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sweet-as-an-angel · 4 months

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MW Reaction to You Taking the BDSM Test

Warnings: Implied Smut, MW Characters Being Down Bad & Feral, Mean! MW, Rough! MW, Dominant! MW, Submissive! MW, Teasing, Petnames, Profanity, No Pronouns Used For Reader Except You.

Ghost

His laugh is gruff from over your shoulder. A glower, if you listen closely enough. His hands, rough and calloused with the weight of his atrocities, clamp down on your shoulders. He squeezes them. Tight. Tighter.

“You don’t need a test to find out what you’re into, Love.”

He stands closer. From your position on the couch, you can feel something hard pressing between your shoulder blades. He rolls against you, his grip tightening. You whimper, wince, and he lets go a hum.

His hands drop from your shoulders to the front of your shirt. There, he grips the seam and rips it open. You jump, gasping, the buttons flying off into god-knows where — corners of the room, pinging off furniture.

His hands are on your chest, kneading, needing. He’s rough. He needs you now — he can’t even stop to remember to be gentle.

“I can do that,” he lowers his lips to your ear. His breath is hot.

“And more.”

König

König had sat with you while you took the test, curious to see what you’d choose — what your heart truly desired.

Of course, despite how close the two of you were, you did try to retain what little of your dignity you could by choosing answers that didn’t make you look insane. Or nymphomanic.

Little did you know that König could see right through you, his lips stretching into a smile whenever he saw your fingers itching to choose the highest values for kinks he absolutely knew you had (whether you were aware of his knowing or not).

When the test was over and you got your results, you thought you’d walked it. “See?” You showed your results to König. “Told you I wasn’t into anything—“ you searched for the term he’d used. “Extreme.”

“Oh, Maus,” König said, almost growling. Purring, perhaps. His eyes were narrowed, feline. “We both know that’s not true.”

König took your phone and placed it somewhere out of your reach. Frozen with anticipation, you gave no fight as König took you by your shoulders and laid you down, pressing you into the floor. He brought his thighs over you, caged you beneath him. His hands either side of your head, he smiled.

“You needn’t be evasive with me, Darling.” His hips dipped down. Something hard pressed against your abdomen. König’s eye twitched. ”Now then, let’s see how many of your answers were true, shall we?”

Soap

Johnny looks at you with what you could only construe as confidence. A challenge. You could feel the sly remark creeping up his throat as you tried to explain away the results of your test, trying not to paint yourself as someone whose answers suited them a little too well.

“Oh aye, Bonnie — I believe you,” came Johnny. With all the genuity in the world. “I just don’t think you do.”

When you gave him a queer look, his smile grew.

“What I’m sayin’ is you know there’s more to sex than that test’ll have you believe.”

Johnny shifted closer to you, eye-level with you. His hand came up to your chin, taking it between his fingers. He held you there.

“And I’d be more than happy to show ya what you’re missing out on.”

Valeria

“Looks like mi Cariño’s had a little too much screen time.”

She’s on you before you can even escape to your lock screen, a viper-strike hand plucking your phone from your grip and throwing it over Valeria’s shoulder. It cracks, somewhere, but her frame is all you can see as she pushes you to the floor.

“Seems like you’ve forgotten your place,” she grunts as she forces you to the ground, watching you fall flat on your backside. The carpet is enough to cushion your fall, but there isn’t a material in the known universe that can withstand the fire in Valeria’s eyes.

“Seems to me that you need to be reminded what you like.” Valeria bites her lip, coming to stand over you. Her shadow roves over you, almost as if to grope you, feel you.

She brings her boot onto your chest. Keeps you down.

“And where you like it.”

Price

“So you think I’m vanilla, Hm?” Price’s voice carried a weight you were not unfamiliar with, but the way in which he spoke suggested something unknown. His ankle sat atop his knee, arms crossed over his chest.

You’d gotten him to take the BDSM Test — “For science!” you’d told him. And, to nobody’s surprise, John’s results had come back relatively tame. Yours, however, were a different story.

John leaned back in his chair, his cigar lying in the ashtray, embers fading.

“Why don’t you come over here,” John said, voice low. He spread his legs, patted the expanse of his covered thigh. His eyes glinted with all the light of a black mirror.

“And teach this old dog some new tricks.”

Horangi

Hong-jin had seen your results by accident and had decided that teasing you about it would provide him with enough of a distraction to stop himself from salivating at the possibilities they opened.

Sure, it started off tame. The odd comment here and there about you seeming to be ‘tied up’ with whatever task you were doing, that you were doing such a good job of completing your work, etc.

Anything to get you hot under the collar.

And, luckily for Hong-jin, it worked. You came to him, frustrated and very much in need of relief.

Hong-Jin hummed, putting you on his lap. He ground his thigh between your legs, calling you his “Good little pet — behaving so well for me.”

His eyes almost seem to glimmer as he tells you how much he should reward you for being able to hold out for so long. Something to the tune of an oddly specific interest you knew you’d never told him. But that’s alright; your scores told him everything he needed to know.

Alejandro

He was NOT expecting the answers you got on your BDSM test. And you weren’t fully prepared for what you found on his.

Yes, Alejandro leans towards taking the dominant role in bed. Sure, not all the time, but enough that one look at the two of you could definitively conclude which of you wore the pants in bed.

Which, until tonight, neither of you had questioned.

“You know, Corazón,” came Alejandro. He sat beside you, not looking away from the TV. “It couldn’t hurt to…test some of our weaker areas.”

You looked at him, eyebrow raised. Then, it clicked.

“Oh,” you said, leaning closer, smiling. Knowing. Alejandro looked down at you. You could see him biting back a wide grin.

That night was spent with Alejandro bottoming while you went to town making him cry, whimper and beg for more.

Rodolfo

You’d assumed that Rodolfo’s results would be, at most, rather banal. In spite of his military background, he was gentle — loving — when it was just you, him and the late hours of the night.

So, when you saw his results and discovered that, oh you’re kind of depraved, actually (in a loving, non-judgemental way; you just weren’t expecting how much his results told you he was into), you wanted to test Rudy’s limits.

A whole day of teasing, complete with a healthy side of blue-balling, had, eventually, caused Rudy to grab you and drag you into the bedroom, slamming the door shut behind him and locking it. He threw you to the bed, his strength masked by his lamb-like disposition.

“I know what you’re doing,” he said. He stood over you, arms crossed over his chest. “And I know why you’re doing it. You’re trying to make me cave — trying to get me to ruin you.”

You couldn’t have put it better yourself. But he could. He approached you, came down to your level, crawling over the bed. You backed up until you hit the headboard (for the first of many times, you suspected), and Rudy, with a dark glint in his eye, gripped the headboard behind you, trapping you.

“Trust me, Amour,” he said, bringing his face level with yours, his voice low. “With the way you’re acting, you’ll be lucky if there’s anything left of you to ruin by the time I’m done with you.”

Graves

Bless your cotton socks — you’d forgotten to close the tab on Graves’ phone that had your results splashed across it. Hence, Phillip was having a good old laugh about it now in the confines of his office. Though, the longer he studied your results, the stronger the throbbing between his legs became.

Of course, he sought you out. And of course, he made now secret of your faux pas. And, of course, you tried to explain it away. ‘I took it for fun’, ‘It was for a laugh’, ‘I didn’t t think you’d find it—‘

“Ah, there we go. The truth, coveted as it is,” said Graves, smiling from ear to ear. He stepped over the threshold of your bedroom, backing you up against the edge of the bed. He kicked the door shut behind him. No escape.

“Now,” he drawled, approaching you. “You’re gonna show me exactly what you’re into, where you like it,” He stood chest-to-chest with you now, watching you lose your balance as you fell back onto the bed. He all but pounced on you, taking your wrists and pressing them into the mattress.

His eyes were ablaze with a lustful vengeance as he pressed down on you. Into you.

“Or I’m gonna fuck it outta ya.”

Gaz

“Didn’t know you were into…” Gaz squinted, looking over your results from over your shoulder. He went quiet.

“Oh…” From the corner of your eye, you saw his face turn pink. Then red. He cleared his throat and took a step back.

“Y-yes, well— uh— that’s a very…colourful scorecard you have there!”

Smiling, a hint of mirth in your eyes, you turned to him. You could see he was nursing a rather pressing, growing problem, and you sought to relieve him of it.

“How about you come and help me make it a bit more colourful, hm?”

At that, Gaz’s eyes widened. His tongue tied as he tried to form words — a word — anything !

Your smile grew. So did Gaz. “Oh, come on, Gaz! Big military man like you scared of a little fun?”

Let’s just say, Gaz also found himself taking the test shortly after you’d ruined him.

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Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost Modern Warfare AI Masterlist

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hwaflms · 20 days

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round & round! ★ [ l.dh ]

{💭} hyuck : i suggested playing spin the bottle because i wanted to kiss you, but now everyone’s kissing you except me :/

[☆] pairing. haechan x reader, slight jaemin x reader ft. 00’ line, chaewon of lesserafim and sieun of stayc

[☆] genre. smut + fluff | stoner!nct, pwp bc it’s me

[☆] wc. 6.1k

[☆] warnings. explicit content (mdni), weed/marijuana use, lots of making out, slight choking, dirty talk, fingering, sexual stuff in a semi-public place, use of the word ‘slut’, very slight degradation, not very proofread, pretty tame tbh

[☆] notes. my first time writing again in like??? two years???? istg i didn’t mean to abandon this acc 😞 pls be nice i haven’t written in a while and this is not my most favourite work but i’m warming up for more stuff in da future i just wanted to post a lil self-indulgent smth abt hyuck bc bf☝️ idk how active i’ll be because of uni and other things but i missed u guys!!! any feedback is appreciated enjoy :p

even through the clouds of smoke engulfing the little living room of jeno and jaemin’s shared flat, your hooded eyes still met.

today was an important day amongst your friend group; it was chaewon’s first time smoking up with everyone. your friends weren’t really the type to pressure anyone into doing anything they weren’t sure about, but considering the astounding majority who enjoyed smoking some variation of weed, group sessions were a frequent occurrence. you either joined in or didn’t, chaewon being the latter until she decided of her own accord that she was going to try it with the people she trusted.

you sesh with jeno most often, seeing as he was the one who introduced you to weed and taught you everything you know about it. after weeks of listening to you complain about sleepless nights, jeno suggested you try smoking a joint before you go to bed, especially since it was starting to affect your attendance. (“i can’t keep attending these zoology classes without you, y/n. every time something stupid happens, i laugh and make a joke out loud because i forget you aren’t there, and now i’m pretty sure people think i’m either insane or just really fucking lonely”.)

now, smoking up has been a pretty regular occurrence, especially since jeno introduced you to a bunch of his friends and vice versa, all of you making up one big, happy group of stoners. chaewon and sieun were your friends who got along with everyone else just fine, and though they didn’t hang out with the others as much as you did, they were still welcome whenever.

presently, you are leaning back against the couch, all the way on the end, because jaemin is sprawled out alongside you, opting to rest his legs on your lap. haechan makes a joke that you don’t understand, but you laugh anyway along with everyone else, except renjun who covers up his laugh with cough.

“you can never let me have it, huh?”, hyuck scoffs, narrowing his eyes at renjun who’s mouth forms a thin line. “i know for a fact you find me funny.”

you hear that he makes a remark back at haechan but what he says doesn’t register in your head, everything sounding far away. remembering the special occasion, you turn to face chaewon and sieun, who are giggling away on the floor about something between the two of them. you don’t know what they said but you smile anyway. she clearly seemed like she was having a good trip, and so was everyone else.

swallowing nothing, you realise how dry your throat feels, and with that realisation came this undeniable desire for some form of liquid. “jen,”, you tilt your head back and call out to the boy who was already rolling another joint on the table behind you. “did you end up buying more coke?”

“check the fridge”, he mumbles without looking at you, tongue poking his cheek out of concentration as he focuses on what he was doing. with a groan, you heave jaemin’s legs off your lap, muttering a couple ‘sorry’s when he starts to complain about the change in position.

you all but float to the kitchen, heading straight for the fridge and spotting the fresh cans of coke placed neatly in the overcrowded appliance. the first gulp feels like heaven against your parched throat, taking a few more while standing there.

“you gonna share or no?”, a voice startles you, turning to find haechan’s figure looming right behind you with a dopey smile on his face.

“god, we need to get you a bell or something. i never hear you coming”, you roll your eyes before grabbing two glasses from the cabinet. you’re disappointed to see that there was no ice in their freezer, but you pour the drink into the glass anyway.

“why are you pouring it into a glass?”, haechan furrows his eyebrows, looking pointedly between the glass and the literal can in your hand. “now we have to wash two glasses when we could’ve just drank it from the can.”

he’s right, of course, but you’re not gonna tell him that. instead, you pretend that you were planning on adding some lemon juice to the drink because you saw it on instagram. while you figure he doesn’t believe you, he humours you anyway and tries your little concoction, which ends up being pretty damn good.

out of all of jeno’s friends, haechan definitely stood out to you. you didn’t really understand why, you were just drawn to him, even way back before you met him, when jeno used to tell you about his friends. “loud and annoying” were the words he used to describe him, but the smile that appeared on his face anyway let you know that he was someone special to jeno. this was not to say his other friends weren’t special, you got along incredibly well with all of them, meshing right in with their group.

as of right on cue, jaemin’s voice loudly sounds out from the living room, “are you guys fucking in there or what?”.

sighing, you pick up your glass and begin to walk out of the kitchen, but not before purposely knocking haechan’s shoulder when you walk past him, hearing him snort before following you out as you exit the room. perhaps if you had lingered in the kitchen for a couple seconds longer, you would’ve heard haechan muttering something along the lines of “i wish” under his breath.

“jeez, took you long enough, can i have some of that?”, renjun drawls, lifting himself off the armchair with a smile, to which you roll your eyes but pass him your glass anyway. you sit down on the floor opposite the couch and he looks as if he is about to compliment your drink-making skills before haechan cuts him off.

“dude, chaewon and sieun look like they’re about to fall asleep, let’s do something”, he half yawns out, opting to stroll over to your spot on the floor and sinking down next to you.

“not…sleepy…”, chaewon murmurs, but her voice is muffled because her cheek is pressed against sieun’s shoulder, both of them sprawled out on the floor like it was a comfortable bed.

“sure you aren’t…”, jeno chides with a smile, getting up from the table to walk over to where all of you were situated. he twirls his newly rolled joint between his fingers, finally holding it out in his palm as if it were some magical gadget, and if you were being fully honest, you were sold. “round 2? or 3, I can’t really remember…”

some words of agreement were muttered across the room, chaewon and sieun even groggily getting up from what looked like a very comfortable napping spot. another rotation began, and you made sure to blow out your smoke directly into an unsuspecting haechan’s face when it was your turn.

“let’s play a game or something”, jaemin suggests, taking a long puff and passing it to jeno who sat beside him, and soon the room was hazy once again, the smell of weed infiltrating your nostrils.

“like what?”, chaewon coughs weakly in between her hit and renjun pats her back before he hands her your coke that you hadn’t received back after you gave it to him. so long for that.

“monopoly?”, jeno offers with a shrug and haechan lets out an obnoxious snore as a reply, making you laugh but you cover it up with a cough when you meet jeno’s playfully narrowed eyes. “okay then, big guy, what’s your incredible idea?”

haechan appears to actually think about it for a moment, looking around the room for some sort of inspiration maybe, until his eyes land on you.

“okay jaemin, get that empty wine bottle from last week, we’re playing spin the bottle”, he is grinning from ear to ear, wiggling his eyebrows even though all his suggestion receives is a bunch of groans and sighs.

your eyebrows are raised however, and you try not to let your reaction show too much on your face. spin the bottle? you hadn’t played that since you were maybe fourteen, but that was the least of your concerns at the moment. haechan wanted to play spin the bottle? who was he hoping to kiss? or was it just a whimsical little suggestion that was more of a joke?

it didn’t fully seem like he meant it as a joke, judging by his expression as he awaited some actual responses from the group. “what are we, fourteen?”, renjun might as well have read your mind, but he soon joins you and haechan on the floor, the others following suit. jaemin presents the empty bottle and places it in the middle of the little circle you have formed, everyone seeming slightly more keen as the joint runs out.

maybe it was the thc talking, but it didn’t really seem like a bad idea to you anymore. you were all single, attractive and close enough that it wouldn’t make things weird, and most importantly, you wouldn’t mind getting more familiar with haechan’s lips.

you shocked your own self with the sudden lewd thoughts in your head about the male sitting next to you, squirming in your position slightly. he turns his head towards you like he could hear your thoughts (“shut up, y/n, he can’t hear your thoughts…right?”) and you swear his eyes soften a bit. “are you sure you wanna play?”, he asks softly, mistaking your tenseness for discomfort, but you shake your head a little too quickly for your liking.

“no, no, let’s play, it’s not like we have anything better to do, right?”, you feign indifference and after everyone else agrees, the bottle is spun for the first time by haechan.

much to renjun’s dismay, it lands on him, and it’s almost comical the way he looks at the bottle pointing at him before slowly looking up at haechan. “renjunnie, let me kiss you”, haechan whines in a high pitched tone while drawing out the “you”, puckering his lips expectantly. the next three minutes consist of renjun listing every single person he would rather kiss than haechan, and you’d have half the mind to volunteer yourself if you weren’t clutching at your sides laughing at the whole exchange, slapping at both jeno and sieun who tried and failed to dodge your waving hands.

renjun finally relents when chaewon suggests he lets him kiss his cheek instead, but haechan is no quitter so he makes sure that he plants the loudest, most wet kiss on his face before sighing in victory when he sits back down. renjun is not the most happy with this, and he tells jaemin to take his turn instead while he rushes off to the bathroom to wash his face. hyuck looks indignant, calling out behind renjun, asking if he wants another one.

taking the turn instead of renjun, jaemin spins the bottle harshly, and it spins and spins and spins for what seemed like an eternity. your eyes are so focused on the way the bottle looks as it spins that you don’t even notice that it has stopped, until jeno nudges you with his shoulder. it’s neck is pointed directly at you, and you finally look up from your trance at jaemin, who wears an undeniable smirk on his face.

while you didn’t exactly see him that way, there was absolutely no denying that jaemin was a very attractive man, and he was no different presently, the sleeves of his hoodie rolled up as he propped himself up with his arms, looking at you expectantly.

you don’t want to look at haechan right now, because you can see out of the corner of your eye that his face is looking straight forward, not at you or jaemin, just forward. you wonder what is going through his head, but your thoughts are cut short when jaemin scoots closer to you in the circle.

“are you okay with this?”

and when you think about, you are. “yeah, i mean it’s just a game”, you reply, not wanting to ruin the fun or raise any suspicions, to which jaemin agrees and inclines his head towards you.

he kisses you, more fully than you were expecting, but you had no complaints really as you kissed him back, titling your head in the opposite direction to slip your lips over his. you wonder if your lips were as dry as they felt, and in the back of your mind it registers that your friends are watching you kiss your other friend because they hoot and giggle, but you can’t really bring yourself to care.

jaemin’s lips taste sweet and he smells sweet, his touch soft as he brings a hand up to your cheek, gently holding it while he continues kissing you. it probably wasn’t as long as it felt, but jaemin finally pulls away, the remnants of his sweet chapstick lingering on your lips. you are aware of how hot your face feels when you pull away and return to your spot, tucking your hair behind your ears.

“dude, what chapstick do you use?”, you ask after clearing your throat, and jaemin rummages in his pant pocket for a moment before whipping out a cute pink tube, holding it out in front of him. “strawberry dream, baby”, he winks, reapplying it on his lips. “never go anywhere without it.”

renjun returns after god knows how long, stating that he had to re-do his skin care routine because haechan had completely thrown off his skin’s ph balance, and is saddened to hear that he missed witnessing you and jaemin.

the game continues in a steadfast manner for the next couple of rounds thanks to haechan insisting we play one more round, though it doesn’t exactly go in the manner you were hoping for. the group is practically in tears after watching jeno and jaemin share an awkward kiss, chaewon arguing that they can’t claim “no homo” because it was the most homo thing she’d seen in a while, and that was saying a lot because she was, in fact, gay.

you have now kissed sieun, jaemin once again and an especially endearing renjun, who’s cheeks and tips of his ears are painted a bright red after you plant a full peck on his waiting lips. haechan grumbles something about renjun not having kissed anyone besides his mom to explain his reaction, but jeno is quick to cut renjun off before another argument ensues.

