#The only bad thing that's ever come out of it so far was them replacing the account tab on mobile. But they fixed it from what I've heard.
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Birthday Girl
On your 21st birthday, your friends drag you to a bar to get wasted when you decide it's a good idea to drunk-call Professor Agatha Harkness.
Word count: 3400+
Warnings: smut, fingering, oral, intoxication, mentions of underage drinking, teacher x student (legal)
“One, two, three!” Wanda chants and you and your friends tap your shot glasses on the bar counter and quickly down them.
You gasp at the burn and they laugh at you. It’s your 21st birthday and your best friends Wanda, Rio, and Natasha had dragged you out to the closest bar to get you wasted. They had all already turned 21 the year before; you were the baby in the group.
“Fuck, that’s disgusting,” you groan.
“Another round, please!” Rio motions to the bartender. He sets down four more tequila shots and one is shoved into your hand.
“Think you can get to 21?” Wanda jokes and the thought of 20 more shots makes you want to gag.
“I might puke after this one,” you say and your friends laugh. You were never a partier in high school or college, always preferring to curl up on the couch and watch a movie. You’d only had some sips of alcohol a few times, but you had never been drunk.
“You deserve this!” Nat shouts in your ear. “Harkness has been working you to the bone!”
You shrug and wave your hand dismissively, suddenly uncomfortable. Agatha Harkness is your History of Witchcraft professor at Westview University. She’s known around campus for being cold to everyone and rarely giving out A’s. She expected nothing short of excellence and would not put up with excuses. Everyone was terrified of her.
Everyone except for you.
Something about the older woman captivated you. You were obsessed with meeting her standards, dreaming of the day she would look at you with pride. You poured over your books for her class, rereading every sentence you wrote thrice, just to try to impress her. It had taken your friends days of begging to convince you to come celebrate your birthday with them because you had a paper for Agatha’s class due in a week and you were already worried about it.
“I don’t know how you’re surviving,” Wanda says. “I had her last semester and got a C in the class. Third highest grade. She’s the worst.”
“She’s not that bad,” you defend, not quite sure why. Something about Agatha getting so much hate for pushing her students rubs you the wrong way.
“Yeah she is,” Rio joins in. “I heard that she’s a real witch.”
You roll your eyes. “Can we please stop talking about her? I thought you guys brought me here to get away from school.” You take the shot that’s still in your hand and it goes down smoother this time.
“Yes, there we go!” Rio whoops.
Two more shots later and your head has gone completely fuzzy. You feel as if you are floating on air and everything around you is happening in slow motion. You get off your stool and immediately stumble, Wanda catching you with her arms.
“I think I’m a little drunk,” you tell her. She laughs like it’s the funniest thing you’ve ever heard.
“No shit, y/n, you don’t have to yell!”
You didn’t even realize you had. “We should probably go back to the dorms!” You look around to see Nat chatting with some girl and Rio throwing darts at the board in the corner.
“Not yet,” Wanda says, picking up her rum and coke. You’re not sure how she’s still drinking after she also did four tequila shots. “I’ll get you some water.” She signals to the bartender and you squeeze your eyes shut, willing your vision to go back to normal.
When you open them, you see dark hair in the corner. Is that–? You shift so you can get a better look and feel sorely disappointed when you realize the person is not Agatha. Why are you disappointed? The thought echoes in your head for a second, and then is replaced by a sudden urge to see your professor.
“Drink this,” Wanda orders, pressing a glass of ice water into your hand, but you’re too busy scrolling through your phone. You know she put her number on the syllabus somewhere and you are too far gone to think that this might be a bad idea.
You feel a thrill run through you when you find it. You read the number over and over, like you’re afraid it’s going to change somehow.
“I’ll be back,” you slur to Wanda and then step out the side door into the alley. You type the number into your phone and your finger hesitates over the call button. You know you shouldn’t. But fuck it. You press the button and lift the phone to your ear.
It rings. And then rings again. You’re about to hang up to spare yourself the rejection when the call connects.
“Hello?” It’s actually her.
Your breath catches in your throat and you stand up straighter. “Professor Harkness?”
“Y/n? Is that you?”
“Yeah.” Shit, this was a bad idea. Even with your head still swimming, you know that. You can’t just hang up though.
“Why are you calling me at 10:30 on a Saturday night?”
“Um,” you say, trying to think of something. You’re definitely going to have to drop her class after this. You’ll never be able to face her ever again. “It’s my birthday?” You offer lamely.
Agatha scoffs. “Happy birthday. Can I help you with something?”
“Oh, no, Professor, I just wanted – we’re at a bar – I thought you were – and just wanted to say hi,” you ramble, knowing you’re not making any sense, and you can almost hear her smirk through the phone.
“Y/n, are you drunk right now?” Her voice perks up and it sounds like she’s finally interested.
“No!” you protest. “Well, maybe a little. But I’m 21 now!”
“What bar are you at?”
“Jimmy’s.” It’s a local dive bar that is a popular place for Westview students to hang out at.
“I’ll be there in ten. Wait out front.” There’s a click and then she’s gone. You stare at your phone, dumbfounded. Is Agatha coming to pick you up? Why?
You walk back into the bar and order a Dirty Shirley. The call had sobered you up a bit and if you had already drunk-called your professor, why not get even more hammered. Wanda comes back over to you and giggles when she sees the new drink in your hand.
“Alright, time to party!” she exclaims. You pick up on the fact that she’s a little drunk as well. You stand up, vision blurring for a second.
“I actually called an uber,” you lie, even through your hazy mind knowing that your professor coming to pick you up might sound strange to them.
Wanda pouts and then throws her arms around you. “Happy birthday,” she says into your ear and your arms tighten around her.
“Thank you,” you breathe back. You’re close with Rio and Nat as well, but they don’t have the same bond you and Wanda do. You pull back and then go say goodbye to your other friends.
The wind outside does very little to sober you up and you shiver from the coldness. You’re wearing a purple crop-top and a black mini-skirt, something Nat had found buried deep in your closet. You watch the time on your phone, heartbeat picking up as it gets closer to ten minutes since Agatha had hung up on you.
And then right on the dot, a slick black Range Rover pulls into the parking lot, and you immediately know it’s her. The car stops right in front of you, the passenger window rolling down, and your breath catches.
It’s Professor Harkness, clad in a maroon suit, wavy hair falling over her shoulders.
“Do you need me to open the door for you, too, princess?” Agatha says, sarcasm dripping over the words, when you haven’t moved. You shake your head, partly to answer and partly to clear the fog. You settle into the seat, not missing the way Agatha’s eyes rake over your skimpily clothed body.
“You didn’t have to come get me,” you mutter, putting real effort into not slurring your words.
She glances at you and sees you struggling with your seatbelt. She reaches over and you freeze at her close proximity. Her breath is hot against your cheek and her fingers brush your stomach as she takes the seat belt from your hand and buckles it for you. “Thought I would spare the other people you drunk-called,” she says.
Embarrassment runs through you. “You were the only one,” you say meekly, picking at a scab on your hand. You dare to peek at her, only to find her smirking, one eyebrow quirked.
“Oh?”
“I shouldn’t have called.” This time, it’s harder to keep your words from running together. “We were talking about you and then I thought I saw you and I just wanted to see you.” You need to stop talking, now.
Agatha hums. “Did you, now?” She tucks a piece of hair behind her ears as she shifts the car into drive and you watch her fingers.
“You’re really hot,” you blurt out and then clamp a hand over your mouth. Fuck.
Instead of pulling over and making you get out, like you thought she would, Agatha simply reaches over and pats your leg. “And you’re really drunk, sweetheart.”
The pet name makes you swoon inwardly. “Not that drunk,” you say unconvincingly. “I only had one…two…” You trail off, attempting to count the number of drinks on your fingers. Agatha stifles a chuckle.
“Is this your first time drinking?” She asks, amused.
“No, but it is my first time drinking this much,” you admit. “My friends dragged me out since it’s my birthday. I was going to work on the essay for your class.”
“You were going to spend your 21st birthday doing school work?”
“Your essay’s due in a week. I wanted to make sure I-it was good enough for you.”
She notices your slip of tongue and her smirk sends heat down low in your stomach. “You’re always good for me. Your essays are some of the best I’ve ever read.”
Your heart skips a beat and your face flushes. “I have a B in your class.”
“You have an 88 in my class. That’s the highest I’ve had in years. Can’t make it too easy,” she says with a wink.
“You could make it just a little easier,” you grumble, the alcohol clearly getting rid of any inhibitions.
“You keep doing what you’re doing, sweetheart, and it’ll go up, I promise. I’m very impressed with the work you’ve been turning in.”
A hot flash runs through you. “Just wanna be your good girl.” And if it wasn’t clear how you feel about her now, it sure is. But she doesn’t look disgusted or creeped out, only intrigued.
She finally stops the car and you peer out the window, expecting to see your dorm. You haven’t been paying attention to where she’s been driving at all, and you’re quite surprised to see you’ve arrived at a two-story house in a cute, suburban neighborhood.
“This isn’t where I live,” you say dumbly.
“No, it’s not,” she agrees, getting out of the car and walking over to help you. You stumble up the steps to the front door, Agatha’s tight grip on your shoulder keeping you upright. You can feel her fingers playing with the ends of your hair.
She unlocks the front door just as a wave of nausea hits you. “Oh, god,” you say weakly, holding a hand in front of your mouth. Agatha doesn’t even seem phased; she leads you to a bathroom in the hall and leaves, only to re-enter with a glass of water moments later. You gulp it down and feel better.
“You okay?” she asks softly, stroking your cheek, eyes tracing up and down your face. You’ve never seen this side of her and you really like it.
“I think so. Thank you again,” you murmur and you realize that you’ve been staring at her mouth.
“Anything for my favorite student.”
And then, because you’re apparently determined to fuck everything up even more, you lean in and press your lips to hers. Agatha stands still for a second before you pull back, horrified with yourself.
“Professor, I am so sorry, I didn’t mean to–”
She draws you back in for a longer kiss this time, tongue licking into your mouth. You let out a long moan and she breaks away.
“You’re drunk,” she tells you again.
You clasp the lapels of her blazer. “I know. But I want you.”
She softly pries your fingers off her suit and smiles. “You need to sleep. And then we can talk about this in the morning.”
You pout and she runs her thumb over your bottom lip, slightly pulling it down. You suck her finger into your mouth, delighting in the way her eyes darken. She steps back.
“Let’s go. You can sleep in the guest room. I’ll find you some pajamas and toiletries.” Her hand on the small of your back guides you up the stairs and to the room on the right. The guest room is simple but cozy and you immediately go to the bed and flop onto it. “Don’t fall asleep yet,” Agatha warns and then leaves the room.
She comes back in a few minutes, an old shirt and sweatpants in one hand and a toothbrush and toothpaste in the other. She pats your legs in an effort to get you up but you can barely move, suddenly weighed down by all the drinks.
“Come on, hon,” Agatha says and helps you stand up. You don’t move as she works to take your shirt and skirt off, your cheeks and upper chest flushing red. You try to cover yourself and she smirks.
“M’sorry,” you mumble.
“Don’t be. I’m enjoying the view.” You stare at her longingly, silently begging her to fuck you right there and then, but she helps you step into the sweatpants and pull the shirt over your head. She watches you brush your teeth and moves the covers so you can get into bed. “Do you need anything else?”
Your hand grabs hers. “Just you,” you try again hopefully, but she chuckles and wrenches free of your grip.
“Good night, birthday girl,” she whispers and leans down to press a kiss to your forehead. And then she turns off the lights and leaves the room.
You fall asleep immediately.
***
Sunlight streams through the blinds, waking you up. It takes you a minute to get your bearings and then the events of last night come back to you.
The bar. Four shots of tequila and half a Dirty Shirley. Calling Agatha and her coming to pick you up and taking you to her house. Kissing her in the downstairs bathroom. Shit.
You groan, head pounding. You see a container of Advil and a glass of water on the nightstand beside you. You take two Advil and drain the glass, heart warming at the thought of Agatha taking such good care of you.
And then you remember that your relationship with her will forever be complicated by your actions.
You solemnly brush your teeth and pull back on the clothes you wore to the bar last night, neatly folding Agatha’s pajamas and placing them on the bed. You hope she hasn’t woken up yet so you can sneak out without her having to tell you how inappropriate you behaved last night.
No such luck. The second you get downstairs, Agatha perks up from where she’s typing on her laptop on the couch.
“Good morning, darling,” she purrs, shutting her computer. You gulp, taking her outfit in. She’s wearing a robe that ends mid-thigh and the neckline drops low.
“Hey,” you say casually, trying to hide how much you’re internally freaking out.
“Do you want something for breakfast? I can cook you something.” She stands up and walks to the kitchen and you follow like a lost puppy. You involuntarily lick your lips at the way her hips are swaying.
“What are my options?” Your voice is raspy, still feeling hungover. She glances back at you and her eyes dart up and down your body.
“I can make eggs. Bacon. I think I have pancake mix in the pantry. What would you like?”
You’re a little confused that she hasn’t scolded you yet. And then you remember something else. She kissed you.
You swallow hard. Whatever else you may have done last night that you can’t remember, she doesn’t hate you for it. She might even want you back.
“Are you on the menu?” It comes out before you can even realize what you’re saying.
Agatha freezes and turns around. You shift your weight nervously, but then you see her pupils blown out. Her eyes are so dark you can barely see any blue. “What?” She asks carefully.
“You kissed me last night,” you say, a little breathless. You have absolutely no idea where this confidence is coming from. “You wouldn’t do anything else cause I was drunk. But I’m not drunk now.”
She steps toward you and roughly grasps your hair. She tilts your head back, exposing your neck just a tad. “No, you’re not.” She regards you for a second. “You know you’re not going to get extra credit for trying to sleep with your professor.”
You laugh. “That’s not why I’m doing this.”
She smirks. “Good.” And then she licks a hot stripe up your neck and bites down, sucking a mark on your skin. You gasp loudly and tangle your hands into her hair.
“Professor,” you moan and you drag her into a filthy kiss. She backs you up until your thighs hit the table so she lifts you up onto it. Your legs wrap around her to pull her closer. Agatha pushes up your crop-top and kneads your breast, thumb stroking your nipple, never once breaking your kiss.
Her hand creeps under your skirt and cups your mound over your underwear. Your hips jump on their own at the stimulation.
“Please,” you beg. Her lips curl into a smile.
“What do you want?” Her fingers have pushed your underwear to the side and have started lazily stroking through your folds, spreading your wetness.
“You,” is all you can say before she sinks a finger into your hole.
“Like this?” She asks innocently, thrusting hard.
“Yes,” you pant, quickly untying her robe so you can touch her. She’s completely naked underneath and you lean down so you can take a nipple into your mouth.
“That’s perfect, baby,” she sighs, setting a relentless pace with her fingers after she slips another one in you. “Is this what you hoped would happen when you called me last night?”
“I’ve been hoping for this since the first day of the semester,” you answer, and she falters for a second, thrown off by your honesty.
She pulls out of you and panic runs through you, terrified that you said the wrong thing. But she just pushes you down so your back is resting on the table and she pulls out one of the chairs from the table.
“What are you–” Before you can finish your sentence, she leans forward and sucks your clit into her mouth. Your back arches off the table, hands rushing down to hold her in place. “Fuck, Professor!”
She devours your pussy like she’s a starving woman, pulling all sorts of loud noises from you.
“Oh my god, I’m gonna cum,” you chant, hips grinding on her face, trying to get the last bit of stimulation you need to send you over the edge. She knows what you need and presses her fingers inside you, curling them just right and gives your clit a hard last lick. You cum harder than you ever have before, her name on your lips like a prayer. She helps you ride through the aftershocks and then trails kisses up your body until she can kiss your mouth.
“How was that?” she asks after you pull away to catch your breath.
“That was probably the best birthday present I’ve ever gotten,” you say, which cracks both of you up. “But I’m not finished.”
Her eyebrow quirks up and she smirks. “Oh?” You stand up, putting your hands on her hips and flipping her around so she’s leaning against the table.
You sink to your knees in front of you, not even bothering with a chair. You slowly push her robe up so it bunches at her waist. “Can I return the favor?”
A glint appears in her eye and she fists one of her hands in your hair preemptively. “I’d like nothing more.”
#agatha smut#agatha harkness x reader#agatha harkness x fem!reader#agatha harkness x you#agatha x reader#agatha harkness smut#kathryn hahn x reader#agatha x you#agatha all along#covsfics
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Change of Plans
Pairing: Adrian Chase (Vigilante) x F!Reader ++ Word Count/Rating: 5.4k / E
Summary: You know Adrian is Vigilante. Now you just have to prove it, but things don't pan out like you expect them to.
Warnings: Sex pollen (there's like inherent dubcon bc of that, but they're both so into it), vaginal sex, light angst, honestly this is so fluffy and emotional bc I can't ever help myself lmao
You knew it. You fucking knew it.
You’ve had your suspicions – Adrian’s unexplainable injuries, him bailing on you with short notice all the time, his complete avoidance of any and all questions. At first you thought he simply didn’t want to be friends anymore and this was his shitty way of ending things. Then you started to notice the pattern.
Anytime Adrian Chase is unavailable, someone reports a sighting of Vigilante.
Tonight’s the final straw. You were looking forward to hanging out with Adrian and watching bad movies all week, only for him to send a text at the last minute saying can’t hang. have to stay late at work. 🧜🏻♂️😿
Except when you called Fennel Fields to fake a family emergency so he could get out early, you learned that Adrian wasn’t on the schedule today and he certainly wasn’t pulling any extra hours. Then you saw the video on twitter.
It was short, just a few seconds long, but it was enough. His voice. His stupid, infuriating voice. You’d know it anywhere. Combined with your already suspicious mind, you have to prove it – which leads to now. Sitting in the dark of Adrian’s apartment, waiting for him to get home.
You've come prepared. Bringing all the snacks and drinks you originally picked up for movie night, you have no reason to get up from the chair you've chosen to camp in. Tucking yourself into your favorite blanket, you're in it for the long haul.
Movies never show how boring it is waiting in the dark for someone to show up. They always skip to the good part and provide the immediate pay off. Seconds pass like minutes and minutes pass like hours. You could pull out your phone, but you don't want to chance alerting Adrian of your presence in any way.
Part of you is still having a hard time reconciling this. Despite all the evidence, there's still that voice whispering doubt that you've made this all up and are going to look insane once Adrian gets home. Adrian will laugh at you for your crazy theory and then either kick you out or relentlessly laugh at you. Either option is not preferable.
Another option crosses your mind. You try not to dwell on it, but it's impossible to ignore in the dark. What if Adrian isn't alone when he comes home? What if he's been spending time with someone he likes more? You don't want to fully consider the fallout of that – likely copious amounts of ice cream and a romcom marathon.
Enough time passes that you eventually begin to nod off. After a long week it's only natural. You drift into the weird liminal space between wakefulness and sleep, consciousness bobbing along like a ship without a motor.
Jarring is an understatement when you're woken by Adrian loudly returning home. He storms in through the sliding glass door, slamming it so hard that it pops back open again slightly. It's a rude awakening, but the adrenaline now running through your veins is a great boost.
He's hunched over the dining table, arms extended with his hands flat. You can see his heavy breathing from here. You don't need to be an expert in body language to tell that he's upset about something.
It's not until he tears his mask off, fully confirming what you already know to be true, that you gasp. You can't help it. Despite every suspicion, seeing him there is a shock. The fear of losing Adrian to someone else melts and is swiftly replaced by a fear of losing him in a far more permanent way.
Adrians's eyes go wide and you yelp as a knife suddenly arcs through the air at you. Acting purely out of instinct, you duck and the knife embeds itself into the chair where your head previously was.
“What the fuck?” you yell, frantically looking between the knife and Adrian. “You could have fucking killed me!”
Adrian stares at you. “You aren't supposed to be here.”
That stupid fire in your gut that convinced you this was a good idea in the first place sparks again. “Actually, this is exactly where I was supposed to be tonight until someone bailed on me. Again.”
You're not even sure Adrian realizes how often he's been bailing on you these past few weeks. You know how he works – completely single minded when he wants to be. Whatever he's been doing as Vigilante has kept him busy.
“You aren't supposed to be here,” Adrian repeats again. The look in his eyes is wild, his breathing still erratic. It doesn’t even seem like he's put the pieces together on you figuring out his secret identity. Whatever footing you thought you had has been swiftly pulled out from under you.
You take careful steps towards the dinette like you're approaching a scared animal. “Ade? Are you okay?” You lift your hands, showing him that they're empty. The last thing you want is for him to think you're a threat.
He doesn't move. It's unnerving. Adrian is always moving, fidgeting, talking. Some days you want to strap him down to keep him in one place. If it weren't for the continued heave of his chest you'd think he became a statue.
A half a step away, he speaks again. “You have to go. Now. Otherwise I can't-”
“I'm not leaving you, Adrian. You're scaring me.” As angry as you are over all this, your concern for him overrides it.
His hands ball into fists. “Fuck, I'm sorry.”
“Sorry for wha-”
You don't get to finish your question before Adrian is on you. His mouth crashes onto yours, all teeth and desperation. You feel every hard line and contour of his costume pressed against your body. His hand engulfs your jaw, keeping you firmly in place.
So this is what kissing Adrian is like. You never imagined it quite like this, but you aren’t complaining as he overwhelms your senses.
He tastes faintly of mint – a sharp contrast to the rubber and cordite smell of his suit. His hands are seemingly everywhere all at once while all you can do is hold onto him. There's a fuzz in your ears as every sound except for those coming from Adrian gets blocked out.
The burn in your lungs finally forces you to break the heated kiss. It doesn't stop Adrian. He simply moves down to your neck, sucking and biting it in ways that are sure to bruise. He's mumbling into your skin the whole time but it's nothing you can make out.
“A-Ade?” He doesn't stop. You want to sink into this. Give in completely and let Adrian have his way. It's not right though. Adrian isn't quite right and you need to know something, anything before this can continue.
“Ade.” He bites a little too hard on your neck. “Adrian!”
You push and shove his concrete wall of a body, not stopping until he finally does. It's a small consolation that he looks abashed.
“What the fuck is going on?”
To say that Adrian looks delirious would be kind. His eyes are glossy, hair sticking up in all different directions, and a deep flush running down his neck. Whatever is happening, it's impacting his ability to think straight.
“I'm sorry,” he mumbles. “I got hit with some kind of dart and I feel like I'm on fire. I came home to deal with it myself but then you were here and you said you wouldn't leave and-”
His explanation gets caught in a high pitched whine. Adrian pulls you flush against him, nearly crushing you in a hug as he clearly attempts to restrain himself. You realize that the stiffness you felt before was not an athletic cup in his suit.
“How can I help?” you hear yourself ask. This is probably, definitely, stupid.
You're still pissed at him for not telling you about his double life. You're still trying to process the fact that he has a double life. Despite all of that, he's clearly suffering right now and you can't walk away. He's still Adrian. He's still your best friend.
He's still the idiot you love.
“You don't-”
You cut him off. “Well I'm going to, so tell me how to help.”
Adrian looks like he could cry. Whatever he had expected his night to be, it clearly wasn't this.
“Need you to touch me.” His words come out as a whine. Whatever this is affecting him, it seems to come in waves as Adrian's control start to slip again.
“You're sure? This isn't just whatever was in that dart?” You have to know there's some real part of Adrian that wants this. If it's just a drug controlling him, you can't do that to him or yourself.
Adrian pulls your hand, marching in the direction of his bedroom. “I've jerked myself off to the thought of you since the first day we met.”
Well. Not exactly poetic, but you certainly feel better about the current situation.
The moment you step inside his bedroom Adrian is on you again. His tongue presses into your mouth while his hands work on removing your clothes. It's desperate and ungraceful, but you'd be lying if you said it was a turn off.
You know part of it is just the drug. Its effects are evident in Adrian's shaky hands and nearly possessed need to remain in contact with you. You know Adrian well enough to know the parts that aren't. He's making a valiant effort to ramble between kisses, trying to convey how beautiful you are and how long he's thought about this. Although all lights are clearly green he still checks in before he tears your underwear off and mumbles a quick apology.
You're suddenly off your feet, falling backwards onto the cushion of his bed. Shock is replaced by a wave of heat rolling through your body as you take in the new view.
Adrian is standing above you fully clothed in his Vigilante suit except for the mask. He looks imposing, the armor only making him that much bigger than he does without. He's palming his cock through the thick fabric in a futile attempt to take any of the edge off.
You never would have considered it, but Adrian in his getup while you're beneath him completely bare is certainly doing something for you. You wonder if he'd ever fuck you in the mask. The thrill of it would likely be worth missing out on his gorgeous face.
The stare he seems to be caught in is more than a little flattering. Gears are clearly whirring in his head, but it's like he can't decide which is the next best step to take. He looks like he wants to eat you alive.
You drag a hand down along your body, thrilled as Adrian’s eyes quickly lock onto the movement. It’s a leisurely pace, even circling back up once or twice before finally making the descent towards the apex of your thighs.
You barely graze the short curls there before Adrian drops to his knees and bats your hand away.
“No fucking way am I letting you do that.” He tears off his gloves with his teeth and unceremoniously sinks a finger into your core. You feel even better than he imagined and you both groan in a filthy harmony.
Adrian doesn't have much tact – falling somewhere between what would be ideal and jackhammering. You've certainly experienced worse. You know he's not some blushing virgin, nor is he a selfish asshole, so you're willing to chalk this up to the desperation of the drug in his system. It's only confirmed when he speaks.
“I'm sorry. Fuck - I want to take my time with you but I need-”
“It's okay, Ade. Let's get you feeling better first, yeah?”
Adrian groans, the word first ringing between his ears. He's not lucid enough to parse out what that could mean, but it sounds promising. “You're too good for me.”
His head falls against you, which quickly turns into him mouthing at your inner thigh. You really hope it's not just the drug that's made him so oral-focused.
There's the jingle and snap of a belt coming off. You prop yourself up on your elbows in time to see Adrian pulling his pants down just far enough to let himself free. If you had any shame left at this point, you'd be embarrassed by your gasp.
Precum leaks freely, sliding down his considerable length. The head of his cock is red and clearly bordering on, if not actually, painfully aroused. “Thimble” your ass.
Before you can give his dick any further consideration, Adrian grabs your hips and drags you to the edge of the bed. The need pulsing in his veins is reaching a fever pitch.
There isn’t much ceremony as he presses into you, folding over in a bout of sheer ecstasy. You wish you could bottle the moan that’s pulled from his chest. Tears catch in the corners of your eyes and you’re not sure if it’s from the perfect burning stretch of him or if it’s from the overwhelming feeling that this is finally happening.
“So good for me. Knew you would be. Oh fuuuck, you're squeezing me so well…” Adrian rambles.
Being inside you seems to have taken the edge off for the moment. He’s as gentle as he can be, trying his best to give you time to adjust. His mouth laves over your skin, finding your breasts and making your back arch up into him. It provides exactly what you need.
“C'mon, Adrian. Fuck me,” you say. Whatever control he was clinging to shatters.
Adrian sets a devastating pace. He regrets not being able to take things slower. He'd always imagined being able to tease, slowly working you up and making you laugh, until the moment where he finally got to ravish you.
The regret doesn't last long. Not while he feels the heat of you wrapped around him, your clear sounds of pleasure beneath him. The worry that he's somehow taken advantage of you lessens with each stroke.
You look heavenly laid out beneath him. Your fingers dig into his scalp, sending tingles down his spine. He's already addicted to your little moans and whines, knowing that he'll die if he never gets to hear them again after this.
He's imagined this countless ways and countless times. None of them ever involved highly unregulated and experimental sex drugs, but then he supposes that's on him for not being more creative in his fantasies. He still didn't come close to how good this would feel.
“I can't- I'm not going to last,” he grunts.
You tug the hair on the back of his head lightly. “That's okay. Let go, baby.”
Adrian unravels at the pet name. His brain and baser urges can't fathom pulling out at this point, instead pounding deeper in as he lets himself go. It's almost enough to push you over the edge with him.
His body is heavy on top of you, half collapsed and boneless. “Holy fuck.”
“Better?” you ask.
“Mhmm,” he hums.
Your breath hitches as Adrian begins to slowly rock his hips again. You expected he would need a moment to recover, but he feels just as hard as when you started. Thrill mixes with concern as you wonder just how long Adrian will be in this state for.
“Not done with you yet.”
His hand slips down between your bodies. His thumb gently swirls over your clit. This slow and sensual pace is so different from the violent pounding you were just receiving that it's dizzying. It's not long before you’re back on the edge of ultimate pleasure.
Adrian nips at your neck, immediately soothing it with his tongue. “Your turn. I need to see how pretty you look when you come. Please, please, please,” he begs, still breathless from his own release.
His sweaty forehead presses against yours, locking eyes with you. With that, one more swipe of his thumb, and one more please, you're crying out as your cunt clenches around him. He continues his gentle rock, working you through the intense orgasm.
Adrian’s wild grin greets you as you reopen your eyes. He leans down to give you a messy kiss as he ramps his speed back up. “You're so fucking hot. I nearly came just watching you. I know you're not on any sex drugs but I'm going to make you do that as many times as I can. Hottest thing I've ever seen.”
You have absolutely no idea how long these drugs are going to last in Adrian's system. What you do know at this point is that you need to be ready for a long night and you're going to need to get creative. Who knew you'd be speedrunning a number of fantasies with him on the first night you're together? It's like taking a crash course in each other’s sexual proclivities.
At a certain point you lose track of the positions and angles you find together. You take him in your hand or mouth when your pussy needs a break, but draw a hard line at your ass. There's no world in which Adrian has enough patience for that to be a pleasurable experience.
Thankfully, each orgasm seems to take the edge off for longer and longer. After this, you expect that Adrian will be drained for days. If you didn't know about the drug in his system you'd be terrified by his stamina and recovery. The human body should not be able to produce that much cum in one night.
You're completely exhausted. There's no world in which you won't be limping tomorrow and potentially for days after. The discovery of lube in Adrian's nightstand halfway through your marathon was an absolute godsend but could only do so much.
The bottle now lies empty on the floor alongside the pieces of Adrian's Vigilante costume. Those came off at random, whenever he felt too restricted by them remaining on. You're not sure what to think about the jolt that ran through you looking at all his weapons laid out on the floor. You really hope he was too delirious to notice at the time.
Adrian is currently pressed into you from behind, spooning you. He's not moving, just taking pleasure in being buried inside you. His face is pressed back into the crook of your neck, very obviously smelling you and your hair. It's sweet.
You find his hand and intertwine your fingers with his. You'll ruminate more on the size and feel of them when your brain is more operational.
“Feeling better?” you ask, voice thick with fatigue.
“So much better. I thought my dick was going to explode earlier but now it just feels normal.”
You chuckle. “I'm glad your dick didn't explode.”
“Me too! I can't be the guy with the exploded dick. How would I pee?”
Your body relaxes further into his arms as sleep begins to pull you under. “I dunno. I'm glad it didn't,” you tell him. “You have a really nice dick.”
You can feel it flex inside you at the compliment. You don't think he did that on purpose. You'll have to investigate that more at a later time.
“You really think so? You're not just being nice?”
You snort. “Yes. Your dick is very nice and has made me very tired. Wake me up if you need something.” With that, you slip off into a deep sleep as exhaustion takes hold.
Adrian holds onto you tightly, still disbelieving that any of this is real. You're even better than he could have imagined. The two of you never avoided sex as a topic but you also never dove deep into it either, and Adrian’s chest always felt weird whenever he thought about anything past vanilla involving you.
Despite his want to stay wrapped up and buried in you he also knows he's taken more than his fair share tonight. Adrian slowly climbs out of bed, careful to make sure you stay asleep.
He takes stock of himself as he stands. His head feels clearer than it has in hours and his veins are no longer searing. He has no open wounds or bruises. His dick doesn't even feel that bad. This is definitely not Vigilante’s worst night. He has no idea how he's going to discuss that with you.
He maneuvers in the bathroom just from the ambient light out of the bedroom. It's good this is his own place or he definitely would have knocked things over and woke you.
Adrian cleans himself up and wets a washcloth to do the same for you. A single small noise escapes you as he does this, but you otherwise remain fast asleep. He decides it's worth the risk to pull one of his shirts over you as well.
His heart stutters at the sight of you in his bed and in his clothes. Adrian doesn't like reflecting on his feelings often. Years of forced therapy and people staring at him like he'd grown antennae out of his head whenever he tried to express an emotion really stamped that out of him. You make him want to try.
You appeared in Adrian's life unexpectedly and cemented yourself in it quickly. For whatever reason, you were charmed by what others regularly told him was weird and off putting. Faster than he'd admit, he had to reassess his entire BFF tierlist.
From the start, there had been a soft and saccharine hope that this could be something more. The second it was felt, it was buried, but it never went down deep or stayed there for long. Like an annoying but resilient weed he couldn't ignore. You probably wouldn't appreciate that comparison.
Adrian was left stuck – wanting more and not wanting to ruin your friendship. He really hopes tonight changes things.
Your brow furrows, arms reaching out to where Adrian should be beside you. He slips a pair of boxers on and joins you back in bed. He was going to grab a glass of water for when you woke up, but how can he deny that?
You snuggle into his chest and throw a leg over him. Adrian kisses the top of your head and settles in. He's asleep in minutes.
×××
It's early afternoon when you wake. Your body is starfished, left arm and leg splayed over Adrian. His gentle snores tell you that he doesn't mind.
You reposition and tuck yourself alongside his body. He's a furnace and you're happy to soak up some additional heat. While you move, you realize that you have a shirt on despite definitely falling asleep naked. It's the Fargo shirt you got him for Christmas. You smile.
It's not long before Adrian is waking up too. He's quick to pull you in closer and kiss your forehead. “I'm not dreaming or dead, right?” he asks.
“Not that I'm aware of.”
“Okay, good, cool. I just thought I'd make sure. I've had a few dreams like this and it really pisses me off when I wake up for real and you're not here.”
You tilt your head to look up at Adrian. You may need a pinch of your own to make sure you're not still sleeping.
“What?” Adrian asks. “Is there drool on my face?”
You chuckle. There is actually, but you don't tell him. Instead you shift so that you’re now laying directly on top of Adrian and lean down to give him a soft kiss.
He responds immediately, arms wrapping around you and one hand finding your ass. You end the kiss prematurely. “Don't even think about it. I'll be lucky if I can walk today.”
You could frame the grin on Adrian's face. He sneaks in another quick kiss and then holds your face in his hands, seemingly inspecting it for something.
“What?” you ask between mushed cheeks.
“You're okay? I didn't hurt you, right?”
You roll your eyes. “No. You just fucked the shit out of me and now I'm tender.” The shit eating grin returns to his face.
You spend some more time in bed, poking fun at each other and goofing around. It feels no different than any other time you've spent with Adrian except for the new level of affection and the teal colored elephant in the room that you both dutifully ignore.
Eventually, the need to pee surpasses the joys of staying in bed. You take one wobbly step before Adrian is lifting you into his arms. You let out an undignified yelp.
“You looked like a baby deer,” Adrian tells you happily as a way of explaining his reason for the sudden lift. It's an embarrassing comparison, but you'll take the help. If he doesn't actually see you waddle, it may prevent Adrian from singing “Side to Side”.
He's more than happy to carry you out to the living room after, even offering a pair of his boxers to make up for your ruined panties. You'll steal some money from him later to replace those.
You demand Adrian bring you the blanket from the chair you camped out in last night and some of your snacks. The knife is still embedded in the back of the chair. You look away and busy yourself with locating the remote.
You're quick to find a movie, choosing something at random. Netflix original that had no marketing and no one has ever heard of? Perfect. Something to fill the room with noise.
Adrian drops the blanket over your head.
“Hey!” you yell indignantly. By the time you have it off your head he's disappeared into the kitchen. The hum of Adrian’s keurig machine starts up, eventually turning into a spitting whir and two watery cups of coffee.
He settles beside you on the couch and focuses on the movie. You aren't. Leaving the bedroom popped some kind of bubble in your mind, bringing you back to last night.
Adrian is Vigilante. There's no denying it. You thought there would be a euphoric feeling along with the discovery – the absolute satisfaction in being right. Instead there's a pit in your stomach. Adrian is Evergreen's most wanted. A person who you once heard laughed while chopping a guy's arm off. Someone any normal person would be terrified of. So why aren't you?
You take a sip of your coffee. It's exactly how you like it.
He's quiet, which is starting to freak you out more than anything else. You've only seen him go completely silent while watching Fargo or the Planet of the Apes movies. This random garbage is certainly not capturing his attention like those do.
Looking around the room, you catch a glimpse of his mask on the ground where it was discarded last night.
“So, can we talk about it?” you ask tentatively, still not quite looking at him.
“Talk?” Adrian says. “What do we need to talk about? How great this movie is? Because if you want to talk about that we should probably finish it first.”
You roll your eyes. Unsubtle as always. How he even kept this secret for so long is a genuine miracle.
Your legs are unsteady but you do just fine in getting up and grabbing the mask. You throw it at him, somewhere between gentle and hard.
“That.”
“Oh right! This old thing. Not much to talk about there.” He tosses it onto the coffee table. “Let's just go back to this amazing movie. I think we're coming up on a big action sequence.”
You move to stand directly in front of Adrian, tilting his head up so that he's forced to look at you. The look he gives you doesn't help your conviction. He's nearly begging to not discuss this. Unfortunately for him, there's no amount of puppy dog eyes that can get him out of this one.
“I won't pretend like I'm not upset, but I'm also not walking out the door either. I just want to talk, Ade.”
Hearing his nickname seems to at least somewhat relax him. It's quiet for a moment, both of you struggling with where to start.
“How long have you known?” he asks.
“I've known for a while. I finally gathered enough courage to confront you about it last night.” You sit back down beside him.
“How?”
“I'm not stupid. You would bail on me and then there would be a new post online about Vigilante. I listened to a few videos of you talking to confirm and voilà. I know Vigilante’s secret identity.”
“Fuck! If you figured it out then someone else definitely has. This is so fucked. What am I going to do…” Adrian continues his worried monologue, sinking his fingers into his hair. You didn't realize how important the secret identity was to him.
“Adrian? Hey. Ade, look at me.” Your voice is commanding enough to stop his spiral. “First of all, that was rude as fuck. If I've figured it out then others definitely have? I am relatively smart, I'll have you know. Second, no one else is going to figure it out.”
“How can you say that?”
“Because I've spent a disgusting amount of time paying attention to everything about you. In and out of your suit. It would take a miracle for someone else to have paid the same amount of attention to you and put the pieces together.”
Adrian pulls his head out of his hands to look at you. “Now who's rude as fuck?” His tone is teasing. “Other people look at me. Plenty of other people want a piece of this.”
He gestures down his body. Your gaze gladly follows, which only makes you burn with embarrassment when your eyes meet Adrian's again. You want to hate his cocky grin, but you're also enjoying this new form of confidence from him.
You're not quite sure where things go from here. You have a million questions to ask, but you don't know if you're ready to hear the answers or if he's ready to share. Starting with familiar territory should help you think.
“So um, what exactly happened last night?” you ask, hoping for more details about how he ended up getting dosed with sex drugs. Or how those are something that's apparently real. Do you have to worry about that now?
A panicked look overtakes Adrian. It's a good thing he wears a mask as Vigilante – he's far too expressive and pretty to scare someone without it.
“Why? Are you-? Oh fuck, I wasn't trying to-” he blurts.
“No, no! I'm not regretting it or anything like that. I hope you don't-”
“No! I don't either. It was great, you're great. Best sex I've ever had not even including the drugs, although they really enhanced the experience.”
You can't help but laugh. The absolute absurdity of all of this has finally and fully caught up with you. You don't know why you ever expected a normal confrontation or a normal confession with Adrian. Instead you're discussing sex drugs and reassuring each other that neither of you feels taken advantage of. This chaos feels fitting though, like it could have never gone any other way with him.
Adrian starts laughing with you, awkward and clearly forced. “Why are we laughing?” Adrian asks through his fake guffaws.
You reach out, placing a hand on Adrian's arm. “I'm- I'm sorry. I swear I'm not laughing at you, Ade. This is just- it's a lot.”
You manage to calm yourself back down. “I don't regret last night and I'm glad you don't either. If this is going to work though, I have a lot of questions I need answered.”
Adrian sits up straight, eyeing you closely. “You mean you're not afraid? You want this? Me?”
It's probably a bad idea. After all, Adrian is no longer just your friend, the lonely busboy. Adrian is also a wanted and dangerous vigilante. Getting involved with him could result in things worse than a broken heart.
You look him over. His bright green eyes, nothing like you'd imagine the eyes of a killer. The light dusting of freckles that cover his skin, far too soft for some psychopath. The strong line of his jaw and neck, begging to be traced and kissed. His strong arms and hands, which managed to hold you with care even while not in his right mind.
Logic be damned, you know what you want. “Yeah, Adrian. I want you.”
Adrian pounces, knocking you back along the cushions and covering you in sloppy kisses. “Where do you want me to start?”
Thanks for reading!! Reblogs and comments are always appreciated 💕
#adrian chase x reader#adrian chase x you#adrian chase fan fiction#adrian chase fanfic#peacemaker fan fiction#crasis writes
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Why Tim Drake Sees the Bats as Co-Workers and Not Family (Tim Drake is a Fenton)
aka a follow up to this post, on why tim calls the bats coworkers because I think it's the funniest thing ever
It’s not that Tim hates the batfam. If anything, he has a grudging respect for them. They’ve saved his life (and Gotham’s) more times than he can count. But to Tim, that doesn’t make them family.
Here’s the thing: Tim already has a family.
Growing up as a Fenton, Tim knew what family meant. Jazz was the protective big sister who made sure he ate, slept, and survived middle school. Danny was the chaotic younger brother who still cared enough to make sure Tim didn’t feel overshadowed. Even his parents, as wildly eccentric as they were, loved him with the kind of unapologetic enthusiasm only Jack and Maddie Fenton could pull off.
Sure, they weren’t perfect. They panicked after Danny’s death-and-rebirth-as-a-ghostly-superhero and left Tim with Aunt Janet Drake, thinking they were protecting him. But they called. They checked in. And once they realized how bad things were with the Drakes, they worked to make amends.
Tim never stopped being a Fenton, no matter how far Gotham took him from Amity Park.
So when Bruce Wayne swept in with promises of training, teamwork, and trust, Tim didn’t see a new family. He saw an opportunity.
————
The Batfamily Dynamics:
The Batfamily operates on trauma and duty. Everyone has scars, and everyone has a mission. That’s how Bruce connects with people—through the shared pain of loss and the relentless drive to make Gotham better.
But Tim’s mission was never born out of personal tragedy. He didn’t lose his parents to crime or see Gotham as something he had to save. He joined because someone had to. Batman was falling apart after Jason died, and Gotham was suffering for it. Tim stepped up because it was the right thing to do—not because he wanted to fill some emotional void.
And that’s where the disconnect lies.
For Bruce, Dick, Jason, Damian, and even Cass, Barbara and Steph, being part of the bats means finding family again. It’s their way of healing. But for Tim, it feels like replacing the family he already has.
————
Tim’s Perspective:
To Tim, the batfamily is a job. A very dangerous, very complicated job, but a job nonetheless.
Bruce isn’t his father. Dick isn’t his brother. Jason isn’t his big-brother-who-died-and-came-back (that spot was already taken by Danny). They’re teammates, coworkers, and maybe even friends. But family? No.
Because family is Jazz sneaking him snacks during his stakeouts. Family is Danny sending sarcastic texts about “ghost-proofing” the Batcave. Family is Jack and Maddie trying (and failing) to make sense of his vigilante life while showing up with enough ectoplasm-based cookies to fuel an army.
Family is messy, chaotic, and full of love.
And while the batfamily might be chaotic, the love feels conditional—wrapped up in the mission, the masks, and the unspoken rule that Gotham always comes first.
————
Why Tim Doesn’t Want a Second Family:
And then there’s the second layer—the one Tim doesn’t say out loud.
To Tim, having a second family feels like betraying the one he already has. Like admitting that Jazz, Danny, and the parents who tried so hard to fix their mistakes weren’t enough. And they are enough.
Tim doesn’t need another family. He doesn’t want another family. The Fentons are imperfect, but they’re his. If he started thinking of the batfamily as his own, it would feel like he was erasing the people who already mean everything to him.
It would also make losing them hurt more.
The batfamily’s world is dangerous. Gotham is dangerous. And if Tim ever let himself think of them as his family—as more than coworkers or teammates—it would make every death, every injury, and every failure cut that much deeper.
Tim’s already had to grieve once, when Danny died. He barely survived it. He doesn’t think he could go through that again, especially not in a world where loss is inevitable. Keeping the bats at arm’s length is self-preservation as much as loyalty to the Fentons.
————
Does It Hurt the Bats?
Absolutely.
Dick wants so badly to be Tim’s big brother. Jason finds it hilarious, but even he bristles at being labeled a coworker. Damian sees it as a betrayal of loyalty. And Bruce—well, Bruce doesn’t say much, but the tight line of his mouth speaks volumes. Tim doesn't even want to think about how Cass probably already knew, and how much it had still hurt her nonetheless.
But Tim doesn’t change his stance. Because at the end of the day, the bats aren't his family. They’re his team, his coworkers, and maybe even his friends.
And that’s enough.
#tim drake#batfam#tim drake is a fenton#family dynamics#batfam dynamics#family vs coworkers#tim drake analysis#tim is emotionally unavailable but with reasons#tim already has a family and its definitely not the bats
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Something I find really compelling about Zaundads is the fact that you can clearly see the division between their ideologies in the way they show their love. When Silco and Vander were still a pair, Silco loved Vander for his brutality. He loved Vander because he was angry at the world; because he was fierce and tenacious and capable of devastating violence. He respected Vander's willingness to fight for the cause and his loyalty to their shared ideals. And we know from Silco's parenting of Jinx that when he loves someone, he uses them. That's not to say this is a good or bad thing, but just an observation. He loves people for the potential he sees in them - in Vander, it's his capacity for violence, and in Jinx, it's her capacity for chaos and destruction - and a big part of how he shows love is by fostering that potential. Creating the means and motivation to use it. He lives by the notion that "there's a monster inside all of us", which started with his perception Vander, and extended to Jinx later on. He sees a monster in himself too, but he's not a naturally violent person, so he surrounds himself with people who he does see as strong and capable, and channels his indignation through the people he trusts most.
Meanwhile, when Vander loves someone, he's gentle with them. He has this innate protective instinct that drives him, and he's capable of summoning his brutal side when his world is under threat, but his default is care and affection. With his kids, it comes out mostly in the form of guidance; being a calm voice of reason when it's needed. We don't see it as much with Silco given the lack of insight into their past, but we do have hints of it in the flashback - with both Silco and Felicia. Silco already has a bowl of soup and a cup at the start of the scene, which, based on context clues, were most likely prepared for him by Vander. Vander also pours drinks for the three of them, and upon finding out that Felicia is pregnant, he replaces hers with a non-alcoholic option. His automatic response to her distress is to comfort and console her ("you're going to be a great mother"). In contrast, Silco listens silently for most of the conversation, and contributes in the only way he knows how - by agreeing to continue the fight for Zaun, no matter the cost.
And I think, ultimately, this would have always created a division between Vander and Silco. Whether or not Felicia and Connol were killed in the explosion. Whether or not the kids were even in the picture. It was inevitable that somewhere down the line, Silco would keep pushing the limits, and he would reach one that Vander couldn't exceed. Felicia's death might have been the catalyst for the betrayal, but it seems like the ideological rift ran a lot deeper than that - particularly noting the line from Vander in S1E3; "You had my respect, the Lanes' respect, but that... that was never enough for you." The phrasing makes it sound like he was already fed up with just how far Silco was willing to go for justice.
Vander regretted the violent way he went about the split, but I don't get the impression that he ever regretted the actual decision to part ways with Silco. Which actually creates another interesting contrast in itself, because Silco's perspective was the complete opposite. Silco had already forgiven Vander for the drowning incident by the time they met up again. The murder attempt was brutal, and Silco is unquestionably traumatised by it, but he never stopped respecting Vander, nor does he ever ask why he did it. Because that isn't the part he's hung up on. He understands why Vander went about the betrayal in such a vicious manner. Anger and violence were what he loved about Vander in the first place, and as such, Vander trying to drown him was consistent with everything Silco knew and respected about him. The Vander he didn't understand was the one who gave up on fighting out of fear of what he might lose, and that was the Vander he resented.
Reconciliation is definitely possible between them, and that's clear even without regarding the S2E7 AU, because it happens in the main timeline. Silco is given a choice between his dream and Jinx, and the first place he goes to deliberate is the Vander statue, because finally, he does understand. He understands why Vander bent to the Enforcers' will just to keep his kids safe. But he only understands it because, by that point, he's lived it himself. In an alternate timeline scenario, if Silco were to forgive Vander, there would need to be some other catalyst that triggers that understanding. It would take a lot more than simply reading an apology letter - not because of how terrible the apology was, but because Vander was apologising for the wrong thing.
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No talking, please.
Rating: 18+, no minors!
Summary: Jack finally makes it home to you after the Pitt Fest chaos and he’s barely hanging on, but there’s one thing he does to bring him center and it just so happens to involve you, on the couch, with no clothes.
Warnings: Cunnilingus, cuss words, Jack being a whizz at eating 🐱 (are we surprised?), squirting, fingering, etc.
*~*
Jack eats you out like it’s the end of the world.
Especially after a long shift. All it took was hearing THE tone of voice over the phone to know. The door came open, making you jump slightly. The weight he carried in with him was immense; you couldn’t even say “Hello”. He greeted you with a kiss to the forehead and mumbled about taking a shower and you nodded. Today was bad, you thought as you waited quietly in the living room; hell everyone knew it was the worst day ever to be at the hospital.
But he didn’t want to talk about that; Jack didn’t want to talk at all. He finally emerged from the bedroom, a t-shirt and sweat pants replacing the scrubs and before you could ask any questions, he was moving you to the couch.
“Strip.” Jack commanded softly, “please.”
You raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue and did as you were told, his eyes laser focused on every inch of skin that was revealed. Once you were naked, he stood right in front of you, his fingers pushing hair behind your ears.
“Sit down.” The timber of his voice was low and it made you shiver. “Please.” Jack added politely again.
You kept your eyes on him until the soft couch material met your ass. Slowly he moved to his knees, pushing your thighs up with both hands.
“Hold those up for me, baby,” he says gently.
Quickly obliging, his hands spread you open even more, his tongue broadly licking from your ass to your clit. A sharp gasp escapes your mouth, your nails digging into the flesh of your under thighs deeper. Jack’s signature smirk flashes across his lips but only for a moment.
Before you admonish him for teasing you, he’s attached those lips right onto your clit and every thought flies out of your mind.
“Fuck,” you hiss.
This eggs him on more, sucking harder and moving his tongue around the little bud. You moan out loud, trying so hard not to jolt too far away from his mouth. Almost as if he read your mind, Jack moves your hands, replacing them with his wider ones and pushes your thighs back until you are practically in half. No thoughts or feelings pass through your mushy brain other than the miracle that is his mouth.
“Jack, oh god…”
Jack responded by pushing two fingers inside you, finding that spot instantly. Your moans turn into whimpers when he starts to move his fingers back and forth, curling them just right. There’s a quiet moment while you savor what is happening when you realize that he’s actually groaning around your clit. God, you were going to remember that for the rest of your life; if he didn’t kill you here and now, anyway.
He was starting to get into a rhythm; his tongue swirling around your clit and his fingers going faster, the wet noises and your moans growing louder. The way the pads of his calloused fingers were hitting your g-spot was incredible and before you could stop it, you were coming hard, your juices hitting the hardwood floor with a loud SPLAT.
“Oh my god, baby…I’m…fuck…!” You exclaim with loud whimpers and he’s not done, not even a little bit. In fact, he’s speeding up and making more squirt come out all over him and in his mouth. The pressure is intense but it feels so fucking amazing you can’t bring yourself to make Jack stop. Finally, he lets off your clit with a juicy smack and looks up at you, wetness making his mouth glisten.
“That has to be a record,” he says with a low, gravely voice. You want to answer, but words are difficult at the moment. He finally gives you a full, but tired smile and moves forward between your shaking legs, kissing you tenderly. “I can’t tell you how much I love being able to make you feel good like that.”
“You always do.” you breathe, mush mouth and all.
“Always, huh?” Jack kisses you again, going deeper, the sweet and salty taste of yourself playing on your tongue.
“Mmhmm,” you pull away slightly, “and now it’s my turn to return the favor.”
“Baby, don’t-“
You kiss him to stop whatever sentence was about to come out. “Yes I do. For as long as you want.”
“That’s a bold offer. Today sucked.” He smirked but you could see the sadness looming behind his dark eyes.
“I know what I’m offering. Why don’t you stand up and let me take care of you.
Jack considered you for a second.
“Please,” you say with a sly smile and he rolls his eyes but he stands up anyway. Your legs come down and you move to the edge of the couch, looking up at him while tracing your fingers over his chest and stomach.
“You deserve this. And more.”
For a split second, it looks like tears are forming in his eyes but he swallows and breathes out shakily. “What would I do without you?”
*~*
Writers note: Ahahahahahahawhat have I done by starting this?? Now I have to write more!! Anyway, thanks for reading my little blurb that I’ve been thinking about for weeks now and needed to share before I exploded. ❤️
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THE GREATEST — TRUE BLUE





[ part one / masterlist / requests are open ]
☽。⋆ part 2 of THE GREATEST. he tried to live without you, but how is one to survive with a broken heart? a story based on TRUE BLUE by billie eilish. — lando norris x fem!reader (could technically be read as a stand-alone)
ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 angst, hurt & comfort, hints of fluff (?) 𝄞 4.1k words

❝ Lights out, you’re not here holding me ❞
Lando had never before felt the way he did the day you left him. Seeing you walk through that door, intending to never come back to him ever again, it pained him. It took him too long to realize how much he hurt you, and now he had to suffer the consequences. He swore it wasn’t on purpose, but when his friends told him that also the third girl he had brought along since you broke up with him resembled you in a way, he stopped denying. There was no use. The guys knew, the internet knew, he knew that he wasn’t yet over you. And he thinks he never will be. You left an empty place in his heart, a place that would forever be reserved for you only and you only. No matter how hard he tried to find someone else, no one would ever be able to replace you.
The girl he brought to the first race after the summer break was long forgotten already.
At first, everyone around him believed him when he said he felt happier now without you. But the moment he went back to his old ways, the heartbreaker they’ve known for so long, they realized he wasn’t. The girls always looked like you. He only rarely smiled anymore and he couldn‘t care less about his friends‘ relationships, even going as far as faking a gag or simply not coming to hang out with them at all. He said it’s because he needs to focus on racing. They knew it was because of you. Lando was yet to tell them why the relationship ended. He’d rather crash his car and DNF in every race for the rest of his life than to ever have to talk about the night you left ever again. He felt embarrassed and bad and was so terribly regretful. Only his parents knew the whole truth. He told them with tears caressing his face just like you once did, and seeing the disappointment in their eyes, he felt his heart rip apart even more. They had loved you so much, only waiting for the day he would finally go down on one knee for you, and now he messed it all up.
If he could just go back and make it all alright. Make you feel unconditionally loved wherever you went, make you happy, keep you happy. He would change it all if he just had the chance, but he knew you deserved better. Maybe one day, he could be better again.
He is ready to give up the very thing for you that had made you leave him that night if you’d ask him to. Racing would never again mean as much to him as you, though broken up, still do to him.
He was currently seated in his McLaren, waiting for the lights to go out so he could try his very best to overtake max at the start already. He should have his mind on the track. He shouldn’t think about you, not here. But like always, he couldn’t help it. He hoped to see you in the stands once he was able to get out of the car again. He hoped to see you wave and smile at him, run into his arms and let him kiss you all over, do all the things he had failed to do so many months ago. He knew it wouldn’t happen. He believed anyway. The lights went out and the cars began moving. He tried his best, he always did, but he wasn‘t afraid to lose anymore; for what was it worth to win a race when he had faced the greatest loss of them all already?
❝ I count every tear down my cheek instead of sheep ❞
You couldn’t sleep. You could never sleep while he was racing. Especially when he was on the other side of the world, which is why you went with him last season, and also at the start of this one. Maybe you never should’ve. Long distance was hard, but you managed. He felt farther away when he was still sleeping next you every night. At least when he didn’t send you off to sleep on the couch.
You tossed and turned in your sleep, but you didn’t dare to turn on the TV. It’s been months, you should try to live without him. Without seeing him. Without feeling for him. His races had nothing to do with you, neither did the outcome. And god, if he wins and you have to watch him kiss someone else again you might as well just take his racing car and drive right into the nearest wall. He’s so far away and yet, it didn’t make you love him any less. You huffed, fear slowly building up inside of you. You knew you shouldn’t do this, you had to wake up early tomorrow and really, it wouldn’t be that bad to miss a race once or twice, but you couldn’t help it. Reaching for the remote, your eyes were flooded with tears and your heart stung like never before when you saw him driving out there. You were rooting for him nonetheless. Just months ago you had watched the races from inside the McLaren hospitality, but now? All alone in your bed, anxiously following his every move. You would never fall asleep like this.
❝ Sleepwalk, find myself on your street. Three knocks, ring the bell, then I leave ❞
And there you stood high up in the stands the next weekend, head hanging low as you didn‘t want any fans of him recognizing you, back in his territory. You tried to ignore him, you really did, but your eyes kept following him around the paddock and didn’t leave him even while he was doing the quick interviews he had to do on his way there. And honestly, it kinda felt like home. Attending the races. Being near him. Being with him. You missed it more than anything else in the world, and you felt pathetic for it. He hurt you every way he could, and still, he didn’t hurt you enough to make you hate him. And you really wanted to hate him.
You went to the race together with one of your friends from uni. You bonded over formula 1 and your shared passion for the sport and quickly became very good friends. However, she had to leave soon, moving to another city for a better starting point for her career. Hence, you decided to save some money and go to a race together for the last time; for now, at least. You still remember the way she looked at you when you told her you were with Lando. The way you swooned over him to her, and the way you cried your eyes out when it all ended. You really thought you‘d be able to spend the rest of your life with him, and now all you had left of him were memories. She‘s known you long enough to immediately notice your longing after him the moment your eyes locked onto his dark brown curls. Your heart fluttered and it made you nauseous. One day this would stop, right? Your feeling must fade at least sometime, or was this all just wishful thinking? Could you not just get over him like everyone else got over their exes and start dating someone new?
Your heart ached. He was so close, not out of reach anymore, not on the other side of the world anymore, but still, there was no way of getting back to him, the crash barriers and the grandstand keeping you away, and it felt like the end of your relationship all over again, with him on the track and you sitting and waiting patiently on the sidelines, always at least an arm length distance between you two. You shouldn’t even want to get him back. You left out a sigh as he walked into the McLaren hospitality, finally out of sight. But still not out of mind.
Your friend huffed next to you, and finally decided to try and convince you to talk to him after the race while you were still in the same place, to get closure at last. You knew it must annoy your friends and maybe even your family that it was so hard for you to just move on. They put effort into understanding, but still, Lando wasn‘t good to you, at least not in the end. Many would treat you better, but you didn‘t seem to care. You quickly shook your head no, telling her how he probably didn’t want to talk to you and that catching him after the race would be nearly impossible, with bodyguards and tons and tons of interviewers and cameras around him.
The conversation ended soon after, as the lights went out and the drivers hit the gas. You pondered for a second, reconsidering your friend‘s suggestion, a weird feeling building up in your stomach. Maybe you shouldn’t even be here, maybe you should *leave* after the race and never look back. But to your dismay, every sense in your body was telling you to stay.
❝ I try to live in black and white but I’m so blue ❞
The race went well, but he didn‘t really care. Of course he was happy, the whole team was euphoric for their two drivers who secured place 2 and 4, huge smiles plastered on their faces. Once he was done with the post-race interviews he left to go back and get some rest inside his apartment, at least until the others came around to drag him to the afterparty, slandering from one club into the next one.
Everything felt so lonely without you. His bed was cold even when he was hidden under his blanket, and the dining room was nothing more than a reminder that he wasn‘t spending his evenings with you. Watching TV got boring. Everything got boring. He didn’t even know why he lost you anymore, he didn’t know what the hell it was that made him believe you weren’t made for him, making him believe there was actually something more important than you in this lifetime. You haunted his every thought, and even though he truly only wanted the best for you, deep inside him, he wanted you to still need him as well.
He stood in front of his bathroom mirror, gently buttoning up his shirt like you used to do, always leaving the 3 highest ones unbuttoned. He missed your touch, your eyes looking up at him and your hands always reaching for his. His arms would be wrapped around your waist and his head would be leaning on your shoulder, sneaking a few, small kisses up your neck as you changed your earrings for the night, the imagine of it painted onto your fast beating heart as you stood in front of the full-body mirror in your apartment, finishing up your accessoires. You wore a blue dress that covered your thighs, not reaching your knees. It hugged you in all the right places, accentuating your features. It used to be Lando‘s favourite, but you had no other alternative, not having brought any other dresses. Your friend insisted on going clubbing anyway, desperately wanting to finally get him off your mind for one night at least.
The other drivers were loud and happy and drunk and Lando sat next to them, staring at his already empty glass. He knew how this would go. At some point, either the drivers or one of their girls would tap his shoulder, saying they have a friend they think he would really like, and if he would like to be introduced to her. He would agree so they would finally keep their mouths shut, he would talk to the girl. Maybe they would kiss if he drank enough. Maybe he would take her home. Maybe he would think about you the whole time, maybe he would accidentally call her your name. Maybe he would wake up in the morning and would be happy that she‘d left, content with it only being a one-time thing and not meaning anything.
Because, in the end, nothing meant anything without you.
He pretended to laugh at the jokes of his friends, but really, none of this was fun to him. These nights were nothing more than a constant reminder of how he used to have his fun while you were waiting for him at home, cold and sad and alone. How could he be so stupid and leave you alone all the time? He doesn’t even know why he did it anymore. He yawned, very obviously not enjoying the party. Yes, it was nice seeing his friends so happy, the mood wasn’t as tense as it was around and on the track and the people inside the night club were vivid, dancing and drinking, seemingly having the time of their life downing countless beverages, but still, the happiness didn’t reach him.
“Dude, I think your girl‘s here.“ Oscar pushed him slightly, two vodka bull in hand for himself and Lily. Lando didn’t pay him any mind and rolled his eyes, not really in the mood for talking to any girl that isn’t you at the moment. Couldn’t they just give up? He wasn’t ready yet for someone else, he didn’t even know if he wanted to be with someone that isn’t you at all. Ever. Instead of arguing with Oscar about how he didn’t want to hear from any other girl right now, he went to get another drink as well.
He pushed through the dense crowd of people, navigating through the cacophony of laughter and piercing yelling that seemed to echo from all directions. The deafening loud music blasting through his ears made it difficult to focus, and the harsh sound of glass clunking together only added to it. The colorful LED lights rapidly switched from green to red to purple to yellow in a matter of seconds, creating a dizzying light show that overwhelmed his vision. This sensory onslaught of sounds, sights, and sensations overstimulated his senses, making each step forward feel like an effort.
Finally at his destination, he waited for the waiter or waitress, he wasn’t quite sure, to get his order. He wasn’t certain what his plan was that night at all. Sleeping around or not, you wouldn’t stop haunting his mind anyway, so was it really worth it? Getting drunk and trying to make his nights feel less lonesome? Or should he just wait and really focus on his carrer again until maybe, one day, you’d come back?
He ignored the possibilty of you not coming back at all.
He let his eyes wander around the scene unfolding in front of him, occasionally making eye contact with random girls who winked at him and tried to get his attention, but he didn’t pay them any mind. Frustration started to bubble up inside of him as the wait for his drink seemed to go on for forever, until suddenly, his heart skipped a beat.
Lando was certain that in a room full of people, he would always be able to notice you first. He pondered if it was you whenever he‘d walk by a girl with the same hair colour as you, immediately dismissing the thought when he saw a face that didn’t match yours just a second later. But this time, it was different. The hair ressembled yours without a doubt, and of course he remembered the dress he had bought for you so long ago; never once had he been able to keep his hands to himself when you wore it. The height matched you perfectly as well. But it couldn’t be you, right?
Oscar‘s words replayed in his mind and he finally understood what he meant. Who he meant.
It was really you.
You tried to enjoy the party, but you really weren’t doing so well. Your friend had left you near the bar, thinking you’d be hitting it off with a guy you’ve been talking to for some time, but that wasn’t the case. he left just five minutes after to go home, asking if you’d like to come with him. You denied, but your friend was nowhere to be found, having found someone in this club herself. It was scary being alone in a club full of drunk, intoxicated people, even more so when you sensed someone staring at you from behind. You didn’t have to worry about things like that when you were still with Lando, with him always stuck to your side, a protective arm hanging around your shoulders. you shuddered at the thought, and dared to turn around to find the very person who was looking at you so steadily.
And then you locked eyes.
The world suddenly went quiet. All the chaos, the noise, it all faded into the background, no sound to be heard other than the synchronised, rapid beating of your heart. It seemed as if the only two people in that room were you and him, only the void surrounding the two of you. The LEDs turned blue, engulfing you and him, the light accentuating your features and he couldn’t move even if he wanted to, stuck in a trance of what this could mean for him in the future; what this could mean for you both. Time seemed to stand still. He wanted to run to you, to hold you, to tell you how much he missed you, but his feet felt like they were glued to the floor. His breath hitched and so did yours, all the yearning, all the longing hitting you and him at lightspeed.
You walked towards him, each step filled with electricity. The tension was palpable, his mouth agape as you stood in front of him, only centimeters away from closing the gap between you. There was so much he wanted to say, so many things he wanted to apologize, so many things he wanted to make right, but he didn‘t dare to say things first, afraid too scare you off. The last thing he wanted is for you to leave him again.
“I didn‘t know you‘d be here, thought I‘d seen Oscar but I wasn‘t sure,“ you started, stumbling over your own words, laughing awkwardly, then biting your lip right after. He noticed, because you always did that when you were nervous; you’d done it too when you broke up with him. You wanted to blame it on the alcohol, but that would be a lie, one he could look right through of. You just couldn‘t process actually being in his presence again.
“You still wear the dress?“
“It‘s, uhm, quite pretty, so yeah.“ You nodded along to your own words, gulping at the tense and awkward silence right after, looking down at your shoes, the sight of him in this light still not leaving your mind. Maybe he didn‘t even feel the same way, maybe he didn‘t even want to talk to you. Maybe you already made a fool of yourself when you made your way over to him, maybe you really should‘ve just stayed at home. But at the same time, this is what you‘d hoped for this whole time. To finally see him again.
“I‘m so sorry for what I did to you, y/n, please believe me. E-Ever since you left, I couldn‘t stop thinking about you. Not once. I tried to move on, y‘know, would probably be better for you as well, ‘cause you deserve better than how I‘ve treated you at the end and I don‘t want to have to put you through that again but I just- I miss you so much, I don‘t know what to do! And now you‘re here and I swear I‘ve been waiting for a moment like this and-,“ he stopped for a second, heavy and shaky breaths filling the silence, „If giving up racing means you‘ll let me come back to you, I‘ll do it.“
Your teary eyes widened and you looked up at him again, staring into his. One could take it as an empty promise. But you knew better than anyone else that Lando wasn’t one to joke about racing, ever. “Lando you can’t just- I- I mean, racing? It didn‘t work before Lan I just- don‘t give up your dreams for me, please? You shouldn‘t, you have so much ahead of you still,“ you sighed out, every single part of your body overwhelmed like never before.
But Lando was certain. He traced every yet so small feature of your face and body with his eyes, and he knew in that exact moment that, no matter what, he could never lose you again. Not this time. Not when fate hat somehow brought you together once again, giving him a second chance to make it all better. Question was now if you’d let him have that second chance too.
He lifted his hand to gently wipe away the tear running down your cheek, having you lean into his familiar touch. “I’ll do it for you”, he said, and that was when you broke apart, legs feeling numb and wobbly suddenly. Tears streamed down your face as you took another step forward and he wrapped his arms around your body out of reflex, gently placing soft kisses on top of your head, tearing up as well as your cried into his chest.
Maybe it was bad, maybe you shouldn’t feel like this again, but you’ve never once after the breakup felt as at peace with yourself and your as you did now, even if you were in a loud and busy club, surrounded by drunk and high people. You managed to push them to the back of your mind, the familiar scent of Lando’s perfume calming your senses. It felt like home. Maybe he really did owe you something, and though you once were anguished because of it, you wouldn’t ever deprive him of the joy of racing. There would be a way through it without having to abandon any of your or his dreams. There must be if you want it to work out, and you were sure that this time, it would. And so was he.
Lando took you home with him that night, not before you shot your friend a quick text message, afraid she might think you were kidnapped or whatnot. You knew that you’d have to fly home again in two days. He knew that too, but there was no need to rush things anyway. You were still his and he was still yours, and that’s all that mattered for now. It’s gonna be weird explaining this to your friends and your family, but neither of you minded it as long as it meant you could be with each other again. You would have to talk things through and see how you’d manage the race weekends and the events and the media - but not now. Now, with you calmly and lightly snoring in his arms, he didn’t care about any of that, simply content with having you again.
He promised you before you drifted off into your tranquil slumber that he will make it right this time. He will be there for you no matter what, he will defend you and take you with him and show you off and love you like already should have done all these months ago. This time, he will put in the work and the appreciation and the effort, and then, you will finally be able to be the greatest.
❝ I’d like to mean it when I say I’m over you, but that’s still not true. ❞

taglist for part 2 of the greatest : @mrs-saturday @tylerstacobell @angeltroian @acesbakery @directioner5life @malynn @escuellasceramicdollie @strangetoadroadbat @norrisdriver @aliceisnuts @carlando4 @f1fantasys @no-144444 @belivisa @callsignwidow @cruzgrecia @ifsoniacouldfly @wony6ung @hurtblossom @faeriepigeons @interlagos @xnatqq @fanficweasley @youreintheclubb @chaimaarouaine11 @idgasb @cruzgrecia @madstxo @trisharee (basically everyone who commented vv sorry if you didn’t want to be tagged!)
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Just For You
Summary: Terry and Patrice give each other lasting nicknames.
Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black!OC
Word Count: 2.7k
Warnings: None
"Terrence and Patrice, you're married. Any objections?"
None from Terry. A few from Patrice, but what was new? She always had objections. Ms. Cole answered each of her star pupil's questions in extreme detail before sending the pair home as a fictional married couple exploring the semester's section on personal finance.
It was Terry's idea for them to work together on the weekend at his house, citing weekday football practices as too much of a hindrance to after-school instructional time. His sophomore year came with another growth spurt to a towering 6'1", and he couldn't let the new length or extra muscle go to waste. The fight for starting receiver had only just begun.
Patrice hated falling behind. The thought of letting days pass without tracking toward their project's completion ate away at her. She allowed Terry to have his way, but under one condition: they'd work all morning on Saturday to knock things out in one day.
He scrunched his face and ran a hand over his haircut. "Patrice, that's a lot. We can't stretch it to two days?" He thought again for a better solution when she started to open her mouth with a rebuttal. "What if we talked on the phone and finished up Sunday night! Then you only have to leave home once!"
"Take it or leave it, Terrence. One day or a little bit every day after your practice."
With Saturday morning SportsCenter's top five clips playing on the television while they sat beside each other, their feet and legs jutting out from beneath his mother's coffee table, it was clear he'd taken the offer with a few concessions. Highlights stayed on during homework.
Patrice sat still and quiet while she watched Terry twirl a pencil between his fingers and squint at the instructions on their project syllabus. Late morning sunlight streaming through the living room window brought out the honey color in his eyes, her favorite part of the blue-green pieces of art she pretended not to sneak glances at when they spent time together. His brows furrowed to create little ripples at the center of his forehead. Three. She always counted them when he made his focused face.
If anyone didn't know him, he'd look like an intimidating man at least five years his senior. But Patrice knew Terry was mostly a gentle giant. He spoke softly as if the sound of his own voice was scary, opened doors, laughed on occasion, and remained polite day to day. Compared to the other boys in his grade, Terry was a saint—a saint slowly creeping his way into Patrice's day-to-day thoughts.
Terry's shoulder brushed against Patrice's as he shifted on the floor, making her shuffle further away to avoid the goosebumps populating her forearm. Terry glanced over, concern replacing the focus in his eyes. "You okay? Did I hit you?"
"No, I just didn't wanna be so deep in your space." Partially true. The why was her secret to keep.
Terry shrugged. "It's cool. You're not bothering me." She never was. If he were honest, Terry wished she would bother him more. Come over more, show up to more games, and stay on the phone a little later when he called under the guise of missing notes from class, knowing the only thing he missed was her voice. He scooched closer to her, leaving a sliver of space between them. "So, I think you're the breadwinner in this scenario. Sixty-thousand a year ain't half bad. You must be a professor or something. Talkin' them students' heads off, I'm sure."
"Shut up," Patrice laughed as she elbowed his side. "You aren't far behind! Your $45k gets us to a combined $105k. That's more money than I've ever seen."
