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uinen-harth-estraven · 2 years ago

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Daydream (Joseph Quinn x Reader)

Title: Daydream

Chapter no./Oneshot: Oneshot

Notes: Sooooo after years I came here again to give you this..It was actually a dream I had last night, and it felt so real that I wanted to write it down as a fanfic.I wish to have the same dream again soon,because apparently I have no life and I need fanfics and dreams to keep me going… Also if you watched 1899,I kinda had a little crush on the depressed captain,just to warn you for what’s this.

Ratings/Warnings: 18+ content,fem!reader,smut-ish,blood kink guys,fluff,angst if you squint but not so much really.NSFW in general.You’ve been warned..!

Songs/Soundtrack: “You and I” and “Only You” by Pavlov’s Dog

Summary: You always had a place to hide when you’re feeling down and nothing could lift your spirits.One day after a misunderstanding that led to a fight,you ran to that place not knowing that Joseph followed you.

Word Count: 2.2 k

It was Christmas week,and as usual you and Joseph came to your family home in the countryside.A perfect scenery that combines mountain and sea,in a small town,with mostly older people,a small school,a few vintage family shops,a church and an abandoned movie theater.This old movie theater had become a safe space for you,the owner passed away years ago and he didn’t have a family so it was left to rot.Not on your watch though,a few years after his death,you were just curious to explore the building,with flashlights and a small pocket knife just to be safe,you never know what can happen.That was when you found the owner’s office,there was dust everywhere,the window broken,papers upon papers scattered across the floor,movie films on the shelves,most of them ripped off.It was intriguing to say the least,so you kept going,until one day you managed to clean it up,get a small battery operated CRT tv in there and a couch that turns into a bed from your grandparents.Anytime you feel just a bit melancholic you escape there,as many hours as you need,and no one knows.

This year you decided to invite Joseph’s friends,just to get to know them better and perhaps make a friend yourself,because as of right now you didn’t have many.Your parents had already cleaned and made the basement floor more welcoming and homey,besides your bedrooms,where Joseph sleeps with you, and the basic rooms there’s not so much space.At least the court yard was big enough to contain plants,flowers,a lemon tree and a purple leaf plum tree.In the summer you and your parents will always spend time in the garden,sometimes even sleeping there.Every winter tho’ it’s magical,fresh snow covers the entire town,the plum tree flowering with snowflakes around the purple and red leaves,and the only sounds you can hear is the song of the goldfinches,while the gangs of crows always find a way to wake you up in the mornings.At night if you listen closely and silently, you can hear the owls celebrating their hunt,combined with the faraway bells from the church in town.

When everyone arrived at your home in the evening,you and your mother helped them with their bags,showed them around the house and helped them settle until dinner.While you all were sitting in the living room watching television with your father,who surprisingly liked them from the moment he met them,Joseph suggested a walk at the snowwhite beach.You wanted to help your mother with the dinner,so you stayed behind and told them that you’ll find them there later.After some time that you helped your mother with her famous beef ragu,and cheese ‘n’ garlic bread,she gave you the ‘okay’ to go meet Joseph and the guys.Getting your coat and scarf from the hanger,you jog your way to the beach,and as you arrive and waved at Joseph,getting closer you heard them arguing with your name on their mouths.So here you are now,watching them blaming you that one of their girl friends didn’t come,with Joseph obviously on your side.A few more seconds passed until you had enough and spoke your mind.

"I don't understand why should I have known that she doesn't like me, when she acted all kind and sweet with me?"

One of them started to say something but you cut him off.

"I tried to be as polite as possible because you're Joseph's friends, and he loves you guys a lot.." you try to take calm breaths at this point, seeing red. "..that was the only reason, and I still don't get how the sweetest person I've ever met.. Is-is hanging out with such assholes."

"Darling.." Joseph touched your face with his hands, you didn't realize how close to you he came "it's okay.."

He was talking, he was talking to you but you couldn't hear him, the sadness overtook you by storm..telling you that it was your fault, they were unhappy and it was your fault, they were fighting and it was your fault, she didn't come and it was your fault..Tears start peaking from your eyes, and your lips trembled. You need to go to your safe space,your nest,and quickly. But not before you say your final words.

"You know what..?"

All of their eyes are on you again, waiting.

"If you were so heartbroken from her absence, and you didn't like me for it..then why are you here..hmm?"

They don't answer..but at least they look a bit ashamed.

"Why did you accept my invitation, and my parents' hospitality?"

You waited for any of them to say something, anything.. Joseph was looking even more furious at them. No answer came, as their silence became unbearable and the sea was singing a lonely melody.

You couldn't stop your tears of frustration any longer, but you didn't want any of them to see, so you did what you wanted to do and ran your way to the old movie theater.Passing by your house,your mother was outside cleaning the ice from the stairs,of course she saw you and she probably called your name but all you’ve got in your mind is to get the hell away from there.While you were taking a turn,you didn’t quite look where you were stepping,your feet slipped on a frosty mud and fell down scratching your knees and palms trying to break the fall.That didn’t stop you from getting back up,after some minutes steadying your feet,not knowing that a few meters away someone was following you.

Finally you’re in the old movie theater,your tears almost frozen on your face as you try to wipe them with your coat’s sleeve.Your mind was tired from playing the same scene over and over..his angry look,those beautiful puppy eyes looking like a storm,it felt like it was meant for you..your fault..it was all your fault.You walked up the stairs with your flashlight in hand,slowly,as if someone would come attack you any minute.At last you’re in your safe haven,you open the tv in low volume to have some white noise in the background and make the bed to lie down.Your eyes feel more and more heavy,but it doesn’t feel like a good time to sleep right here,so you just close them for a little bit to calm down.

The sadness started to go away,your breathing slowing down and all of a sudden you weren’t in your bed.The sound of the sea was right beside you as you opened your eyes and looked around.Grey clouds surrounding the sky,mixing with the dark calming sea in the horizon,and feeling the wind through your hair softly whispering.The ship dancing on the waves,accompanied by seagulls and dolphins that lost their way.You played with your hands as you stared at the landscape.

“Did you get lost?”

You gasp as you turn around to see the owner of the voice.Big brown eyes looking back at you.

“I apologize..I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“It’s quite alright..” you chuckle.

“What are you doing down here?”

“I was just enjoying the view..you’re the captain?”

“And what if I am?”

“Well..I could ask you the same question.”

“I’m enjoying the view..” he smirks,using your words back to you.

“I didn’t catch your name,miss..” he steps closer to you,stretching his hand towards you.

“I didn’t give it to you.” you also stepped closer to him,just close enough but not giving your hand yet.

“Of course..” he stares at your eyes for a bit,before continuing “Who are you?Your name?”

“(Y/N)..how about you,captain?”

“Joseph.”

“Pleasure to meet you,captain Joseph.” you finally give him your hand,and he holds it like it’s fragile,close to his lips to kiss it softly.

“The pleasure is all mine,miss (Y/N)..”

Just like that your daydream is interrupted by the silence of the tv and the same voice calling your name.You see Joseph as you open your eyes to your surroundings.He was sitting on your bed softly caressing your calf.

“Is everything okay love..?” his eyes trail around the room for a bit “and how did you do this..?!”

“With patience and savings..” you whisper back to him,but you couldn’t take out of your mind the picture of him as a ship captain,your pupils getting wider by the minute and your breath heavier..so much for calming down.

“Darling..are you alright?You seem off.” he lies down beside you as he sees your grabby hands.

“Just a fantasy..”

This seemed to intrigue him,and he took hold of your body,turning you in a way so that you lay on top of him.

“What kind of fantasy?” he whispers,his eyes lingering on your lips.You sigh through your nose,bringing your hand to play with his wool sweater your mother made for him.

“Oh..nothing special just..a ship captain..”

“Hmm? What about him?” he asked, playing with your hair,almost purring.

It was just the two of you,nothing mattered at the moment,just you and him,there were no friends,no worrying parents.Just you and him.

“He had the most beautiful eyes..like a puppy..” you rub your noses together.

“Hmm…” he smiles,biting his lips “what else?”

“Big veiny hands..mm” you groan,squirm and spread your legs so that you can place your thigh on his crotch.Already feeling him getting hard.

“Woah…w-what else,babe..?” his hand stopped playing with your hair,and it holds the back of your neck instead.His breathing is getting heavier.

“I don’t know..you interrupted me..” you chuckle,and start to get off of him.He stops you before you even move,holding your thigh over his growing dick.Pushing your lips together in a soft kiss,his tongue licking at your lower lip and you open your mouth for him to explore.

“Just think..what did you want him to do?” he whispers between kisses.

“To touch me..”

“Where?”

“Eh- mm -everywhere..” you start grinding at him,flexing your thigh.

“Be specific,babygirl..” you whimper at the nickname..grasping at his sweater. “Go on..”

“I uh..I wanted him to lift my dress..” you inhale through your mouth,breathing him in “get my panties to the side-” you moaned as he grabbed both of your thighs,making you sit on top of him,on top of his rock hard cock,his eyes darker than ever.You start dry humping him,as he growls,squeezing your waist. “..and uh-use your-uh..his..his fingers inside me..”

He snickered at your word slip,but didn’t say anything.He knows that your daydreaming is about him in different time periods,you’ve told him many times.As you go quicker he starts moaning louder,feeling you soaking him through your pants.

“Yeah..keep going,baby.”

“Then ha- lift me,push me to a wall and spread my legs..Ah!” you felt him piston his hips hard enough up to your aching cunt,that made you cry out his name,your pants and panties forever ruined.Your hands grabbed at his chest,feeling his muscles flex under them.Sweat dripping down both of your faces,red cheeks and half lidded eyes.

“Yeah…come on,keep going,you’re almost there..”

“Spread my legs and..huh..fuck me hard until I fucking bleed..” you feel your composure fading,your orgasm slowly and strongly hitting you like a thunderstorm,as you feel Joseph holding you down on his cock,rubbing you in quick small circles.

“Is he bleeding you,babe,like the whore you are for him? Hmm?”

“Ah- YES!”

“Uh..yes,don’t test him or he’ll punish you,darling..” the way he said ‘darling’ made your eyes roll to the back of your head,groaning at the picture of you on his knees getting spanked raw,his hands red from your bleeding backside.

“Ahh..come on,baby,let go..”

“Joseph I..I w-want..”

Before you even finish your sentence,his hand flys to your throat,squeezing tight.

“Come on,love..” he moans “Come for your captain.”

“AH CA-...HAACAPTAIN-…!”

With a silent scream,your orgasm finally hit its peak.It got you trembling,and squeezing your thighs around Joseph.His orgasm coming a second later,with his growls echoing in the room,along with your panting and soft whimpers..

It feels like time has stopped,you’re looking at each other with soft smiles,as you drop beside him.His arms instinctively coming around you,to hold you close to him,with a satisfying sigh.You stay like this for a while.Looking at the ceiling,playing with your hands..just existing together.

You would worry about the ‘friends’ situation later,together as always.Your only worry is that you have to find an excuse about your pants,for your parents’ sake.

Hope you liked it!!

#joseph quinn x reader #joseph quinn x fem!reader #my fics #joseph quinn #joseph quinn smut #joseph quinn imagine #joseph quinn rpf #my fanfic #i have no life #this turned out okay

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scuttling · 3 years ago

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Lavender

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Female Reader Word Count: 9,244 Tags: 18+, NSFW, Dad's Best Friend Friend From Work Hotch, Me turning a naughty, smutty story into something way more aka my specialty, Fingering, Unprotected sex, Oral sex, Semi-public sex, Office sex Summary: You absolutely dread going home for vacation, to your sickeningly cheery childhood bedroom and opinionated parents, but meeting your dad's friend from work at a stuffy cocktail party has the potential to make this a vacation you'll never forget.*Requested by anon, severely altered by me 😅 Link to A03 or read below! Most people would jump at the chance for an unexpected two week vacation, but you are not most people. When your boss emailed you to inform you that there had been some kind of glitch in HR’s system and you actually had two weeks of paid vacation that were set to expire, your anxiety had kicked into high gear. There isn’t enough time to coordinate travel with any of your friends, too short notice, and you’re kind of afraid to travel alone, though you’d never admit it, so that’s out.

There’s always the prospect of hanging out at home, catching up on all the shows you started but never had time to finish, doing things you’re always too busy for, like cooking and cleaning out your closet and going to the animal shelter to pet the dogs and cats.

Unfortunately, those dreams are crushed when you accidentally let slip during a call to your parents that you have the time off, and they literally insist you come home, will not let you get off the phone without confirming your plans.

You only live about an hour away from them, but for one reason or another, you rarely visit.

The minute you step into your childhood home, you’re reminded of why you rarely visit.

“There’s my little do-gooder!” Your dad is all but waiting at the door when you arrive, pulls you into a hug despite the fact that your hands are full of luggage. “Let me look at you.” He pulls back, hands on your shoulders, acting like it's possible something has changed about you since you had lunch together a month ago in DC. “Oh, you’ve got that serious lawyer hairstyle now,” he remarks with a chuckle, even though your hair is styled the same way it was at that lunch. He might not mean it to come out this way, but it sounds condescending.

“That would be appropriate, considering I am a lawyer,” you remark, trying to keep the snark out of your tone. You know he always means well. “You look good.” He takes his hands off of you and puts them on his stomach.

“Your mom has me on some kind of greens and beans diet, says it will help me live longer.” You smile, a little awkward, not sure what to say about that—your dad is typically the meat and potatoes type, so you figure some variety can’t hurt, but if you say that you’ll never hear the end of it, and you’ve already got a headache.

“Where is mom, anyway?” You shift your bag on your shoulder, and your dad clues in, takes it from you and starts walking up the staircase.

“Oh, she’s at the gym, then taking care of some last minute things for the party.” You pause at the base of the stairs, sigh softly.

“Party?” You weren’t told about any party. Your dad keeps walking, and you’re forced to follow.

“Yeah, nothing major, just some people from the office and their spouses coming over for drinks tonight. Maybe some of their kids,” he adds innocently, and you can’t help rolling your eyes.

By kids, he means sons: eligible sons to try to set you up with. You wouldn’t mind being in a room full of hot, single men vying for your attention any other time—in fact, it’s been a little while, and your most recent hookup was lackluster, so you’re a bit more tightly wound than usual—but the kinds of men your parents bring around aren’t your type at all. You’re career driven yourself, but all they want to talk about is how they plan to be the youngest partner at their firm, or the clubs they can get into, or worst of all, money. Your potentially somewhat relaxing vacation just went to shit in no time at all.

“I didn’t bring anything to wear to a cocktail party.”

“I think mom got you a dress, honey. Check your closet after you get unpacked.” He pushes the door to your former bedroom open, and you’re assaulted by the color lavender; somehow you’d actually forgotten how purple it is. “You’ll look beautiful no matter what you wear.” He sets your bag on the bed—oh god, the frilly purple comforter, you may have actually repressed that memory—and you drop your other luggage there too. “I’ll give you some time to get settled in, maybe order some lunch for us? Vesuvios?”

As irritated as you are about the party, it’s sweet that he remembers your favorite restaurant. You went there for dinner after you graduated from high school, college, and law school, so there are lots of great memories associated with the place.

“Do they adhere to the greens and beans diet?” you ask with a grin, and he puts his finger up to his lips to silence you.

“What mom doesn’t know won’t hurt her, right?” You shake your head fondly, and he slips out of your room and leaves you to it.

You start unloading your clothes into the empty dresser, hanging them in the closet that holds things like your prom dresses, graduation gowns, old cheerleading and volleyball uniforms. Every touch of silky fabric is a memory, and at this point in your life most of them are good, even if they weren’t at the time. It’s kind of nice to remember where you came from, when where you are now can be so hectic, so fast-paced you don’t see the forest for the trees.

Feeling nostalgic, you walk over to your desk, where you spent so much time with your face crammed into textbooks it’s not even funny, and flip through your old stationary set—what teenager had her own stationery? You were a total nerd—and photos you’d taken off the mirror but left sitting in a pile to be packed away eventually.

You snap out of the past after that, finish putting your toiletries away, setting up your laptop and chargers where you want them, then shove your empty suitcases in the closet and grab your phone to head downstairs.

You meet up with your dad in the kitchen, where he is opening steaming takeout containers full of Italian food. You grab some plates from the overhead cabinet and lean against the counter, look over the offerings to decide what you’ll have.

“So how are things at the ACLU?” he asks with a bit of a teasing tone. You’re well aware of the fact that he thinks you could be doing more—translation: making more—in private practice, or working for the government like he does, but neither of those things interest you and he is well aware of that.

“They’re really good, actually. We’re working on a disability rights case now that will probably make national news if we win.” It’s been forever since you had penne arrabbiata, since it’s not very easy to eat at your desk without running the risk of staining your blouse with spicy red sauce, so you load up your plate with it, add wilted spinach for color, a piece of garlic bread because it’s garlic bread. You lick your thumb, and your dad points a finger in your direction in that way that means he’s about to give you life advice.

“When you win; if you’re not confident about your capabilities, no one else will be.” You roll your eyes good-naturedly, nod, because that’s a pro tip you’ve heard time and time again. “If you came to work at the bureau, you’d win more of your cases; Constitutional law isn’t easy.” He says that like you don’t already know, like you haven’t been working in your current department for more than a year. You sigh.

“I’m not really the bureau type, dad.” You take your plate over to the breakfast table, sit down and start to pick at your food. Arguing about your chosen career path is enough to make you lose your appetite, even for your favorite dish. Your dad follows, sits across from you.

“You’re so smart, honey, you could be if you wanted to.” He takes a bite of fettuccine alfredo, points his fork at you. “Hey, maybe you could talk to Jim from the Office of General Counsel tonight��or maybe Aaron. You’d be really interested in the work his team does.”

“Who’s Aaron again?” You don’t recognize the name, so he’s probably not one of the attorneys on your dad’s team, but he works closely with so many departments you might have heard it before and missed it.

“Friend from work. He’s the unit chief at the Behavioral Analysis Unit. They’re criminal psychologists or something. Profilers,” he says, snapping his fingers. “That’s what they call them. They get into criminals’ heads, analyze them and interrogate them. I know you minored in psychology, I bet he could get you an internship.” You laugh at that, because he always gives you advice about furthering your career, but that’s a step backward for you and he can't be so dense not to realize it.

“An internship? I’m a little old for that, don't you think? Not to mention I have a job that I love.” You stab at your food, more than a little agitated by the current conversation.

“Never too late to get your foot in the door, sweetie. It’d be great to see you more, that’s all I’m saying,” he adds, ending on a gentler note, and you sigh. Your mom does it too, but your dad is an expert into guilting you into doing what he thinks is best. Unfortunately, you’ve never handled guilt very well.

“Okay. I’ll talk to him, if it means that much to you,” you promise, and you both smile and make easy small talk for the rest of the meal. The dress your mom bought for you for the party is a black, sleeveless, designer cocktail dress, something more form fitting than you would normally wear—she is evidently trying very hard to find you an eligible bachelor tonight. You pair it with your favorite jewelry, simple heels, and when you head downstairs your mom acts like it’s prom night all over again.

“Oh sweetie, you look so beautiful!” She puts her hands on your arms, spins you around. “You’re looking too thin—must be eating a lot of salads on that paralegal salary,” she throws over her shoulder to your dad, and they both laugh. You wish life were a documentary so there was a camera you could look into with an unimpressed expression.

“I’m a staff attorney actually. Fully accredited,” you add, but it’s no use. If you don’t follow in your dad’s footsteps, you will always be seen as living beneath your potential, and therefore always the butt of these types of jokes.

You love them, really, and you know they love you, but they are not the most supportive pair by a long shot. They made sure you got into a great college, let you follow your law school dreams—and you’re grateful, won’t deny their money is a privilege so many other people in your position do not possess—but that was only because those were their dreams as well. As soon as you told them about taking the position at the ACLU, it was like the tables were turned, and instead of your accomplishments, all they saw was wasted potential.

It’s enough to keep you away most of the time, which sucks, but it is what it is. It’s easier to love them from afar, so that’s what you do.

At the party, you shake hands, talk about the weather, introduce yourself to so many middle aged white guys and their sons that their faces all start to blur together. After half an hour you excuse yourself, head to the bar for a drink, and come to stand next to a middle aged white guy you have not introduced yourself to—this one, you’d have remembered, because he is tall, broad, serious looking, and very handsome.

If you were a dog, he’d have your ears perking up, no doubt about that. Instead, your heart just races a little.

“I have to say, these FBI parties are even less fun than I thought they’d be,” you comment as you wait for your drink. The man lifts the corner of his mouth in a slight smile.

“Get a bunch of men who are past their prime in one room, and all you hear about are the glory days. Can’t get a word in edgewise.” The bartender hands you your glass, and you turn to fully face the stranger.

“Why aren’t you talking about your glory days?” You immediately kind of want to slap yourself. Your social skills have been exhausted tonight, apparently. “I’m sorry, that was rude; I didn’t mean to insinuate that you’re… past your prime.” You give him a brief once over, because he deserves it, is even more gorgeous up close than you’d initially assessed; he chuckles softly, sips on his own drink.

“It wasn’t rude, it was… shrewd.” His own gaze lingers on your face, maybe the neckline of your dress, just a little. “Your father’s really happy you’re here, wouldn’t stop talking about it.”

“Yeah, he's one of the most ambitious people I know; he gets an idea in his head and won’t rest until he’s seen it through.” It’s a quality that sounds good on paper, but when it’s constantly being applied to your life, it’s more tiring than anything. “Right now he’s trying to get me to bully one of these poor guys into giving me an internship, as if I’m not twenty-nine years old with a career of my own.” He wets his lips, laughs again.

“I think I’m the poor guy—Aaron Hotchner. I’m the unit chief overseeing the BAU.” Wow, 0 for 2. This guy’s got to think you’re a complete idiot. He extends a hand and you shake it firmly, melt a little because his palm is so broad, his fingers so thick.

“Right, I’m so sorry. Feel free to tell me right now that I’m not the right fit, and I’ll slink off and hide in a corner somewhere for the rest of the night.”

“No need for that. You strike me as someone who would be a great fit for my team, if that was something you actually wanted.”

You aren’t looking for a career change in the slightest, but you can’t deny it would be tempting to report to this man every day.

“It’s not that I’m not curious about what you do; my dad told me a little, and it sounds really intriguing. I just have a lot on my plate right now. If the offer had come up before I started my current job, I would be all over it.” You smile, shrug. “Unless you could have me intern for the next two weeks I’ll be on vacation, I’ll have to politely decline the offer you haven't actually made me.” You smile, and so does he.

“Now who’s ambitious?” he asks with a raised eyebrow; the way he says it, like he finds it charming, makes your face heat a little. You’ve never connected like this at one of your dad’s FBI events, and even though there’s no way it ends well—if anything even starts—you feel the need to see how far you can go. Even if it’s just a little flirting. Even if it’s just tonight.

“Have you ever been here before tonight?” you ask after a beat. You take a sip of your drink, and he mirrors you. You lean in a little closer.

“Once, briefly. I didn’t get a grand tour, or anything.” You smile—bingo—and reach out to place a hand on his arm.

“Oh, I’d be happy to give you one, if you like. Usually my dad is all about it, but he looks occupied.” You both glance across the room at where he is in the middle of a group of men—still discussing their glory days, no doubt—and Aaron looks at you again, nods.

“Sure, I’d love one.” You show him around downstairs, the backyard, the garage—he doesn’t seem to care about the cars at all—and then go upstairs, show him guest rooms, the master bath your mother recently remodeled; he gets a little closer as you go, and you smile more, flirt a bit. You stop outside the door to your room, block it with your body while you talk about the art hanging in the hall; he’s very good at reading your body language, apparently, because he leans closer to you, puts his hand on the doorknob next to your hip.

“What’s this room?” he asks, feigning innocence, and you put your arm over his.

“Oh, no, we’re not going in there. That’s my old bedroom.” He smiles, and you grimace.

“You mean the room I most want to see now? Come on.” He turns the knob, hears it click, and you cover your face with your hand, sigh.

“This is going to be really embarrassing. It’s exactly the way it looked when I went to college, and that was over ten years ago.” You push the door open with your hand, walk in and flick on the light. Aaron follows, chuckles.

“It’s... purple. Cute.” He makes toward the bed, touches one of the frills on the comforter with his big, broad hand. The juxtaposition of your innocent lavender bedding being stroked by the fingers you can’t stop staring at is a very interesting one.

“No, it’s not cute, it’s horrifying,” you say, and when he walks toward the open closet, you begin to regret this little tour. He pulls out your prom dress, your cheerleading uniform.

“Cheerleader, huh? You don’t seem the type.” He looks over at you, and you push it back into the closet, lead him away from it with your hands on his arms.

“I’m not. It was important to my mom.” The two of you are by your dresser now, and he leans in to look in the mirror, at you standing behind him and not his own reflection.

“I see. Do you always put other people's needs before your own?” You sidle up next to him, and he turns to face you.

“This is what you do, right? You… deduce for a living? Like Sherlock?” That makes him laugh, which in turn makes you smile.

“It’s called profiling, but that’s accurate enough.” You feel a challenge brewing inside you, take a step closer to him.

“Okay… What can you tell me about myself by looking around the room? Remember, this stuff is from ten years ago; a lot could have changed.” He crosses his arms, nods.

“You’re right, but your core values wouldn’t have.”

Slowly, he walks around the room, taking things in, touching things, looking back at you briefly and then rifling through parts of your past. It’s a few minutes before he speaks again.

“I think your father wants you to work at the bureau, and you don’t want to because you’ve always felt like you’d live in his shadow if you followed the same career path. You want to blaze your own trail, do what fulfills you, not let his last name be what moves you up the ladder.”

