader

Here for a reading marathon? Head right back to the start!

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺

BONUS #2

!!Casual reminder this is entirely fictitious - Chris/Christopher in my work does not represent the actual Bang Chan - this is purely my imagination and nothing more - this goes for all other SKZ-Members too!!

You sit back down on the bed and watch as Chris shuts the door quietly, the late-night moon filtering in through the window, barely illuminating his figure. “You scared the shit out of me Christopher. You’re finished earlier than usual,” you sigh, levelling out your breathing to slow your heart rate. You'd been idly scrolling on your phone, and his sudden entrance had jolted you out of your comfort.

Chris doesn’t answer. Instead he turns around elegantly and slowly slips his arms out from the sleeves of his suit, dropping it to the ground in a straggled heap of black. Your eyebrows knit together at his actions. He's not usually the type to just... dump his clothes on the floor.

His remaining attire is merely a formal white button up with a black tie, and black dress pants of course.

Your eyes dart up to meet his, and your heart rate skyrockets again when you find him staring straight back at you, dark eyes piercing your own, a curious smirk planted on his face.

He walks towards you and bites at the glove on his left hand, slowly removing it with his teeth, a cheeky grin on his face, and your mouth parts slightly, watching in stunned stupor as he advances.

“So… how do you want me?” Chris mutters through gritted teeth – he's moved on to removing the glove on his right hand, which joins the other glove on the ground.

Carefully, he presses a hand to your chest to pushes you backwards onto the bed and crawls on top of you, his arms on either side of your head, pinning you into place.

“What?” You breathe heavily, licking your lips in anticipation. Chris buries his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling slowly. “You heard me… how do you want me?” He whispers, his warm breath causing you to shiver, goose bumps erupting everywhere.

He begins to kiss a trail along your neck, occasionally pausing to nibble and suck on the areas he knows are your sensitive spots. “What… where…” you gasp, wriggling, “Where is this coming from?”

Chris pauses and plants a delicate kiss on your forehead. “Just tell me honey… how do you want me… romantic…? Rough…? I can be the sugar… or I can be the spice… the choice is yours baby…” he whispers, then kisses you slowly on the lips.

You respond instinctively, reciprocating eagerly. Chris, however, has other plans and pulls away unexpectedly. He chuckles tauntingly and proceeds to stare straight into your soul, his face deadpan, waiting for an answer. He knows what he's doing.

Your breath catches in your throat; who the fuck is this beautiful man and how the fuck did you manage to pull him out of everyone in the world? You can’t deal with his stalling anymore and snatch at his tie, pulling him back down so your lips crash together again.

Chris groans and his tongue slips into your mouth, re-exploring every corner without hesitation. Your own tongue fights for dominance, but as soon as he sharply bites it, you hiss in minor discomfort and allow him to reign superior.

Only for that moment.

You push Chris off you and roll on top of him, reversing the roles as you run a hand through his hair almost dotingly. Chris scoffs dangerously, and it takes him no effort to flip you around again, knotting his hands into your hair, preventing you from moving again. Softly, he whispers, “Nuh-uh… you stay right here…”

“Give me- a second… please,” you huff, trying to steady your breath. “I don’t think I will,” he grins, leaning in once more, but you’re prepared this time and dodge the kiss.

Using as much strength as you can muster, and with the assistance of your legs, you kick him off you, causing him to yelp and fall off the bed slightly. Oops, you didn’t think you were that strong.

“I said give me a second, Christopher. I need to get something,” you frown, and you can clearly see his adorable little pout as he crawls back up. You scramble away before he can snatch you and disappear into your wardrobe. You had a blindfold somewhere… one that you used for your Halloween costume last year.

By the time you return, Chris is sitting on the edge of the bed, his elbows propped up on his legs, aggressively mansplaining (A/N: I really hate that description but it is what it is.) His impatience is evident in his glare, his chin resting on his clasped hands.

“Wanna try something new?” You innocently ask, the blindfold hidden behind your back. Chris freezes before his posture straightens, his shock apparent in his expression. “New?” He chokes out, as you wander over to him and loosen his tie (with one hand because you’re just that good).