Her compliment of his pretend income pulled a closed-mouth smile from Terry. "Yeah, well, how do we spend it? Says here we need to budget our combined monthly income between bills, discretionary spending, and savings." Quick mental math helped him tally their post-tax income. "That's $3,204 bi-weekly. Just under $7000 a month. I think we can handle that."
"Let's start with housing and work from there?"
"I'm following your lead."
One hour of hard work and bickering netted the play couple one outcome they could agree on. Terry thought it'd be best for them to choose a modest three-bedroom dwelling with a low mortgage to fit their housing needs and free up funds for two cars. Though Patrice wanted a bigger backyard for her garden, she relented when her mate pointed out she'd get the better car and a summer vacation if they were wise with their monthly spending. One night out a week, $500 a month in "fun funds," and a strict savings schedule left them more than enough money in their reserve to consider children in their plan.
Brain fog stemming from a quietly growling belly made Patrice stretch her arms high about her head and whine. "Can we take a break? I'm a little hungry."
"I can make you something!" Hearing the extra eagerness in his own voice felt like a punch to the throat for Terry. Embarrassment had him scaling back to save face. "It's just a PB&J. You don't want me using the stove. Or you can wait 'til my mom gets home. She usually does crawfish on the weekends."
"Shoot, let's do both! I've never had crawfish before."
Not ever having crawfish was a cardinal sin in Terry's household. If his parents found out Patrice had been living a life without experiencing their family specialty, she'd be forced to camp out until every piece of corn, sausage, potato, and crustacean was consumed. Terry logged the reference in the back of his mind for later use as he made his way into the kitchen.
While Terry focused on the even spreads of peanut butter and jelly on his mama's "good" bread, Patrice took her time mosying around the large living room to acquaint herself with her surroundings.
Expensive trinkets and books she'd never read lined the cubby spaces on one side of their large wooden entertainment center. On the other, family photos told the Richmond family's story. At the top, Mr. and Mrs. Richmond posed in formal attire with big smiles to celebrate what Patrice assumed was their wedding day. Another shelf featured photos of twin girls with encased baby booties in the middle. She smiled at their big afro puffs and chocolate-covered faces while they enjoyed dessert at Disney World. Then, she spotted it. Perched on a stack of photo albums, a little boy decked in Spider-Man gear from head to toe stretched himself in the hero's signature squat. But those eyes were unmistakable. Little Terrence was clearly on a mission to save the world. Or his backyard, at the very least.
In awe of how cute Terry looked as a kid playing make-believe, Patrice reached out to grab the frame for a closer look. That was him, alright. Terry still had the same toothy grin that crinkled his nose at the bridge and made his eyes close from the rise of his cheeks. Ears too big for his body stood out even more than they did ten years later. He may have been smaller in stature and much more upbeat than the brooding teenager in the other room, but after a year of friendship and a little secret pining, she could recognize him anywhere.
Immersion disarmed Patrice's senses, giving Terry ample space and opportunity to sneak up on her. "That's funny?" His voice cut through the silence, making Patrice jump and turn to catch the sly smile on his face. "That was my fifth birthday. I can't remember why I didn't get a party, but I guess I still had fun that day."
"It's cute," Patrice complimented. "I didn't know they made masks for little kids with adult-sized heads."
Payback from her jab tasted perfectly sweet on her tongue, like her Nana's homemade apple pie. Patrice watched Terry roll his eyes and shake his head before pulling the glass photo frame from her hands and placing it back in its rightful spot.
He pretended to laugh along before kissing his teeth. "Come get this sandwich before I change my mind, girl."
Terry would never change his mind, no matter how hard he tried to pretend or fight back the smile revealing his top row of teeth. Patrice had a free license to pick with him, and, on occasion, he'd join in to further solidify their friendship.
Lighthearted rounds of the dozens meandered into winding conversions dominated by Patrice's favorite secret chatterbox. He ran through team drama a mile a minute, only taking breaks to chew and ask her intentions for the remaining pretzels on her plate. She granted him permission to clean up her portion and his if it meant he'd keep talking.
"So, you like orange?" His abrupt change in subject turned Patrice's passive listening into active confusion. He pointed at the scrunchie on her wrist to clarify. "The color, I mean. I noticed you wear it all the time. I was just wondering if it's your favorite."
Patrice fiddled with the ponytail holder, looking for anything to keep her from making eye contact with Terry. Knowing she was being watched excited and terrified her with equal intensity. "Um, yeah. It is."
"How come?"
"I don't know, really. I think because of how the sky turns orange when the sun's going down in the summertime. That's always been pretty to me." Terry committed the information to memory with a quick head nod, letting awkward silence scream into Patrice's ear until she forced out a follow-up question. "What about you? What's your favorite color?"
Terry thought for a moment. "Blue, mostly. But like Carolina blue. If you get too dark, it's like the Patriots, and I hate the Patriots."
"Dang. Soooo, no tickets to see Tom Brady for our fun money, huh?"
"Well, I ain't say all that!"
Stomach-busting laughter derailed all thoughts of returning to the second half of their assignment. Instead, they chose to take a nose dive into each other's likes, dislikes, and anything in between. Terry had to know Patrice's birthday for…research purposes.
She scribbled the date on his mother's wall calendar. "April 23rd, remember? Shakespeare's birthday!"
Fitting. Terry stored the date away in the section of his brain reserved for important things like stats and Lil Wayne lyrics for good this time.
"What's your favorite food?"
"My maman's étoufée," Terry answered, whistling from the memory of last Thanksgiving. "I can't wait to go visit next month!"
How Patrice wished to visit with him and experience even the smallest taste of the dish, brightening his smile more than she'd ever seen before.
Back and forth they went while time morphed into more of an abstract concept than a rule governing the physical world. Terry's favorite film? Remember the Titans. An obvious answer for obvious reasons, but Patrice loved to hear his explanation anyway. Patrice's plans for her future career? A teacher, high school English more specifically. And, if she found the time, she'd get her PhD and teach other teachers how to teach one day. Her commitment to learning and school was admittedly odd to Terry, but still, he found her passion for it magnetic.
In their own world, Patrice and Terry were free to be themselves in every imperfect way. Nothing was too nerdy or too weird to discuss. And, if it got close, they knew to keep each other's secrets.
Gathering plates for cleanup, Terry rattled off his umpteenth question. "What's your middle name? Wait! Can I guess?" Patrice smiled and pushed for him to take his best shot. "You look like a Nicole."
"No way! How'd you guess that?"
"Every Black girl's middle name is Nicole. Or Marie. It was a 50/50 chance."
"It was a 50/50 chance," Patrice mocked before kissing her teeth. "What's yours? Michael?"
Terry smirked at her attempt to get him back. "Nope. It's James. Me and my dad have the same one."
"I guess that's kinda cool." Curiosity turning the wheels in Patrice's head robbed her of seeing Terry trying to hide his smile and reddening ears from her view. "Do people ever call you TJ, or is it always Terrence or Terry?"
Hardly anyone called him Terrence. His full first name was his mother's go-to when he was in trouble. In school, teachers faithfully called him what existed on the roll sheet. But, those closest to his heart knew him as Terry and nothing else. The divide between Terrence and Terry was his way of telling friends from foes. TJ, though, was new and interesting.
Thinking for a couple of seconds yielded no results. "Nah, I don't think so. You can have dibs if I give you one."
Decisions decisions. Alternate names gifted by little boys never went well for Patrice. Four Eyes, Girl Urkel, and Stilts still haunted her well past elementary and middle school. The potential fallout from another botched nicknaming debacle wouldn't deter her from having something special between them.
"Fine," Patrice relented, grumbling enough to pull a laugh from Terry. "But nothing about my physical appearance. Or food-related. Or downright mean. Or Pat. I hate Pat."
Her heavy southern twang exaggerated all of her demands, eliciting a laugh from Terry as he shook his head. "You know, usually, people don't get that much say in their nicknames. It's kinda the whole point."
"Yeah, well, this ain't one of them time, so tread lightly."
Terry lifted his hands in surrender, not wanting to squander his opportunity to deepen their connections. If rules existed around what he could and could not call her, so be it. "What about…P," he prosed after a few seconds. "Short and simple."
"And unfortunately already taken by my mama. Try again."
"Patty? Like LaBelle. Y'all both kinda mean but in a cool, old lady way."
Patrice's annoyed eye roll sharply contrasted with Terry's impish grin. Payback was officially his again.
"Terry, I swear! Be serious!"
Relenting, he tossed out another option. "Okay, okay," he laughed. "For real this time. How does Treece sound? Just the second part of your name." Terry watched her mull over the idea, his smile growing when she offered no immediate rebuttal. He nudged her shoulder and smiled when she forced a sour expression. "Nah, you like it! Treece! Treecey! Big Treece!"
Listening to Terry rattle off variations of her newly minted nickname, the sound from his lips sounding like her mother asking who wants a second helping of ice cream or Usher singing to her and her alone through her radio's speakers.
"You know we sound like twins now, right? TJ and Treece?"
"That's what we should name the kids."
Missing context caused an invisible record to scratch, forcing Terry to quickly correct himself. Kids? They'd just reached good friend status. Patrice opened her mouth to question Terry, but he beat her to the punch with an explanation.
He emphatically waved his hands in front of him, trying to sweep the misstep into the ether. "For the project! I meant kids for the project!"
"Right!" The project. Duh. Patrice tried to recover cooly from what she was sure looked like utter panic with a dash of hopefulness on her face. "The kids from the project. Which –"
"We should get back to. It's gettin' late. Unless you stayin' for crawfish tonight?"
Dancing eyebrows and an irresistible grin slowly turned a firm no into a maybe before Patrice could stop her lips from moving.
She sighed, giving in to the barely there push of peer pressure. "I'll call and ask my mom," she grumbled. "Is the phone in the living room, TJ?"
"By the couch, Treece."
Special names reserved for private use added another layer to a friendship blossoming by the day. Terry stood in the kitchen for a second longer to try out Patrice's new moniker alone, flexing different inflections and how it sounded next to his. Treece and Terry. Terry and Treece. Treece Ellis. Treece Richmond.
The last one earned a few repeats until Patrice's voice snapped him out of his thoughts.
"No luck on crawfish, TJ! I've got to leave to babysit my brother tonight!" she hollered from the other room. “Come on so we can finish! We gotta get one of these kids on paper and budget for their Spider-Man birthday party!"
Terry chuckled and shook his head. She'd never let him live that down. "Alright. I'm coming. You're a real demanding wife, you know that?" he shouted back with a smile.
Treece Richmond. He could get used to that one.
—————-
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🇳🇱 || Day 29: Handjob || MV33 x gf!Reader
Warnings: 18+, hand job, sub!max, degrading kink (if you squint), Wordcount: 0.8k A handjob (also spelled hand job) is a manual sex act involving a person stimulating the penis or scrotum of another by using the hand
God was she bored. She was comfortable in the bed, but she was bored as hell
"Babe!" She called out, not wanting to get out of bed "Can you come in here for a minute" She didn't an answer, but she heard the all too familiar footsteps walking towards the room
"What's up?" Max walked over to her, crouching down to kiss her forehead
"I'm bored" She said, pouting as she looked up into his eyes. hoping he would do something about it
"Seriously? That's why you called me in here?" He asked, chuckling a bit as she nodded "Fine. What do you want to do?" He didn't miss the way the question made spark in her eyes
"I can think of a few different things to do" She said, smirking a bit, when she sat up, almost pulling him onto the bed, getting into his lap, his hands landing on her waist
Her hands cupped his face, pulling him into a kiss, making him let out a pleased sigh, but it was replaced with a whine when she pulled away "I wanna watch a movie" She said, smiling, still holding his face
"You're such a tease" He kissed her softly again before she stood up and walked out to the living room
"Can you take the duvet with you?" She asked, already in the living room. She yet again, didn't hear in an answer, but thanked him when he came in with the duvet
"What do you wanna watch?" He asked, taking the remote from the coffee table as she leaned into his body, pulling the duvet over him as well
"You decide, love" She said, kissing his jaw softly, smiling at the way he couldn't stop the dark blush creep up on his cheeks "We both know we're not gonna watch it anyways"
He hated it, but yes, they never finished a movie. Either they would end up taking each other on the couch, or where ever they were watching it, or one of them would end up falling asleep, maybe he didn't hate the first scenario as much
"I hate when you're right" He said, tugging her further into his body after he had chosen a movie
Not even 10 minutes into the movie, and she could feel his hand travel under the duvet and down to rest at her ass
"Max?" She asked, not looking up at him. He only answered with a small hum "Could we just the movie for once?" She actually liked the movie so far, and wanted to watch it through
"I'm not doing anything" She could clearly hear the smile in his voice as she felt his other hand nestle on her upper thigh
"Sure" She rolled her eyes, but decided on revenge. She placed her own hand on his thigh, as close to his crotch she could get without touching
"Don't do that" His breath stuttering slightly
"I'm doing anything" She said teasingly, hearing a quiet moan from him when she 'accidently' touched his crotch "Stop squirming" She noticed the way he bucked his hips slightly, trying to get closer to her hand
"Please" He brought his lips on her cheek bone, kissing her softly, asking her to do something about the boner he 'suddenly' had gotten
"Only my hand, okay? I wanna watch the movie" She said, looking at him, seeing his closed eyes as he nodded
"Anything" His head fell in the crook of her neck when she managed with one hand to unbutton his jeans and got the zipper down
He moaned soft when she managed to get his cock out of his boxers. She chuckled at the sound of his moans when she smeared the precum from his tip and down his shaft
"Please" He pleaded, starting placing wet open-mouthed kisses along her neck "Please, i need you so bad" His nails dug into the skin of her thigh and her side
"Always so needy" He moaned as she started moving her hand, grazing over his slid with her thumb once in a while, drawing loud moans from him
Her hand was at a slow pace, but he needed more "Faster, please. I'm begging you" He begged, bucking his hands up into her hand
She granted him his wish, her hand speeding up, pulling a mixture of moans and whimpers that filled the whole apartment
The way his nails dug into her, it would be sure to leave marks tomorrow for him to soothe with his kisses and licks
"Fuck- please, 'm close" His words were slurred and breathy as he started twitching in her hand, almost his whole body shaking rapidly
"Come for me, baby" She said low, eyeing the way his body shook from the orgasm. This stage of him she loved; fucked out, hair messy, a panting mess, tired
"Thank you" He said panted, kissing her neck "I'll clean up and get a new cover for the duvet" He said, getting back into his pants
"Good boy" She said, slapping his ass softly as he stood up from the couch
#smut#formula one#dom!reader#kinktober 2024#max verstappen#max verstappen smut#max verstappen x reader#max verstappen x reader smut#sub!max verstappen
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since youre feeling a little burnt out it could be like three sentences and id jump for joy but could you do Arthur Morgan realizing you do not know how to ride a horse and how have you survived this long without riding a horse?
Thank you thank you thank you thank you
𝐋𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐬 ♡
Thank you for the request, dear <3 As a certified horsegirl, I really loved your idea, so I might make a part 2 sometime.
Arthur Morgan x f!reader || Masterlist || Arthur playlist
summary: After recently having joined the Van der Linde gang, you still have a lot to learn about your new life. Good thing that Arthur is willing to help you learn.
word count: 2.1k
warning/tags: Fluff. Arthur is a horse stealing sweetheart. Very brief mention of a dead deer. Perhaps a little occ, haven’t played the game in a while.
The camp is alive with the sounds of crackling fire and low conversations as you sit by the flames, warming your hands against the chill of the evening air. You’ve recently joined the Van der Linde gang, finding a strange sense of belonging among these outlaws, but there’s still much to learn. The thrill of the freedom they embody has drawn you in, but the reality of their life is far more complex than you initially imagined. Each member of the gang has their own story, their own scars, and their own reasons for being here.
As you watch the flames dance, you can’t help but reflect on your own past and what led you to this moment and how your life has changed. The things you have to learn are as varied as the faces around the fire. You do feel welcomed by the gang, but you can’t help the nagging in the back of your mind telling you that you don’t really belong. At least not yet.
You are pulled from your thoughts as you hear the familiar sound of hoofbeats approaching the camp. The rhythmic thud of hooves on the ground cuts through the quiet evening, and you turn your gaze toward the sound. The flickering light casts long shadows as you squint into the darkness, anticipation lacing your thoughts. The gang is often on the move, and late-night arrivals usually mean news—good or bad. The hoofbeats grow louder, and soon the silhouettes of a few riders come into view. A few of the members of the gang left earlier in the day to scout the nearby town for supplies and information and have now returned.
And there is one rider in particular who you are the most excited to see coming back. You recognize the figure of Arthur immediately, his broad shoulders silhouetted against the glow of the campfire, and the familiar outline of his hat pulled low over his brow against the dusky sky.
Ever since you became part of the gang, you’ve felt an undeniable attraction to him. It’s as if you’re a ship caught in a powerful current, swept along with a momentum you can’t resist. There’s a strength in him that you find captivating, and an unspoken vulnerability that tugs at something deep within you.
You step away from the fire to get a better look as the men ride into the camp. You notice the glint of something large strapped to the side of Charles’s horse—a hefty buck they must have hunted. But that is not the only thing they have back with them. Led by a rope, a horse you have never seen before trots alongside Arthur’s own chestnut mare. A palomino, its shiny golden coat glimmering in the light from the fire.
Arthur rides forward, dismounting with a practiced ease, and you can’t help but admire the way he moves—confident, yet grounded. You stand frozen for a moment, drinking in the sight of him as he guides the two horses forward, desperately trying to quell the fluttering in your chest.
He catches your eye, a small, almost imperceptible smile playing on his lips. It’s a fleeting expression, quickly replaced by his usual reserved demeanor, but you saw it. The warmth in his gaze softens the rugged lines of his face, the weariness etched by countless hard days seeming to melt away for a brief instant.
He nods a greeting, a silent acknowledgment of your presence. You give him a slight smile and a nod in return, feeling a little embarrassed to have been caught staring, but you hope it comes off as you being interested in the new horse. You are ready for him to turn his focus back on the animals, but instead he calls your name, gesturing with his head to the palomino beside him. “Got someone here I’d like you to meet.”
Your heart skips at the sound of your name on his lips. You make your way over to him, curiosity piqued as you step closer. You have always admired horses from a distance, captivated by their grace and power, but have never had many interactions with them up close, and you can’t help but feel a tiny hint of trepidation mixing in with your curiosity.
The new horse stands patiently beside Arthur while he ties up his own to remove her saddle. You can’t help but reach out a hand, letting your fingers gently brush against the soft, smooth coat of the palomino’s neck, feeling the warmth radiating from its body. “Where did you get it from?��
Arthur loosens the girth of his mare’s saddle and glances over at you, a hint of pride in his expression as he watches you interact with the palomino. “Don’t you worry ‘bout that, darlin’” he replies with a teasing lilt in his gruff voice as he lifts off the saddle.
You feel how your cheeks warm from the name of endearment, rivaling the warmth you are feeling from the fire at your back. You try to compose yourself, focusing on the horse instead of the way his voice wraps around you like a comforting blanket. “It’s beautiful,” you say, your fingers continuing to explore the palomino’s neck, smoothing over the soft fur. The horse leans slightly into your touch, and you can’t help but smile at the connection you feel, even if it’s fleeting.
“Yeah, he is.” Arthur glances at the gelding with a fondness that brings a smile to your face, and you can’t help but notice how his eyes light up when he speaks about it.
“Have you given him a name?” you ask, your curiosity now peaked further.
“No…” Arthur shakes his head, a thoughtful look crossing his features. “I figured I’d let you do that yourself.”
You feel a rush of surprise and delight at his words, your heart racing at the thought of Arthur letting you name the horse. The palomino stands patiently, as if aware of the importance of this moment, while Arthur watches you with an intensity that sends butterflies swirling in your stomach.
“Me?” You say softly, trying to mask your excitement with a light laugh. “I’ve never named a horse before.”
“Well, he’s yours now, so it’s only right that you name him.”
Your breath catches in your throat at his words, a mixture of disbelief and exhilaration flooding through you. “You got him for me?”
Arthur’s expression softens further, and he nods, the corners of his mouth twitching up in a small smile. “Yes, I figured… well, you don’t have a horse. Thought you could use one.”
You swallow hard, feeling a swell of gratitude, as well as a wave of deep apprehension. The weight of his gesture sinks in, and the reality of it is almost overwhelming. “Thank you, Arthur. That’s really kind, but…” You trail off, the words catching in your throat. You want to express your gratitude, but the hesitation lingers. “I’ve never had a horse of my own… I don’t even know how to ride one,” you admit, an apologetic tone to your voice.
Arthur’s brows furrow in disbelief. “You don’t know how to ride?” he repeats, shaking his head in bafflement. “How the hell have you survived this long without knowing how to ride a horse?” There is nothing in his tone that indicates judgment; rather, it’s a mix of incredulity and genuine curiosity. Still, you can’t help but feel a rush of embarrassment and a twinge of fear that the gang, who have welcomed you in, will start second-guessing their choice if they realize just how unaccustomed to their lifestyle you really are.
You shrug, glancing away from Arthur’s penetrating gaze. What does his eyes also have to be so piercing blue for? Sometimes it is as if he can see straight through you. “I grew up in a town, I could walk everywhere. And on the occasions I had to travel it was by wagon or train.”
Arthur shakes his head, chuckling softly, but there’s a glimmer of something else in his eyes—concern, perhaps? “Well, darlin’, if you’re gonna be part of this gang, you’re going to need to learn. A horse is your lifeline out here.”
You nod slowly, feeling the weight of his words settle over you like a heavy blanket. The idea of riding a horse, of being free, and of truly belonging to this life, both excites and terrifies you. But you can see the sincerity in Arthur’s eyes, the way he believes in you.
“Okay,” you finally reply, determination creeping into your voice. “I’ll learn.”
Arthur nods, the corners of his mouth lifting in a way that makes your heart flutter. “Good. I’ll help you. We’ll start tomorrow,” he says, his tone gentle but firm. “You’ll have him running like the wind in no time.”
The campfire crackles behind you, casting a warm glow that feels almost like a cocoon, wrapping you in a blend of excitement and nerves. “Tomorrow, huh?” you repeat, trying to envision the scene. The thought of being on horseback, feeling the rush of wind against your face, stirs a thrill deep within you, but at the same time, the uncertainty of it all sends a shiver down your spine.
Arthur seems to catch your momentary uncertainty. “And hey,” he says, his voice low and reassuring, “you don’t have to worry. I’ll be right there with you. And we’ll take it slow, one step at a time.” There’s a tenderness in his gaze that calms you, and you can’t help but feel a sense of safety in his presence.
His words wash over you like a gentle tide, soothing the apprehension that had begun to rise within. You meet his gaze, feeling the intensity of his attention, and for a moment, the world around you fades into the background. It’s just the two of you, standing amidst the chatter from the camp and the hum of the night.
“Thank you, Arthur,” you say, this time with more confidence. “I really appreciate that.”
A flicker of something deeper passes through his eyes, and you wonder if he feels the same current of connection that you do. He looks younger in the soft glow of the campfire, almost boyish, the gentle smile on his face softening his rugged features. “Anytime. You’re one of us now, and we look out for each other.”
For a heartbeat, it’s as if the air thickens with unspoken words, lingering like the smoke from the fire. But then he clears his throat, breaking the spell.
“Now, let’s get this big fella settled, and then we can grab some food. If you’re feeling anyway like my, I reckon you must be starving.” His voice is warm and inviting, a stark contrast to the chill in the air, and you find yourself nodding in agreement, feeling a sense of ease settle over you.
You glance back at the palomino, who stands with an air of quiet patience. “I could use some food, and I better start thinking about a good name for him.”
Arthur steps closer, helping you untie your new horse. “Why don’t you take your time with that? You’ll know his name when you spend some more time with him. It’ll come to you.”
With Arthur’s help, you lead the palomino to the horse line, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness as you navigate the unfamiliar task. You watch as Arthur works with the horses, his movements fluid and confident. It’s easy to see that he’s in his element, and you can’t help but admire the way he connects with the animals. Arthur seems to command respect without even trying. It’s as if the horses know they’re in good hands.
With your new horse now content in his spot, you take a step back, allowing yourself to breathe and absorb the moment. The laughter and chatter of the gang surrounds you, a reminder of the sense of community that you’ve only just begun to understand. You feel a flicker of hope that maybe, you really can carve a place for yourself within this chaotic family of outlaws.
“Hey, you coming?” Arthur’s voice breaks through your reverie, drawing your attention. He’s looking at you with that same warmth, inviting you to join him and the others around the fire. You nod, a smile breaking across your face as you make your way back to him.
As you settle into the circle, the fire crackling cheerfully between you and the gang, you realize that for the first time in a long while, you feel a sense of belonging.
#springtyme writes#arthur morgan#arthur morgan x reader#arthur morgan fanfiction#arthur morgan x you#arthur morgan fluff#arthur morgan x female reader#arthur morgan rdr2#rdr2 fanfic#rdr fanfiction#rdr 2#arthur morgan imagine#arthur morgan oneshot#x reader#red dead redemption 2#arthur morgan x y/n#cowboy x reader#fluff
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I think it's canon that stan smokes and gets high when he was younger
So I'm thinking reader (they are as old as the og mystery twins) is the type to smoke when they're stress and they say that smoking/getting high clears the fog in their brain
So how do you think stan & ford react to this? I mean they know it's bad but it helps them


Most research about the negative effects of weed I found online, whether or not half of them are actual negative effects is beyond me.
Stan isn’t a hypocrite, he’s gotten high before and so he knows what state your life must be for you to resort to getting high as a stress relief.
He fully understands why you’d always resort to doing such a thing but would remind you that you could always come to him if anything was ever bothering you instead of resorting to getting high.
‘I appreciate it but I don’t want to bother you with what goes on in my head, half of the time I can’t even put it into words that best describes what I’m going through but with this,’ you raised your blunt, ‘it helps me in ways that talking to someone else never could.’
‘Okay, just know I’m here to talk toots.’ Stanley said as he patted your shoulder and left you be.
Stan did it to escape everything and avoid the consequences of his own actions, so much so that he often abused the substance on more then one occasion, but after Dipper and Mabel came for the summer, he has later learned to cut down his smoking sessions for the betterment for the twins and himself.
So whenever he sees you heading out towards your designated smoking spot- the top of the shack- he’d sometimes join you for a smoke, especially when Ford came back and had been nothing but a stubborn nuisance as you shared common worries while the smell of his cigarette and weed was all you could smell.
Neither of you spoke but there was a solidarity between the two of you until you were done. Stan knew that it wasn’t exactly healthy but he wasn’t going to cut you off weed completely if it helped when you needed it most, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t not join you to make sure you weren’t abusing the substance like he did when he was younger.
Ford fully understands that weed is a natural product that can calm people who suffer from anxiety and stress related issues, but over-usage of it was highly discouraged.
Ford knew his brother did similar things in his youth and hated it then, but knowing that you did also only made his distaste for the strong smell stronger as he would then avoid any and all areas that you smoked in, and yet the smell clung to you like second skin and Ford was reminded of how much he hated the stuff and would try to give you something that would hopefully act as a replacement for weed.
Unfortunately for Ford it didn’t work and by the end of the week you were back to smoking weed almost on the regular to destress.
He’d even list off the risks you’d run if you low using the substance.
CHS syndrome
Elevated anxiety
Paranoia
Psychosis illnesses such as schizophrenia
Addiction to weed, if you hadn’t already formed one.
Confusions and or potential hallucinations
And so many more but the more he listed the less you seemed to care as you had relied on the weed for a good majority of your life, and did so in controlled quantities but understood Ford’s worries regardless in the matter and placed a hand on his shoulder.
‘I’m fine Ford, I know it’s not exactly good for me but it’s the only thing that helps.’ You tell him.
‘I’m here.’ Ford replied, a little hurt that you didn’t think of him as a good option for distressing.
‘You’re far too busy in your lab or out monster hunting to sit still for ten minutes and listen to me talk about my worries.’ You said as though it was obvious. ‘So weed is my only resort to calm mind.’
‘Meditation exists, so does journaling and or scrapbooking?’ Ford suggests and it was obvious that he was trying to mitigate any permanent damage you might do to yourself in the future.
‘Not my thing and I lack the patience when this mind is loud as fuck.’ You shrugged before walking up to the top of the shack to smoke, leaving Ford a little at a loss of what he could do for you now. He didn’t condemn you for your usage of weed, but he just worries that an addiction will grow from it and he wants to be there for you, he just doesn’t know how…
#gravity falls x reader#gravity falls imagine#gravity falls imagines#gravity falls#stan pines x you#stanley pines imagines#stanford pines imagines#stanford pines imagine#stanley pines imagine#stan pines imagines#stan pines imagine#stanford pines x reader#stanley pines x reader#stan pines x reader#stanley pines x you#ford pines x you#ford pines imagines#ford pines imagine#ford pines x reader
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dude imagine Miguel overhearing you talk to your friends about all the things you’d let him do to you in the most vile ways possible. like you’re just talking with your homies about how you’d have to get pried off of his dick if he let you smash or that you can’t hear him talk over how loud his ass looks in his jeans or whatever I dunno I think it’s amusing lmao
I LOVE THIS SO MUCH i just had to write a lil smth anon<33
summary : you talk about how you're down bad for miguel to your friends, and he hears it content warnings : mentions of SMUT (18+) minors dni, just reader being down bad for Miguel, no use of Y/N word count : 660 tag list : @fandom-ash

“Honestly, I’d suck him like a watermelon through a straw”
You were gathered in the cafeteria, not many people left, and Miguel was seated at a table not far from where you and your friends were seated. Whatever he was thinking about was soon replaced by listening to your conversation as soon as this sentence was uttered by you.
"Your mouth couldn't handle the size of him," sneered one of your friends to the others. "You'd dislocate your jaw."
"Some sacrifices are worth making," you sighed thoughtfully, your chin resting on your hand. You let out an almost childish whimper, "what I'd give to just impale myself on him!"
"Lord, you'd never let him leave your body, would you?" laughed another friend.
"Never!" you confirmed as you straightened up, "Miguel is so perfect... did you ever see how he walked? How his ass is round and perfect and to die for?!" your voice almost broke as your hands mimed grabbing something and kneading.
Miguel's ears began to heat up and he placed his hand over his mouth as he tried to keep his composure.
"What about his back? Oh..." you say, letting your head fall back, "I'd leave such beautiful nail marks on it."
"Wow, your marks?" laughed one as she reached for her drink.
"Pantone #996767, google it," you sigh.
"I think it's foam I'm seeing at the corners of your lips, you rabid slut," sneered one of them.
"But imagine, his pecs, touching them, laying my head on them, feeling them against my back as he pulls my hair..."
See when cartoon characters have hearts in their eyes? It was pretty close to what you looked like. And surprisingly, Miguel was starting to feel cramped in his pants.
"You're down bad," breathed one of your friends.
"I'd let him break me, I'll be his toy, he can do whatever he sees fit with me and I'll say thank you."
"Even bite you?" inquired another, well aware of the immobilizing properties of his venom.
"Especially bite me." you asserted with a burst of voice that was half laugh and half sigh.
"Would you have the courage to say all that to his face?"
"No way, he'd look at me like an alien."
"You're pretty close to looking like one at that," laughed one of the girls.
You continued to laugh, then when your meal was finished, you left the cafeteria. A few hours later in the afternoon, Miguel called you to his office. You were probably expecting him to send you to a dimension to catch an anomaly, or try to bring in a new Spider-Man.
But instead, as you walked up to him at a respectable distance for a boss and his employee, he asked you a simple question:
"Did you mean it?"
The question confused you.
"What?"
He turned to you, stepping forward a little more, one step at a time. His gaze seemed almost amused, but your habit of polite distance made you step back.
"Everything you said about me to your friends earlier in the cafeteria," your back halted against a wall as he approached again, coming very close to you, "did you mean it?"
Your heart began to pound in your chest as your cheeks heated up.
"Well?" he asked, towering over you as he put his hand next to your head against the wall, coming closer until only a few inches separated you. "I'd be very disappointed if all this were just words thrown into the air."
You swallow, your eyes falling ineluctably on his lips as you moisten yours, your gaze returning to his.
"Yes, I meant it."
His lip stretches to the side, his smile revealing his pointed fang.
"Lyla, status of the doors." he asked, his free hand coming down along your waist.
"Locked." she replied.
His hand slid up to grip your buttock, leaning in until his lips whispered against your ear:
"I hope you keep your word."
#madschiavelique ⟢ ݁ ˖‧˚₊ ☁︎#mads' requests ⟢ ݁ ˖‧˚₊ ☁︎#miguel o’hara x reader#miguel o'hara x you#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel o'hara x y/n#miguel o'hara x fem!reader#miguel o'hara x gender neutral reader#miguel o'hara one shot#miguel o'hara across the spiderverse#miguel o'hara#miguel ohara#miguel ohara x reader#miguel x reader#miguel x you#miguel x y/n#miguel smut#miguel o'hara smut#atsv miguel#miguel atsv#atsv#atsv x reader#atsv smut#miguel spiderman#miguel ohara x y/n#miguel ohara x you#miguel o'hara imagine
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Nervous laughter
word count; 1190 – gn!reader, meet cute
You’re generally considered very attractive, and some would even say the cafe you work in has gained more popularity since you started working there. Your smile lights up the room, you have fun quips with the customers and you make some decent coffee. However, if you ask one of your friends why you are still single, they might say it’s because you can be a bit clumsy. Scratch that, very clumsy. And you also have this fun quirk when you get nervous. You laugh! So much! It’s an unfortunate combination, really, but you’ve survived so far.
It’s not a very busy time, but enough people were coming in and out that you’re going on auto mode. You were making drinks, serving them, greeting customers and clearing tables all at a slightly faster pace. As you pass by one of the other baristas, you throw them a high five before picking up the next coffee, walking right out past the bar when your whole routine is disturbed. If only you had been more cautious, which you tell yourself every time. Someone stepped in your path and now you’ve spilled coffee on their crisp white shirt and the cup you were supposed to give to a customer was shattered on the ground.
Kuroo had a bad day. It wasn’t the worst one he’s ever had, but nothing seemed to be going quite right. He loves his job, but that doesn’t stop him from feeling like some days were tougher to get through and on those days, he couldn’t wait to get home. A forgotten meeting, a stubbed toe and a rejected opportunity are only a few of the things he dealt with already. However, he still had to meet Bokuto later so he decided his only bet was a good cup of coffee. His hair looked a little more dishevelled than usual as he stepped inside the little cafe he found, moving towards the back of the room so he could go to the toilet and maybe try to fix his hair before taking a break with his coffee. Unfortunately, he didn’t get that far.
Now he’s staring down at his ruined shirt, then looking up at you in disbelief, already prepared to somehow convince you that it’s okay even though it’s not.
But you’re full-on laughing. Leaned over, hands on your thighs, and laughing!
This is simply outrageous. He huffs but blinks in surprise when he realises he’s actually smiling. Your laugh sounds so nice, it’s like a superpower that distracted him from anything else that wasn’t as nice.
“I am SO sorry!” you gasp out through your laughter, finally squatting down to pick up some pieces of the cup before standing up to look at him with light tears in your eyes.
“You sure don’t sound very sorry!” he answered, raising an eyebrow at you as your laughter finally started to die down. He looked around, making people whip their gazes back to what they were doing before so he wouldn’t see how everyone was staring at the possible meet cute.
“Please, can I replace your shirt or something? Or wash it for you?” you suggest, cheeks heated up from embarrassment, attention and laughter.
He huffs. “Can’t really wash it unless you want me to take my shirt off right here,” he said, growing more confident when he realised you were actually nervous.
“Are you offering?” you asked without thinking, making the two of you stare at each other before you burst out laughing again, waving your hand in front of your face to cool it down. “Forget I said that, I need to clean this up but please stick around for a moment, if you can?”
He looked at his wristwatch for effect, thought about it for a moment and then agreed. “Fine, but you better get me a fancy coffee while I wait.”
“Of course, it’s on me.”
So he sat there for a while, sipping on the coffee you brought him. It was something he hadn’t tried before, and it seemed to loosen his headache in the weirdest way. Coffee isn’t supposed to do that. Maybe it had something to do with the way you smiled and pursed your lips when you handed it to him, seeming like you had to keep yourself from laughing nervously again. It made him scoff in disbelief, but it wasn’t in a malicious manner at all. Perhaps rather affectionately.
Kuroo looks up from his phone when you finally come to sit down, then back at his phone to tell Bokuto he would be a little late before pocketing the phone altogether. “This coffee is really good,” he commented. “What is it?”
“I have no idea, I begged my coworker to make something that said ‘sorry for ruining your shirt’ to a handsome guy,” you said, sheepishly rubbing your neck. Kuroo smiled in disbelief, somehow finding you even more interesting every minute he spent with you.
“Don’t worry about it, I have more shirts,” he said, shrugging it off. “But maybe you’d let me take you out this weekend?”
“I know I ruined your shirt, but at least tell me your name first.”
A little over 1 year later.
Kuroo brought you along to a friend’s party, if you even called it that at your age when friends got together to catch up and brought their partners or complained about their lack thereof.
He used to be one of the latter. Some even witnessed him make puke-like sounds when someone kissed, usually earning him a punch in the arm. But now he’s watching you with heart eyes as you look around for him after exiting the kitchen. Your face lights up as your eyes find him, lifting your hand to give him a wave before making your way over, but you don’t get that far. Akaashi was exiting the kitchen with a plate of fruit and your hand knocked into it. Thankfully, he managed to hold onto the plate, but half the fruits he had arranged so nicely slid right off to the floor.
Kuroo was clutching his stomach for dear life as he laughed like a hyena, and it clashed so badly with your nervous laughter that kept bubbling from your throat as you leaned your hands on your thighs and tried picking up grapes at the same time.
Everyone else were just watching you, shaking their heads in amusement as Kuroo finally walked over to kiss your cheek and calm you down. You’ve been together for about a year at this point and all his friends – who are now your friends too – know this scene by now. As you catch your breath, you apologise to Akaashi who just waves it off with a smile and goes back in the kitchen to get more. Your boyfriend helps you throw away the fruit that couldn't be eaten anymore before leading you out on the balcony for some air.
Kuroo never really believed in destiny, but he’s sure you were made to be with him. After all, he just left Bokuto’s side right after asking if 1 year is too early to propose.
masterlist
#kuroo tetsurou#kuroo x reader#kuroo testuro#kuroo tetsuro x reader#haikyu#haikyuu#haikyu x reader#hq x reader#hq#fanfiction
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that i left unanswered / s. gojo
angst and hurt/no comfort story to celebrate my 500 followers milestone.
part 1 | part 2 (you are here)
the graduation day has come around the corner. gojo satoru would become another version of himself, more like a mask and a facade. so many things have happened in the past few years ever since he stepped foot in this prefecture. especially during his second year—he would never forget that year.
right now, yaga told them to pack their things in their dorm as they were set to graduate and leave. cleaning was something that satoru is not fond of, so imagine him groaning at the thought of cleaning his things up.
but now, here he is, kneeling in front of his bed as he finds this letter by accident under his bed.
tucked inside an old training manual, wedged between creased pages of cursed theory and ink smudges long dried. he only opened the book to distract himself from the boredom of cleaning since as mentioned, cleaning was not his thing and you were there to help him and it makes everything fun because you're there.
but now, he's now doing it himself and he's like a child who gets easily distracted by literally everything. perhaps, that was the reason why he's now venturing his things just to do anything to escape the silence that’s grown louder since you’ve been gone.
the envelope is unmarked. but the handwriting is clearly yours.
he freezes.
your name is like a spell on his chest. one that no longer works, but still burns every time it’s spoken, read, remembered.
he shouldn’t open it because he knows it's too late. it has been two years, so it’s always too late.
but his hands betray him, trembling as he breaks the seal.
satoru,
if you’re reading this, then you’ve probably cleaned your room—which is a miracle in itself. or maybe you were looking for a reason to remember me, even though you pushed yourself not to. but either way… hi.
i didn’t know how to say this to your face. i actually tried. a hundred times. but every time you looked at me, it felt like the words would shatter before they even left my lips.
he swallows hard. his throat burns like he’s swallowed glass. you always knew how to joke, even when your heart was breaking.
he keeps reading.
you were always the strongest, satoru. everyone looked at you like you were untouchable. but i looked at you and saw a boy who carried too much for too long.
and i loved you for it.
but love wasn’t enough, was it? not when you couldn’t say it back anymore.
his eyes squeeze shut.
he did love you. god, he loved you more than he ever admitted. more than he thought he was allowed to. but he never said it. not anymore. not when everything bad started to happen.
because he thought you knew. that his silence would somehow be proof enough.
but silence isn’t love.
i waited. i waited for you to let me in. i knocked on every door you built, and each one stayed closed. i told myself you just needed more time.
but time ran out, didn’t it?
yeah, it did.
it ran out the night you walked away during that night when you're about to take that mission. not in anger. not even in pain. just…quiet acceptance of your faith of never coming back when curse will took your last breath.
but before it did, you looked at him as you held his hands.
and left him behind.
i don’t blame you.
you were never cruel, satoru. just scared. and i understand that now. but i just wish you’d told me what is really going on with your mind so i can fought harder for you.
and also, i wish i’d heard you say you loved me, that you're sorry for pushing me away. just once.
because maybe then, i wouldn’t be so afraid to lose you when things would went too far.
he lets out a shaky breath, and something inside him crumbles. the letter flutters from his hand like the last piece of you slipping through his fingers.
he sits on the edge of the bed you once lay down with him. the sheets are gone. the pillows were replaced. but he can still feel you there—laughing, crying, holding him like he was worth something.
he never said it.
never gave you the words you deserved.
and now you're just a memory. just a name he reads in a letter. a voice in his head that gets quieter with each passing day.
he presses the letter to his chest like it’ll bring you back.
but all it does is make him realize: the loudest regrets are the ones never spoken.
and satoru gojo?
he’s filled with unsaid words.
the letter lies beside him, smoothed out from being read over and over, as if the ink might vanish if he blinks too long.
gojo sits at his desk—alone, the only sound in the room is the faint hum of the night winds in his window. a pen rests in his fingers, still capped. a clean sheet of paper stares back at him like it’s mocking him.
‘just write.’ he’s told himself that a dozen times. but where the hell does he even start? his hand trembles slightly as he finally uncaps the pen. the first word he writes is your name.
y/n
it’s shaky. it doesn’t look right.
he stares at it for too long, then draws a single line between your name and starts again.
y/n
you were right. i was scared.
he stops. that’s all he has. two sentences. his throat tightens like he’s choking on everything he never said.
y/n
you were right. i was scared.
but not of you. never of you.
i was scared of losing someone again. of caring too much and watching it all disappear.
and then…i did. i lost you too anyway.
he stares at the words. they blur through his tears. not even tears, really. just...leakage from a dam he refused to admit was cracking.
he tries to continue.
you knocked. and knocked. and i just sat behind the door, pretending I didn’t hear you.
you didn’t deserve that.
you deserved every soft word i once uttered but now buried. every ‘i love you’ that i shamelessly state but now swallowed. every late night hug i once ached but never reached out to give.
his hand stills. the pen slips from his fingers and rolls off the desk, forgotten. he leans forward, forehead resting against the paper, shoulders shaking.
he’s not crying. he doesn’t get to cry. because crying means healing and there’s no healing from this.
he never finishes the letter.
he folds it in half. then again. and again. until it’s small enough to press into his palm like a punishment.
he doesn’t burn it. he keeps it like a wound that never closes.
because some things aren’t meant to heal. some things stay unsaid…
forever.
masterlist
©luvvixu2025
a/n: as promised, here is the sequel!! once again, im truly grateful for y'all!! i wouldn't achieve this milestone of 500 followers if it weren't because of everyone of you.
#gojou satoru x reader#satoru gojo#satoru angst#satoru x reader#jujutsu kaisen gojo#gojo satoru x reader#gojo satoru#jjk fluff#jjk gojo#jjk x reader#gojo satoru angst#gojo satoru x you#satoru x you#satoru gojo x reader#satoru x y/n#gojo x reader#gojo x you#gojo x y/n#gojo angst#jujutsu gojo#gojo satoru x y/n#jujutsu kaisen angst#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen#luvvixu#fanfic#anime
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It was another competion the entire family all shoving and pushing each other into the car to see more of Damian's art.
Tim is excited for Damian.
He knows what it's like, to stand there and have no one show up. To be there all by yourself for hours the only one to visit your booth being the art teacher.
Ms. Carrington who would ask questions and ignore the tears that pooled in his eyes before helping him pack everything up, sometimes even driving him home because of course neither his parents or Bruce could be bothered to pick him up.
He can't really help the envy that he can feel building in his chest mixing with a good chunk of repressed anger.
A elbow being jabbed into his ribs distracts him.
"Hey what's with the face? Perk up Boy-Loser it's Damian's night."
He turns to Steph the smile that he had been attempting to plaster on falling. It's such a stupid thing it's a nickname so what if it's demeaning, he gets called pretender or replacement by Jason what does it matter.
"Do you ever think it's kinda fucked up that not a single person in this family calls me anything that isn't an insult?" He snaps.
She looks shocked. How fucking dare he have an ounce of self esteem. Someone alert the Media Tim Drake isn't a dormat.
He turns away sliding into the crowd.
There's less then half an hour left before he can leave. Pratically throwing himself down in the empty hallway as far as he can get from this entire night.
"Baby bird and Timmy aren't insults? Or are they I can't seem to keep up with the kids these days."
He turns, of course. You might be able to run from Batman or lie to him, but you can never escape the grasp of Big Brother Nightwing.
"So your admitting that your old?" he joins the banter.
His muscles start to unclench another superpower only Dick Grayson seems to have.
"Never, something you want to talk about?"
Does he? No. Should he? Yah.
"Maybe I just don't want be insulted every day of my life. So weird who doesn't want to be reminded they suck?"
He can hear the whine, he can also hear that everything he just said isn't gonna matter. You don't take whiny little boys seriously. And that's what he is.
"Hmm you know I get called Dickhead or really a lot of just penis related jokes. Always hated them not that it really stops anyone."
He looks finally making eye contact with his big brother. Because he's right. How many times has he heard anyone in the family other than him and Damian call Dick anything nice. Never not once. Maybe Bruce but he can't really picture it.
"Also don't think I didn't notice how annoyed you are with Bruce about this entire night, which I don't blame you for. You know I love Damian kiddo, but yah Bruce is not winning a mug from me or you."
He doesn't really want to acknowledge any of that already exhausted and he will have to apologize to Steph and if he opens the box it will be a car ride from hell home.
"Luckily for you I have a car parked a block up we can escape get ice cream and have a nice sleepover in bludhaven."
He wants to so bad, he wants to throw himself at Dick who knows him so well, who followed him out here, who isn't blinking, the only adult who has ever not somehow fucked him over.
"What about Damian? He will be pissed at me for stealing you or something. He doesn't need another reason to stab me."
He turns to look back at the floor.
"Foolish Drake I will be coming with you Father is being insesently annoying and I much rather talk about art with someone who has a brain cell."
Both him and Dick whip around to see Damian standing there a slight blush on his face hesitation making the corner of mouth twitch. He sees Dick looking on unsure. He doesn't hesitate.
"Thank god I know a great place with that Vegan Cookie Dough you like. What you waiting for Big Bird? Let's go. "
Climbling to his feet he grabs Dick and Damian dragging them to the exit he hears Dick's confused muttering sharing a secret smile with Damian before ignoring it.
The night is finally looking up.
#Tim Dick and Damian are the best trio argue with the wall#Don't picture Damian who saw his favorite people leave and immediately was ready to book it also don't imagine Damian listening#working up the courage to try and go with them#but do imagine the other batfamily members looking very confused when they are all gone#tim drake#dick grayson#batfamily#jason todd#bruce wayne#damian wayne#I used Stephanie because in the comics she calls Tim like a lot of kinda iffy nicknames she is usually joking but I wanted to make a point#batfam#batman#dc
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Animal Kingdom
Andrew Pope Cody
Thank you all for reading the preview! I didn’t expect such a positive reaction to my writing. Your likes and comments have truly inspired me — I already have two more parts planned. Feel free to share your thoughts, whether good or bad. I always appreciate honest feedback.
We’ll be seeing more of the Cody family soon, but I wanted to give you some background on Pope and my character first.
Chapter 1
The Revival
—
When she was five, she witnessed something she’d only later come to recognize as bipolar disorder in her mother.
Her mother didn’t believe in medication. Said it made her too foggy, too far from herself. So she replaced prescriptions with “the good drugs.” And from then on, her daughter saw things no child should ever see — things done to her mother, things done by her mother.
By the age of ten, she was the unofficial head of the household. She cleaned, cooked, kept the apartment running. She stole — not because she liked it, but because it was the only way to survive. She lifted money from the men her mother brought home. Took soap, toothpaste, and pads from school. Stole lunches from bigger kids. She was a pro.
She loved her mother. Deeply. Enough to make sure she ate, drank water, showered. Enough to keep watch when her mother’s “friends” were over. She loved her even when she didn’t understand her — especially then. That’s where her obsession with psychology began.
She had seen people overdose. Seen how depression and addiction twisted people until they became unrecognizable. She didn’t judge. She watched. She asked questions. She wanted to understand. Needed to understand.
Her schoolwork improved. She started talking to the men who didn’t make her stomach twist. She made them feel seen. Safe. And in return, they opened up. She never gave advice. She just listened. By sixteen, she had done more emotional labor than most people do in a lifetime.
She read psych books from the library and used the tools they taught. Guided conversations, helped others find their own answers. She helped build relationships, and quietly helped end toxic ones, too.
They cried in front of her. Sat with her in silence. Let their rage unravel in the safety of her presence. And when her mother spiraled — manic or depressed — they were there. They helped her study. Helped her apply to university. Helped her celebrate when she got into med school on a partial scholarship.
And they were there when her mother overdosed.
In the quietest, darkest part of her chest, she was relieved.
She left. She studied. She was great at it — not just because she was smart, but because she understood. She could see pain before it was spoken. And she was determined to help fix both mind and body. That’s what led to her final rotation, at Folsom State Prison — and to the man who would change her completely.
⸻
Her first day at Folsom, she knew: this was not where she wanted to be.
Her attending was kind — as kind as one can be after decades in a place like this. He laid out the rules, the code, the expectations. Who to trust. What not to wear. How to walk, how to speak. He gave her a list of patients, diagnoses, medication routines.
That’s when she saw his name.
Andrew David Cody.
A massive dose of Thorazine. Enough to sedate rage. She didn’t meet the inmates until two weeks in.
And the moment she saw his eyes — dark, empty, emotionless — she should have known it wouldn’t end well.
⸻
There’s something to be said about leaving employment to return to school.
After her residency, she realized she didn’t want to be a prison psychiatrist. Not because she couldn’t handle it — but because she had no real power to help. She thought of a pair of eyes — dark, sad, and unblinking — and knew that wasn’t enough.
So she returned. Started a certificate in criminology, hoping to understand them better. But maybe it was something simpler than that: maybe she just didn’t want to grow up. Not yet.
Maybe she should work at a hospital in California. Maybe she should leave the country. Or maybe… maybe she should go back to her mother’s apartment. Let herself rot quietly, the way her mother had.
But then, walking out of class one evening, she saw him.
Not saw — felt.
A presence.
Straight-backed. Arms at his sides. Short sleeved shirt buttoned to the top like a priest.
And eyes — hawk-like, locked on her.
Andrew Cody.
But this time, for the first time since he’d been released, there was something new in his gaze.
A flicker of light in all that darkness.
⸻
There was something to say about the first time she saw him in months —it wasn’t fear that struck her. It was relief. A twisted kind of happiness.
Not about how he found her. Not how he knew where to look.
But because he was out. He had made parole.
Her first instinct, naive as it was, hoped he hadn’t gone back.
Not to that house. Not to her.
That maybe he’d gotten his own place, finally freed himself from the grip of that obsessive, broken mother — and the suffocating loyalty to his family.
But no.
She knew better.
Of course he hadn’t. They were the only thing he had ever known.
Letting go of them would be like letting go of oxygen.
She understood.
The only reason she ever left was because her mother was six feet under. These thoughts flickered and died the moment she saw him — standing there awkwardly, stiff as ever, eyes locked on her like always.
She moved toward him, not quite running, but not walking either.
Stopped just short of touching distance.
“Andrew!” she breathed. “You… you did it. Oh my God, I’m so happy for you. I knew you could do it.”
He didn’t say a word.
Just stared. But she saw it — the barest twitch of his mouth, a subtle lift of his brow.
He was happy to see her.
“How are you feeling? Have you seen your brothers?” she asked gently.
He replied, voice low. “Yes.”
She didn’t ask about his mother. She didn’t want to know. Didn’t want to open that door. Not yet.
So she reached for the first thing that surfaced — something safer.
“The fountain… did Baz ever finish it?” Her voice came out too light, too casual — even she could hear it.
But it was the only thing she could grab. He had once told her Baz promised to finish it while he was gone.
A flicker again — this time annoyance. A tilt of the head, the slightest grimace.
“No. I’m making it.”
So he was back there.
“Ah,” she said softly. “Well… I’m not really surprised. From what you told me about Baz…”
(From what your eyes told me. From what your silences said.)
“But it’s good, right? Keeps you busy. Keeps your mind quiet.”
He didn’t respond. Just stared.
“Right. Sorry… are you hungry? Want to grab something to eat?”
“I thought you were done with school,” he said.
“Yeah. I was. I don’t know —” she gave a nervous laugh, tugged at her sleeve, “—I guess I’m just not ready for the real world yet.”
He looked at her for a long moment. “I understand.”
“I know you do, Andrew,” she said gently. “Let’s go. There’s this Mexican place nearby — it’s amazing.”
She reached out instinctively, about to touch his arm — but paused.
He was watching her hand. Not with fear. Not quite with hope. Just a quiet, unreadable stillness. Like he wanted it more than anything but wouldn’t let himself show it.
There was something in his eyes — not pleading, but almost… waiting. The kind of stillness a child holds when something precious is near, afraid to move and scare it off.
She hesitated, her fingers curling slightly.
She knew how vulnerable he was in that moment. Knew what it meant — what it would mean — to touch him here, like this. There was desire under it, yes, but not sexual. Not yet. It felt more like comforting a child after a nightmare.
So she moved slowly.
When she finally took his hand, his fingers didn’t flinch. Didn’t tighten. Just rested there — solid, warm, resigned.
But he didn’t pull away.
And that was everything.
She led him forward, her grip light, his steps heavier — like he was trying not to fall into her.
#andrew cody#andrew pope cody#animal kingdom#animal kingdom fanfic#andrew cody x reader#Andrew Cody x Oc#andrew pope cody x reader#shawn hatosy#pope cody x oc#pope cody x reader#pope cody#obsession
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Sit Next To Me
Chapter 6: Only For You
You had created two rules for yourself.
Rule One: You could do whatever you wanted. Get the degree you want, party when you want, cancel plans when you want, love who you want. Whatever you really wanted to do, you were going to do, anxiety and guilt free.
Rule Two: You could do whatever you wanted, except for have relationships with classmates. No sex, no dating. If they were on the same course roster as you, they were off limits.
Easy enough, right?
…Right?
Viktor x Female!Reader - 18+
A.N. I saw 'sorry this took so long' for every chapter, but this is probably the one with the biggest gap. I'm semi-sorry , semi-not because this is the longest chapter I've written so far (14.3k words). It's also 3 am, but I am determined to post. So here it is. I hope everyone loves it. Very mild content warnings on AO3. Have fun, I love you all dearly <3 (more author notes may appear in the replies)
A link to the playlist for this chapter is in the replies!
EDIT: Shout out to @cicadastoner for letting me ramble some ideas to them and figure things out.

Read on AO3
October officially ushered out the last days of summer. Replacing the sunny days with falling leaves and the excitement of a fresh semester with mid-term blues. Unlike all the past semesters, you were fairly unbothered this term. Of your courses, only Hiemerdinger’s class had an official midterm exam. The rest didn’t bother and instead continued assignments as normal. It was clear you were one of the few to be spared the anxieties.
Viktor had gotten to class before you. You found him glaring down at the textbook in front of him and tugging his normally neat hair into a mess of cowlicks, his leg jumping like it was trying to run away from his body. As you got closer to him, you could tell that he wasn’t exactly looking at anything in particular. Just staring at the table, the muscles around his eyes twitching almost imperceptibly and the soft skin darker than you had ever seen it.
“Morning,” You said, sliding into your seat next to him, waiting for a response that didn’t come. You tilted your head at him, lips pursed, “Viktor?”
Nothing. You felt bad thinking about how pretty he looked when he was upset. The already strong lines of his face were that much more prominent, his eyes were darker, his whole demeanor more intense. He let out a shaky breath through his nose, still seemingly unaware of your presence.
“Viktor?” You asked again, then reached out and placed a firm hand on his knee, stopping the motion, “Vik?”
He sucked in a harsh breath, turning to you with wide eyes. He blinked a few times, registering where he was.
“Sorry,” He shook his head lightly, heaving a sigh before saying your name, “Goodmorning.”
“Are you okay?” You squeezed his knee, still shaking slightly, “Did you get any sleep last night?”
“Uh, yeah,” He straightened up, placing his palm over the back of your hand, “Yeah, no I didn’t, I guess, sorry.”
“You’re starting to sound like me,” You joked, laughing softly, “Sorry, sorry. What’s up? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this anxious?”
“Your American habits are rubbing off on me,” He pulled his hand away and ran it through his hair, he leaned into the back of his chair.
“Really, what’s got you all worked up?” You tried to think if he had mentioned anything coming up that would cause this reaction, “You only have the one midterm test, right? Please tell me you aren’t worried about Heimerdinger's test.”
He hesitated for a moment, picking at the edge of the table and not looking up at you, “And if I said I was?”
“Then I’d tell you that’s dumb and you are the last person that should be worried about this test,” You told him, leaning forward to try to catch his gaze. He met your eyes, seemingly unconvinced. You leaned farther into his space, hoping he believed you when you urged, “Seriously, I mean it.”
He rolled his eyes in response, but fought back a smile as he gently pushed you away, a laugh slipping past his lips, “Okay, whatever you say.”
“If you want help studying, I’m always around,” You teased, “Not like you need it, but still.”
“Well, if I need someone to tell me the wrong pages to study, I’ll keep you in mind,” He teased, smirking over at you.
“Hey, that was one time,” You pouted, face going red thinking about when you had given him the completely wrong chapter to complete homework on.
Before Viktor could reply, Jinx and Ekko arrived at the table holding two more coffees than usual.
“Good morning my lovely lab partners,” Jinx said, extra bubbly as she set the two extra cups down in front of you and Viktor, “My birthday gifts for you.”
“Happy birthday, Jinx,” You smiled up at her as you took the drink, “Thank you.”
“Happy birthday,” Viktor repeated, picking up the cup curiously, “Why do you bring us gifts?”
“Family tradition,” Jinx shrugged as she took her seat, “Spiced anise latte for you, and a cherry mocha for you.”
“Yeah, Vi will do it too, when it’s her birthday,” You told him
“Hm, that’s very sweet. Thank you, Jinx,” He lifted his own cup to his lips.
“Of course, my gift to everyone else is going to be the best concert and after party this town has ever seen,” Dramatic as ever, “You’re coming to our show, right Vicky?”
“I’m only letting you call me that because it’s your birthday,” Viktor scolded, “Yes, I should be able to come.”
“Should?” You scoffed, hitting him lightly on the leg, “Don’t be lame, you have to come. What else would you be doing?”
He shrugged, “Studying? Working on research?”
“No way,” Ekko said, shaking his head seriously, “You have to come, you’d actually be the worst lab partner in the world if you didn’t show up.”
“Yeah, literally the worst,” Jinx nodded, equally as serious, “We might have to drop you from the group.”
“Yeah, sure.” He rolled his eyes, looking to you for backup.
“Hey, It’s my show, too,” You pointed out, poking him in the chest as you fought back a smile, “I agree, you don’t come and you're out.”
“Fine, I’ll make sure to be there.” He laughed, waving you away from him.
“Early? And front and center?” You raised an eyebrow.
“Yes ma’am.” He nodded firmly, “It seems my grade depends on it.”
“Sure does,” You told him, glad he seemed to be relieved of his undue test worries.
------
The rest of class was fairly calm. Jinx made sure to tell as many people as she could about the show, and the ones she liked about the party afterwards. Friday classes were lecture only and Heimerdinger reached the end of his presentation before even that allotted time was up. Everyone was grateful to be released early. As soon as he dismissed the class Jnx was up, practically dragging Ekko behind her on the way to whatever else she had going on today.
“You have plans before the show tonight?” You asked, bumping your shoulder into Viktor’s lightly as everyone filed out of the classroom.
“Other than reading the textbook front to back?” Viktor scoffed, “No.”
“Good, instead of stressing yourself out so much that you take years off your life,” You joked, “Come run some errands with me? I’m picking up a looper from someone on craigslist, and if you're with me the chances that I get human trafficked go down significantly.”
You followed him into the elevator, “Unfortunately, I do not believe I could actually protect you.”
You leaned against the wall as he hit the button for the first floor, you shrugged, “Eh, it’s more about having a witness than actually getting in a fight.” When the doors slid shut without anyone else inside, you moved closer to him.
“Besides,” You hooked a finger into the belt loop on the back of his jeans, and pulled him flush against you. He gasped softly, looking over his shoulder as you pushed yourself into your toes and rested your chin against his shoulder. One hand was holding the back of his jeans, the other on his waist, “I’m strong enough to take care of myself.”
The curve of his throat jumped as he swallowed hard. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. You watched his face redden in real time, the tips of his ears the darkest.
“Uh, s-so,” He tried, voice catching before he cleared his throat, “your car or mine?”
You laughed and gave him some space. By the time you reached the ground floor, you were acting innocent as ever and he looked like he had just strolled through the Red District.
“I’ll drive,” You told him, “I’ve gotta pick up Ekko’s drums anyways, I’ll get you from your place in like thirty?”
“That is good,” He nodded, then he furrowed his eyebrows, glancing down at the ground and back at you, “Why…why did you do that?”
“Got you to stop thinking about the midterm, didn’t it?” You said innocently as you backed away from him towards the side door of the building, “Go home, I’ll see you in a minute.”
-----
You were the most grateful for Viktor coming along when you realized that your only way to reach the apartment building without having to walk a mile was to parallel park. You knew your truck front and back. You have driven practically every day since you earned your license, put thousands of miles on it. Despite this, parallel parking was not a skill in your repertoire.
“I’m gonna be real honest with you,” You said, truck angled awkwardly half into the spot, “I don’t know how to parallel park.”
“Eh, yes, I have gathered that,” He looked nervously over his shoulder at the traffic slowing and pulling around the front of the truck.
“I’ll just, uh, yeah I’ll just find somewhere else to park,” You laughed nervously, avoiding eye contact with other drivers.
“Wait, here, just calm down,” Viktor undid his seat belt and slid across the bench seat to be next to you, “You can do this, It’s not that hard.”
“Easy for you to say,” You mutter, now overly aware how close he was.
“Hush,” He scolded, and then, “Pull out of the spot, line up with the car in front of us.”
“But I’m already half-way in?” You challenged, hands tight on the steering wheel.
“God above! Will you just do what I tell you for two seconds?” He dragged a hand down his face, voice low. Before you could answer, he grabbed the gearshift and put the car into drive, “Pull. Forward.”
You did as he asked, hoping he contributed the blush creeping up your neck to anxiety. Once you were lined up with the car in front, he let out a sigh, apparently relieved you decided to cooperate.
“Okay, good,” He reached up and put the truck into reverse, “Now back up and pull the wheel right.” You nodded, following his instructions.
“Slowly,” He told you, leaning over to look out the window, muttering half to you half to himself, “There you go, just like that.”
The tone of his voice made you bite down on your lip, grateful he wasn’t looking at you in this moment, “Is that good?”
“Almost,” He said, voice softer as he focused, “Almost there, just a little more right…good now straighten out and pull forward a little bit.”
You did and then hesitated, unsure if you were actually in the spot. He reached over and put the truck into park.
“There, you did it,” He said leaning closer to the side of your face and huffing out a laugh, voice teasing “I thought you were an independent girl, huh?”
“Excuse you,” You scoffed at him, “I am! I just haven't gained the skill of parallel parking yet.”
He laughed at the shrug you gave him, “Okay, well, I hope you were paying attention, because next time I’m making you do it on your own.”
You rolled your eyes at him, pulling the keys from the ignition, “Yeah, no I’ve definitely got it down now.”
That was a lie.
You grabbed your bag and gestured for him to slide out of the truck, following him out the passenger side. The sidewalk was fairly busy, the mid-Friday crowd bustling from downtown shops to restaurants. You stuck close to Viktor, squinting around as you tried to find the right building.
“This guy was supposed to meet me down here,” You huffed, rolling your eyes, “But now apparently he’s too busy to walk down to meet us.”
“What’s the address?” He asked, looking over your shoulder as you pulled up the texts on your phone.
“890 Piltover Main, Unit Seven.” You read from the text, “We’re on the right road and I think it’s on this side.”
Viktor began walking looking at the building numbers, “890, right? This should be it.”
You followed him into an entry alcove, the address number almost completely hidden by ivy growing on the wall. You buzzed apartment seven on the intercom. It only took a moment before the door unlocked with a thunk.
“Trusting guy,” Viktor mused, pushing open the door for you.
You shrugged, leading the way to the elevator. It was small and creaked when you both stepped inside. You exchanged a worried glance with Viktor. Any other time you would take the stairs, but you weren’t going to leave him to die in the scary elevator alone. You didn’t linger inside when the door squeaked open on the second floor.
It wasn’t until you knocked on the door that you realized you had lost Viktor. You looked back down the hall to see him stopped in front of a frame on the wall, examining it closely. Before you could ask what he was doing the door swung open. A mid-thirties man stood in the doorway, unfortunately shirtless, an array of poorly done tattoos on display. He leaned on the doorway, cheap cologne making your eyes burn.
“Hey, uh, I’m here for the looper,” You told him, resisting the urge to scrunch your nose at the smell and ignoring the way his eyes scanned over you.
“Oh yeah, I’ve been expecting you,” He said, crossing his arms and adjusting the way he was leaning, an attempt to look more casual, “You’re late.”
“Yeah, sorry, parking was a bitch.” You said, pulling cash out of your pocket, “Twenty, right?”
“Yep,” He swiped his tongue over his bottom lip, his eyes decidedly not on your face, “You want to come in and test it?”
“No, that’s okay.” You shook your head, glancing over to where Viktor was very unhelpfully down the hall, face close to the glass as he focused.
“Are you sure?” He asked, turning around and leaving the door open, an invitation you weren't taking.
“Vik,” You hissed when the guy was out of earshot. Viktor’s head snapped up, realizing you had gone ahead without him, you waved him over. Quickly he made his way down the hall toward you, his cane echoing each footstep on the warped wood flooring.
“Sorry,” He said, sheepishly ducking his head.
“It’s fine,” You whispered, slipping your hand into his, “but, I did bring you with me for a reason.”
You waited a moment for the man to return. He faltered when he found you still in the doorway with Viktor next to you, his eyes bouncing down to your hand in his.
“Sorry, I thought you were behind me.” He said, eyeing Viktor like a threat. The looper in his hand.
“No worries,” You held the cash out to him casually, “Here ya go.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to come in and test it?” He asked, staring at your face, “Make sure it works right?”
“You wouldn’t offer her to test it, ” Viktor interjected, voice low as he raised an eyebrow at the man, “if you knew it didn’t work.”
“Hm, well, I could teach her how to use it.” He said, pointedly.
“I know how to use it,” You assured him, holding your hand out for the equipment, “Thanks anyways.”
When he didn’t hand it over, Viktor took the twenty out of your hand, reaching over and placing the cash in the man's free hand and firmly taking the looper out of the other.
“Pleasure doing business with you,” He said tightly, eyes narrow.
Neither of you waited for a response before turning to leave. You took the looper from him, holding it in one hand and looping your arm through his. Letting him lead you down the hall.
“I agree with Jayce,” He leaned over and whispered, “Don’t ever do this alone, please.”
“Don’t let me do it alone, then,” You told him with a shrug, “Why’d you stop anyways?”
“Blue prints,” He nodded, slowing to a stop in front of the fame he had been looking at earlier, “Old, I’m surprised it’s not kept somewhere safer.”
The blueprints were of the building you were in and the two on either side. They were indeed very old, probably original ones from when the area was first built.
“Hm, cool,” You mused, then teased him, “I’m glad you stopped to look at these instead of keeping me from being murdered.”
“I’m sorry,” He whined, following you as you hit the elevator button, “I forgot that I was to be your guard dog today.”
“If you want to be my guard dog every day,” You teased, squeezing his bicep where your hand still rested, “You won’t forget next time.”
------
The next stop was a music store. Ekko generally managed to break at least one stick during rehearsals, you predicted he’d break a couple more in the heat of the show tonight, and you had been meaning to restring your guitar for a couple weeks now. Better late than never. The store was only a few blocks from where you picked up the looper. You had offered to drive, but Viktor insisted that walking was less painful than watching you attempt to parallel park for a second time that day. Despite the dig, the short walk with Viktor was pleasant. You had reluctantly dropped your hands from his arm, but stuck close to him while you walked. Comfortably talking about nothing important.
Inside the music store you wandered through the aisles, Viktor trailing you as you searched for the few things you had come in for. Finding the drumsticks wasn’t hard, but you quickly realized you should have asked for more specifics from Ekko on which ones to pick up for him. He had mentioned the brand, but nothing about what size or wood type to get. Even within the brand he wanted, you were left with dozens of options. You sent him a text and began reading the packaging of the sticks, hoping that would give you some idea of what to look for.
“They’re just sticks,” You exasperated, squinting at the packaging in your hand, “This should not be so complicated.”
You set them down, deciding that you’d find the strings you needed while waiting for Ekko to text you back. When you turned, you were surprised to find that Viktor had strayed away. He was standing in front of one of the test keyboards, cane tucked under his arm and head bent as he played. You hadn’t even registered the sound until you saw him. You watched him for a moment. His hands moved with a practiced skill. Tufts of chestnut hair fell over his forehead, almost covering his eyes as he played. Every couple of measures he would close his eyes, eyebrows furrowed for a moment as he tilted his head to the side and thought about the chords as he played them, lips parted gently. You took a photo before he could notice, making a mental note to save it into the folder overflowing with candids of your friends.
He had pushed the sleeves of his sweater up to his elbows. You moved closer, watching the muscles of his forearms flex and move as his fingers pressed against the keys.
“I didn’t know you played,” You said as his hands came to a slow stop.
“Eh, I used to,” His shoulder lifted in a small shrug, “I don’t really anymore.”
“You’re very good,” You took another step closer, looking up at his face that was still cast down at the keys. There was the faintest line between his eyebrows, a tightness behind his eyes, “Why don’t you play anymore?”
“Have I ever mentioned I grew up Catholic?” He asked, placing his cane back against the ground and straightening up. He adjusted his weight, nudging slightly closer to you. Close enough that you had to tip your head back slightly to keep eye contact.
“No,” You shook your head, a little surprised at the sudden information, “I didn’t know that.”
“Yep, full-blooded Roman Catholic,” He clicked his tongue against his teeth and pulled in slow breath, “Are you religious? Do you know about Catholicism?”
“No,” You shook your head, you could count the times you remember going to church on one hand, “Not really. I mean, Joan of Arc was a saint, right? That’s probably all I know.”
“Yes, Joan of Arc was indeed a saint,” He laughed softly, “The cut and dry of it is that humans are inherently sinful by nature. It’s the way we are created and we must spend every moment of our lives atoning for that.”
He scoffed, shaking his head at the ground, “We are told that we deserve the bad that happens to us. That it is our fault…and when you are nine and different, that concept is a particularly deep cut.”
His hand tightened around the handle of his cane, the smooth wood creaking slightly. You reached out without thinking, fingers circling around his wrist. You held him gently, thumb smoothing over the pulse on the inside of his wrist, urging him to relax.
“So, instead of helplessly sitting through mass every week, I learned to play piano,” He shrugged like it was obvious, “My mother was thrilled that I was involving myself in the church, and by the time I was eleven I managed to sit at the piano every service and just…tune out. I pretended to listen, did what was asked, spent hours each week learning uninteresting melodies. All in an effort to escape the myriad of adults in my life telling me that if I served God, if I prayed hard enough, confessed my sins, I would be cured.”
He said the last word like a slur, corners of his mouth pulled down in a scowl, eyes distant. It made your heart sink. The image of him as a child, berated by religion. You resisted the urge to reach up and smooth the hurt on his face. You opted instead to move your hand up his arm, giving a gentle squeeze to the back of his forearm. The motion was enough to bring him back to the present. He sucked in a sharp breath, almost stepping back as he shook his head.
“I’m sorry,” A rueful laugh split past his lips, and he cleared his throat, “I’m sorry, you didn’t ask about that. Um, I learned to play when I was a kid for a purpose. I don’t need to play anymore, so I don’t. That’s it.”
“Hey, no, don’t apologize.” You held him where he was as he tried to move away, “Thank you for telling me that… I’m sure it’s not fun to talk about,” You scoffed lightly, knowing full well you avoided conversations about aspects of your childhood like the plague, “and I know it probably doesn’t help, but for what it’s worth, I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that.”
He cast a sad look down at you. Doubtful.
“Really, listen, I know you didn’t ask my opinion,” You laughed softly, squeezing his arm again, “But I think that is incredibly fucked up, and I’m sorry you had to go through that, and I’m glad that you found something to help you through it.”
He let out a huff through his nose and was chewing on the inside of his lip, clearly nervous. You could tell that he felt exposed, let himself be vulnerable without meaning to. You stepped closer and looped an arm around his waist, turning the both of you towards the piano.
“What were you playing?” You asked, hoping to set him at ease, “It was very pretty.”
“Oh, uh, it was Leoš Janáček,” He told you, tension releasing from his shoulders as you leaned into him, “He’s one of the more well known composers of Czechia.”
He played the first few notes again, slowly, “Naše večery, it’s the first piece in a piano cycle. Written around…1900 I believe.”
“Hm, it’s beautiful,” You greeted the way he relaxed into you as he played, your hand resting gently against his waist as you watched his hands move, “Naše večery…what does that mean?”
“Our Evenings,” He told you, “It would sound better on a true piano.”
“Oh, well, be careful what you wish for,” You joked, looking up at his face with a smirk on his lips, “If you find one to play at, I’ll make you play the whole cycle.”
“You have an hour to spare, just for me?” He joked, raising an eyebrow at you under his arm.
“Always,” You rolled your eyes, laughing like it was a joke. Laughing like you wouldn’t drop everything in a heartbeat for him if he asked.
A well-timed phone call prevented you from thinking too much about that fact. You didn’t move away from him when you picked it up.
“Hey, did you get them already?” Ekko’s voice asked on the other end.
“Oh, no I was waiting for you to text,” You pulled the phone away and realized he had replied, several times, “Sorry, I got distracted. Which ones do you want?”
You tried to hide your disappointment as you pulled away from Viktor. You could hear him trailing behind you as you moved back to where the sticks were.
You grabbed the sticks he wanted (a pack of hickory, and a pair of oak to test), the strings you needed for your guitar, and a neon pink bass strap as a gift for Jinx. All the while Viktor hovered near your side, fingers brushing against your waist or the inside of your wrist. It wasn’t clear why until you reached the counter to pay. When the teenage cashier made eye contact with your chest first, you realized why Viktor hooked his arm strongly around your waist. You watched the kid take notice of Viktor’s presence, glancing away quickly as he met Viktor’s gaze. You pretend not to notice why his head stayed down for the rest of the interaction.
“Don’t tell her I said this,” You said lowly as you walked away from the counter, still firmly in Viktor’s grasp, “but you’re certainly a better guard dog than Lest.”
He made a triumphant little noise in the back of his throat and squeezed your waist as you walked to the truck.
-----
The rest of the afternoon had been easy enough. Back at the house, Jayce helped you load Ekko’s drums and the rest of the equipment needed for tonight into the back of your truck. Viktor helped you double and triple check your list to guarantee nothing had been forgotten. At The Last Drop, Vander and Sevika had been kind enough to help you set up the stage, something you had allotted a couple hours to when you thought you’d be doing it yourself. You even had time to go all the way back to your dorm to shower and change properly.
The stage was set. The party was ready for after. Jinx and Ekko were on time. Soundcheck went smoothly. The bar had filled up. The sky above the outdoor stage was clear. Everything was great. So great, in fact, that you hadn’t even the notion to be anxious. Not until right now.
You let out a nervous laugh, thrown off guard by the tears that pricked at your eyes and the ways your hands shook. You bent over, steading your hands against your thighs and trying to calm yourself down. You tried to focus on the lowkey sound of the opening duo. From the backside of the speakers, their acoustics were drowned out by the rumble of the large and still growing crowd in front of the stage. It filled your ears coupled with the rush of blood, making your head spin. You tried to think of the things your dad had taught you growing up. Grounding exercise to pull you out of a panic attack. It was too loud, though. You couldn't focus on the timing of each breath or your surroundings. Even in the open space behind the outdoor stage you felt caged in, like the sky was pressing into your back.
You forced your eyes open. Focusing on what you could see in your direct vision. The hem of your skirt, first, the flowy fabric brushing against the bottom of your shins. Then your hightops, the black canvas well worn in and pen marks covering the dirty rubber. The laces were looped around your ankles, keeping them secured tighter than they needed to be. You shifted, feeling the gravel crunch beneath your soles. Dark rocks made to let water drain into the earth below instead of pooling. You reached down and picked a small one up just as a hand came to rest against the curve of your back.
“You doing okay?” It was Ekko, voice soft as he checked in.
“Huh? Oh, yeah I’m okay,” You straightened, hoping your voice was more convincing out loud than it was in your head. You realized there wasn’t a good reason to lie to Ekko of all people, “Sorry, just nerves, ya know.”
“Why?” He asked, hand falling to his side.
“Why what?” You tilted your head.
“Why are you nervous?” He prodded.
“I…I don’t know,” You shrugged, “Because I am.”
“That’s a horrible answer. Really, what do you have to be nervous about?” He scoffed before going into a laundry list, “You know the songs front to back, we’ve practiced everything a hundred times, sound check went fine, the crowd is full of our friends, and your hair looks great.”
He flipped a hand through your hair dramatically then placed both big hands on your shoulders.
“This is supposed to be fun.” He said seriously, then began shaking you around by the shoulders until you started laughing, he cracked a smile, “This. Will. Be. Fun.”
“Stop Ekko, stop!” You laughed, grabbing his wrists and trying to break free, “Fine, fine. I’m not nervous anymore, happy?”
“Good,” He slung an arm over your shoulder, weighing you down, “Because we’re on in like five minutes.”
“Fuck,” You gasped, looking towards the stage.
Before you could descend back into panic, Jinx was barreling towards you and Ekko. She threw her arms around both of you, shoving her head between yours and Ekko’s and hugging you tight enough to hurt.
“I am so excited!” Jinx was practically vibrating as she pulled away, hands still on both of you, “This is going to be so fun!”
Jinx thrived on adrenaline. Her energy was overpowering. It was impossible to not let it infect you, something you were glad for. You felt the nervous energy leech from your bones. A shaky excitement taking its place.
“You ready?” Ekko asked her, unwinding himself from your side and playing his hands on her shoulders, she nodded eagerly, “You have picks in your pocket?”
She reached into the pocket of her pants and pulled out an absurd amount of picks. You honestly wouldn’t be surprised if she managed to go through most of them during the show. Ekko nodded affirmingly then pulled her into his chest, strong arms flexing as he held her tight, speaking just to her.
You smiled fondly at the couple and moved away to get yourself ready. Your freshly restringed guitar was waiting on the stage. You had picks in your pocket. Your water was filled. You had eaten. Your shoes were tied. You were physically as ready as you could be.
‘This will be fun,’ you told yourself. You loved playing, especially with Jinx and Ekko. Performing wasn’t necessarily your favorite thing in the world, but you had a good time during your few shows over the summer. Your friends were right in the front. Jayce and Mel and Lest and…and Viktor. You realized that the thought of him watching you made you nervous. What a stupid feeling to have. What a childish feeling to have. Nervous about doing something in front of a boy like you were 14 or something. He had already seen you play. Multiple times, even. Him and Jayce frequently set up in the garage while you and the others rehearsed.
Even early today he had twirled calmly on a stool in the garage, watching you intently as you tested the second hand loop pedal. He had never given you a reason to be nervous under his eyes. Still, you wondered what he would think seeing you actually on stage. Would he think you looked awkward? Uncomfortable and out of place on stage. Maybe you’d be too stiff, or too loose even. You wanted to claw your hair out. Before you could dwell on the idea any longer, Jinx grabbed you by the hand, dragging you quickly to the stage stairs.
“Ready? She asked, eyes glowing.
You took a heavy breath, twisting your sneaker into the gravel to ground yourself. You gave a nod and a smile that you hoped didn’t look forced, “As we’ll ever be.”
The opener bounced off stage, wishing Jinx a happy birthday and the rest of you good luck. Jinx went first onto stage, you and Ekko only a few steps behind her. She was on the mic in an instant. You vaguely listened to her as you set up your guitar, grateful for the moments it took to plug into the amp and test the strings. You took a few deep breaths, checking that the setlist and equipment around your feet were still secured down before glancing up. The crowd was luckily obscured past the first ten feet, the lights on you not giving you much visibility. You did catch sight of your friends, right where they said they’d be in the front row. Viktor was between Lest and Jayce, watching you. You blinked at him, giving a weak smile. He gave a strong one in return, all pretty teeth and encouragement. You were surprised how much it put you at ease. You let out a heavy breath and felt yourself relax again, in a way that you were sure would last.
You glanced over to Jinx, tuning in as you adjusted the height of your mic.
“Just in case you don’t know,” Jinx said to the crowd, bass held around her neck by the new strap you had bought her, “Today is my twenty-first fucking birthday!”
The crowd cheered for her. Shouts of ‘happy birthdays’ and dramatic ‘we love yous’ thrown her way. You laughed as she basked in the attention, falsely waving them away.
“And to celebrate that!” Jinx said into the mic, then paused to lean down to one of the amps, pulling out three sealed plastic cups. She went back to the mic, “With the company of my beautiful bandmates, I’m gonna do my first shot.” Then lower away from the mic, “legally.”
Ekko climbed down from his drum platform, letting Jinx hand him one of the premade shots before she bounded over to give you yours. It was one of those twisted shots, blue and pink liquor separated by a swirl of plastic.
“A pornstar shot, really?” You laughed into the mic, looking over at Jinx.
“Hey! They’re pink and blue!” Jinx defended, also speaking into the mic, letting the conversation be part of the performance, “I’ve gotta stay on brand.”
You shrugged in agreement, peeling off the foil top and sniffing it experimentally. They brought back freshman year memories of dorm parties and running around campus in the dark. Jinx settled next to you, slightly in front to keep from hitting you with the neck of her bass.
She lifted her shot, you and ekko mimicking the motion, “To a good show and an after party none of us remember,” The crowd in front of you lifted whatever drinks they had as the three of you downed the shots. The overly sweet alcohol made your nose burn. Jinx laughed, taking in the cheers as the three of you retake your proper spots on stage.
“Now let’s get this show fucking started,” Jinx plucked a few strings on her bass, testing the sound. She looked over to you and when you gave a confirming nod, she gave the same look to Ekko. He set the tempo on the drum for a few beats, counting down verbally before you and Jinx joined in. Together playing the opening to Darla by Vundabar.
Once your hands were on the strings and the chords poured from the speaker towards the crowd, any worry you had was gone. You felt light, high almost, as you played. Moving around to the beat of the song, mouthing half the lyrics to yourself as Jinx sang them.
After the first song, all three of you were in it. Any drop of uncertainty leaching out with the sweat on your skin as you played. It was easy, you floated through the setlist, hands knowing the chords and timing perfectly. You played and sang your back up vocals, taking control of a full verse here and there. It wasn’t until the middle of the set that the attention was fully on you. An almost original song. A derivative work technically, lyrics written by Ekko set to a slightly altered composition of a Dystopia song.
Jinx was in love with this one, she had coaxed her dad into letting her play with the lighting just a little bit. The light dimmed slowly as you set for the song, adjusting settings on amps and Ekko preparing extra sticks. You plucked a cigarette out of the pack in your pocket, placing it in your lips as you crouched down on the edge of the stage. Right in front of Viktor.
You didn’t say anything, just rested your guitar in your lap and let the bottom of your skirt pool against the ground around you. You didn’t need to search for eye contact, it was there in an instant. Only seconds later when he was stepping closer and holding a flame up to you. You didn’t look away from him when you took the drag and blew the smoke down to his face.
Without so much as a word you stood back to the audience as the lights reached their end, only blue spotlights on you, Jinx, and Ekko remaining. The chords rang out exactly as you had wanted them, low and haunting as Ekko shimmered the cymbals of his set. This was your favorite song to play. Your favorite to practice, to show off to people.
It felt good to play it in front of everyone. Felt better knowing how you were playing in front of him.
------
That feeling carried you to the end of the show. Carried you even when Viktor politely moved to the bar at the back of the crowd to lean against a stool. He gave a reassuring wave from where he sat, knuckles pressing into his thigh. Carried you through breakdown, carried you to your truck packed with gear, carried you to the Rune Street house where the boys unloaded you truck while you changed in Cait’s room.
Carried you until you finally stopped moving. You leaned against the kitchen sink, body heavy as you sipped at a solo cup of tap water. You took slow breaths, staring at a spot on the floor as you tried to bring yourself back up from the ground. The excited and already intoxicated people around you did nothing to help. You stayed in the twilight zone until a pale hand waved in front of your face.
“Visiting another universe tonight?” Viktor asked as you snapped your head up to look at him.
“Sorry,” You shook your head, blinking like you had just woken from sleep, “Sorry, I just…zoned out.”
“Hm, well welcome back,” He laughed softly, moving closer to you as someone tried to squeeze around his back to get through the kitchen. He stayed close even when the person was gone, he even leaned in further. Shouting over the music, “You did great tonight. You played incredibly.”
“Thank you, that’s very sweet,” You smiled up at him, still feeling weak.
He caught on quickly, steadying a hand on your shoulder, “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” You tried to wave it off, he narrowed his eyes at you, “I’m just tired is all, kinda crashing.”
“That’s reasonable,” He frowned, then pulled away, just enough to fish a silver key from his pocket and hold it out to you, “My room is the only one that locks, you can crash in there for a bit if you’d like.”
It was a tempting offer, but you knew if you tried to sleep now you’d be out until morning, “I’m okay,” You told him, “I wanna hang, just gotta power through.”
“Well in that case,”
He put the key back in his pocket and reached past you, grabbing a cup from the stack and setting it on the counter next to the fridge. He took your cup from your hands and dumped the water out, setting it next to his. You were finally taking him in now. Too spaced to notice his wardrobe change post-show. Jinx’s party was rave themed, the music and lights and outfits all reflecting this.
Apparently, Viktor was not excluded. You remembered Ekko offering his close to Jayce and Viktor, his style being that of someone who actually went to raves. This was not what you had expected, though. Viktor, who only ever wore the most reserved of outfits, was in jeans that were purposefully too big, except for where they rested between his hips and waist. Cut outs in the side, just below the belt line, showed off completely the line and curve of his narrow hips. Pale skin practically glowing in the light of the fridge as Viktor opened it. It was cut in such a way that there was no chance he was wearing anything underneath the jeans. And almost more jarring was the fact that Viktor was wearing a crop top. The fairly normal t-shirt came to a harsh stop right at his navel, showing off the softest of happy trails and curve of muscle. You had seen him undressed before. You’ve seen him in less clothing than this even, at the coast. Nothing you were witnessing was new to you, but there was just something about it. About how intentional every bare inch was.
You glanced away harshley, realizing you were very obviously staring at his body as he rummaged around in the fridge. He pulled out two narrow cans and set them on the counter. You picked one up, the cold condensation biting at your hand.
“Red Bull?” You asked, raising an eyebrow at him.
“Patience,” He scolded, grabbing the can and setting it back down on the counter.
He slid open the freezer drawer and moved things around, pulling a glass bottle out from underneath an ancient bag of frozen vegetables. He set it to the side, the clear liquor inside reflecting the lights in the room. All the labeling was in Czech. He dumped the energy drinks into the cups and then twisted the cap of the liquor with a satisfying pop.
“Don’t tell anyone I let you have this,” He told you, pouring a hearty shot into his cup, “They’ll make me share with them too.”
“Oh, so I’m special?” You joked, he gave you a look that very loudly screamed well, obviously. He paused to size you up for a moment, and came to the conclusion that half a shot would do. You scoffed, “Hey, I’m not a lightweight.”
“Eh, maybe not,” He said, “But this is not American liquor, and you are not a European woman.”
“Would you prefer I was?” You joked, rolling your eyes as he added another splash to his own drink before recorking it.
“Of course not,” He held the cup out to you, “Na zdravi!”
You bit back a smile when you repeated the words and tapped the edge of your cup against his. He watched you hesitantly, cup hovering near his lips as he waited for you to take a sip. When you did, you were admittedly surprised at the strength of the small shot. You were even more surprised at the amount that he had poured into his own cup.
“Christ, Vik,” You gasped, trying not to flinch at the burn, “You’re gonna go blind.”
“See, I told you” He laughed, taking a sip of his own drink with ease, “Only a small amount for the American. If it’s too much I can add more Red Bull.”
“No, it’s good,” You sipped again, taking the liquor better now that you were ready for it, “Thank you for being my bartender tonight,”
“What, no tip?” He teased, smirking down at you.
“Unfortunately, these shorts leave no space for my wallet,” You ran a hand over the side of the tight silvery shorts you had changed into. So tight you had even foregone underwear beneath them, “Next time.”
“I’m sure,” He leaned in to avoid shouting as the music and crowd became louder, he reached out and ran a finger over the waistband of the shorts, “I mean, I’m sure a few dollar bills could fit here, no?” His hand dropped lower down your side, fingertips brushing against the top of your thigh high socks, “Maybe here even?”
You slapped his hand away, “Not nice to imply I’m a stripper,” You pouted as he laughed and waved a hand in front of himself defensively.
“I kid, I swear,” He assured, “Where did you even get these clothes anyways?”
“It’s October in America, baby,” You laughed, “there's a halloween store taking up residence in every empty building in the country right now.”
“Yes, I forget about the holiday here,” He shrugged, “It’s not a large thing in Czechia.”
“Yeah, I know, Europe is lame like that,” You joked, turning your nose up.
“Is that so,” He questioned, then reached out to take your drink from you, “Then I guess you don’t like the European liquor if it’s so lame then…”
“Wait no,” You giggled, trying to reach for the cup as he held it away from you, “No I lied, I swear.”
He laughed and relinquished the cup back to you. You gratefully took another sip, holding eye contact with him to prove you liked it.
“That’s what I thought.” He leaned back against the fridge, “Tell me if you want another,”
You nodded, then reached out and tugged the high hem of his shirt, “I like this, by the way, suits you.”
“Hm, that so?” You asked, dipping his chin to examine his own outfit, “I tried for something a little more low-key, but Jayce wasn’t having it.”
“Ah, I imagine he’s dressed even sluttier?” You barked a laugh.
“Oh of course,” Viktor nodded with wide eyes, “are you saying I’m a slut?”
“No, of course not,” You shrugged, “Just that you are dressed like a slut.”
“I don't think it’s that slutty,” He looked down at his outfit, again.
“What’s this then?” You slid a hand down his side, gripping his bare hip where t was exposed by the cutout, “This is pretty slutty, especially for a man.”
“And what’s your opinion of that?” He raised an eyebrow.
“Of what?”
“Of slutty men?” His eyes darkened, “Is that something you enjoy?”
“Who doesn’t,” You said innocently, taking another sip in hopes of hiding your blush.
“Hm, good to know,” He hummed, a smirk pulling at the corners of his lips. He leaned in just a touch more, mouth open to continue his sentence when Jayce was suddenly right next to you, a hand on Viktor’s shoulder.
The intrusion made you jump, nearly spilling your drink as you flinched away.
“Hey, oh sorry,” Jayce said, realizing he had barged in. He was wasted already, pretty cheeks already flushed red. He was indeed somehow dressed sluttier than Viktor. A mesh top and chaps of all things, underneath only a pair of shimmery shorts, almost as tight as yours.
“What did I say?” Viktor laughed, looking down at you, you just widened your eyes in agreement.
“Huh?” Jayce tilted his head at the two of you.
“Nothing,” Viktor waved him off, “What’s up?”
“We need another person for beer pong,” Jayce told you both, “Are either of you down?”
You looked down at the still mostly full and very strong drink in your hand, “I’ll pass for now, maybe later if you guys play another round.”
“I’ll go,” Viktor told him with a shrug.
“Good,” Jayce clapped him on the shoulder, “You can be Sky’s partner.”
That twisted something in your chest, but you forced it away as you took another drink. Viktor just nodded and went to follow Jayce towards where the table was set up in the garage. He turned back to you when he realized you weren’t following.
“Are you not coming?” He tilted his head.
“No, it’s okay, I should probably go find Lest, actually,” You told him, trying to act casual, “You go, though, Defeat Jayce in my honor. I’ll find you later.”
“Okay,” He frowned slightly, hesitating before turning away to follow Jayce.
You watched him walk away, doing your bets to look unbothered. Even with him out of your proximity, the heat still lingered. You shoved your hand under the ice dispenser of the fridge, catching a cube and popping it into your mouth before wandering to the living room. You wanted to dance with Lest, or grind up against a stranger, anything to get him off your mind.
----
Hours later, when you became bored of fending off freshman boys on the dance floor, you found yourself watching Viktor from across the room like a fucking creep. You knew you were and you couldn’t help it. He looked great. In that stupid fucking crop top and insufferable pair of borrowed jeans. He looked great and so did Sky. She looked great in the electric blue outfit you had helped her pick out. She looked great laughing and fanning her alcohol warmed cheeks.
She looked great with her hands all over Viktor. Playing with his neat hair. Rubbing a hand over his shoulder. Leaning half way on top of him every time she laughed.
The spot on Viktor’s other side was empty. You could claim it easily. Insert yourself into their conversation or, most likely, pull his attention completely to you. You could sideline her in an instant.
You had officially fucking lost it. You couldn’t believe you were pouting against the wall at a party. Face half hidden behind your cup, pretending to sip your sad mixture of three parts american vodka one part flat orange crush. Unrightfully angry at one of your closest friends.
She’d be fine, though. There were plenty of men who’d jump at the chance to sweep her off her feet, take her virginity, and propose before graduation. Why did she need to be so focused on him? Was she blind? Viktor was obsessed with you and you knew it. You had tried to discourage him at first. Some point since then and now, you had succumbed to the idea that you were just waiting for eachother. Well, more of him, waiting for you, but still. You couldn't break your composure, not even for someone like him.
Your ankles twitched, your angry body coaxing your drunk brain into a rash decision.
You couldn’t. It would be too obvious. Too fucking mean, like anything about this wasn’t already. You couldn't force it. He had to come to you. You could at least give him the option.
You brushed your fingertips against the side of your ear, ensuring that the cigarette you had tucked there earlier hadn't disappeared. You sent an innocent enough text - cig out back? - and walked out the back door before you could see him open the message. The ball was in his court now. You weren’t going to control him and he could make whatever decision he felt like. If he didn’t come, then you’d get a whole cigarette to yourself. A win-win situation, really.
Outside the sky was still dripping. The storm that had started shortly after the party and hadn’t really let up until now. The backyard was completely barren, everyone still crowded into the house and garage to keep out of the rain. You rounded the side of the house, opting to let the cool wet air clear away the stickiness from inside. You had barely rested your back against the siding when your name was being hissed into the dark.
“Over here,” You beckoned Viktor over to your corner of the yard.
You didn't need a whole cigarette anyways.
“Got a light?” You asked as he settled next to you, shoulder pressing to yours.
Wordlessly he pulled one from his pocket, holding the flame out in front of you. You pressed the cigarette to your lips and lent towards him. Eyes fell shut as you pulled the flame in, smoke filling your lungs.
“Where have you been?” You asked, smoke burning your nose as you exhaled and passed him the cigarette, “I’ve been looking for you.”
“Around,” He shrugged, taking the cigarette and bumping his shoulder against yours with a smirk, “You have been looking for me?”
“Shut up,” You muttered, hitting the back of your hand against his bare stomach.
“Ah, milá ,” He sighed, cigarette hanging from his lip as he grabbed your arm and pulled you to stand in front of him, “Jsi legrační dívka,”
His hands came to rest on the small of your back. You leaned against him, stealing back the cigarette from his mouth and taking a drag. He tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, eyes on your lips.
“Are you drunk?” You asked him, taking a quick drag and holding the cigarette between you for him to take.
“Eh, a little,” He blew smoke out of his nose. Hot. “Me and Jayce smoked earlier, but the high is fading. You?”
“Also a little,” You told him, reaching up to touch his face. You ghosted a fingertip over the mark above his lip. So pretty. So inviting.
You were drunk…enough. It didn’t count if you were drunk.