“i don’t know about you guys, but i think that’s enough exchanging of saliva for one day”, he all but sighs, lying down on the floor dramatically. while you do agree, you’re disheartened, because not once has the bottle landed on you when spun by haechan, or the other way around. it feels like the universe is fucking with you, because really how many times can you spin a bottle between a group of seven people and not have it land on the one person you want to kiss even once.

haechan looks like he wants to say something, but appears to decide against it in the end, stretching and standing up. it is then mutually agreed by everyone that it was time to watch a movie.

“super bad?”, jaemin proposes, and even though most people had already watched the movie, no one argues against it and jeno starts setting up the movie on their big screen tv.

settling into the couch, you glance over at haechan and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t feeling a tad bit disappointed. this whole spin the bottle thing makes you wonder about all the other times where you could have had an opportunity to make a move on the brown-haired boy.

you’d gone on long drives together, gone partying, even drank with just each other a couple of times. the closest the two of you had ever come to crossing that line was while you where dancing at a party and his arms were looped around your waist from behind, slowly swaying to the beat. you’d danced with him tons of times before that but you recall thinking the air was a little different than normal, more heated, but you also recall mistaking renjun for your professor, so you didn’t trust yourself. the moment came and went, and neither of you ever had the balls to address it, and now it had been way too long since to bring it up.

“this seat taken?”, haechan snaps you out of your bitter thoughts, jerking his head towards the spot on the couch next to you. you clear your throat and shake your head, scooting over slightly so he could sink down next to you. “what’s up, y/n, you look a little…not present. you still high?”

it’s funny because your mind certainly wasn’t present, it was in the gutter, but you choose to blame the weed. “yeah, i’m still high”, you answered truthfully, and so was he, his red, hooded eyes a dead giveaway.

“okay, perfect, i wanted to show you this stupid tiktok i saw”, he’s pulling his phone out of his pocket and leaning closer to you to show you some video of a cat, or maybe a dog, you weren’t paying attention. he laughs at whatever the animal did, the corner of his eyes crinkling as he does so, and you observe him instead of watching. when he doesn’t hear you laugh, he peeks over at you but you’re quick to turn your head back to his phone, letting out a very late giggle at the video.

if he did catch you, he doesn’t mention it, continuing to scroll and show you more videos. jeno finally gets the movie set up and turns off the lights, taking up the final seat left on the couch. the movie begins, and everyone falls into a comfortable silence bar hyuck, who makes the occasional comment that earns him a snort from you each time.

at some point during the movie, haechan stretches his arms out behind him, placing his arm on the head of the couch directly behind you. glancing at him quickly, you can’t tell whether the action was purposeful or not, because if it was, he was doing a very good job of looking nonchalant. you try your best to ignore it, but his hand is resting directly above your shoulder, inches away from touching you- but it never does.

you had never noticed what nice hands haechan had before. long and slender, nails clipped short and clean, his middle, ring and index finger adorned with various silver rings. you note that he wears three rings on his left hand, but none on his right. his right hand sits on top of one of his thighs, two of his fingers drumming against it following some rhythm going on in his head. his fingers are long, and the only thing you can think about is just how nice they would feel inside–

no, no, no, stop it, since when are you this horny?

you realise stressing out about how horny you are all of a sudden is just going to lead to a bad trip and you don’t want that, and you want to clear your head. even though you’re feeling a different kind of thirsty, you figure a distraction for a couple minutes would be helpful, so you excuse yourself to go get some water, jumping up from the couch and walking towards the kitchen. unbeknownst to you, haechan’s watchful eyes follow your figure as you exit the room.

finally away and in the kitchen, you fill up a glass and lean over the sink, closing your eyes to collect yourself. you can finish the movie without driving yourself crazy over haechan, right? tonight is no different than any other hangout and you don’t want to weird haechan out with your unnecessary staring and poorly concealed thirsting. you just need to stop thinking about his stupid hands, his stupid thighs, his stupid hair and his stupid kissable lips. “kissable? lock in, y/n, lock in…”

“who are you talking to?”

you wince but don’t turn around, eyes screwed shut tightly. you’ve been gone for a couple minutes and you don’t know when he left the room, but you put down the glass and turn to face him.

“what’s got you so jumpy?”, he questions, leaning against the counter. his arms are folded and his gaze is piercing, face tilted slightly to the left as he observes you. this is the second time he’s startled you in the kitchen today and also happens to be the very reason you’ve been so jumpy.

“nothing, i just…god, you need to starting announcing your entry into a room, dude…”

he furrows his eyebrows but lets out a chuckle anyway, slowly sauntering over to where you stood. eyes never leaving yours, he now stands directly in front of you, caging you in between the sink and his body. the closer proximity and dim lighting isn’t helping your case in the slightest, feeling all hot and bothered as if there was a sudden change in temperature. “what’s happening? you’re usually never like this, we’ve smoked up together so many times. are you having a bad trip?”

you understand why he might think that, what with your jerky movements, dazed staring and just overall disconnected demeanour. while you were wound up a little tighter than usual, you weren’t having a bad trip, your mind was just very slightly preoccupied. “no, hyuck, i’m fine, i just…needed some water”, it’s a half-lie you tell, choosing to not tell him the full truth for the sake of your own pride.

“you just seem…off”, he seems to pick his words carefully, eyes roaming over the expanse of your face. “no, i just…”, you trail off to try and find the words to explain this situation away, but he’s just looking at you so intensely. it’s so silent in the room and the air feels all too still, and you swear you’re trying to speak coherently but haechan switches his weight to his other leg, wetting his lips with his tongue while he awaits an answer and you just freeze. “i…”

“‘i’ what? see? you’re doing it again”, he starts, running a hand through his hair, and the muted light that leaks in through the window illuminates only one half of his face, but you can see him so clearly that even the way his pretty eyelashes brush against his cheek when he blinks doesn’t go unnoticed by you. you’re subconsciously chewing on your bottom lip, feeling a little like a deer caught in headlights. “you have this look in your eye. like you wanna…”

“…what?”

everything is still and unmoving, until your eyes zero in on haechan’s hand as he raises it, slowly bringing it to graze his fingers over your cheek. his touch leaves a burning hot trail on your skin and using his thumb, he releases your bottom lip from under your teeth, hand lingering cautiously for a fleeting moment before he drops it.

“like what, haechan?”, you repeat yourself, urging him to just say whatever it is he has to say, getting tired of this back and forth. you could sell a kidney just to see what was going on in his mind right now, because he looks torn between speaking his mind and just staying silent.

“like you want to kiss me.”

a few beats of complete and utter silence pass, not even hearing the dull sound of the television in the living room anymore over the thudding of your heart in your ears. haechan takes a small and tentative step towards your frozen figure, gripping the counter you’re using to lean against with his right hand, effectively trapping you in your place. now you really are a deer caught in headlights, because he’s spoken what you’ve been thinking about for the past couple hours into existence and he is absolutely correct.

“am i wrong, pretty?”

judging by your sharp intake of breath and open-mouthed expression, you’d have to be a fool to think otherwise. he looks as if he’s waiting for you to answer him regardless, giving you a chance to get out of this, but your voice is no longer functioning, and it takes all the strength in your body to shake your head ‘no’.

his eyes flicker between your eyes and your lips, tongue peeking out to lick his lips again. “i suggested playing spin the bottle because i wanted to kiss you”, his voice is strained as he admits this, quiet and careful like he’s holding back while his eyes are trained on yours like he’s daring you to break eye contact. you don’t. “but then everyone else was kissing you but me.”

normally you would giggle at his little frown, but all you can muster up is a whisper of his name, finally breaking his all-consuming eye contact in favour of looking at his lips again. you don’t know who moves first, but the next thing you know is your lips are pressed together in a fierce kiss, your hands tangled in his soft, brown locks while he grip your waist and pull you into him.

he kisses you like a man starved and you do the same with equal fervour, not even being able to process that your little daydream is coming true. his hand comes up to caress your cheek, soon moving down your neck after stroking your face softly, using it to tilt your head for you. the position of his hand is very purposeful because his thumb presses into your throat ever so slightly, but his grip is still tight enough that you couldn’t break the kiss (not that you wanted to, anyway). the other hand snakes around your waist and pulls you impossibly closer, pressing his hips into yours.

you’re positively drunk off the feeling of haechan’s lips molding over yours and you think you might just ascend when he tugs on your bottom lip with his teeth, using the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth. body on fire, you mewl against his lips, swirling your own tongue around his while he slowly but surely bucks his hips into yours.

no wards are spoken while your hands thread through his hair, pulling on it and letting out a sound of surprise into his mouth when his hand trails down to your ass and grips it harshly. he finally releases you from the searing kiss, but he doesn’t let you catch your breath, instead spinning you around in his hold so that his front presses tightly into your back, hands slipping around your waist from behind. this feels like a déjà vu kind of moment because you are reminded of the time when you both were dancing in this exact position, except this time you were getting exactly what you wanted.

“you know how bad i wanted this?”, his voice echoes your thoughts and breaks the silence, hands running up and down your front in a teasing manner. lifting your shirt up slightly, he trails his fingers over the exposed skin of your torso and the action makes you squirm in his hold a little, and much to your surprise, he groans lewdly against your ear. “fuck, i’ve been thinking of this for so long. kissing you, having my hands all over you…”

you get the sense he’s talking more to himself than you, but you revel in it nonetheless. his hand grips your jaw and squishes your cheeks together so your lips form a pout, forcing it to the side where he plants one, two, three kisses to your puckered mouth. his other hand slips further up your shirt where he brazenly cups your boob through your bra, fondling one of them while his tongue peeks out to flick at your bottom lip.

you’re putty in his arms, all gasps and squirms and whispered ‘haechan’s. “what, baby?”, he mumbles into your cheek, the hand gripping your jaw letting go in order to slink down to your hip where it lingers for a moment. “what do you want?”

your lack of answer doesn’t bode well with him, earning you a tight squeeze to your hip as a kind of warning. “need you to touch me”, you whisper out defeatedly, and you feel haechan laugh mockingly against your face.

“yeah? need me to touch you?”, he mimics your voice while tutting, letting his hand slip further down to where you needed him the most, but not letting you have it just yet. “think you can be a good girl and keep quiet for me? we don’t need everyone outside hearing what a little slut you’re being in here.”

everyone outside. the fact that you were just a room away from all your friends who were sat watching a fun little movie together had completely slipped your mind, but if you were being honest, you couldn’t find it in you to give a shit. everything about your current disposition was so dirty. one hand under your shirt, the other about two seconds away from fingering you right in the middle of your friends’ kitchen, while said friends were sat outside, unaware of the goings-on under their own roof.

though you didn’t think actually getting caught in this position would be the most pleasant experience, the idea of it dampened your panties and caused you to whine out loud, tilting your head back against haechan’s shoulder. you receive an immediate hand clamped over your mouth in return, haechan tutting in your ear condescendingly. “looks like the little slut can’t follow a simple request.”

even though he reprimands you, his hands begin fumbling with the button of your jeans anyway, undoing it and pulling the zipper down. one hand comes up to wrap around your front and rests on your shoulder, holding you in place, and the other he sticks down your pants and cups your heat but makes no effort to move, chuckling when you try to move yourself against it. his crotch ruts against the swell of your ass and for you, any friction is better than no friction at the moment. with one hand gipping the arm around your shoulder, you slip the other behind you to palm at his hard cock over his pants, making him let out a sound of approval.

“please, hyuck”, you shake your face free of his hand and turn to look him in the eye, and he grips your throat and presses a chaste kiss to your lips.

he seems to accept your plea, finally moving his hand against you and you breathe a sigh of relief, lost in the feeling of his fingers rubbing circles on your clit over your wet underwear. he’s quick to slip his hand inside your panties, cold fingers pressed directly on to your bare pussy, spreading your wetness all over you. when he ultimately slips a finger into your tight, waiting core, you moan but it’s cut short when he slaps his hand over your mouth again. “keep. quiet.”

if someone were to walk in, the two of you would be a sight to see. you writhing in his tight hold while his hand is stuffed in your pants, two fingers pistoning in and out of you at a fast pace as his forehead is pressed against the side of your face, releasing short breaths. you look positively fucked out, and you’re both in a state of complete bliss as you grind against each other in a timely rhythm.

“my pretty girl. if i had known you wanted this too, i would’ve just grabbed you and kissed you like i wanted, in front of everyone.”

his voice is honey-like and sultry, and his fingers are nothing short of heavenly. they pump in and out of you, and he still manages to use his thumb to toy with your clit in this position, leaving you breathless and on the edge. “can’t believe jaemin and renjun got to kiss you before me.”

you’re so wet that your cunt makes downright sinful noises as he fingers you and you’re hoping that it isn’t really as loud as it seems. “you’re so wet, angel. so this is what had you all jumpy today”, he laughs like he’s stating the obvious, and you’d have half the mind to feel shy if his ministrations didn’t feel so fucking good right now.

you’re aware that you’re close and so is he because you’re clenching around his fingers, so he quickens his pace both inside you and against your clit. “you gonna cum for me, baby? right here, in the middle of kitchen, while everyone’s outside?”, he purrs against your face and you grip the part of his arm that isn’t shoved in your pants, digging your nails into his skin in a way that’s sure to leave a mark. his words make you feel dirty in the best way, not even knowing you could feel this turned on.

he peppers kisses along your jaw and neck, sucking here and there, and through the pale moonlight bleeding into the room from the window, the red blemishes that begin to bloom on your skin are visible to hyuck, and he seems pleased with his artwork. “that’s it, sweetheart, let go for me.”

your moans are muffled against his palm when you finally come, the orgasm ripping through you so strongly that you go limp in his hands, legs almost buckling at the sensation. with the added boost of the weed you smoked earlier, your orgasm is immense, feeling it pulse through your body until it’s too much, whining and wriggling in haechan’s firm hold. he holds you still and helps you ride out your high, whispering utterances of “that’s right, baby” and “my good girl” into your ear while you throw your head back and try to regulate your breathing.

in a moment, his hand slips out of your pants, turning you back around so you’re now facing him, grinning down at you from ear to ear as if you both hadn’t just defiled jaemin and jeno’s kitchen. “you feeling okay?”, he mumbles, tucking your hair behind your ear with the hand that wasn’t soaked, pressing a number of kisses all over your face as you nod and giggled, trying to evade his attack. he lets you go just to wash his hands, and it’s when he dries his wet hands on the material of his pants that you notice his raging boner, immediately feeling bad.

“wait hyuck, let me–“

as if he’s reading your mind once again, he shakes his head and takes both of your hands into his, wrapping them around his own waist while pulling you into him. “we can save that for another time, pretty”, he insists, his expression turning shy when he realises the implications behind his words. “that is, i-if you want another time, of course–“

it’s your turn to cut him off this time, but you do so by leaning up and connecting your lips again, bring a hand up to stroke his cheek. “of course i want another time, hyuck. i want this. i want you.”

your assurances do good to bring a smile to his pretty face, taking ahold of the hand on his cheek and pressing his lips to your skin gently, lovingly. “so, so, perfect.”

taking note of the prolonged amount of time the two of you had been gone, you skulk back into the living, but this time, hand in hand.

the scene you’re greeted with is a surprising one, because you find every single one of your friends to be sound asleep, much to your amusement and hyuck’s dismay. “so you’re telling me i could’ve been hearing you moan the whole time and none of these idiots would have even known?”, he is appalled, a hand coming up to rub at his face out of frustration. “i did all that for nothing?”

“i wouldn’t say for nothing”, you reveal, biting your lip and smiling up at the boy shyly. “i might have woken them up.”

“oh yeah, well now you’re going to”, and with that, he’s dragging you back to the kitchen while you giggle, nearly tripping over your own feet before he all but scoops you up in his arms, muttering to himself about having left something in the kitchen that needed urgent fetching.

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ceilidho · 5 months

Text

prompt: IKEA soap/reader fic. PART 2. (read part 1 here) tags: dubcon

There’s a photo of you taped up on the inside of his locker.

The glimpse you catch of it is quick. Not like you aren’t meant to see it, but more like Johnny’s so unconcerned with whether you see it or not that he doesn’t bother to make a show of it. Just reaches into his locker to grab his lunch and shuts it while you’re still gaping at the polaroid of someone that looks suspiciously like you in your store uniform. You hear someone clear their throat and you glance up, flinching when you meet Johnny’s eyes.

“Missing me already?” he teases, winking. “I’ll be back on the floor as soon as possible. ‘Promise, hen.”

“It’s not—”

He’s already out the door and on the way to the lunchroom before you’re able to get the rest of your sentence out.

Johnny seems to have a sixth sense for when you’re about to spurn his advances. Any other day he would have stuck around to listen to the rest of your sentence, but when he has an inkling that those words will be tinged by the flavour of rejection, he’s quick to book it. You privately have to admit it’s not a terrible strategy. It’s not often that you’re able to get the words out.

It’s one of those rare shifts where you’re clocking in later than Johnny, missing his lunch break. Small mercies. It doesn’t mean much because your schedules still overlap a significant amount, but it does mean that you won’t be forced to choke down your lunch while Johnny sits opposite you at the lunch table and stares you down the entire half hour.

“Wait, that was so fucking cute,” someone says from behind you. You turn on your heel to find a coworker staring at Johnny’s locker, properly enchanted by whatever she saw. Practically swooning.

“What is?”

“Didn’t you see the picture he has of you? In his locker?” She says it with emphasis, giving you a significant look.

“Yeah…I…don’t you think it’s a bit…like, weird?” you ask her, making sure to keep your voice low in case Johnny is still around the corner. You can’t help the way you glance down the hallway.

She frowns. “It’s cute. He’s like, smitten with you. I’ve never seen him with a crush on anyone before and I’ve worked with him for over a year. I think it’s kind of nice. Do you not like him or something?”

“Well, I just…we aren’t even dating and I think…I think he even has a photo of me as his lock screen—”

“Because if you aren’t interested in him, you should let him down now. It’s not fair of you to just string him along, you know. He’s a really good guy.”

You’re not sure about the whole good guy thing. Johnny acts like a nice guy most of the time, but you’ve had the unfortunate luck in getting to experience the other side of him.

The problem lies in the fact that Johnny is, you think, a genuinely likeable guy to everyone else. It’s not like your coworkers are all collectively wrong in their opinion of him—he really is an excellent coworker. A good sport, a funny guy; he lends a hand whenever someone needs help. He helped Jeff move two weeks ago, drove Daryl to the airport last Saturday, and looked after Sonya’s cat while she was away on vacation that one time.

It’s with you that his good-time nature evaporates; his lazy, drawled predilection for joking around and indulging himself and others in a good ribbing replaced by a weird, manufactured kindness. Almost sickly sweet. He lays it on so thick around others that they think you experience the same friendship with Johnny that the rest of them get to enjoy.

Not so.

None of them catch the way he’s always hovering, always staring at you. Eyes half-lidded; bedroom eyes in the middle of your shift, in the middle of the workplace.

None of your coworkers are around when you’re at the register one day and Johnny takes his break to make a couple purchases, coming to your cash with a basket full of chocolate, wine, condoms, body butter, and batteries. No one except him notices the way you pause at the last item.

“Dinnae ken if your vibrator was rechargeable or not,” he says when you look at him funny, a big grin stretched across his face. Blue eyes gleaming almost feverishly. “Thought I’d be prepared either way.”

You scan his items in silence. When you hand him his bag, you try not to shudder when he purposefully glances his hand over yours.

Worse are the days when Johnny comes in as a customer, the days when he’s off the schedule. When he shouldn’t even be at the store at all. No one notices the way he pesters you the entire time he’s in the store, insisting on you helping him with his purchases. If a coworker does happen to notice his presence (and how could they not when he’s such a formidable presence in any room, when he almost glows from the energy stockpiled in his body with nowhere else to go), he’ll make polite conversation, just long enough to not seem rude, before shifting his attention back to you.

His conversation borders on interrogation. He asks you about your childhood and your friends and whether you have a partner or any previous partners. He makes you follow him to the bed section where he tries out all the mattresses and then asks you increasingly inappropriate questions like what mattress you have, what it feels like, how you sleep at night, what you wear to bed.

When you rebuff him one too many times, he’s not shy about telling you off.