That’s all scarily true, so you nod, cross your arms, lean your butt against your desk.

“I think you’re afraid of commitment because you don’t think any relationship you’re in will ever measure up to what your parents have.” That stings a little, but he’s not wrong. He points to a flyer stuck to a cork board, something about a charity project you’d worked on that revolved around recycling. “Environmentally conscious: I bet you drive a hybrid, and if your dad bought it for you, it’s a... BMW.”

He glances back, and you encourage him to go on. He points to a copy of your Georgetown diploma hanging on the wall, then picks up a cheerleading trophy on your dresser.

“You were a cheerleader to please your mom, went to Georgetown to please your dad, excelled at both; you’re an only child, so you felt you couldn’t let them down. My question is,” he says, looking up at you curiously, “what pleases you?” The words make your heart beat fast; you lick your lips, tilt your head.

“Not much.” He comes closer, arms crossed again.

“Why?” God, that’s a loaded question for a Friday night, for the first day of your vacation. You absently wonder if he’s going to bill you for this impromptu therapy session.

“I find it difficult to ask for what I want,” you ultimately say, and he moves even closer. His stare is probing, and you speculate that he may have been a lawyer before the FBI. The look on his face is the same one you’ve seen in many courtrooms over your short career.

“Of course you do. You’ve never done it before. You've spent your whole life asking other people what they want from you.”

You feel very seen, and you kind of hate it, but you also kind of like it—that he’s able to dissect you like this is a huge turn on. What that says about you, you’re not entirely sure; maybe that you enjoy being seen for who you are—for all that you are—instead of who you know, or who you could have been, for a change.

“I think you didn’t lose your virginity until college—your second year.” It feels like bringing that up is a bold move for him; he doesn’t meet your eyes when he says it. “I would guess you got drunk for the first time around then, too. Your first year you were trying to navigate the feeling of not being under anyone’s thumb anymore; your second year, you finally felt like your own woman, you wanted to try new things, but it made you feel out of control and you don’t like that. Even now you only drink socially, never to get drunk.” He is directly in front of you now, and he reaches out a hand, brushes it over your cheek. “I also think you gravitate toward men you find inappropriate and unattainable so you don’t have to worry about being the reason your relationships fail.”

He looks into your eyes with a questioning gaze. It’s a painfully accurate take, but he softens the blow with the gentle touch.

“Wow, you’re kind of an asshole,” you breathe, but you smile, and he laughs low.

“Maybe. But am I wrong?” You nod your head, and his face falls a little, so you narrow your eyes to mess with him a bit.

“Only about one thing: I actually drive a Kia hybrid. And I bought it myself, for your information.” He smiles, and you press your hands against his chest; it’s crazy how quickly he drops back into the serious expression you first saw him wearing by the bar. “Are you unattainable and inappropriate?”

“I work with your father; we’re the same age. We play golf together sometimes.” He doesn’t seem uncomfortable, doesn’t back away or remove your hands. You slide them down his body, over his stomach, stop at his belt, and he looks the way you feel: tightly wound, aroused, a little breathless.

“That doesn’t really answer my question, Aaron. May I do some profiling of my own?” You look up at him, curious, and he nods.

“Be my guest,” he murmurs, and you lean back. You rake your eyes over his body slowly—there’s no mistaking your appraisal for what it is. “No ring on your finger, but there’s no way you haven’t been married before. My guess is you’re divorced, and it wasn’t your idea.” You look up at his face, smile softly. “Sorry. You weren’t exactly pulling punches either.” He huffs a laugh.

“You’re right: I wasn’t pulling punches. You’re right about the divorce, too. Go on.” You nod, hum.

“Okay. You have a strong moral compass; you always do what’s right, even when it’s difficult. It’s what makes you such a great leader for your team. You like to go by the book, you’re a Fed through and through—but when it comes down to the bureau or the people you care about, you’ll fight the establishment with all you have. You aren’t a blind believer in the government; you have your criticisms, and you aren’t shy about voicing them.”

“Unlike your father,” he says, and you sigh. “You don’t have an appreciation for his work.”

“No, I really don’t.” Your dad specializes in Freedom of Information Act litigation—he does his best to keep the FBI from actually living up to its commitment to be transparent with the American people, and it doesn’t sit right with you, never has. You may both be attorneys, but you could not be more different if you tried. “But I’m profiling you, remember?”

“Right. Please continue.”

“This might be going out on a limb, but I think you went to law school. The way you speak, and the way you looked at me earlier? It was a little like cross-examination. Am I right about that?” His answering smile actually looks pleased.

“You are. I was a prosecutor for a number of years before joining the FBI. I think it’s something you don’t ever really lose.”

“For better or worse,” you say with a smile of your own. Happy with your assessment, you move a little closer again. “One more thing. I don’t think you’re the kind of man who would normally let a woman take you into her bedroom after less than an hour of knowing her. Childhood or otherwise.” You smooth your hands down either side of his tie, over his firm chest and solid midsection. “Maybe you saw something in me you liked?”

“I was... dreading coming here tonight.” He brings his hands up to cover yours, but doesn’t pull them away, just holds them. “If you’ve been to one of these parties, you’ve been to them all—no offense to your father—and I was contemplating a good excuse to leave early, if I’m being honest. Then you showed up at my side—my friend’s mysterious daughter that I’ve heard so much about—and you’re funny, and charming. Insightful. Vulnerable.” He squeezes your hands, presses them closer to his chest. “Beautiful. It’s been a long time since I’ve looked at someone and felt an instant connection. Do you feel it?” His voice is just above a whisper, and you nod lightly.

You aren’t the type of woman to take a man into her bedroom after less than an hour of knowing him, childhood or otherwise, but he makes you want so badly you’re almost ravenous—you’ve felt this way before, maybe twice in your life, but neither of those experiences ended with you getting what you wanted. You really hope this time might be different.

“Kiss me?” He takes a breath and then presses his lips together.

“I shouldn’t.”

“I know. But will you?” After a beat, he does, leaning in and pressing his lips to yours, moving his hands to your face as he deepens it.

It’s not a hard kiss, but rough around the edges, your noses pressed together, mouths seeking contact even as you pull apart for breath. He kisses like he needs it, tastes like bourbon, feels like heaven; it’s steamy, wet, makes your chest heave and your pussy throb. When he walks you backward, gently presses your body against your desk, you hop up onto it easily and pull him closer, between your spread knees.

“Aaron,” you sigh over his lips, and his hands move to your thighs, pushing up your dress so he can get closer to you. You glide your fingers through his hair, plant a hand on the desk, then feel something tip over, hear the soft sound of paper sliding over the edge.

Aaron looks down, picks up a lavender envelope; he holds it up with a question in his eye and an enamored look on his face.

“‘From the desk of…’ You had personalized stationery at eighteen?” His mouth is a little red from the kiss still, and he’s teasing you, perfect; you smile, can’t believe this is happening.

“I liked to write to my congressman… and Ruth Bader Ginsburg,” you pant. He chuckles, kisses you a little softer than before, then moves down your throat, sweeps his tongue over your pulse. “Mmm. Right there.”

He pauses to look up at you, hair mussed from your fingers, and you push his jacket off his shoulders; he shifts to full height, helps you take it off, and you drape it over your desk chair, work the knot of his tie loose.

“Are you sure you want this?” he asks as your fingers slip down the front of his shirt, freeing his buttons. You unclasp his belt, open his pants, and stretch up for a kiss, touching his face; you nod when you pull back.

“Absolutely. Are you?” He nods too, all serious eyebrows you want to kiss, mouth you want back on yours, on your throat, anywhere.

“Absolutely.” You step down off the desk, run your hands over his arms, then kick off your shoes and walk over to the door, close and lock it; when you pass him again, you guide him to the bed and sit in his lap, clutch at his shoulders and kiss him with as much desperation as he showed you before. There’s a lot of heavy breathing, sighing, moans from you both, and if just kissing is this good, you can’t imagine what he’ll be like inside of you.

When you can find it in yourself to stop kissing him, you pull back and climb out of his lap, present the back of your dress so he can ease down the zipper. He pushes it off, large, warm hands gliding over your body until it hits the floor in a heap unbecoming of the designer label. Your mother would lose her mind.

“You are incredibly beautiful,” Aaron says as he moves his hands to your hips, sliding your panties down and leaning in to press his lips to your stomach. You sigh, press a hand to the back of his head while his mouth explores you where you’re soft and sensitive. You’d like it lower, but there may not be time for that tonight. “What do you want with an old man like me?”

“None of that.” You sweep your hands over his shoulders, sink down onto his lap again, and his hands fall to your bare hips, squeezing you softly; you close your eyes for a moment, so overwhelmed by just the simplest touch. “Like you said: I feel a connection.” Your fingers move to push his shirt open, to lift his undershirt so you can get your hands on bare skin and soft body and hair. He groans, and you kiss him, deep and slow, hands moving to take off both shirts and add them to his jacket on your chair. You take a deep breath, reach out to touch his cheek. “Connect with me.”

He takes your hand, brings your palm to his mouth and kisses it, then drags it down so your fingers slide over his lips; you swallow hard, can feel wetness pooling between your legs, so you slide off of him and onto the bed—however sexy it may be to leave your mark on him, you do both have to return to the party at some point.

Sitting up beside him, you touch his body, ease his pants and boxers down; he takes them off along with his shoes, and you pull the comforter out from under you, push it to the side, let yourself lay back and bask in the look and feel of him as he settles between your knees, leans in for a kiss.

It’s even more intense than before, somehow, his thighs against yours, strong arms supporting him, and you drag your nails lightly up his body, tip your head back and sigh when his lips trail from the base of your throat to your jaw.

He moves a hand low, rubs his fingers between your lips and presses one finger inside you, slowly glides it in and out so you’re moaning, sighing his name.

“That feels so good,” you breathe, and he moves his mouth to yours again, soft and wet, the slide of his tongue sinfully delicious. He adds a second finger, earns more gasping moans, then a third; with the help of a capable thumb stroking over your clit, you come, and he kisses the praise right out of your mouth and then pushes inside you.

His mouth doesn’t leave yours, keeps you close as he thrusts inside, gradually lowering his weight onto you until you feel him everywhere: chest soft against yours, stomachs pressing together as you both work your hips, as your hands grasp his back to keep him close, heavy. Connected.

“You’re perfect. You feel incredible, baby,” he speaks against your lips in a rare moment apart, and you hitch your knees up higher, press the heels of your feet against his ass.

You thought he looked turned on before, but now he looks like he’s being consumed by it, like he wants to thrust deeper into you, make a home in your body and never leave; you would be more than okay with that, to spend the next two weeks beneath him, holding him close, sharing breath and sweat and pleasure so complete it changes you profoundly.

He moves a hand behind your head, cradles it, and sucks wet kisses against your throat—nothing so deep as to leave a mark, but that doesn’t mean you’re not panting, whimpering, begging for more.

“Aaron. Hmm, oh. You’re so gorgeous, I—everything about you.” He pulls away from your neck, peers down at you, and you’re sure you’re a sight to behold in your desperation; your palms smooth down his back, to his sides, and you hug him close, squeeze him hard when he comes, panting your name against your throat and pumping roughly inside.

You meet his every thrust, dig your nails into his hips, and he leans forward, covers your mouth with his and grinds against you until your second blissful orgasm shudders through your limbs. You clench tight around him, moan, then slowly sag back against the mattress, more thoroughly satisfied than you’ve ever been in your life.

He shifts, half on top of you and half off, his kisses gradually slowing, his hands sweeping over your shoulders, your face, your arms. When you’re calm, content, you sigh, kiss his hands and cheeks and lips; you’re warm, and you curl around him, overheated skin on skin, and never want to leave.

“Mmm,” he rumbles against your shoulder, mouthing at it, and you sigh, scrape your nails through his hair.

“Mm hmm. Think I can die happy now,” you murmur, and he shifts up to look at you, a smile curving softly from the corner of his mouth.

“Don’t die on me, now.” You smile too, scoot closer for slow kisses. You’re both happy to lay there, quietly kissing, but eventually it’s clear you need to return to the party in order to avoid suspicion—not that you think anyone would ever guess what just occurred.

You dress side by side, turning to have him fix your zipper, reaching up to help him with his tie. When you’re both technically decent enough to head downstairs, you plan to give him a head start, but the two of you get caught up in one more deeply sensual kiss that almost makes you want to just say screw it and take his clothes off again. He can tell, has the barest hint of a smirk on his face when the kiss breaks, and he punctuates it with a soft press of lips before walking out the door.

With your spare few minutes, you look around the room—and at your rumpled, frilly, lavender bed, on which you just had super hot sex with one of your dad’s friends, it’s still kind of sinking in—and wonder what the rest of your vacation could possibly bring that could top this night. At breakfast the next morning, you find out.

You and your parents are discussing the party, who got too drunk to function, who left with the wrong wife, which of your dad’s friend’s sons you got along with most, and then he drops the bomb on you.

“And see, honey, I told you talking to Aaron would be beneficial.” You choke on a bite of scrambled eggs, try to wash it down with a sip of juice; your mom pats you on the back until the moment passes.

“What?” you ask, voice barely a squeak. You clear your throat and try again. “What about Aaron, dad?” He flips the newspaper he’s holding to the next page and peers over it at you.

“I told you talking to Aaron would be beneficial. Before he left last night, he told me all about the internship—it’s nice of him to set it up for the two weeks you’re here, so you can get some experience under your belt.” You briefly think about your experience under Aaron’s belt, but it’s really not the time.

He really set you up with an internship—one he knows you aren’t interested in—based on the offhand comment you’d made about squeezing it into your two week vacation. You’d be kind of irritated at him for making the plans on your behalf, but if it means the next two weeks are anything like last night, he’s going to make it well worth your while.

The internship excites both of your parents, and your mom declares it a girls day, takes you out for some new clothes, since you didn’t bring any workwear, for a manicure and pedicure and then drinks. She talks about what a great opportunity this will be for you, and you don’t have the heart—or maybe you just don’t care anymore—to argue about what great opportunities you’ve already made possible for yourself.

Sunday is for relaxing, and not internally panicking about seeing Aaron again. Friday night was incredible, but you didn’t think it would turn into anything, considering he is your dad’s friend, and you’re only here for a couple weeks.

You have to hand it to him, though: if he enjoyed himself as much as you did, and this internship is his way of getting to spend more time with you, he has managed to do what you haven’t been able for twenty-nine years—find a way to please your parents while finally pleasing yourself. Monday morning, you show up at the BAU office to receive a photo ID badge and fill out some paperwork. You don’t actually get to meet anyone from the BAU until after lunch, and when you do, Aaron is nowhere to be seen.

“Hi, I’m looking for Unit Chief Hotchner?” you say to a fair-skinned woman with long blonde hair and a kind smile. “I’m interning for the next couple weeks.” There is a man with her, Black, tall, bald, with very expressive eyebrows; the eyebrows don’t look like they think very highly of you.

“You’re an intern? A little old, aren’t you?” After a beat, his face breaks into a smile, and you roll your eyes, huff a laugh.

“Charmer. Yes, I’m definitely too old to be an intern; do you have overbearing parents by chance?” He raises his hands, palms up, and takes a step back.

“No, but enough said.” The blonde woman laughs, and he nods in your direction. “I’m Derek Morgan, this is JJ Jareau. Come with me, I’ll take you to Hotch.”

You thank him, follow as he leads you across the room and up some stairs.

“So what’s he like, Agent Hotchner?” you ask, wanting someone else’s opinion of Aaron as a boss, a coworker—anything other than the one night stand that wasn’t. You really know so little about him.

“He’s a good guy; smart, fair, great at what he does. A little tightly wound; could stand to live a little.” He looks back at you with a grin. “He’ll probably remind you a little of your dad.”

God. It almost makes you throw up in your mouth a little.

“You know, I doubt it, but thanks for the warning.” He knocks on a closed door at the end of the hall, and a moment later, Aaron answers it. His expression doesn’t change as Derek introduces you, and when he walks away with a friendly pat on your shoulder, Aaron gestures you in. He closes the door behind you and looks carefully over your face.

“Hi,” he says, and you see that hint of a smirk on his face again. You take a moment to appraise the room—there’s a window with blinds that are closed, a desk and chairs, bookcases, a printer, more windows on the far side, a loveseat. You look back at Aaron with a raised brow.

“Hi. What am I doing here?” His expression gets serious, like he can’t tell if you’re pleased or upset with him for the surprise. You sit down on the loveseat, set your bag down, and he sits down next to you.

“I know you wanted to get your father off your back, and you did say if I could squeeze an internship into two weeks that you’d be interested.” You smile a little, because you did say that. “I thought it might be nice to see you a little more, too. You’re under no obligation to stay,” he assures you, briefly looking down, and then he takes your hand. “But surely there are worse ways to spend your vacation?”

You give him an uncertain look, like you’re really trying to decide what you’d like to do, and then you push up your skirt and swiftly straddle his thighs, press your hands against his shoulders. His mouth falls open a little, and you lean in to catch it with yours.

“I have been thinking about you all weekend,” he mutters into the kiss, wraps his arms around your back. “Have you thought about me?”

“Only every night.” He groans at your words, lets his head fall back a little, and you press your lips to the column of his throat, nip softly with your teeth. “Every morning. Every minute.” You bite at the shell of his ear, kiss it, card your fingers through his hair. “Do I have an actual job to do here?” You pull back, and he raises his eyebrows; you can’t help the grin that takes over your expression. “Because if not, I’m going to focus on making this the best two weeks of your life.”

He pulls you in for another kiss, a little rougher than before, deeper, and you tug on his hair, pant against his cheek when you separate.

“In that case, no. You don’t have a job to do here.” You tilt your head, and he smiles a little. “I'm the boss, I make the rules.” That kind of thing has never done it for you before, but you have to admit it’s making you feel some type of way right now. You sweep your hands inside his jacket, squeeze his sides.

“Mmm, yes you do. Hey, do you think there’s enough room for me to fit under your desk?” He wets his lips, and you climb off of him, walk around to check it out for yourself, bending over his desk in your tight black skirt to peek beneath it. You look up to see Aaron is not shy about taking in the view, and you grin. “Spacious.”

He walks toward you, and when he’s closer, his eyes look dark with need; his hands look like they ache to reach out and touch. You step forward, let yourself be caged in against the desk by his arms, and you arch your back a little, open his belt slowly.

“I didn’t set this up so you would feel obligated to do this.” You sigh, lean up to catch his lips in a soft kiss.

“I know you didn’t. But if I want to?” You tug down his zipper, slip your hand inside his underwear, feel him hot and stiff in your palm. “And you want to?” He nods tightly and you kiss him again, squeeze him softly, sweep your tongue between his lips. “Then let’s.”

You take a step back, push his chair far enough out of the way that you can crawl under the desk, come up on your knees; he exhales deeply, then sinks down into his chair, stretches his long legs so they rest on either side of your body, holds his pants open for you. You look up at him, hope he sees how ridiculously eager you are to do this, and you take his dick out, stroke it a couple times, and cover it with your mouth.

“My god,” he sighs, head resting back against his seat. You hold him with both hands, suck deep and wet, moan a little when he spreads his legs further apart. “Your mouth feels so good, baby. Does this make you wet?” You pull off, move one hand to slide up his stomach, clutch his shirt there.

“Very, but I’m patient. Want to make you come.” He wets his lips, sighs, and you dip your head, lick up the length of him before sucking him back down.

He is all perfect, desperate noises, soft grunts and moans, gently palming your head as he gets closer, and you’re pretty sure he’s about to get off when there’s a knock at the door. He mutters a curse, and you squeeze his stomach, determined to make him come in the next five seconds. He looks like he’s going to lose his mind.

“Just a minute,” he manages, his voice strained, and he puts his hands on your arms, but you stroke and suck him quickly, actually sigh in relief when he spills in your mouth; your only regret is that he couldn’t be louder.

As soon as he’s through coming, you duck under the desk to wipe your mouth, and he hurries to fix his fly, to close his belt. There’s another knock, and he exhales, calls for whoever is on the other side to come in.

He accidentally bangs his knee off the desk, winces, and you lean back against it, panting, your heart racing.

“Aaron!”

Your eyes snap closed. What are the actual chances of this? You don’t know enough about karma to have an opinion on it, but you come to the sudden realization that you must have done something wrong in a past life.

“Hey, what are you doing in our neck of the woods?” Aaron asks, managing to sound like he is in fact not talking to the father of the woman who just swallowed his come.

“Looking for my little girl, of course. Had to see what she was getting up to on her first day at the FBI.”

“She’s actually… downstairs. In the mailroom. Interns start at the bottom and work their way up.” You stifle a laugh, because despite your compromising position, that’s kind of funny.

“Oh, okay. Agent Morgan thought she was up here, but I guess she must have snuck by him. Would you tell her I stopped by?”

“Absolutely. She’ll be happy to hear it,” he says, and you think you might be out of the woods, but you hear your dad’s voice again.

“Hey I almost forgot to mention: Monday Night Football tonight, got a bunch of guys coming over to watch the game. You interested?”

“You know, that would be great. You can text me the details. Thanks for the invitation.”

“Sure, of course. I really appreciate you taking care of my girl.” You have to bite your lip this time, and Aaron taps his foot against your hip.

“It’s my pleasure. She’s really wonderful. You should be proud.”

“I am. I’ll text you the details,” he says, and then the door closes and Aaron pulls back, looks down at you beneath the desk. You kind of just stare at each other for a minute.

“Close call?” you say with a shrug, and he helps you to your feet, then lifts you up and sets your ass on the edge of his desk. He grabs your face for a messy kiss, and you cling to him, breathless when he pulls back.

“What does it say about me that I’m turned on again?” he asks, and you shake your head, pull him close for another kiss.

“I don’t know, but I’m really turned on, too. Can you—” That’s as far as you get before he strides over to the door, flips the lock, and comes back to push your skirt up, tug your panties down to your knees so quickly it makes you gasp. He gets on his knees slowly, looks up at your face, and puts his hands on your hips, takes a few deep, thorough licks of your pussy. “Oh, my god.” You put your hand on the back of his head, drop your ass harder against the desk and press your other palm against it for support.

He is as enthusiastic as you were for him, slipping his tongue between your lips, gliding rhythmically over your opening but not pressing in, the tease. It feels insanely good, so much but not quite enough.

“Aaron. Oh, mmm—please. Please.” You sigh, dig your fingers into his hair, and he puts his hands under your ass and tilts you back on the desk, dives lower to start thrusting inside you with his tongue. “Yes, yeah, right there,” you murmur, and you rock your hips a little; your hand slips, sending you further back on the desk so that you’re almost laying back on it, and it makes you feel so deliciously dirty that you groan, grab at the collar of his jacket at the back of his neck.

“You okay?” he asks, pulling back to look up at you, and you nod, frantic; he licks his lips, lifts your legs and puts them over his shoulders, then dips down to stroke his tongue inside you, to press a finger inside alongside it.

“Holy—oh, yes.” You toss your head back, whine, and come around his finger while his tongue flicks in and out until you’re left breathless, spent.

You press yourself up to sitting, and Aaron stands, kisses you deeply, hands on your face while you’re still slick on his tongue. After a couple of minutes, he helps you get cleaned and straightened up, his kisses soft presses of lips this time.

“I should try to get some work done,” he says, but he doesn’t sound like he wants to; after that, you can’t really blame him.

“That’s okay; I brought my laptop, so I can work on some stuff too, if you don’t mind.” He doesn’t of course, and you get set up at the other end of his desk. You’re both plugging away at your work when you’re reminded of something from earlier; you close the lid of your computer and look over at Aaron, head tilted. “I didn’t take you for someone who likes football.” He smiles, taps his pen against his chin.

“I don’t. But I figured you’ll be there.” You smile back.

“Yeah, I’ll be there. Maybe I’ll see if my old cheerleading uniform still fits—you know, just to go with the theme.” You open your computer back up, but the look on Aaron’s face out of the corner of your eye is very, very promising. “Mmh, that feels good,” you murmur, one hand on Aaron’s shoulder and the other on his thigh; he is propped up against your pillows, massaging your bare breast and your clit while you roll your hips in his lap. Your cheerleading skirt fits, mostly, but you couldn’t zip it all the way; still, it’s the only thing you’re wearing, and you can’t deny the whole situation is so hot it hurts.

“You feel so incredible. Taking me so well.” He can’t kiss you in this position, and you can tell he wants to—you really want him to—so you feel a little like a tease as you work your ass and thighs atop him. “You know you’re beautiful, but I can’t stop saying it. You’re perfect, baby—in this little skirt?” He moves the hand from your breast to your hip under the skirt, squeezes you there. “So sexy. Do you remember any cheers for me?”

You groan, roll your eyes.

“Not worth the orgasm to embarrass myself,” you say, and he lifts his hips, slams up into you hard. “Mmh. Okay, almost worth the orgasm, but not going to do it.” He lifts an eyebrow, pumps his hips up again.

“Really? Not even if I…” He lunges forward, lifting you out of his lap and making you laugh, then maneuvers you onto your stomach, gets on his knees behind you, flips up the skirt.

“God, Aaron,” you sigh, and he presses his thighs right up against your ass, slides inside, pumps slow and steady while squeezing your cheeks, pulling you back toward him. Your fingers dig into the stupid, frilly bedspread, which will probably turn you on for the rest of your life, now, and you move back against his thrusts, moan.

“Worth it now?” he asks, filling you so completely, and you pant, hum.

“Wouldn’t you rather I just moan your name?” He leans forward at that, hands planted up under your arms, and leans in to speak into your ear; the way he’s pressed against you, the angle is perfect, and you’re right on the edge when his lips brush your throat.

