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writer-in-theory · 3 years ago

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Treacherous (Spencer Reid x Reader)

summary: reader meets a man in a bar, both of them looking to forget how broken they are for the night. when she finds out he's dr. spencer reid, her new professor, reader discovers she's okay with the risk. series summary: a series of oneshots to celebrate the release of red (taylor's version). 19 songs, 19 fics. pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst with a bit of fluff and a happy ending content warnings: language, heavy sexual references (reader and Spencer spent a night together and reader references it A LOT, i almost want to say 18+ ngl), age gap (spencer is 38-ish, reader is in their early 20s), mentions of spencer’s trauma (including past drug use), post-prison spencer, a healthy dose of purple prose word count: 6.5k a/n: y’all, I had so much fun writing this. professor!spencer makes me feel things. anyway, i should have the next post up tonight and it will be directly tied to this one. also, thank you once again for all of the support i really love reading all of the comments and tags you've been putting on these fics. it's been making me so happy and motivated to write, so thank you 💜

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“I’d be smart to walk away, but you’re quicksand..."

Going to a bar alone was a completely different experience than going with friends. When you went with a group of friends, no matter how large or small, there was a protective barrier around you physically and emotionally. People tended not to bother you as much if you were already sitting with a group of people, meaning you could set your drink down on your table without keeping a hand over the top. It also wouldn’t matter if you couldn’t snag yourself a person to go home with, because at least you had friends to talk to.

Sitting in this college bar alone, drink on the table but hand resting over the top as casually as you could, you started wishing that you had invited a friend or two to come with you. It had genuinely seemed like a good idea at first. With the start of a new semester looming and all of the stress of last semester still waiting to be processed, all you wanted to do was get a little tipsy and go home with someone cute. Shedding your usual protective barrier seemed like the only way to do so, but in the meantime, you’d sat there for an hour with no one to talk to but the bartender.

Until he walked in.

You’d like to say you noticed him right away, but honestly, you didn’t notice he was there until his jacket brushed against your arm as he tried to get the bartender’s attention. It wasn’t a particularly busy night, but you knew the bartender as a guy in your class who had a habit of constantly trying to get on womens’ good side.

“Hey, Drew,” you called to the young man currently leaning over the bar and writing something on the napkin in front of a woman. He smiled when he saw you, rolling his eyes a little as you nodded your head toward the man standing beside you looking increasingly more out of place the longer he stood there. The movements normally would have been tough to notice, but this close you could see the way his thumb rubbed over his index finger in a soothing motion and he swayed a little on his feet like sitting still was impossible.

It was only once his drink was made—whiskey on the rocks, how adult—that the man sat in the barstool beside yours and looked at you. “Thank you,” he told you and his voice was soft enough to sound genuine. Finally allowing yourself to really look at him, however, showed a man who was anything but soft. His curly hair was pushed back off his face, revealing stubble around absolutely sinful lips and amber eyes that were hard as ice. His button-up was rolled up to his sleeves and finally noticing those hands, you couldn’t help but picture them touching you in a way that had you squirming a little in your seat.

“No worries. You would’ve been waiting all night otherwise,” you returned, trying to seem more confident than you were feeling at the moment. You took your hand off the rim of your drink only to take a sip, needing some of the liquid courage now. This was your perfect chance to fulfill your goal for the night, you refused to mess it up now. “I haven’t seen you around before, you new on campus?”

“You could say that,” he answered, only confirming your thought that this must be a professor. He looked young, but not young enough to be a traditional student.

“So, Professor,” you began, turning to face forward and smirking into your drink as his head whipped around to stare at you, “what are you here for tonight? Most faculty members stay away from the college bars, not wanting to see any underage students drinking.”

“Are you underage?” You thought about playing with him a little more, but the man looked so completely nervous of your answer that you figured you’d be nice.

“Definitely not. You can card me if you want though,” you answered. In truth, you were close enough to your 21st year that you still got a little excited handing over your driver’s license.

“I trust you.”

“That’s a risky move, Professor,” you teased, winking and—oh now that bashful look is just adorable on someone that attractive. “I think I’ll need to see some ID. You know, to make sure you’re of legal age and all.”

The man smiled and shook his head, amused by your teasing but nonetheless pulling his ID out anyway. You’d expected a driver’s license, honestly. All you’d wanted was to get this man’s name without fear of him making one up, but what you got was a clunky government ID sitting on your hand. “I thought you said you were a professor?”

“You said I was a professor,” the man teased back, eyes watching my hands as I unfolded the ID to reveal his name. Dr. Spencer Reid of the FBI. Well, that would explain the nervousness surrounding the age discussion. It also explained the sudden heat you felt in your stomach, fluttering at the thought that you were trying to get an FBI agent to come home with you. “You weren’t wrong, though. I have a temporary teaching position for the next month.”