“Ye just need a good fuck ta sort ye out,” Johnny snarls when you brush off another invite out to lunch one day. It’s not often that he loses his temper with you, so his anger makes your eyes widen, your pulse pick up. During morning shift assignments, he’d corralled your manager into pairing the two of you up on curbside pick-up orders, meaning that you’ve been stuck with him for hours, nowhere else to go.

“Excuse me?” you say, voice going up a decibel.

He leans across the front of the cart loaded with flowerpots and gardening tools. “I get it, hen. No one at home ta play with your pussy, huh? No choice but ta come into work all pent up and frustrated—”

“This is in like, the outer Hebrides of ‘none of your business’—”

“—clit’s probably all swollen too. Fuck.” He breathes out heavily through his nose, eyes darkening. “No wonder you’re always pissed off. I’d be too if I dinnae have a little replacement pussy at home.”

“You’re the reason I’m upset in the first place, Johnny.”

“Aw, I ken, bonnie,” he says with a pout, eyebrows slanting down like he really, truly pities you, the gesture immediately contradicted by his next words. “Promise I’ll make it better. Wanna meet outside my truck in a half hour?”

You storm off before it comes to blows. Not that it’d ever be a fair fight. Johnny would probably hold you away with his palm against your head while you swung at him uselessly. You try not to think of that too often. Of him toying with you. Most of your interactions feel like that these days. Like he’s a big cat holding your tail down when you try to scramble away.

When you beg your manager to switch shift assignments, the look you get could wilt flowers. It’s not completely your fault, even if your request is a bit inconveniencing. Johnny has your coworkers and management so wrapped around his finger that no one can even hazard a guess as to why you might be uncomfortable around him.

It’s the only reason you haven’t complained to HR yet. There are channels and protocols for dealing with his behaviour, but watching people practically trip over themselves to please him reminds you that the likeliest outcome would be them transferring you to another store. It just doesn’t seem worth it.

You don’t think about how frazzled his words leave you for the rest of your shift. You don’t think about it because there’s nothing to think about.

You know from the second that your manager reassigns you to women’s apparel that you’ve probably made a mistake. Customers buzz around you like gnats, like swarms of flies, and it’s only natural that you’d be compelled to swat a few. You hold on to the fraying edges of your patience with little finesse. About halfway through your shift, you get a stern talking to from your floor supervisor and put on an extra long break. You’re no less irritated when you get back though, somehow still agitated and snappy.

Big hands clamp over your shoulders and squeeze like he’s giving you a massage, thumbs digging into the grooves of your upper back. He ignores the way you tense up.

“Hen, you’re making the customers uncomfortable with all your huffin’ and puffin’,” he whispers into your ear, a light chuckle falling out with his words. Amused by your attitude this time instead of ticked off. “If ye want, I could take ye ta the back room ta loosen ye up a bit. Make your day a little better. Dinnae think anybody will even notice if we dip away for a bit—’sides management will probably send me a gift basket if ye come back perky after a good shag.”

You shrug him off to go clock out, ignoring the way he chuckles as you storm off. No one knows if you go home and wear out the battery in your vibrator while thinking about Johnny’s words. Thinking about Johnny guiding you to his truck with a palm flat on your low back, pinkie teasing just under the waistband of your pants, before laying you out across the backseat and climbing on top of you.

You come when you think about how he’d have to keep the door open to fuck you in his car.

Unfortunately, you’re more than familiar with his sweet side as well.

On your birthday, he comes in early with a sheet cake and organizes the employees so that the breakroom is dark when you come in. The entire staff is there when you switch on the lights, shouting your name and happy birthday, decked out in party hats and blowing into noisemakers.

It catches you off guard. Hits you right in the solar plexus and leaves you winded. You stand in the middle of the room like you’re under a spotlight and that spotlight is Johnny’s stare burning a hole in your head. For once, it doesn’t rankle. It leaves you feeling light, feathery, like floating down to earth. A coworker hands you a noisemaker and you smile until your eyes crinkle when you blow into it.

You’re in a good enough mood that you don’t argue when he insists on sitting beside you. He got you the cake after all. Maybe it’s the least he deserves. Your goodwill lasts until Johnny tries to feed you a piece of cake with his fork; he winds up getting cake smushed all over your cheek when you turn your head away.

“Johnny, ‘m not a baby,” you complain, wrinkling your nose when cake and icing slide down your face. “I can feed myself. This is so gross.”

“Shucks, hen, lemme get that. Shouldnae have turned your head,” Johnny curses, leaning over to scoop it off with his fingers. He holds them out to you, an offering. “Here ye go, kitty.”

You stare, horrified, until he shrugs like ‘suit yourself’ and pops them into his own mouth. Then drags the same spit covered fingers over your cheek again to keep cleaning you up.

You can tell that it’s hopeless to complain by the way your coworkers giggle and gossip, eyes drawn to the two of you. Maybe it would be better if you were transferred. You only have so many ‘I’m not his work wife’s left in you. Something’s bound to give. You have a sneaking suspicion that it’s going to be you.

On the walk to your car after your shift, which Johnny insists on doing like he does every time the two of you work a closing shift together, he jokingly asks if you’ve gotten your birthday spanks. He says it in that same awkward joking tone, just a bit too excited, staring at you too eagerly. Unblinking. Tuts his tongue when you tell him you’ve never heard of that before.

You jolt and squeak at the pop on your ass when he insists on opening the door to your car and helping you in. The betrayed look you shoot him hardly penetrates through his shit-eating grin.

“See ye tomorrow, kitty,” Johnny calls out, walking backwards away from you to where his truck is parked just a few spots away from yours. You think he would’ve parked right next to you if you hadn’t chosen a spot conveniently between two other cars. “More where that came from.”

Your hands shake against the steering wheel your whole drive home. Dreading tomorrow’s shift.

#ceil writing #cod mw2 #cod x reader #soap x reader #john soap mactavish #soap mactavish #soap mw2 #soap x you #soap/reader #ikea soap #soap cod #john mactavish #x reader

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darklordofthesimp · 1 year

Text

Ipseity (Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader)

Part of the "Anything" verse, can be read as a standalone.

Summary: When the 141 has to make a choice between saving you or a fellow sniper, you know that your time has come to an end.

A/N: This was meant to be a short filler and now it's like 4.5k long. Hope you're all happy.

Category: Angst || Hurt/Comfort

Warnings: Graphic Language | Graphic Violence | Gun Violence | Graphic Description of Injury

The ringing in your ears woke you up.

It was a high-pitched squeal that scrambled your thoughts and made your head pound. You couldn't think straight, you couldn't get past the overwhelming dizziness whenever you tried to raise your chin.

Blood stung your eyes. Your chest burned. You hadn’t been in this much pain in years, every pinch of your nerves prodded at long-forgotten childhood memories. They were things that had been left behind from before you enlisted, things that no longer mattered. What mattered was that you were tied to a chair and barely breathing.

You were going to die here.

And nobody was coming to save you.

"Oh,” someone crooned from behind your seat. You didn’t have the strength to turn your neck and you thanked whatever cruel deity was listening that you hadn’t flinched. The least you could do was fake some courage for what was to come.

“Come back for more?” Your mouth was dry, wretchedly so. You wanted to gag and spit, but there was no moisture in your mouth- it was like sandpaper.

“There’s not much left in you for me to take, Sol,” Valeria said, her fingers trailing the length of your shoulder. Your body shivered beneath her touch as she slowly circled your chair, a cruel smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

“Oh, I’ve always got something left for you, gorgeous,” you chuckled, flashing the drug lord a weak grin.

She snorted, the harsh light of the overhead lamp illuminating the edges of her features. She was a sharp woman, Valeria, somebody that you secretly admired. Not for her deeds or the atrocities she’d committed, but for her tenacity and her ambition- there was no stopping her.

“You’ve always been my favourite sniper, you know,” Valeria mused, pulling her hand from your skin to inspect it. Your blood stained her fingers, thick and warm from where it had oozed from your wounds.

“You usually kill your favourite snipers?” You tried to raise your eyebrow but sharp pain ripped through your face, you realized dimly that the skin of your forehead had been split.

“Only when they steal things that belong to me, Luz,” Valeria whispered, pressing her hands against the armrests and leaning in. “Then, I kill them.”

“We didn’t do it,” you met her gaze evenly, the false claim falling easily from your lips.

“You’d die a liar to protect your friends,” she nodded thoughtfully. “It’s unfortunate that they have chosen not to give you the same courtesy.”

You frowned, taken aback by the statement. You suspected that the 141 wouldn’t be there in time, you’d come to terms with the fact that your journey might end here. But, the way she’d said it… it was as if you were missing something.

Valeria’s brows raised, eyes wide as she mocked your surprise with a gasp. “Oh, I must have forgotten to mention it earlier.”

“Mention what?” You ground out through your teeth.

The drug lord huffed a laugh, pushing off from your seat and standing upright. Sweat began to form in a thin sheen across your skin, anxiety running rampant through your system.

What did she mean?

Valeria’s eyes hardened as she tutted under her breath, pulling the blade on her thigh from its sheath. When her attention turned back to you, the malice in her gaze made your spine straighten.

“What you stole from me,” she began, pointing the knife towards your face, “got someone very close to me killed.”

You swallowed thickly, your throat like gravel and your tongue like concrete.

The woman was seething now, the cool facade that she’d worn had melted into pure vitriol and hatred. It was an expression you’d never seen on her but on so many others throughout the years, it was the stare of someone who blamed you for their loss.

“So, as penance,” Valeria pressed the tip of the blade to rest against your chest, “your Task Force will have to lose one of their own- even after they bring me the information.”

“What-”

“We have the other sniper,” the drug lord shrugged. “The little broken one.”

Your heart stalled in your chest, fear dousing your body like a bucket of ice water. Blood rushed through your ears, loud and roaring and all-consuming with the sound. You couldn’t think straight, the image of your colleague being tortured flashed across your vision like a spotlight.

“Birdy.” You whispered the name but it sounded like a plea rather than a statement. Valeria must have heard the begging in your voice because she only smiled.

“Birdy,” she confirmed, with a smug tilt of her head.

God, please no.

“Let them go!” You lurched against your restraints.

The latina's eyes were like stone, hard and unyielding. She was in pain, she was hurting and now it was her chance to hurt you all for what you’d done.

“I will,” she nodded her head soothingly, fingers coming to trace your trembling jaw. You snatched your face from her touch and she raised a brow. When she leaned back with a sigh, you knew what was coming.

Valeria struck you hard.

The wounds on your face screamed and it felt like someone was making you gargle molten lava. Your eyes watered but you made no sound, you gave her nothing to indicate that she’d hurt you.

“The 141 will bring me what they stole,” Valeria sucked in a breath, watching you from beneath her lashes. “But they can only save one of you.”

Your eyes widened.

They can only save one of you.

You knew then that you were going to die here.

“What’s the matter, pequeño sol?” Valeria spoke with a mocking lilt. Your body trembled. “You don’t think they will come for you?”

“No.”

The word was soft and broken and you wondered if the drug lord had even heard it. The way that her smile wavered implied that she did.

“No,” she nodded, standing straight. “Neither do I.”

If you hadn’t been so shattered, you would have seen the glimmer of pity pass over her features.

You took in a deep breath in an attempt to calm yourself, "will you keep your word?"

"What?"

"Will you keep your word?" You repeated firmly. No one was stupid enough to trust the word of a drug lord but right there and then you would take it as law. If you were going to die you needed to know that Birdy would be safe.

Your eyes bore into hers. Valeria swallowed and you could see her hesitation, the desire to spit on the dying flame in your chest and put it out.

Instead, the woman only nodded.

"I will."

Instantly, you relaxed in your seat and leaned your head back with a sigh. You closed your eyes, fighting the tears that had gathered along your lashes.

This was it.

This was the end of it.

You weren't stupid enough to expect anyone to come save you, not when Birdy's life hung in the balance. There was never a doubt about who was more valued on the team, despite your skills you'd never be able to contend with Birdy's spot on the team.

It wasn't about who was better, it was about who was loved.

And nobody in the 141 loved you more than they loved Birdy.

No one.

Your lips trembled and you fury rose like a volcanic eruption from within your chest. You would not die crying. You would not die without dignity.

"I'll be leaving to retrieve my package," Valeria sighed, sheathing her knife. "Once the handover is made, my men will put you down."

You grinned.

"After all we've been through," you feigned hurt. "I thought you'd want to do the honors, gorgeous."

But Valeria didn't bite. She didn't laugh nor did she retaliate, the woman only watched you with an unreadable expression.

"We are the same, me and you, Sunshine." The drug lord stood tall, "Deberías haber sido valorado. Morir con orgullo."

You blinked dumbly. "I don't know what the fuck you said but I'm going to assume you think I'm hot and that you regret not sleeping with me before I die."

Valeria rolled her eyes and turned away.

"You act tough, Sol. Don't die thinking this is anything but a betrayal."

Betrayal.

You offered nothing but a snort, laughing the chill of her words off your spine.

The woman left the room and immediately the silence was overwhelming. There was no one to lie to now, no one to throw your facade at. You found yourself almost asking her to stay as she closed the door behind her, biting your tongue to reserve your dignity. But, you didn't want to be alone, not when the end was approaching so quickly.

Though, you guess you'd done this to yourself.

Always good, but never enough. König was your best friend, but you knew he'd leave you in a heartbeat to save the sniper he truly loved- you couldn't ask any differently from him.

After all, if it had been between him and Ghost, you were sure you'd make the same decision.

A pathetic tragedy in itself considering the feeling wasn't mutual.

Simon Riley loved Birdy, just as the rest of them did.

You would never compare, you'd never come close, not with your ambitious demeanor- not with your shitty attitude. You'd never allowed yourself to view them as family and when they'd tried to include you, you hadn't let them in.

If your own family had wronged you, your own flesh and blood, what would the 141 do any differently?

By the looks of the situation: nothing.

No one was coming to save you.

The burning beneath your lids became so aggressive you wanted to tear the skin from your face. You wanted to gouge out your eyes, just so that the only thing dripping would be blood- not tears.

Never tears.

You were not Birdy, you did not cry.

You were not Birdy.

You'd never be Birdy.

The pressure in your chest grew and swelled and suffocated, extinguishing the fire you'd kept burning for years. Through everything, you'd held strong. Through hellfire and brimstone, you'd crawled your way across death and misfortune to emerge from the ashes stronger.

You did not break. Not until now.

A scream ripped from your chest, unrecognizable. It wasn't you who wailed, it was the child inside who mourned their life. It was the adult who'd never been loved the way they'd prayed for in the dead of the night.

Never enough.

Never enough for König, the man who always found himself by Birdy's side, chasing for the crumbs of their attention.

Never enough for Simon Riley, who'd taken your heart and crushed it every time he watched you with distaste- with disappointment.

You were never the priority.

Never his priority.

You'd never be anything to Ghost, not the way Birdy was.

But you were not Birdy and you'd not die wishing that you were.

You pulled at your restraints, thrashing in your chair with renewed energy. While you knew it was unlikely you'd escape, at least you'd be put down fighting.

"Hey!" One of Valeria's henchmen shouted.

You struggled harder, the skin of your wrists ripping from beneath the ties. Fresh blood trailed down your fingers and you smeared it wherever you could reach, wetting the braided rope until it was slick with crimson rage.

Your heart jumped as your hands slipped through the restraints, the gory lubrication helping you pull your crumpled fingers free.

"Stop!" The cool metal of a barrel pressed against your forehead, putting an instant halt on your plans.

You glared up at the man before you, his eyes were hard but his hand trembled, the weapon jittering against your skull.

"I will fucking paint this room with your brains," he hissed, the cigarette in his mouth jolting with each word. "Try me, I dare you."

"If the 141 comes with the package and I'm dead, Valeria will butcher your entire family, cabrón." You were careful as you spoke, enunciating each word as clearly as you could muster.

The butt of his weapon struck your cheek hard enough to send stars skittering across your vision.

"I speak," the man hissed, "not you."

"I'm trying to warn you-"

He hit you again, this time harder. You felt your teeth dislodge from in your mouth and panic gripped your heart as they slid down your throat.

"I said don't speak!" He shouted, the words warbled as your vision spun. Your head lolled to the side, gagging as you choked on your own bones. Bile speared through your chest as a combination of blood and stomach acid hit the floor weakly. Your teeth clattered across the ground, like dice rolling across the board.

"Ricky!" The man called over his shoulder. "Alguna palabra sobre el paquete?

"Aún nada, hermano."

"Mierda! ¿Por qué tarda tanto?"

The conversation fell on deaf ears as you fought to keep yourself conscious. Your hands were freed but now the element of surprise was lost and there was a barrel pressed against your face.

"I should kill you right now," the man spat in English. "You fucking murdered my brothers like a coward."

"They should learn to duck," you shrugged weakly.

This time when he hit you, it threw your seat backward. You hadn't been able to move your hands in time before the weight of your body and the steel spines of the chair slammed against your forearms.

A sickening crunch reverberated through the room, echoing like the toll of a church bell and while that was loud, your scream was deafening.

"Let's be honest with ourselves, Sunshine," the man laughed, watching you as you writhed and sobbed. "Nobody is coming to save you."

He cocked the weapon slowly, leaning down to press the barrel against your forehead once again. You couldn't even keep your eyes open as you struggled for breath, choking on your own spit and blood as you shrieked. You wanted to watch him, you wanted to go down with defiance- but fear gripped your throat so tightly you were choking on it.

You weren't going to die fighting.

You were going to die suffering.

When the gunshot came, your body recoiled so hard that your head smashed the concrete beneath you. In that horrible moment of silence that followed, you wondered if there was no peace even in death. Agony ripped through your nervous system, every inch of your body screamed for relief.

If this was death, then you were in hell.

"Think again, cunt."

The distinct cockney accent had your spine straightening and your eyes snapping open.

The gun clattered beside your head, unfired.

You weren't dead.

"Sunshine!"

You were being saved.

"Talk to me, Sunshine!"

The voice was so far away, he was too far away, he wasn't going to make it. You weren't going to make it. The man on the floor next to you must have sat back up because you could feel his hands gripping your shoulders, the gun rattling in your ears.

Fingers gripped your face, jostling you from your semi-conscious state. Your vision was blurred by your own blood and tears, the figure before you a mess of shadows. You screamed, trying to pull your broken arms from beneath the chair to defend yourself until help got to you.

Searing hot pain ran up the lengths of your arms and stabbed into your neck. You gagged, a low bellow wrenching from your throat as you heaved.

"Stop! Stop! Don't move!"

"Get away from me!" You wailed, voice shrill and unhinged. You tugged again and this time his hands came down on your shoulders.

"SUNSHINE!"

The roar of your name made your entire body freeze, clutching you by the throat with the desperation behind the callsign. You closed your eyes, a whimper falling from your lips to taint your dignity.

"Jesus." He sounded like Ghost. It couldn't have been him but, God, you wished it was. "Come on, Sweetheart. Look at me."

"I can't see," you wept.

His thumbs swept over your face, gloves wiping the blood from where it had settled on your lids and lashes. You tried again, blinking the crimson liquid from your eyes as best you could. You imagined that you looked a sight, the whites of your eyes a deep red, stained with evidence of your injuries. Finally, your vision settled.

Simon stared back at you, eyes wide.

You gasped.

"Simon?" You slurred, his name broken on your lips.

"Yeah, Sunshine. S'me." He murmured distractedly. His fingers were twitching on your neck, scanning the rest of your body for injuries.

Your heart was beating against your ribs, sudden anxiety flooding your being. If he was here it meant that they'd brought the package to you rather than to Birdy.

That meant…

"No, no, no," you whispered as the Lieutenant lifted the chair with one hand, pulling your broken hands from behind your back. "No, no, Simon, what're you doing here?"

Ghost recoiled slightly, a frown overtaking his features. "The fuck do you mean?"

"Birdy," you rasped, a sob building in your chest. "You need to get Birdy. What about Birdy?"

"Birdy's-"

You fought to stand up, pushing him out of the way as you stumbled to your feet. Your body swayed side to side as your vision swam, but you weren't going down- not again.

"Need a gat. Need Birdy- we can't lose Birdy. Everybody needs Birdy-"

"Sunshine."

"I can't lose Birdy!" You snapped, reeling on your superior with a broken gaze.

For a moment, he stood frozen, speechless. You'd never recover if they killed the other sniper, no one would. Everyone would blame you, it'd be your fault.

"König's got Birdy," Ghost said slowly, straightening to stand to his full height. "I've got you, Sunshine."

You gawked at him as though you hadn't understood a single word he'd said. Realistically, you truly hadn't. They'd come for you, knowing that it would put everyone at risk.

Simon had come for you, leaving Birdy to a man that he hated with every ounce of his being.

Simon had come for you, not Birdy.

"You're here?" You whispered and although it sounded fucking stupid, Ghost only nodded. He knew what you were really asking.

"Of course," he said. "Of course, I am."

"You came for me?" Your voice broke.

The soldier shuffled on his feet, shaking his head as though he thought it was obvious.

"I'd follow you anywhere. We both know it," he huffed, that dark gaze pinning your soul to your chest.

You rocked forward at the words, knees buckling from beneath you. Simon shot forward instantly, his arms looping around your waist and hauling you upward. His hand came to grip your chin, fingers slapping your cheek lightly as your eyes rolled backward.

"Come on, Sweetheart. Stay with it, it's nothin'," he growled, jostling your body to keep you conscious. Your head fell forward to rest against his shoulder, ears ringing and your mind shattered. "Sunshine, stay awake for me."

You couldn't any longer, you couldn't listen to him. He should have been used to it by now, you'd always been the troublesome one for him. Never directly disobeying him but never doing it the way he asked, always driving him bat-shit fucking crazy- always under his skin.

But, if Simon couldn't save you, you'd die happy knowing that he'd even tried.

You'd die happy knowing that somebody loved you.

—

When you thought of dying, you always had such a visceral image of what would happen. You'd be the last one on your line, and the rest of your unit would be shot down; you'd make a stand on a hill and wipe out the enemy until you were out of ammo. Then, you would fight until you were overwhelmed.

That was the death you'd imagined.

Not abandoned and left alone in a warehouse in a sick game of "pick the sniper you like more."

"They'll fully recover physically," someone sighed from above your head. "Mentally, though…"

"They'll be right," Simon finished.

"That's what they said about Birdy," the doctor muttered. "We all know how that ended."

"Doc-"

"Saint."

Simon cleared his throat.

"Saint," the callsign foreign on his tongue, "Sunshine's not Birdy."

To hear it from Simon Riley himself was all the validation you needed.

You stirred in the bed and immediately all conversation fell quiet, the both of them waiting for you to fully awaken.

You knew you were in the hospital before your eyes opened. You recognised the doctor who was talking, a medic who had yelled at you often for ‘being reckless.’ The smell of antiseptic was near seared into your memory and the sound of the monitor beeping was too familiar.

However, the room was brighter than you’d anticipated and you cringed into your pillow with a moan. The overhead light stung your eyes, searing your retinas and making it near impossible for you to think.

“Get the lights,” Saint ordered, realizing what the issue was.

The room fell dim, enough for you to finally pry your lids open and have a look around. Your jaw felt heavy like there was cotton in your mouth. As you probed with your tongue, you realised with a pitted stomach that there actually was something stuffed between your teeth.

You moaned, reaching upward to pull it out.

It was as though you’d set off a bomb with the movement. Both Simon and Saint immediately shot forward, hands on your arms to rest them by your side gently. They stood on either side of your bed, like two sentries, one dark and one light.

“Gonna need you to just relax a second for me, spitfire,” Saint chuckled.

You huffed, fighting the urge to gag on the material in your mouth. Your tongue ran over it, moving to dislodge it from where it had been wedged between your teeth.

“Now,” the doctor leaned over to adjust your drip. “Do you remember your name and what happened?”

Rather than respond, you opted to slowly let the gauze fall out of your mouth and onto your chest. Saint watched you with a deadpan expression as you fought with your facial injuries to perform this feat.

At the end of it, you offered a weak smile.

A long moment of silence ensued before the doctor sighed, staring at the lumps of bloody fabric sitting on the gown.

“I’m gonna go grab some shit,” they said. “Maybe a fuckin’ whiskey.”

They disappeared from the room swiftly, leaving you alone with the Grim Reaper himself. With a harsh sigh through his nose, the Lieutenant reached over and scooped up the gauze, dropping them into the bin.

“You couldn’t just answer the question?” He muttered, moving to crouch by your head. He wore only his balaclava, his hoodie down for once.

“Not with that in my mouth,” you rasped, words thick and sickly.

Simon snorted softly but he said nothing, opting to watch you instead. His gaze ran from your hair to your neck, over and over as if he were committing you to memory. His expression was gentle but there was something hidden that made you think that, at that moment, he was extremely vulnerable.

Anything you said from this point on would determine the relationship between you both. You remembered what he’d confessed when he found you beaten and bloody on the floor. It was clear as day and imprinted on your brain as though it had been branded on the inside of your skull.

“I would follow you anywhere. We both know it.”

You’d both reached the point of no return, no more smoke and mirrors, no more half-truths. Neither of you could get away with hiding your feelings behind hatred anymore.

Not after he’d chosen you.

“You came for me,” you whispered. A statement, not a question this time.

“Of course,” he said again, just as he had before.

You hadn’t realised you were crying until his hand cupped your cheek, his thumb wiping the tears from your cheeks ever so gently. As much as you hated it, as much as you wanted to stop, you couldn’t hold them back.

The relief was palpable, the understanding that you were valued was freeing.

Simon Riley knew the kind of person you were, right at your very core, and he still chose to love you. He still chose to hold your hand and dry your tears with nothing but pure reverence in his gaze.

You realized then and there, that you were valued.

You were enough.

#simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley #modern warfare 2 #cod mw2 x reader #cod mw2 ghost #cod x reader #cod mw2 #modern warfare #call of duty #call of duty x reader #call of duty mw2 #cod ghost

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cometkenji · 24 days

Text

Doctor, Doctor, please listen!

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Chubby!Fem!reader Cw; Tension (I tried), cursing, the smallest physical description of reader in the last portion (just mentions their stomach going over their pants), reader has scars from previous cases, rivals to lovers?, lmk if i'm missing smth Summary: 3 times you called him doctor, 3 times he wonders why. Disclaimer: Reader is always written with a chubby/bigger person in mind but I don't really ever describe their bodies that much cause it's x READER and every body has a different body <3 WC: 3,596 I am literally so obsessed with criminal minds somebody save my soul OBLIVOUS IDIOTS WHO WANT EACH OTHER MY BELOVED. Title from mad hatter by Melanie Martinez don't even @ me for that

“...she will be an important part of making your team function quicker. We fought hard to get her here. I ask that you all treat her with respect and not make me intervene.”

Strauss finished her introductory spiel with a familiar “mom-glare” towards the team, walking away once she finished her speech. Unfortunately, her departure left you standing alone in front of the most intimidating man you’ve ever seen and four of his team members. You had been practically still until now. You hated the pressure of everyone’s eyes on you, causing a general freeze response to the stress of a new team. Fawn, you thought, the newest addition to the fight or flight categories and also the lovely thing forcing you to practically disassociate in front of your new boss and co-workers.

“Welcome, Dr. L/N. We’ve heard good things. I’m Aaron Hotchner, I supervise the team.” He was leaning on the table before he stepped forward to shake your hand as he spoke. “This is Emily Prentiss, Jenifer Jareau, Derek Morgan, and Doctor Spencer Reid.” He pointed towards the corresponding people as he spoke of them. “Agent Rossi is away right now, and you’ll meet our T.I. later…she’s been excited.” If you hadn’t been good at your job, you’re sure you would have missed the way his lips turned up slightly at the edges when mentioning the woman. He didn’t seem so scary anymore, more like a father of the team. You’d been expecting a drill sergeant - your last team leader could have given a bull a run for it’s money with how much aggression that guy had. You welcomed the rush of excitement you felt at the discovery, mentally shaking off the stiffness you were carrying.

“I’m happy to be here, sir. I’ve heard good things about the team, too. Your boss seems to think highly of your capabilities.” You addressed the room as you spoke. Public speaking was a skill you were still trying to master, so you practiced whenever you could.

Your statement earned a chuckle from the table. Nobody bothered to explain the reason. You figured it was too much history to sum up on the spot. Your eyes wanted to linger on Reid. He seemed so young, and you wondered if he’d been told that his entire career - lord knows you had too. A fellow doctor. You assumed he was a bit of a stickler about the title, as even his boss kept it tacked onto his name when introducing him. You’d originally hoped to find some comfort in the man, on the surface he seemed a lot like you. He was probably too smart for his own good as well. Given the way he was staring at you, though, you felt the realization sink in that the man had no intention of welcoming you.

“Why exactly do we need another profiler?” His voice held no malice as he spoke in the direction of his boss. There was more curiosity in his voice than anything, however you did pick up on the sense of superiority that sat just beneath the surface of his words. You guessed that’s how he behaved generally - as though he was superior. Still, your head tilted slightly to the side at the question.

Damn. Tough crowd.

You saw the intake of breath in Hotchner as he prepared to defend your place here but you spoke before he could start. “While I am a profiler, sir, first and foremost I am a psychiatrist - a doctor. As I’m sure you heard from Strauss, the board is unhappy with your recent efficiency rates and would also like to aid your team in dealing with mental health crises. I’ve spent my entire life studying the effects and conditions of the mentally diseased brain. I’ll be able to tell you the most efficient and effective way of interacting with these individuals, along with more accurately predicting their actions and methodology. I’m an agent, I took the same oath everyone here did but I was brought here for my expertise.” You were on a bit of a tangent, you knew that, but something about the smug feel of the man forced an emergence of competitiveness. He looked at you so indifferent, and you couldn’t help the tiny sparks of anger lighting beneath your skin. You kept a friendly disposition towards the man - you were a professional, after all, not a teenager - but you sensed a rivalry sprouting it’s roots.

The others at the table suppressed their smiles or looked down to hide it. Nobody had ever challenged Spencer like that. They could all feel he was a tad bit territorial. He was the guy people went to when they needed to know something. He was the Doctor of the group. They didn’t think he would take too kindly to another one encroaching his land. They saw the way he was tense, even more so after you responded. It was a riveting sight, though. The lot of them saw Spencer as a younger brother, and him meeting his match was something they were all so excited to see.

“Play nice, pretty boy.” Derek muttered to him, Spencer was slightly slouched in his chair now, not losing sight of you. Derek followed suit, turning his attention towards you. “We’re glad to have you, Doctor. We’ve spoken about an addition like you before, I’m glad to see the higher ups finally listened. I look forward to working with you - excuse me.” He left once his phone rang.

The others took his exit as an excuse for their own, everyone giving you a warm welcome as they left. You reciprocated happily, telling everyone they could just call you by your first name, never having been one for titles. ‘There’s one difference.’ You thought, even your internal dialogue was bitter. Aside from him, there was a warmth here that you had been desperate to find in your last team. If you had to work passive aggressively with one uptight man in exchange for a team like this - you were going to take that deal.

He refused to leave it seemed. He just sat looking inquisitively at the table, occasionally extending his stare to look at you before returning. How did you two end up alone in this room?

“Are you gonna have a problem with me, Doctor?” You shifted slightly on your feet. A notoriously nervous sign, one he definitely picked up on.

He stared again. It was his mind that kept him rooted in his seat. You were fucking alluring. He’d never met someone so like himself in his line of work. He was being a dick and he knew it but it seemed to be instinctual - some type of precaution, maybe. He didn’t know why you were being so respectful. Doctor. God, he didn’t know if the title had ever sounded so good being directed at him. His frustration only rose as he thought on the issue more. He wasn’t welcoming, it would be so easy to drop the formality, something he knew you knew would get on his nerves. But you didn’t. It didn’t seem like a question of dignity. You didn’t seem like the type to refuse a little pettiness - he sure wasn’t the type either. A thought stirred, an unsafe one he wanted to squash immediately but one he also couldn’t help but lean into. Did you want a power imbalance?

“No.” He stood abruptly, obviously still focused on the thoughts in his head. “Welcome to the team.” He addressed you one last time and then walked out of the room.

You followed shortly after, ready to make home on your couch and be done with being the newbie for the day. Your stress would follow you home, though, as the last thing you heard before you left the building was “Oh my god they’re perfect for each other.”

The first few weeks were always the hardest. This was something you knew and were prepared for but it did nothing to calm your nerves. You’d been on countless missions having worked this job for a while now, but this was an entirely new dynamic to learn. You were an outsider for the first time in four years and it was scary. This case was shaping up to be a rough one, too. A man was having delusions telling him to kill. An extremely rare manifestation of his Schizophrenia, only elevated by the newly acquired aspect of him being an insomniac.

Spencer hadn’t ceased being headstrong in cases either. Every time you wanted to help he made it his mission to overcompensate in order to snuff you out. On the contrary, he’d warmed up to you a little. It wasn’t major, he barely held any positive feelings toward you, but barely was better than not at all, so you coped. You two had managed a couple small talk conversations outside the battle of one-upping that you were currently losing. You absolutely hated it, but you liked him. You liked him a lot, actually. You don’t know when in the past few days that anger morphed into fondness but it had shifted hard. The casual dominance he exuded drew you in like a porchlight lures a moth. You doubted the opposite proved true for him, and that stung. You came to enjoy the banter, the competition, even if you were always playing the losing hand. It was the only way to get his undivided attention and the feeling of his eyes on you started to follow you home.

You thought a lot about how you could get the relationship to pivot into something better. You didn’t want to be the girl he bickered with at work. You didn’t know what it was you wanted but you knew that your current fate sounded horrid. He was an ass, though, and he did not make it easy to admit those feelings. Every time he undermined you, you grew more attached and also more angry at yourself for doing so. It was because he’s so much like you, you thought. You knew from the way he interacted with his team that he wasn’t a cold guy, didn’t hold malice towards people for no reason. He needs time. He needs to know you, and God how badly you wanted to know him.

You had sustained good relations with everyone the past few weeks you’ve been here. Meeting Garcia and Rossi had been a treat - both of them being delightful company. You’d heard them whispering about you and Spencer when they thought you weren’t around. The whole team seems to think that you’re basically fated to be together. It was unnerving how comforting that thought was to you. You hoped they were right.

Spencer hoped they were right too. He’d heard the same whispers you had, chastising the team when he got the chance as if he didn’t think about you every moment he could. His eyes seemed to naturally land on you if you were around. He watched you walk around the bureau more and more lately, enjoying the gained confidence in your step as you cemented your place in the team. The sway of your hips or the swing of your arms. You mesmerized him no matter what you did. One time he got so caught up in his thoughts of you that Prentiss had to check he wasn’t having a silent panic attack. He clung to his sense of resentment, tried so hard to remind himself of the feelings he had when he first met you - you were beautiful, of course you were - but you were on claimed land and he was anything but eager for you to make home on it. That had faded fast, seeing how kind you were, scrambling to help and earn respect from everyone. The only reason he kept up the act of “man who wants you gone” was so that he could keep talking to you. Spencer was a genius but he didn’t know how to handle someone like you. He’d been interested in girls before, hell he’d had girlfriends before but it had never felt like this in such little time. Such intense infatuation was crippling for someone who’s brain worked in patterns - this was new ground for him.

“Everybody suit up. We have Foster’s location and we need to move quickly. He’s going after the source of his rage and we don’t have time to spare.” Hotch came down the stairs two at a time, spurring the team into action.

“This man is highly dangerous but also highly deluded. The cases I’ve read similar to this say it’s best to speak gently. He’s sick but he can be reasoned with.” Spencer pulls from his memory as he sets his ‘FBI’ vest into place on his chest.

“No, not this time. This man is too severe, his mind is too far gone. If these hallucinations of his are strong enough for him to touch them it’ll be extremely easy for him to rearrange or imagine your words differently. You need to be loud, direct, and assertive. Speak as little as possible. The quieter you are, the easier it will be for him to change what you’re saying in his head.” You also spoke while putting your vest on. You didn’t carry a weapon - a personal vow of yours, as you were more than classified to - so there were no holsters to fill. The contradictions between the two doctors of the team made everyone hesitate even though they lacked the time to do so.

Spencer looked at you, slightly out of breath from working so quickly. “You’re questioning my memory?”

“I’m not questioning your memory, Doctor. I’m questioning your sources. There’s a higher risk level if we do what you’re suggesting. Let me do my job.” You made the final adjustments to your attire as you finished speaking. You returned his eye contact for just a beat too long, letting the others rush out of the building while you stood your ground, the two of you begrudgingly following after them a moment later.

You had been assigned a different car than him for the ride over. ‘Thank God’ was the only thing you could think when you saw him heading to the other SUV. After another confrontation - another public one, at that - you weren’t sure you could handle being pressed leg to leg with him in the backseat. Your words were a looping record in his head as he rode towards Foster. They were about to attempt a hostage negotiation with a man seeing people who weren’t there but all he could think about was that fucking word you refused to drop.

I’m not questioning your memory, Doctor

You had to be doing this on purpose, he thought. He originally believed this had started because you knew stripping him of his beloved title would cause irritation. Now he suspected you knew how badly he wanted his name in your mouth and this was your way of torturing him. ‘It’s working.’ He thought. God was it working. He agreed with his team, you were perfect for him. You had knowledge to match his, kept him on his toes. One time the start of a ramble slipped through his “I don’t like you” façade and he felt his heart speed up at the genuine interest that roused in your eyes. You wanted to know him and he was an idiot for all the shit he was doing.

He wasn’t surprised when your strategy worked and Ben Foster was taken into custody. You were the one to talk him down, and if you hadn’t already been accepted to the team, he knew then and there that they needed you. You were flawless. He knew you’d been doing this as long as he had and it showed. He pleaded with himself to stay focused, zeroed in on the weight of the gun in his hand to save face. His mind never left you, though, much like his eyes. This was the expertise you spoke of - no wonder they fought hard to get you here.

“You were excellent in there.” It was just the two of you now. Even in the dull, flashing police lights, you were breathtaking. “Good job.” He said. Then he walked away because he was on the brink of kissing you and didn’t feel like breaking about 18 workplace rules while at the scene of a crime. You wouldn’t have been complaining if he did.

Every time something like this happened it was difficult to remind yourself that not carrying a weapon was a choice you made willingly. You were currently sitting in the back of an open ambulance, about to be hoisted onto a stretcher and driven to the ER for stitches. You’ve been with the BAU for almost 3 months now and have miraculously managed to avoid injury in that time. This had been one of the easier cases. No chases or clues to follow, just a sick man who left a fairly obvious paper trail. You were the speaker on almost all cases. You were in charge of de-escalating a situation, making sure the bomb didn’t blow. You’ve never carried a weapon, always preferring to take the wounds of a job over using a gun to back up your words. You were a psychiatrist, you wanted to make people better, not vilify them. It worked, usually. People did tend to trust you more when you were unarmed. This time, though, it got you stabbed.

It wasn’t a bad injury, the blood had already stopped and was mildly dry by the time Spencer was joining you. Just one more scar to your collection. It was to the side of your quad, missing any artery by miles and just serving as a pain source at this point. A little numbing and some stitches and you’d be right as rain is what the doctor in the ambulance had said.

“What happened?” He spoke softly to you. There wasn’t a rivalry between you two, not really. The banter hadn’t stopped, but it changed. It was playful and actually fun now. The both of you weren’t obsessed with outdoing the other anymore. Some casual boastfulness and a budding friendship is where you were at with him currently.

“I got stabbed.”

“Jesus Christ, Y/N.”

He exhaled like he couldn’t comprehend the stupidity of your answer. You laughed at that. One enjoyable pastime you’d picked up in the past month was trying to bewilder him. The EMT said he needed to check the rest of your body for injury despite your protest of such a procedure. It was typical and you knew that, but you held onto the fear of your own body that middle school gave you. There was a man you liked here, and the thought of him seeing the bit of stomach that hung outside the waistline of your pants scared you more than you thought it would. You forced yourself to be rational in spite of this. It was Spencer, you wanted to be seen by him.

“Holy shit.”

You chuckled at that. You forgot that maybe a warning was in order for the amount of scars that littered your stomach.

“Probably should have told you about those.” There were dozens. You amassed a countless amount of scars over the course of your job. Stab wounds, bullet grazes, burn marks. Unsubs, as much as you tried to empathize, were often violent at the end of the day and usually lashed out before they could be helped.