“Yeah, why don’t you do that instead.” It takes about two seconds for you to come, and you aren’t shy about it, let his name fall from your lips in an endless string of praise. He hammers against your ass, the roughest he’s been—and god, does it feel good—then comes inside you murmuring your name.

He pulls out, rolls you over, and you finally kiss, make it count; it’s like the first night, how you can’t get enough of each other, messy, desperate, curling tongues and soft, eager lips, but you know you can’t keep it up forever, because his presence downstairs will be missed much sooner than Friday’s party.

You help him get dressed—in jeans and a blue polo, maybe the only time in your life a polo has made you wet—and then throw on a t-shirt and jeans of your own, head downstairs. You detour for the kitchen to grab a couple beers while he heads into the living room, and then you plop down next to him on the couch and hand him one like you weren’t just defiling your childhood bedroom yet again.

“There you are,” your dad says when he registers your presence—it’s impossible to get him to look away from the tv when a good game is on. “So how was your first day at the office? Think you’re going to like it there?”

“Yeah, I don’t know why I was resistant for so long.” You shift, put your leg under your butt, and take a sip of your beer. “It’s not going to be a career for me, but I have a really good feeling about the next two weeks.”

Taglist ❤️: @thaddeusly @arsonhotchner @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads @mintphoenix @meghannnnnn @disgruntledchowchow @azenpal @g-l-pierce @my-rosegold-soul @ssamorganhotchner @heliotropehotch @angelhotchner @qtip-blog @gspenc @wishuhadstayed @averyhotchner @hotforhotchner11 @itsmytimetoodream

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfic #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x female reader #hotch x female reader #hotch x reader #ask answered #anon #prompt

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heauxplesslydevoted · 4 years ago

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Take Care (Ethan x MC)

Summary: Set sometime between chapter 18, Ethan forces Naomi to take a break.

A/N: Okay the other day when I posted that i was writing tooth rotting fluff, this isn��t what I had in mind. That story will come later this week.

~v~

“How long have you been here?”

The question startles Naomi awake, Ethan’s stern voice cutting through the hazy cloud of sleepiness invading all of her senses.

If she didn’t have his handsome features committed to memory already, she might not have been able to make him out, her vision getting blurrier and blurrier as time ticks on.

“What?”

“How long have you been here?” Ethan asks again. “When was the last time you stepped out of Edenbrook?”

It’s a valid question, one Naomi hasn’t given any thought to. “What day is it?”

“Thursday.”

“I’ve been here since Saturday night,” Naomi confesses. Saying it out loud is slightly sobering. The past few weeks have flown by in a blur so unlike anything she’s ever experienced before. But with the hospital closing down soon, there’s no time to waste these days. The people of Boston will be down a hospital, and they still need help.

Ethan pinches the bridge of his nose. “Christ, Naomi.” Yes the hospital is shutting down, but he’s sure there are countless laws she’s violated in the meantime, as no one is supposed to be at the hospital for triple digit hours at a time.

“What? You’re the one who said we should spend our time helping as many people as we can.”

Leave it to her to throw his words back in his face. She’s gotten increasingly better at it, and he’s not a fan.

“Okay, but I didn’t say you had to move in to do so. And you’re always saying I don’t have a work-life balance.”

Naomi’s arms extend and she gestures widely to the bench she’s sitting on in front of the cafeteria. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

“On the verge of collapsing,” Ethan quips.

“I’m sitting,” Naomi argues. “I’m taking a break.”

“Are you currently with a patient?”

“No.”

“Good.” Ethan extends his hand for Naomi to take. After a beat of hesitation, she accepts. He lifts her out of her seat with a swift tug. “You’re coming home with me.”

“But–”

“It wasn’t a question,” Ethan deadpans. “It was an order.”

Naomi plants her feet on the ground, willing herself to not move. It’s a futile attempt because she’s too exhausted and weak to actually have the amount of strength it’d take to battle Ethan on this, but he respects her stubbornness and doesn’t carry her out. “Ethan, I’ll take a nap in an on-call room for an hour, I don’t need to leave.”

“Rookie, you’re clocking out for the evening,” Ethan says, his tone letting it be known that it isn’t up for debate.

“I’m back to ‘rookie’ now?”

“Yes, because you’re being petulant, and you’re not listening to me.”

“You’re not my direct superior anymore, Mister ‘We-Don’t-Need-a-Diagnostics-Team’.”

“I’m still your attending, you still have to listen to me. And I say you’re done for the day.” Not giving her the chance to respond, Ethan wraps an arm around her waist and pulls her close. She’s dead weight in his arms and he has to all but drag her to the locker room to retrieve her personal belongings.

Urge car ride to his apartment is silent, save for very idle chit chat. Naomi is too tired to speak, and she won’t admit it due to pure pride and stubbornness, but sitting in Ethan passenger seat on the way to his place is the most peace and quiet she’s had in a long time, not to mention the longest she’s sat still in days. Forever the know-it-all, Ethan picks up on her need for silence and solitude, and doesn’t say too much outside of asking her what she wants for dinner. They decide on a pizza, compromising on garlic chicken.

As soon as they step foot into the apartment, Naomi is assaulted by an overzealous golden retriever. He barks excitedly at her, clawing and licking at her scrub pants as a greeting. Jenner has grown used to her presence, the rare occasions she does actually leave Edenbrook are spent here, curled up with the large dog on the days he’s not in Providence with Alan.

“How’s my favorite boy?” Naomi asks, scratching behind Jenner’s ear. Jenner barks in reply, his tongue falling out of his mouth and lolling to the side as she makes himself comfortable under her touch.

After a few more scritches and whispered affirmations, Naomi forces herself away from the day, though she could easily spend all night with him in the entryway. She kicks off her shoes at the door and drops her purse there as well.

“Do you want to eat first?” Ethan asks.

The pizza did tempt her the entire drive here, but she desperately wants to take a shower. Maybe she’s losing it at this point, but she can still feel Edenbrook on her skin, and smell the sterilizing disinfectant the cleaning crew uses.

“I need a shower,” Naomi replies definitively, though she makes no effort to move. “Besides, scarfing down cold pizza is always a good idea.”

“Alright.”

Ethan takes her hand and leads her through his apartment, making sure she doesn’t bump into anything on their way to his en-suite

He turns on the water for her, the large waterfall shower steaming the glass planes almost instantly.

“Want some company?” Ethan asks.

“That sounds nice.”

Because she’s literally a zombie, Ethan helps Naomi out of her clothing, delicately peeling the baby blue scrubs off of her body and leaving a pile of discarded clothing on the floor. He follows, removing his own clothing with less care than he did hers, before walking them both into the shower.

For a long time neither of them do anything, Naomi too caught up in the heat of the water and Ethan’s amazing water pressure, and Ethan too enthralled in watching her.

Her skill is slightly pale, evidence that she probably hasn’t had proper sleep or food in Lord only knows how long, and he hasn’t seen dark circles under her eyes like this in months, since the night of the...incident as he’s decided to call it. She’s exhausted, it’s clear in the labored breaths that she takes, and Ethan is still sure without a shadow of a doubt that she’s the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen.

Unable to stop himself, his hand gently cups the back of her neck, tilting her head back so he can kiss her again. It’s soft and unhurried as if they have all the time in the world to do this.

The kiss turns more urgent as some of the fog clears from Naomi’s brain. Standing on the tips of her toes, she wraps her arms around of Ethan’s neck holding him close, allowing him to deepen the kiss.

Ethan is rewarded with a tiny moan from his girlfriend, a moan that he swallows with the kiss before it dissolves into a low grumble in the back of her throat.

“I missed that,” Naomi admits as Ethan breaks the kiss.

“What? Kissing me?”

She hums in confirmation and leans forward, pressing a chaste kiss onto his chest. “I can’t even remember the last time I kissed you. The only recent memories I have involve me at Edenbrook, diagnosing patients.”

She’s right. Their only focus has been work, work, work, and Ethan can’t remember the last kiss either.

His thoughts are broken up by Naomi, her hands roaming aimlessly along his arms and shoulders. Her exploration goes further south until her nails are raking along his stomach. “When was the last time I touched you?” She asks quietly, her eyes boring into his. “When was the last time I saw you naked?”

A measured exhale escapes Ethan’s nostrils as her hands venture dangerously lower, slightly grazing his pelvis. If neither of them can recall their last kiss, trying to remember the last time they had sex would be a moot point. The nights they leave Edenbrook are spent collapsing in his bed as soon as they can, drifting into unconsciousness almost immediately. “I don’t know.”

“God, have we become old and boring already?”

“We’re just tired and overworked,” Ethan says. “It’ll pass soon.”

The words unspoken hang in the air, just as thick and heavy as the steam surrounding them. Soon they’ll have plenty of time to get back into the normal aspects of their relationship only because they’ll both be unemployed. Edenbrook will be gone before they know it.

Not wanting to dwell on that, Ethan shakes his head as if he will away the cynical thoughts. Instead, he grabs Naomi’s hands, holding them tight to his chest. “We don’t have to do anything tonight.”

“Really? Something begs to differ.” With a raised eyebrow, Naomi looks down curiously at the evidence of Ethan’s arousal, comfortable nestled between the two of them. Before she can reach down and touch him, Ethan shakes his head.

“I have the most beautiful woman, naked and wet in front of me. This was inevitable, but it’ll go away.”

“I can make it go away.”

“Mhmm-hmmm. Turn around, Valentine.”

“Yes, sir.”

Ethan rolls his eyes. How this woman always finds the space and opportunity to flirt with him is a mystery. Lining the walls of his shower are all of Naomi’s bath and shower products. He’s always making fun of her for being a product hoarder, though she insists everything is different—he’s been schooled on the differences between regular, leave-in, and deep conditioner, creams vs gels, body scrubs and shower gels many times and he still doesn’t see a need for it all.

Grabbing her favorite shampoo, Ethan pours a generous amount into the palm of her hand before gently running it through her strands of hair. He’s seen her wash her hair enough times to know the bare bones of her routine. Very careful of her curls, he makes sure to not roughly drag his fingers through her hair and risk creating a tangled disaster for her to handle later on.

Her head tips back. “Can I pay you to wash my hair from now on? I never want to go back to doing it myself.”

A swell of pride forms in his chest at the compliment. “No payment needed.”

Once he’s finished washing her hair and he’s coated it in conditioner —she insists on leave-in, as she doesn’t have the energy to put my more effort into her hair for the evening—Ethan lathers her in one of her shower gels, whichever one makes her smell like jasmine.

He moves slower as he does this, pressing his thumb into the base of her neck, massaging away some of the stress she’s carrying. His hands dig into her shoulders, between her shoulder blades, and her lower back, loosening the muscles as he goes.

Naomi doesn’t attempt to stop the moans fighting to spill from her mouth, no matter how obscene they sound. The relief that bloods her body is instant, his touch working out knots she wasn’t even aware of.

“You’re a great doctor, you cook, and you're an excellent masseuse?” Naomi sighs in content. “What can’t you do?”

“I told you I make it my mission to be good at everything.”

“I’m going to find your weakness one day, Ramsey.”

She’s his weakness, his Achilles heel, and Ethan can’t believe she doesn’t know it already. There’s no end of the earth he wouldn’t go to for her, no hoop he wouldn’t jump through, his feelings for her his fateful flaw and his greatest strength all in one.

He kisses her again, this time on the side of her neck. His breath fans her, heating the sensitive skin as he leans closer. “Good luck.”

He continues the massage in silence, careful to keep his touch away from places that would no doubt cause this to spiral into shower sex. And as lovely as that sounds, it’s not what Naomi needs, so he’s willing to forego his baser urges. Every once in a while she makes a comment about how amazing his hands are, but for the most part she’s blissfully silent.

He doesn’t stop with the massage until he’s absolutely sure she’s putty in his hands and all of the knots and spots of tension are gone. Even afterwards, they stay in the shower, his arm splayed across her midsection, his chin resting on top of her head.

“I don’t want to move,” Naomi says, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’m too comfortable right here. Can we just stay?”

Ethan chuckles softly to himself. “We can’t do that.”

“Why?”

“Well, the steam in here might actually suffocate us if we stay in here any longer,” Ethan starts. “And I’m not a fan of wasting water.”

“It’s not a waste if I’m enjoying it.”

“Touché. Not to mention your skin will get very dry, and you’ll be much more comfortable in my bed.”

“Okay, I guess you’ve made some valid points. We can leave now.”

She doesn’t make any effort to move, and Ethan quickly realizes he’s going to have to do all the work to get her out of here. He turns off the shower and opens the door, quickly inhaling. He didn’t realize how much he needed air until he was no longer in that glass box of steam.

He grabs two large bath towels off of the rack and dries them off. Naomi searches his countertop, now covered in her makeup and hair products until she finds a satin scrunchie to tie up her still damp hair.

They both meander back into Ethan’s bedroom, and Naomi searches through one of his spare drawers for something to wear. It’s full of her clothes, and a few items of his that she’s stolen over the past few months; a t-shirt here, a pair of socks there.

Once she’s bundled up in some of the warmest clothes she can find, Ethan ushers her into bed. “Are you ready for your pizza now?”

A stubborn yawn manages to slip out as she shakes her head. “No. I’ll get some before I head to work in the morning.”

“You’re not going to work tomorrow,” Ethan says.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re taking a much needed break tomorrow,” he continues. “I admire your tenacity, but I’m not going to let you work yourself to the bone and neglect your own needs in your very noble quest to help everyone in Boston. You won’t do Edenbrook any good if you collapse due to exhaustion.”

“But I–”

“I’m not asking you, Naomi, I’m telling you.” Despite his tone, a pleasant shiver runs down the length of her spine. “You’re staying here with me.”

She almost always has the upper hand in their arguments or debates, but Naomi can tell there’s no room for her to argue with him on this one. He won’t let her win.

“Okay,” she concedes. “No work tomorrow.”

Smug that he’s won this round, Ethan triumphantly slides into bed, wrapping an arm around Naomi, keeping her trapped with him. Unlike her, he didn’t put on any clothes, only a pair of boxers, but now Naomi is able to revel in his natural body heat.

He runs a thumb along her cheek, caressing her softly before kissing her forehead. “I am incredibly proud of you.”

“Really?”

“You’re an excellent doctor, and trust me when I say you’ve done more for this community that I’ll ever be able to put into words. And despite the hospital closing soon, I hope you realize the impact you’ve made in your two years here.”

Naomi nods, her throat getting thick with emotion. She’ll never be used to Ethan complimenting her like this. “I wish I could do more.”

“We all do. But at the end of the day, you’re still a human and you can only do so much.” Ethan’s hand moves from her face to her neck, his thumb tracing a pattern along her pulse. “I don’t want you to crash and burn, and best yourself up over something so completely out of your control.”

“Who are you and what have you done to Ethan Ramsey?” Naomi teases. She never thought she’d live to see a day where he’s scolding her for working too much and trying too hard.

“I’ve done a lot of reflecting recently, mostly due to you. If there’s any lesson you’ve taught me, it’s that there’s only so much I’m in control of.”

“Any other lessons or tokens of wisdom I’ve imparted on you.”

“You’ve taught me how to be more patient than I knew was possible,” Ethan replies. Naomi rolls her eyes at the slight teasing. “You’ve taught me how to see the world’s grey area. You taught me the true meaning of trust and forgiveness. You’ve shown me endless compassion and empathy, none that I’ll ever be able to repay in this lifetime or the next. I was your attending, your mentor, but trust me when I say you’ve taught me more than I could ever teach you, about medicine and life in general. So thank you.”

Maybe it’s the pure exhaustion or his really sweet words, but her eyes become wide and glossy with unshed tears. She blinks them away, not wanting to cry.

Instead she leans forward and pulls him into another kiss. She doesn’t know if she can convey the full extent of her love and adoration for him with a simple kiss, but Naomi’s never been the type to not try. When she pulls back, she rests her head against his chest, settling in comfortably.

“Thank you. For the kind words, and for taking care of me tonight. I’ve never had someone be as thoughtful as you.”

“I’ll always take care of you,” Ethan promises. He’ll give her the world if he can. “You just have to stop being so stubborn and let me do it.”

“I’m trying, I’m trying.”

“Now get some sleep,” Ethan commands. “Tomorrow, I’ll actually cook you a real meal. Not any of the garbage they serve at the hospital, and no more takeout, but–”

He stops short when he hears a soft snore fill the room. Looking down he sees that Naomi has managed to doze off in the mere seconds he was talking.

He’s never been so happy to watch someone sleep, as no one deserves it more than she does. He plants one final kiss on the crown of her head. “Goodnight, Naomi.”

~v~

Tags: @professorkingslay @nikki-2406 @maurine07 @aka-calliope @edgiestwinter @soft-for-drake @greenbean-kylie @akshara16 @bluebellot @honeyandsunfl0wers @blossomanarchy @takemyopenheart @fanmantrashcan @whatchique @ao719 @x-kyne-x @colourmeshy @paulfwesley @the-pale-goddess @writinghereandthere @ramseyandrys @perriewinklenerdie @aworldoffandoms @thatcatlady0716 @drakewalker04 @canknot @hatescapsicum @lapisreviewsstuff @senseofduties @badchoicesposts @ethandaddyramseyx @chasingrobbie @zodiacsign1 @choices-lurker @my-heart-beats-for-ya @adrian-motherfucking-raines @riverrune @edith-eggs1 @thatysn @bellcat2010 @theeccentricbibliophile @cecilecontrera @junehiratas @choices-love-affair @openheart12 @caseyvalentineramsey @desmaranj @nazario-sayeed @aestheticartsx @ruinedbypixels @mvalentine @nooruleman @rookie-ramsey

#playchoices #choices: stories you play #open heart #open heart 2 #ethan ramsey #dr. ethan ramsey #ethan x mc

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sabraeal · 3 years ago

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Seven Swipes for Shirayuki, Chapter 3

[Read on AO3]

Written for @fade-touched-obsidian‘s birthday, which was....nearly two months ago. BUT IT IS DONE NOW, and quite frankly two months is better than some of my other late-birthday posts 🤣

The sedan is stifling.

It may be the luxury size, purchased through the deep pockets of the Wisteria’s business accounts, but the real leather interior presses in too tight, crushing her beneath the weight of her choices. This is what Shirayuki’s leaving behind: plush seats and plastic dividers, penthouse views and double ovens, the sort of security only money could buy.

She’d never wanted it; it had all just come part and parcel of being with Zen, the baseline for orbiting in the same stratosphere as his social circle. None of it had ever felt natural; guilt dogged her every time she slipped into the back seat of an empty car instead of the front, every dish left in the sink for the cleaning service smacked of superiority, and having a doorman--

Well, she’d been late to more than a few galas because she got caught up chatting. It was rude to just blow by someone without even a hello, and if Antonio had a new picture of his granddaughter, she couldn’t possibly pass without a coo or two over the sweet Sharpei of a baby his daughter, the light of his life, had given birth to.

Haruka had frowned at that one, digging the corners of his mouth to new depths as he told her, one is not late to a charity gala because they are indulging The Help.

Shirayuki tightened her arms around her diffenbachia, burying her face in its spotted leaves. It’s so clear now, so obvious: she was never going to fit in. There was never going to be room for her in Zen’s life. She was never going to be able to turn off the parts of her that saw other people as people; even if she could, she would never want to. Not even for him.

The radio flicks on, the smooth strains of Clair de Lune tumbling through the air, making the cab lighter, more spacious.

“Debussy?” she hums, the diffenbachia rustling with her curiosity. “I wouldn’t have pegged you as a classical lover.”

Obi huffs, affront entirely feigned. “I’m a man of many depths.”

Shirayuki lifts her head, looking at the console’s digital display. “It was a preset, huh?”

His mouth twitches. “It was a preset. I thought you might like it better than smooth jazz or whatever else comes standard with wood interiors.”

“Probably.” She shifts back, removing her whole head from her leafy escape and settling it on the rest. It’s fine; she’ll be fine. Maybe it took six years to figure out what she should have known in six months, but she knows better now. No compromising, not like...that. Not with how she lives her life.

“So.” Obi’s gloves tighten on the wheel, leather creaking against leather. “You’re single now.”

Shirayuki nearly drops the whole vase. Not that it has far to go from her lap to the floor, but her plants have been shaken up enough the past few days. “E-excuse me?”

“For a whole--” he checks the dash with a grin that can mean nothing but trouble-- “forty-five minutes.”

“It’s been a week,” she reminds him primly, squeezing the diffenbachia for support. “Ever since--”

(”I can explain,” Zen says, fingers spiking runnels through his hair. “I wanted to do this in person--”)

“Sure,” Obi interjects smoothly. “But it’s only been forty-five minutes since you moved out of your sugar daddy’s apartment.”

“Zen was not my-- my--” the sedan is soundproof; Obi informed them all of it the moment he’d driven it off the lot, even if the way he said it had made Mitsuhide snap his name like a whip crack. She lowers her voice anyway. “Daddy.”

Obi’s hum does not fill her with confidence.

“He was only seven months older than me!” she huffs. “It’s biologically impossible for him to be a big brother let alone a-- a father.”

“Daddy is a state of mind, not an age gap. Though I’ll grant you--” his teeth flash, quick as a bear trap-- “boss doesn’t have much of that going for him either.”

It would undermine her point entirely to start arguing this one-- lord knows she doesn’t have a single horse in the race on how daddy Zen is anymore, if she ever did-- but her gut instinct is to hunker down on this hill and die on it. One she stifles successfully.

It’s not her job to staunchly defend Zen Wisteria anymore, and certainly not from Obi. And to be fair, out of any of them, she trusts Obi to have the most sense of...daddy, whatever that may be. Hopefully, he’ll never enlighten her.

“I didn’t take any of his money.” Every word tips stiffly from her tongue. “Nothing...personal. Only what was given to me as an employee.”

Beneath his shades, Obi softens. “I know that, Miss. I wasn’t trying to say...” He sighs, leather gloves flexing on the wheel. “That wasn’t my point.”

Her fingers ease where they splay over the pot. “Then what was?”

It’s the wrong thing to say. His mouth twitches at a corner, and--

“Isn’t it about time to find a new one?”

“You know,” Obi hums, fumbling with the guest house keys. “You can’t ignore the question forever.”

She squints up at the sky-- it’s a pure blue here, not covered with the haze that settles over most of LA, the one way to tell they’re no longer in the city anymore-- and sniff, “I think you’ll find I can.”

“Come on, Miss.” With a bump of his hip, the door swings open, the bags dangling from his shoulder helping it complete its arc instead of clapping back on him. Because it’s not a thin little beach screen, made to shiver open at the slightest touch, but a solid, weighted thing, made to hold up against everything but an LAPD battering ram. And maybe even then.

Shirayuki spares it a concerned glance, nearly missing as Obi adds, “You need to secure your future.”

“I thought that was what I was doing,” she mutters, toeing off her tennis shoes by the door. “Or am I working for Izana for my health now?”

Obi clucks his tongue, unceremoniously dropping their bags in the hall. “Well sure, but you should be doing it the fun way.”

Her eyebrows climb up the short jaunt to her hairline. “Am I to take it that the ‘fun way’ is on my back?”

“Can’t think of many things that are more fun,” he laughs, like she should know, like at her age this is an experience they must be able to share. She pads down the hall after him, shoulder rounding over her cross arms. Clearly she’s had the opportunity. Six years in a relationship; anyone else would have, but--

“At least,” he continues, words scattering her thoughts like crows on a wire, “you should be able to live off being pretty.”

She coughs out a laugh. “I think you have to be a good deal prettier than me to manage that.”

He hesitates at the end of the hall, natural light limning his long limbs, making him seem taller, broader than he is. His head turns, just enough to catch her in one eye, and the look he rakes up her--

“Maybe in this town,” he rasps.

Her hands fall numb against the twill of her trousers, and she begs them to do something, anything but lay there boneless; to reach out the scant space between them--

But the moment’s gone, quick as it starts.

“Ooh, look at this,” Obi says with a whistle. “There’s a kitchen.”

“The apartment had a kitchen too, you know.”

Obi barely looks up from the drawer he’s inspecting, fussing with something that looks both like a corkscrew and a garlic press. “Yeah but this one’s bigger. It’s got double ovens.”

“We already had double ovens,” she deadpans. “There’s only two of us, we don’t need a kitchen the size of--”

“Ooh,” he sighs rapturously, “there’s a gas range and a cook top.”

“What?” She scurries over beside him, playing a hand on the cold metal. Opa would have killed for a set up like this. “Oh, now that can make a lot of pancakes.”

“And bacon,” he adds, giving it a solid tap. “And check out that view.”

His arm snakes around her shoulders, turning her. “Wha--?”

Oh. Oh.

“The beach,” she murmurs, watching the surf crash against the rocks, right at her feet. Or beneath her feet, from how the cliff is shaped. “It’s right down there.”

“I bet it’s private,” Obi murmurs, voice rumbling against her ear. “Except for paparazzi and their telephoto lenses, of course.”

She waves him away, like a horse does with flies. “Beaches are public property, and trying to restrict access is wrong on an ethical level, never mind that--”

“Right, but consider,” he hums, batting away her hands and her protests, “that you don’t have to share it with anyone else.”

Well, he does have a point there. “But public beaches always have the best snack stands.”

“We can just bring our own snacks.” He waggles his eyebrows. “You could have one of your weird little veggie boards down there because you can just carry it.”

“There’s nothing weird about enjoying vegetables.” Her elbow prods at his side; it’s solid beneath the cotton of his button-down, barely flinching even when she nudges him square in the oblique. “You just have the palate of a kindergartner.”

Obi presses a scandalized hand to his chest, silk tie rumpling askew beneath his palm. “Please, Miss, you wound me. I select my snacks with no personal regard for health or authority, which is fourth grade at least.”