“So I only have a month to woo you?” you asked, handing the badge back over to him and trying to ignore the way his fingers brushed over yours in the transfer.

“It seems so.”

“Hm, I’ll have to step up my game then,” you answered, taking another sip of your courage elixir before continuing, “So, Dr. Reid, you never answered why you came to a college bar tonight.”

“Why did you?”

“Maybe I wanted to have some fun before the semester starts on Monday,” you shot back.

“If that were true, you wouldn’t be sitting alone.” Ouch.

“I’m not sitting alone, I’m with you.”

“Were you going to sit and drink alone all night if I didn’t show up?” A smirk was pulling on his lips now, and surely he was already feeling the victory. You wouldn’t give in to defeat though, not yet.

“Are you interrogating me, Dr. Reid? Want to put the cuffs on me too?” You’d longed to see that bashful look again, but instead, his smirk only grew and a darker look settled in his eyes.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Want to find out?” There it was. He seemed a little surprised then, eyes widening and looking down at his drink suddenly.

“I’m not looking for a relationship,” he admitted and that was practically music to your ears. In your final year of undergrad, you weren’t sure you wanted to be worrying about a relationship either.

“What are you looking for then?”

“I’m looking to forget.” And how hadn’t you noticed it before? There were dark circles marking the skin under his eyes, he hardly looked at his drink as if it were something he was repulsed by. He’d entered the bar and immediately walked over to the easiest target: you, who was sitting by the bar drinking alone.

“Then use me to forget, Dr. Reid.” His eyes studied yours, likely trying to figure out if it was a genuine invitation. You let him know it was by flagging down Drew and closing your tab. “My apartment is a five-minute walk from here.”

You watched as he downed the rest of his drink and paid his own tab, eyes hardly leaving you. You’d be happy to help him forget for a night if it meant you’d get those hands on you. When he was finished, you reached out to grab his hand, leading him out of the bar and down the street.

“Let’s go then, Dr. Reid.”

It wasn’t a surprise when you woke up alone the next morning. What was a surprise was the blankets tucked over you purposefully and the still-hot coffee from the cafe next door sitting on your nightstand.

The time was also a surprise. Turns out having a hookup the night before the semester starts was a bad idea because you forgot to set your alarm and now there was a good chance you’d be late. You practically flew out of bed, throwing the first outfit you could find on. You brushed your teeth while putting your backpack together, throwing the brush in your sink and taking off, hot coffee in hand.

Walking into the lecture hall with a minute to spare was the greatest victory you’d have all week, you decided. Even better was the fact that one of your friends had saved you a seat in the front row. Putting a damper on your rush of pride, however, was the moment your professor walked in. He seemed a little hurried, adjusting his suit jacket as he walked and practically tossing his bag onto the desk in the front. His hair was messier than the first time you saw him, and you smirked at the idea that he didn’t have time to wash your touch off of him. The smirk quickly vanished, however, as the full weight of the situation hit you.

Dr. Spencer Reid was your professor and you’d just spent all night together.

It was easy to call you a good student. Pleasing people was sort of your specialty, and this helped you to exceed academically. You were the type of student who would always be conscientiously taking notes, scribbling down what the professor said like it would someday be a lifeline. Dr. Reid was lecturing on something actually interesting to you—you’d been delighted when you finally snagged a spot in criminal psychology—but all you could do was sip your coffee and stare.

You stared because his hands were waving around as he spoke, and you could practically still feel them against your skin. His eyes were scanning the room but you remembered the way he’d stared at you last night, looking upon you like you were Aphrodite incarnate. His suit covered as much of his body as possible, but you had seen it all before. You’d run your hands over his chest, found every scar littered over him, and kissed them to help him forget how he’d gotten each one. You didn’t know the story behind each, but you could guess the deep slice in the palm of his hand came from an attack against the agent, and you recognized the faded little dots in the crook of his elbow for what they were.

There was no way to pay attention after you told your professor to use you however he needed to forget his trauma, and he’d taken you up on it. Your friend had noticed too, it seemed, because when class was dismissed and you were still sitting, she nudged you and asked, “Hey, you feeling alright?”

“Huh?” you answered, jerking a little as she pulled your focus back to the present. “Oh, yeah, just tired I guess.”

“Ooh, so you did have fun last night,” she laughed, waggling her eyebrows ridiculously and succeeding in pulling a laugh from you as well.

“Yeah, something like that,” you chuckled, shoving your still empty notebook into your bag.

“So? Tell me all about it? Were they cute? Totally fantastic? Did they take care of you?” Normally these were all questions you would answer with brutal detail, but Spencer was putting his things in his bag just feet away from you. The thought of giving anything away about last night sparked an ache in your chest.

“I’ll tell you later, okay? I want to introduce myself to the professor before my next class,” you told her, giving the woman a hug before she took off for her next lecture.

