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drabblesandimagines · 1 year ago

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Elevation

Leon Kennedy x female reader More of my fluffy nonsense

Hunnigan slams the phone down into the cradle at the end of her call and if you hadn’t already been casting auspicious glances up at the scene before you, her actions would’ve made you jump.

“What is it, Leon?” Hunnigan’s tone is blunt.

It would be so easy to look up at the handsome DSO agent then. You’d be perfectly within your right to look up too, your desk opposite sat directly opposite Hunnigan’s so you had ring-side side seats to the commotion. It wouldn’t look odd - he’d be in your eyeline, after all - but you fight the temptation, keeping your eyes fixed on the paper in front of you, fingers tapping idly away over the keyboard as you transpose to the screen.

Exactly what you’ve been doing the past ten minutes that Leon Kennedy has been wandering around the office, dressed in a pair of form-fitting jeans today, his gun holster peeking out from underneath a beloved leather jacket, directing all attention to a certain pair of assets.

Not that you were keeping track of how long he’d been there, of course, you had work to do.

“Huh?” For someone who had apparently been waiting on her call finishing, Leon’s thoughts seems elsewhere.

“I said,” Hunnigan adjusts her tone, “can I help you with something?”

“Does there have to be something? Surely a guy can just come visit his favourite FOS agent.”

“But you haven’t come to visit, you’ve come to loiter.” Hunnigan retorts. “I told you already, if I have anything for you, I will be in contact. Go home.”

There’s an incredulous scoff as he tries to think of a reason to stay, but it quickly transforms into a sigh as he admits defeat. “Fine.”

He begins his retreat towards the exit and you hear the tell-tale beep of his pass against by the door panel, the electronic lock then clunking in release.

“Have a good afternoon, ladies.”

You look up then – and only then - to find him looking directly at you. You give him a polite smile in return. “You too.”

He grins in return, a proper one that makes his eyes crease, before giving you a nod and a wave as he through the door. The smile stays on your lips as you reach for your mug of coffee – now ice cold - and take a sip.

“I think he likes you, you know?” Hunnigan states in her oh-so-nonchalantly way, making you choke on the gulp you’d just taken.

“What? No…! I mean, who?” Your voice is tight in response from having swallowed the liquid the wrong way, internally cursing. Smooth, real smooth.

“Leon.” The agent continues hammering away at her keyboard, kindly ignoring your attempts at being subtle.

“I don’t know where you’ve drawn that conclusion from.” You don’t – you really don’t. You could probably count the amount of conversations the two of you have had with all of your fingers, all just pleasantries.

“I’ve worked with him for years now and he’s never been here as much since your transfer started.”

“Coincidence, I’m sure. He just seems eager for work.”

Hunnigan goes to open her mouth in response when, thankfully, the phone on her desk rings. Saved by the bell.

Being afraid of elevators had never really been an issue until you had taken this assignment, being sent to work on the 12th floor. At the very least it’s proving to be a good workout the number of times a day you now trudge up and down the stairwell from your desk to the archives below. The DSO holds a surprising amount of paper copies of intel in the basement – both handwritten and old typewriter documents - secured behind a vault door, rumours of the place being rigged to ignite in flames if an intruder is detected to prevent it all from falling into the wrong hands.

The DSO board had decided that intel should now be stored in the government-secured cloud and on paper and you’d been brought in as an archivist/analyst hybrid, on loan from the CIA. The project you’d been tasked with, single-handedly, was transferring intel that was currently only held in those paper copies to the online system. There was technology that could do but it wasn’t perfect – scrawled handwriting would often prove indecipherable by most machines or it misread words, so everything would need quality checked. It was agreed a human touch was best and your name had come up after the CIA had undertaken a similar audit of their files a few years ago to excellent results. Once everything had been digitized, it had become easier to quickly identify any links between incidents past and present – using surnames, terms, intel – and even stopped a handful of potential ones, so the DSO had been keen to put the practice in place.

It did mean, however, that every day you’d go down to the vault, select a box of paperwork – either the one you’ve got partway through or a whole new one - trudge back up the many flights of stairs, and then start typing from page to screen to produce a digitized document. It was imperative that no-one else see the documents, so they’d set you up in Hunnigan’s office as one of their most trusted agents.

Wanting to look professional whilst in the office but not break your neck on the stairs, you kept a selection of heels in your locker to swap out of for your reliable sneakers. Hunnigan was still working away when you packed up around 7pm, kicking off your heels to switch out, and had been in a lengthy, hushed tone call for the past hour. You nodded your head as you heaved the box of documents up in your arms, and she waved back in acknowledgement.

Beeping your ID card at the door, the lock buzzed and the door opened automatically – a godsend as the box you had today was particularly heavy – everything within held in those awful arch-lever folders.

As you emerged, you heard the puff of the elevator doors beginning to slide shut, not even giving it a moment of thought. You turned to the left to head down the stairs as usual, when a gloved hand slammed between the elevator doors, preventing them from closing with a thud and giving you a start, turning to see a face.

The face of Leon S Kennedy catches you entirely by surprise. He hadn’t even been by the office today to bother Hunnigan, though you know he does have his own desk somewhere in the building, maybe even his own office. He smiles at the sight of you, beckoning you over.

“Hey. Hop on in - I’m going down.”

You hesitate at the invitation. You haven’t been in an elevator for years and he’s just stood there, waiting, holding the door open. You have to say or do something. “You okay?”

Next thing you know, as if you’d been hypnotized, you were walking towards the elevator, then stepping over the threshold into a place you swore you never would enter again.

“Basement?” Leon fingers hover over the button panel in anticipation.

“Yeah. Thanks.”

He presses the buttons for ground and basement simultaneously with two fingers, and the door slides shut with another puff of air.

The elevator and your stomach begin to descend in unison.

This is fine.

“Looks heavy. Can I…?” He gestures to the box, offering to take it.

“Oh, thanks, but it’s okay.” You bump the box up with your knee, trying to strengthen your grip on it. Your palms are sweaty, but you’re not sure if the cause is the elevator or the handsome man besides you.

Leon crosses his arms, leans back against the wall. “They still not given you a lackey to do all the grunt work? I thought that’s what they took on interns for these days.”

“It’s difficult when no-one else is meant to handle it, let alone see it but me.” Leon gives you a quizzical look at that. “It’s protocol, narrows down the potential for leaks. If anything gets out, it’s on my head, so…”

“What about when you take breaks? You don’t…”

You nod, shifting the box in your arms again. Why do they feel like jelly? “Gotta lug it back downstairs to be locked back in the vault.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Mm-mm. It’s fine – good exercise for me, I guess, between sitting at the desk all day, so…”

“Surely they could at least give you a desk closer to the grou-“

The elevator’s smooth descent is transformed into a shudder, followed by a loud metallic screech and a sharp jerk that makes your stomach truly drop before all motion halts. No, no, no, no.

“Huh.” Leon muses, calm as anything. He immediately presses the emergency call button, illuminated in red, but the only sound that emits out of the speakers is static. He presses it again to the same result, and then in rapid succession, as if that’ll coerce it into working.

You tighten your grip on the box, wanting to tell him to stop but, thankfully, he gives up before you can have the strength to find your voice and pulls his cell out from his pocket.

“Damn, no reception.” He looks back over to you then with a sympathetic smile. “Well, this is one way to get overtime outta us, hey?”

There’s no chance to reply before the elevator plunges into darkness and you drop the box immediately, thankfully away from your feet. It can only be a few seconds at the most but it feels like an eternity before the emergency lighting comes on, casting the small metal prison in a pale yellow hue.

Leon’s staring at you, looking concerned. “You okay?”

“Y-yeah.” You reply, not at all convincingly. You bend down to pick up the box to escape that blue-eyed gaze for a moment, heaving it back up in your arms. “Is this… normal for this office?” You hope he can’t hear how tight your voice is.

“Power must be down, seems like the back-up generator kicked in.” The agent shrugs, looking around the elevator as if something of use might be around. “It’ll prioritize the critical systems – so I’d guess lights, vending machines and elevators are not gonna be particularly high up on that list.”

“Wonderful.” You reply, breathily. It’s warm. Should it be warm? “Here, let me just…” Leon reaches over and gently tugs the box from your weak grip, no sign of surprise at the weight of it as he takes it. “We don’t know how long we’ll be in here, so let’s put this down.”

“No, I shou-“

“I promise I’m not going to try and read any of it.”

You watch him as he places it down, he’s sure to bend with his knees rather than his back, and tucks it into the corner under the button panel, out of the way. He stands back up to his full height, looking at you for a response, but all you manage is a shaky nod.

“Are you feeling okay?” “Y-yeah. Fine.” “Mm. Not a great liar.” He tilts his head, scanning you with his eyes once more. “What’s the matter?” “I…” Another swallow in the hopes of your mouth not feeling so dry. “I don’t like elevators. Always take the stairs.” “Oh.” Not the answer he was expecting it seems. “Wait, why’d you get in, then?” “Well, er…” You hesitate again, how do you answer that? “You… You told me to.”

He can’t help the goofy smile that crosses his face. “Huh, that’s all it takes? Interesting. I’ll have to remember that.”

You’re about to ask him what that’s supposed to mean, the words just on the tip of your tongue when the elevator jerks and they turn into a shriek. It’s over before it even begins, really, but Leon’s reflexes now have you pressed up against the wall, his arms braced above your head to protect it from any sort of impact.

“It’s all right,” he says, softly. “I’m here, I’ve got you.”

Your heart is beating too fast, tears burn at your eyes at the fright. He’s so close, you can smell his cologne – musky, hints of vanilla – but this isn’t where you want to be having this moment.

“How about we sit down, huh?”

“I’m okay.” Your answer is breathy again, your chest feeling tight. Panting like you’d finished climbing up 12 flights of stairs.

“It’ll be more comfortable.”

“Don’t wanna…” You try and take a deep inhale, but it doesn’t seem to reach the bottom of your lungs. “Don’t wanna s-shake it.”

“You won’t.” He drops his arms from against the wall and instead grabs your hand, squeezes it in an attempt to ground you. “Trust me.”

You want to trust him, but the panic is too strong. This was such a bad idea, why did you do this?

“I…”

“We’ll do it together, okay?” He somehow coaxes you to shuffle forward and then slips in behind you, taking hold of your other hand. “Just lean against me and we’ll ease on down.”

Leon presses his chest firmly up against your back and you wonder if he can feel how hard your heart is beating. He wraps his arms around your waist next, meaning you’re hugging yourself in a way before he slides down against the elevator wall, bringing you down with him, onto the carpeted elevator floor. He thought it was a seamless maneuverer, but the way he’d felt your nails dig into his leather gloves from how tight your grip was, he knew you weren’t of the same opinion.

“There we go.” His thighs are spread either side of yours, now that you’re nestled inbetween his legs. “Worried you were gonna pass out – you’d gone really pale. Just sit here and concentrate on your breathing a minute, okay? Feel how I’m doing it.”

You close your eyes and try to concentrate on how he’s breathing, feeling his chest expand as he inhales, loudly and deliberately through his nose, holds the breath, then exhales heavily through his mouth, tickling the back of your neck.

You try and mimic him, get your inhales and exhales in sync and, slowly, the pressure begins to ease in your chest as you feel your breaths get deeper and deeper.

"Feeling a little better?”

His voice reverberates from his chest being pressed up against your back, feels comforting. “Yeah. Thank you.”

“Hey, don’t mention it. My fault you’re in here, after all.” He replies, gently. “I’m gonna move now, okay? Wanna check you’ve got the colour back in your cheeks.”

You nod, and he somehow manages to shuffle back and to the front of you with overly cautious movements – definitely for your benefit, ever the gentleman - withdrawing his legs into a crossed position and giving you a smile as he takes in your appearance. Being so fixed in his gaze makes your cheeks prickle with heat – maybe not the colour he’d hoped to be checking.

“Yeah, you’re looking better. Good.” He nods in affirmation, more to himself than you. “That noise – I think someone was trying to get the power back on, sounds like it only worked for a second before it could get going. The elevator’s not gonna fall.”

“How do you know?”

“I’ve had to disable some of them before – for work, I mean. They’re all equipped with multiple failsafe systems to prevent that exact scenario.”

“Disable them?”

“Just so they stop…” He gestures in a circle as he tries to find the words, “elevating, I guess, so I’m not pursued. Make ‘em take the stairs.”

“Ah, right.” You nod. “Wind them a bit.”

“Exactly. If you don’t mind me asking, you always been afraid of them?”

“No. Got stuck in one in an old apartment block years ago – it didn’t feel particularly modern. There were three of us – me and two drunk guys who kept jumping up and down, convinced that would make it move. The fire department got us out after two hours cos I had one of those… episodes. Haven’t been in one since.”

“Idiots.”

“They just kept laughing the more panicked I got. I felt so stupid.”

“Panic attacks are no joke. That box breathing always helps me if I feel on edge, though.”

“Yeah, that was really good.” You feel a shy smile creep over your face. “If I had to get suck in an elevator with anyone, I’m glad it was you.”

He practically beams. “Now I don’t feel quite so bad. I’ve gotta ask again though, you really got in here just because I said to?” He’s already seen you a panicking mess, so why not just be honest? “Your smile helped too.” “Well, consider me flattered.”

“It’s a nice smile…” You swallow, a little cautious of the next word. “Enticing.”

You swear you see a smidge of colour flush Leon’s cheeks then, but it must be a trick of the artificial lights. “Well, since we’re confessing – yours is too. That’s the real reason I was bothering Hunnigan. Wanted to see if I could win another.”

“You came to see me smile?” You’re definitely blushing now – cheeks prickling with the heat.

“Guilty. I don’t think you’d remember, but a week or so back I was having a real shitty day. Went to go debrief with Hunnigan and she wasn’t there, but you were. When I stormed in, you just gave me the best and most genuine smile I’d seen in days. Meant a lot.” He rubs the back of his neck, sheepishly.

You smile again, can’t help it, and he groans, jokingly. “Ugh, see? Not again – I don’t think my heart can take how sweet it is.”

You don’t know what to say to that but you’re excused when, suddenly, the lights transition overhead with a flicker from the emergency dulled tones to the standard, harsh fluorescent light and the elevator begins its smooth descent once more.

“Finally, huh?” Leon gets up easily to his feet and then offers you a hand.

“Yeah.” You accept it without hesitation, goosebumps prickling up your arm as he wraps his fingers around your hand and he pulls you up with ease. Slyly, his other hand now rests on the small of your back, drawing you in close…

The elevator dings, announcing its arrival on the ground floor and the doors slide open to reveal a maintenance worker, clad in blue overalls, waiting in the lobby. Leon draws back then, but still keeps his hand steady on your back.

“You two all right? Power-cut had rotten timing, I was gonna repair that emergency speaker tonight when most of the office was cleared out.”

“All good, thanks.” Leon bends down, picks up the box again without question and you follow him out of the elevator in pursuit, only to hear a cell begin to ring from his pocket. He balances the box with one arm – you’ve no idea how – and pulls out the device, frowning at the name on screen.

“Sorry, I’ve really gotta take this.” His brows furrow in annoyance. “You be okay with taking that downstairs?”

“Yeah, of course. I really should take it back now anyway, you know, just in case…” You trail off as he eases the box over to you, making sure you’ve got it properly before he lets go. “Thanks… for everything.”

“Pleasure was all mine.” He replies, sincerely, before reluctantly lifting the cell up to his ear.

“Kennedy.”

You leave him to his phone-call and head down the stairs for a thankfully unremarkable trip down to the vaults to replace the box back in its rightful place. It’d be a lie to say when you climbed back up to the lobby that you weren’t disappointed when there’s no trace of him to be found.

The next morning, after passing through the security check, you make your way down to the archive vault as usual, pressing your hand against the door panel to gain access. Sadly, you’ve still got a lot of work to do in the box you’d been working on yesterday, so you dutifully log its withdrawal in the computer system, and heave it up once more in your arms before heading out.

You only make it up one flight of stairs when you see him, leaned up against the stairway wall, one arm held against his chest whilst his other hand is holding his cell, squinting at some text. He looks up as you scuff your trainer on one of the steps and he smiles as you reach him, tucking his cell back away.

“Good morning.”

“Morning. What brings you here?” You curse inwardly. “I mean, not that it’s not a pleasant surprise, just…”

He waves it off. “I getcha. Well, I have some pretty good sway here, you know, so I’ve volunteered.”

“Volunteered for what?”

“Volunteered…” He steps forward and wraps his arms around the box, “..to be your stairs lackey.”

“Oh, no – it’s fine, honestly.” You feel flustered at the very idea. Leon’s one of the top, if not the top agent of the DSO. He can’t be doing manual labour for you, he shouldn’t. “You have so many better things to be doing. I can mana…”

“Please?” He tilts his head, gives you that enticing smile again. “I mean, I could just tell you,” – he teases – “but I thought I’d ask this time, so you’re sure.”

The smile makes you feel weak at the knees and you’d already proven yesterday you couldn’t resist its magic. “Okay. But you should definitely take the elevator then.”

“Uh-uh.” He shakes his head, taking the box into his arms. “It’s good cardio, got my weight-resistance. You’re practically doing me a favour by taking the stairs.”

“Is that so?”

“Mm-hm. Though,” he bites his lip in a pause, “I may have ulterior motives.”

“Right, and what would those be?”

“If I were to, say, visit the office around six tonight and carry this thing back down to the vault, maybe you’d go to dinner with me?”

God, you feel absolutely giddy - there’s no way you can hold back your smile. “I think that’s… acceptable.”

“Then we have a deal. Ladies first,” he nods with his head to up the stairwell.

“No, I… I think you should go first. Just so I can keep an eye on you on the way up. I’ve got to make sure you’re not sneaking a peek at the assets, you know?”

He quirks an eyebrow, you know he’s wondering what you’re thinking, but he shrugs it off all the same. “As you wish.”

And as you follow him up 12 flights of stairs, you slightly breathless and him seemingly fine, you can’t help but sneak a look at a different pair of assets before you.

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fillinforlater · 2 years ago

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Eleven to One: Needy Bold Confession

Male Reader x Ahn Yujin

Length: 2888 words

Tags: ROUGH SEX, brat taming, nah fuck it, brat breaking, borderline hate sex, cursing, degredation, humiliation, spiting, spanking, slaps, pussy slaps, hardcore sex, mating press, squirting, creampie, tears, queefing, overstimulation, mutual anger, emotional stuff, FUCKED UP kinks mentioned at the end, family issues? ultimate_brat!Yujin / ultimate_brat-breaker!you

TW: ^^ (srsly, read the tags and beware of the end kekw)

Inspiration: the ending has been in planning for months, the rest is literally BFH fueled by Yujin's inability not to look insanely good and fuckable.

Credit: @sooyadelicacies, my beloved co-writer!

(A/N: yo, 100 fics. Thanks for reading!)

"Oh, now you're back."

You haven't even fully entered your apartment yet, but a venomous, annoyed shout already flies your way. You can feel Yujin tremble in rage and disgust—and she is still out of your sight, in another room.

"Yuj—"

"Did you have fun with those Unnies? Did you enjoy breeding them?"

Yujin's voice drips with deadly sarcasm, increasing both in volume and viciousness. You lay down the keys and look through the floor, into the rooms. They're all dark, not a single artificial light turned on. It's quite normal for you to return late, exhausted, either by the stress of work or the constant pounding of pussies.

Yujin's brattiness increased to a toxic level. It’s probably because of her latest comeback, the hectic promotions and an obvious lack of attention by you. Partially your fault, the breeding had to come first, but you are still the Daddy in this, your house. With deadly coldness you speak into the dark living room:

"How dare you, Yuji—"

"Fine!" she snarls back and you hear the steps of strong leather boots behind you. "If you can hook up all the time with the others, maybe I can find someone else too!"

Eyes wide in disbelief, in unbridled rage, you slowly turn to look at your girlfriend. In the faint light of the moon falling into the apartment, you see the alluring, perfectly sculpted body of Yujin. Her pale skin and a tiny white crop top reflect some of the grayish rays, but the leather jacket on her shoulders and the tiny, miniscule mini skirt fit in perfectly with the darkness. They suck in the light and your gaze, which also shifts to her full thighs and the knees-high boots of a slut that could also kick ass.

Yujin is glaring, not as the usual bratty, Daddy defying girl, no, as a woman determined to convey you had fucked around and now would suffer the consequences, while also looking like temptation personified.

"Ahn Yujin, what the fuck do you think you're doing, wearing, saying? Someone else?

“You. Fucking. Belong. To. Me."

You emphasize each word like an arrow fired straight at her. Yujin sways in place for a second. She isn't playing, even your threatening finger, pointed at her face like the barrel of a gun doesn't faze her. She steps to the side, ready to walk past you.

"I can wear what I want," she snarks and places a hand on her hip. "I can wear what I want, I can fuck who I want. And You. Don't. Own. Me."

The two of you lock eyes. Not a word is said, not a single sound made, yet the tension makes it feel like a billion voices burst out in screams of fear, anger, lust. Your fingers ball into a fist.

"Bitch," you grunt through gritted teeth. "You're mine, bitch. Yujin, you will not go out there."

Yujin reaches past you, doorknob firmly in hand, devilish smirk on her features. She applies pressure.

"What if I just do?"

The door swings open, and it swings open faster when you pin Yujin against it. You stare down at her, trapped in between both of your arms on each side of her head. Yujin bites her lip for a second, but then avoids your eyes and tries to break free from your makeshift cage.

"Is that all that you got?"

Dig your fingers into her straight hair and twist, twist, twist with each second she doesn't beg for mercy for her foolish words. Yujin's face contorts in pain, but it does not lead to her breaking, instead she opens her mouth wide to moan impossibly loud.

"Harder, Daddy!"

"Are you—"

Pull her back into the apartment by her hair and close the door.

"—fucking out of your mind? Moaning in the hallway—you have gone insane!"

"You can't even talk properly," Yujin responds, her attempts at hiding her winces futile. Her knees finally go weak when you pull her hair down. Unfortunately, you lose your grip on the straight darkness and Yujin frees herself with a quick step backwards.

"Seriously, and you want to be my Daddy. I get someone to take me hard—"

Your hand is like the claw of a falcon in dive, grabbing its helpless victim before finishing it off. In this case, Yujin. She struggles to get a breath out as your digits tighten around her throat. Without relent you push her backwards, her fierceness and the grip on her boots no match for your anger. Somewhere in your large living room, she gives up.

"Ple-please, Daddy, ca-can't breathe."

Yujin falls to her knees and you loosen your grip a little. Just as she takes in new oxygen, you make her take a harsh slap to her face. Tears jump into her eyes, the hit has her flashbanged for a moment—a moment which you use to tear open the slutty mini skirt.

"You have been bad." Your voice is deep, booming straight to Yujin's glowing face with its faint imprint of your hand. "Worse than ever before. Take your punishment!"

Rinse and spit down at her. Bangs stick to her forehead as your saliva runs down her fearful face. From her throat, a hand snakes down into her top until you find a nipple. Pinch it, twist it while doing the same to her cheek.

"You want hard?" you ask, your voice indicating that you don't accept any answer, that her response is unwanted. "Then I'll show you hard."

In a terrible shrill sound, Yujin's crop top tears open. The shocked, panicking idol tries to keep herself upright on your legs, but you kick her hands away. The only stability for her are your hands that attack her body and its beautiful, sensitive spots.

Lips, nipples, tits, they all get resounding smacks that color them in a strong red. Yujin screams, whines and finally moans, but the thought of her experiencing pleasure before you enrages you even more. Slap her flushed cheek to send a wave of numbness and paleness over them before red pain follows in the imprint of your merciless fingers.

"D-Daddy, I'm so—"

"Apology declined." Spit at her again. "You don't mean it and you're far from understanding any of this."

Twist both nipples at the same time. Your constant pulls at them might have stretched out Yujin's tits a bit more. At least they look larger. Or is it just that the image of Eunbi with her enormous bosom is still burned into your mind?

Yujin throws her head back. She arches backwards and her leather jacket finally slides down her shoulders. For the first time, you go on eye level with her—just to immediately bite into her shoulder. This time, her loud, screeching voice is stuck in the back of her throat. Will she ever get her mind back after this?

"You are mine, Yujin, you are fucking mine. You are my whore, a stupid one at that. You don't think I know exactly what I did? I fucking bred Hyewon. I'd do it again. I bred Eunbi and I'd do it again. But you, you aren't ready to be bred!"

Interrupt your rant to give Yujin more slaps across her baffled, horny, pained face.

"You're a brat! You think if I dumped my seed inside you, if I got you pregnant, you would be ready to raise a child? Hyewon, Eunbi, they are ready. You will be fucking bred when I deem it time. You don't make demands, and you don't get someone else's attention. Yujin

"I have marked you!"

"Sorry, D-Daddy, I'm so-sorry."

The first tears start to roll down, straight from Yujin's ducts over her sore cheeks until they touch your fingers at her jaw. Make her stare up through blurry eyes at your almost hateful expression. You might allow yourself to go mad, but you're tapping into feelings you shouldn't. She is still Yujin, still your girlfriend.

"You might be a confident, independent idol," you growl into her ear, forcing her down until she is laying on the floor and you can drag her skirt away from her crotch. "But you are mine, mine alone. Don't ever do this again, because we both know there is no one else for you.

"Just look at how wet you are, you kinky pain slut."

Yujin's skirt rests at her knees, legs stretched out as best as she can. Your hand rubs her crotch, slick with her juices. Her pink panties are soaked, every inch a darker color than when she bought them. Squeeze the fabric in your fist, like you would wring out a sponge, and juice runs through your fingers.

"This is insane, you're such a needy slut."

"I-I missed you, D-Daddy, I need your touch so bad."

"And still you threaten me with finding someone else, someone who could never satisfy you."

"I—ah, Daddy!"

Get rid of the skirt and give her pussy a harsh slap, shutting down her excuses instantly. Your girlfriend starts to twist and turn on the ground, her breath heavy, her tears heavier as they find the floor.

"You need to be punished, Yujin," you bluntly say with new found calmness. "I know I can make you cum with just slaps, but not tonight. Tonight you will beg me to stop, but I'll only stop when I see fit."

Another slap, on her folds, a millimeter away from her clit. Yujin yelps.

"Do you understand, whore?"

"Y-yes, Daddy," Yujin stutters and looks at you with wide, submissive eyes. "I deserve this punishment."

She bites her lips, her eyes squeeze shut. Sensually, you drag your palm gradually over her labia before you take a swing.

A wet slap when you hit the drenched panties. Yujin buckles her hips towards the punishing hand and hisses. She is keeping her voice, her reaction down... a crucial mistake.

The smacks don't stop coming. Like a merciless bombing you make the covered lips turn a painful red. Yujin breaks, screams, cries, until her voice spills all of her sins before you:

"Daddy! I'm so-sorry! Your bitch, ha-has been re-really desperate, envious—a needy toy that needs your co-cock and cum!"

Push her panties into the twitching hole a bit and urge her to continue.

"I-I love Daddy, I wa-want him first, for me, bu-but—that wo-would not be fa-fair.

"Daddy needs to breed more."

You lean down to the disheveled face and pull away a couple of dark strands that have landed in Yujin's mouth and in her eyes. You stop her murmurs with a peck on her lips, but your sweetness is short lived. Push her legs apart and fish out your cock. Rub it over her clit and interrupt her hearty moans.

"You are right. You said it yourself. My good girl was never against it, but now you decided to react like this? Ts, what a bitch!"

"I'm so-so-sorry, Daddy."

Your cockhead twitches as you push aside the wet fabric and see the sore, burning mess of Yujin's gorgeous folds. Pretend to tease her, then fill her up without warning.

"Daddy! Ah, fuck!"

Press her knees a bit further apart. Her body is ready for the taking, her insides need to get stimulated, but Yujin knows that she can't deal with your length for long. Her orgasm is certain, right around the corner. It's only natural after weeks without your cock.

"Slo-slow, please," she whimpers, fingers searching for a grip on the smooth floor. "Sen-sen-sensit—hng!"

Yujin chokes. No need to squeeze her throat this time, just give her hard thrusts into the desperate pussy. Pain on the outer lips, followed by overstimulation inside are the catalysts for an earthquake in Yujin's body. Random babbles come through drooling lips as you pump into her recklessly.

"I can't believe you came from just this!" you say with fake shock, never stopping to move your hips. Throughout you make sure that your pelvis hits the outside of her pussy, to make her cry some more.

Yujin is beyond the point of begging, hell, she doesn't even know what to beg for. It's so bad, it's good—painful punishment and absolute, undeserved, sinful bliss every second, every thrust.

Before she loses her sense of when an orgasm starts and another ends, you go slower. Yujin writhes and twitches, the high fading slowly, until you restart it with fingers violently rubbing her clit.

"Daddy-ahh!"

"Cum, baby," you growl, sweat soaking your suit from the inside. "Don't stop cumming."

More and more slickness. Juice coming out as squirt is just lube getting fucked back into her. Yujin's walls ripple, her thighs as well when you press and fold her.

Pin her arms down with yours right above the mess that was her styled hair. Pin her face down on the ground with yours, tongue fucking her numb mouth. Pin her hips down with yours and force another orgasm out of her.

"Who else can fuck your pink hole until you cum, until it's loose, until it's stuffed?"

"Daddy, only Daddy!"

Strain her muscles more, the mating press now the ultimate position to suck all the energy out of the young brat. The wet slaps of crotch on crotch are now queefs, loud, but not as loud as Yujin's guttural moans. Viciously, you press your palm on her mouth and make her hear the embarrassing, lewd sounds that come from her pussy.

"You dumb slut," you laugh in between heavy breaths, your own strength gradually declining as you near your own orgasm. "Anything you want to say?"

Yujin's eyes are glassy, filled more with lust than life. She sobs into your ear, snort running down her cheeks.

"I wa-want to be-be Daddy's number one.

"In our family. Please, Daddy! I only wan-want this. Please, I beg you!"

"Family?"

You groan out in shock. As you piston your load in massive spurts into Yujin's clenching heat, the craziest thoughts flood your mind. A family, yes, but the most immoral one imaginable.

A mommy in Eunbi, a caring leader. She knows everyone inside out and never hesitates to help. Hyewon is a different type of mommy, the one who'd like to carry a lot of children, who is submissive to the male of the house, but also smart and successful.

Minju is the beautiful, gullible sister. A klutz that everyone loves, someone who could never harm a fly. Last but not least, Yujin, the center piece, the insanely talented bratty girlfriend of yours and "sister" to Minju.

Yujin's walls get stretched by the abundance of cum you dump inside of her pussy. Your mind stretches too, comes up with even crazier thoughts. What about an ex coming into your family life, a maid to clean your apartment, a pet to play with, a neighbor to distract, or maybe more realatives? People to fill your absurd family—you're starting to lose it.

Collapse onto your girlfriend, only your elbows saving her from being painfully squashed by your tired, sweaty body. The two of you breathe heavily to find fresh oxygen in this living room now smelling of sex and sex alone.

"Are you serious about this family?" you ask after a while. Yujin dries off the last remnants of her tears and gives you obedient puppy eyes. You continue. "Like, with Eunbi and Hyewon and Minju—it's crazy. I guess we are used to crazy, but this is taking it to a whole new level."

Yujin hesitates for a second. She reaches for your face and strokes your cheekbone down to your chin with her wet fingers. Her features contort as if she is about to cry again. You try to heal her—she's cried enough tonight—and press your lips on hers. Just a peek, but Yujin sighs in relief, the last remnants of tension leaving her nude body.

"Y-yes, Daddy," Yujin whispers, "I want that. I want to be together with them, and want to be sure that I won't lose them to you and you to them. Nothing should stand in between us, I-I'll be a good girl in the family, I'll do anything for you. Daddy, please, I'm sorry, don't leav—"

Plant another kiss on the girl below you. The tremble in her voice is like a hot bath for your cold heart, like a tea in winter. It's melting you, breaks the shell that you so attentively keep up around her.

Maybe you went too far. Yujin literally looks broken, the character of the girl, no, your girl, in danger of dissolving and disappearing. Swallow your pride, God dammit.

"Yujin, Yujin, I'm at fault here. No matter how much I hated the thought of you going out in that outfit and meeting another guy, I should not have gone this far. After all…

"You're mine, Yujin. My one and only girlfriend. We'll only do and continue pursuing this family if you are okay with it. Don't change, pl-please, but also, never attempt something like this again."

You kiss Yujin's hand gently. This you can do; it's better than saying this damn word starting with 'p' and ending with 'lease'. She smiles, weakly at first, but the longer you keep eye contact, the more of her bright, mesmerizing smile appears.

She kisses the back of your hand as well, her eyes in clear devotion, her voice honest and strong.

"I'm yours, Daddy."

(A/N2: Yujin bruh 😳☠️😳)

#kpop smut #girl group smut #female idol smut #ive smut #izone smut #ive yujin smut #ahn yujin smut #ahn yujin #male reader insert #male reader smut #eleven to one universe

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panic-in-the-multiverse · 11 months ago

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A Pirates Life For Me

Pairings: father Killian Jones x child/teen!reader

Imagine: what it would be like to be Killian Jones child

Warnings: none really, mostly fluff, and Killian Jones being the best father ever, I guess there’s some spoilers for those who haven’t watched all seasons I guess, mention of when he died, NOT proofread yet

A/N back to writing ya’ll (hopefully), thought I’d start it of easy with some headcanons, so a few other will come out too but this is the first because recently I’ve been obsessing over Killian again along with Obi-Wan Kenobi and Hunter (from tbb)

Side note half of this got deleted and couldn’t really remember what I wrote so it’s definitely not as good as the first draft

First things first you were raised on the Jolly Roger, you would most probably grow up as a pirate, and when old enough you’d help him fighting against the other pirates that would attack you at times

I’m sorry but you’re gonna have to deal with wearing dark colored clothes, he doesn’t do light color therefore neither do you at least until you’re old enough to decide for yourself what clothes you want

You’d beg Killian to buy you the biggest hat ever as you read somewhere that pirates has hats, he never bought you that hat… he did steal a tiny hat that fit you perfectly though…

He was scared to death that he would be like his own father, but don’t worry he’s both like that he’s the best and he’d never leave you like that

Your initials are written beside the wheel (you know where he wrote with his hook for Bae/Neal)

Things you carved into the ship as a kid can still be seen in the most random places

He childproofed the ship, put child locks on nearly every cabinet not knowing if it was child appropriate things in them as the crew would put their things in random places, he did not find the thought of you finding a knife, sword, or gun and accidentally hurt yourself very comforting

Adopted child, biological child, doesn’t matter he loves you the same.

Depending on when you were born you might of watched The Dark One rip the heart out of your father’s lover

One of many traumatic events

Killian values you more than anything else, if he had to choose between revenge or you, he’d always choose you, he’d do anything for you even if it meant him dying

He still knows how to say no to things though

He made a mental list in his head on things he would teach you

1. How to sail

2. How to navigate with stars

3. Sword fighting

4. How to survive on Neverland (just in case Pan decided to kidnap you or something to mess with him)

5. How to escape from Neverland

6. What plants are poisonous or not

7. Do not make deals with the dark one

And then the list goes on and on, he would want to teach you everything he knows about everything really, he just doesn’t want you to make the same mistakes he did, or to end up being a villain as he wants you to get your happy ending

Somewhere along the road you got dragged into wanting to help your father get revenge, nearly succeeded in multiple occasions, but as it turns out villains don’t really get their revenge

You once made the crew find a hook and clothes similar to Killian’s and later on that day you’d run up to Killian, hand clutching a hook and act as if you were the captain of the ship, imitating your father (with a really bad “adult” voice). He would let out a wide smile, eyes twinkling and a soft gaze as he looked down at you trying to reach the wheel. He’d eventually pick you up and let you steer the destination as he helped you turn the wheel the other way than he had set the course too. This was also the first time he taught you how to sail. Or somewhat, it wasn’t like you took much of the information in as you soon got bored and went to watch over the railing at the crashing waves.

Btw I’m tired of fics where Captain Hooks child likes Peter Pan, why because a parents ideals usually sets with the child, meaning you’d probably hate Peter Pan and Rumplestiltskin as much as your father does

He would tell you stories of his older brother and how he was a hero and he wished you’d met him, you would eventually in hell though later as you went to rescue your father so that’s fine, turns out he wasn’t the hero your father made him out to be, but that’s fine you only need one hero and that’s your dad

He would also tell you stories of his adventures, it made for quite the long entertaining tales as he tucked you into bed, kissing your forehead before continuing his story which he altered to be a bit more child friendly and a bit more dramatic

He lets you have some of his clothes when he’s going away for a long time because he knows you’ll miss him

He lets you wear his jackets/coats, you freezing he’s already put his jacket/coat over you, even if they’re too big for you , he loves how adorable you look in it as he’s reminded that you’re still just a child and he doesn’t want you to grow up

He’d try to teach you how to paint, might succeed might not still he loves the bonding time he’s good at painting in any universe you can’t tell me otherwise

He hates seeing you hurt

If you get hurt on a raid he’d made sure whoever hurt you would suffer, you want him kiss the injury better, he’d do so in a heartbeat even if it meant his reputation would falter slightly

He starts dating someone else (Emma) he’d make sure that person treated you right, if not he’d dump said person

If he founds out you like someone he wouldn’t be overprotective, he’d still be protective but he’d mostly be supportive. He’d tease you about it until it became annoying, he’d encourage you and give you advice (even if most of his advice failed)and if it failed he’d be there to comfort you through it all

You’d blame Emma for turning Killian into a dark one and you’d blame Emma for Killian’s death

When you rescued Killian from hell he promised you he’d never die again if not of old age and that he’d never take of his good luck ring ever again as you thought he jinxed it by giving it to Emma

You were glad for his sake when he married Emma just because you saw your father happy with someone else again and not just grieving and seeking revenge for his ex lover

He hugs surprisingly great, he’s like your human sized pirate teddy bear

He misses the times when you would come into his room late at night after a nightmare and crawl under the covers and cuddle close to him, not because you had a nightmare but because he liked that you knew you would always be safe with him

He would hate that you’d have nightmares after his death and you no matter what age you are in would sometimes go into his room to make sure he was still alive and maybe even sleep beside him, he’d wake up to you sprawled out over the whole bed clutching his side tightly as if you were afraid he’d disappear

Will make sure you get your happy ending

He’s just father material it’s as simple as that (just look at Nook, love Nook though but original Hook is the best)

#Killian Jones #x reader #x you #x y/n #x child!reader #x teen!reader #killian jones x daughter!reader #killian jones x fem!reader #killian jones x teen!reader #killian jones x reader #Captain Hook #captain hook x reader #ouat x reader #Killian jones x gn!reader #Killian jones x child!reader #Killian jones x son!reader

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allbark-no-bite · 7 months ago

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the night shift.

jake seresin x bradley bradshaw (wc: 3k)

summary: jake’s a cop working the night shift and pulls over a mildly drunk (and very interested) firefighter. chaos ensues.

warnings: mature, *driving while under the influence of alcohol, some sexual references

*if this bothers you, just don’t read, simple as that. you don’t have to come into my inbox to tell me that it bothers you <3

author’s note: i’ve never written anything faster in my entire like. this was so much fun! i came across this post again and couldn’t let it go. all credit to @squiddosss for their amazing artwork

————————————————————————

It's slow nights like these that make Jake question why he prefers the night shift.

The gravel of the lonely backroad crunches beneath the tires of his cruiser as he makes the curve and slowly pulls to a stop. The sirens on his cruiser give one last whoop before he shuts them off. The back of the beat up vintage blue Bronco gleams in the shine of his headlights. He sighs and shifts the car into park before he tips his radio towards his mouth and mumbles his whereabouts, informing Javy that he's making a traffic stop.

"10-4. Keep me updated."

He climbs out of the cruiser and makes his way towards the vehicle, keeping one thumb tucked into the front of his belt, fingers ready to reach for his gun in an instant. The diver hadn't given him any trouble thus far other than what he had pulled him over for— swerving all over the road, but Jake had been trained to err on the side of caution. He runs his finger tips over the tail light as he passes it by, a habit he had picked up from working alone.

For being such an old model, the car is in pretty decent shape. It has what appears to be brand new tires and the powder blue paint job has been restored to perfection. It was obviously well cared for. He wonders briefly the story behind it being as he doubts you could buy such a car these days. This was the kind of car that you handed down.

The window rolls down just as Jake approaches it.

"How's it goin' Officer?"

Jake blinks.

The driver is a younger guy, probably close to his own age— Jake likes to think that thirty-one is still plenty young— with shoulders so broad that it's a wonder he even fits in the front seat. His skin is a dark olive, which is pretty typical for someone who lives around here, but what catches Jake's attention the most is the perfectly groomed mustache the guy is sporting on his upper lip. It's thick and matches the caramel color of his otherwise brunette head of hair.

"Is there something wrong?"

The guy smiles and his dusty rose lips frame his perfectly aligned white teeth.

Jake tells himself it's his job to notice these kinds of things.

Jake clears his throat and leans in to peer into the cab of the truck, doing his best to avoid the lingering stare of the guy's warm hazel eyes. When he's satisfied that there's nothing worthy of his immediate attention in the car, Jake focuses back on him.

"Can I get your license and registration?"

It takes him a moment of fumbling around in his glove box and then his pocket, but he hands both documents over. The guy watches him so intently while Jake reads over them that it almost makes him uncomfortable, and he's glad for the excuse to look away.

"You had much to drink tonight, Bradley?" Jake asks as his eyes skim over the name. Bradley Peter Bradshaw. He almost laughs. If Jake didn't know better, he'd think it was a fake.

Jake knows the answer before he asks it but he figures he'll give him the benefit of the doubt for now. He doesn't necessarily reek of alcohol but Jake can defiantly pick up the fermented smell of yeast on his breath. If the guy hadn't been staring at him so intently and Jake could look at him for longer than two seconds, he's sure his pupils would be dilated as well.

"Just a little, Officer. I'm sobered up now."

Jake has to hold back his disbelieving snort. If he had a dime for every time he heard that, he'd be rich. "Well, Bradley. I find that a little hard to believe. You were all over this back road here. You know you're only supposed to drive on the right side, right?"

Bradley's mouth twitches, as if he found Jake's comment more amusing rather than condescending. "I didn't, but I'll sure take your word for it."

Jake, on the other hand, doesn't share his humor. "You seem like a funny guy, Bradley. But unfortunately, I don't find drunk driving to be very funny."

And then his eyes land on the emblem on Bradley's navy blue t-shirt—N.I.F.D. —the one his swollen biceps are nearly bursting out of.

"You work for North Island Fire Department?"

Jake watches as Bradley's slightly drunk grin widens. "I sure do."

Jake hands him back his license and the rest of his paperwork. "I've got a couple friends down at the station. You know Trace, Fitch?"

If his pupils weren't already blown wide, Jake would say they lit up in recognition. "Yeah, actually. Natasha is the one who got me the job there. I just finished a deployment out in the Pacific."

It's then that Jake notices the dog tags looped around his thick neck and hidden beneath his shirt. "You're enlisted," Jake says aloud, and then to conceal his surprise follows with, "I was too."

That's the kind of thing that you do when you're eighteen and more scared of not living than dying. If anything it was exciting. Anything that meant getting the hell out of Texas was exciting. He misses it now, but at the time when he was standing alone in that recruiters office, he didn't think for a moment that he would. He felt like a man.

The navy made him a man, is what his daddy said. It was probably one of the only times the old bastard ever told him he was proud of him, and the only time he didn't feel bad for making his mama cry.

The reason he got out was for the reason most do. You realize you don't stay twenty forever and life doesn't wait around until you figure that out. He didn't want to retire one day and have nothing to come home to but an empty apartment. San Diego seemed as good of a place to settle down as any.

Javy's voice crackles through on the radio strapped to his chest, breaking up their conversation.

"Unit-16. Checking in on your traffic stop. You need back-up?"

He hadn't realized they'd been talking so long. Jake mentally reprimands himself for getting distracted and picks up the radio while pressing it to his mouth. "This is Unit-16. No back-up necessary. Over."

"10-4. Over."

Jake releases the radio and looks back up to Bradley. Get back on task, Jake. Bradley smiles coyly at him. Jesus, focus, Jake.

"Sir, I'm going to need you to step out the vehicle."

The hopeful look in Bradley's big hazel eyes falters.

"Look, Officer uh— " The Bradley leans towards his open window so that he can squint at the gold engraved name plate on Jake's uniform. "—Seresin." Jake watches as his tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip before he cocks his head a little to the side and smiles, looking up at Jake. "You look good."

Oh. Oh.

That's what this is all about.

It's then that Jake realizes that this guy has been flirting him the entire time. He'll admit it's not the first time someone's hit on him while on the clock. Jake is aware he's an attractive guy, it's just that this is the first time he's been tasked with turning down at very handsome, drunk stranger. But drunk or not, the compliment makes his cheeks burn. Jake prays that the red and blue lights of his cruiser are enough to conceal the way his face flushes.

Ignoring him, Jake grabs the door handle of the Bronco and tugs it open. "C'mon, pal. Outta the car."

A little begrudgingly, Bradley slowly steps out of the car. Jake doesn't miss the way he grabs onto the door to steady himself.

Now that he's out of the car and in the beam of his headlights, Jake gets a good look at him. Bradley is over six feet of lean tan muscle. His long legs are encased in blue jeans that fit a bit too snug around his narrow waist, but from there he only gets wider all the way up to his shoulders. He's got some height on Jake and if he weren't in shape himself, Jake would probably be a little intimidated.

Jake steps up to him. "Go ahead and turn around for me. Put your hands flat on the hood."

For a moment Jake thinks he isn't going to listen, but then Bradley smirks a little and does as he's told. "Normally I'd ask you to buy me dinner first, but whatever you say, Officer."

This time Jake is glad that he's turned around. He steps forward and uses one of his feet to knock Bradley's legs a little further apart so that he can pat him down. He's not surprised to find that there's nothing on him, but he always has to check.

"Are you always this forward, Bradley? Or just when you're drunk?"

"No, sir," Bradley promises him, refusing to flinch even as Jake's hands come dangerously close to his crotch. "Just when the officer is nice to look at."

Jake pulls away as Bradley turns around. He specifically remembers telling him to keep his hands flat on the cruiser but Jake is getting the impression that Bradley doing something that could hurt either one of them isn't something he needs to worry about so he lets it go. Typically a stupid decision but he trusts his gut.

Bradley leans back just slightly to prop himself up against the car and crosses his arms in front of his chest while giving Jake a smile. His big brown eyes are warm and dopey, his smile impish.

"You gonna cut me some slack?" he asks.

Habitually, Jake curls his fingers through the front of his belt. The familiar weight of his kevlar vest is heavy and comforting and somehow he finds that it settles his fluttering heart in his chest.

"You know it's considered an offense to flirt with an officer?" Jake tells him, trying to remain professional and stand his ground. If his eyes drop to observe the way the other man's pecks fill out his t-shirt, that's his business.

Bradley smiles, ducking his head a little abashedly. Jake doesn't miss the way his teeth release the pout of his bottom lip. "Does that apply to when you're off duty as well?"

Jake pokes his tongue into the side of his cheek to keep from smiling. It's not funny, and he shouldn't be flattered by the advances of a drunk stranger but he is. And maybe he does have some sympathy for the guy. He knows what it's like coming back to the states and trying to adjust back to civilian life. But that doesn't mean that he's above the law.

"Bradley," he begins, his voice firm but sympathetic. "You know you can't be driving around like this. As much as I'd like to, I can't let you go."

As far as he's concerned, Bradley doesn't seem to be hearing him at all.

"Y'know, of all the places I imagined myself being handcuffed, none of them were in the back of a cop car."

"Jesus Christ," Jake mutters, his hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose. Really, he has no words. "Okay, that's enough," he announces, giving up on getting Bradley to actually take this seriously. "Turn around for me."

Smiling as if feeling a little too pleased with himself, Bradley obediently shuffles around so that Jake can then walk up behind him and clasp his wrists together. He uses his other hand to retrieve his cuffs from his belt and clips them on.

They're a little tight but that's only because Bradley's broad shoulders prevent his wrists from fully meeting, his shoulder blades seemingly obstructed by the wide expanse of his back.

Jake is definitely not staring.

If the cuffs are uncomfortable, Bradley doesn't say anything, and Jake walks him by one of his elbows to the cruiser.

"Watch your head," Jake instructs him as he opens the door for Bradley to step in. It's a tight fit but somehow he manages, scooting over the seat until he's sat in the middle, his long legs spread to either side in order to accommodate them. The denim of his jeans strain at the awkwardness of the angle and gives Jake a front row view of the bugle of his crotch.

Jake clears his throat, looking away. If it were for the fact that he was drunk, Jake would say he's doing it on purpose.

Before Jake can shut the door and leave with what little is left of his self preservation, Bradley's voice stops him.

"Wait, what about my car?"

When Jake leans down to poke his head into the backseat of the cruiser, the look on Bradley's face is actually concerned. That's a first, Jake thinks. "I'll call someone to tow it. It'll be impounded until you can come and pick it up from the station." When the worry on Bradley's face only increases, his mustache emphasizing the action, he follows with, "They'll take good care of it for you, I promise."

Bradley's eyes flicker to the old Bronco anxiously. "It's just that it's my dad's car. He, um, he died when I was a kid. So, y'know..." he explains, trailing off.

Of fucking course it is.

Jake sighs, hangs his head in defeat for a second, and then looks back into the car at Bradley. "Look, I'll make a deal with you. Promise me we won't meet like this again and I won't have them tow your car. You can just come get it in the morning."

Bradley grins. "Well I'd certainly like to meet you under different circumstances."

Jake slams the door shut.

The drive back into town is quiet. When he glances at the clock on his dashboard, he realizes he only has about an hour left to his shift. As he pulls into the little suburban neighborhood, having memorized the address on Bradley's license, he glances into the backseat through his rear view mirror.

At first he thinks that Bradley's knocked out in the backseat, head lulled back as he breathes slow and steady, but then he sees the whites of his hazel eyes illuminated by the occasional red and blue flash of his overhead lights. Their gazes meet through the mirror and the corner of Bradleys mouth lifts up in a half drunk smile. Jake shifts his gaze away to instead peer at the numbers on the houses. Finally he finds the address he's looking for and slows the cruiser as he pulls into the driveway.

He brings the car to a stop and slides out of the driver's seat, walking around the car to open up the side door. Bradley stares at him quizzically from the backseat.

"C'mon, hop out before I change my mind," Jake prompts, gesturing with his head for Bradley to get a move on. The tall brunette climbs out with as much ease as one can muster in a pair of handcuffs before he's once again standing face to face with Jake.

He's on the downside of his drunken stupor, more sleepy than buzzed if his drooping eyelids are anything to go by. His mustache lifts as he smiles down at Jake. It's still ridiculous looking but it makes more sense now that Jake knows his occupation. It's the only type of facial hair that's considered to be within regs.

Jake clears his throat. "You want me to take those off?" he asks, motioning towards the cuffs holding Bradley's hands behind his back.

"I might do something stupid if you do."

Jake freezes. "What?"

Before he knows it Bradley's kissing him. He connects their mouths with surprising ease. It's so smooth and he moves relatively quickly for someone who's mildly intoxicated that Jake doesn't even see it coming. Between Jake's surprise and Bradley's lack of hands, they're a bit top heavy and Jake has to fist the front of Bradley's t-shirt, his back hitting the side of the cruiser, to keep them from toppling over.

Bradley's mouth is warm, his lips pliant and soft, but he's firm in the kiss, unrelenting in the way that Jake couldn't have pulled away even if he wanted to.

He doesn't want to— he does— but he doesn't want to.

When he comes to his senses, Jake flattens a palm against Bradley's chest and shoves him away. Immediately his chest aches at the distance. He stands there, still half shocked, with his palm holding Bradley away at arm's length.

Really, he's not too sure what to do in this situation.

Bradley’s hazel eyes shine in amusement. He doesn’t even have the decency to look ashamed.

Again Jake clears his throat. "Ahem— um, glad you got that out of your system," he says with a pat to Bradley's chest. And before anything else can occur, he swiftly steps around the other man and uncuffs his wrists.

Bradley groans in relief, bringing his hands in front of him to rub at his sore wrists. “I think your bondage play needs some work. Not that I’m complaining—”

“Go inside. Get some sleep, Bradley.”

Taking the not so subtle hint, Bradley straightens and fixes Jake with a mocking salute before he turns and makes him way to the front porch. He watches as Bradley unlocks the front door and turns to give him one last look before he steps inside.

“Until next time, Officer Seresin.”

Jake just shakes his head in disapproval, but he can’t disguise his smile. “There better not be a next time,” he calls up the driveway.

He doesn’t pull out the driveway until Bradley’s shut the door and he sees the porch lights flicker off.

Maybe he does like the night shift.

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bekkarific · 4 days ago

Text

Playing With Fire

Chapter Ten: Scorch

Chapter Masterlist

Pairings: Frontman/inho x Fem Oc

Ji Ah had no idea what these observations reports looked like she panicked as her heels clicked hurriedly across the marble floor. She had never been asked to fetch them before why now? Was he saving her? Her stomach did an uncomfortable flip at that and not for reasons she would like to admit.

Approaching the familiar site of the black steel doors let her pace slow, not in a rush to return to those people and their lecherous hands.

Entering the room she was met the quiet hallway she has come to know. Heading down past the several black doors toward the living area, with its large black screen.

She was struck with an unusual sight, one of the doors was open. Every time she had been here those doors have been shut, now one was open.

The open door stood like a dark invitation, daring her to cross the threshold. A thousand scenarios raced through her mind—each one worse than the last. What if this was a trap? Another test? She hesitated, her breath shallow, before stepping forward with a determination she didn’t quite feel. She slowly made her way toward the door, heart racing.

She felt vulnerable with no weapon or backup, taking a calming breath she slowly reached for the handle.

As she pulled it back she was met by the sight of a gun pointed squarely at her head, she froze for a beat taking in the sight of her would be attacker.

“Jun Ho” she breathed, taking in his determined face, not recognising her beneath the mask.

“Ji Ah” he exclaimed in relief at hearing her voice, immediately scooping her into a hug.

The warmth of his arms wrapped around her, so familiar yet almost forgotten, melted the icy fear that had clung to her since she'd arrived here. A sob caught in her throat, and for a moment, she allowed herself to feel safe, the world outside forgotten. Both squeezed each other in a firm grip, a single thought shared between them ‘I thought I lost you’

Jun Ho pulled back but did not let her go, his eyes running over her partially masked face.

“Are you okay?” He asked seeing the tears in her eyes.

She nodded not feeling brave enough to say the words. Swallowing she smiled sadly unsure she would ever be able to give him the full truth of it.

“In Ho” she asked, the reason they where in this dreadful place “did you find him?” Looking it Jun Ho’s sad face.

“No” he said simply “but there is something I must tell you, In Ho - “

He was cut off mid sentence by the sound of footsteps, someone was approaching the door, they both froze for a moment before Ji Ah sprung into action.

“Go” she said pushing him back “you must hide” she added closing to door on his worried face.

Her mind raced. She had seconds—no, less than that—to come up with a plan. The reports caught her eye, pristine and orderly on the desk. Without thinking, she swept them to the floor and dropped to her knees, kicking one of her heels off, feigning a clumsy scramble at the click of the door and the heavy sound of footsteps neared.

The gleaming black leather of his shoes entered her field vision first, the polished leather gleaming in the over head lights. Her gaze traveled upward, over his long legs encased in perfectly tailored charcoal slacks, to the familiar lines of his suit jacket, fitted to his broad frame.

And then, the mask.

The Frontman’s cold, unreadable mask loomed above her, its dark, reflective surface concealing his expression. Yet Ji Ah felt the weight of his stare, piercing through her as though he could see every thought racing through her mind. She swallowed hard, willing herself to maintain the act, her hands fumbling with the papers.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Ji Ah stammered, her voice breathless with a carefully crafted mix of fear and fluster. She nodded toward her discarded shoe. “My heel slipped on the marble floor, and I came down with it.”

The silence stretched, thick and suffocating. She dared to glance up, her eyes meeting the hollow eyeholes of his mask. He said nothing, only watching her.

Her pulse quickened. Was he doubting her story? Did he suspect her?

After what felt like an eternity, the Frontman crouched before her, his gloved hands moving with deliberate precision. Ji Ah’s breath caught in her throat as he reached for her shoe, lifting it from where it lay.

“You should be more careful,” he said, his voice low and measured, the words carrying an edge she couldn’t quite decipher.

She couldn’t respond, her throat too dry, her heart thundering. She watched as he turned the shoe over in his hands, inspecting it as though it were a crucial piece in one of his games.

Then, to her surprise, he extended his hand, palm open, wordlessly gesturing for her foot.

Ji Ah hesitated, her mind racing. There was no graceful way out of this. Slowly, she stood and lifted her foot, placing it lightly against his palm. His grip was firm, steady, as he guided the shoe back onto her foot with ease.

The moment his gloved hand touched against her ankle, her skin seemed to burn. She felt a shiver run up her spine, the contact both unsettling and disarmingly gentle.

Ji Ah’s breath hitched as his fingers moved upward and brushed against her calf, lingering for a fraction too long to be entirely professional. Her gaze snapped to his mask, searching for any sign of his intentions, but the dark surface revealed nothing.

Her skin prickled beneath the weight of his touch, her instincts screaming to pull away even as something kept her rooted.

“Better?” he asked, his voice smooth and even, as though this act of intimacy were nothing out of the ordinary.

“Yes,” Ji Ah managed to whisper, though her throat felt tight. “Thank you.”

He rose slowly, his towering presence casting a shadow over her. The papers in her hands felt flimsy, inconsequential compared to the intensity radiating from him.

Then a chime came over his radio, breaking the spell.

The frontman turned away speaking quietly into his radio, shoulders tense. Ji Ah took the opportunity to step backwards her hands braced against the small drinks table, pretending to sort the papers whilst calming the beat of her heart. It wasn’t fear alone that made her pulse race—it was something darker, something she refused to name.

“I must attend to business” the frontman stated simply, like the charged moment never happened. “I will escort you back to the VIP lounge” he stated, leaving no room for argument.

Ji ah hesitated, her gaze briefly flicking the door that housed Jun Ho. She couldn’t let her gaze linger there—not even for a second. Any slip could doom them both. Instead, she tightened her grip on the papers, holding them like a shield against his scrutiny.

She tried to think of an excuse but none came. At least if the Frontman came with her Jun Ho would be free to escape.

Clearing her throat, she simply replied “Of course sir” scooping up the rest of the papers from the desk, trying to seem surer than the felt.

She jumped slightly when she felt his hand take her elbow, turning to look at him in an accusing manner.

“Wouldn’t want you to have another accident” was all he offered in response, smooth as silk but heavy with implication. His grip tightening slightly as he lead her away.

Away from Jun Ho.

It took all that was in her not to look back.

——————————————

The night seemed to drag on since Ji Ah returned to the opulent VIP lounge, the air thick with the scent of expensive cigars and the murmur of indulgent laughter. The guests, draped in luxury, reveled in their evening's entertainment, their eyes gleaming with a predatory delight that made her skin crawl.

She performed her duties with practiced grace, refilling glasses and offering trays of delicacies, all the while her mind a tempest of conflicting thoughts. The Frontman's absence since their charged encounter left her both relieved and disquieted. His touch, his inscrutable gaze and the lingering heat of his hand against her skin, haunted her more than she cared to admit.

Her thoughts shifted to Jun Ho, hidden away, his safety precarious. The fear of his discovery tightened her chest, each passing moment amplifying the dread that he might be caught, punished, or worse. She had to find a way to protect him, but under the ever-watchful eyes of the VIPs and the omnipresent surveillance, any misstep could be fatal.

A burst of raucous laughter jolted her from her reverie. One of the VIPs, a portly man with a flushed face, beckoned her over, his eyes roaming over her with unabashed lechery. Suppressing a shudder, Ji Ah forced a polite smile and approached, the mask of servitude firmly in place.

As she leaned in to pour his drink, his hand brushed against her thigh. Her stomach churned, but she maintained her composure, retreating smoothly once the glass was filled. The man's attention was fleeting, already shifting back to his companions and their sordid tales.

Ji Ah's mind wandered back to the Frontman. Despite his absence, his presence loomed large, an enigmatic force that both threatened and intrigued her. She couldn't afford distractions, not with so much at stake, yet the memory of his touch, the mystery of his intentions, lingered like a phantom, refusing to be exorcised.

She moved through the room, a silent observer to the decadence around her, her thoughts a labyrinth of fear, desire, and determination. The games were far from over, and the most dangerous moves were yet to be played.

In the midst of the revelry, Ji Ah resolved to stay vigilant, to protect Jun Ho, and to uncover the truth behind the Frontman's actions. But as the night wore on, she couldn't shake the feeling that she was a pawn in a game far more complex than she had ever imagined.

And the Frontman, whether ally or adversary, held the key to her next move.

As the evening progressed, the VIPs' indulgences grew more extravagant, their demands more insistent. Ji Ah's role as their attendant became increasingly taxing, each forced smile and compliant gesture chipping away at her resolve. Yet, amidst the clamor and excess, her mind remained sharply focused on her dual concerns: Jun Ho's safety and the enigma of the Frontman's intentions.

She couldn't afford to falter now. Every interaction, every movement had to be carefully measured, her true thoughts and fears concealed beneath a veneer of servitude. The stakes were too high, the consequences of any misstep too dire.

She was determined to navigate this treacherous landscape, to protect those she cared about, and to unravel the mysteries that bound her to this place. No matter the cost.

And in the shadows of her mind, the Frontman's presence lingered, a constant reminder of the complexities and dangers that lay ahead.

But Ji Ah was resolute. She would not be a mere pawn. She would find a way to turn the game to her advantage, no matter how deep she had to delve into the darkness.

#squid games #hwang jun ho #seong gi hun #the frontman #gi hun #hwang inho #jun ho #squid game #in Ho x oc #Hwang in Ho x oc #frontman x oc #frontman/oc #Inho/oc #Hwang Inho/oc #squid game x oc

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thebrickinbrick · 7 months ago

Text

Orestes Fasting and Pylades Drunk, Part Two

A fit of drunkenness reaching its end resembles a curtain which is torn away. One beholds, at a single glance and as a whole, all that it has concealed. All suddenly presents itself to the memory; and the drunkard who has known nothing of what has been taking place during the last twenty-four hours, has no sooner opened his eyes than he is perfectly informed. Ideas recur to him with abrupt lucidity; the obliteration of intoxication, a sort of steam which has obscured the brain, is dissipated, and makes way for the clear and sharply outlined importunity of realities.

Relegated, as he was, to one corner, and sheltered behind the billiard-table, the soldiers whose eyes were fixed on Enjolras, had not even noticed Grantaire, and the sergeant was preparing to repeat his order: “Take aim!” when all at once, they heard a strong voice shout beside them:

��Long live the Republic! I’m one of them.”

Grantaire had risen. The immense gleam of the whole combat which he had missed, and in which he had had no part, appeared in the brilliant glance of the transfigured drunken man.

He repeated: “Long live the Republic!” crossed the room with a firm stride and placed himself in front of the guns beside Enjolras.

“Finish both of us at one blow,” said he.

And turning gently to Enjolras, he said to him:

“Do you permit it?”

Enjolras pressed his hand with a smile.

This smile was not ended when the report resounded.

Enjolras, pierced by eight bullets, remained leaning against the wall, as though the balls had nailed him there. Only, his head was bowed.

Grantaire fell at his feet, as though struck by a thunderbolt.

A few moments later, the soldiers dislodged the last remaining insurgents, who had taken refuge at the top of the house. They fired into the attic through a wooden lattice.

They fought under the very roof.

They flung bodies, some of them still alive, out through the windows.

Two light-infantrymen, who tried to lift the shattered omnibus, were slain by two shots fired from the attic. A man in a blouse was flung down from it, with a bayonet wound in the abdomen, and breathed his last on the ground. A soldier and an insurgent slipped together on the sloping slates of the roof, and, as they would not release each other, they fell, clasped in a ferocious embrace.

A similar conflict went on in the cellar. Shouts, shots, a fierce trampling. Then silence. The barricade was captured.

The soldiers began to search the houses round about, and to pursue the fugitives.

#lm 5.1.23 #part 2 #the brick in brick #barricade day #les miserables #lego

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fandom-chic · 1 year ago

Text

Please Please Please: Chapter 7

Summary: Y/N is only a child when she and Tommy Shelby meet. The two quickly become best friends as they grow up in Small Heath. As the years go by, Y/N and Tommy realize there may be more to their friendship than they originally thought.

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Y/N

Previous chapter

A/N: Sorry for the delay! Life has been chaos. I wanted to get something out so I apologize if there are some typos.

1914

"Are you sure this is right?" she asked.

"Why wouldn't it be?" he replied.

"I don't know," she turned towards Tommy, letting the gun hang limply in her hand. "I just feel like there has to be another step to shooting that I'm just not getting. This seems too easy," Tommy smirked at Y/N.

"It's truly simple, I'll show you." He gladly took her hips and angled them towards the old can that had become a target. It didn't take long for a blush to rise to her cheeks as his arms reached around her, his hands adjusting her grip on the firearm. She couldn't help her eyes from looking back at her lover and admiring his focus on her hands. It was his idea to teach her how to shoot. After the Peaky Blinders had begun to become more involved in affairs around town, Tommy believed that it would be best for Y/N to have some sort of protection when he wasn't there. She laughed at him, wondering who would come after someone like her, but deep down she knew. Going after the leader's girl was a death sentence but also a statement. One that she didn't want to finish.

She felt Tommy give a final adjustment to her fingers before feeling his hands go back to her hips. His lips went up to her ear, whispering, "And now you shoot." The reality of the danger she could enact suddenly became tangible. She could snuff out someone's life with this device and that was something she felt she was incapable of. That was when she began to shake.

"Are you sure?" she whispered, feeling her grip become looser and looser.

"Of course, I am, my love," His lips didn't leave her ear as he coaxed her out of her mind. "You don't need to shoot to kill, just to warn. Learning to shoot straight at your target will allow you to shoot straight at a target behind your enemy. I promise, as long as you are by my side, you will never shoot to kill." She couldn't help but look back at Tommy. His face was so close to hers, she wanted to drop the gun to the ground and jump into his arms.

"You promise?" she questioned, although she knew she could always trust her Tommy.

"I promise." At that, she faced forward, readjusted, and shot. The sound was closer to her head than she expected. It jostled her, but Tommy was there to stabilize her. He always was. When she got a good look at the can, she saw it fully intact.

She let out a disappointed sigh, "Well, damn," she said, seeing she not only missed but she missed the target by many meters.

"Hey, don't worry," she turned back to Tommy and both his hands went to her cheeks, "this is what practice is for." Her eyes could not leave Tommy's as his words filled her chest, making it swell.

"I know, I just wanted to be as good as you." This got a chuckle out of Tommy.

"Once you have been shooting for 10 years, let's compare."

"We can shake on that, Mr. Shelby." But she didn't put her hand out and instead leaned in, letting Tommy's lips grace hers. Even after all these months, it still surprised her how soft his lips felt. They fit perfectly to hers, making her think of nothing until he had pulled away. But he hadn't yet and all her mind could do was fixate on the way he made her feel. She felt the gun slip out of her fingers and fall to the ground beside her. With her hands now free, she let them lace behind Tommy's neck, pulling her chest to his. His hands left her cheeks and began to trace down her sides and grab onto the small of her back. She didn't care where they were right now, all she knew was that she wanted him.

She felt his lips lightly pull from hers as a hoarse whisper escaped Tommy's mouth, "There's an abandoned barn around the corner if you-"

"No," she interrupted as her fingers began to slip his jacket off, "I want you now." Tommy didn't question her. How could he when he understood her completely? As articles of clothing fell off the pair, they soon found themselves wrapped in each other's arms on the grass. When he was inside her, the world stopped. She knew it was impossible but if someone told her this reality was a lie and it truly was just the two of them in each other's arms, she would laugh in understanding.

He let out a long sigh as they lay tangled in limbs. Her head rested on his chest as she traced the freckles on Tommy's chest.

"So much for shooting practice," she said. She looked up at Tommy to see him reaching for his discarded jacket. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.

"I do think this was time well spent," he said, putting a cigarette between his lips and lighting it. She watched as the smoke created shapes in the air. He gestured the cigarette toward Y/N and she gladly accepted by taking a deep inhale.

"I still have to learn to shoot," she responded, smoke escaping her lips. Y/N gave Tommy back the cigarette, and he took another drag before noticing his watch.

"Shit," he muttered, sitting up rapidly.

"What's wrong?" Y/N asked, sitting up too.

"Meeting," he muttered under his breath as he began to grab for his clothes. She followed his lead, beginning to throw back on her garments. Before she knew it, they were on horseback heading towards Small Heath.

"What's so important about this meeting?" Y/N questioned as they trotted down the road, her arms wrapped around Tommy's waist.

He let out a sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose with one hand as the other handled the horse, "It's about the gambling business. It's beginning to get off the ground."

Y/N gave Tommy's waist a little squeeze, "Well, that's a good thing. Why the stress?"

"Because I'm late."

The couple arrived at the Shelby home 30 minutes after what would have been the beginning of the meeting. Y/N jogged behind Tommy as they rushed in. To her surprise, Polly, Arthur, and John were chain-smoking languidly at a rickety table. No discussion of business at all. Only Polly bothered to look Tommy in the eye as he grabbed a seat.

"You're late," she said as she blew a puff of smoke out of her lips.

"I had other affairs to take care of," Tommy responded, causing John to look back towards Y/N. She sunk into the corner of the kitchen, quickly averting her eyes from his.

"Affairs?" John questioned with a snort. Tommy's eyes shot to his brother's, narrowing.

"Yes, John, affairs. Is there anything else you would like to add before we commence?" John silently fumed as Tommy grabbed a cigarette from the pack on the table.

"Actually, yes," The flame finally seemed to ignite. Tommy leaned back in his chair, folding his arms.

"And what is that?" There was malice laced into his words.

"You're never bloody here, Tom. You are always out for 'affairs' or 'meetings,' but we all know what you're doing," John took a quick puff of his cigarette before continuing, "You're fucking Y/N."

"John," Arthur warned. Y/N's eyes moved over to Tommy. He was still, staring straight ahead.

"It's fucking true," John said.

"Stop fucking fighting," he spat before taking a breath, "Tom, you haven't bothered to show up, and it's causing the family business to fall. Family comes before whores." The words left Arthur's mouth faster than she could think about them. "After all these years, I thought you saw me as more than..." She couldn't say the last part. It stung too much. Arthur opens his mouth to respond but is interrupted by Polly.

"Alright, enough," she said, slamming her hand on the table to punctuate the words. Polly takes a sip of whiskey to alleviate the stress before she continues, "We all know Tom has been absent, but we are still making a profit. Not as much as we wanted, but things are moving forward."

Tommy let out a semblance of a sigh of relief, "That's something," he put his cigarette in his mouth, puffing on it, "Pol, do you have the financial statements." Polly turns to the cabinet behind her and fishes through. She pulls out a folder filled to the brim with papers. Tommy grabs it and begins to go through. His look of relief quickly turns to one of annoyance as each paper flips by.

"What the fuck are all these damn charges?" He asked, turning to his brothers. Arthur avoids his brother's gaze, but John stares him down.

"Who said all work and no play?" There is a smirk on John's face that Tommy wanted to smack off. His hand clenched his glass of whiskey instead.

"John, you spent almost one hundred pounds this month alone. What the fuck are you spending that kind of money on?" John leaned toward his brother, his face inches from Tommy's.

"You'd know if you were fucking here." That was when Y/N heard the sound of a fist on flesh. Her eyes widened as Tommy threw himself over the table, grabbing at John. John fought right back, lunging into his brother. Y/N felt her feet rush toward the boys, grabbing at Tommy, trying to pull him away from John. Polly follows suit, grabbing the bloodied John away from Tommy.

"When did you all turn into children?" Polly yelled, dropping John into his chair with a thud. The adrenaline seemed to have left his body as he fell partially limp. Y/N held Tommy to her chest as he seemed to calm slightly. "Meeting tonight." Polly said, turning toward Y/N, "Family only." Those words were the last straw for Y/N as she let go of Tommy and strode quickly out of the kitchen and out of the house.

She didn't let her feet stop until she was by The Cut, gazing out at the water. It was not the most beautiful body of water, far from it, but it calmed her. She held herself as the sun began to fade behind the trees and the air cooled. The meeting must be happening now. The one she couldn't attend because she wasn't family. She was just a whore. Y/N took a deep breath and continued to stare. It wasn't long before footsteps approached her. She looked over her shoulder, expecting to see a beggar or a prostitute, but instead saw her love, her Tommy. He stayed silent as he moved to her side. Together, they gazed out at the sun brushing the water. It was the most peace they had all day.

She couldn't help but sneak a peek at Tommy and was met with a black and blue face. She tried to suppress the look of horror on her face, but she knew Tommy noticed.

"Is it bad?" She shook her head, avoiding eye contact. He let out a snort, "It's that bad then?"

"It's not awful, not great either," she said, letting her hand reach for where the bruise rested on his cheek. He flinched slightly as her fingers brushed against it. She pulled away and shoved her hands into her pockets. It must've been a sign. Some twisted sign that her touch truly was a danger to him.

"I don't care what they say," Tommy's words cut through her overthinking, and she let herself look back at him, taking him all in. "You're my family." Tommy looked down at her as a twinkle gleamed in her eyes. It lasted for a second before it disappeared.

"That's kind of you to say, Tommy," she let her fingers wrap around his and squeeze, "but I'm always going to be an outsider. That's just the way it is."

"No," he responded. Afterwards, his words were quick. So fast she almost let them fly by her. But she caught them, "Marry me."

It wasn't a question. Far from it. It was a statement. A declaration. He was telling her that she was his and he could be hers if she would take him. She looked up at her Tommy, and he was already gazing upon her. Her hand left his and snaked behind his neck. She pulled him into a kiss, and they both knew what her answer was.

Next chapter

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diagnosedpsychosis · 1 year ago

Note

Heyo!!! 😁 I’m not sure if your still taking requests but I've had this idea for a little while.

Could you do Aaron × BAU f!reader where they are having an argument and something had happened in the field and when they got back home (originally his place) they got into a heated argument and Aaron says something to reader like "why did you even coming here with me if we're just going to fight" which the reader responds by saying "would you rather me to go out into the field and not come back to you?" And when Aaron doesn't answer (out of shock or surprise) reader takes it the wrong way and as his answer and leaves which he then regrets what he said. The next day in the office reader won't even look or talk to him and in the field reader is more careless and takes huge risks because of what Aaron had said.

It could possibly end with reader getting an injury and is in the hospital and in fluff or hurt/comfort. However you see fit is perfect!!! 😊

Im in a big mood for some angsty shizz and I have asked a couple different writers about this just to see what different perspectives and ideas they can create with it. So if you are able and willing i would love to see what you put together for this. If not that's perfectly fine too! Thanks luv 🫶🫶🫶

Hiiiii, I'm always open to requests and up for a challenge so thank you so much for this!!! I'll see what I can do for you <3 I hope it's okay.

Word Count: 5k

__________________________________________________

You knew going after an unsub much bigger than you on foot, and alone was a bad idea, well.... you knew it now. But at that moment, the only thought that had crossed your mind was that if you let this man get away, men and women would never stop suffering at the hands of him. You had found him by fluke, so it was now or never.

You weren't expecting to be tackled from behind, I mean, you had been chasing him, right? He was in front of you. But somewhere you'd lost track of the man and just kept jogging in the direction you knew he'd gone in, so when he tackled you from behind it was a complete surprise and you hadn't had enough time to put you hands out in front of you to support your fall.

You hit your head hard, your vision going blurry for a moment as you struggled to breathe under the weight straddling you. He was big and could easily overpower you, you both knew it. His hands flew to your neck as he squeezed, trying to crush your throat under his hands. You gasped, and wheezed, kicked and clawed at him, but he just sat over you with a large grin, knowing your life was in his hands and he was going to take it.

So when the gunshot cracked and he stilled on top of you, for that brief moment where his brain still ticked and his heart still beat, he wondered how he hadn't realised you had been distracting him with your kicks and your gasps, all so you could reach for your gun. The bullet came from your gun. The bullet that put an end to his reign of terror. A single bullet, that saved countless lives.

You hadn't even been able to take a heavy drag of air, or relax for a single second knowing you were no longer in danger before police sirens blared and uniformed officers trudged through the forest, torches on high as they searched for you and the unsub.

"Y/n?" The first voice you recognised was Derek's. You noticed a hint of panic in his tone as he searched for you, unsure if you were close or not.

"Over here" You called, barely able to get the words as the literal dead weight on you rested over your chest, robbing you of air. You heard heavy shoes against the ground and twigs and leaves crunch under weight before Derek broke through a bush, his torch landing on you.

"I got them" He yelled loud enough that his voice echoed and even Aaron who'd been so many hundred metres, panic searching for you heard him and ran in the direction of his voice. Derek jogged over to you, letting out a relieved sigh at the sight before him. You were alive, and the unsub wasn't.

"You owe me a drink for how worried sick you made me" Derek frowned down at you, wiping the sweat from his forehead and placing his hands on his hips to catch his breath.

"Yeah, sure. Now are you going to help me, or leave me here under this rock all night?" You wheezed, relieved to see Derek crack an amused smile, an airy laugh bubbling out of his throat as he bent down to help you.

"You push, I'll pull" He ordered you, eyes jumping back to yours as you scoffed.

"No, you push and I'll pull" You joked, not needing Derek to tell you to push, as if that wasn't what you wanted. Derek rolled his eyes, a smirk on his mouth as he counted down from 3. The second 1 left his mouth, despite being sore and having no energy you pushed with all your might, and with Derek's help were able to roll the unsub off of you.

The second his weight left your chest you doubled over, coughing uncontrollably as air suddenly flooded your lungs. Derek was quick to help pull you up, slinging your arm over his shoulder, his hand rubbing circles on your back as he helped move you away from the unsub and officers flooding the area. He pulled you off to the side before sitting you an a dead tree stump.

"Hey, you alright?" He asked, crouching down to your height and pushing your hair back out of your face. You nodded your head, before immediately stopping as zaps of pain made you groan.

"Yeah, I just hit my head a little hard" Derek frowned before moving his hand to the back of your head, eyes jumping back to yours as he met a wet spot.

"I think you're bleeding."

"What?" You gaped, letting Derek pull you up and sling your arm back over his shoulder as he helped guide you back through the forest.

"Medics are already here, we'll get you checked out" You thanked Derek for finding you and helping you so much. You even shared a couple jokes and laughs with him, but the moment you broke through the forest your face was wiped of its smile.

Standing beside the ambulance, was a very grumpy looking Aaron in a black polo and FBI vest. To anyone else he looked like he did all day, every day- frowning, and bored. But you could tell that his eyebrows being a tiny fraction more furrowed meant he was mad. Being able to read your boyfriend was both a blessing and a curse. Derek helped you over to him, before quickly dipping and leaving you alone with your fuming boyfriend.

"Aaron-" You started to say, but he was quick to cut you off, arms flexing as he folded them over his chest.

"Save it. We'll talk later" He snapped, causing you to rear back at his tone. You knew he would be angry about you taking on an unsub alone, but you didn't know he'd be this angry.

"Are you really that angry-"

"I said save it. Now hurry up and get checked so we can leave" You watched, lips slightly parted at Aaron clicked at a paramedic to give you attention, before he turned around and stormed back over to one of the SUV's. What had been confusion over Aaron's tone quickly turned to anger on your part as well. Of all the people to judge you for running after an unsub alone, Aaron had no right, not when 7 out of 10 decisions he made in the field were stupid.

"You've got a concussion and some bleeding at the back of your head. I'd suggest going to the hospital to get it properly patched up. There's only so much I can do here" The paramedic who had been checking you informed you. You offered the man a tight lipped smile as you stood up and off the side of the ambulance.

"Thank you" You told him before walking off to meet the rest of your team who'd been waiting in a circle at the front of the SUV's.

"Hey" Derek smiled as you stopped beside him. He raised his hand to your head and ruffled your hair like a dog.

"How's your head, Fred?" He asked, and your eyes flew to Aaron who was watching you with a frown, waiting to hear all the injuries you'd gotten. The longer you stared at him, the less you felt like telling the truth, knowing he'd use it against you in an argument. You glanced back at Derek and smiled.

"All good."

"Great. Let's get out of here. I want to go home" Emily smiled, patting your arm before everyone split up between the cars and headed back to the bureau. You were grateful for a local case so you wouldn't have to endure hours of tension on the jet, but at the same time maybe that's exactly what you needed between you and Aaron- time for him to calm down, and time for you to sooth the concussion.

Despite Aaron being your boyfriend, Derek had been the most supportive on of your team. He'd found you, helped you, worried for you, and hesitantly left you at the ambulance, so it wasn't surprising you stuck to him like glue for the drive back to Quantico, not that he minded. It gave him more time to check that you were 100% okay.

When you got back everyone was quick to grab their things before leaving and heading home for the night, excited to sleep in their own beds after a tiring case you'd all worried would go unsolved, but it hadn't, thanks to you. You tried to leave quickly before Aaron could intercept you, but of course, you can't always get what you want.

"My place" Aaron huffed from behind you, before quickening and lengthening his strides until he passed you, refusing to glance back as he stormed to his car. You got in your own car, watching him drive away before you even started the ignition. You wondered how he'd react if you just didn't go to his. He wasn't your boss outside of work, he couldn't order you around, but there was no doubt in your mind that if you weren't at his soon after him he'd call and text every last person in his phone that you had connections with, just to hunt you down and find you.

So you followed him, and soon reluctantly pulled up out the front of his apartment building. You got out, walked inside and took the elevator to his floor before slowly walking down the hall and stopping in front of his apartment door. You didn't even need to knock, because in seconds the door opened and there stood a much too unhappy Aaron.

"I hope the wind doesn't change" You tried to ease the tension, offering a half smile, it wavering as Aaron rolled his eyes and turned around, leaving the door open for you to come inside.

"That's your coping strategy? Making jokes?" He scoffed as you clicked your tongue against your teeth, closing and locking his apartment door behind yourself. You followed him further into his apartment, stopping and watching as he filled a glass with water.

"It's much more fun than what you're doing. Aaron, you're being overdramatic" He let out a laugh before turning to look at you. You took a small step back, not liking the look on his face or the tone of his voice. You wished you'd never driven to his, because you knew just by looking at him he was going to be the mean Aaron you hated tonight.

"Oh, am I?" Your own joking smile fell from your face, quickly mirroring the frown on his face as you nodded your head, subtly grabbing the stool beside you when you felt yourself become slightly dizzy. You were sure you didn't actually have a concussion. A headache, sure, but not a concussion. All you needed was some ibuprofen and you'd be fine.

"Yeah, you are. You're being overdramatic and you're being totally unfair. You know if it was the other way around I'd never give you as much grief as you're giving me right now" You raise your voice, pointing an accusing finger in his direction.

"Maybe cause if it were the other way around you know I would've made smarter decisions than you did tonight" You scoff in disbelief at the utter bullshit coming from your boyfriends mouth.

"You know for a fact you're just as hot headed as me, Aaron. You make just as many stupid mistakes and you get just as injured, so don't try to lecture me about 'smarter decisions' cause you know that's a load of crock" You hated how he spoke and treated you during arguments, like you weren't his equal. Like every decision he made was perfect, and every on you made was a mistake.

Aaron brings his hands up, dragging them down his face as a loud, irritated groan echoes around the apartment. "Far out, I shouldn't have told you to come over after a once in a blue moon field day for you. Why did you actually even come? You don't follow 95% of my orders, but what? You do now?"

"What would you rather Aaron, me going out into the field and still coming back to you, even if it is to fight? Or me going into the field and not coming back to you?" Your question stuns Aaron into silence and out of the ever consuming rage he'd felt. All that pent up anger dissipates at the picture you've painted in his head. One with a reality where you don't come home to him. It didn't matter if after every case you fought, all that mattered was that you came home with him every night, safe and healthy.

The silence you had stunned Aaron into rebounds right back at you. Your shoulders sag and your eyes burn as you stare at the man you loved, not saying a single word in response to the hypothetical you threw at him. Not a single word. Not a single word to let you know he of course wanted you to come home to him, instead his deafening silence twisting your brain to think the opposite.

Was he tired of you? Is that why he was so quiet? Because he couldn't figure out a way to tell you he didn't want you to come back to him, so he was going to let you answer that question for yourself?

You didn't know what the hell his silence meant, but all you did know was you were tired, angry, hurt, and a little heart broken. You didn't know what else to say, so instead opted to say nothing. Quickly, you stormed past Aaron, shoulder knocking his hard as you ripped open his front door and slammed it behind you as you left.

If he didn't want you coming home to him, then there was no point staying. It took Aaron all of 30 seconds for his heart to start racing, the pit of his stomach churning in a sickly rhythm as guilt consumed his every being. Of course he wanted you to come home to him, you were all he wanted and all he'd ever need, it was the image you'd put in his brain that he didn't want following him. One where you and him weren't together. One where he went to bed and woke up alone. One where all the love he could possibly feel for another- for you, went to waste.

Aaron felt like an asshole for not having answered you. He knows now that you would've overthought his silence, and knew you'd be thinking Aaron was at home, wishing you two weren't together anymore. In your mind, you'd probably already broken up with him, and that was quite literally the last thing he wanted.

Aaron grabbed his car keys with every intention to hop in his car and drive by your house, and if you weren't in, he'd spend all night driving around the city until he found you. But when his phone dings with a notification of a new, urgent case, he hops in his car, knowing despite how you may be feeling, nothing could keep you away from an urgent case.

Aaron was first at the office, soon followed by Spencer, then Emily, then JJ, and then Dave and Derek who'd been out together being each others wingman.

"These serial killers couldn't even give us one night?" Emily groans, rubbing her eyes tiredly after having been awoken by a phone call with a deeply apologetic Penelope on the other end of the line.

"I had laid down literally 3 minutes before Pen called" JJ huffs, pushing her hair out of her face and behind her ears.

"Somebody better be getting tortured" Dave mumbled under his breath, Derek snorting behind him as everyone started making their way into the conference room. All seats but one where quickly occupied, and Derek was the first, after Aaron to notice your absence.

"Where's Y/n? She get your call?" Derek asked Penelope as she stood in front of the case TV.

"Yeah, I already started briefing her over the phone and sent her the files. She said she was going to stop off and get coffee for every one so to meet at the jet" It was the little things about you that everyone loved. How thoughtful and giving you were, even if it was just coffee. But the fact you knew this would be hard on everyone and personally stopped off to grab coffee to help them all out, made them love you just that little bit more.

The team was quickly briefed before immediately heading out to the jet. You and the team were desperately needed in Florida for a case where first born daughters in large families were being kidnapped in the middle of the night. No bodies, but a lot of evidence of a scuffle at all the crime scenes. So far 5 girls were missing and the last two happened within a night of each other.

When the team got to the jet you were already inside, a paper travel coffee cup with each persons name at their respected seats they tended to stick to. You had placed Aaron's cup at the seat against the back wall window, and despite the fact you usually sat next to him, you were sitting on the couch to be as far away from him as you could. Reid's cup was in your place and Aaron instantly noticed the moment he stepped onto the jet.

You were thanked as everyone took sips from their hot coffees and sat down, Aaron reluctantly sitting down despite the fact his eyes were trained on you not looking at him. He wanted you beside him, but he knew it'd take a lot more than an apology. Besides, the last place he wanted to beg for your forgiveness was in front of the team.

He'd do it... but he didn't want to. So instead he decided to give you space, saving a chat for the first chance you two get to be alone. Quickly everyone started talking about the case, ideas bouncing off each other one after another for the whole duration of the couple hour flight.

When you all landed you got off with Derek, refusing to spare Aaron even a glance. You were ignoring him and that was the way it stayed the whole time the team were in Florida.

There were numerous times Aaron tried to pull you aside to talk but you'd quickly come up with an excuse, or you'd brush him off, pretend you couldn't hear him and go and talk to someone else. It was clear to everyone there was trouble in paradise, but they wanted not input in it so they let you two do your thing all the while working the case.

You even refused to share a motel room with him. When you'd gotten to the motel on the first day Aaron had gone to grab your bag to take it up to the room he assumed you'd be sharing, but before he could you snatched it off the ground, grabbing Emily and JJ's hands before dragging them up to the room you'd stolen a key from Derek to.

Aaron didn't know what to do and spent all night on his back thinking about you. The few hours he did get of sleep were restless and filled of nightmares of realities where you didn't come home to him. Nightmares, not dreams.

You had all made some serious ground breaking damage on the case over the last few days and knew who the unsub was. You'd all put vests on before hopping in the SUV's and driving to the unsubs house.

You knew you shouldn't have been there, getting ready to step out into the field. Since you'd hit your head hard on the last case you have been having intense, painful headaches that sometimes made it hard to see, hear or breathe. Your head has sat heavy on your shoulders and the only relief you get from the almost constant pain is the few hours of sleep you've been getting, other then that it is 24/7 and only getting worse.

Every time you almost regretted not taking this case off and just going to the hospital like the paramedic had told you, you think about the young girls taken from their homes and how much input and time you'd spent trying to find them. Sure, your team was more than capable of working this without you, but you liked to think your presence genuinely made a difference.

So when Derek pulled the SUV up beside the unsub's house, you pushed the thought of your headache aside and jumped out with everyone else, even if too much movement made you feel like you were about to collapse.

Derek pointed you and Aaron around the house, telling you both to go out back and clear the space. Despite still wanting to be nowhere near Aaron, you did what Derek told you to, for the sake of the case and the lives of the girls.

You two snuck around out back before you placed your hand on the back door knob, about to open the door when Aaron stopped you with a hand on your waist, pulling your attention to him.

"Y/n maybe I-" You cut him off, not knowing what he was about to say and not caring. Now was not the time.

"Save it, Aaron" You threw his words back in his face from when you'd taken the unsub down all by yourself. His shoulders sagged as he slowly nodded his head, looking back to the door waiting for you to open it and take charge. You heard the front door slam open and followed in suit, you and Aaron storming into the house and splitting apart.

"FBI-" You'd barely managed to yell before your body was slammed against the tiled wall of the bathroom you'd walked into. Your head met the tiles, vision going blurry as you crashed down to your knees right in front of the unsub. It had felt like your brain exploded inside your head, sending a shock wave of goose bumps and shivers over your body as you struggled to get back to your feet.

You didn't need to worry about protecting yourself though, because right before the unsub could come for you again three gun shots rang through the air. The unsub froze before collapsing in front of you, revealing Aaron lowering his weapon in the bathroom doorway.

"Y/n?" Left Aaron's mouth airily, panic washing over his face as he stepped inside the room and around the dead unsub before kneeling down in front of you. Your eyes were shut tightly, chest heaving as you tried to gulp up as much air as possible. Aaron brought his hands up to your jaw, lifting your head so he could see your face- your pained face. Aaron lightly moved his hands to cover your ears for a moment.

"I need a medic" Aaron yelled, but with his face turned away from you so it didn't echo right into your ears and put you in more pain than you were already in. Aaron looked back at you, tucking your hair behind your ears before lightly massaging your neck with his hands, trying to put your focus on something else.

"Where does it hurt, honey?" He asked quietly as you turned your face, dropping it into the palm of his hand. A pained whimper left your mouth as you leant into him, unable to support yourself.

"Everywhere. God, everything hurts" You groaned, head falling forward and against Aaron's chest as you fought for air. Your head was pounding from your second concussion of the week, and you struggled to talk and breathe, having been winded by the unsub body slamming you against the bathroom walls.

"Please step away, Agent" A paramedic calmly asked Aaron who let go of you reluctantly, pushing himself back up to his feet. He stood frowning, hands clenching and unclenching as he watched the medic talk to and guide you through a few exercises.

You were hurt and Aaron felt like it was all his fault. He felt sick looking at your face scrunched up in pain. He grimaced at the whines and sharp intakes when the medic touched somewhere too sensitive. He took a step back when the medic asked if you'd gotten a concussion recently.

"Yes" You huffed, Aaron's lips parting as his eyes darted between your face and your shaking hands. Aaron felt like he was going to vomit.

He absolutely hated himself for the way he acted just less than a week ago, and the argument you'd had. He should've been proud that you, his tough girl, took down an unsub all on your own, but now all he was thinking about was how hypocritical he'd been and the fact his anger had blinded him from seeing you weren't okay, and that you'd really been hurt.

You had been hurt and he didn't take care of you. He didn't deserve you, was the conclusion he'd come to and he didn't know what to do about it- fight for you and prove he can be someone who deserves you, or let you go and find someone a thousand times better than him.

"She's got to go to the hospital. She's got a concussion and a possible broken rib" The medic had turned back to Aaron who released a heavy deep breath despite the fact his heart was hammering so fast it threatened to burst out of his chest. Aaron wanted to step forward and reach out for you. He didn't care who was around, he was ready to drop to his knees for you, but a few medics walked into the room and helped you out of the unsubs house and into an ambulance.

The team barely talked to Aaron as they got into the SUV's and followed the ambulance to the hospital, not because they thought it was his fault that you'd been hurt, but because they could see he was blaming himself. So they decided to give him some space in hopes he'd come to his senses and realise it wasn't his fault.

The whole team sat in the waiting room of the hospital, everyone except for Aaron dozing off after the first couple hours without an update of your condition. The second a doctor emerged and looked in the teams direction Aaron was on his feet and walking over. He remained extra quiet not wanting to wake the team after an exhausting case but mainly because if you were alright for visitors he wanted to see you- alone.

"How is she?" Was the first thing Aaron asked making the doctor smile as she nodded back at the room you were in.

"She's alright. You're Aaron I presume?" He nodded, frowning slightly as he wondered how the doctor knew his name. She read the look of confusion on his face and offered him a smile as she stepped away from the door.

"She's been asking for you for about an hour" Aaron's heart swelled, chest heavy as he thanked the doctor and walked over to the door of your hospital room. He opened the door, stepping inside before shutting it quietly behind himself. He turned around and the second his eyes met yours he was at your side.

No words were spoken as he leant down, wrapping his arms around your shoulders, hand holding your head against his chest as he deeply breathed you in. You raised your hand, gripping onto his arm and closing your eyes, basking in the warmth and comfort of his chest.

"How is it that you're the one who's hurt yet all you can do is ask about me?" Aaron mumbled into your hair, finally able to relieve the weight in his chest and breathe now that he has seen you're alright with his own eyes. You chuckled into his chest before wincing, hand dropping from his arm and immediately pressing against your broken rib.

Aaron leant back at the sound of your wince, taking your face in his hands and pushing your hair back out of your eyes. You smiled up at him the whole time, your argument not even in the back of your mind as you thought about how happy you were to see him.

"Doctor ratted me out, huh?" You asked quietly, Aaron's lips twitching up in a tiny smile as he glanced over your face, making sure you were okay.

"Yeah, she did" He replied before sighing and letting his head fall against your shoulder. You both enjoyed each others company in a moment of silence, though you could hear Aaron's brain ticking.

"I'm okay" You whispered, raising your hand to his head and running it through his thick hair.

"I know, you're my tough girl. I just worry" Aaron responded, pressing a kiss to your shoulder before pulling back, his dark eyes meeting yours.

"I'm so sorry, honey. For everything. I had no right to get mad at you the other day, and I know that. It's just...you and Jack are all I've got and the thought alone of losing either one of you-"

"It's okay, Aaron" You cut him off, cupping his face in your hands as his eyes bounced back and forth between yours.

"No, it's not though. I was an asshole, the way I treated you, the way I spoke to you. You deserve so much better than that and I promise I'll do everything in my power to be the person that deserves you" You hated seeing Aaron beat himself up over your argument. You felt petty and childish for having turned your back on him all week. All you wanted was to put it past you.

"You don't need to do anything else. You're already there. I know it's scary, me being in the field, but it's also scary for me every time you're out too. No matter what, I trust you'll come back to me. Now it's your turn to trust I'll come home to you...if you want me to" Aaron couldn't fight the laugh of disbelief that bubbled out of his throat as he stared at you like you had two heads. Wasting no time, he took your face in his hands and brought his mouth down against yours hard.

"I would scour every inch of the globe for you, if one night you didn't come home to me. I love you so much, Y/n" Aaron always knew exactly what to say to make you putty in his hands. You kissed him back just as hard, and just as desperately, ignoring the pain from your broken rib.

"I love you too, Aaron."

#aaron hotch fanfiction #aaron hotch fic #aaron hotch fluff #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch x you #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x female reader #criminal minds #request #requests open #taking requests #requested

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wannaeatramyeon · 2 years ago

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Gun Park x Reader: Holding Hands

Gun thinks you're doing this on purpose, anger flaring before realising that that would be ridiculous.

Your arm swings by your side, in time with your step, like a normal person. Like there's nothing out of the ordinary.

Really, there's hardly anything special about your walk yet today it captures all his attention. Teases him by being a bit too carefree, too nonchalant, too out of reach.

And it's not like he hasn't explored your body countless times before, bucking tradition and going through this relationship in reverse. Ending up in bed first, dating second, and getting to know each other last.

Your wit and intelligence caught him off-balance. And the fact that someone as sweet as you could have such a wicked sense of humour.

You tick all his boxes. Truly one in a million, in eight billion even.

Frankly this is odd and frustrating for Gun. Someone who has such little fear for brawls to the death, who has more than enough experience sexually, to feel nervous at reaching out for your hand.

It's a bizarre first for him. There's never been anyone he wanted to walk hand-in-hand with. Whose fingers he wanted to intertwine with his own that wasn't outside the bedroom.

Scoffing at himself, realising how juvenile this is, he reaches out-

(Still, he can feel his face heating up with this action and he hates it.)

And thread his fingers through yours. You take it in stride, no way of knowing his internal dialogue. You throw Gun a small smile and both fall in step with one another.

Gun's expression doesn't change and his blush subsides. But he is charmed with how natural this feels, and how perfectly you fit together.

#gun park is an idiot #sorry for ooc-ness #lookism #lookism webtoon #lookism manhwa #gun park #gun park x reader #park jonggun #park jonggun x reader #lookism x reader #lookism fic #lookism fanfic #wannaeatramyeon

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piratefalls · 8 months ago

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surprise! bet you thought you'd seen the last of me! life is not less busy, i'm recovering from being sick, and the words are still not coming, but i did manage to work something out for psych au. anyway, in this longer than usual snip (to make up for the absence, obvs). they're running from bad guys, hiding in a thrift shop, and looking for disguises in the dark. tags and more fic under the cut!

Henry reaches for the first thing he sees which is, unfortunately, a truly horrendous orange turtleneck. Normally he wouldn't have given it a second glance - it truly is atrocious - but beggars can't be choosers when mob enforcers are chasing you and you're stripped down to your boxers. The fabric has just enough give that he's confident it will fit, so he pulls it off the rack and over his head and starts to pull it down over his chest. Only it keeps going down. And down. And down. It's mid-thigh when he hears Alex approach. "Jinkies." It's, well. It's close enough that Henry understands the impulse to make the reference, even if he's not in a position to appreciate it. "How many times must I remind you that I carry a gun and know how to use it?" "And how many times must I remind you that that's an empty threat? You hate filling out the paperwork for discharging your weapon more than you dislike my witty rejoinders."

And, well...Alex kind of has him there. Alex, who is dressed in perfectly acceptable jeans and a t-shirt. The fact that Alex had managed to sniff out the very few pieces of menswear in that place, in the dark no less, is equal parts awe inspiring and absolutely fucking infuriating. "Okay, so now that you're successfully disguised, we should head out before they catch up." Henry sighs but follows him to the back door to the alley anyway. "You know, we wouldn't even be in this situation if you hadn't mouthed off to the wrong people. Again." Alex snorts as he peeks around the door, checking in both directions. "You really need to start managing your expectations." After one last glance, he waves for Henry to follow him. "It's clear." And Henry...hesitates. It hadn't hit him until this moment that he'd actually have to go outside dressed like this. There's no reasonable explanation for this outfit. It's not Halloween, there's no themed party. They're in the business district. Is he ashamed to wear a dress? No. But he is a little put off by the fact that his shoes don't pair well. "I am wearing a dress, Alex." "I did notice that, yes, and Pez would be very proud if he could see you right now. So, like, sissy that walk or whatever and let's go."

thanks to the people who've tagged me the last few weeks! @blueeyedgrlwrites @indestructibleheart @taste-thewaste @firenati0n @iboatedhere

@jmagnabo92 @priincebutt @stellarm @alasse9 @hgejfmw-hgejhsf

@ninzied @onthewaytosomewhere @kiwiana-writes @myheartalivewrites @sophie1973

and now i'm tagging @forever-fixating @nocoastposts @jellibuns @duchessdepolignaca03 + an open tag!

#kelly writes a psych au #rwrb #firstprince

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thisisarcanereverie · 11 months ago

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When the World Went to Shit (Joel x Reader) Chapter 8!

Joel Miller x FEM! Reader

A/N: this is a SPOILER WARNING, this contains spoilers from the series in general.

A/N: I am so sorry for the almost 1 year delay on this chapter life has been insane. If you want more details go to my Archive to see.

(All my other links to my masterlist and archive)

WARNINGS: Canon level of violence, swears, Joel is sad, talks of grief, PTSD, brief mentions of gore, Eventual Smut, pining (on both ends), grumpy idiots in love, reader is in her late 30's to early to mid 40's. Major character deaths. DISCLAIMER NO CHARACTERS/GIFS/PICS USED ARE MINE.

Summary: 20 years later after the world went to shit you, Joel, and Tess have to take 14 year old Ellie to the Firefly base outside of Boston QZ. What was supposed to be a simple plan turned into something much more complicated.

Prev. Chapter

It wasn’t long until Joel woke you up, you couldn’t have been asleep for longer than 30 minutes before you felt Joel’s hand gently nudge you awake.

“Gotta go Doc,” you hear him say as you blink the blurriness away, “Trucks have stopped moving and we’re losing daylight.” With a grunt you accept his hand as he pulls you to your feet, ignoring the initial dizziness to suddenly being upright. Joel is generous enough to help you regain balance until he was sure you wouldn’t fall over, you tried to ignore how warm and worn his hands were, and how they seemed to fit perfectly within yours.

“Just hold on to my hand,” Joel says, his eyes not leaving yours, “and try not to fall behind.” you simply nod as your hand remained in his, not finding it in you to fight him on this. His bare palm was warm and rough against yours, now your hands weren’t soft by any means, but his were different. His had been rough for years, even before the outbreak from the army and hard work, however they felt safe to you, and that scared you more than you thought it would.

“Alright,” you hear Joel say, “let’s go.” and with that you hurried out the door, his one hand gripping yours firmly while the other held onto the gun, ready to shoot if necessary. You three made it across the street and into a dimly lit alley, one that you probably would’ve avoided twenty years ago. It was there that Joel slowed down from a run to a brisk walk, and began looking around for what you assumed to be a door or window to climb through. It wasn’t long until you found one, the wall covered with graffiti and one door next to a vent. “Here,” Joel quietly pointed, as he rushed you and Ellie to the door. You let his hand go and leaned against the wall instead as he tried to open the door. You watched as Joel struggled with opening the door, fuck, it’s locked. You looked at the vent, it wasn’t too bad, it wasn’t too terribly small but neither you or Joel would be able to fit through there. A small sneeze alerted you to Ellie, who just stood there watching Joel get more and more violent with the door. You looked at Ellie for a bit, she was on the short and smaller side of fourteen; then you looked at the vent. Ellie was too short to reach it by herself but if you and Joel lifted her up then she could probably easily go through it. The only problem you could think of was that you didn’t know what was inside. There could be a clicker in there for all you knew or worse, other people. But as you look over to Joel who had made no progress with the door, you resigned yourself to the fact that there was no other choice.

“Ellie,” you called over to her, you saw the young girl look at you and walk to your side. You pointed to the vent above you, “do you think you can fit in there and unlock the door?”

“Yeah,” Ellie said with no hesitance, “but I’ll need a boost.”

“Joel,” you call out for him, you see the peppered haired man stop before turning his attention to you, “I’m gonna need help boosting her up.” you see his face scrunch up in confusion at first before finally getting the picture.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“There’s no other option,” you said, “she’ll be alright.” You hoped you sounded convincing, for the most part you were sure that she would be alright, Ellie was tougher than she looks. You knew that. Still though, you couldn’t help but worry a small amount, despite her loud mouth and the corny pun jokes that made even your eyes roll you’ve come to care about her (at least a little).

Joel gave you one more look around to see if there was another way before sighing and walking towards where you and Ellie stood. “You’re sure you can help lift her?” He asked.

“I’m a kid,” Ellie sasses, “not an elephant.”

You swear you hear him say something under his breath before he gets on one side of Ellie and you on the other. He grabs her one foot and you the other as you both lift her up to the small opening, she was lighter than you anticipated. Once through the opening you see Ellie crawl before a silent thunk.

“Ok,” you hear her say on the other side of the wall, “I’m in, I’m going to take a look around first.”

“Ellie,” Joel says, you don’t take your eyes off the opening but you can imagine the look he has on his face right now. The big brown sad look he gets in his eyes every time he’s worried, his knuckles turning white slightly from gripping the handle of his gun a little too tight in case he needs to use it immediately. It’s a thing you’re catching him doing more and more often. Suddenly you both hear a clanking sound from the door, as you take a few steps in that direction you hear him mutter a few curses before it opens to reveal Ellie, no worse for wear.

“Where would you be without me?” Ellie smiles cheekily, you pretend not to see how Joel’s broad shoulders sag a little before moving past her.

“By now Wyoming.”

You chuckled a little before ruffling up her hair before moving past her, “you walked right into that one kiddo.” You hear her mutter something under her breath, not too unlike the man ahead of you before letting the door shut. The noise echoing slightly in what appears to be an abandoned garage beneath the building or perhaps this is where the maintenance workers worked you weren’t quite sure about it other than it had surely been ransacked and abandoned. You were not likely to find anything of use like food or ammo, something you were sure you were running low on by now considering all of your supplies were destroyed during the crash.

You three make your way to what seemed the only door leading to the way out, B3-42 No Roof Access.

“All right,” You hear Joel say beside you, “We’ll make our way up come morning, I’ll take a look at the city and find our way out.” the door creaked as it opened and a sense of dread filled you as you realized what you had to do.

Fuck this.

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Joel POV.

His chest burns as it seems as Joel struggles to get enough air, everything hurts, even the places he had no idea could hurt. It didn’t seem like you were doing much better, you were struggling for air like him but at least it didn’t seem like your head hurt…just everything else. Fuck, how many floor had they made it up, 33? When did he get so old that climbing 33 floors feels akin to 200? He looks over to the smaller girl who, while being out of breath, didn’t look like it had winded her like you and him. It was slightly irritating, on a multitude of fronts none of which he would ever admit to. His back slid against the wall as he prays that he doesn’t have a heart attack before getting Ellie out of the city at least. He looks over at you, sitting against the wall half bent. You were breathing out before leaning back and breathing in and repeating. At first he had no idea what you were doing, and he knew that if he wasn’t so exhausted he would have had to force himself to look away from the sliver of cleavage that you bending down exposed or the sweat that made you glow somehow even in the darkness.

“Doing this helps,” you say to him, looking over at him. “Exhaling while down helps get all the air out and inhaling while sitting up opens them back up.” he must have given you a look because you then added, “it was something I picked up while studying to be a nurse,” your eyes got a strange look while a sad smile graced your features, “it came in handy a lot when…when I went jogging before the outbreak.” He doesn’t know what you're thinking most of the time, something equal parts frustrating and intriguing…what he wouldn’t give right now to know.

“Thirty three floors,” Ellie remarks, still standing, barely a drop of sweat on her, “that’s good.”

Joel and you shared a look, one that clearly said.

Damn youth.

“It’s gonna have to be,” you said, voice still breathy, “otherwise you’re gonna have to drag Joel and I up the rest of the way.” He sees Ellie make a face, if it wasn’t for the burning in his lungs he probably would’ve smiled. After a few more minutes of breathing he sees Ellie reach out a hand to him.

“C’mon” she says and at this point he is pretty sure he would rather a clicker bite him than get up.

“Gimme a minute” he breathed, his legs still aching he was almost certain that if he stood up right now his knees would give out.

“Get up, you lazy ass.”

He looked at her for a minute, silently he wondered if she had a death wish, before accepting the helping hand. He could feel the creaking and cracking of his joints as he stood upright again.

“Lazy ass” he groaned, turning to his right to see if you needed any help. Upon seeing that you’ve more or less recovered he walked past Ellie and continued. “I’m fifty-six years old, you little shit.” He hears Ellie laugh a little, he was willing to bet that if he turned his head around he would see you mocking him, and if he wasn’t so tired and ready to lay down and sleep for a couple of hours he would’ve.

It wasn’t long until they came across a glass door, one easily broken by force. One swift hit from the but of his shotgun and it shattered, at least, it shattered enough for him to reach the handle without cutting himself on the jagged edges of what remained. He entered first, in case there was danger it would hit him first instead of you or Ellie; but after it was clear that there was nothing dangerous between the four walls of what appeared to be the living room of an abandoned apartment he felt a certain stiffness in his shoulders ease a little. While looking around he took a moment, just one…just to look at you. It was clear now that whatever affects the head injury caused had subsided, however, even after reassuring himself that you were fine he couldn’t find the will to look away from you. His eyes studied the way your hair swayed as you moved around, he didn’t care about the gray streaks–in fact he found each wrinkle, each sign of aging to be beautiful on you. You wore it well, age complimented you. He wondered, though, if things were different–if there were no such things as clickers or if the cordyceps never evolved, if he would still think the same way; or if he would think of you at all.

“What now?”

He blinked and turned his gaze away from you, he must be more tired than he thought. Lack of sleep can really mess with someone's head, Joel thought.

“We will stay here for a couple of hours,” he said, adjusting the strap on his shoulder. “I’m going to scout out the rest of the apartment ... .it's a long shot but maybe there’s some supplies, see what you can find here."He was about to leave the room when he felt a hand on his shoulder, he turned to look at you, you who always seemed to study him as if you haven’t known each other most of your lives.

“You should rest,” you said, “I’ll go ahead and look around, and before you argue I’m feeling better so don’t worry about me.” and with that you walked away, no room for arguments. He grumbled something intelligible even to himself when he heard you from the other room. “Go ahead and set up camp if you’re so antsy! “ it was amazing how you could tell exactly what he was doing without having to even look at him. He grumbled something else before gathering the cushions off of chairs and sofas, making makeshift beds on the floor, dust circling around them before settling back down onto the ground. There wasn’t much in terms of blankets other than what they had on their backs, but all in all they’ve slept in worse conditions before. Or at least, you and Joel had, to be completely honest, despite all of her talking Joel still knew next to nothing about the young girl that he was protecting. He knew she liked video games, and music, but most of all she seemed to like puns. Joel knew Ellie talked a lot and despite the million words per second that seemed to escape her, but how much of that was her saying something. He had some idea of what life was like for her back in the QZ, she obviously had a friend, but figuring by the way of her not saying much the friendship didn’t end well. With the current youth growing up in the midst of this futile war, they’re more violent (feral, really), they’ve got bigger mouths and moral compasses all askew, though he really couldn’t think of one person whose moral compass had never strayed from the straight and narrow even once since the outbreak.

There’s really only enough cushions to make two beds on the ground, realistically one of them would have to sleep upright in the chair. Joel groaned as he could already feel the crick in his neck forming at the thought. But it would be better if it was him with the crick in his neck than you.

You were taking your time scouting out the rest of the apartment, or maybe it just felt that way to him, maybe you’ve only been gone for a few minutes but it felt longer to him. Everytime you’re out of his sight it feels like you’re a million miles away even though he knows otherwise. It was odd, this hold that you had on him, it hadn’t been there before, or at least he thinks it hadn’t. A lot has changed since leaving the QZ, you both weren’t exactly the same people you were when this job started, or maybe it just took this job to see what was always there? Joel wasn’t sure, and honestly, by the way his limbs ached as he gathered the bucket and grabbed pieces of shattered glass fragments he was too tired to think further on it.

He had just finished setting the alarm trap when you appeared from the other room.

“There were two cans of food and a blanket, other than that it seems like this place had already been scouted for supplies ages ago.” you placed the two cans of peas by Joel to open and handed Ellie the blanket while you assessed the camping site. He had just finished slicing the lid off of one of the cans when you turned to him.

“So where is everyone sleeping?” You asked, not wanting to overstep or assume.

“I’m sleeping right here on the chair while you and Ellie get the cushions.” Joel replied, handing the open can to you only to watch as you passed it to Ellie. That was the other thing about you that had never changed, even when the outbreak happened. You always thought of other people before yourself, sometimes Joel wished he could be more like that, other times he wished you were less like that. It would save him a lot of stress.

“That’s ridiculous,” you objected, “I don’t see why you have to get a crick in your neck while we can both just lay on one set of cushions together.” the knife slips from his hand a little before readjusting his grip.

“Someone’s gotta keep watch.” he excused, but already he could see your eyes practically roll themselves out of your skull.

“It’s cold out,” you said, “I gave Ellie a blanket cause I figured she probably wouldn’t want to be huddled together with either of us for warmth–”

“Good call.” Ellie agreed.

“And it’s not like you and I haven’t slept side by side before, or huddled together for warmth. You set up an alarm trap, it’ll wake all of us up in case someone tries to kill us before sunrise. So quit with the excuses, eat some dinner and get some sleep.”

There was nothing left to say, no more room for argument as you get the familiar stubborn look on your face that he’s learned to associate finality with. With a sigh he responded with the only thing he could, “Yes Ma’am.”

Dinner had been quiet save for the scraping of forks against the metal tin of the inside of the can. Joel had shared his with you while Ellie had a can of her own. Both of you were used to eating half portions, though if he was honest, he had only a few bites while he let you have the majority of the cans contents.

Soon enough all of you had laid down, the cushions were a little worse for wear, covered in years worth of dust and a little flat but it was better than nothing. No, it wasn’t the dust burning his eyes a little or the hardness of the floor that prevented him from sleeping. It was you, your back was to him but he could still feel you next to him, hear the gentle noise of your breathing and while you didn’t exactly smell like a bouquet of roses, you smelled faintly of sweat but the scent of the lavender and peppermint bar soap that you took from Bill and Frank’s still lingered. Joel fought back the urge to get closer to you, it was frustrating, he can’t recall the number of times he’s slept next to you and yet this was never an issue–well–he can’t really say that. There would be times when he would wake and find himself closer to you with your arm hanging loosely around his waist, he would pretend later on that those interactions never happened, or that he didn’t spend a good few minutes looking at you, watching your nose twitch occasionally and hearing your slow and steady breathing. Joel turned over until he was facing the door, careful with his movements so as to not disturb you. Joel felt silly–stupid–really, he needed to kill whatever the hell this feeling was, he was protective of you because you grew up together and were friends that was it. He couldn’t afford to have you be anything else despite what that letter to Bill had said.

Joel tried closing his eyes and putting you from his mind, but once he finally managed to put you on the backburner Ellie came into mind. She was 14, Joel couldn’t even remember what he was like at fourteen except that he was punk. Always doing something he wasn’t supposed to do like smoke or sneak a swig of beer when no one had looked. Meanwhile here was Ellie, there was no doubt that she would be a punk too, skating after dark and probably stealing gum or something small from a convenience store. Instead she’s been forced to have a gun in her hand and had to learn to survive since she came into this world. She’s only fourteen and she went from being an ordinary person to the last hope humanity has to create a vaccine so that clickers become a thing of the past. A world without clickers…would Joel even want to live in a world like that? Was there a place for him in that world anymore? Without Sarah?...Joel didn’t like to think about how similar they were. Both funny and discerning and most of all brave. Too damn brave, too damn young. In a secret, awful way he was relieved that Sarah never had to be the one behind the gun but so damn angry to be the one in front of it. His mind brought him back to that look in Ellie’s eyes, that cold and angry look she said it wasn’t her first time shooting someone.

“Hey,” he said quietly, trying not to wake you, “you up?”

“Yeah?”

“When we were talking’ bout hurting people…what did you mean it wasn’t your first time?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” There was an edge to her tone, one that clearly said to leave it alone. It was something he had to respect.

“All right,” he gave in. moments of silence pass between them, the only silence was your soft snoring…still it ate at him so gently he rolled back over to see Ellie, who was looking at the ceiling. “You don’t have to, I’m just saying it’s not fair, your age…having to deal with all this…” he trailed off, fuck you were better at this than he was. He sees Ellie turn her gaze from the ceiling to him, brown eyes filled with a sadness that didn’t suit her age.

“So it gets easier when you’re older?”

“No,” he says honestly, “not really…but still.” there was a pause, some silence between them. Honestly, killing never does get easier, it just becomes the choice you have to make in dire situations, but it doesn’t make it easier to live with.

“The reason I asked whether you’d hear the glass or not earlier is cause I’ve noticed you don’t hear too well from your right side.” Ellie said, breaking the pause, “is it because you got shot there?”

“Probably more from shooting.” he answers before turning himself in for the final time, “so if you want to keep hearing I’d stick to the knife.” he closes his eyes, once again trying to clear his mind from thoughts of you or Ellie or anything really.

“Joel?”

He hummed in response.

“Did you know diarrhea is hereditary?”

“What?” opening his eyes and wondering what the hell she was going on about?

“Yeah,” she said somberly before following up with, “it runs in your jeans.”

It was an awful joke really, it shouldn’t have been as funny as it was but still he felt the laughter bubble up from his chest and shake him a little. It hurt a little, the sensation of laughter was something foreign to him now but still, it was pleasant. After that neither of them said a word, drifting off to sleep before they had to wake up and find their way out of this city.

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

“Joel.”

He groaned

“Joel”

He groaned again.

“Joel I’m gonna need you to wake the hell up right now but be calm ok?”

Slowly his eyes opened, and the first thing he saw wasn’t you but of a man, couldn’t be younger than 18 with a gun pointed at you and Ellie while another kid, couldn’t be any older than eleven stood over him, orange facepaint over his eyes as he held Joel at gunpoint. Shit.

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TAGLIST:

faith-alons26

burninggracesandbridges

dorck26

issybee0611

lightninginab0ttle

@avengersfan25

@chelsey01

#x reader #joel the last of us #tlou joel #joel miller x reader #joel x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller #joel tlou #tlou smut #tlouedit #tlou spoilers #trending #ellie the last of us #joel miller x reader smut

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psychhound · 8 days ago

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first game of the year

happy new year everyone :) last night around 12:40 i played my first ttrpg of 2025!! it was pocket delver by @imsobadatnicknames2 and i had such a good time

it took me about an hour to get through 8 rooms and then horribly beef it and i had a blast. i was really hesitant as i've only done a little bit of dungeon crawling, much less solo, and i was feeling unsure as i read through the rules but i wanted a new experience to start off the year. and it was so worth it!! fell in love with the game quickly, twirling my hair kicking my feet etc

the game really invites you to give it some flavor by asking you to set three goals for the dungeon before you start playing. once youve reached your third goal you've beaten the dungeon. you also get to decide for yourself what the dungeon actually is, and what form the enemies take (but dont really Have to if you just want to roll some dice). i got past my first two goals but lowered the chances i would reach the third one quickly each time because i wanted to keep playing!!

i ended up flavoring mine as playing as one of my npcs from my homegame. this is a nightmare she's having after a big fight, trying to find her partner and the chekovs gun of the game right now while working to escape a nightmare labyrinth version of her family home. she ended up getting killed by three "warriors" in the dream, which worked perfectly, since three mysterious masked figures joined the last fight but ended up running away - the same people who killed her deputy years ago. i thought it was fitting she was taken down by those same three before she startled herself awake. and since both the room she started in and died in were fairly close to each other on the map and had beds in them, i decided these were the nightmare version of her and her sister's bedrooms

the story i laid on top of it wasnt really necessary to enjoy the game at all, but it added some more depth for me!!

[ID: photos of a notebook with writing in it. the first page is the character sheet, showing the character lizzie no, with her hp, mana, stats, inventory, gold, and two completed plot points. the second photo shows the dungeon map, with the goals at the top, and a series of interconnected squares representing rooms. the rooms each have notes in them about what was in the room, and the places where plot points were hit are marked. there are also three enemies written in pencil, showing their hp being depleted. two enemies were killed, and one was on 2hp when the game ended. end ID]

anyway, check it out :)

#indie ttrpgs #game review #game reccs

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oldiesstationlover11607 · 4 months ago

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*Jumps down from podium* Hello there! 😀

Yes, I’m aware how cringy that was. Anyways, hi! It’s me. 💛. Your favorite miscolored internal organ emoji. First of, I want to say that I LOOOOVVVEEEEDDDD the blurryface fic. I actually really enjoyed how you wrote blurryface. To me, I feel like it was like Tyler had just enough control over him to keep him from fully coming out, but not enough to stop him completely, so he was rude, but not to the degree of blurryface he could be.

Now, I come to you almighty one shot lord with a new request. I recently saw a video in Twitter of Josh playing with someone’s kid (IDK if it was Tyler’s. It was a video where he jokingly tried to take a bite out of a kid’s piece of bacon before saying he didn’t want it because it was gross. Yes, I know. I’m great at describing things). Anyways, it was adorable. Thus, I was wondering if you could maybe do the fic where the reader sees Josh playing with a young child (could be Tyler’s kid(s), could be a random child. Up to you.) and the reader kinda gets baby fever and decides to talk to Josh about possibly having them in the future.

I understand that this topic may be one you’re not interested in writing and, if that’s the case, no problem. You are the artist and I am but a humble freeloader. 😊

Kids - Josh Dun x reader

Relationship: Josh Dun × Reader

Warnings: none

Word Count: 1273

A/N: I'm glad you liked the Blurryface fic and you saw my vision :) I searched the internet for the bacon video and found it! Definitely helped with writing the fic. Josh is so cute with kids it's adorable. I went through 3 different versions of this before finally landing on this one. I did write a water fight fic for another fandom on this blog but idc bc this one fits well. Hopefully it's not too short.

P.S. 💛 the image of josh will make sense at the end lol. I was looking for one and cackling over this.

2015 had been both an amazing and stressful year for Josh and I, Blurryface had released and we’d both been on tour together. Mark and I had both been working on vlogs and social media for the album cycle and tour, tiring us out just as much as the boys. Luckily, we had a couple months off to relax before they started working on the next album. My parents had agreed to let us stay in our family vacation home in Florida, meaning I was going to get to see our family friends and their kids–all of whom were half my age.

The sun was blaring outside and to avoid the heat I was sitting in the living room working some editing. Josh had decided to wander the neighborhood, getting to know the area I’d been telling him about for months. As I saved my project and put my computer away I heard a loud screech. I ran outside, curious as to what was happening.

“Josh, stop it!” cackled Amelia, my mom’s best friend’s daughter. Josh was chasing after her, a water gun in hand and aimed perfectly at the back of her head. A whole group of kids had come out of their houses to play, some with water balloons, others with pistols, all of them laughing. I remembered when Tyler and I would run around here, our parents close friends. One Christmas he’d been given a skateboard and we spent the winter break trying to learn how to do tricks. Tyler and Jenna had decided to stay back home in Columbus for the holidays, preferring the cooler weather than the Florida heat. I tried desperately to fight off the smile growing on my face while I sat on the porch steps. Josh caught up to Amelia, picking her up and carrying her so the other kids could all soak her. Amelia managed to get away, running in the opposite direction towards her friends. Josh had a grin plastered on his face.

“I’ve got ammo over here!” A small hand reached up above a bush, waving in the air. Josh ran over to refill his gun before sneaking back into the war zone of kids.

“Okay, team Josh huddle!” He stretched his arms around the group of kids he’d clearly chosen to be on his team. I could hear the faint whispers of the kids before they split up, creeping towards the other kids on Amelia’s team. “Ready. Aim. Fire!” he yelled, prompting all of the kids to either fire their water guns or throw their water balloons. It looked like a mini tsunami, water flying through the air and soaking everyone in range. I couldn’t help the smile growing on my face, Josh was so good with the kids. We’d been together for 3 years and hadn’t spent that much time with kids. We had the conversation about spending our futures together months ago, but I never found the time to have the really important conversation with him. Kids. Tyler had dreamed of having kids for as long as I could remember and Jenna had been on board since day one. I wanted what they had, it was hard not knowing if Josh wanted what I wanted. “Okay okay! I’m soaked so I’m gonna go get dry.” Josh wrung out his shirt which was sticking against his body. He waved goodbye to all the kids before turning towards the house. As soon as he saw me his eyes lip up, arms open to give me a hug.

“No! No!” I laughed, holding him back while he tried desperately to kiss me. Finally I gave up, letting him pull me in close. We were definitely going to need to dry off together.

“Let’s go inside,” Josh ran a hand through his wet hair, slicking it back. I followed him into the house, going into our bedroom and grabbing a new set of clothes before joining him in the bathroom. He was running a comb through his dyed red hair, a towel wrapped around his shirtless body.

“You know, you’re really good with kids,” I said, sitting on the counter. Josh looked up at me, his eyebrows raised.

“Ya think? I mean, I’ve got two younger sisters so–” Of course, how could I have forgotten? I handed Josh a clean shirt once I’d gotten dressed in a pair of sweatpants and t-shirt. Looking out the window, I could see the kids still outside throwing water back and forth. I wanted to talk to Josh about the kid thing, but I couldn’t tell if this was the right time. If I did mention it and he didn’t want kids then I was risking him leaving me, risking everything that made me, me. I wanted to be honest with him, we were always honest with each other. Josh continued to talk while my thoughts bounced about in my head. “My mom used to pay me to babysit them which was fun but obviously when I started touring that stopped–”

“Josh,” I interrupted, reaching down and grabbing his hand. He looked up at me, a worried look on his face.

“What? Are you okay?” I took a deep breath before continuing.

“Do you–have you ever heard Tyler talk about wanting kids?” I was trying to frame a way to start the conversation whilst having no idea what I was doing. Josh nodded, staying quiet and listening attentively. “I–I know you’re only 27 and I’m 26 but we’ve never talked about kids before and I really–do you?”

Josh laughed, folding the towel he was using and placing it on the rack. “If you’re trying to ask what I think you’re trying to ask then the answer is yeah, I do.” I jumped off the counter and ran into his arms, pressing my lips to his.

“God I love you,” I smirked into the kiss, cupping his jaw and tangling his wet curls between my fingers. He kissed back, pulling me close so I was straddling his waist.

“When I say I want kids, I don’t mean right now, you know? Touring and work is putting enough stress on us and we’re not even engaged yet,” he said, breaking the kiss. I nodded, glad he was thinking exactly what I was.

“Of course. We’ve still got so much going on and the band is getting bigger and bigger. I think we should enjoy the time we have alone before we start worrying about bringing smaller versions of ourselves into the world,” I agreed, pressing my lips to his once more before getting up and grabbing Josh’s wet clothes off the floor.

“Where are you off to?” he asked, standing up.

“I’m putting your clothes in the laundry and grabbing us a snack. I’m exhausted from watching you run around and I need a nap.” I threw Josh’s clothes into the laundry basket before going into the pantry and grabbing a bag of honey-roasted nuts, my favorite snack that I’d made Josh add to the band’s rider for the entire tour.

“Can I join you?” He reached his hand inside the bowl, taking a handful of nuts and pouring them into his mouth. I nodded, walking into our room and getting into bed, Josh sticking close to me. “I’m so tired,” he chuckled, placing his head on the pillow next to mine.

“You know, kids will do that to you,” I yawned, my eyes feeling heavy.

“And that is why we’re waiting,” he returned the yawn.

I scooted closer to him, bending my knees and rolling onto my side, drifting into sleep within his arms.

“Goodnight love,” Josh whispered.

Can't wait for the next request!

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preciouslandmermaid · 1 year ago

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quiet fury in your head [vii]

Dream of the Endless x F!Reader!Goddess / Sandman Fanfiction

Note: I wasn’t sure how Dream’s manifestation into the waking world worked like—is he always visible? Or does he pick and choose? So for the sake of a certain scene, I made it so both Dream and Reader are invisible to mortals. Anyway, You and Dream go into the mortal world.

No use of Y/N. See part 1 for all the tags tbh.

Warnings: This chapter has mentions of child abuse. There is nothing explicit described, but it is mentioned.

Rating: 18+

(Read on AO3) || (masterpost for other chapters)

You follow Dream across the pier. His request for your help in the mortal—the waking world—is odd. He’s never asked this of you before. But, you are bound to the Dream Lords will. Your skin prickles. Your heart feels tight. The longing you feel when he is distant has doubled—no, tripled—as you admire the straight and narrow line of his shoulders. He is often stiff. Sometimes you wonder if you dreamed your first kiss, if you imagined the way his soft lips moved over yours like shifting sand and how his pale, large hands cupped and clung to you.

He stops and extends that same, large hand to you. His fingers long and slender and elegant. A Dream-Weaver’s hand. You step forward and take it. The mounds of his palm fit perfectly within your own. His long fingers interlace yours. He steps off the pier with you in tow and the spinning that occurs is less dizzying than the pleasure of Dream’s touch. Do not let me go, you think as the whirls of color expand and spin, because I will give myself to this vortex and be done with it. The ache to be closer to him is an acute, masochistic agony. If I took other lovers, then I would not feel this way toward the Dream Lord, but—I don’t want anyone else. I want only him. But I doubt he will ever take me as a queen—as an equal—and I will accept nothing less.

The world manifests around you. The air is warm and balmy. Dream is slow to release your hand. He settles his Helm onto his head, hiding his unkempt dark hair and fathomless eyes from you. Your palm and fingers tingle from the lack and you miss the comforting pressure, the warmth of him. Yet pride stops you from reaching for him.

Remember your place here. You are his servant, he is your keeper, and no matter what desire burns inside you—the Dream Lord is to be your ruin. Remember who you are. Remember your sisters.

“This way,” Dream’s voice is strange from within his helm. It’s like flint scraping against stone. He leads you through the warm, crowded streets. A group of men pass you wearing uniforms and smoking rolled cigarettes.

You feel the war and conflict thrumming through the threads of the world. A long conflict, no less. Saliva pools inside your mouth when you inhale deeply. The knowledge drops into your mind like a stone (for even a Goddess without worship is given information). Your presence in the waking world has opened your mind to all the history and knowledge you’ve missed since being sequestered in the Dreaming. You understand all the language, the history, technology and culture in seconds.

You go within yourself. You peer through the layers of history, the shifting timelines, the strings of Fate. You see thousands of battles—old and new—flick through like the fast-flipped pages of a book. This war will last another ten years.

You sigh longingly. If only this war could be fought in your name. You would return to power. This is who you are. A Goddess of War. Desire said you were forgotten. But that didn’t mean your essence didn’t sing at the sight of battle. The large galley ships within the ports, the men in uniforms carrying guns, the cannons, the crates of supplies and gunpowder.

“We will wait here.” Dream stands off to the side of the busy street and you use this moment to scan the area. You peer over the shoulder of a boy selling papers. The year is 1805. Meaningless numbers to a God. But, you heart aches for your sisters and fellow Gods that have been lost for eons now. They pray to something else now…

“Are you going to tell me what we’re doing here?” You ask. You lean your spine against the stone building behind you and fold your arms. The salty, bay air from the port floats between your legs and over your exposed arms.

“We’re waiting for someone…” Dream replies. You roll your eyes.

“Can I wait somewhere else?”

The ruby on Dream’s necklace glints in the hot sun when he turns toward you. The large, almost insect-inspired glass of his helm reflects your personage. You cannot see his eyes, but you feel them graze over your face, neck, and chest like the sharp ends of a thorn.

His voice rasps against your flushed skin, “I need you beside me.”

“To what end?” You challenge pushing from the wall and invading the Dream Lord’s personal space. You wish you could tear the helm from his head and stare him down properly. Morpheus does not flinch or step back at your approach. He stands, hands clasped behind his back, ruby and helm shining in the sun. Your impassive, imposing, and infuriating Dream Lord.

“I need you to incite a frenzy to draw out a nightmare that has escaped.”

Your face crumples, anger turning to disappointment, to shame. “I can’t.” The words taste like acid. “They leave no offerings to me, Morpheus. They do not sing. They do not memorize our stories. The powers I once had have weakened over time”

You swallow around the lump in your throat, “they have...nearly disappeared, in truth.”

Within the Dreaming, you can shape-shift, but you suspect the reason that power remained was because Badb gave it to you. It wasn’t connected to Desire’s gift. It wasn’t connected to the Mortals who once feared you. It wasn’t connected to your Dream-Weaving abilities that are trapped inside a ring that Morpheus wears on his pinkie finger. Dream’s silence stretches and chaffs like rough sand.

Maybe he will release me...now that I have no use to him.

He says slowly, “If I offer something to you,” He tilts his head, studying you through the dark lens of his helm, “will that be sufficient?”

You purse your lips. “You would need to do it properly.”

“Very well. What is it you would ask? If it is within my power, then I will give it.”

For a moment, your thoughts quiet and your heartbeat slows. You and Dream stand in a port city in Spain, heat and saltwater, the call of gulls and the rich, melodic Spanish language dancing through your eardrums. Something inside of you tightens like a winding spring. You think of your earlier desire—to remove his helm—to touch him. Desire once said to you: “Do as you desire, always. Forget honor, or cowardice, or shame. Become the envy of all other Gods.” You aren’t their champion anymore, but the truth they spoke lives inside your core.

You are Nemain of The Morrigan, the Goddess of war, and rage, fear, and destruction. You have lived powerless for too long. A shade of a woman. A wraith. A ghost. Not even powerful enough to call yourself a Banshee. Now, Dream is offering you a gift. Anything you desire so you can help him find his missing nightmare.

Yet, there is only one thing you desire right now—in this moment—beneath the hot Mediterranean sun.

“I would ask for a kiss, Dream.”

He lifts the helm from his head, his hair stuck in every direction like the ruffled feathers of a raven.

“That’s all?” He sounds dubious.

“Yes.”

You wait for him to reject you and ask for something else. Without the helm, you stare into his ageless face, the sharp planes of his cheekbones, the universal depth of his eyes, and the soft pout of his lips. His stony expression reveals nothing. His thoughts and feelings remain a mystery to you. How infuriating...

Dream closes the small distance between your bodies. You inhale sharply. The dark, woolly fabric of his long coat brushes against your chest. His hand settles at the back of your warm neck. You crane upward to meet him. His face blocks the sun and the light is absorbed within the strands of his dark hair and forms a muted, yellow halo behind him. Your fingers clasp around the lapels of his coat for the sake of something to cling to.

“The incantation.” You remind him. Your words are a breathy whisper against his lips.

“I offer this to The Morrigan, Goddess of War and Rage, to the aspect known as Nemain of the three sisters. She who incites fear on the battlefield, whose scream foretells death, whose presence inspires courage to those who worship her.” His voice is husky, intimate, quiet for only you to hear—even though the mortals walking pass cannot see or hear you.

His long, pretty eyelashes slip closed as he inclines his head towards yours and your lips finally, blessedly meet. The lively sounds of the port become white noise in your ears. Dream’s kiss is intoxicating. You feel the burbling rush of power as it fills you like sweet rich chocolate. It feels like floating. The raw power is injected into your veins. Your heart pounds, your fingers tighten around his coat, and your mouth opens willingly to the gentle, probing touch of his tongue. You sigh into his mouth, winding your arms around the graceful curve of his bowed neck, and pressing your body flush and tight against his.Too long, too long...You lament. It has been too long since someone—a being of great power—gave anything to me.

Dream coaxes his tongue along yours in languid, teasing motions. What began as a simple offering, a mere singular kiss, has turned heady and intense. Your spine meets the sun-touched, warm stone of the building behind you. You drag your leg up, pressing your inner thigh against Dream’s hip, allowing yourself the pleasure and delight of feeling his body snug against yours. He holds your jaw, tender, your jugular exposed, and swallows the breathy, quiet moans that escape from the back of your throat. His obvious desire for you cannot be understated or imagined. He does want you.

But he will never take me as an equal. The thought is sobering and you drag your mouth away from his. Dream doesn’t move, nor does he break eye contact with you, and your bodies are pressed together as if bonded by melted wax.

His dark eyes roam your face, seeking answers to a question he hasn’t asked.

He releases his hold on your jaw and takes a pointed and deliberate step away. He returns his helm and indirectly (or perhaps directly you think) hides his face and expression from you.

“There,” He inclines his head toward of group of soldiers, “the nightmare had been following them.”

You square your shoulders. It’s time to get to work then.

The art of inciting fear is subtle like plucking the strings on a harp. You strum gently, your fingers are light, your brow is folded in concentration. Dream asked for frenzy. But there is more build up to it than one might. It’s akin to building a tower of cards. It requires a delicate hand as you follow the group of soldiers. Your concentration doesn’t waver…

Until you hear a familiar, bright voice.

“Stinky!” The child chastises and tugs on the leash of her white dog with crusty-gunk inside its eyes. You turn and face the child—I know you from the Dreaming, you think, and the little girl looks up toward you. She cannot see you. You know this. Yet, you stare into her innocent brown eyes and fear overtakes you. The memories and emotions are brief and fast like hard slaps across your face: Anger. A man’s voice screaming. His brown eyes brimming with rage. Shame. A broken vase with the porcelain pieces scattered across the floor like bone shards. Confusion. A dark place. Hunger. A dog’s paw scratching at the door. Fear.

Morpheus lightly touches your shoulder and draws you from the vortex of the girl’s memories.

“The child…” You wrestle the words from your throat, “her father harms her.”

“There is nothing we can do for her.” Dream says.

You look up at the Dream Lord, your expression and voice serious, and a simmering anger builds beneath your words. “You could send a nightmare to him. Scare him.”

“He would not change his ways.” Dream replies. “My nightmares are a reflection of the human condition. I give sleep, I give dreams and nightmares, and nothing more. I cannot interfere with the child’s fate.”

“Even if she called to you?” You ask hotly. “Left offerings and cried out for your aid?”

“I am not a God.”

You narrow your eyes and turn away from Dream. The little girl has scooped her grumpy-looking dog into her arms and is walking in the opposite direction of the soldiers you’re following. You clench your jaw and curl your fingers into fists at your sides.

The card tower falls.

A solider trips.

Their rifle misfires.

And the plaza erupts in a frenzy of alarm—fear that the enemy has crept up on them, fear that someone is hurt, fear that the bullet has hit them. You cannot even enjoy the sensation of terror. Your eyes linger down the street where the little girl went. You seek the knowledge within the fabric of the world and learn that the girl’s father is planning to get onto a boat soon.

If Dream won’t help her...there is no reason why I cannot.

************

“Dima,” You step through the cloudy mass of her homestead. “I have need of you.”

Dima places one hand over her heart and her blue skin crackles like lightening, “Anything.”

“I have need of a storm…”

Dima smiles widely and kneels upon one knee. “For you, I would conjure a hundred storms, my queen.”

You place your hand on her shoulder. It feels damp and tingles softly beneath your palm. Her loyalty is strong and welcome and you feel your lips twitch upward into the first smile in centuries.

*************

You use your connection to the child to find her father within the Dreaming. The Dream manifests as a galley boat similar to the ones you saw within the Spanish port, but the father is not alone. Corinthian sits on the bowsprit, his legs dangling and staring out at the dark ocean below. Did Dream send a nightmare after all? You approach Corinthian slowly.

He looks over his shoulder toward you, “There’s a sight I rarely see.”

“You tend to make yourself sparse, Corinthian.”

“Can’t help it.” The saltwater sprays against his dark glasses, “I think I make the other dreams nervous.”

“As you should.” You lean your hands on the wet wooden railing, “it is in your nature to be discomforting.”

“The nature built into me by Dream.”

“Did Dream send you?”

“No.” Corinthian scoffs. “This one…” His gaze trails to the father pacing the main deck below and wringing his hands together. “His darkness calls to me. His desire for wealth, his hunger for power and control, his pleasure in…” Corinthian trails his dark and reflective gaze back to you, “causing pain.”

The power Dream gifted you bubbles beneath your skin. I have the strength to cause madness again...You will need that power to deal with this disgusting pest of a man. You will eradicate him. You will ensure the child is safe and free.

“I would like some time alone with him.”

Corinthian tucks his legs beneath him, raising to his full height, and balances on the long bowsprit with ease. His blonde hair tousles softly in the warm, salty wind and the flaps of his coat flutter. He slides his hands into his pockets.

“You can have him for a price, Queen of Nightmares.” He drawls, “And I’m sure you can already guess my terms.” He tilts his head. You recall your first meeting with Corinthian and his desire to escape the Dreaming. Even at your current strength, you are bound by your duty to Desire. You cannot leave even if you had the power to.

You glance at the man pacing the deck and your righteous anger pushes you to action.

“I am bound until Dream frees me as decreed by Desire, my Maker.” You explain calmly, “But once I am free – I will be free from everyone. Gods. Endless. Mortals. If you allow me to be alone with this wretched creature then I will owe you a favor.”

“A favor?”

“Anything you wish.” You say solemnly. “And if it is within my power then I will give it.”

Corinthian asks, “Even if I ask you to harm your precious Dream Lord to ensure my escape?”

You bow your head in the barest of nods. “Yes, Corinthian.”

He jumps from the bow onto the ship deck near the large wooden wheel. “It does not hurt to have an Old God in my pocket.” He grins, his smile lean and sharp and perfectly white. “Very well, you can have him.”

Corinthian vanishes. You are alone alongside the dreamer and a wave of nostalgia crashes over you. A dreamer trashing inside their bed wrecked with paranoia due to your influence as you desperately tried to save your family. You slink behind the man. He smells of booze and sweat. You place your hands delicately on his shoulders and bring your lips close to his ears.

“The ship is sinking…” You whisper, your voice low and almost seductive. “You must save yourself.” You weave your fingers around the man’s unease regarding the war and fill toxic paranoia into his nostrils. “The storm is too strong. You must jump now! You must swim to shore.” You hiss. Your voice melodic and guiding. The man’s heart echoes the thundering clouds above your heads.

“Hurry!”

****************

In the mortal world, the ship known as “Indomptable” is taken by a storm conjured by Dima. Her anchor chains are broken and she drifts toward the offshore rocks. The man—the awful, coward—jumps from his bunk with the bite of his nightmares on his heels and throws himself from the ship.

The storm drags him deep, deep, deep.

His body is never recovered.

****************

You lounge on the grass of Fiddler’s Green. The meadow is comforting, quiet, and calm. Your skin glistens with sweat from your exertion of using your powers on the mortal. A few colorful butterflies float over your head and you smile to yourself.

The child is safe. They can call me the protector of children now. The thought elicits a queer feeling in your chest. Something close to pride and excitement. This could be my calling once I leave the Dreaming. I can travel the mortal world and incite fear in those who harm others. I could make them regret ever abusing their power.

Your hand reaches up and plays with the sunbeams flowing like golden ichor through the clouds. For the first time since your sister’s deaths and Lugh’s betrayal, you feel a lightness inside your heart, a softness that did not—could not—exist before.

Dream’s thunderous voice cuts through the calm silence, “Morrigan.”

You sit up and brush the loose grass from your cloak. You peer up at him with a bewildered expression. Why has he come to find me now?

“What have you done?” He looms over you. The grass in the meadow sways away from his tall, imposing form.

Ah, he knows. You raise to your feet and regard him coolly. He cannot make a God, a Queen, bend no matter how much he huffs and puffs and glares.

“You could not intervene on the girl’s behalf.” You cross your arms, “But I could.”

“That is not your place.” He glowers, “And it was not my command.”

“I have my free will within the Dreaming, Morpheus.” You snap, anger rising to the surface, “I made the father pay for his transgressions.” You cannot hide the pride from your voice. You are proud of what you’ve done and Morpheus cannot take that from you.

“Your meddling has cost lives.” His voice is ice and you suppress a shiver. “As long as you are within the Dreaming, you are my responsibility and your actions reflect on me and all of the Dreaming’s inhabitants.”

“If you are seeking an apology, Dream Lord, I will not give it.” You lift your chin. “Regret does not eat my heart.”

“It will.” Dream replies cryptically, “when you learn what your actions have cost you.”

Your brows furrow. Morpheus lifts his pale, long-fingered hand and Fiddler’s Green vanishes from beneath your feet and the static taste of Dima’s home fills your mouth. Dima emerges from her hut at your arrival and her smile drops when she sees Morpheus alongside you.

“Dream Lord, what do I owe the pleasure?”

Morpheus’ gaze is hard and unyielding.

******************

“You are hereby banished from the Dreaming, Dima Storm-Weaver.” He says coldly, “For your actions in interfering with the waking world at the request of someone who isn’t me.”

“Wait, Dream Lord, please!” Dima prostrates herself at his feet. “I’m sorry!” Her blue cheeks dampen with a sudden burst of tears. Your expression tightens into white-hot anger and you throw yourself in front of Dima. He would expect nothing less. Your loyalty is to be commended, but your actions do not move him. He must restore balance within the Dreaming. He cannot have his subjects bending their wills to your whims. Your gaze pins him.

And Dima succeeded where you could not. A small voice nags in the back of his mind. She had the power to help while you couldn’t. Dream forcefully pushes the thoughts aside. No. That is not the reason. He must keep control and balance within his own Realm. He can’t have you undermining him.

“If you wish to punish someone then punish me.” Your lips curl into a snarl. You are ever-so-ferocious.

Dream replies flatly, “Be grateful I am not extending your time in the Dreaming.”

“Grateful!?” You shout and lightening cracks through the clouds beneath your feet, “You ask for my gratitude when you would rip my only friend from me?”

“Perhaps you will make a different choice next time.” He tears his gaze away from your grief-stricken and rage-filled face.

“Dima.” He addresses the creature that embodies storms and rain. Dima is pure elemental force at her core. She looks up at him from her kneeling position and clasps her hands in front of her chest. Her chest cavity flashes rapidly like a heartbeat made of lightening.

“Your banishment begins now.”

“No!” You yell, throwing your arms around Dima’s shoulders, as if your physical touch could tie her to the Dreaming. “Punish me, Morpheus. Not her. She did nothing wrong but listen to me!”

********

Morpheus stares blankly at you. There is nothing of the man who kissed you and pressed your back against the warm, sun-soaked stone wall. You grit your teeth and dig your fingertips into Dima’s soft, blue-colored shoulders. Morpheus says nothing. The wind pulls at the coattails of his long, dark jacket and Dima fades beneath your fingers.

You fall forward on your knees onto the soft, white clouds and stare at the Dreaming world below. Your throat burns with a familiar, painful prickling sensation.

This is the cost of love...the cost of friendship...that it could be taken away. You blink back the tears and are adamant that Dream does not see you cry. You inhale through your nostrils and look up at him as static discharge dances across your skin and pulls small pieces of your hair.

Your voice is clear and sharp, like a silver blade running through someone’s rib cage, “Never speak to me again lest to release me from my wretched service to you.” Your words hang heavy in the air of Dima’s absence.

Dream inclines his head slightly and disappears in a gust of rain-dappled wind. You bow your head and scream into the clouds. The thunder muffles the noise, but the Dreaming trembles at the raw, painful sound of your grief.

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