She bats away his hands to slip her fingers around the knot, tugging it straight. “You’ll eat hummus.”

“Because it tastes good with pita chips. Now, Miss...” He casts a quick glance toward the second floor, mouth already twitching. “Do you think our rooms are adjoined?”

Shirayuki blinks, trying to imagine a purpose for it. The guest house itself was mystery enough-- after all, any business partner Izana wanted to impress would stay at a property of their own, or failing that a hotel, somewhere they could guarantee no Wisteria would be listening when they went to decompress from the day. And a personal guest of Izana--

Well, all his family lived within driving distance. And his friends were...few and local, if his soirees were any indication. “Why would they be?”

“For old time’s sake.” His smile’s all trouble as he saunters to the stairs. “Just like Tanbarun.”

“Hopefully not just.” Although Shirayuki can firmly say that having the breaks cut at Vitsjo was the worst experience she’s ever had with a millionaire, a double kidnapping ranks somewhere in the top ten.

She nearly says so; the quip is hanging at the end of her lips, poised to jump. But she glances up first, just in time to see every muscle in Obi’s body gone stiff, his jaw locked tight and his gaze a hundred miles away.

No. Five years. His body might be here with her, standing in a guest house the size of her childhood home, but his mind is back there, in a room that’s empty and a balcony door hanging on its hinges.

“Obi...” she breathes.

His body jerks, like someone’s yanked all his strings, and when he turns his smile hangs wrong from his mouth, never quite reaching his eyes.

“I hope the beds are those big fuck off kind,” he says, words hurtling from him joylessly. “That seems like His Majesty’s style. The kind that can fit five people and all their emotional baggage.”

His knuckles are white where they wrap around the wrought-iron banister, clenched so hard she’s sure black will flake off when he moves it. She takes a single, painful step toward him. “Obi...”

“Oh dear,” a voice hum, pleasant and smooth like suede. “I’m so sorry to disappoint.”

Haki Arleon-- no, Haki Wisteria now, leans in the doorway, smile just as radiant as when all her billboards. “But they’re only kings.”

(“So when are we going to meet the lady of the hour?” Obi asks, tie already loose around his neck. His waistcoat’s still neat, pressed so it clings to the narrow curve of his torso, but his jacket’s well on the way out the door. It hardly makes sense; that’s what he wears usually, easy as breathing, but with two drinks in him it hangs limp on his shoulder, just asking to slide off them. “This mystery Mrs Wisteria.”

“Future Mrs Wisteria,” Mitsuhide corrects, tugging at his cuffs. “And you’re not strictly supposed to know that. This is just Ms Haruto’s retirement party.”

“Right, and her retirement plan is grandkids,” Obi huffs, scanning the ballroom. “So where is she? I want Miss to start murmuring to me about Punnett.”

“I would never.” Shirayuki wobbles on her heels-- too tall, but Kiki said that anything less than three inches would be informal in this crowd-- relaxing when Obi’s hand grips her elbow. “Besides, Punnett squares only work for Mendelian traits. Once you get into eye color there’s at least eight known alleles involved--”

Obi’s hand slides to her back, hot even through the silk of her dress. His eyes are the same, that molten honey they melts to when he’s been frequenting the open bar and-- and maybe it’s about time she quits her cosmopolitans too, if she only feels steady holding onto the hem of his waistcoat. “Save the pillow talk for the bedroom, Miss.”

Her teeth snick shut. She can’t remember what she was about to say anyway.

“If you’re so interested in seeing her--” Zen jerks his chin over to the head table where Izana sits, Haruto radiant beside him, wearing an inoffensive smile-- “she’s already over there.”

Obi cranes his neck-- well, they all do, but he’s the least subtle about it, not even trying to cover his gawking. “It’s all just some old fogies your family does business with and-- no way.” His head swings back, eyes round as saucers. “Are you kidding me?”

Shirayuki squints, and the blonde head to his other side resolves into a pretty woman, her smile twice as bright and a hundred times more genuine. It’s her the men are flocking around tonight, but she hovers at Izana’s side, a hair’s breadth away from touching. “Oh, isn’t that the woman who was running the funding drives at Lilias? Ah, what was her name...?”

Gold eyes fix on her, no longer molten honey but hard flashes of coin. “Haki Arleon?”

Silly of her to forget; she shook her hand and everything. “Oh! Yes, that sounds right.”

Kiki shakes her head. “Only you, Shirayuki...”

“Wha--?”

“That’s Haki Arleon,” Zen tells her, as if Obi hadn’t said it already. “She’s--”

“The top of Maxim’s Hot 100,” Obi offers, followed by Mitsuhide’s stern, “Obi!”

Zen sighs. “She’s Hollywood royalty.”

“One of the most famous actresses of the last decade,” Kiki continues at her blank look. “She won an Oscar at sixteen...?”

“Oh.” She certainly looks magazine perfect now, every fold of her dress laying just right along the curves of her body, not a pinch of mascara out of place. “I don’t really watch movies.”)

That Haki Arleon is not the one that stands before her now. Though to be fair, she’s not the same Shirayuki Lyon she was then, either.

“You’re here.” America’s Sweetheart slumps across their spotless hardwood floor, flopping onto the sectional. “Finally. Save me.”

(”Is this where you ask me to sign an NDA?” The limo’s hardly pulled away from the curb, but Shirayuki’s temper is already boiling, rattling the top of the pot. “Do I need to sign an affidavit to say nothing happened between us? Should I send the Inquirer a note about how I no longer exist?”

Izana hums, his annoyance a dangerous buzz beneath his tongue. “There’s no need to be quite so melodramatic, doctor.”

“Isn’t there?” She rattles the tabloid in her hand, every word from her mouth so waspish it could sting. “This is your work, isn’t it? You’re the reason--”

He leans, one long-fingered hand plucking the paper out of her grasp. “There are reasons more innumerable than I can mention as to why the future folded out into this particular pattern, but if you are accusing me of holding the scissors to my brother’s apron strings in order to gt my way, I must gladly disappoint you.”

Her whole body aches from the rictus she holds it in. “What are you trying to say?”

“I’m saying that I did not ask you into this car to talk about my brother’s inability to properly navigate his love life,” Izana replies, sour, one leg crossing sulkily over the other. “I asked you here to offer you a proposition.”

She takes in one deep, steeling breath, then another. “You’ll have to excuse me if I’m not interested in any of your--”

“It is a professional proposition,” he informs her swiftly, nipping her complains in the bud. “I would like to hire you. For...in-house care.”

“Are you ill?” For how much rage had been rattling in her bones for the last half hour, it’s strange how quickly it evaporates in the face of her concern. “Does Zen know? No, is it your mother--?”

He raises a hand, quieting her. “No, not me, nor my mother, though I appreciate your concern. It’s...” Izana may have his reputation as a man who mountains find impassive, but for a moment she sees it, true fear flashing across his eyes. “...My wife.”)

There is no photoshop perfection as Shirayuki kneels in front of her, fingers pressed to the racing pace of her pulse. “Are you sleeping?”

“A little.” Haki squirms under her touch, her body angled as much away from her as she can manage. “Some. Barely.”

“But you’re tired?” She’s wan underneath her natural tan, the sort of stark white that says anemia. Already Shirayuki’s riffling through panels in her head, wishing she had a phlebotomy department at her fingertips. Then again, maybe she does; she’ll have to ask Izana just how much medical care will be magically available to her. “Have you been keeping anything down?”

“Hm...” She coughs, delicate. “Yes?”

Haki might win awards for her acting, but it will take a better liar than that to fool her by omission. “Have you been eating?”

America’s Sweetheart gives a very unphotogenic grimace.

“I had a yogurt.” Shirayuki sits back, waiting for the list, but it doesn’t come. Instead Haki just slips from her grip, palms pressing into the cushions as she strives for a casual lean. “And some of that tea you sent me. That stuff’s been great.”

“Oh, that’s just-- it’s ginger tea.” She sits back on the cassock, waving off her praise. “With some lemon and a few other things. Nothing special.”

“Miss is being too humble,” Obi rumbles from his corner, slinking out to perch on the sofa’s arm. “She stayed up all night making that stuff.”

“It’s important to get the proportions right,” Shirayuki informs him, prim. “Both for effectiveness, and preg-- er....”

Haki’s brows raise, and for a moment, she looks just like her cover on Vogue, arch and pleased. “Well, I see that cat’s out of the bag.”

“Ah...” She sheepishly rubbed at her cheek. “Izana did mention it...”

(”You understand nothing I tell you can leave this car, correct?” Even in his vulnerability, Izana is implacable; an unmovable edifice between her and his loved ones, as unnecessary as it is. “We had only just heard the heartbeat before this all started, and if word were to get out and we...she...”

For once, Izana Wisteria flounders, at a loss. “It’s rare for a fetus to fail after seven weeks,” she offers, biting back the actual number. Five percent only seems low to people already in the other percentile. “A miscarriage--”

“Can’t ever get out.” He huffs, agitated. “I am aware that you do not follow celebrity gossip avidly, but my wife...”

Shirayuki had always been under the impression this had been an arrangement, something forged from good business sense and perhaps a hint of mutual trust. They’d grown up together, after all-- at least that’s what Zen whispered in her ear at the wedding, watching them sweep across the floor. But now--

Now he falters again. “Every moment of her life has been for public consumption, even her grief. I won’t give them this.”

If it were anyone else, Shirayuki would lean forward. She’d put her hand over theirs, giving a comforting squeeze as she told them just what they needed to hear, the way they needed to hear it. It was her gift, after all, knowing how to tell both the best and worst of news.

But instead she looks at him, steel in her spine, and tells him, “You won’t have to.”)

“I take it the vomiting is still frequent, then?” Shirayuki takes in the dark circles around her eyes, the dull sheen of her skin. “Even though you’re not eating.”

She at least has the grace to look abashed, caught out like she is. “I am...it’s just better when I don’t.”

Her palms tap absently on her knees, fingers wishing they had a keyboard to key entries into while she thought. “We’ll have to go over your full medical history before I make any recommendations, but you need fluids-- plenty of them.”

“I drink--”

“No, I mean IVs,” Shirayuki clarifies with a shake of head. “We’ll have to call the hospital, see if--”

“No hospitals.” Haki stares back at her firmly, unmoving. “That’s how the tabloids find you.”

“Izana mentioned that too.” She sighs, rubbing at her forehead. “We don’t really like doing IVs out of the hospital without some support staff, but I might be able to get someone to come out...”

Haki waves her hand. “Oh, don’t worry. Just ask for what you need, and Izana can get the hospital to make it happen.”

Oh, how she’d love to be a fly on Garrack’s wall for that conversation. “We’ll see. Until then, let’s just make sure you’re comfortable.”

Twelve hours later, Obi closes the sedan door after Haki, making sure the bucket is appropriately situated in her lap. “Comfortable, huh?”

She sighs. “It was a nice thought. You can get her to the hospital--?”

“Well.” His teeth flash white under the lamps. “I certainly know the way.”

#obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #my fic #seven swipes #seven suitors #modern au #ans #listen i still struggle with whether ENOUGH happened this chapter #and then i realize that like #if you did not already read seven suitors #OR you're you know...not me #there is a BUNCH of new info in here #this is the hardest thing about adapting this...i'm a much more proficient writer #so i know how to keep the story more active #but also i feel like i have to retread SO MUCH #but it actually stands just fine on its own #DEEP SIGH writer problems

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wkemeup · 4 years ago

Text

In Defense

inbox request: “I’m sure you’ll get a ton of requests for more Peter with BAON, so I’m putting in mine. Maybe a glimpse into what Peter and Bucky’s dynamic look like now. So glad this isn’t completely over with yet 🥰” by @stormygeorgia ❤️ pairing: bucky x reader chapter word count: 1.5k warnings: mentions of physical altercations, cleaning wounds, peter is (ง •̀_•́)ง a/n: loving these requests! I’ve still got more in my inbox and you’re welcome to send more in too! Just as fyi, I won’t be able to do them all, but I appreciate the inspiration and support! 🌹series masterlist 🌹

“Don’t be mad.”

Bucky closed his eyes, pinched hard at the bridge of his nose as he listened to Peter’s labored breaths through the speaker of his phone. He glanced around the empty apartment, thankful Nat had swung by to take you out downtown because if you caught sight of Peter after a call like this, the kid wouldn’t be the only one in trouble.

“Again?” Bucky groaned, already reaching for his keys on the kitchen table. He could practically picture the way Peter often shrugged his shoulders and scratched nervously at the back of his neck.

“He was talking bad about Y/n,” Peter explained simply. “I didn’t have a choice.”

It was all he had to say. Bucky still remembered the first day Peter showed up at the apartment with a black eye and a busted lip, blood dripping down his chin because he got into a fight with some kid at school. He had begged Bucky not to tell you and he kept his word. You didn’t need another layer of guilt on your conscious now that Peter was running head first into fist fights at school because some snot nosed punk couldn’t keep your name out of their mouth.

“Where are you?” Bucky asked as he locked the door behind him, quickly jogging down the stairs. Before Peter could answer, Bucky shouldered open the main door into the warm summer air, only to find Peter standing on the sidewalk with an apologetic expression on his face, phone held up to his ear.

“Hi Bucky.”

He looked worse than last time. His right eye was near swollen shut, red and puffy and gathering blue and purple along the edges. His lip was busted open down the center, blood trickling down his neck, and a jagged cut on his cheekbone from where a ring must have caught the skin. It was an injury Bucky was familiar with.

“You look like shit, kid.”

Peter chuckled, staring down at the sidewalk. “I know.”

“You’re lucky Y/n isn’t home.”

“She should still be at the office for another hour,” Peter nodded. He glanced up at Bucky with that puppy dog look in his eyes, big and round even through the swelling, and dammit, Bucky had a hard time saying no to the kid.

“Alright, alright, get inside,” Bucky caved, stepping aside from the door and gesturing for Peter to come in.

A smile broke out on his face, though he winced when it tugged at the split in his lip. Backpack still strapped at his shoulders, he bounded up the stairs, the box of pencils rattling inside his bag with every step.

He knew his way around the apartment and waited patiently for Bucky to unlock the door before he stepped out of his muddied sneakers, tossed his bag to the chair at the kitchen table and slumped onto the couch. A pillow was already held tight in his lap before Bucky even turned on a light.

“What was it this time?” Bucky asked as he made his way to the bathroom to grab the first aid kit. Digging through the drawers next to your makeup bag, hair pins, and cotton swabs, Bucky pulled out the small box. He made his way back to the living room to find Peter wringing his hands in his lap.

“I don’t even know the guy,” Peter replied casually. “He’s a senior, I think.”

Bucky sat down next to Peter, gesturing for his hand where his knuckles were bloody and scarred. Peter hissed as the alcohol wipe touched the skin.

“Apparently, there was some kind of special on the news last night about the Hydra takedown and, I don’t know, I guess they had a whole segment on Y/n,” Peter continued, his voice growing harder, angrier. It wasn’t a tone Bucky was used to hearing in the kid but he knew how much Peter cared for you. It didn’t surprise him at all.

“I didn’t hear about that,” Bucky commented as he wiped the dried blood from Peter’s hands and set the dirtied cloth on the table.

He was usually more in tuned with those things in an effort to keep them from you. The months following the arrests and trials were hell for you. The constant reminders. The photographers planted outside your office and following you home. Looking over your shoulder to the point Bucky started escorting you to work and had Sam drive you home after. You didn’t need more of that.

Peter nodded, jaw clenched tight as Bucky wrapped is knuckles. “Yeah. This jerk kept talking about how Y/n should have gone down with the rest of Hydra, that she got off easy. It’s bullshit.”

Bucky had heard the whispers. He knew the gossip. He’d seen the people point in your direct and talk amongst themselves as you’d walk by. You tried to ignore it, tried to let it brush off your shoulder, but he knew how much it bothered you. Even with Rumlow dead and gone, he was still infecting your life, casting you to a shadow you didn’t ask for.

Bucky sighed, moving to work on the cuts on Peter’s face, though he had a hard time sitting still.

“He just wouldn’t shut up about it either,” Peter grumbled, wincing as the alcohol stung against his cheek. “Kept going on and on as if he had some high and mighty opinion on the whole thing. He even had the nerve to say that she didn’t deserve to walk free ‘after all she did’ as if she wasn’t manipulated and blackmailed into an abusive marriage to a freaking psychopath!”

“I know, pal.” Bucky kept his voice even, his tone calm, but he felt that same rage. He’d grown tired of watching the whole world give their two cents on what you deserved and the nature of your heart. Everyone from esteemed journalists to late night hosts to twitter feeds and facebook. Everyone had an opinion.

“It’s not fair!” Peter hissed, tugging his head away as Bucky worked to clean the open wounds on his face. He clenched his jaw and stilled again, allowing Bucky to work. “That guy shouldn’t have been talking about Y/n like that. I told him to stop and he didn’t. I had to do something.”

Bucky exhaled, leaning back against the couch after he’d applied the last of the badges to the cut on Peter’s cheek. It was the best he was going to get.

“I get it, Pete,” Bucky shrugged. Peter looked at him with wide eyes, half expecting a lecture. Bucky shook his head. “I get why you did it. It’s not easy to hear that kind of stuff about someone you love. It takes a lot out of me not to throw punches at every guy that whispers under his breath as I walk by with her. I want to, but I don’t. Because I know it upsets her more when I put myself in situations where I can get hurt than if some asshole is talking shit about things he doesn’t understand.”

“But—”

“She knows when you’re avoiding her,” Bucky continued. “She’s smart, kid. She knows you’re not falling down the stairs and getting your knuckles scraped up like that.”

Peter slumped further into the cushions, sinking into the couch and tugging the pillow tight to his chest.

“I know you mean well,” Bucky said, putting a hand on Peter’s shoulder and give it a tight squeeze. “You’re looking out for her. You want people to know her the way you do. Just try to avoid the fist fights, alright? I think she’d be happier if you were in one piece than if some pretentious senior at your high school changed his opinion of her.”

Peter chuckled, a small smile breaking through. “Yeah, okay.”

“Good man.”

“Can I stay for dinner?” Peter asked, the boyish youth quickly returning to his voice.

“Gonna be hard to keep that swollen eye and the bandages from Y/n,” Bucky warned, a smirk upon his face as he hulled himself up from the couch.

“I know.” Peter shrugged. “Figure she probably knows anyway, right?”

Bucky chuckled, nodding. “Almost definitely.”

“Well then,” Peter jumped up beside Bucky. “Might as well make her spaghetti and meatballs to offset the blow.”

He was halfway to the panty before Bucky could even respond that you’d planned on picking up sushi on your way home. He smiled, watching at Peter scrambled around the kitchen in search of a pan, insisting he do the whole thing himself, and Bucky resided to texting you to skip the takeout.

He’d let Peter tell you the rest when you walked into an apartment filled to the brim with oregano and garlic bread.

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n

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babbushka · 4 years ago

Text

Reunions

Clyde Logan x Reader

3k ; Minor angst (Military past/reuniting with military buddies) it’s really very fluffy I promise

(originally posted on AO3 12/28/2018, cross-posting here for my tumblr friends)

-----------------------

Most Monday mornings found you in the front lawn, tending to the flowers you had planted there before the heat of the day set in, and this particular Monday was no exception.

The birds were chirping brightly, your watering can was full, and the day just seemed glad to see you. Clyde was back in the small house the two of you shared, and was just waking up.

He always slept in late after the weekends when Duck Tape was at its busiest, so you had taken up this routine as a way to be productive while letting him get some much needed rest – on days where he let you out of his python grip, that was.

A bonus to being outside early was you got to greet the neighbors and various people passing by your property. People walking their dogs or taking their kids to the nearby school all got a friendly greeting from you as you tended your garden, and the mailman was no exception. You usually had a small token of appreciation for him on Mondays, as a way to start the week off nicely.

“Good morning ma’am! Only a couple letters for y’all today.” The mailman said as he pulled up in his truck outside your house.

You brushed your hands off on your gardening pants and took the small stack from him with a smile. You knew you were the last house on his route, he had told you as much one morning a few months ago, and so you didn’t worry about the fresh loaf of homemade bread getting squished or damaged in his care. It was wrapped in brown paper and tied with butcher’s twine like it was every week, with a small paper tag on it that you wrote down this week’s flavor – roasted garlic and rosemary.

“Thank you Patrick, here’s something nice for you and Shelley. Have a good day!” You handed him the loaf and he didn’t hesitate to take in a big sniff, the garlic was pretty strong but he grinned like it was Christmas morning.

“You’re always so kind (Y/N), thank ya! It smells delicious, you have a good one.” He gave you a small wave before driving down the block.

Heading back towards the house, you started leafing through the letters. One was the cable and internet bill, another was a weekly newsletter of the local community that you had subscribed to, but the third was addressed to Clyde specifically.

It was small and rectangular, and a little dinged up, but it looked like it had traveled a long way to get to Clyde. His name and address was inked in blue pen that had gotten a little smudged, and you could only wonder how many times it had gotten delivered to the wrong place before it finally arrived to your humble home.

“Clyde honey, something came in the mail for you today.” You said as you walked through the door. Your boyfriend was fully awake and munching on some frosted flakes at the kitchen table, reading through a new book he picked up at the library.

“Just put it in the pile, I’ll sort through it later.” Clyde responded sweetly, making you giggle.

“It’s not a bill, someone sent you a personal letter.” You leaned over the table and gave him a morning breath kiss, placing the letter on the table next to his book. “Return address is from Utah, do you know anyone from there?”

You had thought all of Clyde’s family was here in West Virginia. Well, now with Jimmy across state line that might no longer be true, but still you had never heard your man talk about anyone from all the way across the country.

“Can you get me a butter knife?” Clyde asked, his voice gone quiet as he stared at the letter.

“Sure thing honey.” You said with a slight frown, grabbing one from the drawer and handing it to him.

Clyde didn’t respond, using the butter knife as a makeshift letter opener to tear through the envelope carefully. Inside was a single sheet of paper, folded into thirds, and was completely covered in more blue ink. From your angle you couldn’t make out the writing exactly, but Clyde’s reaction to it was more concerning to you than the contents.

“Is everything okay? You look a little pale.” You asked, sitting down next to him and hugging yourself close to his arm, the scarred one. He hadn’t yet put on his prosthetic since he had just woken up, but you didn’t mind in the least. You liked that he trusted you enough to be comfortable around you.

“I’m okay.” He said with a deep breath, folding the letter back down and tucking it under his book.

You didn’t want to press the issue, so you just gave him a kiss and moved to the cabinet to get a bowl so you could have some breakfast with him and spend the rest of the morning together.

The next day, Clyde came home early from work and surprised you with takeout from your favorite Chinese restaurant for dinner. You had been watching TV, waiting for him to come home, and at the sound of the front door unlocking you were already running across the house to jump into his arms and cover his face with kisses.

“Honey you’re home!” You grinned, laughing as he lifted you and spun you around.

“Yup, I felt like spending the evening with my favorite lady.” He smiled back at you, giving you one long kiss before releasing his hold on you.

You giggled, still dizzy from the spinning, and took the heavy takeout bag from him. He followed you into the living room where you laid out the spread of containers, and you caught him fidgeting with the buckle on his belt – a nervous habit of his that you picked up on pretty early on.

“(Y/N)?” Clyde said, and you frowned slightly at the apprehension in his voice. “I was wonderin’…if you wouldn’t mind accompanyin’ me to a function this weekend.” He finished, and you were relieved that you didn’t have to prepare for dreadful news.

“You know I’ll always join you wherever you want me to.” You said, sitting on the couch and inviting him to his favorite spot: his head in your lap. “Is this about your friend from Utah? Are they going to be in town?” You asked, thinking about the letter.

“Yup. It ain’t just Tony either, it’s…” Clyde trailed off with a sigh, and your chest tightened for him. You knew there were a lot of things in Clyde’s past that you didn’t really know about, because he had had such a hard time living through them. The last thing you wanted to do was to make him deal with something he wasn’t ready for.

“You don’t have to tell me if it’s hard Clyde.” You said, stroking your fingers through his thick and luscious hair.

“I want to tell ya because it’s hard.” Clyde said, sitting up and taking your hand. He took a deep breath and looked you in the eye, something he was trying to be better at when he was nervous. “I know I don’t talk about it a lot, especially with me losin’ m’ arm and all, but I made some good pals overseas in the special forces. Some of them are having a bar-be-cue, a reunion of sorts, and I’ve been invited to go.”

He looked at you almost like he was afraid you’d say no, but you couldn’t help the smile that crept onto your face, and he felt a little more relaxed.

“Do we need to bring anything? I can whip up my famous mac n’ cheese.” You said, wanting him to know that you accepted every single part of him and his history.

“You don’t mind bein’ around a whole bunch of tough military types for the day?” Clyde asked, sounding slightly incredulous.

“If they mean a lot to you, they mean a lot to me.” You said, leaning in for a kiss.

Clyde’s heart soared, grinning against your lips as he kissed you back. He hadn’t spoken to his army buddies in a long time, at least since he had gotten a phone – otherwise he would have given them his number to call instead of having Tony send him a letter as the only way to reach him. He was nervous showing you more of that side of him, the side that had gotten injured and all the baggage that came along with it, but you had always been supportive and understanding, willing to listen and to help him through all the other bad parts of his life, he should have known you would be there for him during this too.

For the whole week leading up to the BBQ Clyde was nervous with excited energy. He had done a fashion show for you of different outfits he might wear, wanting your opinion on how he should wear his shirts. Should he shave? Should he cover his arm? Hat, or no hat?