Of course, you didn’t need to introduce yourself. Dr. Reid knew you better than anyone else in the room, you’d guess. Still, you wanted to talk to him. You had to talk to him. Glancing around to make sure no one else was still in the lecture hall, you made your way up to stand beside him. “Dr. Reid?” He didn’t even turn to look at you, still busying his hands organizing his things in his bag. “I wanted to introduce myself. I’m Y/N L/N,” and as you spoke you realized that never once had you given him your name before now.

“Did you know?” he asked then, voice calm but with an edge, you knew to be careful of.

“That you were going to be my professor? No,” you admitted.

“It’s on the syllabus. You’ve had it for a week now.”

“Do you really think any student reads the syllabus before the semester starts?”

“I did.”

“Then you were a dork,” you teased, knowing full well that you were definitely the type to read the syllabus beforehand, and you would’ve had your week not been so terrible. Terrible enough for you to go to a bar alone and pick up a guy more than a decade your senior. “And that explains why you’re so successful now.”

“You know this can’t continue,” Spencer answered instead, finally turning to look at you.

“It could, you just don’t want it to. I respect that.”

“Do you?” It was a challenge. His eyes were on fire, staring at you with such intensity that you wondered if he actually didn’t want to see you again.

“I do. I’ll be a good girl, I promise,” you answered, drawing an ‘X’ over your heart with a finger and smirking as his eyes drifted down to watch. “It’s great to meet you, Dr. Reid. I’m really excited about this course,” you spoke, sticking out your hand to shake in hopes of seeming more professional. You’d tease him, sure, but you didn’t want to cross the line before he was ready.

“I don’t shake hands,” he told you, eyeing your hand like it might attack if he got near it, “I have a thing about germs.” You shrugged, dropping your hand back to your side; but you couldn’t really help what slipped from your mouth.

“You didn’t seem to have a problem with it last night.” Spencer’s eyes widened and his head reeled back a little, but then you watched as his eyes narrowed, darkened dangerously.

“This is what you call being a good girl?” Oh, and if this is what it took to hear him call you that then you’d tease him every day you could. “You better watch yourself, Y/N.”

“I’m watching, Sir,” you answered, hand coming up to hold onto the strap of your backpack. You smiled as his look only darkened at those words, eyes still looking below your face. “I’ll see you Thursday.”

“Have a good day, Miss L/N,” Spencer answered, returning to the professionalism that would have been expected in this kind of situation.

Still, you couldn’t quite leave it at that. So, you winked and said, “Thanks for the coffee, by the way,” before leaving the lecture hall completely.

For the next week and a half, it felt much like a game of cat and mouse. The only problem was, you weren’t quite sure who was the mouse.

During lectures, Spencer couldn’t help but linger on you when his eyes scanned the room. You could tell he was trying to stay professional, but his eyes would drift to the lower-cut shirt you’d wear that day or the hand resting on your thigh.

You tried to stay professional too. After all, while this class was technically an elective you still wanted to do well in it. While you wanted to go into psychology, this class was quickly opening a new door of opportunities for you. The criminal mind could be fascinating, you found, and it was so impressive that people—Spencer included—could profile the mind well enough to catch them. It was something you could see yourself doing someday.

Still, that didn’t stop you from thinking about what Spencer might like as you picked an outfit every day. It also didn’t stop you from finding a question to ask him every day after lecture, even if you already knew the answer to it. You might want to be a professional, but you were also a human with primal desires. You wondered if Spencer had been able to profile that about you, too.

You shuddered at the thought that Spencer was able to reach into your mind so easily and pluck out the most vulnerable parts of you. He’d demonstrated the skill plenty of times in lecture, bringing in old cases he’d solved with the Behavioral Analysis Unit and walking through how they’d used that information against the criminal (the “unsub” as he called them). What could he see in you? Did he see the desire you had to learn everything about him? How as time went on, you stopped imagining how his hands felt on you but rather imagined laying beside him and discussing how life had hurt him? Could he see the way you wanted to sweep up the pieces and help him forget not just for one night, but for as long as he’d have you?

Did he see the fear that this would someday hurt you, crush you in a way that no one had done before? You’d experienced heartbreak before, but it had been the cause of silly girls and boys who you no longer thought about. It had hurt in the way a scraped knee had hurt as a kid; stinging and pulling tears from you until the moment was over and you ran off to play again. As your game with Spencer continued, you couldn’t help but think that this would hurt like nothing else had before.

That didn’t stop you from wanting to play, though.

Just like every day before, as everyone else rushed out of the room you slowly put your things away and made your way to the front of the room. And just like every other time, Spencer was waiting for you.

“What do you have for me today, Y/N?” he asked, eyes alight with the kind of amusement that rubbed off on you, bringing a smile to your own lips.

“Well, