#and looking for a new therapist is just nightmare | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

obsessedwrhys · 9 months ago

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ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ The Seven x Deadpool!Reader

t/w: loooots of dark humour/jokes, reader is insensitive and an asshole since they're also a supe working at vought, your powers are the exact same as Deadpool (even the skin condition), mention about killing, death, gore, r-pe, n@zis?!?!, alcohol, some intimacy (?). Also reader is gn!!

ᯓ★ here's a version with the boys <3

HOMELANDER

This man hates you so fking much

Has tried to kill you multiple times, he tried lasering you, tearing you in half and even throwing you into the sky but you just always manage to come back like the damn plague

Eventually he gives up trying to kill you and just had to deal with the fact you'll be kept alive... just temporarily though... he's still looking for ways to kill you

However, your powers gave you dozens of advantages when around Homelander.

He can be having a meeting about something serious and everyone would be listening to him due to their fear towards him, then there's you who'd be doing your own thing and just shout out unrelated things like "Donald Trump just blocked me on Twitter!! HAH!! SUCK IT CORNFLACKS!!"

Everyone turning to you with startled expressions while Homelander simply rolls his eyes before continuing his presentation.

You are a complete nightmare to the PR team, that's why for interviews or any events, you'll always be paired up with Homelander so he can keep you under control and stop you from saying weird shit that could ruin the company's image.

"So Deadpool, how does it feel being in the Seven working alongside Homelander? You've been working together for almost 3 years now" A reporter would ask as you two are surrounded by screaming fans.

"Like I'm in the twilight series, not because of the fantasy but because I'm still waiting for the part where he impregnates me—"

"O-kay! That's enough, just silly ol' Deadpool with those inside jokes"

"You can tell in this eyes that he wants to fuck me right now. HE'S GONNA FUCK ME!!" You shouted as you're being dragged away by him.

Obviously when you had found out about his relationship with Stormfront, especially her background, you had to say some shit about it. Not giving the slightest care about the fact he could be grieving over her death.

He'll be in his room standing in front of the window and you'd just storm in, being as loud as possible.

"I can't believe you dated a N@zi!! Is it because I'm Jewish?!" Which may or may not be true, nobody knows your origin.

He may hate your guts but if he ever needs someone to help him do some dirty work, you're the person for the job, you never ask why or how, which could be the only thing he likes about you.

"Y'know, maybe if you didn't have such a big mouth, you'd be tolerable"

"All the people I've slept with have said otherwise"

Compatibility? 50%

STARLIGHT

Before she joined the Seven, she had an image of what kind of person you were, she just didn't know it was this worse.

When you found out she used to work at this Sunday School Church, you just haaaaad to say something about it.

"So like, you say that prayer always works, but every night I pray for my hair to grow and it never does. Do you think God has me blocked? How do I get unblock?"

"Uh..."

You two surprisingly get along without one wanting to slice the other's throat, except sometimes the things you say can really piss her off. Which is why when the company assigned her a new costume, she was trying her hardest to avoid you, but you found out anyways.

"Holy shit Starlight! Nice costume, is this your Miley Cyrus breakthrough? Girl power!"

Insert her groaning out of annoyance.

Again, the second you discovered she was dating a guy behind the death of Translucent, you were heartbroken :(

"Of course this happens right when my therapist gives up on me!"

Despite your behaviour, you pitied her when it was revealed that she was taken advantage of by The Deep, so like any good friend, you took revenge by cooking his friend octopus and eating it happily in front of him.

"Revenge does taste sweet" You'd say happily while Starlight just watches by the side, both grateful and horrified at your actions.

In my opinion, you would definitely be the person she goes to once she starts working with the boys, you'll always be providing whatever information that happens in the company for her to use.

It helps her worry less about getting anyone killed 'cause you literally can't die.

Compatibility? 60%

QUEEN MAEVE

You're half the reason why she rethinks about her life choices when she wakes up in the morning

Not because you're a handful (which you are) but because you're always paired together on missions

"Deadpool! The hostages!"

"OKAY! God... you act just like my drunk uncle"

Which is a joke/nickname you like to address her by because of her alcoholism (yikes)

Whenever the company needs you for something, half of the time she's the one assigned to search for you.

There was this one time she caught you trying to have Anika track down Kanye West's location, nobody knows what shenanigans you were up to.

Another thing to mention was that you two were chosen by the company to sing a Christmas song for the year's Christmas ceremony.

Just imagine during the bridge of the song, she's singing normally while you're completely going off, your high note so high you were sure you had Mariah Carey a run for her money.

Even though she finds you a lot to deal with, you're actually her buddy to train with.

Since you're very skilled with Katanas, she likes to practice her swordsmanship with you.

You like to tease or make fun of her everytime she fails to strike you which is good motivation for her to get better. Maybe you guys bring out the best of each other?

Last thing I'd like to add is when she was found out by the public that she was a lesbian (She's bi but you get the running joke), you had gifted her a t-shirt that says, 'Biggest Dick in Town'

Compatibility? 80%

THE DEEP

Your human punching bag

If Vought was a high school instead of a company, you'd be the bully and he'd be the nerd getting stuffed inside the locker room.

For example, Homelander could be confronting Starlight about her relationship with Hughie and everyone would just start raising their voices til you come in yelling "SHUT UP!" to the Deep who had not said a single thing during the entire time.

Just imagine him staring at you like 😐

To be honest you also ate his friend octopus so you guys are actually never getting the chance to make up.

"Look dude, I don't appreciate your tone"

"I don't appreciate your haircut either but we can't all get what we want"

You may be a crazy person but you weren't going to be okay with the fact he violates every woman he sees, so not only did you cook the octopus but you also called in a male stripper disguised as a woman just for him to celebrate on his birthday.

Just imagine him all happy when you tell him the news and later that night he'll run inside your room, completely pissed off at your act after finding out but you just laughed and said.

"Happy April Fools 😚!"

"That's next month dipshit!"

Also, you never understood his weird fantasies. He has a thing for sea animals??You've caught him multiple times either flirting or getting off to one. It was concerning even for you.

"From how many animals you've fucked, you might just turn from the ocean's 'Seaman' to 'Semen'." You joked which he did not find funny.

Maybe you messing with him could just be your way of getting along with him since you're the same with everybody else, it's just he has more flaws to poke fun of and he's sensitive about them.

Compatibility? 5%

A-Train

He thinks you're fucked up in the head.

Half of the shit that comes out of your mouth just has him reacting like in the GIF

Buuuuuut you're the one he always brings to the club because you always know ways to give the party life.

You've somehow even got on the wall of fame, a lovely portrait of you with your hands making out a heart.

Also, you know about his business with Compound V waaaaay before anyone else did. He's still grateful you didn't tell anyone.

Just like everyone else, you also enjoy messing with him except he's fast and constantly avoiding you.

"Hey A-Train, how much do you wanna bet that I can die faster than you?"

"Dude... seriously?"

You guys rarely get sent on missions together because you're always slowing him down, not basing off the fact he's fast but because you get easily sidetracked with other things.

"Alright, we're here now, how much C4 do we use?"

"Fuck math! Let's use all of 'em!"

You ended up detonating all of the C4 on you before he could object the idea, he was able to run out in time, your action nearly getting him killed while you ended up dead.

But it's fine you'll just grow back.

You know that race he has against Shockwave? You'd be at the VIP section standing near where Homelander and Queen Maeve is, waving your huge banner that has a picture of A-Train's face and yours pasted over a figure carrying the other in bridal style.

Compatibility? 55%

TRANSLUCENT

He makes people paranoid but you make him disgusted.

There was this one time he was bored so he snuck in your room to see what you were doing.

At first he was confused why you had so many cute plushies but then the more he explored your room, he realised your room is basically every collector's dream.

You even had a huge teddy bear in the corner of your dressing room.

The reason why he doesn't like to spy on you is because the last time he did, he saw you putting your hand in the blender, then proceeding to put your private part into it.

Never again, he thought, never again.

He doesn't need to witness you carry out your intrusive thoughts.

Surprising enough, you're close with his son, I'd like to think that after his death, you practically became the kid's godparent. Though you can be sort of a bad influence, leading up to how he is in Gen V.

You always tell him you hate kids but he thinks otherwise.

After all, he can read people well.

You guys like to pull pranks on each other since you guys like competing on who's more sneaky

There was this one time, you woke up to find your suit gone so you ended up walking around the building, completely naked and unfazed by people's stares.

It was when you walked around the corner that you found your suit worn by someone else, turns out it was Translucent under it.

"Why is it so fucking tight dude? How do you stay in this shit all day?"

"You get used to it"

Compatibility? 85%

BLACK NOIR

Lovers.

He doesn't mind your attitude because he actually can't say anything about it.

No seriously... he can't talk.

But hey he's got a good shoulder to cry on.

"I just... hffgh... I can't believe my album didn't surpass lady gaga's... She doesn't even know how to use Katanas like I do!" You'd let out a loud sob while he just stares at you for a while before placing a hand on your shoulder, patting you gently.

You know the scene where he's playing the piano for one of the company's party? You'll be laying down on top of it and singing in your usual overdramatic high pitched voice.

He finds your humour amusing so he always does this little head tilt like in the GIF when you say some weird shit while waiting for his response.

Since both of you are the only members of the Seven that wears a full body suit, obviously you had to try on his but since it was impossible to achieve that, you just had the company make a copy for you.

He'll be walking down the hallway doing his normal routine until he notises another person in his suit, the moment you speak and he realises its just you is when he let's his guard down.

"I just got some transplants done to my ass, that's why I look different"

You both are never sent on missions together 'cause you guys don't work well, pretty much nobody works well with him since he's the silent type.

Example, you two were hiding behind some crates ready to jump on the bad guys who were snucking in illegal drugs. He gestured for you to wait as he went to check again, only to turn back to see you gone.

"Marry Christmas motherfuckers!"

He heard your voice shout and he found you standing on top of the stacked crates, machine gun in hand and began shooting aimlessly.

He didn't even do anything but just watch until you ran out of bullets. However, multiple survived and began shooting at you so you ended running towards where he's hiding at.

"Yankee yankee!" You yelped.

You know the video of the two girls taking off their wigs to reveal that they're bald and they start bonding over it? I'd like to imagine that's you and Black Noir with the skin condition under the suits.

One more scenario I wanna add, you guys could be having a meeting but since you were bored and you always hated meetings, you'd draw a big heart on a piece of paper and show it to Black Noir from across the table. Surprisingly he'd draw a heart back to you.

You were overjoyed so you began to draw you and him doing it, doggy style. He stares at your doodle for a while before choosing to just focus on the meeting instead.

Compatibility? 90%

(This took a while cause I was on vacation)

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ceilidho · 5 months ago

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soap developing an unhealthy attachment to his therapist post his brush with death after being shot at point blank range. he was reluctant to see a therapist at first because he didn't like what it said about him that he was being more or less strong armed into seeing a shrink (like no one trusts him anymore; they don't think his head's on straight since being shot), but as time goes on, he grows to cherish the relationship he's cultivated with his therapist because,

well,

she understands him. she listens to him. where everyone else seems to want him to just hurry up and get better (the nightmares, the mid-sentence brain fog, the erratic mood swings, the silent brooding when he can't find the words, aphasia on the tip of his tongue, the constant, constant headaches and auditory hallucinations that he can't seem to kick), she doesn't put any pressure on him to heal right away. she works with him and his medical team; gives him the space to process what happened to him, and has a seemingly bottomless wealth of patience for him.

he can talk for hours in her presence. it's a shame their time together is limited to an hour and a half every week. the dulcet sound of her voice is such a comfort to him. it's a shame she politely but firmly rejects his advances when he finally asks her out, tells him that it wouldn't even be appropriate for them to be friends outside of his sessions. that it would in some way hinder his healing journey. which pisses him off because Soap has progressed in leaps and bounds since those early days when he used to stumble over his words sitting on the couch across from her, head in his hands when the language felt beyond his grasp, a fine tremor still running through his hands that he's since managed to contain,

and

his head is throbbing again. a sharp pain above his eye that pulsates like a drum in his head and -

he thinks about her constantly. in and out of sessions. she's a frequent topic of conversation when the brass finally lets him back out in the field, Makarov finally dealt with (resting six feet deep in an unmarked grave). he ignores the looks oscillating between concern and worry that Price gives him. ignores the way Ghost barks at him to quit bothering the bird in the tight skirt and fuck someone that won't get him discharged. ignores the way Gaz pulls him to the side to ask if maybe he needs to see another therapist, y'know, mate...get some distance.

they act like this is something new. an abberation and not his very nature. like he hasn't always been the type to lock onto a scent like a hunting dog. a sniper by training. he sits and he watches and he waits; waits for the right moment that he alone knows.

it comes to him on an inauspicious day, when he's leaving the training facilities and spots his sweet thing rummaging around in the boot of her car, her ass beckoning him forward like a siren's call. now, now, now, the little itch in his head says, the voice that knows when the time is right. it's a sense acquired through conscious and unconscious observation, letting it all filter into his frontal cortex until he knows without knowing that the parking lot is empty apart from the two of them and the men at the base gates half a mile away.

it would take nothing for him to come up behind her and push her into the boot. nothing to wrestle the purse from her hands and slam the trunk shut. nothing to drive off base with a flick of his fingers to the guards that hardly ever bother to question him before he leaves (though they know what car he actually drives), made complacent by familiarity.

and he knows that it's wrong, knows that there's a line that he shouldn't cross, that choices have consequences, but,

his mouth salivates when her hips twitch, the urge to take settling over him. surely they'd forgive him one indiscretion.

#btw i know fuck all about therapy so dont come for me if i got smt wrong #ive been in the past but its been like a decade since i had a therapist #soap x reader #soap/reader #ceil writing

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pathologicalreid · 5 months ago

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for the fear of falling apart | part three

when it seems like a return to normalcy is impossible, you decide that something has to give, but will it bend or will it break?

series masterlist

who? spencer reid x jareau!reader category: angst content warnings: fear of drowning, therapy, mommy and daddy issues, sigmund freud, nightmares and ptsd, sleep deprivation, takes place during 15x4 "saturday" (max does not exist in this au), stalkers, yelling, police, domestic disturbance, broken dishes, severe self image issues, crying, implies that jj is sometimes not the greatest friend, marriage and marriage counseling, mentions the death of grace lynch, the chameleon arc, reader and spencer are both broken people sry. things get resolved (or do they?) word count: 5.13k a/n: i'm trying to come to terms with the fact that people will not like how this part goes, but i do think it's important to remember that this is not where it ends. it's probably easy to guess what episode I'm rewriting next. lol. let me know your thoughts and feelings because i am dying to know.

“Are you glad to be back at work?” Your therapist asked you, writing down your personal information on the form on her clipboard before she met your stare.

Chewing impatiently on the inside of your lip, you glanced over to the clock that was hung above the door, dooming you to another forty-five minutes with Dr. Harmon. “Yes, I love desk duty,” you told her, flashing a fake smile in her direction.

The older woman looked at you doubtfully, and you silently begged for her to sign your return to duty forms. “I thought we spoke about using sarcasm as a coping mechanism,” she responded in a way that made you feel chastised.

You raised your eyebrows at her, gray hair neatly combed into a tight bun, you had spent more time with your therapist for the past two months than you had any of your family – the rest of your time was spent retraining your body, usually within the limitations of your doctor’s orders. “And I thought we talked about there being worse coping mechanisms that I could be using,” you countered, leaning back in her chair.

She shrugged helplessly, “Well, I’m not sure about signing your release forms. You could be a liability in the field.”

Eyes widening, you tilted your head to the side, “No, no, no, I’ve grown a new appreciation for the desk workers in the BAU. I even stopped laughing when people refer to Agent Anderson as Grunt Anderson,” you informed her, nodding as if that would help convince her of your honesty.

Checking off a box on your form, she set the clipboard on her side table, just out of your view. Taking a deep breath, Dr. Harmon leaned forward and folded her hands over her knee, “Have you spoken to your sister since the last time I saw you?”

You leaned your head back, staring at the tiles of the ceiling as any hope of returning to the field left your body.

One of your very first dates with Spencer had been at the Academy’s shooting range, you had a lucky spot there, it was where you had aced your qualification as a cadet, and it was pure luck that it had been available when you arrived.

As your paper target was brought forward, you slipped off your headphones and set your weapon down, studying the results as you chewed on your bottom lip nervously.

“Hey,” Spencer said from behind you, casually leaning against the wall behind you.

You jumped slightly as the sound of his voice took you away from your anxiety, “Hey,” you echoed, holstering your weapon as you sent your target back for someone to change it out.

“I thought you were going to come to the BAU after therapy,” he explained, arms crossed in front of his chest in his charcoal suit, camouflaging himself with the steely gray of the shooting range.

Pursing your lips, you made sure you had your phone in your pocket before grabbing your bag, “I wanted to get some practice in before my requalification test.”

He looked surprised for a moment, “Did your therapist sign your return to duty?”

“No,” you muttered, knowing that you wouldn’t be eligible to take your firearms requalification until after you had been cleared by a psychiatrist.

Any surprise quickly left his face, “What did she say, then?”

You rolled your eyes, “She told me that it’s possible that my strained relationship with my parents is negatively affecting my performance in my sessions. Then she threw a Freud biography at my head.”

“Did you talk to her about the nightmares?” He asked, following you as you checked out of the shooting range, waving to a gaggle of cadets as they noticed the BAU agents in their general vicinity.

Faltering as you opened the door, you flung the glass door open and trudged out of it, “I have it under control,” you lied through your teeth, continuing your way to the elevator.

The tapping of Spencer’s shoes signified that he was following you, holding his hand over the sensor while you stepped in and using his knuckle to press the parking garage button, “You were up all night last night,” he retorted, “She could help you develop a coping mechanism that works for you so that you can get some rest, angel.”

You were getting tired of those words, “Well, maybe we’ll reach a breakthrough next week. You never know.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?”

“Being so unamenable,” he accused.

Shaking your head as you stepped out of the elevator, you hoisted your bag back over your shoulder, “Is unamenable genius-speak for pain in the ass?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, it is,” he retorted, swiping the keys out of your hands before unlocking the car and getting in the driver’s seat. You had been cleared to drive weeks ago, but Spencer still insisted on driving you.

You groaned, “My recent brush with death has made it difficult for me to let bygones be bygones.”

Pulling out of the parking spot, he carefully placed both of his hands on the steering wheel, “And here I thought we were actually going to move on with our lives.”

“No one holds a grudge like a youngest child,” you informed him, leaning your head against the window and wishing you had driven separately.

Being at home wasn’t much better than being at Quantico. You quickly changed and settled yourself on the couch while Spencer sat across from you, legs crossed in the wingback chair as he finished filling in a crossword book that you had started that morning.

You watched the clock tick, the diffused orange light of the sunset beamed through the curtains, and you felt yourself settle. Stiff joints and aching muscles unwound on the supple leather of the couch, and as you let your eyes fall shut, you felt the breeze of someone walking by before Spencer stopped in front of you.

Gently, he draped a knit blanket over you, tucking you in before crouching and dropping a gentle kiss to your temple.

Y/N is down, she’s been hit. We need an ambulance now.

I know, I’m sorry, I know it hurts.

It’s okay. I’ve got you.

“Honey, wake up.”

You startled awake on the couch, wadding up the blanket in your fists as your eyes adjusted to the dim environment of the apartment. The sun had set, dipping below the skyline as you stared ahead.

Concerned brown eyes bore into you as you caught your breath, Spencer reached over and flicked on the table lamp next to you, “You’re alright,” he cooed, gently enough to make you want to cry. “It was just a bad dream,” he told you, cupping your cheek and studying your expression.

Nodding absently, you pulled yourself into a sitting position, the familiar knit blanket falling in a puddle around your waist. “I was in the parking garage again,” you preemptively answered his next question. You were usually in the parking garage, sometimes you were on the beach, and once you had been fully underwater.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Spencer asked, a hint of hope in his voice.

You shook your head and ignored the defeated look on Spencer’s face, instead burying your face in your hands and taking a few deep breaths.

He waited for a moment before speaking again, reaching out and adjusting the bunched-up fabric of your t-shirt, “Are you hungry? I made soup.”

“Yeah,” you breathed, crossing your arms in front of your stomach, afraid it would start growling at the mention of food.

As you watched Spencer get up and walk over to the kitchen, you let yourself feel like everything was alright for the slightest moment. You wanted your apartment to be your safe space where there were no serial killers or sisters or hospitals, but there was a classified file on the kitchen table, photos of you and your sister littered the walls, and there was an entire drawer in the home office dedicated to your hospital stay.

Melding into the couch cushions, you ignored the stiffness in your side, the scars that marred your skin were healed over, but the memory would stick with you for a lifetime. It felt like a phantom pain, irritating your skin whenever you thought too much about it, or whenever your therapist asked you about Grace Lynch.