You were patient and glad to help, giving your honest thoughts, like he should wear his shirts how he always does; tucked into his trousers and buttoned all the way up. No he shouldn’t shave, he looks handsome with the scruff he’s got, and no hat, it’ll get too hot.

You were an angel, and Clyde kept telling you that on the three hour drive up to Pittsburg, where Emmanuel lived and was hosting this whole thing. Before you two got out of the car, he gave your hand a firm squeeze, and you simply brought it to your lips and kissed the knuckles with a warm smile.

“Clyde Logan, you gentle giant how are ya?” A stocky man emerged from the front of the house when Clyde’s car beeped locked.

“I’m doing alright Emmanuel, it’s good ta see ya, you’re lookin’ pretty fit.” Clyde said, his demeanor immediately lightening up as he was crushed in a bear hug. The man, Emmanuel, ducked his head in a mock shy manner, before flexing and showing off his muscles.

“Thanks buddy! I’ve been spending a lot of time at the gym; they say swimming helps the back.” He shrugged, and Clyde just laughed. It was the first time he had laughed at something other than a corny joke you had made, and it made you grin.

“Clyde you never told us you had a smokin’ hot girlfriend!” Another man stepped out onto the front lawn, he was taller than Emmanuel, but not as tall as Clyde. You were pretty sure Clyde was always going to be the tallest man in the room, even among these guys.

“Shut up Mick,” Clyde teased without any real malice.

“Come on out back and come meet everyone!” Mick said, and the two of you followed him and Emmanuel through the house to the backyard, where it looked like a picture perfect scene out of a movie.

All the guys who were able rushed over to Clyde, and you couldn’t help but get emotional at how they all pulled him into a hug. It was clear to you that they hadn’t been together in a long time, and it warmed your heart to see them still caring about your man.

He managed to push through their wall of affection, and held out a hand for you, which you happily took.

“Everyone, this is (Y/N). (Y/N), this is Mick and his wife Kayla, Tony and his wife Anna, Ozzie, Emmanuel, and Reuben.” Clyde introduced you, and you shook hands with everyone, leaning over to give them kisses on the cheek like you had known these people your whole life.

“It’s so nice to meet everyone.” You said truthfully.

“I bet Clyde’s told you nothin’ about us!” Ozzie laughed, giving a playful elbow to Clyde’s side. “He still the strong silent type we knew back in the day?” He asked with a grin.

“I’m afraid you’re right. But I wouldn’t have him any other way.” You said, making Clyde blush scarlet. He kissed your cheek and the whole group of men wolf whistled, but you didn’t mind, you liked showing off how in love you were with this handsome man. “I brought mac n’ cheese, I hope that was alright.” You suddenly remembered the huge tinfoil covered tray you were holding.

“Damn Clyde, she’s gorgeous and brings food? You got yourself a keeper.” Tony winked, making Clyde wrap his good arm instinctively around your waist.

“You keep your hands to yourself now Tony.” Clyde warned, but he still had that smile on his face.

You stuck by Clyde’s side the entire night. You didn’t say much, but you didn’t have to. It was the men’s night to reconnect with one another after all these years away. Clyde wasn’t the only one to have gotten injured in the roadside mine that took his arm; it took Reuben’s right leg, and had caused Tony to go deaf in his left ear, and partially blind. None of them paid any attention to anyone’s prosthetics, unless it was to comment on how nice Clyde’s arm looked, with how high tech it was.

As the day progressed and more beers were consumed, they started to reminisce about the days when they were together overseas, each one having a different version of the same story. You couldn’t help but laugh at how Clyde seemed to be the mediator whenever two men bickered over minor details in a story, he had always been the calm and collected one in the group, that much was easy to tell.

Emmanuel brought out his tripod and camera, and they set up a timer to take a couple big group photos right when the light was golden, and you offered to take some photos of just the men. Tony had taken the camera from you afterwards, and told you to go stand over by Clyde, and he snapped a couple pictures of the two of you, grinning at one another like the love sick fools you were.

Everyone talked about what they were up to in life. Mick and Kayla were starting to try and have a baby, Emmanuel was the regional manager for a real estate firm in the area, Ozzie and Reuben were both working on memoirs of their time in the war, and Tony had just gotten married to Anna not five weeks earlier.

Clyde was very humble about his life with you, only saying that he was the owner of a bar back home, and that he spent every minute there or with you. You felt like the luckiest lady in the world with the way he smiled down at you, all you could do was sing Clyde’s praises and tell them about the wonderful things he does for the folks back home.

With the evening came s’mores and the passing around of old photo albums. You couldn’t help but snuggle close to Clyde on Emmanuel’s couch as you tried to get a good luck at a young Clyde with nearly shaven hair and a boy’s face. It struck you then just how young all these guys had been, but how young Clyde was in particular. He looked like he joined right out of high school. Clyde’s grip on your hand tightened as they flipped through the pages, some a little older, one in particular of Clyde showing off the tattoo he had on his forearm. You simply put your other hand on top of his, and squeezed back, silently letting him know you were there for him.

Not so long after that came the somber goodbyes, seeing as you and Clyde had three whole hours to drive back home. It was bittersweet, no one knew when they would all have time to coordinate like this again.

“I’m real glad you came.” Tony said, as he held out his hand for a goodbye shake.

“I’m glad y’all invited me.” Clyde said shyly.

“Are you kiddin’? I went through hell tryin’ to find out where to mail that letter! You’re not an easy man to find Clyde Logan.” Tony laughed, deep and scratchy, like he had been smoking a pack a day since the war.

Clyde released your hand for the first time all evening, to pull out a piece of paper from his pocket.

“Here’s my phone number, I want you to give it to all the guys. In case y’all ever want to call or something.” Clyde said, addressing the whole small party.

As Clyde started to say his goodbyes to the folks he had missed, you went around the room and hugged everyone goodbye yourself. As you pulled away from Mick he discreetly slipped the photo of a young Clyde Logan into your hand.

“I don’t know what you’ve done to him,” Mick started with a hushed voice, “But you’ve lit a fire in him like I’ve never seen before. I’m glad he has you.” He said.

“I’m glad to have him.” You said back, with a heartfelt smile, as you hugged him again.

A week or so later, the mailman brought you a small package from Utah, and some postcards from all over the country, no doubt sent by the other members of Clyde’s group. This time you happily recognized Tony’s handwriting and left it for Clyde to open, as he hadn’t come down for breakfast yet.

You had gone to work, but when you came home you noticed a few additions of décor to your kitchen; framed photographs of Clyde and his friends from the BBQ. One of the group, one of just the men that you had taken, and one of the two of you, smiling down at each other.

Clyde’s arm and tattoo was on full display, but so was the love you two had for one another, and that outshone anything else in the world.

#clyde logan #clyde logan x reader #clyde logan/reader #clyde logan x you #clyde logan/you #clyde logan fanfiction #adam driver fanfiction #adam driver character #adcu #my writing

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platypanthewriter · 4 years ago

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April Showers

Harringrove April Prompt 02: April Showers! Max drags Steve back to the Byers' after the fight, to make sure Billy didn't die on the Byers' floor, and they get some things talked out. LAST PROMPT, GUYS! I'M DONE! 30 days! XD

It was something Susan had always said—April showers bring May flowers. She said it when they visited Max’s grandma, and Max’s bigger, stronger cousins dogpiled her and ripped her hair out in chunks. They apologized—insincerely, and Max accepted just as insincerely, already planning her revenge—and Max’s mom hugged her tightly, shaking with relief, and said “See? You have to be patient, Max. Sometimes things can be tough, but—”

“Then you shower vengeance upon them,” Max gritted out, narrowing her eyes at the beefiest cousin, because if she couldn’t be the strongest, she could definitely be the craziest.

“Maxine,” Susan groaned.

Susan said it when her own mother looked at the dinner Susan had made, and said “...well, I suppose you did your best, dear.”

“The hell does that mean,” Max asked, slamming her hand on the table, and she got sent to her room.

“It’s fine,” Susan said later, wringing her hands. “The garlic bread was a little burned, and I’m not sure those tomatoes were ripe—”

“She can eat dog food next time you make the whole goddamn dinner,” Max told her, crossing her arms, and Susan smothered a laugh.

“Come on,” she said softly. “Sometimes being in a family means you have to weather a few storms. Don’t be mean to your grandma. She loves you.”

“Does she?” Max asked flatly, and Susan reminded her of the awful Precious Moments figurines she’d gotten for Christmas. “If those are my May flowers, they were not worth the crap,” Max told her, and Susan flinched.

Susan said it again, shakily, when Neil brought her actual flowers, the day after he hit Billy into her newly-planted flower beds. Billy had stormed in, leaving muddy footprints all down the hall, and at dinner his shoulder and jaw were scraped up from the metal thing Susan had put in to keep the grass from growing into her bulbs.

“Maybe you should be nice to him tomorrow,” Max heard her mother whispering to Neil, later. “Take him somewhere.”

“Maybe to the dog pound,” Neil said, laughing, and Susan winced.

“That ‘April showers’ thing is talking about actual rain, Mom,” Max said later, and “What the hell kind of flowers could even be worth this,” and “I don’t think Neil’s showers are the kind flowers survive, Mom, he’s more like the kind that causes landslides, and floods the garage.”

Susan hunched her shoulders a little, and lowered her eyes, the way she always did when somebody was mad, so Max stalked back to her room. Billy was sprawled on her floor, reading her Beverly Cleary books.

Billy hid in Max’s room a lot that summer, because Neil didn’t think to look for him there. He’d knock and immediately slide through her door, or run around and stand under her window with a bribe—some cookies, or a cold bottle of soda, or the next issue of The Amazing Spider-Man.

He’d been fun, then, twitchy and awkward, but he’d burst into giggles when she commented on her mom and his dad. They snuck out and went skateboarding, even, and ate cheetos as they read Billy’s comics, kicking their legs in the air—until Neil threw the door open one day, and drug Billy out by the upper arm.

Max didn’t know what he’d said to her mom, but Billy wasn’t allowed in her room anymore. She couldn’t even shut the door before Neil or her mom would throw it open, and she was half tempted to just be naked the next time, and see how they liked that.

Billy looked away from her, after that summer. When she finally grabbed him--two months in to the silent treatment--he snarled, watching behind her, and twisted away. She tried to follow him into his room, but he called her a bitch, and slammed the door right in her face, almost on her hand.

The night after she drugged Billy with the syringe for Will, she grabbed Steve Harrington, and hauled him back to the Byers’.

“You want a ride back to your car, right,” she’d hissed at him, and Steve blinked blearily at her, staggering a little.

“...I guess,” he mumbled, as she shoved him in the passenger seat.

Billy was lying a little more curled up than he had been, and she ran around to get a look at him, then sat down almost against her will once she could see him glowering hazily at her feet. “Billy,” she whispered, sighing, and leaning back on one arm to rub her face. She was so tired her arms shook, the adrenaline finally starting to clear her system from fighting the monsters of Hawkins.

Steve lingered by the door, frowning down at them, and Max squinted at him, half wondering whether she should try and get her absolutely loaded brother in the car by herself, or whether she should try and bribe Steve into helping, somehow. Or blackmail him.

There were some things Mike had seen that might come in handy, she thought, considering. “I know about the time you got dumped by two girls on the same night,” she said, narrowing her eyes.

“...what,” said Steve, who was pressing gently at his skull, where Billy’s knuckles had hit.

“I’ll tell the next person you date,” Max said, setting her jaw, and trying to look like she could kill him with a shoelace.

“...what’s happening?” Steve asked, frowning at her. “...what?”

Just then, Max realized she was so tired she’d threatened him without telling him what she wanted, yet. “You gotta help me get this dumbass in the car,” she said, sighing. “Or—or I’ll tell everybody I know you, um, you wet the bed.”

“...what,” Steve said again, and Max tried to be patient, since she’d seen how many times he’d been hit in the heat that night.

“...Max,” Billy mumbled. “Fucking...bitch.” He kind of half-rolled onto his back again, rolling his face away from her, and she slid a foot out and kicked his hand.

“Shut up, you,” she growled. “I come running back here to see if you got your face eaten—”

“Whadda you care,” he whispered, laughing. “You dun give a shit. You wanted...brother like him,” Billy said, watching Steve, and Steve snorted a laugh. “How come you’re never on my side,” Billy whispered, and Max kicked his limp hand again, sort of, her legs limp with exhaustion.

“Wow,” Steve sighed.

“Fuck you, the hell are you talking about,” Max hissed. “You tried to kill him.”

“You knew,” Billy mumbled. “Fucking...knew I’d get my ass kicked. An’ you left the house,” he said, sighing, and trying to roll away, but he couldn’t even shift his body that much. His hands twitched, and he groaned, closing his eyes.

“...I’ll help you get him in the car,” Steve said, and Billy sneered, laughing.

“Oh, ’s so nice, isn’ he? Fucking...King Harrington.”

“You’re a piece of work, man,” Steve said, grimacing, but he helped her get Billy’s dead weight off Joyce Byers’ floor and down the steps to the cars. “Want me to drive him home? You get pulled over driving with him in the car…”

Max and Billy flinched at that. “Fuck,” Billy panted, his face getting red and veiny as his head and arms dangled over Harrington’s back.

“Oh, oh shit,” Max said, realizing she could hardly drive Billy home to a waiting Neil, when he was acting like he’d been doing drugs. “We can’t take him home. We can’t. His dad’ll end him.”

“Like you give a shit,” Billy muttered.

“Jesus. Let’s, um,” Steve thought, walking over to his car. “You’re not bringing this jackass to my house, so don’t even—”

For a brief second, Max was so strongly homesick for the skatepark by their house in California she had to shut her eyes, imagining taking Billy somewhere she knew to sober up, somewhere with people who had nothing going on but a few skateboard tricks. She groaned into her hands.

“Whoa, whoa,” Steve said, shifting Billy, who grunted. “Look, wait, there’s—we’ll take him to the playground, okay. When he’s sobered up some, he can drive you home.”

“What,” Max said, blinking as she imagined Billy going down slides.

“Just somewhere to sit that’s not Mrs. Byers’ floor,” Steve said, grimacing.

“...why’re you doing this,” Billy asked, possibly to both of them, and Steve groaned.

“No fucking clue.”

“Why’re you such a fucking asshole dipshit?” Max asked, rhetorically.

“Why d’you hate me so much,” Billy asked, as Steve struggled to hold him up and get the car door open, muttering, “Oh, I can think of a few reasons.”

“I don’t hate you!” Max shouted. “I don’t! Why the hell did you—why’d you try to beat up my friends—what the hell is wrong with you!”

“Don’t fucking lie to me,” Billy growled back, but he sounded tired. “You’ve fucking...had it in for me for years. Little...bitch. Fuck...fuckface.”

“Shut up, dickhead,” Steve sighed, levering Billy into the passenger seat of his car. He slammed the door, and patted Max’s shoulder. “Follow me, I’ll take you to the playground.”

She nodded, glaring at Billy through the window, and wondering what the hell.

By the time she pulled up to the playground, craning to see in the low seat of the Camaro, Steve was hauling Billy back out of the car. “Let’s get you on the swing,” he was saying. “Get your feet moving a little, maybe.”

“Oh look, she’s here,” Billy said, baring his teeth. “Don’t you wanna take me home, Maxine? Tell my dad about something I actually did, for once.”

“The hell are you even talking about?” Steve sighed, rolling his eyes at Max, but Billy was glaring at her, his eyes still red and swollen from the mess he was, fighting Steve.

“You’ll find out,” Billy laughed. “Once she’s pissed and she tells everybody you touched her. Fuck you, Maxine Mayfield,” he hissed at her, his jaw working, and Steve stopped, staring from Billy’s drooping head to Max’s face.

“Wait, what,” he breathed, leaning warily away from Billy, as Max’s mouth dropped open in fury.

“I never said that shit, what the hell,” she growled. “I don’t lie. I’m not a liar.”

“I never did,” Billy yelled back at her, staggering as Steve held on to him. “I never—I never would’ve—I thought we were friends, you little shithead, you fucking—”

“I never said you did!” she yelled back, automatically, then remembered Neil dragging Billy out of her room. Her mom had stopped being nice to Billy, after that, she realized—she’d noticed, but she hadn’t thought about when. “...Billy, I never said that,” she whispered, watching his set face. “I didn’t, I—I never would have said that.”

“You told him,” Billy shot back, growling and waving an arm at her, so Steve nearly dropped him. Steve muttered profanity to himself as he hauled Billy along into the playground, and a few more feet, to the swings. “You coulda said one goddamn thing to me, I thought you were okay with me coming around, I—you fucking told him I was scary, you—you know how he was kicking my ass—he fucking...” Billy bit his lips together, breathing unsteadily. “Why the fuck would you tell him something like that—”

“I never did!” she shouted over him. “I never...I missed you too, you fucking asshole, I thought...I don’t know what I thought,” she trailed off with a sigh, realizing Billy was glaring at her even harder.

“...you didn’t tell my dad...to make me fuck off?” Billy said slowly.

“I missed you,” Max told him, sitting on the next swing, while Steve stood behind Billy, balancing him so he didn’t faceplant in the gravel. “Dunno why, but I did.”

“...he said I scared you,” Billy breathed. “You didn’t want to be in the same house with me—”

“I never fucking said that,” Max growled, spinning on the swing to kick his leg. “You moron, why would you…” she let her sentence trail off as she looked at him, and he was wiping his face, and sniffling. “...the hell would you think I’d lie to get you to stay away?” she asked, her own face reddening as Billy pressed his fist over his mouth to muffle his wet sniffles. Max’s own eyes stung and blurred. “Didn’t want you going anywhere, dickhead,” she whispered hoarsely, “—you had the back-issues of X-Men.”

“Holy shit,” Billy laughed like he hadn’t since they were kids, looking at her sidelong. “Thought you wanted me dead.”

“...’m sorry I had to sneak out,” she muttered. “I wasn’t trying to get you in trouble.”

“Fuck,” Billy breathed, “—I went nuts at the Byers’.”

“You went batshit fucking insane,” Max said dryly, and Billy hunched his shoulders, glancing back over his shoulder.

Harrington stepped back, one hand out to catch him. Billy clenched his hands on the chains for the swing. “I got it,” he muttered. “I won’t fall.”

Harrington nodded, and dropped into the swing on the other side of Billy. “Nice little family therapy session,” he said dryly, and Max winced with Billy, remembering how Steve’s head must be pounding, and how he’d slurred his words, stumbling around because of Billy’s fists.

“Sorry,” Billy grated out, and Steve snorted a laugh.

Max started explaining why she had to sneak out, stumbling over herself in her urgency, and Steve backed her up, just swaying on the swing tiredly, and kicking at the gravel.

“Fuck,” Billy started saying, as Steve described what had happened at the Byers’ the year before, and Max talked over him about the junkyard, and Billy’s eyes widened. “Fuck,” he said again, “...shit, you...saved her,” he mumbled, like his brain was stuck. “Holy shit.”

It was getting cold, late at night in the playground, but Max didn’t want to leave, so she just watched Steve spin around the seat of his swing, slowly tightening and tightening the twisted chains until he let go in a whirl. “Fuck. Sorry,” Billy kept saying, wiping his eyes.

For the first time, Max kind of...understood, what her mother meant, about the awful weather in April before flowers in May, because it wasn’t like Neil’s fucking raincloud was worthwhile, suddenly, but Billy was smirking at her again like a weight was off his shoulders. He was kicking at the gravel just like Steve, two little kids, and he grinned whenever he thought she wasn’t looking.

It was good to watch him bloom.

Here are my other Harringrove April prompts--DONE!

#Harringrove #Harringrove April #Susan has a shitty past too #She tries to teach Max it's normal #Max isn't having it #Max and Billy friendship

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sword-of-summer · 4 years ago

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All of them answer every question fuck you

ahahaha no i respectfully deny your "fuck you" and i accept the ask and so-

i am 5'10", and i don't wish to be taller or shorter- i am the perfect height for hugs and messy hair, and yep, i like it here-

dream pet would be a mix of golden retriver and a husky called Holly and a chonky cat called Loki- yes ofcourse my future kids have names everyone should name their future pets-

ripped jeans/black pants with a Darth Vader tshirt or a Ethnic Fusion Kurta with black sneakers/artificial leather slip-ons, and if it's cold, a black jacket open obviously- and a black wristwatch i love my black wristwatch.

favourite video game was Clash of Clans and going even back, GTA Vice City and, the og- MARIIOOOO

three things/people are Oreos, Nutella and Pizza. The Holy Trinity-

"Beware me my fingers are smeared with chicken popcorn grease"

you didn't mention an opinion, @chunkybirb, so imma give my opinion on Vanilla ice cream and Nutella- ANYONE WHO HADN'T COMBINED THESE TWO COMBINE THESE TWO THEY ARE FUCKING AWESOME

im either phlegmatic or melancholic bruh idk maybe ik or maybe not

im v v v v ticklish

not an allergy, but an intense hatred for ketchup- i vomit if it gets too close to me fuck you ketchup

im heterosexual

any between tea and coffee but full milk coffee (ik, kill me), never had cocoa- but i love a chocolate or nutella milkshake

both. both is good. (cat and dog)

i would be an elf cause hell yeah, knowledge and wisdom

favourite youtuber is Samay Raina, a stand up comedian turned youtuber who is just awesome-

as i mentioned in 1., i am 5'10"

i would not change my name cause it's the coolest fucking name ever, i am Tanay, and Tanay in Hindi means Son, and my parents literally named their son Son, and hell yeah i like it

i forgot how much i weigh- last i checked it was 75 kilos, but ive gained weight since 2019 so yep, gotta walk in the mornings

yes i believe in metaphysicality cause one- it seems cool- second- me and @theclassyghost discussed a metaphysical life theory that i really really like and metaphysicality gives preservation of knowledge so i believe in spirits

SPACE. SPACE. SPACE.

im not that religious, no

pet peeves no well nah not really

nocturnal def nocturnal i sleep at 4.50 anyway hehehehe

fav constellation is Cassiopeia

fav star is Sirius tho

what the fuck are ball jointed dolls

i do have a fear of losing people that's just anxiety i guess

yep, global warming is real

never thought that much about reincarnation tbh but maybe, i do

fav movie is Spider Man : Into The SpiderVerse and Inception and The Dark Knight Rises and Revenge of The Sith and yes, for my indian gang, 3 Idiots and Gully Boy

yep i get scared v v v easily

i have had no pets but i plan to once i grow up

@chunkybirb 's blog is fucking cool awesome and *chef's kiss* a masterpiece

blue calms me. i love blue.

live in Norway cause pretty lights, snow, and less people than this overpopulated country i am in

born in Mumbai, India

v v v dark brown like it's almost black but no it's dark brown

introvert

horoscopes and zodiacs, i do read them, never believed that much tbh-

HUGS I LOVE HUGS

i really wanna visit my brother i haven't met him in a long time i really wanna play cricket w him just like old times

my sister- she's annoying but well i care for her

nah

tattoos idk bruh im okay idk may get one or may not get one

nope, smoking is ewwww *vomits*

ah my crush- she's cool [ if she exists

when the chalk doesn't write on the board but goes iiiiiieeee I HATE THAT

a sound i love is rain pitter pattering i just hhhhhh sends me into happiness

nope fatass here

favourite actors have to be eddie redmayne, oscar issac and pedro pascal- and margot robbie and winona ryder in the actresses section also yes, elliot page

bruh already answered in 30.

im okayish!! spotify and tumblr, cool combo-

my hair are okay being black for me

yesterday, monday, from 6.40 to 6.50

music

uhhh naah not that i know of

well in Rick Riordan's Magnus Chase books, the sword of Frey aka Sumarbrander TALKS and demands to be called Jack, so here i am

bakwaas, music and comfy

yep, i believe in evolution

unfollow on hate and when they dm me sending nsfw pics ugh why are people like that

follow, well, i like people and they seem cool, so i follow them

fav kind of person is the one who'll sit with me for hours not even talking and just vibing to music

fav animals are beavers, doggos and cats

three fav blogs are @chunkybirb, @theclassyghost, @little-boats-on-a-lake, @aredhel-of-gondolin, @sue-me-imbadass, @alleenkaas, @my-ackerman, @brrrrrrrrrrzone

fav emoticon has to be ☹ this me seeing my stupidity outrank others

fav meme has to be Butternut is a master of psychological manipulation

INTP

Libraaa let's go

no dog, i have

black darth vader tshirt, black pants, black sneakers and black wrist watch

i have no selfies my phone has no cameras i live in eternal darkness

what the fuck are platform shoes

i, uhhh, i remember weird things like what i drew in class in 3rd while i was supposed to be doing english

lazy ass here, no front flips possible

i like birds they fly

nope i don't Iike swimming i like blankets

wrapped up in blankets reading books sounds better than both

ketchup

hyperspace travel

nope none

reading writing eating sleeping

my friend

tumblr seems cool

i have around 60-70 idk

yes i can run but why

yes they do but what's the fun in that

nope I'd fall over

sapphire let's go

koala bear or panda

sunflower or the one on a lemon tree

ketchup store

one cup of coffee is enough, tysm

read minds that sounds cool cool yeaaahh

nope never wore it a black clothes guy here BatMan

winter winter all year long

i don't know and i don't wanna try

i don't know and i don't wanna know

everyone cause they are better than me

bookstores cause bookstores any bookstores

sneakers, black onez

apparently some gas bitches mixed up to form a planet

non vegetarian but i partake meat just twice or thrice in two weeks

i don't know they don't seem like liking

naaaaaaaah

bugs ew

spiders ew

about the fact that i come off as arrogant and overconfident while in reality it's just that my communication skills suck

i can draw averagely whenever im in a mood

this thing im answering but i like answering it

uhhhhhhh brain freeze- idk bruh questions are good they give knowledge

yep, while sleeping

ahh yes calming, they are

cloudy days cause fucking cool vibes

hehehe wouldn't you like to know, weatherboy

CumuloNimbus i really like it's name yknow nimBUS

dark blue, dark blue always or black

naaaah no freckles

fav thing is when they laugh and it's just happy and we're both laughing like shitheads but who cares we're rebelling against depressing life and we laugh

both. both is good [ fruits and vegetables

sleep but i have to answer 170 questions cause @chunkybirb

sky sky sky it's my blog's header duh uh sKy

sweet and sour candy. SWEET AND SOUR CANDY.

dim lights it makes me feel cool

ahhh so here we go- Mooncalfs, Thunderbirds, Phoenixes, Sphinxes, Dragons that seem to be Space Nebulae, and more and more and more

i really feel like a boomer sometimes

i love everything about this site/app it makes me feel happy cause i like the people and the posts

uhhhhh i think too much about everything cause i just do. i like thinking

"He's dead, guys. For the sake of The Force, please watch Star Wars now he wanted to discuss it with you" actually no i would just say "A big shoutout to Garlic Bread he loved Garlic Bread"

myself cause i should be sleeping but sleep is for the weak and i am the weak and the strong i am a paradox-

that i obsess too much on things and try involving people it never works out

nope. had braces for 4 years, that beat out teeth showing smiles

i prefer computer-tv ahahahahaha

never tried them, so IDK

naaaaah not motion sickness- never travelled by sea so idk seasickness

lobed ears

yep i believe that deeds do count in life and beyond

idk bruh i don't believe in physical attraction too much- bodies are fake- mentally/metaphysically tho, im a 7

ahhhhh many many Stupid Genius, Tani, Tanu, Tanya

i still do-

i really want to talk to a therapist. converse. and discover.

im both, i am both.