He was staring - well, gazing more like. Not like someone stares at a car accident on the freeway but instead how someone stares at the moon - awe. He was in awe of you. Your strength, your courage, the fact that you went through all these individual events and still chose not to arm yourself. Some of these were in places that could have been fatal, and he thanked whatever entity may be listening that you persevered, begged them to continue that streak. He crashed hard into the desire to touch you, to run his hands over what little of your past he could see. He wondered if you would let him. If you’d fit into his palms the way he thought you would - if that was something you even wanted. The EMT was gone by now, having moved to the passenger seat for the ride to the hospital.

“Could I - " He hesitated for a moment, this was definitely the wrong question to ask. “Can I touch you?”

Your eyes glazed over slightly. Jesus. You felt your lips part a little.

“You want to?” Genuine surprise. You didn’t think you looked particularly desirable in your current state. He wanted to touch your fucking scars. Who does he think he is?

“Please.” He was looking at you in a way you hadn’t seen before. His eyes were glazed over too. You held his eyes as you nodded. The heat was so stifling that you laughed just a little at the tension.

“Fucking hell, Spence.”

Blood shot to his ears when you said his name. It had been well worth the wait to hear you say it like that - breathy and confused and so fucking pretty that he wondered how he ever lived before you said it.

“Will you tell me about them?” He was breathy too, but he wouldn’t have you here, not like this. He just needed to feel you.

“I’ll tell you anything you want, Doc.”

His hands were warm. It wouldn’t be the last time you felt them.

#spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #x reader #x chubby reader #x fat reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds x reader #fanfiction #suggestive #spencer reid x chubby reader #spencer reid x fat reader #spencer reid x plus size reader #plus size reader #comet: SR

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bad268 · 2 months

Note

can I request a clingy Kimi Antonelli

where he’s obsessed with kissing reader and overall being affectionate to the point he does not want to let go of her before the race and Toto is like “leave the poor girl alone Kimi” while Susie is like “you were like that before”.

HELP IDK HOW TO END THIS BUT YA ALSO LOVE YOUR WORKS 💗💗💗

Clingy Antonelli (Andrea Kimi Antonelli X Reader)

Fandom: RPF/Formula 2/3

Requested: Clearly (I loved this too much lol I'd be down to do a Clingy Antonelli series and we need some fluff after this race lol)

Warnings: none.

POV: Second POV (You/your, but it does say 'poor girl' once)

W.C. 1025

Summary: Sweet reunions bring Clingy Antonelli to the surface.

As always, my requests are OPEN

MASTERLIST // HITLIST

~~(^Pinterest)

It was a common occurrence that you were in the paddock with Kimi. Ever since you decided to attend school entirely online, you were by his side, and it may (or may not) have been because of the begging you received from Kimi.

It started when he was in karting, and he just wanted someone familiar to talk to. Then, when he moved to championships, he was always one of the youngest ones competing, and it was weird being the odd one out. Around the same time, you were given the option to switch to online school. He begged you to do it, so you could travel with him. How could you say no?

Not to mention, you loved taking pictures, especially of your favorite person, and PR from both Prema and Mercedes would pay you for some of the pictures. It was just easier to pay you since you always took pictures of Kimi.

But that’s beside the point. You were doing what you normally did whenever Kimi was a guest on the F1 paddock: sit beside him silently as he listened in on a meeting. Sure, it was not your favorite thing to do, but it was a standard. And most of the time, the meetings did not even concern Kimi; he just had to sit in them because he was their junior driver.

You were sitting in the back of the room, holding his hand and not paying attention at all. That is until Kimi started pulling at your hand to get your attention. You turned your head and met his eyes. The look he gave you was one you recognized immediately, a silent plea for you to sit on his lap. With a joking sigh, you moved onto his lap as he smiled laid his head on your shoulder after giving you a kiss on your cheek.

“You’re more clingy today,” you whispered to him, “What’s up?”

“You’re going to leave for two weeks,” he complained as his arms tightened around your waist. “I know you miss your family and friends, but I won't see you again until right before the race.”

“Don’t worry, amor (love),” you consoled as you rubbed his arms, leaning further back into his hold. “I’ll be back before you know it, and we’ll be back traveling in no time.”

“Yay,” he chuckled before cutting himself short, “And I’m not clingy.”

“Oh come on,” you replied in disbelief, turning your head to meet his eyes. “Clingy Antonelli is my favorite.”

Despite being with your family for once, Kimi would call you at any chance he could. He just needed to hear your voice and see you before doing anything racing-related. It was one of his superstitions, and you did not plan on standing in the way of it.

Flash forward to when you finally came back. Due to the time difference, it was only 12 hours from the last time you talked to Kimi, but for him, it was nearing 20 hours. He knew that he had to give you space at some points, but this? Nope. He was sure that your plane should have landed ages ago, yet you still were not on the track. You had yet to answer his calls or texts, and he was starting to get anxious.

He was pacing around the garage, half listening to his strategy team go over the plan for the race. He half-registered some Mercedes personnel walk into the garage but did not think anything of it since he remembers them saying they wanted to see him in action this weekend. Little did he know it was Toto and Susie Wolff in the flesh. They talked a little bit with the team before they turned their attention to Kimi.

“Is he always this nervous before a race?” Susie asked Toto, knowing that he had seen Kimi racing in FRECA before, but she did not remember him saying that Kimi got nervous.

“Not that I remember,” Toto responded just as confused before he turned to Kimi’s race engineer with a questioning look, gesturing in Kimi’s area.

“He’s missing his lucky charm,” Anthoine laughed, shaking his head. It’s said when you talk about someone, they appear, and that’s exactly what happened. Like clockwork, Kimi’s head snapped toward the garage door as he heard your unmistakable laugh. Kimi immediately took off, trying to find you. It did not take long because you were right around the corner, about to walk in with Ollie. Kimi wasted no time, picking you up in a tight embrace as he peppered kisses all over your face. Anthoine chuckled again as he pointed at the two, “Oh, look. They’re back.”

They all let you have your moment in peace. Kimi needed it. His nerves were through the roof, everyone could tell, so despite knowing that he needed to get in the car as soon as possible, they stepped back. The last thing they needed was an anxious driver on the track.

You could not even hear what Kimi was saying, just a bunch of anxious thoughts coming to light. You let him rant as much as he needed before he finally set you down and placed a long kiss against your lips. He pulled away all too quickly for your liking before leaning against your forehead, whispering, “you’re never leaving me again.”

“My flight got delayed, and my phone died,” you whispered back as he went back to placing butterfly kisses all over your face. “I wanted to call you.”

“It doesn’t matter now,” he sighed, hiding his face in your neck and breathing you in “You’re here now, and that’s what matters.”

“Leave the poor girl alone, Kimi,” You heard a voice behind Kimi chuckle, causing you to look over his shoulder. It was Toto and Susie Wolff, which caused your eyes to widen and your face grew red in embarrassment. Immediately, Susie’s arm came up to smack Toto in the shoulder.

“Oh, leave them alone,” She countered, “You were just like that before we were married.”

“Oh, he’s just being Clingy Antonelli,” you laughed, nervously. “I’ll get him into the car, don’t worry.”

~~~

Part 2 ->

~~~~~

#andrea kimi antonelli x reader #andrea kimi antonelli #kimi antonelli x reader #kimi antonelli #kimi x reader #formula 2 x reader #formula 2 imagine #f2 x reader #f2 imagine #f2 #f2 x you #f2 fanfic #formula 2 #prema racing #bad268 #ship268 #thing268

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totaly-obsessed · 17 days

Text

A Lesson in Accepting

Barcelona Femení x reader

-> Despite reader's best efforts to hide her illness and join in training, a she learns the importance of listening to her body and her teammates

-> Wordcount: ≈ 1.770

-> The happiest birthday to @sleekswosobession - love you!

➳ Masterlist

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

"Oye! No chiqui - off!”

Hmmpf.

Out of all the older players, Lucy was usually the fun one. But today she didn’t want you climbing on her and she had gotten annoyed when you tried to steal her shoes. Maybe a new victim was needed for your shenanigans. But who?

Just as you started to look around for Vicky, the arm of Marta found its way onto your shoulder, Caroline now at the other side as they dragged you into the changing rooms. “Don’t even think about it.”

Music blasted through the room, with Salma by the speakers as her phone was connected to it, getting ready while swaying to her music. A quick look around made it obvious that your cubby for the day was between Frido and Ingrid.

Great.

You missed the days were you were at your rightful place between Patri and Cata, Claudia joining you after quickly changing into her kit. Those were the fun days when you had just joined the team. Fresh from Australia and full of energy and nerves Patri and Claudia had taken you under their wing.

Just two weeks later Alexia fell over her tied-together laces, just to see you laughing in a corner, hiding behind your new friends. The room had fallen quiet, everyone scared of what their captain would do.

Laugh.

Alexia Putellas, their strong and serious captain, started laughing at being tricked by a sixteen-year-old Australian rookie. Hesitantly the other players started to laugh, watching the blonde from the corner of their eyes, just to make sure that she wouldn’t get pissy at them laughing.

But now you were stuck between different adults every week, your number never hanging in the same spot, and for today's game, it was the space between two tall scandis. While they were incredibly nice, neither of them had a fable for letting you run wild - but they let you yap as much as you want. A win is a win. And at this point, you’d take anything.

Rainy games were your favorite games. You loved sliding around on the drenched pitch, tackling an opponent whenever you could, and getting your kit as dirty as possible. And that game was no different.

Sliding here - sliding there.

Mapi thought it was hilarious how you sprinted across the waterlogged pitch, stealing the ball of one opponent after the other.

“Chiqui come here and let me dry your hair, you’ll get sick.”

Irene was in mother mode, fussing over you and Vicky, who looked like the two happiest girls on the planet. Both of you had been in the starting eleven, something that didn’t happen as often. But with the weather conditions and the not-as-competitive opponent, Jona caved to your synchronized begging.

“I won’t. Promise!”

And with that, you were off again. Running outside, leaving the changing room early. Jona had been quick with his talk and the girls were just warming up and getting something to eat or massaged. But you run out to play on the field with the girls sitting on the bench.

Bruna and Jana made it a fun game, sending the ball just slightly wide every time, so that you had to be quick, falling over more than once during it.

Alexia just shook her head in amusement when she came back to the pitch, the other girls following in their captain's stride.

“Chiquitita wear a jacket for me please?” The Catalan’s English was great, even if she was too shy to speak it most of the time. Her hands held out a jacket to you, an eyebrow raised in question.

“I’ll be okay, thank you, Ale!”

And you would be okay, at least for the rest of the night - giving it your all on the pitch and giving it your all when you were the entertainment of the following movie night. Mapi had given you one of those cheap Karaoke microphones and with that, you kept narrating the movies much to everyone else's annoyance.

Mapi thought you were hilarious though. And with everyone smiling at you even if they acted annoyed, you kept going all the way until Lucy and Ona dropped you off at the apartment Barcelona gave you.

In the beginning, the Team members had been worried about you living there, all alone at only sixteen. But Vicky had been fine - she was an angel as opposed to the whirlwind of an Australian that had been added to the team with you. You would be at training most days anyway and doing stuff with the girls even on days off, so you’d be fine. Right?

Well usually you would be fine, but waking up with an itchy throat, annoying cough, and a runny nose topped by a fever, was not a funny thing.

Just like that, all your plans with Vicky for the day had been canceled. The two of you wanted to explore the city and then visit the library closest to the Sagrada Familia, but all of that went to waste now as you were trying to get rid of this cold as fast as possible.

But it turns out it wasn’t that easy. A day later you were still sick, your voice so hoarse that it was hard to understand. You had debated calling Jona and letting him know, but then Alexia and Irene would have been right when it came to you getting sick. You just needed to power through. Tomorrow you will be all good again.

After oversleeping you practically raced to the training center for gym day. Well raced as fast as you can with public transport - a mask secure on your face. You looked sick enough that strangers raised a brow at your sweaty forehead.

To your luck the changing rooms were empty, all of the girls were already in the gym, so you could change in peace, trying to take deep breaths as well as you could. Man, you hated having a stuffy nose.

The bright lights and the loud music made you wince when you entered the big space, with everyone on different equipment. You quickly explained to Jona that your bus had been late, and just by his facial expression you could see that he didn’t believe a word out of your mouth.

He knew. Fuck. But he didn’t do or say anything, just going over the plan for today with you.

The other girls tried to get a good look at you, whispering to themselves. This wasn’t the first time you had been late. Sometimes the bus really didn’t come, and sometimes you overslept. But the training staff was never too mad at you - you were a growing girl after all, and needed your sleep.

But usually, when you came in, you would go around greeting the girls one by one, telling them the crazy stories of your bus driver. Today, however, you picked out an empty corner, starting to stretch all by yourself.

When one of the trainers called for partner exercises you were quick to kidnap Vicky, who didn’t even react as she was used to your antics by now. But then she looked at you.

“You’re sick!”

“Shhh!”

With, what you thought, quick reflexes you pushed her head down so that she would lower her voice. “Don’t tell on me! Or I’ll tell Sandra.”

The young Spaniard was caught in an odd situation - realistically she knew she should tell Alexia, or at least someone - but she was terrified of the goalkeeper finding out. With a solemn nod, she gave in.

You didn’t believe her, holding onto her right hand as tightly as you could “No! "Promise me!”

“Fine. I promise. Now get your clammy hands off me please.”

Now it wasn’t just you who ran around like a headless chicken, stumbling over nothing and barely strong enough to lift any weight at all, but also Vicky, who desperately tried to avoid eye contact with someone else, whispering hushed annoyances in your ear.

“They’re weird, no?” Aitana had made her way to Alexia, who was watching the whole thing unfold in front of her. “Very weird..", she nodded.

When a break was called, you hurried off to the bathrooms, while Vicky tried to avoid anything and everyone.

But that didn’t hold on for too long, as she was cornered by Alexia, Irene, Aitana, and Ingrid. The other girls watched from a distance, knowing what was happening.

“I don’t know anything!”

“We didn’t say anything.” Irene was trying really hard not to let an amused smile crack through and instead keep up the intimidating frown.

One eyebrow went up. Then the other.

“Okay, fine!”

Alexia relaxed her face again, knowing that had been enough for Vicky to spill everything she knew.

“She’s sick.”

“Chiquitita!”

Ingrid didn’t get an answer and started looking around the facilities as quickly as she could while Aitana tried to console a guilt-ridden Vicky, telling her that she had done the right thing, emphasizing how dangerous it was that you were exercising.

They could hear you coughing before they even saw you, as Ingrid dragged you to the gym as gently as she could, nearly just carrying you.

“Ai Chiqui. What are you doing here, you’re sick amor, you need to rest.”

Alexia's soft mothering tone gave you the rest, tears forming in your eyes. “I’m sorry… Just didn’t want to miss out.” Sobs wrecked your tired body as some of your letters got swallowed.

“Shhh, let’s get you home.” Your captain dried tears after tears as she helped you out of the room and into the showers.

Jona looked happy with how everything turned out, he knew that Alexia would take care of it - her heart was soft for the youngsters on the team, no matter how hard she tried to hide it.

On your way out your eyes met Vicky's. “You promised not to tell Vic!”.

“Oye, keep walking, or we’ll call Catley. I’m sure she would love to hear about your situation.” It was Mapi that nudged you, a teasing smile on her face.

Hmmpf.

"Sandra Vicky put shaving cream in your gloves!"

And with that you let your captain drag you out of the room, smiling at the chaos that exploded behind you.

After getting washed up and changed, Ale helped you to her car and started driving to her home, not listening to the whines that you wanted to go to your apartment.

“You can say it now, Ale.”

She could see you were close to falling asleep, head resting on your seatbelt.

“I told you so. Now let’s get you healthy again.”

#woso #woso imagine #woso x reader #woso imagines #barça femeni #barca femeni #barcelona femeni #barca women #barca femini x reader #barcelona femeni x reader #barcelona women #alexias putellas #alexia putellas x reader #mapi león x reader #mapi leon x reader #irene paredes x reader

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abbyromanoff · 8 months

Note

can I request a milf!wanda fic where she keeps catching her younger neighbor looking at her boobs whenever they interact so eventually she’s just like, ‘do you want to taste them?’ W r sucking on her tits & Wanda fingering her pls ❤️ mommy kink too if u could

TASTE OF DESIRE

PAIRINGS: Wanda Maximoff x reader

WORD COUNT: 1,008

WARNINGS: smut, manipulation with magic, fingering, mommy/momma (W), praise, overstimulation, reader is gn but is referred to as a “good girl”, voyeriusm, kinda dark!Wanda, milf!Wanda, think that’s all :)

NO ONE IS PERMITTED TO STEAL, COPY, OR REBLOG MY WORK AS THEIR OWN!!

Wanda continued to pump her fingers inside of you, letting a third soon join her and stretching you out even further. You gasped at the intrusion, nearly choking on your spit as a moan escaped your quivering mouth.

“Shh, you have to be quiet, little girl.” Your eyes were glossy as tears threatened to leave you, it only made her smile. She enjoyed seeing you like this, beneath her, begging to be fucked while you cry out in pain and pleasure.

“What did Mommy say earlier, baby?” Your bottom lip bounced up and down in jolts as you struggled to let out the words that had been prodding at your mind.

“M-mommy doesn’t like cry babies.” She nodded with a hum, her eyes landing on your cunt where you sucked her in with greed. You sniffled, grasping her biceps in your hands and trying to close your legs to no avail.

“Don’t deny me, Y/N. C’mon, you’re doing so good, don’t stop now.” You muttered an apology and squeezed your eyes shut as she spread your thighs, sitting in between them so you were forced to stay in this position.

“Look at you, taking Mommy so well,” She bit her lip with hunger, missing the way your eyes roamed around her body until they landed on one spot.

“Are you my good girl? Yeah? Who’s Mommy’s good girl?” She knew it drove you crazy, every praise sent your way caused you to spiral even further, landing you in a deep head space. She made you feel warm and fuzzy inside, something you never felt until you met her.

“Me, I-I’m Mommy’s good- girl!” Her digits teased your g-spot, causing your eyes to roll to the back of your head as you squeezed her skin tightly under your fingertips. Your nails dug into her and drew blood, yet she loved it dearly.

“That’s right! Oh, you’re such a smart little thing, Mommy’s so proud of you.” She ushered, and even though you could barely register the words leaving her mouth, you blushed a deep red.

“You think you can take one more?” You didn’t know if she meant adding another finger or orgasm to the list, but you knew you couldn’t take either. So, you shook your head, hoping she’d finally listen and let you take a breather.

“Wrong answer, love.” She chuckled in response to your mewls. In reality, she knew you better than you knew yourself. She knew you could take it, so she continued. If you were to actually need her to stop, she would, but she knew you were too much of a dumb baby to think for yourself.

“I’m gonna need you to stay extra quiet for me now, alright? We don’t want to wake up my boys, now do we?” You shook your head which resulted in a small kiss to your temple, one that had you wanting more. If only she could just kiss your lips again, refuse to pull away until you were both breathless, that’s all you wanted.

She noticed your eyes repeating a glance between her face and her breasts that were practically screaming your name. A smirk took over her, her free hand resting beneath your neck as she eased you closer to her skin. Your lips instantly wrapped around the hardened bud as you suckled softly, moaning into her as she shuddered.

“That’s it, take all of Momma’s milk.” The change in her nickname was odd, but it only seemed to cause you to gush around her fingers even more. Your juices coated her digits the faster she moved, occasionally halting in her pace as she focused on the ache in her breasts that you were removing.

“Please, Momma..” Your hand went to her other breast as you toyed with it to your liking, enjoying the small gasps you received from her end one after the other.

“Yeah, honey? Do you- fuck-“ She cut herself off as she straddled your wobbly thigh, grinding her cunt against the soft skin as her clit throbbed.

“Do you need to cum?” She finished, ending in a nod coming from your end. She smiled breathlessly, biting her lip as a way to suppress the sweet moans pooling from beneath her lips.

“Why don’t you cum with Mommy, it would make her so happy.” Only a few moments later your orgasm came rushing through you, Wanda joining you quickly after as she painted your leg with her slick. She admired the mess she made before gathering her juices and shoving her coated fingers in your mouth. You accepted happily, still using your hands on her swollen nipples that begged for your call.

“T-thank you-“

“Shh,” She cut you off. “Go to sleep, princess, Momma’s right here.”

You jolted awake with flushed cheeks, your head turning both ways as you searched for the older woman. You sighed, realizing it was just yet another dream that resulted in you touching the same spot you imagined the woman touching.

You went downstairs to grab a drink of water, your panties soaked and tank top loose on your skin, causing your nipples to become slightly visible. You were oblivious to the woman smirking through the window aimed across from yours, slowly rubbing her clit in circles as she came to her second orgasm of the night.

Of course, she had been manipulating your dreams, how else would she get you to talk to her? You still haven’t, but she knew you were the one with fingers stuffed deep inside of you nearly every night, all while picturing it was her.

“Mom? We picked the book for bedtime story!” One of her sons knocked on the locked door, breaking Wanda out of her trance as she rushed to put on her clothing.

“I’ll be out in just a minute, honey!” She looked at her hands still covered with her slick, grinning as she imagined it was yours and took it in her mouth, moaning as it hit her tastebuds.

“Mommy can’t wait to taste you, Princess.”

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pbueckerslover · 9 days

Note

hi love can u make gf Paige headcanons

gf paige headcanons ✧.*

warnings: pure fluff !

notes: i love the anon requests keep them coming 💋💋

-when she’s with just you she is the softest mf ever

-clingy!!!!! like so clingy but only towards you and she knows you love it

-if there’s no other seats for you you already know she’s pulling you onto her lap

-will spoil you no matter what you say, she just wants to show her girl how much she appreciates her

-lets you do her hair for games and she loves it because it’s just another excuse for you to be touching her

-sends you tiktoks all the time like you probably constantly have multiple notifs just from her

-makes you do tiktok dances with her or a trend that she thinks is cute

-brags about you to anyone who will listen, “my girlfriend is the most beautiful girl in the whole world” “i have the most amazing girlfriend ever”

-loves when you show up to her games and she searches for you in the crowd almost the whole time

-facetime calls daily whenever you’re not together because she misses her girl and wants to see her pretty face!!!

-makes you play fortnite with her

-loves when you play with her hair or rub her back and it’s the only way she can fall asleep

-compliments. compliments. compliments. always praising you and telling you how beautiful you are, “you look so good baby” “my pretty girl”

-eye contact goes wild. always staring at you when you’re not looking but when you are she makes sure that you’re always looking into her eyes

authors note: i enjoyed writing these so let me know if i should do more or if you have any specific suggestions for headcanons!!

#paige bueckers #paige bueckers headcannons #paige bueckers x reader #paige bueckers fanfiction #wlw #uconn wbb #uconn huskies

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loveinhawkins · 1 year

Text

When Lucas Sinclair starts to apologise for missing The Cult of Vecna, Eddie initially thinks that he’s hearing things.

Well, actually, the first thing he thinks is something along the lines of ‘what the fuck are you talking about?’

It takes him almost a solid thirty seconds to even vaguely remember his campaign; the last day of school before Spring Break feels dreamlike, as if it happened to someone else, as if he just watched everything through a fogged-up window.

“Jesus, Sinclair. I’ve got an ongoing list of folks who owe me an apology since, like, sixth grade, and trust me, your name’s not on there. Can pretty confidently say it never will, okay?”

Eddie sees Steve tilt his head ever so slightly from where he’s walking just ahead of them, like he’s listening in. Spots his faint nod of approval.

Eddie can’t decide if he resents it or finds it endearing—kind of gets the ridiculous feeling that Steve’s vetting him on behalf of the kids.

“Okay,” Lucas says, and he’s smiling, but there’s a sort of sombreness to it, too. “Still, I should’ve—”

“Hey, hindsight’s twenty-twenty,” Eddie says, firmly cutting off whatever self-critical bullshit he was about to hear. He knocks his shoulder against Lucas’s, adds a dry, “Like, I would’ve been a dick about it no matter what.”

Lucas laughs, but it’s muted. Then he takes a deep breath, and Eddie suddenly realises that he must’ve been using the apology to get himself started, to work himself up to what he really wanted to say.

“I’m… I’m sorry about… about Jason and… I thought I’d thrown them all off the trail, but—”

“Oh, don’t—don’t worry about it, man,” Eddie says faintly.

There’s a flash of Jason in his mind’s eye, the savage twist of his lip as he ran into the lake; he thinks of Lucas lying to his face, the danger of him being found out, and feels sick.

“Seriously, you could’ve told them… y’know. Wouldn’t have held it against you.”

Eddie doesn’t mention that him getting caught still feels inevitable, like he’s just waiting for the walls to close in.

But right now, at least, he can breathe a little easier. The shire might be burning, but there’s people leading him through it. He’s not alone.

Lucas looks appalled. “What? No, I couldn’t—I couldn’t do that to you.”

It’s said with such conviction that Eddie has to fight through a sudden tightness in his throat—doesn’t really know what to do in the face of such undeserved loyalty.

He settles on saying, “So, how was the game?” which is embarrassingly inadequate, but a genuine question nevertheless; the past few… Jesus, however long it’s been, he’s been in permanent need of a distraction.

Steve slows his walking pace—to anyone else it might’ve seemed subtle, but Eddie’s used to noticing such things. He somehow gets the feeling that Steve is no longer scrutinising him, not exactly; his posture’s relaxed and open, his forehead free of frown lines.

It’s more like he’s simply curious about Eddie’s behaviour. The way his eyes drift over, then down to the forest floor, then back again silently seems to say what are you thinking?

Or maybe Eddie’s projecting because he asks the very same question whenever a muscle jumps in Steve’s jaw.

“Oh, um…” Lucas says hesitantly. “I was on the bench for most of it, so—”

“Quit being modest.” The quiet whir of a tape being rewound; Max Mayfield comes up to Lucas’s side. “He made the winning shot,” she tells Eddie pointedly. “It was a buzzer-beater.”

“Oh, holy shit. Well done, dude.”

From the way Lucas is staring at Max with wide eyes, it’s obvious that he’s barely registered what Eddie’s said.

“How do you know that?” he asks. “You… you weren’t at the game.”

“I, uh.” Max looks down for a moment, fiddling with the headphones around her neck. “I listened to it on the radio.”

Lucas smiles so brightly. There’s an earnestness to him; Eddie spotted it a mile away, ever since that first day back at school, when all the new freshmen were anxiously lining up to get lunch.

Max softens—her arms are still folded, but she drifts a little closer to Lucas as they walk, all studied casualness.

(Oh, Eddie’s been there before: forced to run track in middle school Phys Ed, and the only saving grace was ‘just so happening’ to run at the same pace as any boy who’d smile at him.)

Eddie catches Steve’s eye, and this time Steve gives him a very deliberate expression, nodding fondly at Max and Lucas.

Look at them, he’s saying with his eyes, as if he and Eddie are on the same team, as if Eddie at all deserves to be let in on whatever shared history Steve has with these kids.

Eddie kicks at a stray twig. You’re not going to get a lump in your throat about this, damn it, don’t be stupid.

“S’gonna be historic, Sinclair,” he says. “Last time the Tigers won a championship was, uh, lemme think… twenty-two years ago.”

Lucas stops in his tracks.

“I know that,” he says, eyes shrewd, “but why do you know?”

Eddie raises his hands with a grin, it wasn’t me, officer. “What, I can’t repeat a few years without retaining a little school knowledge?”

“Oh,” Lucas says, and it’s like Eddie can see him mentally replaying every cafeteria speech. He grins back. “So you’re a hypocrite.”

“Maybe,” Eddie says. He glances further afield, where Dustin is animatedly explaining something to Robin and Nancy. “I know you’re not gonna give me shit for it, though.”

“Huh, guess you don’t really know me,” Lucas says, and Max snorts.

Eddie smirks. “And it’s, like, doubly historic since the last person to score a buzzer-beater was—”

He cuts himself off, because Steve abruptly turns to him, like they’re in alliance, and draws a hand sharply across his neck.

But Lucas is already hooked. “What? Who was it?”

Eddie gives Steve a helpless shrug. Sorry, man.

“I’m looking right at him,” he says.

Lucas rounds on Steve. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because,” Steve says, flustered, “that was your thing, Lucas, I didn’t wanna be all…”

He trails off with a vague hand gesture, and Eddie thinks he somehow gets what he means—smiles at the thoughtfulness of it.

“That makes, like, no sense,” Lucas says vehemently. His eyes practically have stars in them. “Damn it, we shoulda got a photo.”

Steve laughs in surprise. “All right, noted.”

“I mean, Wheeler works for the school paper, right?” Eddie says. “They’ve probably got old issues. Hey, Sinclair, you could have, y’know, side-by-side photos. Yours and then…” He waves a hand at Steve. “Ancient history.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Ancient, sure.”

“Oh, Lucas,” Max says, batting her eyes excessively, “I’d frame a picture of you. Pray to it every night.”

Lucas blushes. “Shut up,” he says, elbowing her gently; Eddie thinks that it’s the first time he’s heard Max Mayfield laugh.

Steve’s watching over them again, and his eyes go pensive when Lucas mumbles something like, “I wouldn’t mind a frame.”

The expression Steve has is something Eddie’s only seen once before, and it was on Wayne’s face. Eddie had privately dubbed it the ‘found something for your birthday’ look when he’d noticed it: him and Wayne on a road trip, Eddie not so secretly mooning over the secondhand acoustic guitar in the shop window.

“Your picture should be bigger, Sinclair,” Steve says, sounding both teasing and sincere. “My shot didn’t win a Championship Game.” In an undertone, he adds, “As Brenda so helpfully reminded me.”

Oh, Eddie’s not letting that go.

“Do mine ears deceive me? Did you take a date to a high school basketball game?” Eddie cackles. “You sure know how to woo ‘em, Harrington.”

“Hey,” Steve says defensively, “she could only make that day. Told her I had non-negotiable plans: it was either the game or it was a bust.”

Huh, Eddie thinks, that’s actually… really sweet.

Lucas looks torn between being embarrassed or touched. “You didn’t need to do that, Steve.”

“Sure I did. C’mon, you thought I was gonna go to every match and then miss the Championship?” Steve’s eyebrows furrow. “Where was Erica, anyway?”

… Ah.

“Mea culpa,” Eddie says. “She was, uh, at Hellfire.”

Lucas scoffs. “It’s fine,” he says. “Last time she was at a game, she kept shouting that she loved my tactics.” He looks out into the middle distance. “I was on the bench the whole time.”

Steve chuckles. “Yeah, I missed her being there.” He’s sporting a smile that’s somehow the perfect balance of fond and mischievous; it, quite frankly, has no business looking as attractive as it does. “We had, um, alternative commentary for every game. That kid should have a radio show.” He comes closer, adds in another aside, “Would’ve made the date more bearable if she was there.”

Eddie stifles a laugh, has a moment of respectful silence for Brenda.

Max and Lucas cut in front, keep walking until they’re almost out of earshot; Eddie hears Lucas faintly say something that sounds like, “Was I totally tubular?”, soon drowned out by Max’s laughter.

There’s a short silence.

“Thanks, Eddie,” Steve says suddenly.

Eddie blinks at him, quickly turns his genuine confusion into a bit. “What for, Harrington? My devastating wit? Devilish good looks?”

Steve shakes his head. He smiles for a moment, in on the joke, but then he looks over at Lucas and Max again, and… there.

A muscle jumps in his jaw.

“It’s just… they’ve got a lot to carry, y’know? So…” He shrugs. “Thanks.”

It’s said so quietly, so without fanfare.

Eddie’s hit with the realisation between one footstep and the next: that he’s earned Steve Harrington’s trust.

It feels… weighty.

But Eddie doesn’t mind it; he doesn’t think it’s going to crush his ribs. If anything it feels like they’re sharing a load.

“Don’t gotta thank me for that, Harrington.”

Steve smiles, pushing back his hair; Eddie’s brought back to the moment he did the very same on the basketball court, just as the ball sunk through the net, and Eddie decided fuck it, wholeheartedly embracing his hypocrisy as he jumped up and down with the band kids.

I cheered so goddamn loud for you, Eddie thinks.

He doesn’t say it.

But he keeps walking next to Steve. Feels a little young, a little bit like he’s running track—checking his pace just so he could see a boy smile at him.

#skull rock to lover’s lake missing scenes are becoming my new fave (of which i have many faves ❤️)#eddie and lucas #pre steddie #steve and lucas #steve and max #eddie and max #lumax #steddie #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #lucas and erica #steve and erica #eddie munson #lucas sinclair #max mayfield #steve harrington #steve x eddie #lucas x max

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neoplatinum · 2 months

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opposing worlds | kim chaewon

summary: rooming with kim chaewon was a terribly bad (good) decision.

pairing: roommate!chaewon x roommate!reader

themes: enemies (?) to lovers, college au, fluff, very minor angst, chaewon is a micromanager!, implied sexual content, yunjin!

wc: 3.0k

even though its below freezing outside, with a red nose along with frozen ears, you refuse to enter your apartment. fearing the demon that you live with, her legal name being kim chaewon.

a major pain in your ass is how you would describe living with her. you would rather step on legos than to live with her, but with limited on-campus housing you have to deal the cards that you've been dealt.

so you pace outside, on the welcome mat, biting your nails. just getting the courage to walk back into your apartment. one that turns into a war zone whenever chaewon's being a stickler for rules and regulations (ones that she's made for the apartment). you finally stop pacing when you feel the confidence back in your body.

"i'm not letting her dictate what i can and cant do." you say to yourself quietly, this was ridiculous. not being able to enter a space that you pay for just because chaewon was a micromanager pissed you off more than you would like to admit.

as soon as you enter the apartment, you're immediately hit with the silence of the apartment. it's odd, and you can feel a pair of eyes staring at your back. you pay it no mind as you slip off your shoes. you turn to the sight of chaewon with her arms crossed, standing in that familiar stance of authority. letting out a heavy breath, you know, watch her folded arms, tense jaw, and the most telling sign: her foot tapping rhythmically. so you walk towards her, like a child ready for scolding.

"what's it going to be tonight, chaewon? cleanliness, manners, etiquette, or are you going to comment about my clothes?" you explain, frustrated. It seems you can never get things right around miss perfect.

"cleanliness!" she exclaims, pointing at the many dishes piling up in the sink. you grimace at the sight, just remembering it was your turn to do the dishes. "look at our chore list! it's your week!" she continues point at the very detailed chore poster, your name in big bold red letters.

you groan and grab some gloves, preparing for the long lecture about cleanliness and maintaining a proper space. while you are busy washing all the bowls in the sink and placing them on a drying rack, chaewon begins listing off reasons to always maintain a clean apartment—a lecture you have heard far too often.

"enough, chaewon! i am not five, and i don't need to be lectured on why I need to wash the dishes for the 50th time!" you shout at her, cutting her off from her outburst. she stops, and you can see her lips waver, and her hands are balled into fists.

"then stop acting like a five-year-old!" she shouts back at you, stomping to her room and slamming the door. you wince at the sound, feeling a little guilty for yelling at her, she just really set you off tonight.

so you stand in the kitchen all alone with the sound of running water comforting you. feeling the weight of your words, you feel bad that she has to reprimand you for things you should figure out on your own. with a final dish on the rack, you sulk back into your room, thinking of ways to apologize to your roommate.

"chaewon?" you wake up early, feeling guilty that you yelled at her. even though you were tired of the lectures, you knew it was wrong to yell at the girl. you tried making a breakfast that she would like. so with a bowl of oatmeal and a cup of her favorite green tea, you carry the tray towards her room and knock on her door.

"what." her voice is flat and monotone. you shrink into yourself before speaking again.

"i made you breakfast...listen i'm sorry about yelling at you. i shouldn't have and i let my emotions get the best of me. could you open the door?" you explain, feeling awful just remembering her face when you yelled at her.

the door opens slowly and behind the door is an upset chaewon with puffy eyes and a bunch of tissues in hand. you slowly walk in and place the tray on her desk. she's busy with her schoolwork it seems, but it also looks like she's been busy crying with the pile of tissues in her waste basket.

it's weird being in her room ever since you found out how high-strung she was. so you have always steered clear of her room, this is the first time you've been inside. noticing how decorated the room is, it's cute, oddly. it's what you expect of chaewon's room, clean and proper. with a splash of green everywhere, that must be her favorite color.

she stares at the bowl of oatmeal you made her, eyeing it wearily. you groan at her.

"i didn't poison it, if that's what you're thinking." you comment quietly. she nods and sits down in her chair to eat it. you wait patiently, not really sure what to do. maybe waiting for feedback at this point. she just nods and you finally feel your shoulders release tension.

"phew." you say out loud.

"thank you for breakfast, i'll stop lecturing you so much." she says quietly. you nod, a little shocked at how dismissive she is. walking out of her room, you still feel a bit awful, maybe you should invite her out somewhere.

before you can begin to ask her, chaewon is already closing her door behind her. you're just grateful she accepted the peace offering.

she doesn't comment on your poor behavior in the next couple of weeks, you just feel inclined to do the chores that have been laid out. you don't hear from her for a while, feeling her absence in the apartment.

some days, when you're past boredom, eyes glued to the ceiling, and daydreaming of becoming rich. you think about chaewon and why she's so persistent about cleanliness. you always thought it was a bit extreme, but you never came back to a messy apartment. so you could appreciate that, you just hope she goes back to her own noisy self.

it's become strangely quiet in the apartment without chaewon's constant annoyance towards you. whenever you step outside in the living room in hopes of seeing chaewon, she's never there. your mood is considerably worse without a person to argue with.

you purposely leave out clothes on the floor for her to scold you, but she never comments on it. just stares at it and walks into her room. so with a dejected face, you pick up your own clothes. you hate to admit that you missing your nagging roommate.

"is that chaewon?" your friend shouts into your ear. saturday night out, and instead of staying inside with the awkward tension with chaewon, you're out here to party your anxiety away.

the thing that irks you tonight is that this house party is definitely a fire hazard—way exceeding the maximum number of occupants. you remember chaewon telling you to never stay in a place that breaks the maximum occupants.

you turn your head up at the question, looking around and you finally spot your roommate across the room. all you can conclude is chaewon is stupid drunk—dancing like her life depended on it. people all around her are egging her on, and chaewon breaks out the robot, making you laugh.

then some guy starts getting near her to dance with her, you frown at the sight. setting down your cup as you make your way to the other side of the room.

"woah buddy, back up." you put a hand between the dude and chaewon, he flips you off before walking away. you are about to chase after him to give him a piece of your mind, but then you remember chaewon in front of you. blearly eyes chaewon, with her stumbling and drunk laughter filling your senses. she refocuses her eyes, and they land on you, eyeing your outfit.

"what are you doing here?" she asks in a slurred tone, her finger wagging in your face.

"i could ask you the same thing." you raise your eyebrows, confused by the sight of miss perfect student chaewon partying on a sunday night. she scoffs at you.

"don't tell me what to do." she crosses her arms as best as she can, definitely feeling the drunkness.

"don't tell me what to do." you mock her tone, laughing at her when she gets mad at you. she starts to walk away, but you grab her arm. "hey, let's go home. it's late."

"no! let me go." she stomps her foot like a child.

"alright, let's do this the hard way." you say and and hoist her up, carrying her out the stuffed house.

"let me down! i'm not done partying." she shouts. you pay her no mind as she tries pushing you away. you laugh because she really isn't trying that hard.

so you take her back home, walking down frat row until you reach your apartments. by then she's fallen asleep, arms wrapped around your neck and snoring lightly. it's cute seeing chaewon so relaxed, you're glad you found her, it's been weird being at home without her. you hope whatever is happening between you two just returns back to normal.

you fumble around with the key to your apartment, and with a final push you walk into her room. unwrapping her arms from your neck, as you set her down in her bed. you admire the way chaewon looks in makeup, gorgeous and very serene.

but you also know that chaewon hates going to sleep with her makeup on, so you rummage through her makeup drawer, finding makeup wipes for her. you take the time to gently wipe all the makeup off, finding it peaceful and fulfilling to do so.

she fusses a bit when you wipe too hard. you pull back and let her calm down, before wiping the rest of it off. throwing the used wipes in her waste basket. when you turn around, you see her knocked out cold, laying like a starfish on her green comforter.

you smile at the sight and then roll her under her comforter, tucking her in. with light footsteps, you close her door, and return back to your own room. the smile never leaves your face.

it's been about a week since the party, chaewon was embarrassed that you had brought her home. so she bought you coffee and a muffin nearly every morning.

she lets you explain that night from your point of view, her face goes red at the embarrassing parts. you purposely leave out the part where that guy was trying to dance with her. for some reason, you feel upset when you talk about it, maybe he just looked too creepy.

she dissapears into her room soon after, something along the lines of, "i need to process all this."

later that night, you're writing on your laptop when you hear chaewon's door open. the sight of her in a nice form fitting dress and her hair done up, your jaw drops and you jump to your feet.

"where are you going?" you ask. she's checking her purse for something. she looks up at you confused.

"a party?" she states like it's so obvious. your body is jittery at the idea. you think quickly, she's not going out by herself. what if she gets kidnapped?

"wait, let me go with you." you say as you rush into your room to get ready, no way you're letting her go to that party alone. you need to fend off the creepy men for her.

"why are you going?" she asks from outside the doorway. a little confused at the sight of you throwing clothes everywhere. she even steps inside to pick up the clothes now littered all over the floor.

"just cause." you say and grab your outfit. rushing into your bathroom to change. within a few minutes you walk out ready to accompany chaewon.

she's on her phone waiting for you, and you examine her outfit. you rummage through the closet, looking for a nice warm jacket. slipping it over her shoulders as you both set out for the night. you miss how chaewon's cheeks warm at the gesture.

it has started becoming a regular habit: if you can't attend the party with chaewon, no matter how late or wasted she is, you always pick her up from the party. if she was too tired or drunk, you would help tuck her into bed.

oftentimes, you even had to help her puke her guts out from drinking too much. but that was never a pretty sight, so you try and get her to puke her guts out before she enters the apartment.

one night, she ends up just crawling into your bed. when you fall asleep, you feel her body warmth against your body. she makes herself comfortable under the blanket. wrapping her arms around your torso as she lays against your pillow.

you move yourself further off the edge of the bed as she scoots closer. she mumbles something about how warm her bed is, and honestly, even with her taking up your personal space, you don't mind.

it has somehow blended into a habit to sleep together every night when she came in the next night, and without a word, slipped under the comforter again. you let her, too scared of saying anything in case it scared her away. it's become a nightly thing to just sleep in the same bed together...even when she's not drunk.

"you two do what?" yunjin is staring at you with her food half chewed.

"dont talk with food in your mouth, you're going to catch flies." you comment.

"oh great, now you sound like chaewon too." yunjin bites her food. you decided to contact yunjin in hopes of figuring out what to do with this new "development" with chaewon. the habit of her sleeping in your bed with you. sometimes you wake up and catch chaewon staring at you.

"so you two sleep together in the same bed, brush your teeth together, go about your morning and nightly routine together, and even cuddle...platonically." yunjin questions you, but the sarcasm is dripping as she says it.

"yes." you answer.

yunjin takes a deep breath before starting up again, she didn't think you were so dense. "dude, chaewon is into you."

"no she's not, just two months ago we were at each other throats. don't you remember?" you ask.

"of course i remember, oh my GOD, is this my real life enemies to lovers slow burn 10k words fic in real life?" yunjin says to herself towards the end.

"you seriously have got to get off the internet." you cross your arms staring at the girl. "you aren't helping, by the way."

"help with what?" she asks, a little confused.

"what do i do?" you ask her. ever since the new habit of chaewon and yours, you've been going through your days all confused, always thinking about chaewon.

"you either grow a pair and confess you want to be more than 'sleep buddies' or you wuss out and just let her continue doing this." she says plainly.

you disregard her comment, "forget what i said." you say. yunjin just shrugs and continues eating her meal, letting you sit with your own thoughts.

so you do wuss out like an absolute coward. just letting the unspoken words take over you and chaewon's sleeping arrangements. you let her continue to invade your space, moving her stuff into your room. her decorations, her clothes in your drawers, and just recently she moved her desk into your room, placing it just next to your desk.

you were shocked at the arrangement but couldn't find the confidence to comment on it. it's weird; now you two practically exist in each other's space all the time; just two months ago, you were cursing the world for giving you chaewon as a roommate. now you can't imagine going to sleep without seeing her and her hair roller every night.

sleeping together turns into unspoken dates: going to the movies together, going bowling, getting groceries together, and even going to high-end restaurants together.

it's like you're dating unofficially. those were the exact words your friend told you when he came over to visit. when you let him into your room to show off your movie posters, he immediately thought you had a girlfriend, you had to explain to him how it was just chaewon.

he looked at you like you grew a third eye, confused at how chaewon went from most annoying person in the world, to someone who sleeps in your bed every night. you try not to let those words mean so much, but secretly you're hoping you can officially date her.

one night, you go out clubbing with chaewon; she looks gorgeous in her tight dress and her hair laid out, showing off her dancing to you. you recently found out thar chaewon was part of the dance team, often visiting her showcases. now you enjoy just watching her let loose, like a free soul, not bounded by her own rules. its beautiful to see.

by the third song of you two circling each other on the dance floor, you kiss her. pulling her into your embrace, hands reaching her back and pushing her closer to you. she welcomes the kiss and lets you pull her closer. hands running up your hair, tugging lightly.

you make out with her against the club wall, and drag each other home with urgency. laughing loudly in the streets like teenagers in love.

"be mine." she breathes into your ears that night.

"only if you're mine too." you kiss her shoulder, and she nods.

yunjin visits you two the next day, screaming at the sight of you two in your bed and covering her eyes immediately. you wake up horrified with chaewon clinging onto you as yunjin screams for the whole apartment complex to hear. she slams the door closed and runs out of the apartment. you and chaewon both look at each other before laughing loudly.

even though yunjin avoids both you and chaewon for the next two weeks, you don't feel an ounce of regret. you can honestly say that rooming with chaewon was the best decision of your life.

a/n: i feel like chaewon fits enemies to lovers really well but maybe that's just me. didn't really proofread this one but anyways. posting this piece first because it was decided by the people! i hope it was worth the wait! stay safe and stay healthy everyone!

#chaewon #kim chaewon #le sserafim #le sserafim x reader #le sserafim x you #chaewon x reader #chaewon x you #kim chaewon x reader #le sserafim chaewon #kpop imagines #huh yunjin #neoplatinum

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tongue-like-a-razor · 4 months

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Less Talk | Part IX

Jake Seresin x F!Reader

A/N: It's been a minute, y'all! I've missed my Less Talk crew! Second last chapter, here we go!

Summary: Jake can't stand Bradley's best friend. What's more, he's probably in love with her, which really pisses him off.

CW: Swearing, smut, angst, fluff, you might dislike me when this is over

Masterlist | Part I

“Jake!” you call as you run after him out of the restaurant. “Jake, wait!”

But Jake doesn’t stop. He can’t.

The moment Mustang utters the words ‘we’re engaged’, he goes numb. Bradley says something that he can’t quite hear or doesn’t want to comprehend. The crowd starts cheering and closing in. And he sees your eyes, wide with alarm as you try to keep him in your line of sight despite the moving bodies between you.

And then he’s gone. Shoving his way through the well-wishers as he makes for the door. But he’s only halfway to his truck when he hears your voice. And as he pulls aggressively on the handle, he perceives your approaching footsteps; you’re running.

He lets out an aggravated sigh and turns to look at you without a word. You jog toward him, stopping just short of his bumper, and then you move forward slowly, as though you’re afraid he might bolt.

“It’s not true,” you blurt out, your words slurring into one another because you’re trying to get them out so quickly.

Jake gawks at you, not know what to believe anymore.

“I promise you,” you say. “It’s over.”

Jake furrows his brows, staring at you incredulously. “I don’t think he knows that.”

You let out a shaky breath and sink your teeth into your bottom lip to keep it from trembling. “He will.”

Jake watches you with contempt. “So, he doesn’t yet.”

Your eyes sparkle in the afternoon sun but you blink away the tears, conveniently averting your gaze. Jake sets his jaw; he isn’t falling for the innocent act.

“I can’t help you,” he says levelly. “Because I don’t know what’s going on.” He bangs a fist on the hood of his truck and then takes a step toward you. “Because you won’t tell me anything!”

You nod, catching a couple of tears with the tip of your index finger. You don’t let any of them fall and you manage to compose yourself before your emotions get out of hand. “I don’t need your help,” you whisper, looking at the dirt caked into the treads of his tire rather than up at his face.

“Fine,” he replies. Although it’s not fine. Nothing is fine. He, certainly, is not fine. “Then I don’t need to be here.”

“Fine.” You shrug, obstinately avoiding eye contact.

Your apathetic tone irks Jake, but he’s not about to let you witness just how much you affect him. He tucks his hands into the pockets of his jeans before balling them up into fists. There’s only one piece of information he absolutely needs to know. The rest can probably wait. “Are you gonna marry him?” he asks, a little more forcefully than he anticipates.

You meet his gaze finally – guiltily – but don’t respond.

Jake says nothing more. He opens the door to his truck and gets in, and you don’t stop him. He turns over the engine and waits for you to step out of the way before he backs out swiftly and floors it out of the lot.

…

The sound of your voice jolts him awake. He sits up straight in his bed, listening intently, wondering if he’d dreamt it. But then your laughter carries up to the second floor. Jake closes his eyes. You must be in the kitchen with Bradley.

Jake hasn’t seen you in two weeks; hasn’t wanted to. Seeing you has only ever caused him pain. Even before he realized he liked you, your presence had always seemed to shift him out of orbit. Your stupid quips and endless debates, the judgmental look in your eye whenever Jake tried to stand his ground. It got worse when it finally occurred to him that he enjoyed that sort of abuse.

Jake runs his hands over his face, trying to tune you out. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t miss the arguments. You’re the only person who’s ever really put him in his place. And how he’s loved putting you in yours.

Jake gets out of bed with a sigh, pausing at the closed door of his bedroom to listen. It isn’t eavesdropping if he’s not actually interested in the topic of conversation; all he wants is to hear your voice.

“I swear I will never drink drip coffee again,” you announce with conviction.

Jake holds back a laugh, leaning his head into the doorframe.

“It’s basically sewer water by comparison,” you continue.

Jake snorts.

“Have another croissant,” you urge.

“You brought enough to feed a squadron,” he hears Bradley retort. “I’m not eating them all.”

You go quiet for a moment, saying something Jake can’t quite make out. He pushes off the frame and shuffles into the bathroom. He’s still pissed, and no amount of baked goods will convince him to go downstairs. He’s not ready for that. And, if all goes to plan, he’ll just slowly get over you and never have to see you again.

Once he’s out of the shower, Jake towel dries his hair and then quickly pats down his body. He listens for signs of conversation, but the house is quiet now. You and Bradley must have left.

“Bradshaw?” he calls, just in case.

No answer.

He heads down to start a pot of coffee before getting dressed but, when he enters the kitchen, you are the first thing he sees. You look up from where you're sitting at his table and yelp – because he’s butt naked – leaping out of your seat and covering your eyes with your hands, promptly turning away.

“What the fuck, Seresin!” you scream.

Jake jumps behind the counter. “What?” he shouts. “What the fuck, yourself! What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to see you!” you screech. “But, like, not so much of you!”

Jake cringes, still in shock from the encounter. He grabs a throw blanket off the couch and wraps it around his waist. “Why didn’t you answer when I called down?” he yells, his temples pounding as if his head is housing a goddamn woodpecker.

“You called for Bradley!”

Jake shakes his head. “Are you kidding me?”

“Why are you running around naked?” you squeal, still turned away and holding your hands over your eyes.

“I thought I was home alone! You don’t walk around naked in your own home?” Jake cries in outrage. He’s not about to let you win this fight.

“Uh, sometimes, I guess,” you admit.

Jake, who’s about to retort to whatever argument you make, falls silent. He stares at your back, trying very hard not to picture what that particular scenario might look like. He gulps. “Well, alright, then,” he says. He steps away from the counter, the blanket securely tied at his hips, and walks around tentatively. “You can look now,” he says wearily.

Hesitantly, you turn to face him, although you avoid looking directly at him. “You’re still not wearing a shirt,” you say pointedly, keeping a hand up to block the view.

Jake grimaces. “Is it too exhilarating for you, princess?” he bites back.

You drop your hand and finally look at him – albeit with a scowl. You narrow your eyes irritably. “Get over yourself.”

Jake shrugs. “You can always return the favor,” he suggests, gesturing at your baby tee that’s hugging your curves just right.

You roll your eyes and make your way toward the counter, purposefully walking around the table – which is the longer route – to avoid getting too close to Jake. He watches you levelly. “Why did you want to see me?” he asks sourly.

You glance up at him, still frowning, and push a bakery box across the counter toward him. “I brought you breakfast.”

Jake doesn’t smile; one breakfast two weeks down the road isn’t going to magically repair the damage you’ve done. “Why?”

You gulp. “I wanted to talk to you.”

Jake lets out an irritable sigh and drops his gaze. “I’ve got nothing to say to you,” he responds moodily.

You reach further down the counter and drag a paper cup into view. “I got you a coffee, too,” you add, as though this might tip the scales in your favor. “Americano.”

Jake, who is dying for some caffeine, responds with, “I’m not thirsty.”

You exhale sharply. “Don’t be a baby.”

He fixes you with a scathing look. “Don’t be a nuisance.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Am I bothering you?”

Jake scoffs. “Well, for starters, you’re still here.” He walks over to the refrigerator and takes out a carton of eggs. “You hungry?” he asks grumpily.

You turn to face him as he sets a bowl down on the counter and starts cracking eggs. He’s right next to you now so he can see you seething out of the corner of his eye.

“I brought you breakfast!” you cry in outrage.

Jake starts to whisk the eggs without looking at you. “I don’t want that, I want this.” He glances over at you at this point and adds spitefully, “We all have to make difficult choices from time to time.”

“For fuck’s sake, Jake!” you exclaim, pulling the bowl out from under his nose. Half-beaten egg splashes onto the counter.

Jake tosses his whisk into the sink and takes a step away from the counter. He releases a quick breath and sets his jaw; but he still can’t look at you. “What is your problem?” he says in a low voice, keeping his eyes on a random chip in the paint of one of his kitchen cupboards.

“What’s my problem?” you screech.

He can tell that you’re getting worked up and it’s taking all his energy to keep his cool. He clenches his teeth and rolls his shoulders, trying to relax the tension in his muscles.

“You’re so mad at me that you won’t even drink my coffee?” you yell, the bowl of raw egg still in your hands.

Jake stares harder at the paint chip because he’s on the verge of completely flying off the handle. But he could only devote so much of his attention to negligible bullshit until he finally breaks. Agitatedly, he meets your gaze and bellows, “I’M SO MAD AT YOU, I CAN’T EVEN LOOK AT YOU!”

Your mouth falls open at his words and you blink at him in shock. After a moment, you look away, silently replacing the bowl on the counter. You’re chewing on your lip as you do this, your gaze lingering on the bowl even after you’ve released it from your grasp, like you’re reluctant to let it go.

Jake briefly closes his eyes. You’re not facing him, so you don’t witness the fleeting display of regret that steals over his features. He doesn’t want to hurt you in a way that makes you go quiet. He wants you to react – loudly, obnoxiously, passionately. He wants you to yell back. Because that’s how he knows you’re okay.

“I’ll go,” you say, tucking your hands into the back pockets of your shorts. You glance up at him, meeting his gaze with a resigned sort of look.

He nods. As much as he might've missed this kind of heated warfare, the lingering hostility is not in anyone’s best interest. “There’s an idea,” he says sarcastically, still keeping a safe distance away from where you’re standing by the counter.

Your mouth falls agape again. “Excuse me?”

He doesn’t want you to go. He doesn’t want you to go. But, if you do, he wants you to leave angry; not sad. So, he provokes you. “And take your crazy with you,” he says, gesturing toward the front door with his entire arm.

You let out an indignant scoff that turns into a sort of cry. “What did you call me?” you shriek, stepping up to him aggressively.

Jake glances down at you, squaring his jaw to keep from smirking. “What’s the politically correct word for completely unhinged?”

Your eyes go wide and, for a split second, he thinks you might actually hit him. But you’re not one for physical violence; you can strike below the belt with your words. “As if you give a damn about offending an already stigmatized group of people,” you retort.

Jake narrows his eyes. “At least I give a damn about the people I actually know.”

You let out a derisive laugh. “Oh yeah? So much so that you’re practically shoving me out the door?” you yell.

Jake rolls his eyes. “No one’s kicking you out,” he says gruffly, walking past you back to the counter. “Just stop taking my eggs away and we’re gravy.”

You fold your arms grumpily and stand there in his kitchen, fuming.

He looks over his shoulder at you. “What?” he says.

“You don’t like croissants?” you ask crossly, as if he’s gravely insulted you by opting for scrambled eggs.

Jake sighs. He reaches for the box of pastries on his counter and throws open the lid. He grabs a croissant irritably and brings it to his mouth, taking a large bite. “Happy?” he asks, chewing.

You watch him impassively. “You’re ridiculous,” you say.

“You’re ridiculous!” he yells. “You’re pissed because I won’t eat your damn food?”

Your eyes suddenly well up with tears. “I’m pissed because – because” – you suck in your cheeks defiantly, as if you’re not prepared to elaborate.

Jake swallows uncomfortably; he doesn’t like the idea of being responsible for making you cry.

You shake your head and sniffle. “I’m not mad!” you shout. “I came here to make up with you!”

Jake tosses the croissant onto the counter and it lands in the spilt yolk from earlier. He ignores this and steps toward you. “Why?” he yells back.

“Why what?” you scream as he approaches.

“Why make up with me?” he presses.

You stare at him angrily. “What do you mean? We were friends!”

Jake shrugs. “We weren’t close.”

You scoff. “You’re a fucking liar.”

“I don’t want to be your friend,” Jake says levelly, then he adds, raising the volume of his voice as if the conversation could stand to get any louder. “I never wanted to be your friend!” You go quiet for a moment, your tears subsiding as you take in his words. But he doesn’t give you a chance to mull them over. “You’re a fucking nightmare!” he continues emphatically, taking another step.

You lift your face as he draws nearer, glaring at him unblinkingly. You don’t back away; you stay put, even as he towers over you.

Jake grimaces in a way that conveys disgruntlement and despair in equal measure. He lets out an uneven sigh, his eyes skimming over your face. “You’re a pain in the ass,” he says, much quieter now, as he meets your gaze.

You stay perfectly still, as if his immense frame looming over your body is completely insignificant compared to your ruthless glower. In all fairness, you’re probably right. “I hate you,” you whisper.

Jake nods with a slight smirk. “Likewise.”

The thrill of riling you scorches his veins, but he’ll be damned if anger is the only thing he can make you feel. He wants you so desperately, he can hardly think straight.

You’re scowling at him but all he can see is the fire in your eyes, fierce and unrelenting, daring him to make another move. Jake is game – enthusiastically, to boot. He’s mad, sure. But, truth be told, you could be engaged to fifty men – none of them him – and he’d still want to fuck you. Hell, this only makes things easier; no fucking strings, just fucking sex.

He slides an arm behind your waist and pulls you forward abruptly. You gasp as if you weren’t expecting it. But with the way you’ve been staring him down, there is no way you didn’t see this coming.

He waits a moment, anyway, allowing you the opportunity to give him a smack for being overly presumptuous. But the animosity on your face has already been replaced with a kind of cautious curiosity. You’re very still, staring up at him sympathetically, because you know – you know – what he wants. Because you want it too.

Jake lifts his free hand up to the side of your neck, sliding it up through your hair to cup the back of your head and gently pull you forward. This is exactly the kind of situation he was meaning to avoid. But the warning bells are fleeting, and his lips are on top of yours before he can stop himself.

You push into him slightly – almost imperceptibly, except he perceives it – and instantly this kiss becomes the single most thrilling experience of his life. He moves in, absorbing your body in a rushed, impatient embrace, and you mold against him, closer than you’ve ever been before.

He can feel the soft fabric of your shirt rubbing against his skin but all that he truly registers is how your tits are compressing into his chest. He kisses you harder, stifling an entire anthology of dirty words that suddenly materializes on the tip of his tongue. There aren’t enough terms in the English language to fully express the way he craves to handle every inch of you, anyway.

You withdraw, at this point, to breathlessly exclaim, “You think you’re not a pain in the ass?”

Jake pulls you back with a mild roll of the eyes. “Shut up,” he mutters, kissing the corner of your mouth as you scoff in outrage.

“Don’t tell me to shut up!” you retort between the pecks he layers over your lips.

Jake grins against your mouth. “Shut up,” he repeats, dragging you backward as he steers you toward the staircase.

You let out a muffled – but distinctly indignant – cry. “Make me!” you exclaim as he stoops to wrap his hands around your thighs and lift you off the ground.

“I’m fucking trying,” he replies, closing his mouth around yours once he's picked you up.

Strategically speaking, making out while carrying someone up a flight of stairs is efficient. In practice, however, it’s a complicated task. Several times, Jake veers into one of the railings or nearly trips over his own feet. By the time he’s reached the second floor, his legs are tangled in the blanket he had wrapped around his torso, and the blanket itself is on the verge of unravelling. But Jake ignores the obstacles and resolutely marches you right into his bedroom.

He throws you unceremoniously onto the bed and retightens the blanket around his hips as though he means to keep it on. He looks down, pausing for a second to watch you catch your breath. Not because he thinks you might unexpectedly have a change of heart, but because he wants to savor the moment. He takes your legs and unhurriedly pulls you closer to where he stands. “You’re awful quiet,” he notes with a smirk, his fingers winding up the sides of your thighs.

You gulp with a relatively stoic expression for someone who’s about to be railed. “You told me to shut up,” you deadpan.

Jake raises his eyebrows. “You listened?”

You bite into your lips, nodding slowly, and Jake’s heart damn near somersaults right out of his body. For once, you want to give up the reins.

He reaches up underneath the fringed hem of your shorts, grabbing your ass and tugging you forward. “What, no instructions?” he says, his hands lingering on your butt cheeks because he’s waited oh so long to squeeze that flesh. The way your eyes half-close tells him you don’t necessarily mind.

“You need instructions?” you say in a breathy but still detectably mocking tone.

Jake chuckles. “Whether or not I need them isn’t likely to stop you.”

“I can do a post hoc analysis,” you say as one of his hands finally moves upward, bunching your shirt at your ribs to expose your stomach.

Jake grins at your words. “Hot.” So much for dirty talk. Apparently, the plan is to have sarcastic sex.

Your lips spread into a wry smile, and you reach up to the blanket tied around his waist to pull him on top of you. “Stop talking, Seresin,” you whisper.

“Hey, that’s my line,” he says, bracing himself on his forearm at the side of your head. He stares into your eyes, wondering if he could really go through with it. How much does he really need to understand the complexities of your situation with Mustang? Isn’t it enough that you’re clearly hot for Jake? Isn’t it enough to just fuck and forget that you’re technically taken?

You’re watching him back, probably wondering the exact same thing. Isn’t it enough?

The truth is, every single moment spent in your presence is enough for Jake. And he was a fool to think that he could ever stay away.

He glides his hand up your abdomen, feeling your breath hitch underneath his fingertips every time he lets them linger for a moment atop your skin. Does Mustang know that you like it slow? That you want to feel the rush of anticipation? Jake is willing to bet that Mustang only goes one speed.

Jake traces the curve of your ribs, his exploration leading him eventually to the swell of your breasts. Your bare breasts. How he hadn’t noticed that you’d been braless downstairs bemuses him. He must’ve been too preoccupied with his own wardrobe to thoroughly examine yours.

His hand seizes for a moment as he gets used to the idea of touching you. Of feeling your chest flare into the palm of his hand every time you take a breath. Then, he wraps his fingers around your ribcage, his thumb grazing the side of your tit as he moves you upward on the bed.

“You comfortable?” he asks after repositioning you.

You nod, your eyes still locked on his like you’re trying to see right through to his soul. When his thumb sweeps underneath your breast, you let out a whimper that disturbs the air between your mouth and his. And there’s a dizzying note of desperation in your voice that paralyzes Jake.

He drops his head into the crook of your neck, wondering how long before he’s completely lost himself in you. Wondering if that ship’s sailed. Wondering if Mustang has ever felt like he’s drowning and soaring all at once. If he’s ever been this gone. If you’ve ever moaned like that for him.

“Fuck,” he mutters against your skin, realizing that he’s lost the upper hand. That he’s going to need a moment to recuperate. That there’s a debilitating weakness in his limbs that’s an extension of his weakness for you, and he can hardly hold himself up any longer.

He breathes heavily into your neck, his lips catching on your collarbone as his fingers skim across your nipple. You let out a breathy whine that vibrates his very core. You like being teased. Figures.

Jake drives his pelvis into your side, seeking a split second of relief. The blanket around his torso is a mess of twisted, sticky fabric that’s now pressing into your bare skin, hopefully arousing you. You move your leg up and down, stroking him through the fleece with your thigh, and Jake groans, spreading his fingers over your tit and finally giving it a squeeze.

You release a soft moan and Jake brings his lips to your other nipple, grazing his teeth over the thin cotton of your shirt. It’s not that he can’t be bothered to remove your clothes, rather, he very well might not survive the spectacle. So, he sucks on your nipple right through the fabric while continuing to massage your other breast, pressing himself closer and closer.

This is all that he could ask for, really. You, in his bed, at long last talked out. And yet, he can’t help himself; conversing with you has become second nature and, without even thinking, he mutters, “This doesn’t mean we’re friends.”

You let out a laugh that morphs into a soft cry as Jake pinches your nipple.

“Wouldn’t want you getting the wrong idea,” he continues, smirking against your neck.

Your chuckle pleases him. “Maybe if I weren’t such a pain in the ass.”

Jake squeezes his eyes shut, cringing slightly as he nuzzles his head under your chin. “Maybe,” he agrees, dragging your t-shirt upward. He lifts his head and meets your gaze as you raise your arms, letting him remove it. “Maybe if you didn’t hate me,” he adds, somewhat hoarsely because you’re half naked now and he’s understandably distracted.

You bring your arms back down and slide your hands unhurriedly up his chest, linking your fingers behind his neck. “And you me,” you remind him gently.

Jake lets himself take you in for a moment, his eyes slipping southward before he looks back at you with a smirk. “At least the feeling’s mutual,” he says, slowly lowering himself until his lips meet yours.

You open your mouth, bathing Jake in your hot breath as you kiss him, and he reciprocates the gesture eagerly. Urgently. His hand is suddenly gripping your leg, sliding up the inside of your thigh. You’re moaning before he’s even reached the summit, tearing viciously at his lips with your teeth. Your fingers are twisting into his hair as you pull yourself into him, breathless and impatient.

Jake unbuttons your shorts with a couple of fingers and is hastily pushing them over your hips as your breathy gasps warm his ear. “What is it, princess?” he whispers, suddenly slowing his pace. He kicks your shorts off your ankles and places his hand on your inner thigh where he gently strokes your tender skin. He grins wickedly. “What can I do for you?”

“Jake!” you whimper desperately, shimmying yourself down to meet his hand.

Jake obliges, sliding his fingers up between your legs. He’s not about to make you beg for it when he can barely keep it together himself. Another time, maybe. Assuming there will be one. He’d like to hear you ask for it. Tell him exactly what you want, sparing no detail. He wants you to talk dirty to him. Talk, talk, talk.

But instead of talking, you reach out and grab him by the waist. You blink up at him silently and maneuver his hips until he’s right over top of you. Then, without taking your eyes off his face, you unravel the blanket that’s somehow still wrapped around him and shove it aside.

Jake has never in his life made love. He’s fucked, sure. He’s had plenty relations. And this time is no different. Except, he’s feeling something pure amidst the lewd temptation driving his corpus. It’s a buoyancy that’s both nauseating and distressingly pleasant and it radiates outward from his chest, nearly overriding his ever-present desire to make – fuck you silly.

And then, as Jake slides slowly inside you, you cling frantically to his neck and utter a shaky, monosyllabic nonword that is the epitome of less talk.

And Jake is suddenly making love.

…

“Y/N came earlier today,” Bradley says to Jake that evening, casually popping open a can of beer.

Jake lifts his eyes and looks over at his friend with a straight face. “She did,” he confirms.

“Oh.” Bradley nods. “She caught you, then.”

Jake stares at him mutely before turning away and clicking the kettle on the counter. “You could say that.”

Bradley nods, taking a gulp of beer. “She told you, then?”

Jake freezes with his hand on his mug. The only thing he seems to recall you saying is not something you would have also said to your best friend. “Told me what?” he says, slowly turning to face Bradley.

The latter furrows his brows. “Did you guys talk?”

Jake watches Bradley curiously. “Tons,” he responds. “You know how she never shuts up.”

Bradley narrows his eyes suspiciously. “You did see her, right?”

“I did,” Jake says confidently because he, indeed, saw you. All of you.

“Weird,” Bradley says. “She said she was hanging back so she could tell you too.”

“Tell me what, Bradshaw?” Jake asks impatiently, forgetting about the boiling kettle as he walks toward the table with an empty mug in his hand.

Bradley sets down his beer and leans back in his chair uneasily. “That she’s leaving.”

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wlntrsldler · 2 months

Text

poisoned mercury | lifestyles of the rich & famous

i. lifestyles of the rich and famous by good charlotte (introduction)

a/n: introductory chapter! introducing the dynamics of the band, luke's relationship with his mom, and teenage boy antics. pre-reader and pre-chb. things will pick up quickly after this, i promise! bear with me as i set the scene :)

series masterlist | previous | next

“why the fuck am i seeing tabloids on top of tabloids with my kid’s plastered face on the front page of all of them?”

luke winced at the sound of his mom’s voice echoing through the empty event space. chris covered the bottom half of his face with his shirt, trying to hold in his laughter. may castellan was in her usual pantsuit, high heels clacking against the floor, as she waved around trashy magazines. she was furious.

“ignoring the fact that you are not 21 years old and cannot legally drink, what were you thinking, luke?” travis dropped his drumsticks on the ground, motioning for chris and connor to follow him backstage. they’d seen luke get chewed out by his mom more often since they started their world tour. as the three boys walked toward the side of the stage, may turned to them. “none of you are off the hook either. you may not have been on the front page, but care to listen to what they said about you in one of their glorious articles?”

“i would actually prefer not to, mama castellan,” chris mumbled, suddenly feeling caught. all traces of humor instantly drained from his face. luke couldn’t help but scoff, the boys always gave him shit for getting yelled at by his mom, so he was glad that this time around they were all on the sinking ship.

she dramatically cleared her throat, opening up one of the magazines. luke grimaced at the sight of him on the front page. he was sitting on the curb, his sunglasses askew, with a girl awkwardly patting his back. he doesn’t even remember this. may shot daggers at chris, who was cowering behind his mic stand, “bassist of poisoned mercury, chris rodriguez, was photographed away from the band when he was caught outside smoking something that wasn’t a cigarette, if you catch our drift. hopefully, his habits don’t catch up to him anytime soon.”

she stared at the stolls next, “drummer and lead guitarist of the rising band, travis and connor stoll, didn’t miss out on the fun. they walked out of the club with two models, who looked like twins, along with a bottle of dom perignon before heading into their suv.”

“and my darling child,” her words were sweet but her tone was anything but. luke chewed on the peeling skin of his bottom lip, “superstar, teen heartthrob, poisoned mercury lead singer, luke castellan, had a great night as seen in these pictures. the resident bad boy had one too many, it seems, as he walked out of the club stumbling with a mysterious blonde under his arm. castellan couldn’t make it into the car and had to sit on the curb to puke his guts out. let’s hope his actions didn’t ruin his chance at a budding romance.”

may closed the magazine, arms on her hips. she waited patiently for one of the boys to speak up.

“in our defense, this was in canada,” luke tried to reason, scrunching his face up. “legal drinking age is 18.”

that was the wrong response, luke realized, when his mom’s eyes lit up in anger. she let out a breath, “you were in toronto where the drinking age is 19, which you weren’t until yesterday.”

“i did not know that the drinking age in canada varied by region. i always learn something new whenever i talk to you, mama castellan,” travis said, trying to lighten the mood. connor shot him a look, motioning for him to quit talking. may castellan was clearly not in the mood for jokes.

“i am tired of you guys acting reckless,” she roared, dropping the magazines. they fell with a heavy thud. she rubbed her temples with the pads of her fingers, “your parents trusted me to take care of you guys while you chased your dreams and this is what you’re doing under my watch?!”

seeing his mom at her wit's end made luke feel sick.

“mom,” luke hopped off the stage, ignoring the sound of the magazines ripping under his feet as he landed on top of them, “we’re sorry. i’m sorry.”

“sorry’s not gonna cut it anymore, luke,” may said, shaking her head. “after this tour, you guys are taking a break. no touring, no public appearances.”

“what?” connor exclaimed, joining luke off the stage. the other boys followed, looks of bewilderment evident on their faces. “w-we can’t take a break now!”

“yeah, c’mon, mama c!” chris added, shaking his head, “we’re just getting really big. if we quit now, we’ll lose this momentum.”

“you’re not quitting. it’s just a tiny break– three months,” she cut them off, raising a hand in a stop. “we’ll release a statement to the press saying you guys will be taking some time off to work on your sophomore album so people have something to look forward to when you return.”

“okay, so that’s the cover story,” luke ran a hand through his curls. he knew that there was no winning against his mom when she made up her mind. he looked at her and spoke before the rest of the band continued their protests, “but what are we actually gonna be doing?”

“you’re going to spend your summer in montauk, just like old times,” his mom explained, voice still stern. “you’re going to camp half blood.”

“what the fuck is a camp half blood?” chris asked, plopping down on the couch they had inside their dressing room. rehearsal was cut short following the news delivered by luke’s mom.

“it’s a music camp,” luke explained, fidgeting with random things sprawled across his desk, trying to find the pack of cigarettes he hid. he really needed to clean up. “my dad used to take me there over the summer when i was younger.”

the topic of luke’s dad was a sore subject for him. his dad left him and his mom when he was 7 for some young waitress from their hometown diner. one second, he was signing up for little league with his dad as the coach; the next, he was sitting in the hallway listening to his mom cry after his dad packed a bag and left town with wendy the waitress in the passenger seat. luke hasn’t heard from him since then. last he checked, his dad was lounging beachside in santa monica with his third wife who was definitely too young for him. as far as he’s concerned, his dad was dead to him.

but he couldn’t deny that his time at camp half blood was the place of origin of some of his best childhood memories. he got his first taste of what it was like to be on stage at camp half blood; the adrenaline coursing through his veins, the pounding of his heart at the applause, the wild images in his head about what it would be like to be known for his music-- it all started at camp half blood. he was his happiest at camp, at least before his dad ruined it for him.

“is it fun?” travis asked, twirling a fresh pair of drumsticks between his fingers.

“used to be, yeah,” luke chuckled, hoisting himself up to sit on the desk. “haven’t been there since i was seven.”

“dude, i do not want to hang out with a bunch of little kids all summer,” chris groaned, letting his head fall back against the wall.

“relax, rodriguez,” luke lit a cigarette, inhaling the smoke before continuing. “there’s two sides to the camp. we’ll be with the older kids.”

“oh shit, is camp half blood mr. d’s music camp?” connor asked. the name of the camp was starting to sound familiar to him.

luke took another drag, nodding, “that’s the one.”

“dude, i fucking love mr. d. he always has the wildest stories,” travis laughed, “he’s so mellow and chill now, i wouldn’t’ve ever guessed he used to be like that.”

“it was the 90’s,” chris shrugged, “pretty sure everyone was like that at one point.”

“paid off for him though,” connor replied, opening a bag of doritos. he offered a chip to his brother, who in return, snatched the bag for himself. connor rolled his eyes, reaching over to grab another one. he was used to this. “i mean being a ceo of a multi-million dollar recording company isn’t too shabby.”

luke hummed along, mindlessly, letting the chatter of his bandmates fill the air. the three boys fell into a conversation about the last time they saw mr. d at the recording studio when they were finishing up the vocals for their debut album, but luke’s mind was far away from the topic at hand. he couldn’t shake the feeling of disappointment from his body. he knew the way his mom looked at him would haunt him for the next few nights.

it wasn’t like he was actively trying to disappoint her– really, he wasn’t, but he just gets so caught up in the noise of fame that he forgets how to act under the pressure. there was something about his mom breaking down in front of him because of him that tore him apart. he felt guilty. his mom didn’t ask for this life, she didn’t even want it. she was content being a suburban mom in westport, connecticut, but she gave up her comfy life to let luke live out his dreams of being a musician.

he was lucky, he knew that. not every mom would be on board with her kid dropping out of traditional high school to perform rowdy songs about teenage angst, but may castellan was okay with it because she loved luke so much and wanted him to be happy. so when poisoned mercury got a record deal with olympus records, she didn’t hesitate to drop everything and go on the road with four unruly teenagers, promising their parents that she’d take care of their sons.

sometimes, he thinks about what his mom sees when she looks at him. he wonders if she still recognized him, the him before all the fame got to his head.

he was may castellan’s little boy. the boy who used to beg his mom for chocolate chip cookies after a bad day at school, who used to knock on her door in the middle of the night wondering why he wasn’t enough for his dad to stay, and who cried when she got him his first guitar on his tenth birthday. for most of his life, it’s always just been him and his mom.

now, at 19, luke didn’t know who he was anymore. he was just going with the flow, doing whatever, doing whoever, his fame and his status threw his way. he did what any teenage boy would do in his position– he drank, he smoked, he had fun, maybe too much fun, sometimes. it’s a rockstar’s life, his wildest dreams come to life, but it was a distraction, mostly. luke wasn’t brave enough to face the music just yet, so he dove into this fantasy head-first, too afraid to look back.

except sometimes, he fucks up really badly, like in toronto, and he’s forced to deal with the consequences of his actions. one time, his mom cut the band off from playing video games on the tour bus for a month after a heated argument between the four of them caused them to cancel a show. the argument was stupid. luke was adamant that scorpions did not have the same mental capacity for understanding pain that humans do and that did not bode well with travis. rehearsal ended in a brawl because travis kept doing impromptu drum solos to drown out luke’s voice. his mom was pissed that hundreds of fans were disappointed over the canceled show and it was all because they couldn’t agree over a damn scorpion.

another time, she banned them from driving the golf carts around the venue when they crashed it into a very expensive sound system in portland. they ended up owing upwards of $4,000 for the damages and were banned from playing at the event space ever again. the four of them laughed about it when the chaos of it all subsided, and they were fine not playing at the house of hades again, but they did miss the snack bar they set up for visiting talents. chris said he still dreamt about the pomegranate juice ‘til this day.

luke can look back at the punishments over the years fondly now. in the grand scheme of things, none of it really mattered. but going to camp half blood? this was a different type of punishment.

luke didn’t want to go to camp half blood. the last memory he had of camp was not a welcomed one. plus, after what he experienced on tour, he could think of a million other ways to spend his summer months, and living at a camp with spotty cell service and designated arts and crafts time was nowhere near the top of the list.

“yo, castellan,” chris’ voice snapped luke out of his thoughts. “you comin?”

luke put out his cigarette against the wood of his desk, “huh?”

“we’re grabbing food, do you wanna go with us?”

luke hopped off the desk, slipping on his black, puffer jacket, “yeah, i’m right behind you.”

as luke was walking out of the dressing room, adjusting his t-shirt, he saw his mom talking to teddy, their publicist. they were engaged in a serious conversation, no doubt talking about the press release regarding their second album and their hiatus. luke stood in front of the door for a brief moment, a stutter in his steps, not knowing if he should interrupt.

luke pursed his lips, deciding to jog over to his mom.

“i think we should post it on the band accounts first before the boys announce it individually. it make–” may furrowed her eyebrows, noticing luke coming closer to her. she turned her body to face him. she looked much calmer now than she did during rehearsals, “hey, what’s wrong?”

luke shook his head, “nothin’, mom. i just–uh, just wanted to say sorry again.”

“let’s talk later, may,” teddy gave the two of them a small smile before walking away.

“i’m not changing my mind about camp half blood,” she frowned. “sorry, luke but i can’t have you guys running around all sum–”

“no, no, i know, mom. i-i didn’t come here to try to convince you,” luke looked down at his feet, suddenly feeling like a little boy again. “i just– uh, shit. okay, i’m sorry for toronto. it was a bad time and it’s not fair that you have to deal with the fall out of our shit. and uh– thank you for sticking by us even though we drive you kinda crazy.”

may laughed, smiling at her son, “you’re my kid. you know i’ll always be there to set you straight.”

“thanks, mom,” luke chuckled, backing away to catch up with his bandmates. may waved goodbye, making her way to teddy’s makeshift office. before luke left the tunnel, he turned around, “wait mom! last thing!”

she raised her eyebrows, “what?”

luke raised his hand in a thumbs-up motion, grinning from ear to ear, “love you!”

“i love you too, kiddo,” may replied, a hand over her heart. “now scram, i gotta clean up your mess.”

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