It didn’t bring you a lot of comfort to know that she was dead, murdered by her own father after conning her ex-girlfriend into giving her money. Everett Lynch was the threat now, and you were stuck on the bench.

Pulling your knees to your chest, you rested your cheek on your knee as Spencer ladled soup into a bowl and presented it to you, complete with a few ice cubes to cool it down. He waltzed back into the kitchen to clean up when his phone rang.

You ignored his conversation while you stirred the ice cubes around in your bowl, the soft clinking of them mesmerizing your tired brain. You ate while he spoke on the phone, mentioning something about a case. Pushing any thoughts of serial killers away, you just ate your soup.

Sipping at the broth, you grew curious about what was going on over the phone, but you tried to mind your business, scooping at the last noodles in the bowl before setting it down on the coffee table.

“Who was that?” You asked, eyes following Spencer as he walked back over to the living room, slipping his phone in his pocket as he sat next to you on the couch.

He paused for a moment, and you immediately regretted asking, “Uh, it was JJ.”

You supposed it had to mean something that he elected to tell you the truth instead of lying to you, but you were no longer feeling optimistic, “Ah.”

“Don’t start,” he said immediately.

You turned to him, raising your eyebrows curiously and pushing yourself into the corner of the couch – away from him, “Start what, Spencer?”

Spencer put his hands up, “Picking a fight with me over JJ’s feelings. JJ, Tara, Luke, and Penelope are working on a stalker case, it’s nothing that we need to worry about.”

“I’m not going to pick a fight with you, I already told you that I forgive you,” you told him, wrapping your arms around yourself.

He groaned in frustration, “You can say it all you want, but you haven’t. You haven’t forgiven me.”

As he usually was, Spencer was right, you hadn’t forgiven him for lying to you about what had happened between him and JJ. You wanted to. You wanted to find it in yourself to be the bigger person and just tell him it was fine. All you wanted was to move on, but you were crashing into roadblock after roadblock. “Are you going to work that case?”

“No, it’s a classic stalking case, they’ll make it without me,” he said, turning on the couch to face you.

You swallowed thickly, “You can go if you’d rather be there,” you reassured him, wondering if he’d be happier at work than at home with you. Someone needed to make a decision, someone needed to decide whether or not the two of you were going to keep going or if you were going to call it off. You didn’t want it to be you, you were afraid of which option you might choose.

Spencer frowned, “Why are you trying to get rid of me?”

“I’m not,” you answered.

“Yes, yes you are,” he challenged, leaning forward to get a better look at you.

Shaking your head, you threw your hands up in surrender, “You don’t have to go. You can stay here. You live here. Who the fuck am I to tell you to leave?”

“And now you’re escalating the situation,” he observed, straightening up and watching you carefully.

You didn’t consider yourself an angry person. The two of you didn’t fight often, but as you considered your options, you wondered if it could help. Maybe you could replicate the feeling of a good cry. Maybe all you need is a good fight. Just talk it out – loudly. “I’m not escalating anything. I’m not starting anything. In case you haven’t noticed, this has been going on for months.”

He had noticed, he could probably give you an exact date and time to point out when everything fell apart. Was it inside the pawn shop? Was it in the courtyard outside of Rossi’s wedding? “I thought we had made some real progress at the hospital,” he challenged.

Getting up from the couch, you took a deep breath and tossed the blanket over the back, “You cannot seriously think that. You’re too smart to believe that, Spencer. The idea that we fixed everything while I was hopped up on Xanax and painkillers. It’s… it’s…” you stumbled over your words for a moment. It’s crazy. You wanted to tell him, but you couldn’t do that to him. Spencer had spent his whole life having that word thrown at his mother, and he spent adulthood fearing he’d have a schizophrenic break. “It’s outlandish,” you finally finished.

Spencer looked up at you from the couch, “Is it outlandish to think that the history we have together would help mend our relationship?”

You rolled your eyes, “I don’t know, Spencer, let’s take a look at your history with my sister,” you snapped.

“Oh, come on,” he protested.

“No,” you commanded, “Sit down and shut up. I’ve spent months waiting for you to get it, but apparently, I need to spell it out for you.”

To your surprise, he listened, watching you in silence as you took a deep breath, picked up your soup bowl, and brought it into the kitchen. Your heartbeat pounded like thunder in your ears.

Standing in front of him, you crossed your arms in front of your chest, “I want you to empathize with me.” You calculated every word you said, “We’ve known each other for nine years. We’ve been together for seven, and I- I had the rug pulled out from under me. God, you went on a date with my sister. You took her to a football game as a hater of organized sports. My beautiful, prom queen, soccer star, gem of the family older sister.”

“It wasn’t a date, Penelope went with us,” Spencer added patiently.

You peered down at him, “When you asked her to go with you, did you do it with the intention that you would be taking her on a date?”

His shoulders slackened, “Yeah,” he answered softly.

“And you know that she loves you. If you went to her right now and told her you wanted to be with her, that there’s a chance she’d consider it. She’d at least have to think about it,” you told him, confidence dissipating as your hands started to tremble and you silently begged yourself not to cry.

Spencer watched you suspiciously, “What gave you the impression that I want to be with her instead of you?”

You faltered, just for a moment, “Why wouldn’t you want to be with her?” You asked exasperatedly, letting your arms fall limply at your sides.

Pinching his eyebrows together, your boyfriend looked at you like you had grown a third eye, “She’s married? Her kids are my godchildren?”

Shaking your head in disbelief, you cursed yourself as tears stung your eyes, “Are those seriously the only reasons you can think of?” With all the brain power you knew he had, you couldn’t help but be disappointed.

“Fuck, Y/N,” Spencer groaned, “Putting aside the fact that I’d be destroying a marriage, not because it doesn’t matter, but because being with your sister isn’t even something I’d consider. This might not have occurred to you, but I have absolutely no interest in being with someone other than you!”

You huffed, “Please, she’s beautiful and athletic and older and you’ve known her for fifteen years!” You shouted over your shoulder, making your way back to the kitchen. There wasn’t anything you needed from in there, you just needed to keep moving.

“But she’s not you!” He yelled from the couch, finally getting up and following you to the kitchen.

Spinning around on your heel, you threw your arms in the air, “God, I know!” You swung your arms down, accidentally sending the bowl you had set on the counter down to the floor, breaking on impact. “Shit,” you muttered, immediately dropping to a crouch and starting to pick up the ceramic shards.

“Hey, wait, let me get it,” Spencer insisted, grabbing a kitchen towel from the drawer before laying it on the floor. He carefully picked up the larger shards, waving your hands away.

You clenched your hands and glared at him with bleary eyes, “Why? Why am I not allowed to clean up the mess that I made?”

Spencer sighed, “You’re crying. I don’t want you to get hurt because you can’t see well,” he told you, prompting you to sit back on the tile and watch him continue to pick up.

You crisscrossed your legs and watched him, “I’m sorry for yelling,” you whispered, so quietly that you weren’t even sure he had heard you.

Nodding in acknowledgment, Spencer gathered up the kitchen towel and set it on the counter, setting his hands on the counter and taking a deep breath, “I’m sorry for raising my voice,” he echoed your sentiments. He moved to the hall closet to get out the broom, interrupted by a knock on the door.

Confused, you poked your head over the counter and watched as Spencer opened the front door.

“Good evening, officer,” he greeted, casting a sidelong glance over at you.

Fuck.

You scrambled to your feet, careful not to step on any pieces of the bowl that remained on the floor and wiping beneath your eyes as you made your way to the door, peeking around the corner to find two DC Metro officers. “Agent Jareau?” One of the officers said curiously.

“Hi,” you waved timidly, looking between the two of them with your tail between your legs.

He looked surprised at the revelation of who lived here, recognizing you from a case you had consulted on months ago. “We were called here on a report of a domestic disturbance, your neighbor in said she heard ‘a lot of yelling before there was a crash and then everything went quiet’.”

The summation of events did nothing to slow your racing heart, “We had uh… we were having a disagreement, and I knocked over a bowl. It was an accident,” you reassured the officer, reaching out and taking Spencer’s hand as a sign of good faith.

“Are you sure?” He asked, looking at you expectantly.

You nodded in confirmation, “I’m really sorry about any inconvenience, but I promise there’s nothing to worry about.”

The DC Metro officers studied Spencer suspiciously, and you protectively moved in front of him. They were trained to see the worst-case scenario, but there was nothing happening here, “Well then, just uh… try to keep it down, I suppose.”

The two of you waved as they walked away, once the door was closed, you turned to face Spencer, “Are you alright?”

He looked a little pale, “I’m alright,” he nodded, gathering himself before going back to the hall closet. “That was weird,” he added.

Spencer’s interaction with police officers was limited to work with the bureau and his time in prison. He never had to explain an underage drunk person in the car or run when a party got too rowdy, but he wasn’t concerned with the confrontation, he was concerned that, for a moment, before you got there, those officers saw Spencer as a violent person. You stayed put, watching him sweep up the last of the bowl and take care of the sharp pieces with a keen eye.

“I’d never hurt you,” Spencer said softly, unnecessarily explaining to you.

You nodded, “I know. You’re not like that, baby. You’re not a violent person.” In fact, you had only seen Spencer aggressively violent one time in your life, and that was when his mother’s life was on the line. Stepping over to him, you lifted yourself so that you were sitting on the kitchen counter, meeting his eyes.

“She is not you,” he murmured, reaching out and taking both of your hands in his.

Chewing on the inside of your lip, your shoulders slumped ever so slightly, “I am well aware,” you offered.

He took a deep breath, “JJ would never ask me to recite Henry James to her or offer to go to the planetarium with me even after we spent all day on a case or sit through one of my lectures just to hear me talk about something I’m passionate about,” he began. "I can’t remember the last time I had a conversation about something I’m passionate about with your sister. Not one where she didn’t interrupt me or pawn me off on somebody else,” he told you, disconnecting one of your hands to wipe new tears from your cheeks.

“I- I’m not…” you breathed, overwhelmed as he sang your praises.

“I know you compare yourself to her,” he cut you off, “it’s normal for you to compare yourself to your older sister. I just didn’t know how lowly you thought of yourself until all of this was dug up.”

Frowning, you cocked your head to the side, “I do not compare myself to her,” you remarked.

He hummed in response, “It wasn’t up for debate. I’m not interested in your sister. I’m not interested in pursuing a relationship with anyone except for you. I am sorry that I never told you about the football game, but by the time you joined the team, six years had passed, and I didn’t think it was pertinent to tell you that your sister had rejected me. That is entirely on me, and I can’t change it. I can, however, spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to you.”

Your breathing hitched, and the ghost of a potential proposal once again floated through the air, it made your heart ache. “One of these days you’re going to have to actually ask me to marry you,” you whispered, not sure how much longer you’d be able to sit and wait while he neglected to act upon his words.

“What do you want right now?” Spencer asked, studying your facial expression.

You have spent three months being mad at him, and you had to believe it all came down to tonight. Neither of you could keep going with things the way they were. “I’m not sure,” you answered.

Patiently, Spencer inquired, “Do you want to break up?”

If you told him you hadn’t thought about it, you’d be lying. It broke your heart to think about ending things with him, to think that six years together didn’t mean something to the both of you. Spencer had never given any inclination that he was interested in anyone else, so maybe he should’ve told you about the football game, but you shouldn't have let your insecurities block any attempt at reconciliation. “No,” you responded truthfully.

He had tried, too. The one-sided conversations he had with floral bouquets, taking time off of work to help you while you recovered, and he had even limited his contact with your sister. “Do you want to go to couple’s therapy?”

You had heard through the grapevine that your sister was trying marriage counseling with Will, something about working on their communication skills. With that in mind, you nodded, “We can try it out.”

“Do you know what you want?” He asked, settling a hand on your thigh.

Through the sheer curtains, you looked outside, “I want to go,” you informed him, hopping off of the kitchen counter and to your shared bedroom, pulling on a pair of socks.

Confused, Spencer followed you around the apartment, “Wait. Where are we going?”

“I’m going,” you said simply.

He looked surprised at this, “It’s the middle of the night in the twenty-second largest city in the country, you’re not going out alone.”

You paused for a moment at his concern, watching the defeated look on his face morph into one of relief when you responded, “Then put your shoes on,” you encouraged.

As you waited by the door, mindful to not walk through the apartment with your shoes on, he stopped in your bedroom for a moment before coming back out and slipping his sneakers on. “Where are we going?”

Grabbing your keys off of the hook, you opened the door and held it for Spencer as he followed your lead. “You know at the start of Moby Dick when Ishmael says when he finds himself growing grim about the mouth and wanting to knock people’s hats off, he takes to the sea?”

He nods, taking the keys from your hand and locking the door behind him, glancing briefly at your neighbor’s door before handing your keys back to you, “I’m familiar,” he confirmed.

“Well, I’m feeling rather grim about the mouth,” you told him assuredly, slipping your keys into your pockets and slowly making your way down the hold staircase of your apartment building, listening for Spencer’s footsteps right behind you.

Even with your back turned, you knew his expression would be one of confusion, “So, you want to take to the sea?”

You quickly shook your head, the very last place you wanted to be was near a body of water in the middle of the night, “Not particularly, but maybe the park and some fresh air would do me some good.”

“Then that’s what we’ll do,” he confirmed, stepping around you to hold the front door open so that you could walk outside, the cool night air stinging your face as you did.

Taking a deep breath, you looked at the night sky, the stars hidden through the city’s light pollution.

Upon reaching the park, which was just a small green space down the street from your apartment, Spencer led you to a cement bench, the two of you sitting down and sitting in silence. You welcomed the cold air filling your lungs, watching the fountain from a distance and admiring the way the headlights of a few passing cars reflected off of the water.

He kept a hand on your back, gently moving his hand up and down your spine as the two of you reveled in the startling nighttime peace. “I haven’t been fair to you,” you murmured nervously, looking over at him.

“None of this has been fair to anyone,” he reminded you.

You sighed, “JJ confessed her feelings, not the other way around, and I- I shouldn’t have held that against you for so long.” The admission came to you easily, holding your breath as you waited for him to agree.

Spencer’s silence worried you, but then he finally responded, “I probably would have done the same thing, but I don’t think it’s right for me to speculate how I would or wouldn’t have acted in your shoes.”

“I just… she’s always been perfect. The perfect daughter, the perfect wife, the perfect agent, and I’m… I’m just me,” you said helplessly, staring ahead at the fountain.

He took a deep breath, “You’re perfect to me.”

“Stop,” you chastised halfheartedly.

Chuckling, he placed his hand over yours, “I mean it. Sometimes perfection is about the final concoction and not about getting all of the steps right. You don’t need the perfect journey, and, to me, nothing proves that more than you.”

You hummed, “You’re sweet.”

“For what it’s worth, I think, given the opportunity, you could be a perfect wife,” he said, nudging your leg with his knee, getting your head to snap to the side.

Jumping up from the bench, you smacked your hand over your mouth at the small black box that he had set on the stone surface. “What are you… what?” You asked breathlessly, looking behind you in the way people usually did when they were surprised, waiting to see if you were being pranked.

“It doesn’t have to be an engagement ring,” he reached down and snapped the box open, showing you the glimmering ring inside. “It can just be a promise because I am promising you right now, this is it for me. You are the only person I can see myself with, and I’m ready to spend the rest of my life proving it to you.”

Gaping at him, you looked between him and the ring before closing your mouth, “That sounds an awful lot like an engagement ring,” you told him, out of breath.

He nodded, “That’s because I want it to be.”

“Okay,” you answered.

“What?”

You giggled, he evidently hadn’t expected that answer, “Yes, Spencer.”

He stood up, tackling you in an embrace, “Thank goodness.” He said, relaxing into you as you returned his hug.

Over the past few months, you had been almost afraid of him asking you, worried that it would feel like an excuse. A band-aid over a bullet hole. But as you held each other tightly, all you felt was an overwhelming sense of right. This was where you were always meant to be. “Will you put it on me?”

He nodded slowly, sniffling as he pulled away from you, the warmth of his body leaving you as he nimbly took your left hand, slipping the ring on your fourth finger. The metal felt foreign on your skin, but you welcomed it nonetheless. “That has been sitting in my sock drawer for a year,” he admitted, placing both of his hands on your waist and meeting your eyes.

You beamed up at him, at both the revelation that he bought you a ring well before any of the trials and tribulations of the last few months and that he hid the ring in the one place you never touched – the seemingly bottomless abyss of unmated socks that Spencer called his sock drawer. “Thank you,” you breathed.

Spencer leaned his head down, hovering his lips just above your own, “For what, love?”

Blinking small tears out of your eyes, you answered, “For not giving up on us.”

He smiled, “Never,” he whispered before dropping his lips to yours, the intimacy of something as small as a kiss enough to bring butterflies to your stomach. “Do you want to go home? Or are you still feeling grim about the mouth?”

“Let’s go home, Spence,” you told him, pressing one last kiss to his lips before the two of you began the trek home, hand in hand.

taglist: @football1921 @thedancingnerdmermaid @dollarstore-lydia-deetz @cillsnostalgia @alivesarcastically

@hellsingalucard18 @poetoflawed @lillysfrogsandbogs @mega-kittyglitter-1 @sndixz

@k-corbett @nott-my-riddle @guiltyyassin @starkeyellow @rainydayathogwarts

@roblino @awildfirestarting @getawaycarsficrecs @syd-maximoff @melodyflowersblog

@stargirlls-world @ovando13

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x fem!reader #criminal minds angst #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #jennifer jareau #jareau!reader #written by margot #ffofa

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aesthetictarlos · 4 months ago

Text

When Buck and Tommy sleep together, Buck always ends up on his side with Tommy spooning him. They haven't really talked about that, it's just– happened, and Buck may have mentioned that he really, really enjoys being spooned so it's a habit now.

One night, Buck forgets to bring his overnight bag with him so Tommy invites him to just pick some clothes from his closet and that's how Buck notices a weighted blanket in there.

"Hey, Tommy," he says after he retrieves a pair of sleep shorts and a worn out Air Ops tee.

His boyfriend is reading a book, but he immediately lifts his face up and takes off his reading glasses, tilting his head. "Yeah, babe? Come here."

Buck climbs on the bed and scratches the back of his neck. "Uh– I noticed you own a weighted blanket," he says casually, hoping to not sound judgemental or something.

Tommy swallows, then shrugs and takes a breath. "I– I have trouble sleeping sometimes. Nightmares and anxiety. You know– uh, souvenirs from my time in the army. It's not always bad, I just– my therapist suggested to buy one of those, and I thought it was useless and that I didn't need it but I gave it a try and it helped, along with the therapy sessions of course," Tommy rambles, avoiding Buck's gaze like he's embarrassed. "Things got better after a while but sometimes I still struggle and when I have a stressful day or something triggers me I– I use it. It's grounding, and it helps."

Buck pulls Tommy's move and lifts his chin with his index and middle finger. "I'm glad you found something that helps, and you have nothing to be ashamed of, okay?" He says, cupping his face. "Why didn't you tell me? I mean, I love being spooned but we could– I could spoon you or sleep on top of you if that helps."

Tommy's eyes shine under the dim light of the bedside lamp. "I think– I think it could help. I never asked because I don't know how to do that, you know? I'm not used to this, Evan. To have someone who cares, who looks at me and sees something worthy, something good."

"I know the feeling," Buck whispers, tugging Tommy close and hugging him. "But you have me now. I care about you, I love you."

"I know," Tommy echoes, and kisses his birthmark.

That night, Buck sprawls half on top of Tommy, his arm around his waist and his head on his chest, and smiles as Tommy sighs contentedly, allowing himself to be held and protected. It's new, but it's also good.

[this is inspired by a fic I've just finished reading, written by @zeraparker . The title is blanket (go read it!!) and well, she wrote about Tommy owning a weighted blanket which led to me writing this little thing about it because I apparently can't stop writing some Tommy introspection.]

#bucktommy #bucktommy ficlet #my writing #allie writes #drabble #evan buckley #tommy kinard #tevan #kinley #911 #buck and tommy

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disgustingtwitches · 22 days ago

Text

A Rose In Harlem

You're stuck in a romcom with your new asshole neighbor, Simon Riley

Masterlist

PART 1

A rose in Harlem starts to bloom��

***

Simon despises New York. But, truth be told, he hates every big city; they're all too loud, too crowded, and too filthy. Too prone to tragedy and attacks. He much preferred the solitude of the countryside, miles of quiet stretching in every direction. As long as he had one of his squad mates snoring close by and the soft chirp of crickets, he could sleep far better than he ever did now.

Because right now, someone decided that playing Shakira at nine in the morning on a Sunday was acceptable. The ceiling shook with every kick of the bass. Simon stared up at the ceiling, frustration gnawing at his patience. He considered himself a patient man, but his sleep was sacred. He barely got any as is; nightmares he refused to acknowledge, waking up in cold sweats, insomnia from irregular missions. He’d fallen asleep just as the sun rose. And now it was… 9:01 AM. He groaned while he rolled off his mattress on the floor and stretched, muscles tight as ever.

Throwing on some sweatpants and a hoodie, he headed next door, ignoring the little doorbell with a camera on it.

He pounded on the door, adjusting his mask. Nine bangs and the music finally stopped. A feminine voice came through the speaker,

“Can I help you?”

“Your music’s too loud.”

There was a pause.

“Welcome to Harlem,”

That was all he heard before the music up again-louder than before. He clenched his jaw and took a deep breath in. Go to your happy place, his mandated therapist told him. He doesn't have a fucking happy place. His childhood home? His shitty flat back in London? In his new, somehow shittier apartment in New York? He thinks that the back of his eyelids are the happiest place he knows of, just blank and dark. On some days he wishes that he'd stay in that darkness for good.

He clears his throat and opens his eyes, looking at the stupid little camera in front of him. He pounds on the door again, harder this time. The door seemed to flinch under his fist. The music didn’t stop this time, just lowered.

“Jesus, you knock like a cop.”

The voice on the other end sighed, annoyed. The fucking audacity.

“Lower your music. Surprised no one else has complained.”

“Because they know how to mind their business. Keep banging on my door, and we’ll have an issue.”

Simon laughed internally. Did she really just say that? He was big enough to make any threat against him ridiculous. Or maybe the camera makes him look smaller than he is. He leaned in towards the camera, finally acknowledging it.

“We’ll have a real issue if this keeps up.”

“Oh really?”

“Really.”

“You’re real bold, you know that? Coming in here, smoking those nasty-ass cigarettes, stinking up the place. Then banging on my door, telling me what to do? Go fuck yourself.”

Simon’s fist clenches as the music turns back up to full volume. He has half a mind to kick down the door and throw those speakers out the window. Maybe the listener too. But he was working on his temper, so as he walked out of the building, he looked up where the nearest hardware store was.

•

It was nearly 3 AM when the drilling started. Right on the wall behind your headboard. What the fuck? You groan and cover your head with your pillow. Who the fuck is drilling at this time? You think for a moment, then remember that big fucker who was pounding at your door earlier. Of course, it's him; of course, he'd be the type of asshole to do some shit like this.

Ten minutes passed, and the drilling stopped. Thank God. Just as you were about to drift off to sleep again, it started back up. You bang on the wall repeatedly out of frustration. There is a moment of silence. Then you hear a few bangs back, mirroring your own before continuing to drill.

You feel like screaming.

“Piece of shit. Wanna wake me up in the middle of the night? Act like you don't have any fucking sense?”

You mumble to yourself, throwing on your slippers and a hoodie. The drilling keeps going as you walk out your door and head to his. You repeatedly press the doorbell indignantly. The whir of the drill stops. You brace yourself to face that hulking mass that you stared at through your doorbell app earlier. Fists clenched in your hoodie pocket and chest tight, breathing hard and fast, still worked up. You think of the right words to call him, something that would cut deep. But after a moment, you realize he's not going to answer the door. Pussy. You say to yourself before turning and storming back to your place.

It was quiet for the rest of the night.

***

You're disoriented when your alarm goes off, eyes blearily looking at the screen, trying to read the time. You drop your face into the pillow, groaning in exhaustion. Ishta wanted to meet you for coffee before work today, which means she wants to talk for at least thirty minutes. You contemplate texting her and calling off the rendezvous, but she gets in a mood when you do that. And you are not in the mood to deal with that today. You roll out of bed and get ready for work.

As if the day couldn't get any worse, the elevator's broken, so you have to use the stairs. Your mood sours with every step down, thinking of all the bullshit that's happened in less than 24 hours. Fucker knocking on your door, talking crazy to you, then waking you up in the middle of the night? Acting like he can do whatever the hell he wants. The hallway reeks of cigarettes.

You bump into someone while walking out of the foyer, distracted by your thoughts and phone, checking to see what time the train is coming. You almost apologize then stop yourself when you look up. It's him.

You're pretty sure he's wearing the same clothes as yesterday: a black hoodie and sweatpants with a face mask. Does he wear that because it's flu season or because he wants to hide his face? Probably the latter.

“You're gonna make people nervous running around like that.”

You don't try to hide your face of displeasure. He is unaffected, catching his breath slowly and deeply. His dark eyes lock with yours.

“Am I making you nervous?”

He asks in a tone that's almost taunting. You roll your eyes, taking a deep breath.

“No.”

“Then why do you care?”

His question upsets you a little.

“Because I'm a decent person,”

Is what you settle on. His eyebrow twitches. You don't like how heavy the air suddenly gets. You adjust your bag and step around him, rushing to the subway.

***

Ishta giggles zooming in on the man on your screen.

“He looks tall. And strong.”

You sigh, taking your phone back and tucking it into your bag.

“He's an asshole.”

“He's hot.”

“You can't even see his face!”

You groan, exasperated. This is the first time you actually get to lead the conversation, and the topic isn't even about you.

“I knew it was only a matter of time when I saw that stupid Chick-fil-A open up here. Now we have him running around like he owns the place.”

You sigh into your tea, trying to calm down. Ishta is enjoying this much more than you.

“They opened another one up at 181st too,”

Ishta smirks, leaning back into her chair.

“Do you think I'll be seeing any big, strong, mysterious men in my neighborhood anytime soon?”

She laughs when you make a face. Putting your cup down, you groan.

“He's British.”

Ishta waves her hand around, gold jewelry catching the light of the rising sun.

“Oh babe, he can't help it. You know, I heard it's a genetic thing.”

Her smirk turns into a wide smile when you chuckle at that. Maybe today won't be so bad.

Wrong.

You are blindsided coming into work, forgetting your very important presentation with the museum's benefactors. It takes ten minutes just to pull up the slideshow and they all seem unimpressed and bored. Halfway through, your manager calls for a quick break and meets you outside in the hallway.

“What is going on in there?”

She whispers in a harsh tone, leaning so close you can smell her ridiculously overpriced perfume. You bite your lip, avoiding eye contact.

“I'm sorry, my neigh-”

She pinched the air, manicured fingernails held up to your face.

“I don't care what you got going on, just don't embarrass me like that again.”

It takes all of your strength not to smack her hand away. She stares at you, waiting for a response. But you keep your mouth shut, knowing that if you open it you'll likely lose your job. She pulls back, straightening out her skirt.

“Try to be more engaging. And you look like hell.”

The rest of the presentation goes without a hitch, the benefactors perk up when you start spouting some technolect bullshit about the newest artifacts your department has been working on procuring. Your manager soaks in all the praise like she had anything to do with the newest developments in your department.

The lack of sleep is catching up to you when you're sitting at your desk, staring at the same email for twenty minutes, trying to remember how to tell someone to jump off a bridge professionally.

As per my last email,

You hold the backspace, erasing and writing the same sentence over and over again.

“RISD giving you a hard time with the Hiroshige prints?”

Ishta’s voice startles you, her tall frame hovers over your shoulder. You feel a headache forming right between your eyebrows.

“I don't know what they want from me, they seemed so eager to work with us before.”

“Their board of trustees got a new member, total cunt. The Met is having a hard time too.”

“What the fuck is her deal?”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, nearing a total meltdown. Ishta places her hands on your shoulders, taking deep breaths.

“Just close your eyes and think happy thoughts,”

You roll your eyes but humor her, mimicking her breathing.

“Think of getting more grant money. Chocolate cake from the bakery down the street. And your hot neighbor's barrel chest-”

“Knock it off, he's so insufferable.”

You smile, playfully knocking her hand away and waving her off.

“I need to focus now, so go.”

She blew kisses at you while walking away and you turned back to your computer, a small line blinking on a blank screen.

Just following up on my email below. Let me know if I should be talking to someone else about this…

After spending too much time writing your email, you leaned back in your seat, checking your phone absentmindedly, opening your doorbell app and playing the videos of whoever walked by. Miss Dowdy with her miniature pinscher, Nina bringing her groceries, a masked figure donned in all black tucking a cigarette behind his ear.

“Am I making you nervous?”

His words replay in your head, uninvited and relentless. You don’t like the way his voice makes you feel. It crawls under your skin, makes your stomach twist.

***

Your bed feels softer than usual when you flop down on it with a groan, slipping into deep sleep as soon as your head hits the pillow. You jump when you hear a bang. Groan when you hear another. Grit your teeth at the third bang.

Hammering. This jackass is hammering in the middle of the night. Blood boiling, it takes all of your strength to not scream and bang your fists on the wall like a madman. Your head hurts from clenching your jaw while you slip into your slides and storm next door.

You press the doorbell rabidly. It takes a solid minute before the locks click and the door swings open. You stare at the tattoo sleeve that peeks out from under the hoodie he rolled up to his elbow before looking past him and into his bare apartment. It's clean but empty and cold; there is a mattress and a huge TV on the floor, a single chair at a small table, some weights, and a milk crate. He leans against the doorframe, blocking your view.

“Evening.”

He’s insouciant, lighting a cigarette as he addresses you, his calm cutting deeper than any words. Your vision blurs with red, fists trembling at your sides, shaking with the force of your restraint. He catches it, and the corners of his lips twitch upward, like he’s savoring the storm he’s pulled from you. It takes everything in you not to lunge at him, but the bitter knowledge of how futile it would be keeps you rooted in place.

“You're an asshole.”

The words make him hum in acknowledgment, taking a long drag before blowing the smoke into his apartment.

“Don't know what you mean. You're being very hostile to me right now, angel.”

The disparaging pet name sends you over the edge, you snap.

“Don't act stupid. You keep doing that shit and I'll take that dumbass hammer and…”

You keep going like this until your anger subsides, blood no longer molten, just under a simmer for now. His face is stony, eyes unnervingly dark and devoid of any emotion. You wait for his response, the silence stretches for longer than you're comfortable with. He looks down at your chest briefly.

“Chilly out here, huh?”

He finally says, twisting his body to grab an ashtray from the countertop next to him. You furrow your eyebrows, confused.

“What?”

Then you glance down-and your stomach drops. You forgot to put on a bra before coming out. Mortified, you cross your arms in a desperate, clumsy motion. The shame burns hot, but it’s fleeting, quickly overtaken by a rage that feels twice as strong now. If that’s even possible. He cuts you off before you cuss him out (again).

“Start the music later and I'll stop.”

You want to argue. Be stubborn. Lie just to spite him and wake him up bright and early next weekend. But you’re too damn tired. And he’s too damn good at making your life miserable when he wants to. So you sigh, rolling your eyes with the kind of exasperation that feels like defeat.

“Fine. Yes. Whatever. Just stop banging on the fucking wall.”

He stubs out his cigarette, shoving the ashtray aside like it’s an afterthought. He turns, stretching lazily, his arms braced against the doorframe, looking every bit the smug bastard he is.

“What’s the magic word?”

“Fuck you.”

That gets him. His split lip twists into a crooked grin, sharp and mean, but somehow entertained all the same. For a moment, it throws you off, and you realize this is the first time you’ve actually seen his face. All of it. Every nasty scar and shadow he hid underneath that mask.

He snaps his fingers and points at you amusedly.

“Yeah, that’s the one. Night, angel.”

And with that, he shuts his door, leaving you in the hallway alone to stew in your frustration.

You tuck your annoyance away while lying down to sleep, you've spent enough time stressing over that man and you'll be damned if he messes with your sleep anymore than he already has.

***

"A mattress on the floor and some weights? That's it?"

Ishta's voice crackles through the phone, entirely too enthusiastic about the details you're sharing. It's clear her concern lies more with Mr. Asshole than with you. She's already connecting dots you wish she wouldn't.

"You know guys like that always have good dick,"

She says, tone smug.

"All they need is a bed and a pull-up bar or something. The rest takes care of itself."

You sigh, leaning on the windowsill and opening the bedroom window, letting the cool air hit your face.

"Is dick all you think about?"

"Maybe if you got some decent dick in your life, you'd be less stressed. How do you think I keep so calm?”

“You said it was kickboxing last week.”

You wedge the phone between your shoulder and ear, twisting the cap off a bottle of rosé. She continues,

"Well, that too,"

Her voice is light and breezy, like this is just common knowledge.

"But it's all about balance—therapy, exercise, and, you know, some mind-blowing se-ex."

She drags the last word out, sing-songy and teasing, the grin in her voice unmistakable. You can picture her lounging somewhere, phone in hand, not a care in the world. You roll your eyes and take a sip, the tart sweetness of the wine softening your irritation.

"Dick is more trouble than it's worth."

That sets her off, laughter bubbling through the phone. It’s the kind of laugh that makes you soften; it’s contagious, disarming, and you hate how it pulls the corners of your mouth up despite yourself. She catches her breath,

“Oh, please. You just never got good dick.”

“I've gotten good dick!”

“Not recently!”

You finally give in, a reluctant laugh slipping out, satiating her smug amusement before you bid her a quick adieu and hang up.

Putting on something soft and slow, you hum along, the melody wrapping around you as you sip your wine. The night feels calm, city heat radiating from the sidewalks finally cooling down, loud music being played a block over. Leaning out the window, you take in the cool air, only to startle when you spot him sitting on the fire escape, smoke curling lazily from his cigarette.

“Jesus fuck! ”

You jump, heart pounding as you clutch your wine glass.

He looks at you, unbothered, a glint of amusement in his eyes as he takes a slow drag. You’ve seen his scarred face before, but now you really take it in: the crooked nose, proof of who knows how many fights; the slit through his eyebrow, jagged and uneven; the deep-set eyes that seem to pierce right through you; and a jawline that looks like it could cut glass.

He shifts, catching you staring, and for a moment his brow furrows, like he doesn’t like it. But then, he talks, voice low and calm, smoke puffing out between his words.

“That true?”

He asks, breaking the silence as he exhales a plume of smoke.

You blink, caught off guard.

“Is what true?”

He flashes a smile, like he just thought of a joke.

“You never got good dick?”

Your face gets hot,

“Do you usually listen to people's conversations?”

“Only when it pertains to me.”

“How do you know I was talking about you?”

“You familiar with a lot of men who sleep on the floor?”

You twist your face, disbelief etched in every feature.

"No. I am not."

"Yeah, didn't take you for an easy lay."

He tilts his head, a flicker of smugness dancing in his dark eyes.

"Need some good dick?"

You cringe, the audacity hitting like a slap to the face. He shrugs, unapologetic, like he's just offered you a drink instead of an indecent proposal.

"Offer stands. You know where I am."

"Unfortunately."

You mutter, disgust laced in the single word. He drinks up your venom, savoring the bite in your tone. He places a hand on his chest, feigning hurt.

“You wound me, angel.”

Does he ever take anything seriously?

“Are you always such a jerk off?”

He points at you, cigarette dangling between his fingers.

“You know, you like calling me every name under the sun, don't you wanna know what it actually is?”

“What? Your actual name? Thought you preferred ‘asshole’.”

He snorts,

“Might as well, seeing as you've got that down pat.”

He cocks his head, shadows cutting across his face, deepening the scars and crooked edges of him. His face was rough, but you always liked character—distinct features that tell a story.

You don't say anything, trying to hide your flicker of curiosity by sipping your wine, but he sees right through you.

“Simon. Be sure not to wear it out. Yet.”

“I like ‘asshole’ better.”

“Does have a nice ring to it, doesn't it?”

He stands, towering from your perspective as you perch on the windowsill. He stretches, a casual movement that feels anything but. Your eyes betray you, catching on the faint trail of hair that starts at his belly button and disappears under his waistband. He’s definitely doing this on purpose.

“Night, angel.”

He winks, self-satisfied.

“Bye, asshole.”

Your voice has softened, more playful than biting. He flicks the butt of his cigarette onto the street below before looking down at you.

“Good girl.”

The words are tossed down like a gauntlet, casual and deliberate, a smirk curling at the corner of his mouth. Your stomach twists, warmth spreading before you can clamp it down. You frown, annoyed—at him, at yourself, at how easily he gets under your skin. You sit back, swirling the last drops of wine in your glass as you watch him slip through his own window, vanishing into the dark. You hate the way his words echo in your head.

You're not gonna fuck your neighbor. Don't fuck your neighbor.

#asshole Simon you will always have my heart #a rose in Harlem #simon ghost riley #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon riley #simon ghost x you #ghost x you #ghost x reader #cod x reader #cod x you

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percyluvr · 10 months ago

Note

helloooooo!!!! can i request a percy jackson x daughter of hera!reader headcanons?? it would be pretty interesting to see hera having a child tbh

thank you if you do 💛

percy jackson x daughter of hera!reader summary: hcs for percy with a daughter of hera

when he first met you he was kinda worried bc he has beef with hera

but he's also confused bc wasn't she not supposed to have kids??

he expected you to be just like your mom

and you lowkey were

but you were a bit less.. uptight

but at the same time, u cant really blame her, her husband literally cheats on her so much

BUT ANYWAYS

i think u'd be so caring to him and he would love it SO MUCH

since hera is the goddess of marriage and childbirth, u would lowk take care of him like hes ur son

but like not in a weird way

u just care ab him so much that u baby him all the time

since both of ur cabins are always empty except for each other, u have sleepovers all the time

u have a pretty close relationship w ur mom, esp because ur her only demigod kid

percy isnt really jealous per say, bc he's decently close w poseidon, but like

he wishes he was that close with him

hera visits u in ur dreams a LOT bc she just loves u a lot

zeus is mad but she dgaf cuz ur her only daughter

and only kid

so obviously she's protective

esp when u tell her that u and percy r dating

shes at camp the next day asking u to introduce her to him

which ur like "mom pls y'all have already met"

and shes like "yes, but never when he was ur bf"

so u just go along w it bc u love her

they're lowk beefing bc she doesnt want u to get hurt

but as time goes on she realizes how much percy loves u and cares abt u

and she thinks ur the cutest couple ever

she is ready for yall to get married bc shes gonna throw the most extravagant and perfect wedding

and shes so excited esp bc ur the only kid she's going to be able to do this for

have i mentioned that she loves u a lot?

ANYWAYS

yk how in like house of hades and i think chalice of the gods when percy looks at annabeth and is js like "i cant wait to marry her and have kids"

yeah, hes like that but 300000x

and he's so excited bc he knows that ur gonna be SUCH a good mom

people always think ur weak bc ur mom "lets herself get cheated on"

or whatever dumbass shit they be saying

but u prove them wrong

mothers r fr the most powerful people in the UNIVERSE

and ur basically a mother bc u take care of everyone at camp

ur always at the infirmary helping the apollo kids bc its just in ur nature to love taking care of people

and percy always comes in with even the smallest little injuries

and it just warms ur heart to know that he wants to come see u even when ur working

u take care of the little baby pegasi too omg

gn thats so cute

imagine if blackjack had a lil baby pegasi and u took care of it

and percy is just like

melting

ur so sweet to them even if theyre "just horses"

it makes him so excited to have kids w u

whenever u see a little kid

or like a younger camper

u always tell him that u cant wait to go to new rome uni and then get married and have kids w him

the two of u are just so excited for the future with each other fr

i just think the two of u would be taking care of the pegasi and u would fall asleep in the hay after staying up talking

big surprise for the kids that have riding lessons that morning...

yall werent embarrassed tho cuz u have no shame fr

well, u have shame

percy has none

not the point.

everyone at camp sorta sees u as a mother and they always come to u

lowk camp therapist

bc they NEED one real bad

but it doesnt bother u bc u love to help them

ur always trying to fix problems at camp

and its very upsetting for you when you cant, and percy is always there to comfort u

ur lowk a meddler like ur mom

but its okay bc ur just worried about ur friends

i think that u would maybe have some soothing powers kinda like a hypnos kid, where u can like calm people down or put them to sleep

i also think that percy would suffer from panic attacks after his nightmares

so after he has a nightmare, you're there and if you can't soothe him with your words you just use ur powers

u can't stand to see him like that

it just upsets you so much

percy is so grateful for ur powers, but hes even more grateful for you

i think ur a lot more relaxed than most people at camp

and u dont really see the point in doing dangerous things for fun

which is different for percy, but he really does like it

he likes that he can just go to you and ask to relax and ur always down for that

its a change of pace that is definitely welcome and necessary in his life

ur definitely more of a rational thinker than him, so u stop him from doing some pretty stupid things

but u would never stop him from having fun

or doing thing that are important to him

ur relationship is lowk the blue print

yall just take care of each other fr

and ur like an old married couple which u two get teased ab

but u dont care

cuz u cant wait to get married lol!

a/n: this was a vv interesting request to write and i honestly loved imagining what a child of hera would be like so thank u for the req!

#pjo #percy jackson x reader #percy jackson x you #pjo series #pjo x reader #percy jackson #percy jackson fic #pjo x you #percy jackson imagine #book percy jackson #percy jackson headcanons #now i need to see a canon child of hera.......... pls rick #ik she wouldnt have kids but they could be like athena's kids or smth.... idk #just need that in my life

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ivysprophecy · 10 days ago

Text

sharpest tools

warnings: dual POV HAHA so im not saying i know jj or that this is how he thinks or whatever im simply doing it for a change of pace and writing style, wanted to experiment a little so by all means if this isnt your thing pls keep scrolling. mentions of extreme anxiety, mentions of chronic pain meds, over the counter meds

word count: 2299

prev. | next

masterlist

summary: after your fight blows out of proportion both you and jj are left wondering what just happened? and the poor pogues are caught in the crossfires trying to delegate and reunite the two idiots. because neither of them are the sharpest tools in the shed.

jj's pov

"jj... jj wake up," my eyes open enough to see someone crouching in front of me.

why the hell is sarah waking me up?

i move to sit up forgetting i slept in the hammock last night so i swing and struggle for a second before gaining my balance back.

"whats up?"

she hands me a water and some aspirin she snagged from the kitchen, from the looks of it no one else is awake. "just wanted to make sure you were alright."

"i appreciate it sar but im good. i swear," i take a swig of the water before swallowing the pain killers, "theres absolutely nothing wrong," because really i dont know that the fuck is wrong.

"im guessing you dont wanna talk about what happened last night?"

"honest to god sarah im not even sure what happened- that girl kissed me and before i could get her off me y/n swooped in and exploded."

sarah sits criss cross on the grass next to the hammock looking over at me with an odd look on her face.

"so you didnt mean to kiss her?"

"no- sarah i didnt kiss that girl i swear on my life. she was asking me a question about directions and all of a sudden shes got me pinned against the rocks. honest," i hold my hands up in surrender feeling interrogated, "i'd never do that to y/n"

"im not saying you would- its just that we didnt know until last night so... speaking of that. what the fuck was that about?"

everyone has so many questions and honestly i do too, i dont know half of the answers. feels like i wiped out and i cant find the shore.

i just wish she'd talk to me. like im sure if shed just let me get two words in i could reassure her but i dont know what shes thinking right now and its killing me.

i hate it. i hate that i caused this.

but in my defense it kinda feels like she blew it way out of proportion if she had just let me explain this whole thing would be okay.

"i just... i dont know sar- she had all this anxiety about relationships and whatever- i dont really get it but she said she wanted to keep it between the two of us. who was i to tell her no ya know? i just wanna be with her."

sarah just kinda looks at me with wide eyes.

"what?"

"youre like- down bad arent you? youre totally whipped."

"i wouldnt say that-" she interrupts me.

"jj maybanks got a girlfriend... this is headline news," she chuckles making me roll my eyes. i thought we were having a serious conversation, not that i try to have those often but i could use her advice on the subject.

"sarah seriously- what the hell do i do? i barely know what happened last night how am i supposed to fix what i dont know is fucked up?"

"well from the tid bit you told me? sounds like shes massively overthinking and just saw the wrong thing at the wrong time, and it just so happened to fit into her warped little nightmare."

what the fuck did she just say?

"so youre saying this is just all in her head?"

"no- well- kind of... from the sounds of it shes got a lot of anxiety and trust issues. shes probably trying to self sabotage the relationship."

i let out a frustrated sigh, "can you not talk like a therapist for a minute?"

"jj what im saying is you both dont know how to handle the situation. you need to talk to each other, have a real discussion not just scream in each others faces like last night."

"i tried to talk to her! she wouldnt listen!"

sarah lets out a laugh letting her head hang as her body shook from the laughter. pushing some hair out of her face she turns her body to face me more head on.

"jj- it was the heat of the moment and she was scared and upset. of course she wasnt going to listen... now that shes had time to cool off? you might have a better shot."

"but what if she doesnt believe me?" look i dont like admitting that i get a little insecure sometimes, but id rather do that than fuck my relationship with y/n.

because god ive been trying for so long i dont know what im gonna do if i lose her.

i really need to see her. "is she awake?"

"not yet i dont think... why? what are you gonna do?" i stand up running my hands through my untamed hair trying to wake up a little bit.

"im gonna try to make it up to her- make sure shes up by the time i get home. 'kay?"

"home? what the fuck are you talking about jj? where are you going?" sarah stands up as she sees me walking towards my bike. her voice raising so it will carry enough for me to hear.

"dont worry bout it!"

with those final words i take off down the dirt road...

readers pov

ugh. my head is pounding. i need excedrin.

god last night was a horrible combination for my chronic migraines.

i walk into the kitchen and see john b and pope huddled in the corner making shushing noises before turning around to face me.

"there she is!" i shove my hand in john bs face to shut him up.

"its nine am. wheres the medicine cabinet my head is throbbing." poor sweet pope hands me the bottle of pills and a cold water. god bless him. "thank you," i let out a whine as i tilt my head back to take the medicine. "sorry ive got a killer migraine."

"oh-" they exchange glances with one another before pope speaks up in a hushed tone, "go lay down- let the meds work. and drink your water."

i squint at him, seeing how nervous he is. he wants to say something. they both do.

is this headache bearable enough to get this conversation over with? technically yes. should i use it as an excuse to ignore everything? probably not...

"its okay. we can talk. i can tell you want to."

"thank god" jb expresses before pope hits him in the chest, which leads to john b throwing his arms up in defense "what? you said we needed to talk to her!"

"yea but not force her to!"

"guys- cmon its fine. really. i know its a lot so lets just get this over with. yes jj and i had been dating for a month. yes we didnt tell anyone on purpose, i didnt want the pressure. i dont know if he kissed that girl or not but i freaked out and just wanted to be alone. i didnt mean to hurt his feelings but i was obviously upset so i said things i didnt mean. there. happy?"

both the boys look at me with bug eyes, "a month?!" they exclaim together.

"my god- yes. a month. its really not a big deal-"

"yes it is y/n- thats a huge step for you and jj. i thought the whole casual thing would flame out. this is a huge commitment for the both of you," pope reminds me, as if i wasnt aware. i

i was simply trying to down play it to give myself a reason to care less, seems like thats not happening any time soon.

"what are you my doctor?"

"i think what pope is trying to say is... were a little worried about you y/n/n... what happened last night- you kinda flew off the handle."

i whip my head around so fast i get dizzy, grabbing the counter for stability.

"excuse me? i flew off the handle? jj was the one kissing other girls-"

"y/n i think deep down you know thats not true-"

"no- no you dont get to tell me im crazy and then tell me what im thinking- this is my relationship. this is exactly why i didnt wanna tell everyone because i knew youd all stick your noses in it. what happened is between me and jj. no one else."

pope reaches out to steady me seeing me sway a little, "woah- okay maybe we should put a pause in this convo-"

"im fine pope. i just dont see how this is anyones business."

"we're not saying its our business y/n/n, were just worried about you. youre not acting like yourself. you seem anxious, paranoid, you know- just not normal," pope pleaded with me, making me sit on one of the dining chairs.

"right-" john be interjected, "all were trying to point out is we all know jj would never ever put his whatever you wanna call it with you in jeopardy. hes whipped. theres no way he went and kissed another girl."

i see where theyre coming from. i really do. i want to believe it but there are too many things playing in my head that tell me otherwise.

on one hand, i know jj would never hurt me. not on purpose, and to cheat is definitely with a purpose. hes always reassured me that its just me and since we got serious he hasnt given me a reason to doubt him.

but on the other... just seeing her all over him is so hard to forget. it all happened so fast, i dont know how long theyd been kissing for, maybe i got there just as it happened or maybe itd been going on for a while i have no idea. too many factors.

"y/n if you listen to literally anything we say let it be that we know jj loves you," i look up at the curly haired boy whos basically grown to be my brother.

"thats a big word for elmo-"

pope runs a hand over his face with a sigh, "for the love of god be serious for a minute," 'theyre made for each other' he thinks to himself. "just hear him out. please. for some reason he loves you a lot-"

"hey!"

"-and if were speaking freely youre the one whos put all of this at stake because all the rest of know jj didnt kiss that girl. youre the only one who has doubts. so talk to him. please. were begging you."

"... 'we're?' youve all talked about this?"

"of course we have- it all unraveled in front of us what else did you expect? by the way i was supposed to tell you sarah is siked for you- maybe nows not the time," john be stops himself scratching the back of his head.

honestly it gets a giggle out of me.

"okay.. yea. ill talk to him. where is he? is he here?"

pope looks out the window in the front yard, where he can see sarah peeking in before moving out os sight to pretend she wasnt listening in.

"he was here- he slept outside last night. wanted to give you space since you both normally share the couch."

oh... thats- sweet.

fuck. maybe i am screwing all of this up.

"can i come in now??" i hear sarah yell from the other side of the door.

"get in here!" i raise my voice a little testing my headache, which ironically has somehow gotten a little better.

sarah walks through the door. letting out a rather dramatic sigh, "finally. sorry- jj got some big idea and left on his bike a few minutes ago. said to have y'n awake by the time he gets back so... i dont really know what to do now."

john b looks at his wife and i notice... its like how jj looks at me.

fuck.

fuck fuck fuck.

"do you know where he went??" i look at sarah with a begging tone and pleading tone.

she shakes her head "sorry honey bun," she teases with a smile. "but since weve got time... john b, pope, and i will go get some breakfast while we wait for jj to get back. you stay here- give you two some space to work it all out."

"what? no its fine- really you dont have to go..."

sarah walks up to me grabbing me by the shoulder with some stupid fucking grin like shes all knowing, "girl. youre gonna be fine. youll talk, kiss, and make up and be the happiest couple ever. it will be sickening, trust me id know. relax. it will be fine. you and jj will be able to work this out, im sure."

and with that john b grabs the keys to the twinkie heading out the door following wifes orders, with pope following in suit with an apologetic shrug.

sarah gives me a teasing kiss on the forehead, "well be back soon sweetie be safe."

"oh fuck off- bring back bacon and coffee please," she salutes me before walking outside with the boys.

"no one ever said she was the sharpest tool in the shed," john b quips as he steps into the twinkie with a sigh before turning the ignition.

pope hops in the back letting out a small laugh "yea thats for sure."

"neither of them are," sarah rebuts looking over at john b as they all laugh. "theyre both as sharp as a dull spoon"

"what the fuck did you just say?" jb looks over at her with a quizzical look on his face.

"just drive routledge."

#jj maybank fics #jj maybank smut #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank #jj maybank one shot #fic recs <3 #jj maybank need you by my side #mama needs her jj #my writing <3 #obx imagine #obx fanfiction #obx

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katiascraft · 2 months ago

Text

"So sue me for moving on and doing everything right. For being something you can't forget" | LN4

Parings: Lando Norris x Bisexual!Reader.

Summary: after that night where you saw lando with the opposite of you, you made sure he regretted leaving you behind. You both continued with your lives but you being friends with all of his friends made things tricky. Did you both really move on?

PART 2 OF "OPPOSITE"

Now playing: "Sue me" by Sabrina Carpenter.

Word count: +2,7k.

Warnings: reader has a girlfriend. Mentions os sex. Insinuating. Angst. Not a happy ending I think (?). Not a native English speaker so there could be errors. Not proofread.

Author's note: hope you like it and it's enough as a sequel! Don't forget to like or reblog! And follow me so we can be friends :3 (and have mate together!)

MASTERLIST

Since that tragic and heartbreaking night when Lando ate another girl in front of your nose who didn't look any closer to you - you decided it was real-time to move on.

The fact that he had the audacity of calling you beautiful after kissing her was too much for you to handle.

But you also decided to make his life a living hell if you could. You were vengeance. You would make him regret his decision as long as you needed to. The thing was you kept on seeing each other because you had so many friends in common that it was just impossible to not see each other ever again.

After that night you fell into a depressive hole. It was really hard and intense. You needed to grieve him. You didn't know how to function properly anymore. Your brain tortured you with contrasting images of Lando calling you beautiful, perfect, gorgeous, pretty, cute, baby. You constantly were rumbling around it. The whole day. And the whole night. Hou felt miserable. Your whole life together felt like a completely stupid lie. You felt stupid. Very stupid. How could you believe him? How could you not? You were so in love with him. For you, he was the one. He was your favorite song - the one that just comforts you and makes you feel happy and special. He made you feel special. But it turned out you weren't because he chose to date the opposite of you a few months after allowing the end of your relationship. It felt so unreal. It felt terrible. The image of them kissing made you nauseous. And you had to run to the bathroom and throw up. It was embarrassing. Shameful. It was heartbreaking to see. You were sure that if you didn't have your friends to back you up you wouldn't have done it. Sadness was your new personality and you lost all of your confidence. You didn't even know how to talk to people. You thought they wouldn't ever like you because you didn't look like her. Or even laugh like her. Or touch like her.

Did she touch him better than you did? Was she a better sight naked? Was she as fun? As loyal? As empathic?

You didn't want to know. There was no self-confidence left in your person. You were just an outsider in your own body. You didn't feel enough. You changed your style to baggy huge clothes so you could hide in them. Yes, they were more comfortable and expressed your personality better in your opinion. But on the therapist, the truth was you hid. You hid from the world because you felt so humiliated by the fact he chose her after you. She was better than you in every aspect.

You became obsessed with her for a while. Stalking her socials like crazy comparing. You couldn't stop. Every picture she uploaded with him was dissected destroying every single bit of your heart. She was gorgeous. Flawless skin. Trendy lips. Brown eyes. Blonde hair. Skinny and curvy. Everything you felt you were not. You always ended up sobbing in your bed. You couldn't believe you believed he loved you. That he found you attractive. All the times he said he needed you turned into nightmares. How could he need me if he now has her? There was nothing that could help you make you feel better.

Carlos was that one guy friend you are grateful for. He helped you so much. He knew Lando but he also loved you. And he was as much of a friend to him as he was to you. And he didn't fail you. He was one of the reasons you are better healthier and happier now. He listened to you every night. And made sure you knew you weren't the monster you thought you were. Also, your best friend didn't leave your side for a second. She was everything to you. Without her, there wouldn't be you.

It took you a few couple of months to start to progress. You started feeling better day by day. Your friends always made sure you were comfortable and if you needed to talk they were there for you - always ready to cheer you up.

Things got tricky when the birthday parties started. You knew it was impossible for Lando not to attend to his friend's birthdays so you needed to go through that test. The scariest test. Which was to see Lando again without crying or dying trying. It was the hardest part for you. You didn't want to ignore him but the few could of first times you did. You couldn't even look at him. He came along with his girlfriend. That girlfriend. And it was painful for you to watch. Seeing him kiss someone else. You missed his lips so much. He touched her the way you loved. You thought of stopping being friends with everyone so you didn't have to go through all of that. But eventually, you stopped carrying. You started talking to other guys and girls and you now have dates again and regaining confidence in yourself.

Once you felt you were back to your best version that's when Landon regretted everything he did. And realized he had made the worst choice of his life. And that there was no coming back from there.

One day he was just driving around when he remembered he had forgotten his rings to Osxar’s apartment. So he asked Oscar if he could stop by and pick them up. He agreed and mentioned you were there because you were very close to Oscar’s girlfriend. He got nervous. He doubted for a few seconds at the red light. He wasn't sure if it was appropriate. Since that horrible night, as he remembered it, he didn't know how to talk to you. He was lucky you only saw each other in crowded and public spaces so you didn't have to talk or look at each other. You could just ignore each other and that was it.

He broke up with Hanna, his ex, a few weeks ago. The relationship was going nowhere and she was very toxic at some point. He always knew he didn't love though. He didn't want to admit he chose her so he could forget about you faster. But of course, it didn't work. And he hated himself now for purring you into so much pain. He just didn't make the best decisions in life. But he decided to get his shit together and fix himself. No dating life till he figures it out. Or that he wanted to believe.

After a few minutes of driving he accepted to go to Oscar’s. He needed to face reality once in a while. You two couldn't keep ignoring each other and make everyone uncomfortable. Maybe there was still a possibility you could be friends at least. Or he hoped for that.

You were at Oscar’s happily chatting and eating fruit in his living room. You had your papaya-matching pajamas with his girlfriend. You loved them both so much. You just were gossiping about the drama happening at the University you attended. You were studying engineering. You were proud of yourself. Your dream was one day working on an F1 team. You loved strategy so maybe one day you could win a championship. The bell rang capturing your attention. Oscar answered and announced it was Lando. You felt weird instantly. Uncomfortable. But tried to brush it off as if it was nothing. Because it wasn't right?

You said hi to him like you normally said to anyone. He said hi to the three of you and asked for his rings.

When he saw you he felt he was about to faint. It's been a while since you two last saw each other. And you looked beautiful. Orange was your color. He loved it on you. He always fell for you in orange. He didn't know if it was part of your plan or just destiny torturing him. He tried to play it cool like he wasn't feeling what he was feeling.

Your eyes were locked on his frame. You haven't seen him in a while. You felt kinda excited to see him again to your surprise. He looked incredibly handsome from your point of view. The Sunlight was brightening his face making his eyes bluer and shiny. You just tried to brush off this thought in your head. You have a girlfriend now. And it's been more than a year since everything ended. You shouldn't feel this way. You wouldn't feel the need to take off his hoodie and give him head. So you could feel your effect on him. How he begs you for more. That you're such a good girl. His best girl. The prettiest one.

You just looked to the other side. Ashamed of such a thought. Of course, the air was tense and the interactions were a bit awkward between the four of you in that silent apartment. You readjusted in your site and swallowed hard. You looked at him again now with his rings on smiling and talking happily with Oscar about paddle matches and barbecues with the boys. You licked your lips. Your heart was racing fast and you just needed to get out of there. You stood announcing your departure. The boys looked at you a bit confused because you kind of interrupted his conversation.

“Yeah I think I should head out too,” Lando said while you picked your stuff up off the sofa. You glanced at him a bit and hugged Oscar's girlfriend with a smooch on her cheek. “See you beautiful,” you said. And she smiled. You then hugged Oscar and he led both you and Lando out of his apartment.

When he closed the door you called the elevator. Uncomfortable silence between you two. Tense. You didn't want to look at him. And he didn't wanna do it either. The elevator arrived and you both jumped in.

“Do you need a lift?” he asked breaking the silence between you too. His voice is a bit shaky. You finally looked at him.

“If that's okay I'll take it” you answered softly. He nodded giving you a little smile. You didn't even know why you accepted. This will get you in so much trouble. But you couldn't help it. It was Lando. And whether you wanted to believe it or not - he was the love of your life. It never mattered how son of a bitch he was to you. One way or another you just fell for him like the first time. Though you don't like thinking about it when you are in a relationship.

You got out of the building in silence neither of you wanted to say anything. The tension was cutting deep in both of you. Landon led you to his car. A very not-so-secrecy car. He opened the door for you and you just hopped in. He rounded his car and got up on the pilot seat. When his door closed the silence intensified. You didn't say or look at each other for a few minutes. He didn't even turn on the car. You sat there in silence.

“You still live where you always lived?” he finally asked turning on the car. You looked at him. Your heartache intensified.

“Yeah, I do,” you said in almost a whisper. He nodded and started driving towards your place. He turned on the radio and it was Ed Sheeran playing. You tried to concentrate on looking by the windows if possible the whole trip.

He looked at you by the corners of his eyes. He didn't find words to say. But in some twisted way, he found comfort in this situation. You looked so gorgeous he just couldn't stop looking at you every chance he had while driving.

“You could try to be not so obvious. You're eating me alive with your eyes” you told him out of nowhere making him skip a beat. You looked at him directly for the first time since you got out of the apartment.

“I'm sorry. You look too gorgeous I can't help myself. I know I shouldn't and it's disrespectful but yeah, I won't lie about it” he kind of defended himself. You rolled your eyes a little irritated surprisingly.

“I don't believe you anymore when you say that about me if it was true you wouldn't broken up with me” you spitted. A mix of hurt and anger in your voice.

“Oh c'mon y/n. I told you I was sorry. I was an idiot that night. And I needed to focus on my career and yeah in that I lied to you because I jumped into another relationship quickly. And… I don't care if you believe me or not but I dated her just because I wanted to forget you and I thought it would work but it didn't. I felt stupid. Because you were right. You're always right. I was a selfish asshole. I was in love with you for real but I fucked it up. And yeah I've felt like shit since then so I already paid for my sins” he said with a deep crackly voice. A mix of desperation and upset in his voice. He was sad and angry at the same time. At him.

You looked at him trying to figure out whether you were being fooled again or not. You sighed stressed. You wanted him to rot in hell for what he did. But as of right now, you don't know if that's what you wanted.

“I have a girlfriend you know,” you told him not looking at him. You didn't wanna cry. And you knew yourself too well to be sure that if you did you would break.

“I know,” he said shortly and coldly. You played with your fingers nervously. “At least we could try to be friends?” he now says with a cracky voice. Your heart wouldn't take any more of this. You felt so gutted.

“No, we can't be friends. I never wanted to be your friend in the first place” you answered him. You heard him have a deep sigh. He didn't know what to do anymore.

You stayed in silence for the rest of the ride. When you got home he stopped by your door. You didn't move for a few seconds.

“I really hate you, Lando. I hate you made me love you so deeply that I will never be able to get over you. And all of the memories we made will haunt me for the rest of my life and kill me” you confessed. He was looking at you but you didn't. “I hate that I really wanna kiss you right now and lose my shit just to be able to feel you again but I won't.” you finally looked at him. He got into a trance. His heartbroken yet he wanted to kiss you so badly. He stared at your face analysing every feature. Your lips looked so tasty in that lipstick. Those shorts showed your beautiful and sexy legs. He knew you weren't wearing a bra. He leaned to you, but you stopped him with your hand.

“You need to pay for your sins still baby boy” you whisper so close to his face that sent shivers down his spine. He was so turned on now. And you knew and you were enjoying it. You were too but you won't let him win. “You’ll have to sue me for looking so pretty while you can't have me. Sue me for wearing your favorite color and you can't do anything about it. Sue me for being something you won't be able to forget Lando. You can't have me anymore and I just wish this is the karma for you to rot in hell for what you did” you whispered so sexy. With a needy voice. And a malicious undertone. You had him speechless. You smiled victorious though you really wanted to fucked him right there and show him what is like to have the best sex you'll ever have in your life. But you just pushed him away from you softly and got out of his car without saying anything else. You close the door behind you and get into your house not looking back.

Landon can believe what you did. And how he felt. He was already hard. And you left. And you hated him. But then why did he feel you wanted him as much as he did a few moments before?

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Hope you liked it 💌 if you have any ideas my inbox is open so feel free to send your requests!

#lando norris x female reader #lando x reader #lando #lando norris fluff #lando norris x you #lando norris fanfic #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris #f1 #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 x female reader

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eroscomet · 2 months ago

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Picking Up Pieces That Aren't Yours

Chapter one- Pieces of the Past

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Paring: Tara Carpenter x Fem!Reader

Context: You've known Tara for most of her life in Woodsboro, though you two were never close. After moving to NYC to escape everything she and her sister endured, she finds herself trying to regain control of her life despite being a wreck. After killing Amber, who had been her girlfriend for years, she has a hard time trusting new people as well as trusting relationships. During her time at Blackmore University, she finds herself getting closer to you. She unintentionally plays the push-and-pull game with you, pulling you in as if she wants to be more than friends with you and then pulling away when you actually seem to want to commit.

Warnings: Talks about death, murder, grievance, Trauma, PTSD, Mentions of forms of abuse, Mentions alcoholism, Mentions of weapons, bad writing. (Let me know if I missed anything!)

Word count: 2.5k

A/N: Hellooooo, lovelies! I am currently working on the second part of 'Make it Right', it will be out soon, I promise. For now, I've decided to also begin writing other one-shots or starting other stories! I believe I am going to write more fics for Jenna's different characters. It might've been just a bit inspired by 'Casual' by Chappell Roan but that'll come in later chapters.

Not proof read

╰┈➤Series Masterlist

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No one said it was going to be easy, especially for the Carpenter sisters. With everything that they have endured, they now carry emotional baggage that they feel will follow them everywhere. Or so Sam feels that way. Tara refuses forthat to be her path, she refuses to be someone who lets one event define her entire life. She saw it with Sidney, Gale, and all those who have been through the same thing as her. People who can never seem to escape or move on from their past.

Tara refuses to see the therapist that Sam has been in contact with for her therapy sessions. She truly believes that she can handle it all on her own. Which, in retrospect, sounds absurd. Planning to go through four years of university without any help with her mental and emotional baggage? She doesn't want to talk to her friends about what happened or even think about what happened.

A part of her is still somewhat grieving Amber, it's expected, though. They had dated for quite some while, but Tara is now left with the thoughts of, 'Was any of it real?' Was Tara a pawn in Amber's sick and twisted game? That's how she felt like, at least. Like she let this all happen. Like all of it was somehow her fault. These destructive thoughts allowed Tara to cave in on herself. Her mind was as much a battlefield as her life itself.

Did she survive? Yes. Did she escape? No. She thought that moving away from Woodsboro would save her, she thought it was an escape. Her mind restricted her of that relief, of that escape. She survived, but at what cost? She feels she has absolutely no sense of direction. She wanted to blame Amber just as everyone had and then moved on, but she couldn'twhen she blamed herself for somehow allowing this to happen. Even now that Amber is gone, she still plagues her mind.

There is no excuse that she can give for Amber's actions, and she isn't sure that she wants to make an excuse for her.Every night for her is the same. The memory, the nightmare turned reality, haunts her. It's always the same but in a third-person point of view. She sees herself holding the gun, everything slowing down for her at that exact moment. The gun recoiled as the shot was taken, the noise ringing out from it. The look on Amber's face, the realization on her face.

Like every time, the bullet comes in contact with Amber's head, and just like that, she's dead again. The sound of the knife that she once held in her hand clattering on the floor. The sound had been almost deafening in her nightmares. It'salmost taunting the way that she watched as the blood splattered on her face. The blood that had belonged to her once beloved girlfriend.

Beloved. That's how Tara had seen Amber.

It's almost comical to you how Tara had ever seen Amber in any context but fake and off-putting. Amber wasn't the kindest, the easiest to get along with, or even the most caring. You'd almost feel guilty for not speaking out about it earlier if it weren't for others who had also felt that way and kept quiet as well. You weren't exactly friends with their friend group, you had always felt yourself to be a side character.

Chad had always been all over Liv. They were cute, sure, but there was no need for that PDA. Mindy was constantly going on about different horror movies, as well as still somehow complaining about not having a girlfriend and not wanting to commit to one. Wes was caring and all, but he could also get annoying at times. He had been the only one in the friend group who had felt the off feeling about Amber. It seemed like he and Amber were always bumping heads about Tara.

When Wes died, and the news got out about Amber being the one behind the killings along with Sam's boyfriend, Richie, you knew why he had been killed. Amber felt like he was an obstacle—blocking her path to Tara, stopping her from moving forward with everything. But what frustrated her the most was how much he'd begun questioning her, noticing how strangely she’d been acting. You felt almost thankful for keeping your mouth shut about how you felt. It could have been you.

In all honesty, you and Tara had been close at one point. Back in elementary, you had always invited Tara over to your house after noticing how Tara would spend hours waiting for someone to pick her up after school. She'd sometimes mention how she'd be locked out of her house because her mother wasn't home. You had let her come over, you never minded it since the two of you were friends after all.

Looking back at it, knowing what you know now, it's a bit bittersweet. Knowing the only reason it would take a while for someone to pick up Tara was that she had to wait until Sam got out of school, then walk from her middle school to Tara's elementary school, and finally bring Tara home. The times that she would say she was locked out of the house were either her mother was off getting drunk anywhere she could or her mother would lock her out as a form of punishment.

The thought of you not being there for her earlier had always stung. What about the times that it was raining? Was Tara out in the rain alone? You could never bring yourself to ask her, careful not to bring something up that could take her back to that time. You two had stuck together since those days in elementary when she'd come over constantly. Middle school is when it had gotten a bit rocky, Amber had finally come into the picture.

Amber was new, and Tara had always been too kind and understanding for her good. One day of simply showing Amber around the school had turned into having lunches together or hanging out after school. Days when you'd hang out with them or even with Tara alone, you had always felt Amber's burning glare and jealousy, even from behind. You always ignored it though, being able to hang out with Tara was worth it.

It was around this time that you had begun to like Tara and not in a normal friendship platonic way. It was easy to fall for Tara, or so you thought so. She was pretty, inside and out. Her face had always perfectly reflected her beauty on the inside. You were sure that Amber somehow knew that you liked her because of the constant glares. Still, you ignored her because you knew Tara way before Amber had ever known her.

Ignoring, however, had made it worse even though you were trying to steer away from conflict. Amber didn't take you ignoring her lightly. She began finding excuses to take you and Tara's time away from you. Saying anything that would make sweet and naive Tara feel guilty for leaving Amber behind. Hangouts between you and her had become hangouts between the three of you. Then, slowly, Tara slipped away from your fingers and right into Amber's arms.

You tried not to dwell on it too much, as was expected, but it had hurt how it had seemed so easy for Tara to forget and replace you. You weren't angry with Tara, but you were bitter with Amber, yet you held your tongue for Tara's sake.When high school rolled around, rumors had gone around during freshman year that Amber and Tara had begun dating.

This had set you off; your friends hadn't heard the end of it for almost that entire school year. Everything that you see them do, you feel more bitter. That never stopped your feelings for Tara, though, they had only grown since Tara stayed her usual sweet self that had always swept you off your feet. Sophomore year, you spent your entire time busying yourself with your studies and soccer practice. You shut yourself away from hearing things about Tara and Amber's 'amazing' relationship.

That's when junior year rolled by, it seemed like you had some luck this year. You and Tara shared a math class, Algebra II, without a certain possessive girlfriend around to keep you away from Tara. You're sure that Amber noticed you two shared a class because Tara wasn't as talkative with you. Maybe you had grown apart? Or maybe Amber had told her to stay away from you?

Senior year is when it all happened. It was hard to keep up with all the information that felt like it was being thrown at you. First, Tara's attack, then the following murders, Sam being back in town with her weird boyfriend, and Amber suddenly getting more controlling and possessive.

Tara, on the other hand, felt like she had been thrown into the eye of the tornado. She was both happy and bitter that her sister had returned after having no contact with her for so long. Just because she had gotten hurt, she returned? It sounded like bullshit to her, but a big part of her had missed Sam.

Sam had been around to meet Amber, having left when Tara had been in 8th grade. She never liked Amber; she had always felt something was off about her, and no matter the countless times she told Tara that, Tara had always defended Amber. Upon seeing that Amber was still a part of Tara's life and now has a more important role than a friend, it irked her a bit. Amber had been bitter with Sam from the moment that she returned; maybe it was because of everything Tara had opened up to her about Sam, or maybe it was all a part of the act.

When it had been just Sam and Tara in the room, she had asked Tara where you had gone. "Whatever happened to her, I liked her." She had said. Tara had dismissed it with a small excuse, but hearing your name had tugged at her heart a bit, though she quickly ignored it. When Tara thought back to then, it made her feel stupid how she hadn't reached out to you sooner, but she knew that she was stuck in a position she couldn't leave. She was blinded by what she had thought was love with Amber.

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Tara woke up on the couch in the apartment that she, Sam, and their roommate Quinn shared. Quinn was out, probably on some Tinder date that would end in her staying the night with her date. Sam had been working late shifts, still trying to afford both the apartment and now Tara's education as well. She awoke to the sound of a phone ringing, a small groan escaping her lips.

She sat up on the couch, sighing before grabbing her phone off of the coffee table. She didn't care to check the contact name, she simply picked up the phone. All she had heard was a static noise, which caused her to furrow her eyebrows. A breathing noise was heard through the other end of the phone. Suddenly, the noise of the front door's knob jingling had caused her to be on high alert.

She felt herself retreat to the state she was never able to leave behind. Her hands shook as her heart began to pound, dropping her phone on the floor. A soft thump was heard as her phone fell onto the living room carpet. She completely froze, not knowing what to do and even if she had known, she was too paralyzed by fear to do it.

Eventually, the door opened and she clasped her hand over her mouth, her other hand grabbing the remote from next to her on the couch. Felt tears beginning to prick from the corners of her eyes.

"Tara! Sam asked me to check up on you-" You had begun saying before you felt the remote hit you in the head to which your hand reflexively held where the remote hit you on the head. "Gah! What the-"

You felt your words die on your lips as you saw Tara in the state she was in. Her sigh of relief did not go unnoticed by you as you began putting two and two together that you had triggered her. Before you could say anything, you saw tears slip from her eyes and roll down her cheeks. You put down the bag of take-out that you had brought for her to eat onto the coffee table before rushing to her. Kneeling in front of her a waterfall of apologies escaped from your lips.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. Tara, it's just me. I came to check up on you, Sam just wanted to make sure you were okay." You said as you leaned up, wrapping your arms around her. She quickly responded by wrapping her trembling arms around you.

Ever since attending Blackmore with Tara and her friend group, completely unplanned, you had gotten back into touch with her. You were one of the only 'outsiders' that she trusted with Tara to check up on her on nights like this. It would be considered a bit pathetic how you seemed at Tara's disposal. Everything she needed, you wanted to give her.

So, for every message, call, and hang out, you'd immediately accept. Tara knew you liked her but she could never bring herself to be honest with herself about her feelings for you. She just knew it felt good to be cared for by you and to have your attention. All your actions were right, she just couldn't bring herself to trust to love someone and trust someone again.

The thought of a relationship was completely out of her mind until it came to you. This was quickly shaken away by her clouding thoughts of fear. She can't deny the pull to you, but she also cannot deny the thoughts that practically consumed her. Still, she continued to see you. She continued to call on you and be around you. She thought that the two of you had come to the understanding that things between the two of you were casual and light.

Any time that you had begun to bring up wanting more than stolen kisses and secret cuddling, she'd quickly change the topic. You almost felt embarrassed for wanting to ask what you two were. Then again, you felt like it was better to have her this way than not at all.

"Are you okay?" You asked as you pulled away from the hug, your hands cupping her face to carefully examine her. Her tears had calmed, her breathing a little shaky and uneven, but she still had nodded.

"Yeah, I'm okay." She said with a small sniffle, "Just everything felt like... Never mind."

"I'm sorry. I just came to check up and bring you something to eat." You said as you began peppering her face with soft and short kisses, trying to make her feel better and partially so she could forgive you.

"You need to eat." You had added as you pulled away, tucking her bangs behind her ears as she nodded. Sending her a small, soft smile, you began to unpack the takeout for the both of you.

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A/N: I'm going, to be honest, I did not expect to write so much. I had to cut it short because I was going to go on and on. I'm beginning to contemplate turning into a fic as well. The words sort of flowed out of me, and there definitely is a plot that I can build on. I hope you guys enjoyed this! Again, I am currently making the next part to 'Make it Right,' this was meant to be like a little filler to keep you guys entertained, and I started a whole new fic. I'm going to hope to finish the next part of 'Make it Right' and post it sometime tomorrow. Thank you all for reading, as well as for the support on my last post! Bye, lovelies!

#jenna ortega #tara carpenter #tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter x you #tara carpenter x female reader #scream 6 #scream vi #scream franchise #scream 5 #scream 2022 #amber freeman #core 4 #scream movies

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verstappen-cult · 10 months ago

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Hi Gwen! Can I ask for 05 from the 02 list with Max? But Max was the one who got nightmares. Thank you, have a good day! 🌷

PROMPT DRABBLES ★ MV1

FROM THIS LIST ━━━━ sender comforts receiver in the aftermath of a nightmare .

max leans against the door frame. he looks tired, you can clearly see the bags under his eyes.

max smiles but ends up looking like he's in pain.

you try to take him out of his misery.

"why don't you go lie down while i make dinner?" max drops his head on your shoulder as his right hand finds your waist.

"i've missed you." he whispers, nuzzling your neck with his nose.

it makes you smile because you've missed him, too. you've barely seen each other in the past couple of days━you spent almost the entire winter break together but the season is starting and you have exams coming up, things have been a little difficult, so, you really haven't spent that much time together.

you kiss his forehead, "i'll call you, go."

you know max hasn't been sleeping well. it's always hard with the jetlag, and this time of the year, when everyone's attention and worry is with the team and the new car, more than anything.

you choose to make something easy, you want for max to eat and rest as much as he can. you're actually halfway into finishing dinner when you hear max screaming. you don't think any of it at first but then he's screaming again, this time like he's in pain.

when you enter the room, heart beating so fast you think you're one second away from throwing up, max's still in bed, eyes closed.

"hey, max." you whisper caressing his arm, trying to wake him up without scaring him. "baby, wake up." this time you speak a little louder, that's when he wakes up. there are tears streaming down his face and sweat on his forehead.

sitting next to him, you keep one hand on his arm as you try to wipe the tears away with the other one. "breathe with me," you put into practice the breathing exercise your therapist taught you a couple of years ago. it's difficult at firts, with max still a little frightened from the nightmare but he tries his best to follow your instructions.

max sighs, hiding behind his hands. "it was just..."

"it's okay, you don't have to talk about it, okay?" you know he's feeling vulnerable and that his head is filled with awful thoughts. his dad's voice echoing in his head, saying how he shouldn't cry for something this stupid.

max doesn't look at you and just keeps hiding for a while longer until you have to peel his hands out of his face.

"what about you lie down and i keep you company while you sleep, uh?" his eyes are bloodshot red, remains of the nightmare still very present.

you climb on the bed and he immediately wraps his arms around your waist. you allow him to rest his head on your chest right above your heart, knowing that your heartbeat and the fingers tangled in his hair will lull him back to sleep.

he still carries that little, traumatized child inside of him everywhere he goes.

#꒰꒰ 📁 ─ verstappen cult files ꒱꒱#f1 x reader #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen fluff #max verstappen angst #f1 blurb #max verstappen x you #max verstappen imagine #f1 fanfic #max verstappen fanfic #f1 imagine

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lewmagoo · 3 months ago

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naked poetry | ben mears

description: in which two lovers explore new heights of pleasure

pairing: professor ben mears x f!reader

word count: 7,102

warnings: 18+ only, brief mention of past trauma, unprotected p in v sex, professor/student roleplay, title kink, sir kink, oral (m receiving), begging, creampie

The setting sun cast a cozy yellow glow across the comfortable office that was home to all the writing projects and research excursions Ben Mears partook in.

A place that was set up just the way he liked it. A simple writing desk housing an antique typewriter he picked up at an estate sale. Bookshelves boasting of both practical and fictional books, including all the ones he’d written as well.

Front and center was his most recent book. It had taken him years to write, but it was finally published, and he was deeply proud of it. The story of a young writer and the woman he loved, overcoming the impossible when a throng of vampires reigned terror on their beloved hometown.

No one knew the story was true. No one except you, and the young boy you’d rescued when the Lot fell. Ben supposed no one would believe either of you if you claimed the story was true. But it didn’t matter, because that time was behind you now. You’d moved on with life, and you were happy now. You were safe.

It had been ten years since you fled from Jerusalem’s Lot with the clothes on your back, Mark Petrie in your arms, and Ben by your side. You had nothing.

Those first few months were difficult. You lived in motels and barely scraped by. But your beloved Ben was determined to make things better for you and Mark. It took a while, but you settled down eventually, far from the charred remains of the Lot.

The three of you focused on processing the trauma you had experienced. You found a therapist for Mark to see regularly, and you gently encouraged Ben to see one alongside you. He was plagued with terrible nightmares, and it broke you to listen to him wake up sobbing, burying his face in your chest.

It was no walk in the park. You faced many setbacks and trials. But you had each other, and that helped.

Eventually, Mark was re-enrolled in school. You got a job working at the local library. Ben focused on writing, but finally bit the bullet and decided to try his hand at teaching. College had never been something he enjoyed, and in his youth, he had barely gotten through a year of it before he dropped out altogether.

Now, things were different. He had a family to think about. You and Mark were his world, and he was determined to make something of himself so that he could take care of you, and see to it that the boy had good schooling.

And, in a way, it gave Ben a chance to honor Matt Burke, his dear friend that he’d lost during the events that took place back in ‘salem’s Lot.

So he returned to college and completed the necessary steps to become a teacher.

Now, years later, he’d secured a job as a professor at the local university. It paid well, and he had the privilege of teaching American literature. While his true passion was writing, he found that he enjoyed teaching more than he’d anticipated. He understood why Matt Burke had done it for so many years.

On the side, Ben had been working on publishing his book, When Evil Lurks. His other books had seen moderate success, but he had no idea how the general public would respond to this one.

Much to his delight, and utter relief, the response surpassed his greatest expectations. The book received critical acclaim, and secured itself on the New York Times bestseller list. He received handsome monetary gain from it. Enough to secure a comfortable life for his little family.

It had been over ten years since you had left the Lot, and things were looking up for the three of you. With the earnings from When Evil Lurks, you and Ben were able to help put Mark through college.

With Mark off pursuing his studies, it was just you and Ben in your quaint, but comfortable, cottage. For the first time in a decade, you found yourselves entirely alone together. All this time had been spent getting through the pain you’d experienced, raising Mark, and trying to find your way in life.

Now, you had so much time to truly get to know each other inside and out. It felt like you were dating each other all over again, and you loved it. When you first met Ben, you had only been able to go on a few proper dates before all hell broke loose, and you had to fight for your lives.

When it was all over, it seemed only a given that you would simply stay together. Your trauma had bonded you together forever.

But that part of your lives was over. Not forgotten, but you had processed your grief and learned to live again.

Now you found yourselves enjoying a domestic life. You had a small vegetable garden. A few chickens. A goat. A nice, quiet portion of land in the countryside. You still worked at the local library a few days a week, but you were able to enjoy a slower, more relaxed life. It was incredibly healing.

Ben had a nice schedule at the university. He only taught three days a week, so oftentimes, your days off would coincide, and you would be able to enjoy time together.

Today was one of those days.

You had enjoyed a nice, leisurely morning in bed together, kissing and touching and enjoying the warmth and softness of one another’s bodies. Then you found yourselves snuggled in the breakfast nook in the kitchen, eating a brunch that consisted of eggs from your chickens and a few of the last vegetables of the season from your garden.

It was officially autumn, and first frost would soon come. Your garden would sleep until next spring, when the earth thawed again. Until then, you were appreciative of the last few vegetables it had given you, and had been using them in soups and stews all week.

After brunch was eaten that morning, you floated through the day doing chores and enjoying the lovely weather. However, beneath it all was a sizzle of excitement thrumming in your veins, for you had special plans that evening.

With your newfound alone time, you had been exploring things together. Growing more adventurous in your sexual escapades. It kept things new and exciting, and you both loved it.

Ben took to grading papers for the entirety of the afternoon, wanting to get ahead of it so he could spend the weekend focusing solely on you. He almost couldn’t focus on his work, because he knew what was to come.

His mind kept wandering as he scanned over each essay, and he had to continuously draw his attention back in. But how could he, when thoughts of you filled his head? And how could he, when he knew that very soon, he would have you naked on this very desk?

By some miracle, though, he finished grading the essays, albeit hastily. And just in time, too, for moments later, as the sun was beginning to set in the sky, he heard a knock at the door of his study.

He felt like a damn teenager, sexed up and teeming with hormones. That was simply the effect you had on him.

He cleared his throat, trying his best to keep his composure. “Come in!”

Seconds later, you were slipping into the room, and his eyes widened behind the thick frames of his glasses. You looked incredible, donning a short plaid skirt that left little to the imagination, and a blouse that he could see the peaks of your nipples through.

His mouth went dry as your eyes flitted about the room, an air of shyness about you.

“Professor Mears?” You innocently spoke. It sent his blood rushing south.

Leaning back in his chair, he mustered a smile. “My office hours are actually over. Can we meet sometime next week instead?”

“Actually, I…I was hoping to talk to you now.” You stepped forward, and in your hands was a piece of paper. “See, I wrote an essay, and I was hoping you could look at it and give me some pointers on what I should change?”

How sneaky you were. He could see that you had used his typewriter to write an essay on the paper you held. “I suppose I could take a look.” He stretched out his hand, and you placed the paper in it.

As he glanced over the content, he felt heat rising past the collar of his shirt, and his breath hitched. The words you had written were salacious. This was no essay. This was a love letter.

Dear Professor Mears,

I’m writing this letter because I need to confess something to you. I can’t stop thinking about you. Each time I watch you teach in class, I fall more in love with you. It’s hard to pay attention, because my mind wanders. I think you’re the most handsome man I’ve ever seen, and I find myself daydreaming about what it would be like to kiss you. To feel your lips on mine. To have you touch me. I think about how big your hands are, and how they would feel on my body. I get so wet when I picture your fingers inside me. They’re so long, and I know they would fill me up so nicely. When I touch myself, I can’t help but imagine you in my head. Maybe your face is between my legs with your tongue on my pussy, or maybe your cock is inside me. It makes me cum so hard. I know this is highly inappropriate of me, but I needed to confess all of this before I combust. And maybe, some foolish part of me, hopes you’ll feel the same.

Ben stared at the words, his chest heaving slightly, his ears red, his eyes blurring. Sucking in a breath, he removed his glasses, setting your letter down and pinching the bridge of his nose. This was no more obscene than the sex scenes he’d written in his books. He considered himself very good at writing erotica, and had spent many a writing session describing sex acts in explicit detail.

Yet this? This was different. This wasn’t simply a fantasy etched into paper. This was happening in real time, before his very eyes, and he suddenly felt like a prude, even though he was far from it.

You watched him, pressing your thighs together at the sight of him reading the note. You were certain you would melt on the spot. There was something so erotic about watching him process your words. When you had discussed role playing this scene, you hadn’t revealed to him that you were going to write such a thing. His reaction was firsthand and genuine.

Ben looked up at you. He had to fight to stay in character, taking on the role of the stern professor. “Y-young lady, this is highly inappropriate. I could have you expelled for this. In fact, I could be removed from my position here.”

You bowed your head, wringing your hands. “I’m sorry sir. I…I’ve just been tortured by these thoughts of you and needed you to know how I feel.”

“Look at me.”

Your eyes shot up to his. Impossibly blue behind his glasses. His mouth wavered in what seemed to be a hidden smile. He tugged at the collar of his shirt, as if to loosen it.

“I have half a mind to tell you to get out.” He rose from his chair, flattening his palms against the oak desk beneath him. Mouth parted, lashes fluttering. “But perhaps…” He trailed off, considering his next words.

“Sir?”

His tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip. “Maybe I could help…uh, help you fix this problem you’re having.” God, he was burning up. He felt ridiculous, saying such lines, but at the same time, it was exhilarating.

“Oh, would you? I promise, once you do, I won’t ever seek you out again. I just need some sort of relief. I think I’m going crazy.”

Might as well commit to the bit, right?

So he patted his desk. “Come here.”

You padded across the rug, body tingling with excitement as you took a seat on the edge of his desk, facing him. He leaned back in his chair, bottom lip caged between his teeth as he appraised you. Your skirt rode up, and you spread your legs for a moment so he could see that you weren’t wearing anything underneath.

He sucked in a breath, and slowly, he rose to his feet, eyeing you up as if he was a wolf who’d just sunk his teeth into the innocent flesh of a lamb. “You dirty girl. You knew I’d give into you, didn’t you? Parading around, with nothing on underneath this skirt. A single gust of wind and everyone would be able to see.” A smirk played upon his mouth. “Is that what you want? For everyone to see how desperate you are for your professor?”

You squirmed beneath the heaviness of his stare. “No, I…I only want you to see.” And then, “Sometimes I don’t wear any panties in class, because I hope you’ll look down and see.”

His fingers idly slid up your inner thigh, leaving goosebumps in their wake. “And what if I told you I have seen? I’ll catch glimpses when you cross your legs. I should’ve known you were doing it on purpose. So eager to get my attention…”

Higher and higher his fingers went, while further and further your legs parted. “You have no idea what it does to me, seeing your sweet little pussy on display like that. I’ll admit that I’ve had to excuse myself at the end of class to take care of things.”

He ducked forward, glancing at your lips. He was so close, you could feel the heat of his body, and smell the woodsy scent of his cologne.

“S-sir?” Innocently asking for clarification, though you knew what he meant.

Gently, he grasped your wrist and brought your hand down to his crotch, where he pressed your palm against the hardness that resided there. “Feel that? You’ve made me so hard, angel. It’s why I have to lock myself in my office after class. So when you tell me that you touch yourself to the thought of me…I’ve done the same when thinking of you.”

Which, was not an entirely fabricated statement. You were cheeky, at times, always wanting to keep things exciting between the two of you. On more than one occasion, you had slipped quite a few lewd Polaroid photos of yourself into his lunchbox. He’d learned to take his lunch in the privacy of his office so he could fully admire the pictures without anyone happening upon something that was meant for his eyes only.

He rutted against your hand, and you whined softly. “I want you so badly, Professor Mears. Please, I just want to know what it feels like when you make love to me.”

“You will,” came his reassurance. “But first, I want you to do something for me.”

“Anything.”

He stepped back, and the absence of his warmth made you shiver. You watched, already thrumming with need, as he took a seat in his chair, spreading his thighs. The golden hour sunlight cast its heavenly glow upon him, glittering in the sprinkle of premature grays that had begun to appear throughout his chestnut locks, like the intricate web of a spider.

Those grays held a story, and had begun appearing after you left the Lot a decade ago. Evidence of what he’d been through, and how it had aged him.

You couldn’t help the swell of pride, though, that warmed your chest whenever you looked at them. You’d both come so far. Now here you were, engaging in a silly little role play in your cozy home, because you could. Because you were safe and in love and the horrors were behind you now.

It made you smile as you pushed yourself away from his desk, and his brows furrowed in slight confusion. You surged forward, grabbing him by the collar and tugging him toward you for a kiss, which he happily reciprocated, albeit with curiosity.

“What was that for?” He could tell you’d broken character, just by the way your body language had shifted.

“Sorry to break character, I just love you so much and I’m really enjoying this so far,” you said with a sheepish glance cast toward him.

His large, warm hand slid lovingly along your forearm. “I love you too, sweetheart. I’m having a great time, too.”

Another kiss before you finally pulled away, giggling slightly as you shook your head. “Okay, okay. Back to what we were doing!”

He cleared his throat, snapping out of his lovesick daze. “Yes, yes, of course.”

You took a deep breath and melted back into your college student persona, with Ben watching in awe as you did so.

“What would you like me to do, sir?” Hands clasped in front of you. Eyes downcast.

He breathed in deeply. When he spoke, his voice took on a low tone. He patted his thigh and said, “Come kneel for me.”

Obediently, you lowered yourself to your knees, and you didn’t miss the way his mouth parted in surprise as you crawled the rest of the way to him. Only a few feet, but nonetheless it made his breath hitch in his chest.

And there you knelt, your hands resting atop your thighs, looking at him expectantly. It took a moment for his mouth to catch up to his brain.

“Good girl,” he managed. Then he leaned forward, beckoning you closer. “Think you can undo my belt yourself, or do you need my help?”

“I can do it.” Eagerly, you reached out, unbuckling his leather belt. You made quick work of the button on his pants, followed by the zipper. God, you were almost salivating at the thought of having him in your mouth.

Ben lifted his hips slightly and let you tug his pants and underwear down. You wasted no time in yanking them completely down his legs and discarding them somewhere on the floor, to give yourself as much room as possible.

When you looked up again, there it was. His hard cock, heavy and already leaking, flushed tip sticky with arousal. He wrapped his thick fingers around the shaft, adorned with intricate veins, framed by a gathering of dark hair at the base.

The head was swollen, and its pink shade reminded you so much of his sweet, small mouth that you so badly wanted to kiss. But you’d have to pull away from him to do that. Instead, you bring him to your lips, kissing gently, softly, tongue darting out to taste his salty musk.

Letting your eyes flutter shut, you took his cock in your palm and nuzzled against it, silky softness brushing against your skin. His wetness streaked across your cheek, over your lips, delightfully slick.

Ben watched you, his hands now gripping the wooden handles of his chair. He couldn’t think of anything to say because his brain was white noise. How beautiful you looked, practically worshiping him, like this.

Soft kisses left against the pulsing shaft, down to the base of him, over the heavy weight of his balls. If you weren’t careful, you’d lose yourself, and entirely drop the role play you’d so carefully planned out.

“Your cock is so pretty, sir,” you confessed, open-mouthed against him.

He grunted softly, once again wetting his bottom lip with his tongue. “You think so?” Fingers stroking lightly against your cheek before he nudged his hips forward. “Go ahead, suck it.”

There was the slightest commanding tone to his voice, and it sent a pulse of burning desire between your thighs. He certainly didn’t have to tell you twice.

You lifted your head and swirled your tongue around his tip once more, before you closed your lips around him, humming in delight.

Instinctively, his hand settled at the back of your head, guiding, but not pushing, as you take him deeper inside your mouth, lips stretching. “Oh, oh fuck me,” he hissed, hips shifting, fighting so hard not to abruptly thrust upward and catch you off guard. “Thats…that’s good. So good.”

Pleased, you let out a hum, which vibrated deliciously around him and made him shudder. He watched in amazement as you went further down, tongue swirling against his thickness, saliva dripping down to his balls.

You pulled off him to catch your breath, your mouth wet with drool. “Am I doing a good job, Professor Mears?”

Good lord, you’d be the death of him. “Yes. Yes, honey. You’re doing excellent.”

With a satisfied smile, you dove back in, this time pressing your tongue to the underside of his tip, right against his frenulum. He gasped, head lolling back, Adam’s apple bobbing.

As your hand worked the rest of him that wasn’t in your mouth, his eyes nearly rolled back in his head. You knew how sensitive he was there, right at the tip. How it made him feel like a goddamn live wire, crackling with electricity.

“C-christ!” He cursed, knuckles white against the arms of the chair. His hips thrust forward, and you caught the rest of him in your mouth.

In a moment of intensity, he lost control and slid to the back of your throat without warning. You gagged around him, drooling even more. You heard him swear, and in an instant, he pulled you off him. “Sorry, I’m sorry, didn’t mean to catch you by surprise,” he breathlessly apologized, “you okay?”

You couldn’t help but smile. “Yes, I’m fine,” you assured him, squeezing his thigh. You emphasized your point by leaving a kiss against his cock.

Breathing slightly labored, his eyes narrowed before he suddenly pulled you upright. He was laying you across his desk in one fluid movement, rising to stand over you.

“As much as I love your mouth, I’m interested to know what your sweet pussy feels like,” came his murmur, as he hovered over you.

You let your legs fall open, and he looked down, breath hitching in his chest at the sight of you, already glistening with the evidence of your desire. He wanted nothing more than to sink into you, but first, he needed to make sure there was adequate space on the desk.

He pulled back to move his typewriter aside, and he pushed anything else out of the way, so you could fully spread out comfortably. Then, he swiftly pulled his shirt over his head, his hair ruffling. He shoved a hand through tousled locks before he was back between your open legs.

“Let’s get you naked, honey. Let me see this beautiful body of yours.” Careful hands unbuttoned your top. He was tempted to yank it open and send the buttons flying, but thought better of it when he pictured you having to sew each individual button back on.

The blouse was soon discarded, sliding off the desk and onto the floor below. Your skirt, however, remained in place, but Ben shoved it up over your hips to give him full access to what awaited between them.

Meanwhile, you were entirely distracted, gazing longingly at his cock, bobbing heavily as he moved. It was going to fill you so nicely. Your cunt pulsed in anticipation.

“Pretty little thing,” Ben cooed, palms soothing over your inner thighs. “The thought of getting fucked by your professor has you so wet, doesn’t it?”

You shivered. “Yes. God, yes.”

Wandering fingers tenderly parted your folds, and warmth blossomed in your lower belly at the feeling of his touch.

He gripped his cock. “You want this?” Knowing glint in his eyes.

“Please!”

“Say it.”

“I-I want you to fuck me.”

With the raise of a brow, he tilted your chin up. “No. I want you to admit it. What do you want? Who do you want?”

You felt as if you were going to melt under the heat of his gaze. Suddenly this silly little role play felt so real. As if you were actually his student who’d spent the entire semester lusting after him, and were now going to get what you’d been hoping for.

You squeezed your eyes shut as your next words left your mouth. “I want my professor’s cock.”

Your heart rate quickened. The temperature of the room seemed to rise fifty degrees. You couldn’t look at him. It was too much. Too intense. Too—

“Hey.” Comforting hands holding your face. Coaxing your eyes open. Asking you to look at him. When you looked into that shocking blue, you began to relax. “You still with me, sweetheart?” Tone gentle. Even.

You managed a smile and a nod. “Yes. Keep going, please.”

A sweet kiss to your lips before he dropped his hands and melted right back into character.

“I’ll give it to you. But if we do this, I think we both know it's not just going to be a one-time thing. You’re going to come to my class day in and day out, wearing your short little skirts, flashing your naked pussy at me. And you’re going to end up bent over my desk again and again, begging for more. So that bears the question: are you sure this is what you want?”

“I’m sure. I’ve never wanted anything so badly. I just want to know what your cock feels like inside me.”

The way you looked at him, eyes wide and pleading, had his head spinning. “And you’ll get it.” He was surging forward to kiss you then, mouth hot and open against yours, the lingering taste of his own cock meeting his tongue as it delved into your mouth.

His fingers were back between your thighs again, trailing through honeyed slickness, smearing it over your tender flesh. When the pads of his fingers swirled over your sensitive little gathering of nerve endings, you gasped sharply against his lips.

Then he was dipping his middle finger inside you, deeper and deeper, until he was brushing against the spot that made your toes curl. He couldn’t help but smile at your reaction. A choked moan and a jolt of your hips. When he added a second finger, your eyes blurred with tears and your head fell back.

They slotted inside you so nicely, and he knew exactly how much pressure to apply. He had your body memorized. He couldn’t pretend like he didn’t, not even for this scene. It was engrained in him as deeply and intrinsically as his own DNA.

He could feel you growing wetter by the minute, soaking his digits, and his cock twitched. God, he couldn’t wait to be inside you. It didn’t matter how many times he fucked you. Nor did it matter that he’d only just had you the night before. It never changed how it felt when he first slid inside you. The sensation of your anatomy stretching around him, inviting him inside, was indescribable.

He knew he couldn’t wait another minute. So he withdrew his hand from you, soothing your whine of protest as he wrapped his slick hand around his cock, using your arousal as lubricant. Then he aligned himself with you, and your legs fell open further, granting him full access.

“I want you to say, ‘Please fuck me, Professor Mears.’”

His expression had darkened slightly. As the sun sank below the horizon, stealing the golden light away, a shadow fell upon his face. With his brow set hard, and his eyes narrow, it seemed as if he was about to devour you whole. And you would let him.

“Please fuck me, Professor Mears,” you heard yourself obediently speak, tone soft and sweet.

“Mm, so well-mannered,” he hummed. The plush head of his cock caught against your opening. With his free hand, he held your face, urging you to look at him. “I bet you’d do anything I asked of you, just to have this inside you.”

“Anything,” you admitted.

“Later on we’ll have to test that theory out.” His voice was wrecked. He simply couldn’t draw this out any longer. So he took hold of your hips, keeping you steady as he thrust forward. Slowly at first, because he wanted to relish in the feeling.

You squeaked slightly, one hand clamping over your mouth, the other moving to grasp the edge of the desk. The way he filled you was otherworldly. The initial stretch resulted in a strangely comforting, pinchy ache that soon gave way to complete and utter satisfaction. He was not lacking by any means; satisfying and thick, but not so much so that it hurt. You wished you had the words to describe how it felt, but nothing could come close. All you knew was that having him seated so deeply within you made your heart sing.

His voice was in your ear then, swirling through your head like hazy smoke from the pipes he liked to puff on after dinner each night. “Talk to me, sweetheart. Tell me how good it feels.” That was Ben, always wanting your verbal praise, eager to please and make you feel the most pleasure possible.

“So good, sir. Oh, you feel incredible.” You were surprised you had it in yourself to even speak. You weren’t lying, either. The way he angled his hips and filled you so nicely made you feel this all-encompassing bliss, that was almost like being bathed in sunlight and glitter.

Grunting softly, mouth open, he let his forehead rest against your own. But his gaze was focused on the place where your bodies met. The way your pretty cunt swallowed every inch of him. “We…we shouldn’t be doing this,” he whispered, the idea of this moment being risky and taboo sending a delicious surge of arousal though him. “I could lose my job, if anyone found out about this.”

“I-I know,” you peeped, eyes screwed shut, teeth sinking into your bottom lip as he began to move. Slowly at first, finding his rhythm.

His hand was holding your jaw again, mouth against yours as he spoke. “Can you imagine what they’d say, if they walked in and saw me balls deep in one of my students?”

You tried to reply, but your voice died in your throat as he offered a particularly deep thrust that punched the breath right out of your lungs. Your back arched off the desk, and you trembled, feeling like a rope that had just been pulled taut.

But he continued anyway, words pouring from his tongue and caressing your skin like velvet. “They’d say I couldn’t control myself. And they’d be right.” A low groan rumbled in his chest. “Your sweet little pussy feels so good that I just can’t help myself.”

You clenched around him, and he could feel you dripping, slick trailing down his shaft. He knew the effect his dirty talk had on you, he could see it in the way your eyes had gone unfocused and your mouth was hanging open.

He spoke again, which was no surprise, because he always found that when he was inside you, he was more prone to rambling. He couldn’t help himself. That brain of his was always working, even when he was enveloped in a warm, wet pussy. “But that’s what you want, isn’t it? You want them to see. Want them to know what a dirty slut you are for your professor.”

“Ye-yes! Yes!” You cried out, barely coherent. Goodness gracious, he was hitting it so deep, and he hadn’t even picked up the pace yet. How were you already losing your ability to speak?

“Say it.” Punctuated by the heavy drag of his cock against your sensitive walls.

“I’m a slut for my professor.” You could barely utter the words, they sounded so ridiculously sinful on your own tongue.

His hips stuttered and he lurched forward, hands pressed against the desk to steady himself. Forehead pressed against yours, he fought to keep his composure. How could he be expected to keep it together when he had you like this? So pliant and willing to do anything he asked of you.

After taking a moment to steady himself, he tilted his face and kissed you deeply, hand coming up to the back of your head while the other fell to hold your hip.