10:1 is the ratio- giving 10, receiving 1

uhhh nothing just when i am right and people use the old "disrespect" argument

3, Hindi, Marathi, English

girls

uhh no i am not

my hair i love them everyone says things about my hair but i love them

knowledge vibes i give, someone tells me- and that's all i ever wanted

anyone i know tbh, my mutuals, my friends, my discord friends

ahhh no i wouldn't but i wish i was born 20 years earlier

bleh bloo, neither like nor dislike

i don't know if i have one

i don't know, haven't had physical contact in a long long long time in a galaxy far far away

the above point stands but i would like to ig

anything i write, 3 hours later, i instantly hate just idk why

anything i write

that i am normal no i am not and i am not okay hahahahaha

65-70 ish people

somewhere around-

many many many don't ask please but okay if you do ask

somewhat

uhhhhh idr exactly but i won't tell in public duh uh

mediummm hairrrr

last year lockdown i became harry potter

i don't know buddy i seriously don't know

yep i do cause knowledge i like knowledge

naaah never tried

no i definitely cannot stand on my hands or my head for more than 30 seconds

yep, im pretty sure i answered most of them correctly-

og link-

#personal #ask #tumblr

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blackhakumen · 3 years ago

Text

Mini Fanfic #794: A Sleepover With his Two Girlfriends (SSBU X River City Girls)

8:34 p.m. at Smash Mansion.........

'Doorbell Rang'

Dark Pit opens the door to see his two girlfriends standing outside the doorway.

Kyoko: (Smiles Brightly While Waving at the Dark Angel) Hi, Pitto-Kins!~

Dark Pit: (Smirks Softly at Misako and Kyoko) Hey, losers. (Noticed They're Holding Someone Between One of Their Shoulders) What's with the sleeping bags?

Misako: We figured since you guys are going to your family vacation in a couple days, we would have ourselves a nice sleepover together at your place for the night.

Kyoko: We'll have soooo much fun together!~ Can we watch movies, do each other's nails and makeups, gossip, ooh!~ We could even-

Misako: (Covers Kyoko's Mouth With her Hand) All the other things most people can think of doing in any dumb sleepover. So you whaddya say, babe?

Dark Pit: (Simply Shrugs) Yeah. I'm down for that. Wish you could've told about it sooner though.

Misako: Yeah.... Sorry about that. We thought about doing this at the last minute.

Kyoko: (Starts Licking Misako's Hand)

Misako: (Immediately Got Her Hand Away From Kyoko's Mouth Before Glaring at Her) UGH! Really?

Kyoko: (Playfully Sticks her Tongue Out at her Girlfriend)

Dark Pit: ('Sigh') Figures. (Turns to Samus Walking By While Texting Someone on her Phone) Hey, Mama Samus!

Samus: (Turns to Dark Pit) Hm?

Dark Pit: Can the girls and I have a sleepover together in the living room for the night?

Samus: (Simply Shrugs) Yeah. Sure. (Gently Ruffles the Top of Dark Pit's Hair) Just try not to stay up too late or do anything I wouldn't do, alright? (Turns to Misako and Kyoko) Piiti's been talking about you girls a lot here, by the way.

Kyoko: Awwwwww~

Misako: (Gives Pitto a Teasing Smirk on her Face) You don't say?~

Dark Pit: (Immediately Glares at Samus) Seriously?

Samus: (Chuckles Lightly) What? It's the truth isn't it? You gotta be honest with your feelings more often, bud. (Kiss the Top of Dark Pit's Forehead Before Walking Away) Have goodnight~

Misako: 'Kay!

Kyoko: (Waves at Samus) Goodnight, Mama Samus! (Turns to Misako) She's a cool lady.

Misako: Yeah. (Turns to Dark Pit With the Same Smirk on her Face) So about you talking about us in your home life~

Dark Pit: (Already Gas a Deadpinned Look on his Face) Are you coming in or not?

Forty Five Minutes Later in the Living Room......

Dark Pit: (Talks to Misako While Kyoko Carefully Paints his Finger Nails) So did you manage to watch that new Luoca movie that came out a few weeks ago?

Misako: We did. It was pretty good despite how simple the plot was. We could've watch it together if I brought my tablet with me.

Dark Pit: (Shrugs) Eh. We can watch it together some other time. Maybe once I come back from vacation?

Misako: (Nodded in Agreement) Bitchin'.

Kyoko: Annnnnnnnd done!

Dark Pit: (Looks Down at His Newly Painted Nails Kyoko Done For Him) Holy shit, Kyoko......I can't believe I'm saying this, but this actually looks good on me.

Misako: (Nodded in Agreement While Being Impressed) Yeah. It might be your best work yet, babe.

Kyoko: (Giggles Softly) I'm glad you guys like them~ I picked a darkish purple color since it matches with your attire and personality perfectly.

Dark Pit: Huh. That's..... pretty neat actually. Thanks, Kyoko.

Kyoko: (Smiles Brightly at her Boyfriend) You're welcome, honey~ (Immediately Pulls Out a Make-up Kit in her Hands) I can put makeup on you next?

Dark Pit: (Gives Kyoko a Deadpinned Look on his Face) No.

Kyoko: (Immediately Puts on a Sad Puppy Dog Look on her Face While Wobbling her Lips Up and Down Afterwards) PLEEEEEASEEEEEE!?~

Misako: (Turns to Dark Pit) Let her have this, babe. It won't be too bad. Probably.

Dark Pit: ('Sighs in Defeat') Fiiiiine. Go nuts.

Kyoko: (Smiles Brightly) Yay!~

Few More Minutes Later........

Misako: (Eating Garlic Bread Along with Her Girlfriend and Boyfriend) This is actually some good garlic bread.

Dark Pit: (Eating Garlic Bread While Wearing Black Lipstick and Makeup On his Face) Yeah. Cheap product, but it taste the part.

Kyoko: (Smiles Brightly) I love garlic bread. I could eat it almost everyday if I could.

Misako: Then you'll get fat.

Kyoko: (Raised an Eyebrow in Confusion) Why would I get fat?

Misako: Bread makes you fat, Kyoko.

Dark Pit: Especially the garlic ones.

Kyoko: (Eyes Widened in Complete Shock) Bread makes you fat!!?

Ten Minutes Later........

Kyoko starts dancing (terribly) to the beat of the music that is currently playing. All while Dark Pit and Misako watches.

Dark Pit: So uhh....(Turns to Misako) Has Kyoko ever been to any dance lessons or.....

Misako: She has. We used to attend dance classes together back when we were in first grade. She was.....never really the best dancer in the class.

Dark Pit: (Turns Back to Kyoko Dancing) I can tell.....(Suddenly Starts Blushing) But damn she's cute for trying~

Misako: (Smiles Softly While Blushing as Well) Yeah~ (Turns to Pitto with a Sly Smirk on her Face) You look even cuter with makeup on~

Dark Pit: (Starts Looking Away From Misako While Blushing Some More) S-Shut up......

An Hour or Two Later........

TV Screen: CAEEEEESARRRRRRR!

Kyoko: (Snuggling onto Dark Pit on her Side of the Sofa) So where are you guys gonna go to on your vacation this year?

Dark Pit: Isle Defino.

Misako: (Turns to Dark Pit While Snuggling onto him On the Other Side of the Sofa) Wait. Isn't that the place where Mario got arrested that one time? For...something he didn't do or whatever?

Dark Pit: Yeah, but that all happened a long time ago. Plus, the place does look nice enough to be a vacation spot, so I ain't complaining......You know, I could try and convince Mario and the others to let you guys come with us if you want.

Misako: (Smiles Softly at the Angel Boy) Nah. It's fine. You should spend more time with the family and enjoy the experience while you're there.

Dark Pit: ('Sigh') Alright. But you sure you two are gonna be okay while I'm gone?

Misako: (Immediately Puts on a Deadpinned Look on her Face) Okay. Now you're sounding like an actual parent. We're be fine, babe. Trust us.

Kyoko: (Happily Nodded in Agreement) Yeah. We'll miss you like crazy, but we can take care of ourselves just fine.

Misako: And before you say anything else, we'll try and stay out of trouble. Can't promise you we will 100%, but we'll still try.

Dark Pit: Yeah. Yeah. I take your word for it. ('Yawn') I'll try not to worry about you losers too much....

Misako: (Chuckles Lightly) Getting tired on us already, babe?

Dark Pit: Guess so. Who would've thought JoJo of all things, would try and put me to sleep?

Kyoko: Want us to sing you a lullaby?~

Dark Pit: ('Tch') Please. I'll pass on that offer thank you. (Lays his Head on Back of the Sofa Relaxingly) I can rest easy as long as I have you two are here with me. I love you guys.

Kyoko: Awww~ (Happily Snuggles Onto to Dark Pit Some More Along with Misako)

Misako: ('Heh') Dork~ We love you too.

The trio stayed by each others' side. Even when they eventually fall themselves to peaceful sleep for the rest of the night.

The Next Morning in the Kitchen......

Yoshi: (Walks in the Kitchen While Noticing Dark Pit is in There Without Looking) ('Yawn') Morning, DP.

Dark Pit: (Place a Breakfast Tray Down on the Table) Hey.

Yoshi: (Grab a Carton of Orange Juice From the Refrigerator Before Closing it and Turning to Dark Pit) How was the sleepover?

Dark Pit: (Turns to Yoshi While Still Having Make-up on his Face) Pretty good for the most part.

Yoshi: (Starts Snickering at the Sight of Dark Pit's Face)

Dark Pit: What?

Yoshi: Dude. Did you seriously let your girlfriends put make-up on you last night?

Dark Pit: (Glares at the Green Dinosaur) Yeah. So what? I look drop dead gorgeous!.......(Starts Blushing Once He Realized What He Just Said) At...least that's what Misako told me.....(Angrily Points at Yoshi) Y-You better not tell Pit-Stain or the others about this!! You hear me!!?

Yoshi: (Chuckles Lightly) Whatever you say, beauty queen.

Dark Pit: Seriously, Yoshi! I will SUPLEX you on the FUCKING GROUND if this goes out in the mansion!!

@keyenuta

@caleb13frede

@26shann

@cyber-wildcat

@princekirijo

@albion-93

#super smash ultimate #river city girls #dark pit #misako #kyoko #samus aran #yoshi #mario (mentioned)#pit (mentioned)#sleepover #humor #cute romance #dark pit x misako x kyoko #lots and lots of fluff here #edited #scott pilgrim reference

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matbaerzal · 5 years ago

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Playlist | B. Boeser

Summary: “You have a playlist named after me?” you gasp looking over at him. He glances over at you for a second, a blush creeping up his cheeks. “Yeah,” he admits. (here’s the playlist) A/N: I was listening to Brocks ‘relax’ playlist on spotify when I got this idea. Also listened to it whilst writing. Warnings: fluff deluxe, moodboards, the word “kiss” mentioned like 17 times Words: 2,5K Copyright © @matbaerzal 2020 All Rights Reserved

It’s new years eve and you find yourself at a party filled with mostly people you don’t know. Your good friend Emma invited you to come to the new years party she was hosting with her boyfriend, Troy Stecher, when she heard you didn’t have any plans. You’d arrived a bit early, in case they needed any help preparing. Also, you could gradually be introduced to people as they arrived, instead of arriving late and throwing yourself into a sea of strangers. Emma had gone all out, the dining table nicely decorated, the living room had party games scattered around. She’d even placed name tags on the table Looking for your nametag, you hoped you’d been seated next to or at least close to Emma. Though, when you saw her name yours wasn’t close by, in fact it was almost all the way on the opposite side.

You’d been seated between someone named Brock and Thatcher. You put your purse down on your chair and walk over to Emma. “Did you find your seat?” she smirks, and you instantly know that she’s up to something “I did.. What’s that smirk for?” you say. “Nothing” she insists, but you don’t believe her for a second. The doorbell rings before you can say anything else. Whoever arrived doesn’t wait for someone to open the door, letting themselves in. The smirk on Emma’s face only grows when she sees who it is. So you turn yourself around to check who it was.

There were two guys, now being greeted by Troy. Both blonde, one a bit taller than the other. The shorter of the two knocks the wind out of you when you see him. He’s exactly your type, and you can just hope he doesn’t catch you staring. “The taller one’s Elias” Emma leans over and says “and the one you’re staring at is Brock” she smirks. And her odd behavior earlier suddenly clicks. Brock was one of the guys you’d been seated next to, and Emma was well aware of what kind of looks you were attracted to. By the time they make their way over you pull yourself together, if only to wipe the smirk off of Emma’s face.

The two of you hit it off instantly, like you’ve known each other for years and years. He takes it upon himself to introduce you to everyone, as Emma ran off and left you alone almost instantly. He even pulls out the chair for you when it’s finally time for dinner. When he’s laughing at something Elias said you feel butterflies in your stomach, wanting nothing else but to make him laugh the same way. And when you go off of the joke being told he tips his head back and slaps his thigh is a glorious laugh. A smile is plastered on your face the entire night.

After dinner everyone moves to the living room, and the volume of the music is turned up a couple notches. You’d already had a couple glasses of wine during dinner, so to begin you stay away from the drinking games. Brock manages to get you to play one round of beer pong with him. You manage to sink a couple, but you definitely would have lost if it weren't for him. You blame it on his hand that was on the small of your back, which made you lose concentration and caused goosebumps all over your body. You’d been so excited to win that you didn’t hesitate to practically jump into his arms in a hug, lasting longer than what’s normal between two people who just met. When your favorite song you drag him to the makeshift dance floor, where you get lost in eachother, for a moment forgetting the world around you until someone annonces it’s almost midnight. You all head outside to wait for the fireworks to start, Brock's suit jacket hanging off your shoulders, and his hand on your waist. You see Emma in the corner of your eye with a smirk on her face, but you couldn’t care less at this point as your arm finds a spot on Brock’s back. As the countdown starts you even find yourself imagining what his kisses feel like, but as you look up at him you don’t have to anymore. His lips find yours at 5 in a quick kiss, at 4 he tells you he couldn’t wait any longer, you kiss him back at 3, his hand finds your cheek at 2 and the rest of the world melts away at 1.

Your first date came a couple weeks later, though you’d texted almost every day since new years eve. You’d agreed to go for brunch at a café you suggested, and you’d managed to convince Brock to bring Coolie, though he really didn’t need much convincing. You’d been to the café a couple times already and you knew what you wanted to get. So you were completely focused on Coolie whilst Brock checked out the menu. He didn’t take long to decide, but he sat and admired you and Coolie until you finally looked up at him. “Did you decide?” you say when you see he’s put his menu down. He nods and tells you what he wanted to order. On instinct you get up to go order, it was natural to you that you should pay for the food since coming to this café was your idea. And Brock had already paid for the drinks you ordered when you came in. Before he can even protest you’re telling the barista your food order and pulling out your card to pay.

He’s got a soft smile on his face when you return with the cutlery the barista gave you. Coolie has settled, now laying down by his legs. He leans over to you and gives you a dizzying kiss, making you blush instantly. “Thank you” he says, “for what?” you ask, confused. He breathes out a quiet laugh, “for brunch, of course”. “Oh, no problem” you smile. “I’ll get the next one, though,” he says. Instead of replying you lean over and kiss him, not being able to help yourself any longer after he kissed you. You fall into conversation about what you might do on your next date. Before you know it you’ve finished your food and Brock has ordered another round of coffee for the two of you to go.

He comes back with your drinks, happily humming along to the song playing softly through the café. “What song is this?” you ask him, he’s confused at first, not even realizing what he was doing. A small blush appears on his cheeks when he does, “it’s Lovely by, uh- Mills.” he says. You take the cup he’s handing you and he takes Coolie with him and you leave to walk through the park that’s near the café. He inconveniently has the leash and the cup in one hand, grabbing yours with his free hand as you leave for the park.

It didn’t take long for you and Brock to make things official. Emma instantly wanted all the credit for bringing the two of you together, to which you could only smile. You don’t know how many times you’d thanked her for seating you next to him. You still go out for dates, but mostly you now make dinners together at his apartment. Now you usually spend the night. Now, Brock swears Coolie likes you more than he likes him. Now, you have a section in his closet with your clothes, and a toothbrush in his bathroom.

You’re moving the vegetables around in the frying pan, mindlessly humming along to the song playing. Brock comes up and wraps his arms around you, leaning down and resting his chin on your shoulder. “What song is this?” He asks, squeezing you slightly. You lean into him “Paradise by Bazzi” you say. He hums, kissing your cheek before letting you go, and you continue stirring the vegetables around. You look at Brock and he’s on his phone next to you and you nudge him with your shoulder. He quickly puts his phone away, “you can put the garlic in now” you tell him and he obliges. After he lifts you up on the counter, giving you a quick but deep kiss. “I’ve got it from here” he says, before he takes over preparing the food. You laugh at him, “so you make me do all the hard work, and take over when it’s nearly done, huh?” you joke. He gives you a smirk stirring in the garlic, and you tug his arm so he’ll come over and give you another kiss.

You give him a couple kisses before the timer for the oven goes off and he goes to take out the chicken you’d put in earlier. He then goes back to the frying pan doing the final touches before turning off the stove. The plates are conveniently in the cupboard next to you so you manage to sneak in a couple of kisses before he takes them out. “Can’t get enough of me, huh?” he teases before moving to plate the food for the two of you. You poke him with your foot “just want to take advantage of the fact that neither of us have garlic breath at the moment” you tease back. “Is that so?” he says and you hum to confirm, “so no kisses after dinner then?” he jokes. “I guess I could bear a couple” you smile. You’re pretty sure you love him, and as terrifying as that might be, he makes you feel like you're on top of the world.

When the hockey season ends for Brock, you both jump at the chance to go on a camping trip together. The two of you alone with Coolie and your new puppy, Milo, sounded like the perfect little getaway that you needed. He knew the perfect spot for the two of you, noting that it would be a bit of a drive. Which you didn’t mind at all, as long as he was driving and you could control the music. Now you’re all packed and ready to leave. The dogs are comfortable and safe in the back seat. With the radio playing softly in the background you agree that first things first when you arrive is a dip in the lake. Then you’ll have some s’mores and since you’d be arriving in the afternoon you’ll spend the rest of the evening by the tent. Then the next morning you’ll go on a hike with the dogs.

“I thought you said I could control the music” you muse after a while. “Oh, yeah” he says as he hands his phone to you. It’s already connected to his car, so you quickly find a song to put on whilst you find what you actually want to listen to. Out of curiosity you go to check his playlists, immediately stopping your scrolling when you see your name. “You have a playlist named after me?” you gasp looking over at him. He glances over at you for a second, a blush creeping up his cheeks. “Yeah,” he admits. “They’re songs that remind me of you, like the song that played when we met at new years, the one we heard on our first date, songs you hum without knowing when we make dinner, and ones that just makes me think of you when I’m on the road” he continues. You stare at him in amazement, wondering however you got lucky enough to meet someone like him.”I love you” you say, reaching over and taking his free hand, and he laces his fingers with yours, bringing your hand up to kiss it. ”I love you too” he says, looking at you one more time as you press play on his playlist. The rest of the drive is spent listening to the music that reminded him of you, his hand in yours, leaning over to kiss his cheek every other song.

Once you’ve set up the tent you finally go for a swim. Milo and Coolie play by the edge of the water. Brock dives right in, but you take a bit longer to get in, cringing at the cold when the water reaches your stomach. Then Brock splashes you with water, making you gasp, freezing in your spot until he splashes you again laughing at you. “I can’t believe you just did that “ you laugh before attempting, but failing, to get him back. Then he comes to you and grabs your waist spinning you around and dragging you further into the water with him. You wrap your legs around his torso, your hands finding their way into his hair, his lips finding your neck, humming as he kisses you there. His hands move slowly up your thighs before stopping at your ass. Leaving a trail of kisses up your neck before his lips finds yours. You lose track of time only getting out after your skin gets all pruney. When you get the bonfire going he gives you a hoodie that he admittedly only packed for you, because he knows you like to wear it.

Coolie and Milo have already settled in their beds a while ago in the tent when you and Brock decide to also call it a night. You’re barely keeping your eyes open when you make your way into the tent. Opting to only remove the shorts you’re wearing, not bothering to take off your hoodie as you get under the blanket. When Brock comes in after killing the fire you lift up the blanket for him, giving him a tired smile. He kisses you on the forehead and you easily snuggle into his chest. Falling asleep easily with his hand drawing patterns on your hip.

Waking up to the sound of birds singing, the sun shining on the tent making it almost too warm. Brocks now bare chest evidence you weren’t the only one who thought so. He’s already awake, laying on his side brushing your hair out of your face. “Hi” he rasps, sleep still evident in his voice, “g’morning” you smile leaning into his hand on your cheek. You cuddle into him despite the warmth, neither of you want to get up to open up the tent to let some air in just yet. You’re not sure how long you stay like this, getting lost in each other's eyes, but you know you would do it forever if possible. It’s when Coolie and Milo wake up that you finally go out into the fresh air. You’d had the thought many times, but as you sit and enjoy your breakfast together in the sunshine by the lake, it hits you again. You couldn’t wait to spend the rest of your life with him.

#brock boeser #brock boeser imagine #brock boeser fic #vancouver canucks #vancouver canucks imagine #nhl imagine #nhl fic #nhl writing #nhl #op:w

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atlafan · 5 years ago

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Take it Slow - Part Thirteen

a/n: okay this is my first shot at a harry:y/n fic, and it will be multiple parts. y/n had a bad experience with an ex over a year ago, and finally accepts her coworker and good friend Niall’s invitation to go on a blind date with his friend Harry.

(Fluff and smut in this one. Would love to know how you are still liking the story!)

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven Part Eight Part Nine Part Ten Part Eleven Part Twelve

Masterpost

Over the next couple of weeks, you and Harry took turns staying over at each other’s places more often. You both agreed it was easier for him to stay over on school nights because you needed more things to get ready for work in the morning. So you would stay at his place more on the weekends. You were tired most mornings with him there, but it was a good tired. Your mood at work was overwhelmingly positive, and many people noticed. You couldn’t help it, essentially being given an orgasm every other night of the week did wonders for you. Between the way he would rub you, or go down on you, you were perfectly content with where things were with Harry. He was happy to be given head or a hand job as well.

Harry desperately wanted to be able to touch more of you, to feel more of you, but he knew he would get there with you eventually, and there was really no rush. The awful run in with Jake was slowly slipping from your memory. You truly were feeling like your old self.

Wednesday morning, Niall popped into your office. You were standing at your desk, editing away at a clip a client had sent in. You see Niall and take your headphones out.

“Hey.” He says with a smile.

“Sup?” You’re clearly busy, but don’t want to be rude.

“Are you doin’ anything for Halloween?” Halloween was next weekend, and you hadn’t thought twice about it. You used to love Halloween when you were in college, but not it was less fun when you didn’t have a full weekend of dressing up and binge drinking.

“I don’t think so, why?”

“I’m gonna have a party at my place, just decided last night.”

“Oh fun! Your place really is perfect for a party.”

“I’d like to do some type of costume contest.”

“Hmm, like a couple’s costume contest?” You raise an eyebrow at him.

“Not necessarily, I just think having a contest of some kind will get more people to want to dress up.”

“Definitely, this is gonna be so much fun! I’ll have to think of some costume ideas.”

“You and Harry should be Tarzan and Jane.” He starts laughing.

“He would never go for that, but something tells me he’ll be open to some interesting ideas.”

That night when you get home from work, you walk into the delicious smell of a home cooked dinner. Harry has his apron on, and is frying up some tofu and veggies. You walk over to him, and wrap your arms around him.

“Dinner’s almost ready love.”

“Wednesday’s are my favorite. Rest day from the gym, you get off work early, and you cook for me.” You kiss him on the cheek, and hang up your jacket. “What are we having?” You ask, sitting at the table.

“Garlic and ginger tofu stirfry.” He says placing a plate in front of you.