Your hand moved to his jaw and pulled him towards you, lips brushing against his softly. Tonight he chose you over Sky. Like you knew he would. The guilt was discarded as quickly as the half smoked cigarette when he pulled you closer. He wrapped his arms around your waist, holding your flush to him as his mouth crashed against yours harder. You looped your arms over his shoulders, hands fisting into the back of his shirt as your lips parted. He didn’t waste the invitation, tongue pushing into your mouth with a gasp. He tasted like caffeine and tobacco and himself. Your head spun as he kissed you. His teeth pulled at your lower lip, eliciting a whine you hadn’t expected.
“Ah, fuck,” He panted, breaking away to beath. His hands slid down to grab your ass, pressing you harder against him. You could feel how hard he was already, heavy cock pressing against your lower stomach, “You’ll kill me one of these days.”
“No,” You laughed softly, licking his lips playfully, “I’d like to keep you around for a while, Pretty Boy.”
He groaned at the pet name, hips rutting up again just slightly. You moved one hand down his chest, reaching the bottom of the cropped shirt he wore and slipping underneath. You raked your nails over his stomach, delighted at the shudder you could feel in his shoulders. You buried your other hand in the hair at the back of his neck, holding him still as you kissed him again. Part of you hated how perfectly you fit together. How the shape of his nose pressed into your cheek exactly as it should. How his lips slotted against yours like they were made for you. How he was the perfect height to kiss you. How his hands were the perfect size to hold you. It made everything difficult having him so easily.
He wanted to be slow the first time, but he was clearly in a different mood tonight. You could barely breathe with how deep he kissed you. His tongue so wonderfully strong against yours, against your teeth and lips. The noises he made in the back of his throat went straight to the heat between your legs. You wanted to hear more.
You tighten the hand in his hair, fisting the chestnut strands and yanking his head back, rough but not enough to hurt. He gasped, breathing heavy as he let you ruin his hair.
“So good for me,” You purred, clamping your teeth down on the spot below his jaw, tongue smoothing over it a moment after.
“Only for you,” He muttered, voice barely there, “God, only for fucking you.”
“Fuck,” You smiled, licking from the collar of his shirt up to his chin, “God you taste so fucking good. Wanna taste all of you,”
You resisted the urge to suck a love bite into his neck as you pressed yourself against him harder, canting your hips just enough to make him hiss, “Let me taste you, baby?”
“F-fuck,” He shuddered, flinching as your cold fingers brushed against the skin exposed by the cutouts in the side of the jeans. The skin you had been eyeing all night. The cutouts you had already expressed your admiration for.
“Please Vik,” You practically begged as you mouthed at his neck, hands flatting against his hips, fingers under the edge of the denim, “Let me get on my knees for you.”
“God, fuck,” He whimpered, dropping his head to pull you into another kiss, “Are you sure? You don’t have to.”
“I don’t have to do anything,” You laughed against his lips, hands moving to the sides of his face. His heavy lidded eyes met yours, pupils blown wide, “I want to. I want you in my throat.”
He couldn’t help the sound that slipped past his lips, desperate and wanting as he dropped his head into your neck, muffling the sound against your hair.
“Ano. Ano, kurvo ano,” He panted, you had been friends with him long enough to not need a translation.
“Good boy,” You said, mouth next to his ear, “Lean back for me.”
You left open mouthed kisses down his throat, palming him through his jeans. When you couldn’t reach any more of his skin from the position you were in, you slid to your knees. The wet grass soaked the knees of your socks. You looked up at him through your eyelashes, enjoying the fucked out look on his face. You hadn’t even touched him yet he was already flushed and trembling in front of you. You loved it.
You pressed a kiss to the skin exposed on his hips, your hand on the other side. You licked at his soft skin, thrilled to find the presence of slight moles hiding there. You bit down hard enough to leave a mark, Viktor’s hips canted forward, apologies spilling past his lips. You ignored him, your hands rubbing over his hips to grip his ass and then rub down his legs. Your palm caught on the ridge of his brace. Hidden completely under his jeans, you had all but forgotten it.
You ran your hand up his leg gently, sitting back slightly to look at him softly, “Are you okay like this? Are you hurting?”
“I am alright, milá,” Voice gentle even as he panted heavily, hand reaching out to cup your face, “I’m perfectly good.”
You couldn’t help but to lean into his touch, humming against his palm, “You’ll tell me if this doesn’t work, yeah?”
“Promise?” You asked leaning past his hand and pressed your cheek to his front. You could feel him twitch against your face. You breathed him in, the heady scent making your thighs tense.
“I promise,” His voice came out strained and breathy.
It was enough to break you. You pulled back enough to unzip his jeans and shimmy them a couple inches down. You pulled him out, cock heavy and leaking in your hands. You hummed to yourself, admiring him. You had forgotten exactly what he looked like, but you were surprised how big and pretty he was. He was more worked up now than last time, entire cock a pretty shade of pink that darkened gradually up to his tip. You looked up, watching him as you dragged your thumb over his tip, spreading precum and getting more to drip as he twitched. He gasped, chin dropping to his chest as he tried to keep himself up right. You used the slick to coat your hand and slide your fist down his shaft, watching as his whole body flinched at the feeling. He was clay in your hands, trusting you to handle him.
You parted your lips, still watching intently as you gave an experimental lick to the tip of his cock. You couldn’t have dreamed of this noise he made, shocked and desperate and shaky as you dipped down and licked a broad strip along the veins on the underside. You used the point of your tongue to tease the base of his head, swirling over the crease there. His hands fisted at his sides, barely able to keep his eyes open as you tasted him. And he tasted heavenly. Sweet and bitter at the same time, and like his lips, very much like him.
You were sure he could have come from just the sight of you holding his head against your flat tongue, catching pearls of cum from his weeping tip. When you closed your lips round him, he was loud. He sucked in a sharp breath, groaning heavy at the feeling of your warm mouth around just a small part of him. His hand flew to his mouth, trying to hold back the sounds.
You pulled off, making him whine as you pouted up at him, “I want to hear you. Please Vik, please let me hear you.”
“Fuck, we’re outside,” He panted, glancing towards the fence that faced the front of the house.
“It’s fine,” You urged, “Please, baby I promise. Everyone is inside, no one’s gonna hear you.”
Before he could respond, you wrapped your lips around him again, this time pushing on to him until he was almost to your back teeth. He cried out, stomach muscles tensing as you hollow your cheeks around him, releasing the tension with a gente pop.
“Oh fuck, milá,” His hands flexing at his sides.
You hummed around him, corners of your mouth turned up in as much of a smile as you could do. The vibration of your throat sent him shaking again. Fingers twitching just next to your head.
“Sensitive are we?” You pulled off and teased, one hand moving steadily up and down, the other cupping his balls, “You can grab my hair, just don’t push on me, okay?”
“Are you sure,” Hesitation hid behind the eagerness, all nerves about hurting you.
“Yes, Pretty Boy,” You breathed, lips ghosting over his cock again, “I trust you.”
Genty he gathered your hair into his fist, holding the strands back from your face. The tension on your scalp grew when you pulled him as far into your throat as you could. You took steady breaths through your nose, unable to help the moans that pushed out of your lungs at the feeling of him twitching just for you. You moved your tongue over him, eyelids fluttering shut at the feeling of his precum dripping down the back of your throat. You steadied yourself against his good leg, a hand wrapped around the back of his thigh as you began to move, your other hand gliding over what you couldn’t fit in your mouth. He did as you asked, hand tangled in your hair, but not controlling your movements.
You studied him. Taking note of how he reacted to each movement, each slight gag around his cock, each flick of your tongue. The best noises came from when you took as much of him as you could and sucked around him, head moving only slightly. He gasped, uttering nonsense and curses and your name as he basked in the feeling. You wanted more and pulled him farther in in search of it, tears welling in your eyes as he reached the complete back of your throat. You steadied yourself, taking a moment to adjust before swallowing around him.
This made him cry out, knees almost buckling and hips rutting up involuntarily. He cursed, eyes wide as he apologized. You waved him off with a hum, swallowing again before you began to bob your head. You let your eyes fall shut, focusing on the weight of him in your throat and the sounds he was making above you. You could feel the tension in his muscles build under your hand on his leg. He was so close. Just a few motions away. You weren’t done, though.
With gasp you pulled off, circling your fingers just under the head of his cock. Forcing him away from the edge. You panted, pulling in more oxygen than through your nose.
“Ah, fuck. Why?” He whimpered, sounding like he could cry.
“Trust me, Vik,” You assured, pressing your cheek to the top of his thigh and looking up through your lashes, “It’s gonna feel so good, just be patient for me, baby.”
“God, you’re so fucking beautful,” He reached down, brushing a thumb under your eye where yur mascara was blurring.
“You’re sweet,” You hummed, pressing your lips to the base of his cock, mouthing at him as your hand stroked over him again, “So good for me.”
You raised your hand, lifting him enough for you to have access to lick over his balls. He groaned at the feeling and you heard a soft thud as he dropped his head back against the wall. You replaced your mouth with your hand, gently squeezing him in time with the thrust of your hand. You licked up from the base to tip, not wasting time in bringing him back between your lips.
Velvet, you realized. His skin felt like velvet under your tongue. You moaned around him, pressing your thighs together as you sank further unto him. You picked up your pace, making obscene sounds as you moved up and down his length. You had wanted to go slow at first, but this pace was for you, too. You couldn’t help it. You chased his release with an eager tongue, anticipating him.
“Ah, I’m close, Lasko,” He gasped, hips twitching in the tiniest of bucks, not letting himself get too carried away. His hand tightened in your hair, trying to pull you off before he came.
You made a noise of protest, pushing him to the back of your throat again and looking up at. Eyes narrowed as you made clear what you wanted.
“Oh fuck,” His voice was thick with a mix of his accent and lust. He let you grab his hand, braced against his stomach as you began to move again, “You are heaven sent.”
His jaw hung open as you continued the pace, slowing down every couple of thrusts to swallow around his tip. He took short strained breaths as you pulled him closer and closer. Pitch of his voice canting up as he moaned, the whimpers that slipped past his lips making your own wetness pool between your legs.
He cried out as he finally came, whole body tense as you slowed your movements. You held him in the perfect place in your mouth, cum painting the back of your throat and mixing with spit on your tongue. You groaned, breathing heavy through your nose as you took everything he had to give. The taste was addictive, you could've stayed here forever on your knees, his slightly bitter cum filling your mouth.
Eventually, Viktor hissed in near pain. The feeling of your warm mouth around his oversensitive cock too much to handle. Gently he tugged on your hair, coaxing you off him.
“Come here,” He held your arm steady as you stood on shaking legs, your knees aching from holding your weight for so long.
“Was that good?” You asked like you didn’t already know the answer, pulling you swollen bottom lip between your teeth.
“There is a special place for you in heaven,” He told you, hands grasping the sides of your face and forehead dropping to yours. You could feel the cool sheen of sweat over his body, it made the short hair curl where you played with it at the base of his neck.
“Hm, so sweet to me,” You cooed, reaching down and tucking him away gently, deciding it probably wasn’t a great idea for him to just hang around with his dick out.
He tilted his chin, catching your lips with his. His tongue pushed into your mouth where he surely tasted himself. He let out a shaky breath against your mouth, lips pulled back but tongue still pressed against yours. He kissed you deep, hands moving down to your waist pulling you flush against him as he practically ate out your mouth.
You let the sounds you were making go, letting him hear how he made you feel. Without warning, he gripped you tight and spun you around, pressing your back to the house. He braced his weight with one arm against the wall behind you. He was still licking into your mouth as the other hand dropped between your bodies. He pushed his hand past the waistband of your shorts, cold fingers making you gasp as they came in contact with your cunt.
“Oh, fuck, Vik,” You keened, jaw dropping as he slid his hand further into your shorts, fingers teasing at your entance before retreating back to your clit.
Careful he pulled his arm off the wall, gently smearing away the ruined makeup beneath your eyes. He dropped his forehead to yours, breathing in every pant you gave, watching you intently as you gasped and rutted your hips into his hand. He moved his arm back to the wall, steading himself for you as he pressed two long fingers in, curling them in a way that made you see white.
“So fucking wet,” He breathed, eyes barley open, “soaked just from sucking my cock, God so fucking dirty.”
You whimpered, one hand holding onto his arm above your shoulders, fingers surely bruising his flesh where you pressed. The other hand fisted in the back of his hair, pulling him close enough to kiss. You tried to muffle yourself with his lips, moaning directly into his mouth, biting down on his lip when you felt yourself getting louder.
“Hm, not fair,” He scolded, realizing what you were doing, “Let me hear you. Only sound I ever need to hear again.”
Oh, how you loved incoherent orgasm induced poetry.
He dragged his fingers in and out of you at a teasing pace, his thumb pressed to your clit. Each tiny motion of his hand brought you closer and closer. His name tumbled from your lips, everything about him clouding your cells.
You almost didn’t hear the slide of the back door.
You gasped pulling away from him with wide eyes, head smacking against the siding as you did so. The hand on the wall cupped the back of your head, holding the sore spot you caused yourself. The other retreated swiftly, the heel of his hand resting against your waist, sure to keep his soaked fingers from ruining your clothes. You blinked at him, trying to calm your breathing enough to hear. Behind your pulse you heard footsteps on the wooden deck, they stopped right before the stairs. You hadn’t realized until now that the air was cold enough to see your breath. His and yours formed a cloud between you, white condensation huffed from your lungs as you waited.
Lest’s voice shouting your name into the dark made your heart sink. You loved her, but right now you could kill her.
Reluctantly, Viktor stepped away from you, dry hand steadying your waist. You grabbed the other, pulling his fingers up to your lips and hastily licking yourself off them. He swallowed hard, then surged forward, kissing you through his hand, tongue running between his fingers and against yours.
He pulled away, wiping his spit covered hand against his jeans as you adjusted your clothes. Your name rang again from the porch, you could hear the creak of the top step. You glanced down at yourself and shrugged. Disheveled for sure, but it’d have to be good enough.
You grabbed Viktor by the chin, thumb brushing over his bottom lip, “Catch you later, Pretty Boy.”
You pressed a quick kiss to his open lips and darted away. Shaking out your hair and continuing to adjust your clothes as you went to Lest. She shouted your name a third time.
“Yeah, I’m coming!” You told her, picking up your pace.
‘If only’, you thought, frowning to yourself.
-----
At some point, you realized you were done. No amount of vodka redbulls or dancing or drinking games were gonna keep you on your feet. The party was still thriving well past the hours when it would normally end. You were coming down from everything and needed to be somewhere that wasn’t a hot sticky crowded house.
You wandered to the front porch. The rain had stopped, but the air was just as cool as earlier. You sank down to sit on the edge of the stairs, the rough concrete catching on the fabric of your shorts. You pulled your knees up and leaned back on your palm, basking in the cool air and watching as the moon slowly came in and out of view behind the clouds. The muffled sound of music and people was relaxing. You liked the feeling of disconnecting, but still being nearby.
You stayed like that for who knows how long, letting goosebumps crawl up your sore thighs and arms. Breathing slowly and occasionally moving out of the way for the few people that came in and out through the front door. You closed your eyes, leaning back and paying no mind when the door opened once again, music growing loud for a second before it was once again muffled.
“You’ll catch your death out here,” Viktor’s accent told you, you laughed softly at the phrasing, “Are you not freezing?”
“Hm, I’m cold, but not freezing,” You told him, not opening your eyes until you felt a jacket being placed over your shoulders, you snorted a laugh, “Thank you.”
“Hm, you should take better care of yourself,” He said, sitting down next to you, using his cane to lower himself slowly, “We have a big project next week, it’ll suck to be down a person,”
“How thoughtful,” You rolled your eyes and sat up next to him, knees closer to your chest.
“Any time, milá,” He muttered what you were beginning to recognize as a pet name in his native language, “Anytime.”
You leaned into him, resting your head on his shoulder. With his jacket over you and him this close, you were dizzy with the smell of him. Obsessed with it.
“Are you feeling alright?” He asked, taking your hand from where it rested in your lap. He pressed his thumb into your palm, long fingers moving against yours, brushing against the newly forming calluses on your fingertips, “Why are you out here all alone?”
“Just wanted to be alone,” You told him, closing your eyes and leaning into him further.
“Would you like me to leave?” He asked, sincere and unoffended.
You grabbed his hand, holding it tight as you shook your head against him, “No, please don’t.”
He didn’t need any more convincing than that. He slid slightly closer, the side of his body pressing to yours. He gently pulled his hand from yours, sliding his arm to your back, hand resting at the nape of your neck as he brushed his fingers through the fine hair there. You hummed, pressing closer to him, nearly overwhelmed with how nice it felt to be next to him like this.
“Can I tell you something?” He asked, voice slightly hesitant as he broke the comfortable silence.
“Of course,” You’d like him to tell you everything.
“Sky asked me out yesterday,” He said it quietly but quickly, you tried not to react but you knew he could feel the way you tensed.
“I’m not surprised,” You told him, forcing yourself to sit up and look at his face, “What did you tell her?”
You hoped your face didn’t give away too much. He could go out with Sky if he wanted. You and him were not technically together. Sharing liquor and drunk blowjobs didn’t count as a relationship.
“I…I told her I’d get back to her,” He flinched at his own words, guilt creasing his pretty face, “Which is an absolute dick move, but I panicked.”
“Well, if you like her,” You shrugged like it didn’t matter, “then you should go out with her. There’s no reason not to.”
He frowned, chewing on the inside of his lip, “And if I don’t like her?”
“Then why would you go on a date with her?” If stung. Like it was an option. Of course it was an option, you knew that, you didn’t have any right to be upset with him.
He huffed, “You are making this difficult,”
“Viktor, I can not make decisions for you,” You told him sternly, not upset with him, just frustrated.
“I know, I’m sorry,” He shook his head, scoffing a laugh, “I shouldn’t have said that. Forget I said anything, I’ll handle it.”
You were pretty sure you knew what that meant. You did understand where he was coming from. Getting asked out by someone you weren't interested in was tough, even more so when that person was a friend.
“Good,” You nodded, and leaned back into him, tone turned teasing, “now will you stop trying to ruin the moment, this feels good.”
‘Hm, such a brat,” He joked back, you could feel the tension leach out of him, “Always getting what she wants.”
You scoffed, hitting him lightly on the leg.
“You deserve it, though, don’t you?” His voice dropped, so soft against your ear when he turned his head slightly, nose pressed to your temple, “You’ve done so much for everyone today.”
His hand moved from its place on your back, moving back in front of him to rest on your knee. You took a shaky breath as he pressed a kiss to your temple, the pressure against your pulse dizzying.
“Vik,” You warned, voice barely there as his hand moved up your thigh, stopping at the edge of your socks.
He ran his thumb over the elastic pressing into your thigh, over the small dip it made in your flesh. Slowly he pushed his fingers under the fabric, making more contact with the soft skin of your leg and squeezing gently.
“Hm, you deserve to be taken care of,” He hummed, fingers kneading into your flesh, perfect against your arguable sore muscles, “You do so much for other people.”
You couldn’t help the shuddery breath that slipped past your lips. He pressed another kiss to the side of your face, dropping his head to press his nose against the spot under your ear. You felt his teeth graze across your skin, tongue there only a moment later.
“Let me take care of you,” He practically begged, hand moving out from under your sock and up your thigh. His breath was hot against your skin, you could feel his eyelashes brush against you, “Stay with me tonight, oh god please stay with me tonight.”
The desperation in his voice went directly to your core, you resisted the urge to press your thighs together. You couldn’t believe he was making you feel like this a second time tonight.
“Viktor,” Your voice came out breathier than you had meant it to.
He pulled his face away from your neck, meeting your eyes as his hand traveled even higher up, and dipped lower between your thighs. Only inches away from where he had been for only a few moments earlier tonight. His face was so close to yours, lips still slightly red from when you had kissed him hours ago. His pupils were blown wide, eyes hooded as he stared at you. Stars in his eyes.
“I could make you feel so good,” He purred, “I could make you feel so so good. I could take care of you so well, you deserve it. Let me show you how you made me feel earlier.”
His voice was straining as he spoke. Desperate and needy. You were sure if you reached over you’d find him to be half hard already.
You closed your thighs around his hand, keening for him as you pressed your forehead to his. You were forgetting all the stupid reasons you had been denying him. Any rule of thumb you had established went up in smoke. It didn’t matter. None of it fucking mattered. A yes was right on the tip of your tongue. A plea for him to take you to his bed and never let you leave was a breath away from slipping out.
Before you could let the words fall out of your mouth the font door slammed open. You practically choked as you sucked in a gasp. You and Viktor threw yourselves away from each other, out of the compromising position. You sat wide eyed and red faced with your thighs pressed together, practically a foot of space between you and Viktor.
“You two are un-fucking-believable,” Lest scoffed, take the few steps down the stairs to stand on the sidewalk in front of you. Her eyes were alight with anger, perfect face turned down in a look of disappointment that bordered on disgust.
“Wh-what?” You stuttered, trying to control your breath.
“You heard me,” She snapped, arms crossing over her freckled chest, “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“Lest!” You scoffed, truly taken off guard by her anger, “What are you talking about.”
“You both are sharing the award for shittiest friends on the planet,” Lest told you, dramatic as always.
“Lest, what-” Viktor tried, shaking off his stunned expression, eyebrows furrowing.
“No,” She held up a finger to him, cutting him off, “You know what I’m talking about Seriously, how could you do this to Sky?”
Oh…that's what this was about.
Lest hissed your name, “You know how she feels, you fucking know. And you.” She turns to Viktor, “What is wrong with you? Dragging her around like this? If you don’t like Sky, fucking tell her. Don’t tell her that you’ll ‘get back to her’ and then go get head from a different girl.”
“Lest!” You snapped, not knowing what else to say, “We didn’t-“
“There are grass stains on your fucking knees,” She seethed your name at the end, then rubbed a crease out of her forehead.
“You,” She snapped, jabbing a finger in your direction, “You need to stop being a jealous, passive aggressive bitch,” And you, attention on Viktor, “need to learn how to be a fucking man.”
Your head was spinning. Lest had been mad at you before. It was in her nature to be protective and aggressive and say what she thought. Never had this level of rage actually been directed straight at you. It made your hands shake, every ounce of guilt and shame you’d ever carried floating to the surface of your skin.
“I’m spending the night with Sky,” Lest told you, jaw set, “because she’s fucking torn up over this, even if she won’t admit it.”
And with that she was leaving. Stalking off and down the street to catch an uber somewhere where she didn’t have to look at you. You stared after her, frozen. Hands shaking as your head swam.
Viktor said your name gently, reaching out for your shoulder. You flinched involuntarily, standing up in one quick motion, his jacket falling from your shoulders.
“I…” Your voice caught in your throat, “I’m gonna go home.”
“Hold on,” Viktor said, pushing himself up off the stairs, steadying himself on the cane and grabbing your wrist before you could get away, “Wait, please, just…let me get you a ride home at least.”
You could tell he wanted you to stay, and you could tell he knew you wouldn’t, “No, it’s fine. I just… I want to walk, it’s not far.”
You knew you were not sober enough to try to drive, you didn’t think your shaking hands would even let you.
“Milá, it’s freezing,” He gaped at you, eyes full of fear and worry, “Please.”
You tried to pull your wrist from his grasp, “Viktor, I’m fine. Please, just let me go.” You could feel hot tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. Oh god, you didn’t want to cry in front of him. Not now, not like this.
“At least take my jacket?” He offered, grabbing it from the ground with his other hand and holding it out to you, “Please, you’re barely dressed. Please just put on a jacket.”
You hesitated, but slowly reached out and took it. Watching the ground as you slipped the heavy coat over your shoulders.
“Please let me know when you get home safe,” He said, voice reluctant to let you go, “Please.”
You nodded, cursing the way your voice broke, “Goodnight Viktor.”
You turned and walked away, trying to hide the shaking of your shoulders in the borrowed jacket. You were barely down the street before the first sob finally broke out of your chest. You zipped up the coat, burning your face in the neckline of it and tried and failed to calm yourself down as you walked back to your dorm room.
You were still crying when you finally collapsed into your bed, Viktor’s heavy coat still wrapped around you. You barely remembered to text Viktor. His face and name appear on your screen, reminding you of your promise. You declined the call, instead just texted him a brief ‘home.’ before shutting off your phone and letting yourself fall into a restless sleep.
#viktor x reader#viktor#viktor arcane#viktor smut#arcane#arcane college au#arcane modern au#jayce talis#mel medarda#caitlyn kiramman#vi#sky young#lest#lest arcane#transfem lest#house party fic#college au#fanfiction#fic#writing#my writing#Sit Next To Me#cw: drug and alcohol use#viktor x female!reader#reagan writes#rio arcane
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