You whimpered, gripping at his shoulders, fingers pressing into muscled flesh. Ben hissed lowly, setting a deliberate pace that sent you writhing against the desk. Heavy rolls of his hips, deeper and deeper, so you could feel every single inch of him, dragging against that sensitive, spongy spot within you.

The room soon filled with the harsh sounds of skin against skin, followed by the obscene squelch of your wetness. Surely you were dripping onto the surface below you, but neither of you could be bothered to care, not when pleasure was beginning to cloud your senses and primal need took over.

“Look at yourself.” He guided you to look down at the place where he disappeared inside you. Stretched to capacity around his cock. The sight had your eyes rolling back.

You mewled pathetically, abdomen tensing as he offered a particularly jarring thrust that sent you gushing around him. Ben gasped sharply and brought a hand between your legs, the pads of each digit pressed into your puffy, aching, clit.

A spark had been ignited within you, fizzling and popping, spreading through your veins. Soon, it would turn into a wildfire, consuming you whole. Burning hotter and brighter with each pulse if his hips against yours.

“Oh, oh my god, sir, I—” Words left your mouth involuntarily. Breathless, unsure of what you were trying to even say. Mind cloudy. Swirling. Whirling. Spinning out of control.

Your lungs filled with oxygen as you took in harsh, labored breaths. He was knocking the wind out of you. Taking you apart piece by piece.

Your body undulated beneath him, muscles in your thighs shivering like leaves in the autumn wind. Oh, you were already close. You could feel it. Building in the very core of your being, like an energy field thrumming in the center of the earth.

Mouth open. When did Ben’s find yours again? You had no recollection, but there he was, kissing you lewdly. Tongue sliding past parted lips. The sound of your moans and whimpers mingling with his own.

His fingers still working against your most sensitive parts, cock pistoning in and out of you relentlessly. You were going to float straight up to the ceiling, it seemed. Perhaps you might even go past it, up into the clouds, and into outer space. With the way you saw stars behind your eyes when you squeezed them shut, it felt like you were already there.

Right there, right there, right there. Just like that. Yes, yes, yes. Don’t stop, don’t ever stop.

Then his face was in your line of sight, his brow furrowed, mouth parted, hair falling into his eyes. Veins creased in his forehead, and he trembled from the intensity, mouth curled in an almost snarl. “I-I can feel you squeezing me, honey. You’re dripping. Just…gah, just let go, come for me. Come all over your professor’s cock.”

His words sent you plummeting over the edge. It hit you hard and fast, engulfing you, consuming you, devouring you. You heard yourself cry out his name, but it sounded disembodied, as if you were far away from yourself.

Pulsing, trembling, muscles taut as the delicious pleasure washed over you. You buried your face against his shoulder and let yourself be as loud as you needed. There was no one around for miles. No one to hear you sob your lover’s name as he fucked you through your orgasm.

As the molten bliss surged through you from head to toe, it seemed to last an eternity, but at the same time you were coming down from it quickly. Head clearing. Eyes refocusing. Ringing in your ears fading away.

And there was Ben, fighting to stave off the inevitable, to keep himself together because he wanted to admire you as you came down from the throes of ecstasy. Letting out a choked, breathless moan, he fell forward, hand coming out to catch himself, braced against the desk.

He was thoroughly surprised he’d managed to keep it together while you fell apart, spasming around his cock, evidence of your release dripping down the shaft.

He found his voice after a moment, nuzzling his nose against yours as he spoke. “So good. Did so good for me,” came his praise. He didn’t miss the delighted smile that warmed your face.

“Felt really good,” you said with a giggle, kissing the corner of his mouth.

You involuntarily tightened around him as you laughed, and it pulled a grunt from his throat. “Honey, I…”

You wrapped your legs around his waist. “I know. Keep going, please. I can take it, Professor Mears.”

His lashes fluttered, eyes going unfocused for a moment. “Fuck, okay. I’ll give it to you, all of it.”

Another desperate kiss to your mouth before he gripped your hips in his strong hands, holding you exactly where he wanted you, grip firm as he began moving again.

What followed could only be described as using you for his own pleasure. Deep, deliberate thrusts into your slick, sensitive pussy. With each press forward, you could feel his pubic bone brush against your swollen clit, coarse hair only heightening the stimulation.

Everything was so heightened. Overwhelming, almost. But you wanted nothing more than to feel him spill inside you, and you weren’t about to tell him to stop. So you held on for dead life, tears streaming down your cheeks as he fucked you into into the desk.

He was losing himself. If you weren’t so delirious, you might’ve taken time to admire him. Silvery curls falling into his face. Forehead glimmering with perspiration. Jaw hard set.

Then he was burying his face against your neck, rutting into you still, rambling about how good you felt. “Feel so fuckin’ good. You’re so wet, oh Christ your pussy feels incredible, honey. Oh, I’m so close. So—ah!—close!”

Somewhere along the way you found the wherewithal to meet his frenzied thrusts, pushing up into him, chasing the heat that had begun to spread throughout your body again, duller this time, yet somehow still so intense.

“Wh-where so you want me to come?” Voice pinched, barely able to force the words out of his mouth. “Please honey, I’m…I need to…” Nearly sobbing.

Throwing your head back, you let out a soft cry. “Oh! Please, please come inside me, sir!”

You knew he was so close. Could feel it in the way his cock pulsed inside you, swelling slightly from the intensity of his own desire.

You forced yourself to open your eyes, and your gaze locked with his. His lashes fluttered. Tears gathered in his waterline. “Please, I wa-wanna be full of your cum, Mr. Mears.”

That was his undoing.

“Oh that’s it, that’s it.” Shaft pumping inside you, hips pressed tightly to yours so he could give you all of it. Your eyes fluttered shut and a drunk smile tugged across your mouth as you relished in the heat of his release spreading inside your fluttering cunt.

Sated. Whole. Complete.

“Thank you, professor,” you slurred.

His body fell lax against yours, chest heaving, head still spinning from the rush of euphoria he had just experienced. He could feel the warmth of his cum beginning to spill around the edges of his softening cock, dripping out of you. Gravity at work.

Lifting his head, he gave you a sheepish smile, his cheeks pink. “Jeez. That was incredible, honey.” And then, a sweet kiss to your lips. “You feeling alright?”

Mirroring his elation, you nodded, arms sliding around his neck. “Oh I feel wonderful.” Another kiss. “That was even more fun than I thought it would be. We definitely need to do that again.”

Still red in the face, Ben hummed, eyes downcast. “I, uh, I’m slightly ashamed to say what hearing you call me professor did to me.”

You began toying with his soft curls. “No shame here, Benny. You know what happens between us stays between us.”

“I know.” He nuzzled his nose against yours. “I’m glad we started exploring these fantasies. Scratches an itch I didn’t realize I had.”

“Me too,” you wholeheartedly agreed. You couldn’t wait to begin exploring other scenarios to roleplay. Until then, you were much too spent to even consider drawing out your escapades. You had a feeling you would be struggling to walk once you got down off his desk.

Ben’s hands coming up to cup your face pulled your thoughts back to him. “I love you, sweetheart. You’re so good to me.”

“I love you too.” A moment of tenderness while basking in the afterglow.

But all too soon, it was time to get cleaned up. Gently, tenderly, he eased himself out of you, lashes fluttering as he admired the way a milky white trail of his seed followed.

“Let’s go get cleaned up, alright?” He had to snap out of it, otherwise he’d be asking for round two, and he knew you both needed some recovery time.

Arm around your waist, he guided you out of the office and to the hallway bathroom. There, you shared the intimate act of cleaning each other up. A display of reverence to the other’s body, a display of gratitude for the pleasure experienced.

You decided to take a bath together after the fact, and it wasn’t long before you were both enveloped in the comfortably hot water, naked bodies pressed together as you enjoyed a moment of non-sexual closeness.

“You’re too good to me, my lovely. Thanks for entertaining my little fantasies,” Ben spoke, tone low and smooth, lips pressed against your bare shoulder.

You leaned back, searching for his lips, pressing yours to them before you replied. “You know I’m more than happy to,” you assured him.

It felt so good to enjoy this moment of pure, unadulterated bliss. After all you had been through, you were finally living the sweet, slow life you’d always wanted to live together. Exploring fantasies. Enjoying one another’s company. Laughing and talking and deepening your bond.

Oh, how at peace you were. And you wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.

#ben mears x reader #ben mears smut #ben mears fanfiction

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stevie-petey · 1 year ago

Text

episode one: MADMAX

Steve is looking at Nancy so tenderly, and when he removes his sunglasses you see how much his eyes light up when she hits his shoulder and leans in close to him. “I missed you,” Steve tells her, his voice soft and sensual. It’s the way he says it that makes you want to run your hands through his hair, be the one in his arms as he kisses your neck and whispers how often he’s thought of you since you’ve been gone. You’ve felt his arms around you before, once. You know how securely he holds on, how his cologne lingers on your clothes long after he’s gone. You miss him, you miss everything.

Summary: what does steve fear more ? you or the plague ? currently it's you, some guy with an awful mullet stares you down in the parking lot (gross), nancy invites you to a party from your nightmares, and you become an official unlicensed therapist for will. yay for junior year !

Rating: general, slight cursing

Warnings: fem!reader, use of y/n, descriptions of PTSD (slightly), swearing, and general angst and exhaustion

Words: 5.2k

Before you swing in: hello ! welcome back to the rewrite, hope yall are well :) heres chapter 1 of season 2 !!! so so so excited and ready to dive into this new season. things get a bit darker, feelings get even MORE complicated, and poor reader just really needs to take a fat nap and maybe some reassuring words. shes more angsty this season, so buckle up

October 29th, 1984

You originally gave Dustin the phone number to Bookstrordinary in case of any emergencies.

Now, you’re really starting to regret it.

For the fifth time this week, Dustin calls you at work to beg for money. Him and the boys recently started going to an arcade that’s opened up in town and have spent practically every day after school there this year. Sure, you don’t mind loaning your brother a few quarters, but at the rate he’s going he’s gonna drain your next paycheck.

Just as you’re thinking this, the phone rings.

Right on cue.

Alex, your coworker, smirks. “How much do you think he’ll ask for this time?”

“If I’m lucky, only a dollar.”

“Will asked me for three tonight, so I wouldn’t jinx anything.”

You gape at Jonathan, who has started hanging around your job after school just to have something to do. “No fucking way.”

“Way,” he laughs, pointing towards the phone on the counter. “Answer before Dustin sends a drone our way.”

You sigh and pick up the phone, which is on its second round of calling, and put on your best customer service voice. “You’ve reached Bookstrordinary, may I ask who is calling?”

“Don’t play dumb, Y/N.”

“Aw, I’m doing well tonight. Thanks for asking, Dustin.”

“I need five dollars.”

“Ya know, ‘please’ has such a nice ring to it.”

“... if I say please, will you give me the money?”

“No.”

Silence fills the other end. Alex and Jonathan are hunched together, trying to stifle their laughs. You send them a thumbs up, and they give you one back.

“You’re a horrible sister.”

“What!” You scoff at Dustin. “I think you owe me like, at least ten bucks now. Yet you don’t see me complaining.”

A loud groan, then an obnoxious scream. “I promise I’ll clean Mews’ litter box for a week straight if you just give me the money.”

“Tempting, and honestly I’d take you up on that offer, but I already spent my last paycheck on my Halloween costume. You’re outta luck.”

Dustin gasps. “You were gonna say no this whole time? You just wasted like, at least five minutes of my time! I could’ve been digging through the couch for coins by now!”

“Jesus,” you pull the phone away from your face as Dustin continues to shout. Jonathan lets out a loud cackle and Alex just shakes his head. “I can give you some money next week–”

The line cuts off. Dustin has hung up.

What a little shit.

“You remind me why I’m grateful I’m an only child.” Alex says, now walking from behind the counter to begin stacking some books. Technically your shift ended almost thirty minutes ago, but you and Jonathan prefer to hang around for a while. It’s rare to have some time with just the two of you (even if Alex is there as an unfortunate third wheel).

“Glad I can help.” You respond. Once he’s gone, you turn to Jonathan. “And you were right, Dustin indeed wanted more than Will’s measly three bucks.”

He laughs. “Figured as much. The look on your face was genuine disbelief when he asked.”

“Mhm, I’m scared these boys will turn into horrendous teens. The lack of gentlemen in Hawkins these days is astounding.”

“C’mon, I’d say I’m a gentleman. I mean, I’m riding on your bike pegs tonight to keep you safe.” Jonathan says, waving an arm in front of his body as if to present all his gentleman-ness to you.

“Sure, bee.” Although, he has a point. Joyce has the car tonight so she can drive Will to the arcade and Jonathan doesn’t like you biking home in the dark. After what happened last year, none of the Byers are particularly keen on letting their loved ones go off alone at night. So, to ensure your safety, Jonathan has started riding on your bike pegs all the way home.

It’s endearing really, wholly unnecessary, but endearing.

Jonathan flicks your nose. “Who else would be such a gentleman to you? Steve?”

Hearing Steve’s name sends a wave of varying emotions through you. Guilt, shame, remorse, longing. You miss him. You really, really miss him.

“I thought we agreed to stop talking about Steve.” You mumble, now busying yourself with a piece of paper on the counter.

After Will was found last year, you and Steve had gotten really close. He’d spend hours bugging you at work, he’d gotten you such a lovely Christmas gift that still hangs on your wall, and you’d grown close with him in a way you haven’t before with anyone else. He would’ve done anything for you, he cared about you with such genuineness, and you couldn’t handle it.

Summer came and the heat that came with it scared you.

You’d pushed Steve away, severed any connection you had to him. It was easier when you didn’t have to see him every day at school, but ever since junior year started, you’ve been in your own personal hell.

Steve walks past you in the halls without batting an eye. He doesn’t look your way, like the months you spent learning every inch of his wonderfully unique brain and the moles scattered along his face never happened; he doesn’t give you that smile that makes your knees weak. He’s avoided you like the fucking plague, which you can’t blame him for, but it’s only made things more awkward between him, Jonathan, Nancy, and you.

Jonathan sighs. “I’m sorry, bug. I just… he seemed good for you, ya know? I was actually starting to like the guy before you suddenly stopped hanging around him.”

You play with the piece of paper, hoping that if you don’t respond then Jonathan will just drop the subject, but a thought seems to cross his mind.

“Wait a minute. Steve didn’t like, hurt you or anything, right?” You don’t respond again and now he’s starting to get worried. “Y/N, I’m serious. Did he do something to you?”

The irony of the situation is so comical you want to laugh. Here Jonathan is, demanding to know if Steve hurt you and if that’s why you’ve stopped being his friend, when in reality it’d been Jonathan who hurt you. Jonathan, your oldest and dearest friend, is the reason you’re so fucking terrified of letting Steve in. Of falling in love with him.

You’re already in love with Jonathan, you can’t put yourself through any more hurt.

But fuck, you miss Steve. You’d come to rely on him and his obnoxious sense of humor that never failed to make you laugh. The way he so effortlessly filled the room with warmth.

“Relax, bee. He didn’t do anything. I just wanted to focus on Will and the boys more.” You lie through your teeth.

He gives you a funny look. “I know you care about the boys, but you know they’d want you to have some other friends.”

“I have you, that’s all I need.”

It’s all I can afford.

“Bug, I’m worried about you. You’ve all but thrown yourself into school, you work non stop here, and when you finally have some free time you’re spending it researching child psych for Will–”

“Just drop it, Jonathan!” You finally snap at your friend.

He stops, surprised by your outburst. He can see the angry flush in your cheeks now and the slight heavy breathing you do to try and calm yourself down. Jonathan drops his shoulders, defeated. He’s been worried about you ever since junior year started. You’re more withdrawn, you look like you haven’t slept at all, and now you don’t even feel comfortable telling him what’s been bothering you.

All Jonathan knows is that one day you were glowing while telling him a story about Steve and his stupid jokes, then the next day you looked frail and sickly as you told him that Steve was no longer visiting you at work.

Something happened between you two, he’s just not sure what or how to even help.

For once, Jonathan is at a loss.

–

“And then she chased Mike all the way down the street for her money! He got away!” Jonathan finishes his story with a grand flourish, laughing and hitting his steering wheel as if it’s the funniest thing in the world.

You let out a weak laugh, exhausted from the night before. It’s early morning and you’re in the school parking lot, hanging in Jonathan’s car as always, and you feel like utter shit. You stayed up late last night reading this journal you’d found in the school library about acute trauma in children. It had been fascinating and there were some things you thought could apply to Will. Before you knew it, it had been three in the morning and you needed to be up soon for school.

Which leads you to now: slouched in the passenger seat, sunglasses over your eyes to block out the annoying sun, tiredly listening to Jonathan’s recounting of his phone call with Nancy from last night. Apparently they’ve progressed to nightly phone calls now.

Lovely.

Without meaning to, your eyes start to drift shut. The car is the perfect cozy kind of warm and the late October air wraps around you as if to lull you to sleep. Jonathan notices you’ve gone quiet and pokes your cheek.

“If you fell asleep I’ll tell your mom and she’ll put you back on house arrest.”

You slap his hand away. “Don’t do that, then she’ll just ban me from your house.”

“You were up all night researching again, weren’t you.”

“If you have to ask, then that’s probably your answer.”

“Y/N–”

You put a finger up, using your other hand to rub at your temples. A headache is forming and you’re three seconds away from just skipping first period to nap in the car. “We aren’t doing this again. Drop it.”

Jonathan rolls his eyes. “I’m your best friend, it’s my job to worry about you–”

“And it’s my job to tell you to fuck off whenever you’re getting on my nerves–”

Suddenly a loud blue camaro comes speeding into the school parking lot, effectively drowning out whatever you’d been saying to Jonathan. The car revs its engine and almost hits a few students as it jerks its tires and then screeches to a halt, parking right next to you guys.

You and Jonathan look at each other.

“What the fuck?” You look out your window and are greeted with the sight of an attractive blond guy staring at you. His music is blasting so loud you can hear it through Jonathan’s windows.

“Jonathan,” you whisper, getting his attention. “Am I really tired or is there a guy with a god awful mullet staring at me right now?”

“He’s real.”

“Cool.” You continue to stare at the guy, unsure what to do. You’ve never seen him before, there’s no way you’d forget a face like that in Hawkins. He’s attractive, almost unappealingly attractive, and there’s a coldness to his beauty that makes you uncomfortable. He looks dangerous, like he knows how much power his beauty brings him.

The boy winks at you, a lit cigarette dangling from his mouth, and then gets out of the car, slamming his door rather harshly. It’s then that you notice the redhead girl, much younger than him, possibly around Dustin’s age, getting out of the car as well. She slams her own door and doesn’t even spare the guy a glance as she drops her skateboard down and rides towards the middle school across the parking lot.

Meanwhile the boy saunters inside, a lazy pace in his step that also holds immense confidence. He’s cocky, cool and collected, and he takes one last look around, as if to survey his new claimed battleground. You notice a few of your classmates gazing at him with interest, which you don’t really understand. He’s hot, but his attitude alone tells you everything you need to know about him.

Once he’s gone, Jonathan finally speaks. “Who was that guy?”

“No clue,” your eyes linger on the doors he’s just walked through. There’s something off about him. “But I don’t think we want to know… C’mon, if we don’t head in now we’ll be late for our first class.”

–

During your lunch period everyone’s buzzing about some upcoming Halloween party. As you’re walking towards your locker with Jonathan, you notice a few pieces of orange paper being passed around. You don’t pay much attention to them, but when Nancy joins you two she eagerly takes a few from the girl passing them out.

Nancy playfully shoves the papers at you and Jonathan. “You guys are totally coming to this.”

“We are?” You ask, eyeing the flyer wearily. You have nothing against parties, but the thought of being surrounded by a bunch of drunk teenagers in horrible costumes is frankly terrifying to you.

“You sure are, Y/N.”

“But Nancy–”

“‘Come and get sheet faced’.” Jonathan reads aloud. “Yeah, Nance. I think we’ll pass.”

Nancy groans. “I can’t let you guys sit all alone on Halloween. That’s just not acceptable.”

“Actually,” you correct her, annoyed by the assumption, “we have a tradition with the boys. We take them out every year to trick or treat and it’s always been fun. We won’t be ‘alone’.”

“No offense, Y/N, but spending Halloween with a bunch of middle schoolers isn’t much better.”

You make a face and look over at Jonathan for help, but he shrugs. “You gotta admit, it is kinda lame.”

“I can’t believe you’d betray me like this–”

Nancy smiles at this. “See? Plus, I doubt trick or treating with the boys will take all night. You’ll be home by 8:00, and Jonathan will be listening to the Talking Heads and reading Vonnegut or something, while you, my dear Y/N, will be baking a fresh batch of cookies and throwing away all the candy corn you find.”

“Sounds like a nice night.” Jonathan responds, and you nudge your shoulder with his. It does sound like a nice night, one you’re looking forward to.