“Oh yum! Thank you sweetie.”

“Don’t mention it.” He smiles at you. You both dig in and you can’t help the moan that comes from your mouth. “Good, huh?” He chuckles.

“Mm, very good. God, you are such a good cook.”

“So are you.”

“But you’re better. So...”

“So...”

“Niall told me he’s having a Halloween party next weekend.”

“Yeah, he texted me last night. What should we go as?”

“Yay, so you’re into it?”

“Of course, I love Halloween parties. It’s fun to take pictures of people dressed in what they wish they could wear all the time.”

“Good point. Any ideas for costumes? I want to be creative, but it’s kind of last minute so I don’t know how much time we’ll have to make something.”

“Hmmm, what about like eighties punk rockers. We could wear leather pants and black eyeliner.”

“Are you going to wear a wig?”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because eighties rockers had long hair.”

“Not all of ‘em. I won’t wear a wig, but I’d wear everything else.”

“You just want to see my butt in a tight pair of pants.”

“Not true! Although, you would look incredibly sexy.” You swat a hand at him while you shovel more food into your mouth.

“Oh! What if you were like Charlie Brown and I was Peppermint Patty?”

“Isn’t she a lesbian? Wouldn’t really work for a couple’s costume.” He laughs.

“Are we really going to discuss whether or not a comic strip character is a lesbian? And who cares if she is, they’re still good friends, it would be cute.”

“You could be snoopy?”

“How could I possibly dress up as snoopy?” Harry starts to blush.

“Well, you could wear like a white dress, and paint your nose black. You could buy the dog ears, and um, a collar.” He looks down at his food.

“You want me to wear a dog collar?”

“It would be part of the costume.”

“I do have a black choker I could wear…does he wear a black collar or a red collar?”

“I can’t remember, we can look it up.”

“I think I have one in both colors. You know what, this could work, and I think I have a white jumpsuit I could wear. I could wear my white heels, the choker, and you’re right just paint a nose on and buy the ears. You must have black shorts, we could buy a yellow polo and paint a black zig zag on it.”

“This’ll be fun.” Harry loves when you say the word we. It was a word he used to be scared of, but it sounds so good coming from your lips.

That weekend you two go to WalMart to pick out the extra components of your costumes. You buy some black fabric paint, and slip a piece of cardboard inside the shirt. Harry lays down some newspaper for you on his kitchen floor, and watches you intently while you paint the zig zag on the front and back of the yellow shirt.

“Okay, now don’t touch this, and just let it dry, I don’t want it getting smudged.” You hand it to him, and he places it on his desk to lean against the wall.

“Do you like to paint?”

“I do, actually. My Nannie used to paint when she was younger, I actually have some of her art hanging in my apartment.”

“Maybe we could go to one of those like, wine and paint nights at a bar sometime.”

“You’d be into something like that?”

“Sure, Niall and I have actually done it together a couple of times, it’s pretty relaxing.” You burst out laughing.

“You two have the weirdest friendship.” You say wiping tears from his eyes.

“Oi, what’s the difference between two men having a boys night and two girls having a girls night?”

“I suppose not much, it’s just funny to picture you both getting wine drunk and painting. But from your original point, I think it would be a lot of fun if we did that sometime.”

You had your period this week, so you couldn’t wait for Halloween to roll around because you knew you’d be done by then. You took out your white jumpsuit. It was cute, low cut with spaghetti straps. You bought it because it had pockets and because it was boot cut. The ones that flared out too much made your legs look weird. You slipped it on, and twirled in your mirror. It really made your butt look great. You left your hair down and straight, and stuck your dog ears on. Then you took out your black choker and your red choker, still not being able to decide which one would make more sense. You didn’t want to look like Brian Griffin, so you went with the black choker. You paint a black nose onto yourself. You slipped your white pumps on, and waited for Harry.

Harry strolled into your place around eight-thirty. He had a pair of black converse on, paired with black shorts, and the yellow shirt you had made for him. His jaw nearly hits the floor when he sees you.

“I didn’t know snoopy could be so sexy.” He says walking over to you. “Is, um, aunt flow still in town?”

“No, she left yesterday.” You giggle. “I didn’t know you owned sneakers like that.”

“I had to really dig them out of my closet. I tried to make the outfit work with my boots, but it just wasn’t happening.” You notice his nails were now black and yellow.

“Can I just say I love that you color coordinated your nails?” You hold his hand looking over the colors.

“Hey, when I commit to something, I commit.” You give him a funny look. “Right, shall we head over?”

“Yup, let me just grab my bag. We’ll go back to your place after, yeah?”

“Works for me.” He smiles, and takes your bag down to the car, checking out your ass in your jumpsuit. “That really is a sexy outfit, (y/n).” You feel your cheeks heat up when he places a hand on your thigh as he drives to Niall’s.

“Thank you, Harry.” You give his hand a little squeeze.

When you get up to Niall’s, the place was already packed. You spot him right away. He had a white t-shirt on that said ‘chill’ on it and you immediately rolled your eyes. You spot Sarah who is wearing a tight red dress that she pinned the word Netflix to. Niall comes over to the greet you, and to take the bottle of wine you brought.

“Glad you guys could make it.” He looks you both up and down. “Charlie Brown and Snoopy? Damn, why didn’t I think of that?”

“Because you are unoriginal, mate.” Harry grabs your hand and brings you over to the drink cart to make the two of you drinks. You wave to Sarah who gives you a thumbs up.

You just realized you had never been to a big party with Harry before. Well, you both had been at Niall’s holiday party last year, but you weren’t there together. Nor did the two of your even speak. You remember him slightly talking to a group of girls who were probably all waiting the clock out to see who he would take home with him.

Rachel was there with a girl, who you recognized as the girl she took home from the bar over a month ago. You make eye contact with her, and you both wink at each other. You were so happy your friend groups were merging.

“Oi! It’s the lad himself!” You hear a man with a thicker British accent yell to Harry. Harry whips his head around, and you swear you had never seen him smile quite so big. The man was wearing all yellow and had a picture of Heinz Mustard on his belly. Ketchup probably not too far away.

“Lou!” Harry yells back, and the two practically run into each other’s arms. “What the fuck are ya doin’ here?”

“I drove in for the party, that alright with ya?” The two hug for another second, before Harry turns back to introduce you.

“Babe, this is my mate Louis. Louis, this is my girlfriend, (y/n).” You hold your hand out to shake, and he takes it kindly.

“Nice to meet ya.”

“Same to you. So, did you go to college with Harry and Niall?”

“Yeah we spent some time at uni together. It’s so funny, ya live in the same country with a guy, only a couple of hours away your whole life, and it takes goin’ ‘cross the pond at some random school to meet.”

“And you also decided to stay in the states?”

“Yeah, well the girl I was with at the time convinced me to stay here with her. We broke up eventually, but by that time I had already gone through the process of dual citizenship.”

“Oh I see.”

“Mate, El is here with me tonight, I’m sure she’d love to see ya, let me go grab her.” You see Harry roll his eyes after Louis leaves.

“I fucking hate his girlfriend, her name is Eleanor.”

“Oh, why do you hate her?” You put a hand on his arm to soothe him.

“She just rubs me the wrong way. She hated how close Lou and I were, that’s why he lives like two hours away, because the three of us would hang out all the time. The three of us lived together for a while, and she yanked him right out.” Louis walks over with Eleanor, and yup, she’s ketchup.

“Hi Harry.” She says with what you assume is a fake smile, because he’s giving her one as well. They give each other a small hug.

“Hey El, this is my girlfriend, (y/n).”

“Hi, love, nice to meet ya.” Why were there so many British people in this area? How did they find each other? “Girlfriend! Well, it’s ‘bout damn time, H.” You look up at him and scrunch your nose. You had never heard anyone refer to him like that.

“Was just waitin’ for the right girl.” He hooks an arm around your waist, and you feel peaceful.

“Harry, come do shots with me like old times. I know Niall has that good tequila.”

“Deal.” The boys go into the kitchen to find shot glasses, leaving you with Eleanor.

“Did ya ever watch Boy Meets World growin’ up?” You make a face at the odd question, but laugh.

“Um, yeah, I loved that show.”

“Right, well, what you’re lookin’ at”, she points to the boys who are clinking two shot glasses together. You already know you’re going to have to uber back to Harry’s later. “is a the real life Cory and Shawn.”

“Which one of us is Topanga?” You giggle.

“Me, of course. I was always the third wheel with them. I met Louis in grad school, and you would think that two boys wouldn’t act like such children around each other.” You didn’t think Harry was close with someone other that Niall. “Jesus, and when the three of them would get together.” She rolls her eyes.

“They seem to really miss each other. It’s good for guys to have friends.”

“Oh I agree, I don’t mind Niall. Harry just never really warmed up to me, and would make things difficult for Lou and I. I know he blames me for why Lou lives so far away, but I got a really good job offer and he wanted to come with me.”

“I get it. My best friend lives outside the city, and it’s hard enough to get together with her only an hour away.” Yes, you still considered Kate to be your best friend, even if you still weren’t talking to her. “It’s a two way street, both people have to make the effort.”

“We invite Harry to visit all the time, but he always say no. I think he would feel like the third wheel, not that that’s possible. Maybe now that he has you, you could convince him to come out for a weekend here and there. We can’t stay with him here because he doesn’t have space for us. And hotels can be so expensive.”

“Sure, I could definitely put a bug in his ear.” You hadn’t been away with Harry yet, you didn’t really want your first weekend away to be with another couple, but you would see how things go.

“Thanks, Jesus, look at them.” You see them laughing as they take another shot. “That’s their third shot you know? We officially no longer exist at this party.” Before you can say anything, Sarah comes up to you with a shot glass for yourself.

“Here, Harry asked me to do one with you.” You take the cold glass from her and tip your head back.

“I love tequila, I’m gonna get more. Eleanor come on, come do a shot.” She sighs, but follows you into the kitchen.

You grab a lime and some salt. You cut up the lime into small sections.

“What are you doin’?” Harry slurs. Wait, Harry is drunk? He never gets drunk.

“I’m gonna do some shooters.”

“Shooters?” He mimics your American accent.

“Yup, give me your hand.” You lick a small spot on the top of his hand, his eyes growing wide at the PDA, and shake some salt on it. You do the same to your own hand. “Okay, so, how it goes is, you lick the salt, take the shot, and suck on the lime.”

Eleanor and Louis do as you did, and you all lick the salt at the same time. You take your shot, and grab the lime immediately to suck on. Harry can’t help but watch as your teeth sink into the fruit and suck the juice. You take it out of your mouth and look at them.

“See, way more fun way to take a shot.”

You start to feel a bit tipsy, and suddenly the music is calling you. You walk away without saying anything to find Sarah and Rachel. The three of you form a little group so you can dance. Niall really did have the perfect layout for a party. There was room to sit or stand around to just chat, and he had the room for dancing. Whatever playlist was on was hitting just right. Some oldies and newer hits was the perfect combination.

Eleanor leaves to use the bathroom, and Niall goes to stand with Louis and Harry, as the boys watch the girls dance.

“I gotta say Harry, she sure knows how to move it.” Louis says.

“Yeah, she sure does. I would have loved to know her in uni, apparently she was quite the party animal.”

“The three of them were.” Niall says, taking a sip of his drink. “Sarah has told me some wild stories. (y/n) apparently is one of the most fun people to party with.”

You move along effortlessly to the beat of the song. You and your friends are laughing and singing along loudly to the music, but no one can really hear you. A lot of other people start dancing, it might as well be a club in here.

“Lou?” Eleanor says after coming back from the bathroom.

“Yeah, love?”

“Come dance with me?”

“You bet, see ya guys out there.” Harry rolls his eyes as Eleanor drags him away.

“Why didn’t you tell me he was comin’?” Harry looks at Niall with a pout.

“Thought he was goin’ to flake. He’ll be around all weekend, don’t worry you two can have some alone time, I’ll make sure of it. Just try to pretend to be happy for him.”

“I am happy for him, I just wish he found any other girl to make him happy.” Niall starts to walk away. “Where you goin’?”

“My girl is out there shakin’ her ass, so you better believe I’m gonna go dance with her, and you should do the same, plenty of guys are watchin’ her.” He points over at you, and it was true. Plenty of people were watching you.

A drunk Harry stumbles over to you, and wraps his arms around your waist, pressing himself against your backside. He starts dancing with you, like really dancing with you. He wasn’t the embarrassed man who referred to himself as a giraffe the first time you went dancing with him. You wondered if this was what he was like in college, if he would grind with girls to show them what he had, and bring them home with him. You shake the thought from your head, and move against him in perfect rhythm. He turns your around to face him, his hands slipping down to your butt. You wrap your arms around his neck, and dance on him. He’s dying to know your college stories. You seem like such a good girl, but maybe not, and he wanted to hear all about it.

In a bold move, almost forgetting where you were, you grab hold of his collar, and yank his face down to yours, kissing him. He puts his hands on your face, and pulls you in for a deeper kiss, while your hands go on his hips. Your tongue is instantly in his mouth, and he tastes like tequila. He was so incredibly sexy, and you were extremely turned on. You hadn’t been able to do anything all week with your period in the way. You still pleasured him because you wanted to, but you missed his touch.

“Jesus, look at ‘em go.” Louis nudges Niall, taking a break from the dancing.

“You know, I’ve only ever seen them kiss in public once, and it was nothin’ like that.”

“He’s really into her, huh?”

“He asked her to be his girlfriend three weeks in.”

“Wow, yup, he’s got it bad. Wonder what it is?”

“She’s just…a good person. Instant connection.”

“Good for the lad, he deserves a good woman.”

Harry breaks your kiss, as he remembered where you are. If you were anyone else, he would take you and lead you to the bathroom, press you against the wall, and take you from behind. But he couldn’t do that with you, not yet anyways. He leaves you to dance with your friends, and you catch him dancing with Louis and Niall. You can’t help but take your phone out and take a quick video of the occasion. You and your friends take selfies and videos of yourselves. You’re still in awe of Harry, having more fun that you had ever seen him have. Louis brought out an exceptional mood in him. It was funny to see the three of them sing along to the same song, wondering what Harry’s singing voice might sound like.

The party slowly dissipated, but not before you and Harry were deemed best costumes. You didn’t win anything, but the bragging rights were nice. You offered to help clean up, but Sarah told you she would help Niall. Harry was in deep conversation with Louis while you went to grab your coats. They were looking at Louis’ phone and snickering like children. You smile and hand Harry his coat.

“Lou, I’m gonna go get settled in the guest room, night Harry.” Eleanor said.

“You’re stayin’ here?”

“Yeah, hotel was too expensive. What are you up to tomorrow, was hoping to just have lunch with the lads.”

“I can definitely do that.” Harry turns to you. “You don’t mind right?”

“Not at all, babe.”

“Just text me tomorrow, mate.” The two hug, and Harry hooks an arm around your waist. “Oi, Niall!” Harry yells.

“What?” He yells from the kitchen.

“Great party mate, I’ll be by tomorrow.”

The cold air on the street slaps the two of you in the face. You take your phone out to order an uber as Harry holds you from behind, humming into your hair. You had never seen him quite so drunk before. Usually you were the one that was drunk while he was perfectly fine. You were still buzzed, but you were nowhere near where he was. You lost count of how many shots he had actually taken. You just knew he consumed a lot of tequila.

The uber pulls up pretty quickly, and you both climb in. You keep an arm around Harry, and he rests his head against your shoulder, still humming some song you can’t quite make out. You key into his apartment, and immediately take your shoes off. He watches you walk into the bathroom. You really needed to pee, and you needed to wash off that black make up on your nose. You take your dog ears off, but leave everything else on. He’s by the sink drinking some water when you return.

“Didja have fun tonight baby?” He asks you, guzzling down the water.

“Yes, babe, don’t drink that so fast, it’ll upset your stomach.”

“Aw, are ya gonna take care of me tonight?” He says in the sweetest voice. “Treat me like your l’il baby?”

“Do you want to be treated like a baby?” You raise an eyebrow at his funny words.

“Not particularly.” He slurs. “Did you know that I love babies?”

“Yes, you’ve told me before, remember? You like shooting maternity photos for people.”

“You know, I really do.”

“I’m glad you had fun tonight. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you laugh so much.”

“S’not true.” He pouts. “You make me laugh all the time.”

“It’s okay, Harry. I have fun with my friends when we haven’t seen each other in a while too. You and Louis looked like you were having a great time.”

“We were, he’s really my best mate. Niall is too, the three of us are like the three amigos.”

“So I saw. It was funny watching you three dance together.”

“It was just like being in uni again. Everyone always wanted to come to our parties, we threw the best parties (y/n).”

“I believe it.”

“Are you mad?”

“What? No, of course not, why would I be?”

“Because I drank a lot more than I should have. I was supposed to get ya home.”

“But you did, the uber was just fine.”

“Let’s go sit on the couch, yeah?” He grabs you by the wrist and pulls you towards the couch. Before you can sit down he looks you up down. “Where’d ya nose go?”

“Washed it off.” You shrugged.

“This is such a sexy outfit, have I told ya that yet tonight?”

“Maybe once or twice.” You giggle. “But it’s always nice to hear.” He pulls you close to him, and pats your bum.

“You have the best ass I have ever seen, have I ever told you that?” You feel your cheeks flush. He was starting to get fresh. You slip your hands to his butt to mimic what he’s doing to you.

“I could say the same about you.” Giving one of his cheeks a little pinch, he jumps back a half inch.

“Oi, if you do that again, we’re going to have a problem.”

“Oh really?”

You start pinching at him again, and he starts to tickle you, making a ghastly laugh come from you. You slap your hand over your mouth, but he pulls it away. You try to tickle him back, and you end up chasing him around his little apartment. He picks you up from behind, swinging you around, making you squeal. He puts you down on the bed, he hops over you and lays on his back, he looks at you and taps his legs. You get the idea and crawl on top of him, straddling his legs.

“I’d like this to come off ya now.” He slips your straps off your shoulders. “If that’s alright with you.”

You lean up, and put your arms through the straps. You push the material down only a little, causing Harry to pout for the millionth time tonight.

“I’m not wearing a bra with this.”

“I know.”

“I like when you take your time with me.”

Harry sits up against the headboard so you can sit on him easier. He brings his mouth to your jaw, and kisses down your neck. He sinks his teeth in where he always does. The skin must be raw there with how often he kisses you in that spot. He licks over it to soothe you, and kisses down your chest. His hands move up to your breasts, and kneads them through the material. He looks up at you for approval, and you nod yes. One hand moves to the back of the jumpsuit, and un zips the small zipper so he can easily tug the material down. Your breasts pop out, and he looks like a kid in candy store. Sloppy wet kisses cover your chest instantly. He sucks on your left breast, and you groan with your head rolling back. He take the piercing between his teeth and he twists it. You roll your hips on him involuntarily.

“You like that?” He coos. You nod your head. “Use your words baby.”

“Yes, I like that.” You say through your teeth, as he continues to suck on your tender nipple. Your hands go straight into his hair and rake over his scalp, causing him to moan while he sucks on you.

“I gotta get his off of ya, please will you let me?”

“Yes, but you have to take yours off too.”

You hope off the bed, and he does the same. You take his shirt off him, and push his shorts down his legs, careful to leave his boxers on. Your jumpsuit falls off, pooling at your feet, and revealing a white lace thong. Harry furrows his eyebrows.

“You, you were wearing this all night?”

“Um, yeah?”

He takes you, and gently bends you over the bed. You rubs a hand over your ass. You half expect him to spank you, but he knows better, he knows you don’t want that. A finger dips into the material, and he plays with it for a moment.

“Your ass looks amazing right now.” You start giggling. “What?”

“I can’t tell if you’re an ass man or a tit man. You seem to really like both.” You say looking back at him.

“If it’s a part of your body, then I like it.” He puts both hands on your ass and kneads your cheeks. “This is just pure perfection.” He leans forward to press himself against you. He’s so hard against you, it makes you push back into him. “(y/n), can we try something different tonight?”

“Harry”, you stand up to face him, taking his hands in yours. This was a dreaded question. Selfishly, you liked things how they were. You knew he wanted to feel every inch of you, but you were still working through things at therapy, and you just couldn’t let him touch you like that yet. You sigh, feeling awful. “I’m so sorry, I’m just not ready for-“ You’re cut off by his hands on your face and his mouth on yours.

“I didn’t mean, doing more. I just had a different position in mind. I’m not ever going to suggest anything more until you say so.” He reassures her.

“Alright, what did you have in mind?”

“Well, first, how would you feel about sitting on my face?” Your eyes nearly pop out. That wasn’t something you did often. Even though his head had been between your legs countless time, sitting on his face just seemed really vulnerable. But you’d be lying if you said it didn’t turn you on. To ride his face, to be so in control of the situation.

“Yeah, we could try that. What was the second?”

“Hm?”

“You said first, what’s the second position?”

“Let’s just try this, and then I’ll bring that up.” He says with a grin.

“Okay, but, let’s turn the lights off.” You point the switch on the wall, and he flicks it off.

“Take your panties off baby.”

You slide the thong off and toss it on the floor. He leaves his boxers on for now. Harry lays on the bed, right next to you. Your breathing felt heavy as you crept your way up to him.

“Don’t be shy, love. You’re so beautiful, I’m dying to see you from this angle.”

With his words of encouragement, you swung your leg over him, and lowered yourself onto his face. You were already dripping for him. The second he started sucking on your nipples you were a goner. Harry started to suck on your clit, and you grabbed at his headboard. You let out a breathless moan at the way he nibbled and sucked on your most sensitive area. You sunk down on him a little, and he moved his mouth to your warm, dripping center. His tongue lapped around you for a moment, but went up inside you so you could ride him. His hands moved to your hips and gently rocked you. You started to move yourself slowly against his face. His little bit of stubble adding the perfect amount of friction. Before you knew it, you were grinding down on him back and forth, riding his tongue. Your moans started to get louder and louder, clutching at the headboard, trying to pinch your legs together, looking for some release. But his hands on your thighs kept your legs open. You didn’t know if it was the different angle, or the fact that you were so in control, but you were feeling amazing. You loved looking down seeing him under you like this. You rocked faster on him, a thumb moving to rub your clit. That’s when you knew you were done for.

“Oh, fuck, Harry! Fuck!” You moaned out, over and over. “I’m goonnnnaaa, ahhh…” You came, hard on his tongue. He slowly sucked on you so you could ride your high out. He lifted you off of him, and he wipes his face. His chest was heaving up and down, and slowly he steadied it. He looked up at you and smiled.

“That was so hot, did you like it?”

“Yeah, it felt incredible. So, um…” You knew you weren’t done with him yet. “What was the other position?”

“Eager?”

“Curious.”

“I want to do that to you, while you do it to me.” You furrow your eyebrows for a second, putting two and two together. A slight squeak leaving your mouth.

“Are you asking me to 69?” He nods at you.

“Would you feel comfortable with that?”

“Well, would you have to eat me out…like from behind?”

“Yup.” He’s so comfortable with it. You weren’t sure if you wanted to have your ass in his face like that. You also didn’t want him accidentally licking your asshole or something. “If you don’t want to it’s okay, I just thought it might be fun to do that at the same time.”

“Well, we can try, and if I feel weird we’ll stop.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

You reach down and tug at his boxers. He lifts his hips up so you can bring them down his legs, tossing them aside. You wanted him in your mouth, that wasn’t the problem. You also didn’t want to be that close to his asshole either. He probably didn’t care because he was still intoxicated. You stare at his dick, it is absolutely throbbing for you, this snaps you out of any concern.

“Right, so it’s a little easier if we both lay on our side.” Confirmation that he’s done this before, wonderful. You want to roll your eyes at him, but you know he didn’t mean anything by the comment.

You lay on your left side, eyeing his dick that has begun to leak at the tip. You feel him move between your legs, as you stroke your thumb over his tip. His mouth is on you again, and you moan out that different sensation you’re getting from having him lick you from the opposite direction. You put on hand on his hip, and the other on his dick. You start out with just the tip in your mouth while your hand worked his base. You feel Harry groan into you, causing you to moan with him in your mouth. You had never done something quite so erotic. He licked you quicker and quicker, as you bobbed your head, taking more of him into your mouth. He rocks his hips into you as you do to him, you’re way more turned on than you thought you’d be. His chin is rubbing against your clit as his tongue goes back inside you.

“Ahh, shit!” You say with him in your mouth, taking him deeper. You feel him hit the back of your throat as he rocks into you, and you choke on him for a second. He stops to see if you’re alright. “Fuck, don’t stop Harry!” You say pumping just for a moment before wrapping your swollen lips around him again.

You felt your stomach tighten and you knew your release was coming. You could feel tears streaming down your cheeks from having his cock so deep down your throat, but you loved the way he tasted. Neither of you warn each other, just as you’re releasing on his tongue, his hot come comes shooting to the back of your throat. You take as much of it into your mouth as you can, but you need to moan out from your high. You cough up some of his come back on his dick, and you try to catch your breath. Harry turns his body so he’s fully laying on his back. You swallow what you can of the come that’s still in your mouth. You feel him yank at your arm, and he pulls you up, so you’re lying on his chest. He’s stroking your hair, trying to steady his breathing. His chest is laced with sweat.

“How, how did you like that?”

“It was different. But it felt amazing. I love the way it feels when you’re do that and you moan into me, it’s so hot Harry.” He moves to kiss you but you back away. “I should really go rinse my mouth out first.”

“It doesn’t bother me.” His pupils are still blown out. You look at his dick, it’s twitching, could it really be getting hard again? “Lemme kiss ya.”