Swiftly, you place the blindfold behind him, so he doesn’t see it, under the guise of reaching around to lift up his collar. He doesn’t seem to be breathing as you slide his tie from his neck, and you can feel his eyes drilling into the top of your scalp as you squat down to his wrists. Before you can grab them however, he jerks his hands away, realising what you’re up to.

“No,” he whines, “Baby come on that’s not fair.” “Please Chris? Just trust me, yeah?” You pout up at him, offering your widest possible gaze, hoping to see his resolve crumble.

He clenches his jaw almost angrily and swears under his breath, but allows you to wrap his tie around his wrists, tightening it carefully. You stand up and stretch lazily, taking your time, before you crawl onto the bed behind him and retrieve the blindfold.

“Where are you going?” Chris murmurs, trying to swivel his body around to follow you, but you place a firm hand on his head and swivel him back around. “Trust meee,” you plead, to which he sighs.

You know the next task at hand will be difficult, because the moment you place the blindfold over his eyes and try to tie it at the back of his head, he resists.

“Nahnahnahnahnah-” he yells, swerving his head and scrambling away from you. You lunge after him, and eventually manage to pin him down onto the bed, straddling his chest firmly, his tied hands up above his head.

“Please baby. Don’t do this. I can’t do this if I can’t see you, this isn’t fair,” he whines, eyes shining so desperately that you falter for a second, but he hasn’t actually said the safe word, so you continue. Finally, the blindfold is snug around his eyes, and he squirms in discomfort.

“Fuck this is unfair,” he huffs, trying to wrangle his hands free from his bonds. You bite your lip, deciding what to do next. Truthfully, you’ve gotten this far based on pure instinct and now have no idea what you’re doing.

“It’s okay. You’ll be okay,” you hum, a small smile playing on your lips. He looks too good, lying underneath you, his curly hair frazzled, lips parted in anticipation, chest already heaving.

“No I fucking will not be okay. I can't see you, I can't touch you I can't fucking do anything, you think I'll be okay?” He continues to ramble nonsense, but you ignore him and reach out for the buttons of his dress shirt, “What’re you- babe stop. Stop,” he whispers, pleading.

You simply finish unbuttoning his shirt tauntingly and place a hand on his defined chest. He gasps at the contact, your cold hand causing him to visibly shiver. Delicately, you trace lines all over his exposed chest, watching with curious eyes as he groans and writhes at your touch, his body jolting underneath you.

“Ah! Love- please. Don’t do this to me,” he moans, his voice a low rumble. You lean down and place a kiss on his lips, giggling when instinctively he kisses you back, but then abruptly turns his head away defiantly. This man is really refusing to give in.

You continue to trace lines on his abs and mutter softly to him, “I made my choice Christopher. I think the real question is... do you want to make this difficult, or will you just relax for me?” Then with a small smirk, you utter his own words back at him, nibbling his earlobe gently, “I can be the sugar… or I can be the spice… the choice is yours baby."

You take his continued fight with his bonds as a ‘fuck-you-I’m-going-to-make-this-difficult’ and begin to place soft kisses all over his chest. He squirms, and your stomach flips as he whimpers and curses a slew of profanities.

“Fuck. No- f-huck you- fucking untie me,” he commands, as you travel even lower, your hands thoroughly exploring every centimetre of skin available to you. “No," is your simple response.

“Ugh… f-fucking… let… ah… shit…” his breathing grows ragged, and you pause to try and compose yourself. You inflate your cheeks with air and sit there, on top of him, for a full 10 seconds, your eyes closed. It was difficult enough for you to do this without him being an unravelled mess underneath you. You gulp as you watch his chest rise and fall erratically, and seriously consider what in the world possessed you into doing this. Oh well.

“Release me. Right. Fucking. Now,” he growls, but you kiss him to shut him up, then return to your exploration, travelling lower and lower by the second. “You little shit. You fucking little sh- ah! Ah! HhhAH!” His insult comes to a staggering halt when you nip at his skin, causing him to flinch.