“I forgive you for your earlier betrayal.”

“Guys!” Nancy stops at her locker now, slight frustration in her voice. “Just… Come on! I mean, who knows? You guys might meet someone and–”

Her words are cut off with a squeal as she’s suddenly lifted in the air and spun around, Steve having snuck up behind her. Nancy now puts all her attention on him, he has his arms wrapped low on her waist and he’s wearing sunglasses inside like some idiot, and your heart hurts. He looks good, too good.

Steve is looking at Nancy so tenderly, and when he removes his sunglasses you see how much his eyes light up when she hits his shoulder and leans in close to him.

“I missed you,” Steve tells her, his voice soft and sensual.

It’s the way he says it that makes you want to run your hands through his hair, be the one in his arms as he kisses your neck and whispers how often he’s thought of you since you’ve been gone. You’ve felt his arms around you before, once. You know how securely he holds on, how his cologne lingers on your clothes long after he’s gone. You miss him, you miss everything.

Steve, as if sensing what you’re thinking, risks a look at you. Your eyes meet his and for a brief second no one else exists anymore. It’s just you and him in the small Hawkins high school hallway, where he’s yours again in a way that’s clouded with “almost” and “not enough”, and you want to tell him how lovely he is and how horrible you feel for hurting him, but then he diverts his gaze and focuses back on Nancy and you’re thrown back into reality.

He isn’t yours. Hell, he isn’t even your friend anymore, and you’re the one to blame.

Once Nancy and Steve start kissing, you share a disgusted look with Jonathan and silently agree to leave.

“Young love, huh?” Jonathan jokes bitterly when you’ve left them behind.

“I hate it.”

And you do.

You’re really starting to hate this whole “love” thing.

–

The only highlight so far this school year has been you and Will growing even closer. When Jonathan told you that Will started seeing the Hawkins Lab people for treatment and to see how he’s been recovering, you pulled Joyce aside later that night to ask if it’d be okay if you spoke with Will yourself. Since everything that happened last year, you’ve only become more interested in psychology, and you’d be lying if you said Will wasn’t an interesting case study.

You told Joyce that you’d been doing your own research, reading journals upon journals, and she made you a deal. You could help Will as long as you also took care of yourself, that you wouldn’t place an even heavier burden upon yourself. Of course you agreed, promising her you wouldn’t, and that’s how your weekly chats with Will began.

Jonathan had been against it at first, telling you that you didn’t have to worry about Will because you already do everything else for the kids. You told him you could handle it, and secretly you liked helping Will because you were able to pour all your anxiety and complex feelings for Steve into research and studying. It was a win-win in your eyes.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Waters had been extremely understanding when you asked for Wednesdays off. After all, you’d been working at Bookstrordinary for almost three years now, so she was quick to make the accommodation.

Now here you are, another Wednesday spent at the Byers’ home. You’re sitting with Will in his bed, the both of you quietly scribbling with his crayons. You’ve learned that he’s more receptive if you draw with him, if you take your time.

“How was Dr. Owens today?”

Will pauses mid-scribble. “Fine.”

“Just ‘fine’? Nothing else?” Your head is down so he doesn’t think you’re studying his reactions, but you keep an eye on him anyways.

“Yeah. I told him about my latest episode.”

“You had another one? Would you like to tell me when?”

Will thinks for a moment, and you tell him that he of course doesn’t have to say anything if he doesn’t want to.

“Last night. I was back in the Upside Down… and there was this… this thing.”

Now you stop drawing. “Like the monster we killed last year?”

“Different,” he shakes his head. “This thing was evil.”

Will’s eyes are darting everywhere around the room, and you can see his growing unease, so you decide to put the topic to rest for now. Clearly the episodes are getting worse, scaring him more, so you shift gears.

“Okay, I believe you. I’m sorry for the episodes, but besides them how have you been feeling? Is school getting any better?” Earlier this month Will had confessed to you about the kids in school calling him “zombie boy” and treating him like a freak. You did your best to comfort him, and once you finished your chat with the boy you’d gone to Joyce to let her know.

Will sighs. “School is… school.”

You reach out and move some hair out of Will’s face. “I’m sorry, little bee. Middle schoolers are idiots, they’ll never understand how much you went through. I mean, I had to face that monster for only about twenty minutes. You had to hide from it for days, so you’re honestly incredibly braver than me.”

This gets a smile out of Will, which you’re relieved by. He’s been quiet lately, more closed off, and you’re worried that with the one year anniversary coming up, his episodes will only get worse.

A knock on the door, and then Jonathan pokes his head in. “Hey, guys. Mind if I join?”

“Actually, I think I should go. Bob’s been begging me for my cookie recipe, so I’ll leave you two alone.” You send a look Will’s way, a you better talk to your brother about this look, and he weakly nods his head.

As you walk past Jonathan out the door, you lean in close to Jonathan and whisper, “he’s struggling at school. Be gentle, kids can be fucking awful.”

He nods and squeezes your hand, silently thanking you, and you close the door behind you. While you want to help Will, make sure he’s adapting well, you also recognize your limits. He’s not your brother, Jonathan is, and you know he’ll be more open with him.

Joyce is in the kitchen with Bob, making some popcorn over the stove. He’s filming her with his ridiculously large camera and you can’t help but smile as you watch them. Joyce looks so happy around the guy, laughing more than she’s laughed in the last five or so years you’ve known her. She deserves this, she deserves a guy like Bob. Sweet, slightly silly, but good.

When Joyce sees you lingering in the doorway, she waves you in. “Hey, honey. Any luck with Will tonight?”

“A bit, he told me some of what’s happening at school. He still seems… off, but at least he was opening up. It’s a good sign.”

Joyce hums, but you can sense that there’s more on her mind. You look around to make sure Bob isn’t near, he’s busy digging through a cabinet to find a clean bowl, so you move closer to the woman and lower your voice. “What did Dr. Owens say this time?”

“Claims we need to just pretend everything is okay, despite the fact that it’s getting worse.”

There’s an edge in Joyce’s voice, so you’re careful with your words. “Well… I think he’s right.”

“You do?” Joyce turns to you, her voice loud with surprise, before she quickly remembers Bob is near and lowers it again. “Why do you think that?”

“I was up late reading a new journal I found about acute trauma in children. It’s been almost a year since Will disappeared, he spent days in complete fear, almost died… I mean, it makes sense that his body is remembering those traumatic effects.”

“So you think we should just leave Will alone, let him suffer through his episodes without any help?” There’s more confusion and fear than anger in Joyce’s voice, and you rest your hand against her arm.

“I know it seems counterintuitive, but the best studies we have all show that we have to let those who suffer from post-traumatic stress adapt at their own pace, through their own ways. They hate feeling pitied, and I have a feeling Will is starting to as well.”

Joyce turns the stove off and shakes her head at you. “You sound like Hop. I thought you hated the guy.”

“I don’t hate him,” you chuckle, now helping the woman peel off the foil and sprinkle some salt onto the popcorn. “He just reminds me too much of my dad, and we all know how that ends.”

“Well if you ask me, I think it’s because you two are so similar.”

You gasp. “How dare you!”

Joyce laughs and the seriousness from the previous conversation dissipates. Bob finds a clean bowl and together you and him pour the fresh popcorn in as Joyce prepares the drinks. They’re having a movie night together, and you want to cry because of how adorable it all is. Joyce deserves this.

“You know you’re welcome to join us tonight, Y/N. It’s Will’s turn to choose the movie.” Joyce tells you, but you politely decline.

“Normally I’d love to, but I should get going. I have some homework and I promised Dustin I’d bake him some Halloween treats.”

“Oh!” Bob turns to you. “Speaking of, you promised you’d give me that recipe of yours!”

You and Joyce share an amused look. “You caught me, I did. I’ll write it down right now and you have to swear that no one else will look at this. Deal?”

Bob nods, ecstatic, and you grab a piece of paper and quickly scribble down all the ingredients he’ll need and how to make the cookies. Joyce watches fondly, and you fill with warmth having pleased her. When you’re done, you hand the paper over to Bob and make him cross his heart, just to be extra sure he won’t reveal all your secrets.

“Scout’s honor!”

“Very good then, soldier.” You salute him, and then pull Joyce into a hug. “I really gotta go now. Can you tell Jonathan I said goodbye?”

“Of course, bike home safe, alright?”

You wink at her. “Scout’s honor.”

Bob lets out a loud cackle and you can’t believe that this guy is real, but Joyce is laughing along with him and you’re pleased she’s found someone as endearing and kind as him.

–

As soon as you get home you throw down your backpack and bunker down at the kitchen table. Your mom isn’t back from work yet and Dustin seems to be off somewhere doing god knows what, so it’s just you and Mews for now.

Mews plops herself on the table next to an essay you’ve been working on and you scratch her head as you work. You get lost in your writing, humming softly to yourself, enjoying this small moment of peace.

You won’t admit this to Jonathan, but he’s right. You’ve been overworking yourself, your body aches and your eyes droop with exhaustion almost every day now. But keeping yourself busy is what’s helping you stay afloat. The more you pile onto yourself, the less time you have to think about Steve and his stupid smile and stupid hair and stupid face.

In the middle of one of your sentences, Dustin flings the front door open and scares you. “Jesus, dude!”

He doesn’t spare you a glance, but when he sees Mews on the table with you he suddenly looks a bit alarmed. “Mews is here?”

“Yeah…? She’s helping me with this english essay.” You respond, confused.

“Huh,” Dustin thinks for a second, but seems to shrug it off. “Anyways, I’m home.”

“I can see that.”

“Are you gonna ask about my day?”

“How was your day, my dear brother.”

Dustin hops onto the table and shimmies his shoulders. “I met a girl.”

“What?” You drop your pencil in shock and Mews scatters, your exclaim having frightened her.

“Don’t act too surprised, geesh.” Your brother rolls his eyes, but then he frowns. “Actually, technically speaking I haven’t met her yet, but–”

“You have a crush?” You’re in shock. In your eyes, Dustin is still a baby, no older than six years old. And yet here is he, thirteen and talking to you about a girl.

“Yes, Y/N. Her name is Max, she has red hair and is new, and she’s totally awesome.”

Red hair? You remember seeing that girl in the parking lot earlier today. “Was she with that weird new guy, the one with a mullet?”

Dustin nods, so you poke him in the stomach and ooh at him. “I saw her this morning, she was prettyyyy.”

He shoves your finger away and blushes, which you find adorable. Dustin’s first ever crush, you can’t believe how old he is now.

“Yeah, she’s pretty, but she’s also just awesome. I think she’s the one with the new high score on Dig Dug.”

“Dig Dug?”

Your brother scoffs. “The arcade game the party always plays? Honestly, do you not listen when I tell you about my days?”

“Alright, fine. If you can remember what I told you I did yesterday, then I’ll apologize for not listening better.”

Dustin closes his mouth, unable to recall a thing.

“Mhm, that’s what I thought.” You flick his hat. “Anyways, since you officially like girls now, I’ve been dying to give you some girl advice.”

“Y/N–” Dustin groans, but you shush him.

“First things first, always be a gentleman. Max does indeed seem cool, but I’m sure she’d appreciate a nice and polite young man like yourself.”

Dustin nods. “Okay, be kind. Got it.”

“Good. Now secondly, we Hendersons are charming people, so just be yourself.”

“Duh,”

“Lastly, if she shows interest, tell her how you feel. Better you’re honest and true about how you feel rather than hide it and sulk.”

Dustin snorts. “Says you.”

You look away from him, slightly hurt. “I don��t know what you mean by that.”

“C’mon, Y/N. When are you gonna tell Jonathan you love him? I mean, everyone knows you do, it’s about time you confess.” Dustin drones on, unaware of your hurt feelings. “And he’s obviously in love with you, you guys are disgusting to be around–”

“He doesn’t love me back.” You whisper, looking down at your paper. You feel pathetic, confessing this to your little brother.

Dustin freezes, now realizing you’ve gone quiet. He can feel your mood darken and he feels like shit for not noticing it sooner. He’s upset you. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I thought he did, I mean the party and I all assumed…”

His words fade off, and you want to crawl into a hole and never come out. It’s embarrassing, you shouldn’t be pitied like this by your brother. “It’s okay, I know what you meant.”

“Y/N–”

You get up from the table and gather your things, shoving them into your backpack. “I’m gonna finish up this essay in my room, then I promise I’ll start baking those marshmallow puffs you like–”

Dustin jumps down from the table and blocks you from leaving the kitchen. “Jonathan is an ass–”

“Language–”

He doesn’t let you interrupt. “You’re cool, he’s stupid, and I’m here for you. Alright? Don’t make me pull a code blue on you.”

You wrap your brother into your arms, something he hadn’t been expecting, and allow yourself a small laugh. “No need for a code blue, I promise. Just, give me like an hour to sulk and then I’ll be as good as new. Okay?”

When you pull away, Dustin eyes you, but understands he won’t win this argument. The two of you handle your emotions the same way: alone, in solitude, away from prying eyes. He knows you just need some time to yourself, but he still feels like a jerk for upsetting you in the first place. “Fine, but if you’re sulking later I’ll flick your nose.”

You flick his nose and then quickly flee to your room, Dustin not far behind you. “Flicked you first!”

“Not fair!”

You slam your bedroom door and giggle as you lock it. Dustin bangs on the door, but you can hear the amusement in his voice. You tell him you’ll be out as soon as you’re done with your essay, and then go and sit down at your desk. Sighing, you dig into your bag and pull out what you need. Without meaning to, you look up and see your Spider-Man poster, your wonderful Christmas gift from Steve, hanging in front of you.

The small joy you’d been feeling vanishes.

The poster stares back at you, you can almost hear it calling you a pathetic coward, and you feel guilt claw at your throat. You close your eyes, remembering the cold from that winter day, and you can almost smell the cologne Steve had been wearing when you’d thrown yourself into his warmth. Sometimes, if you sit still enough, you think you can feel the ghost of his embrace.

You open your eyes.

Steve isn’t here.

Of course he isn’t here.

You exhale, feeling the familiar ache and exhaustion within you; junior year is looking quite grim.

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eyelambspider · 4 months ago

Text

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐐𝐮𝐢𝐞𝐭 𝐓𝐲𝐩𝐞. - König

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 : a year after a near fatal encounter with an enemy bomb, könig has developed severe ptsd, insomnia, and experienced the loss of his voice. Resorting to sign language and therapy, the large quiet colonel finds little to look forward to then returning to the battlefield as a sniper... and y/n, whom he has been... 'observing' for a while. 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : 1.2k 𝐚/𝐧 : gyahhh, i also have a bot on janitor of this bot (he meets y/n in group therapy) so check it out if you like this! this is also quick posted dmm, just wanted to get my writing out there finally 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 : dark themes, yandere personalities, mentions of harm/gore/ptsd/death, no mentions of y/n

❝ 𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐈𝐒 𝐀 𝐕𝐀𝐋𝐔𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐄 𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐓. ❞

König's brows furrowed a bit. The endless droning on from his therapist, Doctor Esteban, having temporarily held his attention. Even as he stared down at the textured brown carpet between his boots.

"König," the Doctor sighed softly, pushing his pristine glasses up his hooked nose as he stared at the broken soldier. He knew better than anyone that war was capable of breaking even the strongest men.

The Colonel sitting in front of him on the repurposed couch was no different.

Just another soldier, no matter his rank, build or height- reduced to nothing but a survivor to the horrors of a brutal bombshell.

"Happiness," he started again, "is a valuable asset. Especially now." Esteban noted, glancing down at his perfect penmanship with a soft grimace.

Today would've been almost exactly a year since it had happened to him. And they both knew it would be nothing more than what it was. An uphill battle towards König's recovery.

"What things make you happy? What things do you like to do recently?" The Doctor's glasses gently clinked again as he shifted, trying to catch the soldiers eye to no avail.

"Have you picked up any hobbies?"

There was a silence, for a moment, but the Doctor waited with a ghost of a smile on his lips. For he had hope, perhaps the only one in the room who currently did.

Hobbies? Happy?

The words stuck like grime against the sides of his skull, unable to be shaken away.

Amongst the nightmares and sleepless nights... there was only one thing that even remotely made him forget about the sound- that haunting sound of the Earth splitting beneath his feet.

The Doctor's smile quirked awkwardly, seeing a visible shift in König and the way he sat. The question of happiness having seem to struck something in the veteran who refused at every turn: to quit service. Even after having lost his voice.

The six foot ten man shifted visibly, his elbows propped loosely on his knees, head tilted downcast... but it was all in his eyes. Those piercing blues that shone from the black sniper veil he wore, cast over his face like a shadow. Lifting finally to glare through the white coat that sat opposed to him.

Side to slow side, König shook his head, the shirt draped over his face hissing almost inaudibly with the movement. The only thing that could fill his newfound silence.

"No?" Esteban quirked a brow, clicking his pen against his paper like he did when he was thinking. Incessantly.

"I know you are eager to get back to the field, König, but I have to clear you for that. And to do that," Esteban gestured between the space, "I need to know you are actively recovering."

While Esteban gave him something to think about, another soft sigh left his lips, considering his and the Colonel's options. The next step, perse. The sound of clicking following.

"When we meet up next, I want to hear of a new hobby? Alright? Show me some progress to report on. It will be good for you," Esteban pushed gently into his head, only to have that piecing glare fall back to the carpeted floor, seemingly going idle again. Or uninterested.

"I do not mean cleaning your sniper, like I know you like to, or any physical activity." An idea struck the Doctor with a pearly smile. "Nothing related to your service," The Doctor set his pen and paper down finally and laced his hands in his lap. "Take up something creative. Knitting, painting, cooking-"

König shot a glare over at the Doctor this time, who in turn held his hands up in mock surrender. "Something new. Try something new and tell me about it next time, hm?" The Doctor looked over the rim of his glasses expecting compliance he knew he would eventually get. If König ever wanted to work in the military again.

That was the only thought that made him happy. Or at least, kept his life's purpose within his control.

König thought it over for a moment before nodding slowly.

As he stood, he remembered to thank Esteban for the time, bringing his hand (palm towards his mouth) and extending outwards. A simple sign he had learned: thank you.

Something new. A new hobby.

It gave him something to think about at least as he left the session, making his way back down the familiar halls of KorTac's base of operations. Merc's and operators alike passed him, or more like, moved around him as he walked. His height and silent presence parting the swarms of rookies and office bugs like the red sea before him. Something that actually hadn't changed for him in the past year.

What changed? What changed in him ran deeper than any physical scars or his inept vocal chords could reach.

It scarred his very soul.

And in all honesty, if he could tell anyone, even his Doctor about it. They would shudder at the thoughts and images that plagued him.

The Colonel made his way down the hall, blue eyes unwavering from its mark... who walked a few feet ahead of him. Unaware just like always that he was following.

Maus.

An imperceptible pang echoed through his chest as he stared ahead.

You had no reason to believe anyone was following you. In fact, you had never noticed him following before. Coincidentally, his path and schedule always lined up with yours. Able to trail after you down a simple hallway after each one of his therapy sessions.

Like clockwork, you were always there. A few steps ahead, but so-so impossibly far behind.

What made you so fucking special?

It was a thought that simmered under his skin like an itch he could never scratch. Uncomfortable and aggressive. Sometimes at night, he wouldn't dream of the bomb.

He wouldn't hear the whistle of it falling from the sky. Or the screams of young boys in men's camouflage using their lasts breaths to cry for home. Or the sound of the devil ripping the earth from beneath his feet. Or the feel of fire latching onto his throat like an iron noose.

No.

He dreamt...

He dreamt-

He snapped out of his thoughts as you turned the corner, your side profile visible to him through the crowd even as you tried to blend in and get back to your work. The sudden change snapped him out of his trance.

He blinked, breath suddenly ragged like he had run a marathon, stopping in the middle of the hallway. Disconnected as people opted to walk around him. As if he was merely a specter in the world of the living.

König didn't know if he dared to turn his head and catch another glimpse of you because...

For the second time in his life, he was scared.

Terrified of the thoughts that now flooded his head.

König's head turned slowly to the right. Body moving on its own accord to follow the sight of your retreating form. The way your hair swayed with your steps. The way you looked down momentarily, flashing a glimpse of your nape to the fluorescent light of the base...

His once dull, tired eyes dilated as he gazed upon the delicate sight of your exposed skin.

At night, he dreamt of wrapping his rough hands around your throat and watching as the light faded from your fucking eyes.

König's heart stopped as the dream reappeared like a vision swimming before him, the itch swarming under his flesh like serpents wanting to strike.

This time, instead of turning away and walking to his quiet quarters, his boots turned right. Continuing to follow after you.

#cod x reader #konig call of duty #konig cod #konig #konig x reader #konig mw2 #call of duty x reader #x reader #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere konig #yandere cod #x male!reader #x fem!reader #x gn!reader #mute!konig #könig x reader #konig x you #könig cod

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