“Please, I just want to rinse my mouth out, hold on a sec.” You quickly go to the bathroom, and rinse your mouth out. You’re back to the bed quick, just like you said. “See? Okay, now I’ll kiss you.”

You lean down and kiss him, slightly tasting yourself on his lips, but it’s not a big deal. He sucks on your bottom lip, biting it pretty good, and you groan. Your hands are in his hair in seconds, pulling at it. He wraps his arms around you, and pulls you on top of him. You keep your lower half hovering over him, not wanting to make contact.

“Please, I’m so hard again, please touch me.” He says against your lips.

“I thought when guys drank like this they had a hard time getting it up.” You say taking him into your small hand, giving him slow pumps.

“It has the opposite effect on me, god that feels good.”

You pump him until he’s panting. You loved the sight of his parted lips, and the way his hands grabbed all over your body.

“(y/n), can I please come on your ass?” You’re surprised at him.

“Um, sure.” You squeak.

You get off him quickly and lay on your stomach. He grips himself in one hand, and puts the other on your hip. He pulls you up slightly so your butt is more in the air. You hear him moan out, and it nearly makes you come again. Sensing this, at the sight of you squeezing your legs together, Harry reaches around to rub your clit, careful to only use his thumb.

“Fuck!” You scream out, feeling your third release of the night come at the same you feel his hot come spread all over of your back and butt. You nearly collapse on the mattress. You hear the bed creak, and watch as Harry saunters to the bathroom, coming back with a towel. He wipes you clean, and you turn over, amazed by him and what his simple touch does to you. You know you need to get up to pee, if you don’t you’ll regret it. He puts on a clean pair of boxers, and watches you go into the bathroom. You’re still crazy wet. A mix of you and him. You almost feel bad having to wipe it all away, but no guy will ever be worth having a UTI for.

“Here, wanna wear my shirt? You always look so cute in my clothes.” He coos, holding up a t-shirt. You happily take it and put it on. You get back on the bed with him, and he hugs you close to his bare chest. “You did so good baby, so good. You were amazing.” He rubs your back. You loved the way he always tried to make you feel better. It’s not like you were having BDSM, it’s not like he slapped you around. It wasn’t like you needed time to come back to him. But he knew you were always after doing something new or different.

“It was really nice, Harry. A good suggestion.” You snuggle into him, and he puts the comforter over the both of you. “Thank you for always being so nice to me.” You knew he’d be rougher with you if you let him. You knew if you said the word, you’d let him raw you over his desk. That was the thing with him though. He always asked for permission, and he didn’t do anything unless you said so.

#take it slow #harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles imagine #harry styles y/n #harry styles fluff #harry styles fluff fic #harry styles smut #harry styles smut fic #smut #fluff #harry styles fic

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banashee · 4 years ago

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Part 2/2 of Tony setting the kitchen on fire for @hopelessly-me :D ♥

Enjoy ♥

...Honey, it’s still fucking frozen.

One day, Clint finally caves.

“Tony. You know I love you, but please - let me show you how to cook. I can’t take it anymore.” he tells him over ice cold dinner. The archer pokes a piece of meat with his fork to prove his point.

Tony nods slowly, but he also says,

“Last time it was burned. So now I cooked it for less time.”

Clint blinks at him, knocking on his plate with the meat, which results in a solid noise.

“...Honey, it’s still fucking frozen.”

“...Okay, yeah.” Tony sighs, shoving the plate away from himself.

“Sorry, I know the last few months of my cooking haven’t been pleasant. At least I didn’t burn the house down yet.” he adds, with a small smile to lighten the mood, but it is clear he is not happy with his results.

“The alarm didn’t go off in a while, that’s progress, right?” Clint shoots back a lopsided smile, before he continues,

“Honestly though, I don’t mean to be condescending because that’s probably how I sound, and I’m really sorry for that, but… I know you’re trying, and I know you don’t like help with things… In general, and I get that. But don’t you think that it would be better in the long run?”

Their hands meet over the table, warm and solid as they squeeze and hold on, thumbs caressing each other. Clint and Tony have been home to one another for a long time now, and they know with a bone deep certainty that they can talk about things without making a personal vendetta of it, no matter how small or big the issue is. It’s just not how they work - what they have is easy going and it always has been.

A casual friendship with benefits quickly turned into more, and after months of pining and awkwardness, they finally got a move on and figured out their feelings for each other. That talk had been halting and even more awkward than the weeks before, but it led to mutual three-word-sentences and a future full of happiness.

Tony smiles, squeezing the other man’s hand as he asks,

“So, you don’t mind having to show me basic shit like cooking eggs without burning them to a crisp?”

“No, of course not. I love you and I love cooking - there really is no downside here if you ask me.”

“Alright, then. Thanks, Babe.” Tony leans forward for a kiss, which Clint is all too happy to give him. The cold dinner on the table is almost forgotten in the next few minutes, but as it turns out, it is the perfect opportunity to start.

“Okay, so, let’s put this back into the pan and crank the heat up. You want this to be warm and cooked through entirely. Then you - Tony… Please put down the salt shaker.”

“I have salt and I am not afraid to use it!”

“Yes I know, and that’s a problem! No, go away with that!” Laughing, the two of them tackle each other through the kitchen, until they end up pushed against the counter, foreheads touching and giggling like lovesick teenagers.

“Will you give up on any harsh decisions regarding the salt?” Clint asks, in a mock-serious tone that is actually a pretty good impression of what Phil Coulson sounds like, and Tony grins at him, his dark eyes sparkling with mischief.

“I am small and salty. Never.” he tries to snatch back the salt shaker, attempting to distract Clint with more makeout opportunities. He leans in, pulling Tony close with one arm and holding the salt shaker up over his head with the other - it’s a dick move, but it works. His boyfriends sputtering at the offensive act only makes Clint laugh more, but they need to flip the meat in the pan before their dinner burns once again, so their bickering is interrupted.

A little while later, their dinner is actually warm and not only edible, but really, really good at that. Tony is still surprised that they managed to save it, especially since there have been instances where this would have been simply impossible. But then again, he is lucky enough to have a partner who knows how to save messed up food, given there is a way left to salvage it in the first place.

“What’s the worst that ever happened to you while cooking?” Tony casually asks another night, while he is chopping vegetables into accurate cubes - they’re making stir fry, and the task at hand is easy and repetitive enough to chat away. Besides, he is used to handiwork, so this is totally doable.

Clint shoots him a knowing, amused look.

“...I almost set my kitchen in the SHIELD bunk on fire. It was like three in the morning and I couldn’t sleep, so I wanted to make a dessert with flambé bananas. Well, let’s just say it didn’t go as planned and my neighbours fucking hated my guts for setting off the fire alarm in the middle of the night… That was about 15 years ago, and goddammit, some people still bring it up.”

Tony laughs, loudly.

“Well, thank fuck you know what you’re doing now - imagine the two of us being Fire Hazards together, the tower would have burned to the ground ages ago. Imagine SHIELD on our asses for it. Or worse, Cap.”

Slowly, he shakes his head. No one wants to see Steve’s “I am very disappointed in you”-face if they can help it. To be fair, when it doesn’t come to cooking, and more like, battles or developing weapons, the two of them combined are still a fire hazard. But that’s different, really.

Clint, however, stops chopping with his knife mid air, head crooked to the side as he gently lowers it onto the cutting board. Then, he asks, completely straight faced,

“...Did I ever tell you that Fury has backup-plans, just in case the two of us should be going rogue?”

Putting down his knife as well, Tony fixes his partner in a suspicious stare. Despite everything, this is news to him, and he is about 90% sure that at least on this occasion, Clint isn’t fucking with him. Also, this is totally something he’d expect Fury to do. The man is paranoid, and Tony definitely wouldn’t put such a thing past him.

“Wait what? No, you didn’t. Spill.”

With a laugh, Clint tells him,

“Ever since Nat went undercover as your PA and it was clear that both of us would be part of the Avengers, Fury put protocols in place - covered a lot of hypothetical situations, actually, it was quite funny to read. I think the short version is he knows both of us and our, dare I say, slightly chaotic tendencies…”

With a snort of laughter, Tony collapses against the counter. This is putting it lightly and they both know it, but he enjoys hearing the story.

Clint continues,

“Technically I’m not supposed to know that, but Tasha told me about it. She laughed for like, 10 minutes straight. Me, too, by the way.”

“I bet - heh, sorry i can’t” it takes a bit for Tony to calm down enough to say,

“I bet he put a lot more protocols in place ever since he got wind of us being an item. Honestly I’d love to see that list.”

The corners of his mouth are still twitching, and he wipes amused tears out of his eyes as he keeps cackling away.

“Oh hey, we should do a dramatic reading of that form!” he says then, and Clint is laughing too hard to answer, but he nods, vegetables forgotten on the counter for several minutes.

He only barely manages to stop Lucky from stealing the chicken right off of the counter, which only makes him laugh harder as he tries to hold his dog back by the collar. Once again, Lucky looks like he is judging his humans - even his one remaining eye is pretty expressive.

Once they have calmed down a bit, they continue. Tony is about to put the vegetables into the frying pan, but Clint stops him.

“Wait. Put in the onions and garlic first, let them get glassy and then add the rest of it in. One after the other. Hardest stuff first, softest last. That way you have everything cooked through without having some parts mushy in the end.” he explains, which is met with a surprised noise from his boyfriend.

“Huh, that makes sense. Cooking is logical, after all.” Tony says, as if that’s news to him - truth be told, it probably is.

“Of course it’s logical. What did you think?” Clint asks, even though he already knows the answer.

“Magic? I don’t fucking know” Tony shrugs, but he looks very much satisfied. Even more so once everything is done. The stir fry turned out perfect, and the pasta only boiled over once - the kitchen is a mess, but the food is amazing, so it comes to no surprise that one after one, the other Avengers show up in the kitchen like a bunch of hungry sharks. Food always brings them together, especially if the delicious smells are wafting through the tower.

Apart from the obvious - having to eat, having to help out and later on, hating the SHIELD cafeteria with a burning passion - this is why Clint learned how to cook in the first place. Food brings people together, brings in company.

As someone who spent most of his life either lonely or socially awkward or both, Clint learned early on that if he feeds people, they will stick around - at least for a bit. It is a long standing habit, and although he genuinely loves cooking and baking, because it’s fun and relaxing, the people aspect is a big motivation as well.

Feeding people keeps them around and Clint recognizes that this might be a little sad. But he can’t deny that he likes doing it, one of the reasons being that, making food for someone shows that you care. As much as his social skills suck sometimes, Clint likes to take care of the people around him, especially loved ones.

Lucky for him, there is almost always someone around, here in the tower, to enjoy whatever he spent the day cooking or baking. Especially if either Steve or Thor are home, he knows nothing will stay untouched for long. While those two will eat anything and everything that isn’t nailed down, Clint knows that Tony is usually a bit of a picky eater, but he will try everything Clint makes, because he knows from experience that it’s always good. He does have a bit of a sweet tooth though. Bruce on the other hand prefers savory things, which is why he himself is cooking a lot of spicy, indian food, but he will also happily go to town on a loaf of bread fresh out of the oven.

Natasha, much like Phil and Pepper whenever they’re around, has a huge sweet tooth - whenever there are cookies or cake or anything else, she is the first to creep into the kitchen. Oftentimes, she steals balls of cookie dough and bowls with batter remaining in them. It gets even worse when Phil is around, because the two of them will team up to get all the sweet things - It’s highly classified, but you can totally buy Agent Coulson with sweet things.

Clint knows all of this, especially since he’s known Phil and Nat for many many years. Therefore, he counts in whatever they are likely going to steal whenever he is baking - he’s known their systematic approach for ages now, but he doesn’t mind it. Not at all.

Later that same night, Clint is sprawled out in bed, legs tangled with Tony’s and one arm wrapped around him. His head is pillowed on the other man's shoulder, face pressed into his favourite spot - the crook of Tony’s neck. Restless fingers are lightly scratching his scalp, and the even breathing of his dog by their feet are almost lulling him to sleep. His other hand is lazily tracing invisible patterns on Tony’s back, fingers creeping under his shirt and against warm, smooth skin. The happy hum he gets in response causes small vibrations to travel through his entire body, even when he can’t hear it.

They drift off to sleep like this, and when they are in the kitchen the next morning, Clint asks, as Tony keeps an suspicious eye on the scrambled eggs,

“Do you want to bake bread with me later? We can use it tomorrow for french toast.”

“...I’ll have to touch wet dough, do I?”

“...Ideally, yes. But it’s fun, I promise. Careful, your eggs.” he adds, and Tony jumps to flip them - just in time - no harm done. He lets out a sigh of relief. As it turns out, having someone close to help him get a hang of this really helps. Besides, Clint is a good teacher, and the whole love thing helps a lot. Just spending time together, really - and the compliments from their other teammates for last night’s dinner for example. All of it makes him want to keep going.

“Okay, let’s do it” Tony says, and the happy smile on his boyfriend's face is more than enough motivation to say “yes” again the next time he asks if he wants to bake.

As it turns out, baking is a whole different thing than cooking, which takes him by surprise. Especially since he needs to be a lot more accurate for this, while with cooking, there is at least a little bit of freestyling allowed. With baking? Not so much.

“It’s sticky. Ew. Babe, why? Why did you do this to me?” Tony complains, making a face as he holds up his hands that are covered in admittedly clingy bread dough - he’s not quite sure he actually likes doing this.

“It needs more flour - hold on.” Clint scrapes off as much dough from his hands as he can, carefully grabs the paper bag with two fingers and sprinkles a little bit more flour in both mixing bowls.

“Try again, it should work itself out. If it cleans out the bowl we’re good.”

“You said this was fun… Oh hey, that’s actually better now!” Tony exclaims in surprise, relieved that his bread dough isn’t nearly as sticky anymore - now, he can knead it with his hands without thinking of hacking them off right after. Truth be told, he is starting to see the fun part of this whole thing now.

“See? You’re doing great by the way.” Clint tells him, a warm and happy feeling spreading out in his chest. He is incredibly happy to be able to have this - to have Tony by his side in the first place. Words can’t express how much he loves this man, and he hopes that Tony knows nonetheless.

“I’ve got a pretty good teacher - you should meet him some time. He’s got amazing arms and an even better ass.” Tony is grinning over at Clint, absolutely not checking out those very much appreciated body parts while he does so. They have been together for quite some time, but the attraction to one another has not died down - not at all.

“Oh, does he now?”

“Very much so.”

Cheesy flirting and easy banter is what they do best, and by the time their dough is covered and resting, Clint and Tony disappear upstairs and into the bedroom. They lose their clothes on the way, leaving a trail through the entire apartment until they fall into bed, wrapped tightly around one another and laughing in between kisses and wandering hands.

There is plenty of time to pass until the bread is ready to be baked, after all.

*+~

Prompt 10: Teaching

#banashee writes #marvel fanfiction #ironhawk #65 Random Prompts

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gayregis · 4 years ago

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Talk to me about Regis, please; headcanons, why/what you like about him, etc. I love him, but there's not a whole lot of (book-based) content about him (That's probably for the better actually, just look at what twn did to Dandelion; there's a bunch of content but it's all ooc or just straight up infantilizing him because uwu innocent baby - gosh I hope twn fandom don't get their hands on Regis)

this is such a great ask ;w;

committment to principles, breaking of tropes

let’s get the deep and emotional parts out of the way. i love regis for being a good person. “epitome of humanity” and all of this. i love how he was an incredibly cruel and violent man and has become a kind person and someone committed to helping others. i find this a very comforting fantasy to be close to and think about. i like how this process was not instantaneous, it took more than 50 years and a good amount of time after that... i love how sapkowski used the idea of an immortal/extremely long lifespan for an arc of redemption and becoming a better person. regis is only a vampire because sapkowski needed him to be able to survive death and reconsider his actions... for most people, death would be the finality... and i like how regis, when recounting his backstory, doesn’t ever make excuses for himself or dwell upon his behavior. he doesn’t speak of consuming guilt, he doesn’t make useless apologies. he has accepted the past and is not looking for attention when he says all of this, it’s merely for context. so he doesn’t seek validation from others, he has already validated himself because he knows that he has become a better person.

i love how regis is an inversion of the vampire tropes... not the ones that are like “vampires can’t touch sunlight/be around garlic/enter houses without invitation, etc.” but the ones that concern vampire origins and what being alive for hundreds of years does to a person’s mind. the “traditionally accepted vampire lore” would have some human losing their humanity over many years, becoming distant from human morality and ethics. regis is a complete inversion of this. instead of being a human who has lost their morality, he is a monster who has gained his morality. he made a committment to learn and understand, and how he sincerely works for good.

hinting and character reveal

i LOVE the buildup to his character reveal. from the moment the company meets him in a cemetery during the dark of night, it should be apparent that he is not what he seems. this added to the fact that they then meet peasants who were searching for a vampire in the very same cemetery, and regis somehow knows all of these accurate facts about vampires... it’s simply entertaining to read or listen to how it all unfolds.

the dramatic reveal is brilliant. i love how it occurs in a scene where regis was doing absolutely nothing but healing dandelion. i love how only regis and geralt knew what this was about, so we received narration in milva’s point of view because milva is the most observant of the other three that were in the company, and she slowly noticed all of these little features about regis that she didn’t notice before... his eyes glowed in the low light with an eerie catlike quality, he didn’t cast a shadow...! it’s good writing because there was significant buildup behind it. we already thought we knew regis, we got all of these hints towards his true identity, and now he’s being revealed as just that, but slowly, slowly... sapkowski doesn’t have geralt immediately yell “HE’S A BLOODY VAMPIRE!” ... it’s a very drawn out conversation. i love how regis doesn’t react much when geralt rests the sword on the hollow of his neck. he says, “well, geralt, i’m all yours,” as if geralt was beckoning him to a conversation and not standing above him with a glistening sword in his hand. and then regis just smiles and challenges him to “go on, thrust it in!” ... just entirely casual and smug. it’s creepy and yet so funny!

and i love how everything about his character seems to make more sense once his backstory is revealed. especially the part where he says he never drinks, not even a sip... after you read the part where he describes his backstory, you realize that this is a nice nod to what is revealed later on.

ability to challenge geralt

i’ll segway the last point into this one: i love how regis is just a straight up bitch to geralt in baptism of fire after he is revealed. during the reveal scene he starts mocking geralt, asking him if he’s going to let him get away, asking him how high he would value a contract on him. geralt tells him to never come back TWICE, and TWICE he returns. he appears to geralt, sits down right next to him, begins to deliver him a great monologue of advice. geralt tells him to fuck off, he just sighs “as you wish,” and continues to give advice.

regis acts on his OWN terms. geralt does not control the speed at which lobsters die vampire. regis acts like a c*nt because he simply can because he knows that geralt can’t fight him on it. what’s he going to to, kill him? ha!

regis came in at exactly the right time. dandelion is geralt’s best friend, but this means that dandelion knows geralt and knows what he’s like, and geralt knows what dandelion’s like. geralt sees dandelion’s unwavering loyalty to him as dangerous, because he doesn’t want to lose dandelion, so he blocks out whatever dandelion says about “i want to go with you, i need to go with you.” geralt knows that dandelion’s only saying this because they have such a deep relationship, and isn’t willing to risk that relationship when he thinks that it doesn’t need to be risked (i.e., that he can handle this without anyone else’s help). milva doesn’t have this long friendship with geralt, but she is his friend, and she’s known him for a few months. she knows that geralt is acting stupidly, and tells him this to his face. but geralt can sense that because she’s also his friend and because she is acting out of some sense of penance, he can’t accept her company, either. geralt is able to push both dandelion and milva away, because he can. he can tell them he doesn’t want to be bothered, he wants to be alone.

enter regis, who simply will just not take “go away” for an answer. regis has been compared to other sages and philosophers in and out of the text, but i think this is very socrates of him. he’s the gadfly to geralt’s sluggish horse. he is able to rouse him simply by annoying the ever loving shit out of him, returning when geralt has told him to leave, giving advice when geralt has told him to shut up. and it’s for good reason, regis doesn’t do this to harm geralt, but to help him. and because he’s regis, he literally has all of the time in the world and the power to be able to annoy geralt like this. he can’t be swayed by stern petulance because it just is like nothing to him, water off of a duck’s back. he has this unbearable attitude of knowing that he’s right. this doesn’t make regis a perfect character - far from it, i would say that this is one of his biggest flaws in fact - but in this situation, it works.

optimism, kindness, healer class

i thoroughly enjoy how the immortal member of the company that has lived for over 4 centuries is such an optimist in everything he does. “it is simply a matter of positive thinking” and all of this nonsense... he’s very content and cheerful all of the time. i made a post counting every time regis is mentioned to be smiling... and it’s a lot. he is also always mentioned to be spekaing softly, calmly, gently... he has a very gentle nature!

regis is a very placating force in the company, he tries to resolve arguments between different parties (milva and the peasants who wanted her horse, milva and angouleme at the kitchen table). he assumes there’s always a good resolution that can be reached.

and the fact that he’s a healer ties it all together. i love how sapkowski actually describes everyone’s profession with detail and length, it makes the fantasy medievalesque setting more immersive, since one’s profession is extremely significant to one’s whole character in a setting like this. regis gets that short monologue about how dandelion is lucky to have gotten this head wound and not an abdominal wound, what with the liver, guts, feces mangled and spilling out... peritonitis... regis actually being described as healing people makes it feel like his character is useful and is actually a surgeon (unlike in the games where he doesn’t ever heal anyone).

he sincerely cares about the human condition and expresses regret and pain when he cannot do anything to cure someone, even though he can sense their sickness. he describes this as literally being “a curse,” that demonstrates how difficult it is for him, and it’s only difficult for him because he cares.

blending in with human society and the quirks that come with it

i love the precautions regis has to take to continue blending in with human society. he smiles with pursed lips as to not show his fangs, but when he is with friends he ends up smiling fully. he has to continue to mask his presence with the blend of herbs. he has to avoid mirrors, dogs, and sorcerer/esses. horses dislike him even with the herbs he carries, and fulko artevelde mentions that “horses and dogs brisk at [the] company’s approach.” these small details are fun and keep reminding the audience that it’s not simple to blend in with human society, and there always IS something off about regis. hell, just shine a bright lamp on all of the company together, and you’ll see that their barber-surgeon doesn’t cast a shadow. the probably reason that they didn’t notice he didn’t cast a shadow was because of how overcast it is around that area of brugge. when they get into beauclair, i headcanon that regis doesn’t tend to walk on the sunny side of the street because of wanting to hide the fact that he won’t cast a shadow.

there’s a lot of different conditions that are necessary to consider in relevance of keeping his identity hidden, and regis does a pretty good job at navigating all of them. i appreciate that these details were written in because it makes it more realistic... even though sapkowski broke multiple vampire tropes with regis, so you know, he won’t burn in sunlight or have adverse reactions to garlic, but there’s still all of these odd ends that he needs to take care of. it makes him seem a lot less overpowered, because it continouslly reminds the audience that he doesn’t blend in perfectly.

“benevolent ominousness”

regis has a very fun supernatural presence, and he only ever uses his powers for good.

things like saving the girl from the refugee camp by sticking his hand into flames and holding a white-hot horseshoe with absolutely no hesitation... saving geralt and dandelion by materializing out of shadow... also appearing out of nowhere to milva and cahir in the forest and milva trying to choke out a grateful sob at his presence... saving ciri at castle stygga by absolutely wrecking the entire lab, with blue flames dancing on the countertops, and then turning around in that chair and saying “don’t be afraid.”

it’s things like this that i have dubbed “benevolent ominousness” - these demonstrations of power would be extremely unsettling, if you didn’t know him and know that he was there to protect you. the embodiment of “you may rest now, there are monsters nearby.”

humor and lighthearted nature despite dark themes, great lines

this isn’t the same humor that sapkowski uses elsewhere... it’s mostly funny due to the line delivery and context. some regis dialogue is just funny, especially when peter kenny voice acts them.

things like regis telling geralt his travel plan is very well-concealed after dandelion gets done telling him everything about it (”and ingeniously concealed, no one would ever suspect the direction of your journey”), regis lifting the horseshoe from the fire and then challenging the priest to perform an exorcism on him, regis appearing to geralt and sitting next to him and during his monologue he’s mocking him and saying “it should be your exclusive right,” geralt saying “shut up, vampire!” during the fish soup scene when regis begins to give him unsolicited advice again. regis’s entire backstory being a blatant metaphor for alcoholism and the equivalencies to human culture (”driving while drunk” = “flying while drunk”), though macabre, are hilarious. regis telling angouleme "i’m not your uncle, dear child,” and she replies, “and i’m not your dear child, uncle!” WHILE ALSO riding on his mule as well. even to the very end, all of his lines and presence at stygga were brilliant. like “i feel such strength inside me, i could probably lay waste to this entire castle,” as he loses it. “beware? i didn’t come here to beware!” as he just charges vilgefortz absolutely unhinged.

honorable mentions

his liking of philosophy and sociology and discussions about all of this

you could argue that regis talks a lot because he probably doesn’t feel how long he’s been talking for. if half a century is “the blink of an eye,” then what’s 10 minutes of monologue?

all of the vampire powers are very cool and come on. i could have literally answered this ask with one word and that word would have been “bat.” he’s a fucking giant bat. that’s epic as hell

fun and tragic potential for his backstory.

meme potential in the fact that he is modest and calm by default. can you imagine regis saying “bitch” ??? or burstin out enthusiastically in song lyrics?? it cracks me up to think about him being out of character for a split second, just for humorous effect.

also yeah if twn and/or its fandom gets their hands on regis i wont know whether to laugh or cry

#ask #anon #the witcher #regis #baptism of fire #i also left out headcanons etc but i might make another post later this one is already long #long post /

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