“I’m not a little shit… but I am planning on fucking,” you laugh teasingly, your hands gripping the band of his pants.

You lean down to kiss a line above his waistline and Chris hisses, the air disappearing from his stomach. You begin to shift his pants lower, tantalisingly. “Jesus fucking Christ!” He yells as your tongue briefly joins the exploration.

That must have done it for him, because suddenly he’s ripped his hands out of his tie through brute force (or maybe you just can’t tie a tie and he was humouring you, although… his wrists are awfully red…). He tears the blindfold off his eyes and swiftly snatches at your shirt, pulling you up and away from his lower body. His lips crash into yours hungrily and, lost in the intensity of his desperation, you barely register your own movements as you crawl into his lap.

Chris dumps you onto the bed, his eyes blazing, mouth a thin line. You reach up to brush some of his curls off his sweaty forehead, but he grabs your wrist and glares at you.

“You never…” he says, beginning in a whisper, “fucking- listen,” he finishes with a growl. Then he’s kissing you again with a ferocity that leaves you completely stunned, your mind empty.

You gasp for air as his hands fight with your shirt, hurriedly pulling it over your head so he can leave a pattern of red marks all over your upper chest. There’s a knock at the door, and you’re trying to get your words out through your gasps and moans, “Chris- Chrischrischrishcisrhihsiehraoiehapogghpsdfri” (A/N: I actually can’t, like legitimately), “Christopher someone’s-”

“I don’t care,” he mumbles, his hand sneakily slipping underneath your waistband. Suddenly, the door is flung open and Jisung barges into the room. You both freeze and stare at him. “Chan hyung! Changbin’s messing with your so-oH MY-” he slams the door in a panic and his muffled apology is repeated in a chant.

Chris groans and his head collapses onto your shoulder once Jisung appears to leave properly, hiding his embarrassment from the world. You’re still staring at the door, struggling to process.

“I did… I did tell you…” you eventually laugh, and Chris pinches your stomach sharply, warning you. “I know you did. I just didn’t think he’d barge in.” “Chris he’s one of your boys, of course he’s going to-” “I wish he didn’t.” “Well- he did. And unless you want Binnie to accidentally delete your tracks you better go sort him out.” “He wouldn't do that... probably just made some changes that Jisung didn't agree on. Wait for me, yeah?” “Hm… nah. I’ll be in the shower.” "You ever heard of shower sex before, hm?" "You ever heard of 'I-want-to-shower-in-peace-and-it's-not-my-fault-you're-horny?' Hm?" “You’re so mean.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　

-> BONUS #3 -> Masterlist

HAHAHAHAHAHAH SO IT DOESN’T ACTUALLY GO ANYWHERE. I was just experimenting at the time. This is old writing and it wasn't originally with these two characters. Anyways.

Until next read! - Kaisowoo

#bang chan smut #bang chan x reader #stray kids smut #skz #stray kids #skz smut #bang chan fanfic #bang chan #stray kids x reader #stray kids hard thoughts #skz hard thoughts #skz x reader #skz scenarios #bang chan hard thoughts

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youaremyhome · 1 year

Text

Pieces of the Night: Supernova

Warnings: Dark!Rafe Cameron x Reader, 18+ NSFW, smut, HEAVY non-con/dub-con, drug use, possessive behavior, blackmail, manipulation, DARK. More to add. Read at your own risk.

Notes: 3.4k words. This might have a few typos in it and ill come back later to fix it but I'm just so excited to post this bc it might be my fav chapter so far!!!

Taglist: @belcalis9503 @ACRAZYBIOTCH374 @fangirlwithlou @malfoytargaryen @RAFECAMERONSBADUSSY @takin-care-of-business @watersquirtpewpewboomm @jpmswife

Let me know if you wanna be added to the taglist! (and I'm sorry if i missed anyone that's asked already!)

You sit across Rafe in a diner booth. The menu is planted in front of your face to avoid his, eyes roving across the plastic pages meaninglessly. After your crying fit, he rubbed your tears away and led your speechless form out of the courtyard.

Now, you were hunched in a cracked leather booth with mascara smudged and eyes puffy.

Originally, you had expected Rafe to take you somewhere unnecessarily nice and expensive. He seemed like the type to flaunt his father’s wealth for praise from others. Maybe he didn’t want to be seen with you. Which suited you just fine because you did not want to be seen with him.

“So, where were you?”

Peeking over the top of the long menu, he’s leaned back, all lazy confidence and smug.

“Where was I for what?” You ask loftily.

“Don’t be cute.” Rafe knocks his knuckles on the table absently, gaze right on you. “Where were you Friday?”

“Oh, the day you demanded I go on a date with you?” Innocently you raise your eyebrows like you just remembered. “I went to the movies with friends.”

Shrugging, you go back to the menu. Heart beginning to pick up pace with anxiety at his reaction to your admission of standing him up. That night, you had asked your roommates for a dinner and movie date, dragging it out as long as possible.

Tension rolls in like fog, condensing on top of your shoulders, his anger a tangible thing and you’re left to wonder what your punishment will be this time. Because while part of this whole thing is a fucked-up power play of blackmail, it’s also equally a punishment for your stunt. An inkling of the lengths Rafe would go to just to get what he wants.

“I was running around this fucking town just for you to be at the movies?”

“Coffee?”

Rafe is interrupted by the young waitress, her polite smile dissolving into a panicky look when he directs his glare at her.

“I’d love some.” Tilting your head up and smiling sweetly, you push the empty mug closer to her.

An awkward beat of silence blankets the air before she’s pouring the hot liquid into your mug and then scurries away. With your lips still curled up from the smell of coffee, it instantly drops when you meet cold blue eyes. Rafe’s jaw ticks and an unreadable emotion crosses his face when his eyes dip down to your now frowning mouth.

You don't have anything else to say to him, so you let the silence stretch. Now that you’re in a public place, you’re more comfortable meeting his gaze head-on, mind cleared from your emotional episode.

“You’re not at all like how I thought you’d be.” Rafe finally says, but he doesn’t sound disappointed about the fact either.

You nod. “Yeah, that generally happens when you make assumptions about people without getting to know them.”

You pour cream and heaps of sugar into the mug, his eyes tracking across your movements.

“Then,” Rafe places his elbows on the table, leaning forward. Eyes intent solely on you. “Let me know you.”

“Pfft.” You blow out. “After all that shit you’ve pulled? No way.” It’s comical to think it would be that easy. To forget the things he’s said and done when he’s still a stranger to you.

“Wasn’t really asking.” Rafe waves his hand.

“See you can’t just say things like that.” You give him an incredulous look, like he should know better.

He’s quick to ask, “Why not?”

“Because it's disgusting –”

“Wanting to know you is disgusting?” Rafe scoffs. Shaking his head about to argue back but you beat him to the punch.

“It's the way you go about it –”

“Would you rather have me beg?” Rafe rumbles, voice gravely and low. “Cause I’ll do it. Get right on my knees for you and beg for every crumb of information you’ll give me.”

That stuns you. Warmth blossoms up between your legs all the way up to your cheeks, hating your body for such a reaction. Looking away, you nervously pick at the leather cushion as you await Rafe’s mocking. It never comes through, his imagination taking over while you sit there all embarrassed and cute. Wondering how loud you’d be with his tongue so deep inside you –

“Y’all ready to order?” The waitress asks out of nowhere, popping Rafe’s little daydream bubble.

You order french toast with bacon and sausage while he gets the cheeseburger, handing the menus back to her as she runs away again. If only you could do that.

“So, you a big breakfast person?” Rafe casually asks, ruining your fantasy of hightailing it out of there.

You are, but you aren’t going to be telling him that. He doesn’t deserve to know an iota about you. All the little things that build you as a person will stay hidden in a vault away from him.

Shrugging, you continue to pick at the leather, exposing more of the soft spongy texture of the filling of the seat. Though you know that you’re stuck here with him, it doesn’t mean you’ll make it easy.

“C’mon, give me something, something.” He drones out. “This is supposed to be a date remember?” His voice is coaxing but a glance up at his face reveals his sneer.

“Do you always blackmail your dates?” You remark, arching your eyebrow at him.

“Just you.” Rafe grins.

“I must be so special.” Rolling your eyes, you send him an obnoxiously fake smile.

“You are.”

His tone turns serious, and you glare back down to the seat. Blue eyes chase your gaze, trying to keep a hold of you.

He really does need to stop saying that kind of seemingly genuine shit because some tiny part of you lights up like a Christmas tree. And just as quickly as the idea sweeps through, you squash it like a bug. It’s only because no one has ever shown you this kind of passion before and your lizard brain is lapping it up. Thirsty from the barren wasteland of your love life.

The fear is still there, your skin tight from the dried tears but you remind yourself that Rafe is only a college boy. Barely a man. You just need time to figure a way out of this situation.

Eventually, the food arrives but it’s difficult to swallow anything down. With him directly in front of you, Rafe has a front seat of every passing emotion on your face. From the delighted hum of the first bite to how your jaw moves as you chew. You’ve never felt so exposed, so aware of yourself with every movement you make.

You take subtle stock of him as well. How the big burger looks small in his hands, the surprising decorum of his eating, unlike other males. Wordlessly, he hands you a french fry and in exchange, you hand him a strip of bacon. You reason that it's better than talking to him.

Throughout the meal, you start exchanging more pieces of food back and forth. A silent communication that has you slowly but surely relaxing in his presence. There’re moments where it looks like he wants to say something, decides against it and hands you another fry. The quiet is nice, allowing your mind peace from today's events. Allows you to forget who you’re with for bits at a time.

Once your belly is full and the bill is paid, uneasiness creeps back onto your skin like spiders. It’s the longest you’ve gone without talking to him, but Rafe looks content with the quiet too, something you weren’t counting on. You’ve come to realize through your previous interactions that he rambles a bit often, and you’re not sure what to make of this.

Rafe leads the way out of the diner, holding the door open for you, keeping his hands to himself as you walk down the sidewalk. It’s a stark constant to when you first arrived here: with his hand on your back, and threats of being good whispered in your ear. Maybe is he able to –

“What are you doing?” You squeak, unexpectedly being herded down an alleyway. A hand wrapping around your bicep to lure you in deeper.

Rafe says nothing when he shoves your back against the brick wall, blue eyes a thunderstorm of chaos before he’s stealing your breath from your lips. He cranes your neck up with both hands, devouring your lips and then your tongue. The force of it is too great, gasping into it only to be able to breathe better making you inhale the taste of him.

A wet smacking pop sounds when Rafe pulls away, pearly teeth biting his pink lips fill your vision before you’re staring at the other end of the alley.

“Told you I’d get on my knees f’you.”

Rafe Cameron settles on his knees in front of you and all you can do is gape back, dumbfounded. Dirty blond fringes kiss his eyelashes, mirroring your open mouth as his tongue swipes at his bottom teeth. His hands slide up from your knees to your thighs painstakingly slow, gentle as a boyish smile grows.

“Rafe – not here…please.” Your voice can’t seem to go above a whisper, heart rate doubling in a second.

He ignores you and it’s becoming an obvious trait for him. His knees dig into the gravel uncomfortably but with the warm scent of you being so close, he can’t think of anything else.

Without permeable, he’s burying his face in the soft cotton of your leggings at your crotch, crudely inhaling and licking a stripe up your covered mound. He moans and swears he can almost taste you through the fabric, tongue dampening it as he teases you. Hands groping at your thighs up to your ass, flattening his tongue to cover every inch he can.

With layers between his tongue and your pussy it shouldn’t feel as good as it does. Wiggling his tongue around slowly, like the push and pull of the ocean. The muted feeling of his hot tongue seeping through the material makes a whine crack out of your chest. Again, you protest while your hands flutter down to pat his head, eyes darting around the empty space. A pierce of anxiety hits you and blends with the thrill that is building up between your legs. A familiar unwanted buzz you’ve come to dread and anticipate.

Your mouth opens again for a protest, but Rafe interrupts, staring up at you with full dark lashes and panting.

“What’s your favorite color?”

The question is so far left field, you don’t understand him until he repeats himself, swiping kisses around your hips as he awaits your answer.

When you do, he pulls on your waistband, tugging your leggings down until they hit midthigh, uncovering and restricting you all at once. Threading your fingers in his blond locks you tug, hoping to pull him upright, to stop this – whatever is happening.

A heavy groan vibrates along your mound and burns down to your clit. Rafe is quick in pressing his face right up to your cunt and kissing it. Like a man starved, his fingers pull at your thong to the side as his tongue slips through your folds, taking one, two moments of exploring and then finding your clit. The tip of his tongue, flicking and prodding as he switches from caresses to sucking.

“Favorite book?”

Your body feels heavy like gravity is pushing you down while your head is floating away from you. Answering his questions scrambles your brain more as he continues his assault of pleasure. His hands encompass your hips, supporting the roll of them along his mouth. Grating your hips up again, the strong bridge of his nose slides and press on your clit as his tongue breaches you for the first time.

It’s a damn struggle to keep your voice down, for your moans not to echo off the brick walls of this deserted alley. Rafe moves his head side to side, working his tongue further into you only making it harder to be quiet. You’ve never fallen into the haze so easily before, any thoughts of your hatred for him shutting off completely. He’s in complete control even in this position, demanding your pleasure and bits of yourself.

Clenching on his tongue is a different type of sensation you’ve never felt before, soft but hard enough to feel it. Hot and wet with plenty of friction as his nose bullies your clit. You whine in disappointment whenever he pulls it out, asking you meaningless questions. Dragging out this tortured pleasurable hell of yours. Edging you into a lust-induced daze, body preparing for that ultimate high.

Fingers knead at the fat of your ass and in the back of your mind you’d wish he would slip a couple of those long fingers in you. Your thighs start to twitch as you get closer, pulling his hair harsher causing his attack to increase with vigor. His teeth graze the sensitive flesh of the hood of your clit and you’re squealing with no inhibitions.

“What’s something you’re scared of?”

It’s the first question with real significance behind it. And although you’ve told yourself earlier to lock those pieces of you away, it all comes tumbling out like the spilling of glass. You answer with no hesitation, just honesty.

“You!”

Rafe loses all control he thought he had. He sucks your clit into his mouth, tongue sliding back and forth as the suction deepens. The pressure of his lips is like a vacuum as he works you into a frenzy. He growls back into you, responding to the soft pitiful whimpers you make. Squeezing your ass as he presses his face deeper, your slick covering his chin and dripping down his throat. The front of his teeth grinds at the top of your slit, hips jolting with the strike of lightening of your orgasm, a hoarse cry that you have to bite off.

Hiccups break between your erratic breathing, the rush of your high lasting longer than ever before as Rafe keeps his mouth right there, right in the same spot that’s making you see white specks of stars.

His tongue softens, flat and drinking as much of you as he can. The combination of spit and cum makes everything slippery, soft lips kissing down your slit to your pulsing hole and back up again.

Finally, thinking you might just have to live in this never ever dying bliss with Rafe between your thighs forever, he stands up.

“So good f’me,” Rafe mumbles. One hand pets your hair while the other reaches down, you think he’ll pull your pants up for you.

Instead, Rafe is undoing his own, taking his rock-hard cock out and you’re shaking your head no before he can do anything.

“Uh-uh, hush.” He chuckles. “Not gonna fuck you…” You watch as he pulls on his cock, tugging with a moan. “Gonna cum with just the taste of you on my tongue.”

You can’t tear your eyes away as he pleasures himself in front of you, the weeping tip brushing along the top of your thong, your forehead resting on his shoulder as you watch. The rough whine of your own name makes ruminates of your high bleed back in, hips thrusting closer to him of their own fruition.

His stroking speeds up as he cums all over you, only stopping once there’s nothing else to wring out. It’s the first time you’ve really gotten a good look at him down there, thick and heavy with an angry red mushroom head. It’s always the assholes that have the best dicks.

Heavy pants begin to synchronize together, both of you staring down at the mess on you. You blink heavily, resting them closed and it's then you get a flash of another time you were covered by him.

Look like an angel with all that white on you.

His words echo in your head, giving you the willpower and common sense to pull away from him. Rafe stumbles back a bit from your shove, your fingers fumbling with your waistband as you quickly pull it up.

“Woah hey, it’s ok. Relax.” Rafe attempts to pacify you, seeing the thoughts whirl behind your eyes. He rights himself up, towering over you as his hands soothe down your arms.

You wiggle uncomfortably, the touch of him scratching at you. “It's not ok! You can’t keep doing this to me!”

Rafe sputters. “What, g-giving you so many orgasms that, that you can’t keep your eyes open?” His grip tightens, bending lower to get in your face. “You sure know how to keep your legs open!”

Your gasp is like the sound of a shotgun firing, silencing the air around you. Rafe’s face softens, loosening his hold as one hand scrubs down his face in regret.

“Look, I didn’t mean that –”

“Yes, you did.” You say strongly.

“Nah, I didn’t.” Rafe points a finger at you, shaking it in your face. “You’re just pissing me off right after we had a great time together.”

You know you can’t fight him physically and now with his blackmail, you don’t know if you can fight him off mentally either. It’s exhausting going from fear to ecstasy to anger, all in a loop every time with him. Maybe you did ruin what could’ve been a nice moment between the two of you, but hasn’t he already ruined the foundation? How could he ever think you can get past what he’s done to you.

He's delusional, is what he is. Speaking to him rationally doesn’t work and each time you fight him, the more extreme he becomes. So, maybe it was time to choose a different route. One that can either break him or break you.

“You’re…right.” The words are bitter on your tongue, lying straight through your teeth. “I’m sorry.”

Rafe’s surprise is easy to read on his face, an open book you know you’ll have to use to your advantage. An arm slings low around your waist, pulling your bodies tightly together as his other hand cups the back of your neck. Leaning down to press his lips to yours, the kiss is a slow burn of rekindling desire for him and a reluctant duty for you.

You can taste yourself on his lips, your cum slicking up the movement of your mouths. Giving into it is easier than you’d like it to be, the salty tang shared as he swipes his tongue in your mouth. Licking his way against yours, the clench of your thighs is involuntary.

Pulling back, long fingers slide up to your face, his thumb tapping at the corner of your mouth. Rafe’s gaze zeroed in on your swollen lips.

“Smile for me, angel.”

It might seem like a request, but you know it’s a thinly veiled command. Straining your muscles to trick your lips back into a smile, demurely looking up at him in hopes to end this date already. The tip of his thumb hooks at your smile line, forcibly stretching your lips. He says your name like a curse.

“Pretty little smile makes my dick hard.”

Bruising one more kiss to you, Rafe takes your hand and leads you out the alley. You don’t know where’re going but you don’t question it either. Conscious of the fact you must choose your battles wisely from now on.

Rafe sticks to the subject of you. Asking about your classes, assignments, and various mundane things. You answer as vague as possible, upset with yourself for succumbing to his earlier interrogation.

Walking south of the campus, you don’t recognize much but just an odd sense of familiarity. You don’t often make your way to this side of the town, all the bars, and campus buildings further north. The trees shake their limbs in the winter breeze creating an eerie warning.

“Where’re we going?”

Opting for casual, your voice betrays your nerves. Rafe squeezes your hand and pulls, eliminating the gap you’ve made during the walk.

“Figured we can keep our date going.” Rafe pivots, heading into a building. “Don’t worry, you’ve been here before.”

With dawning horror, you know exactly where you are. The place that started this whole mess. Somewhere you’ve never expected to be again.

You’re back at Rafe’s apartment.

#pieces of the night #dark fics #dark!rafe cameron #rafe cameron #outer banks #rafe cameron x reader #rafe obx #obx #obx fic #fanfiction #smut #rafe cameron smut #outer banks smut #rafe cameron x you

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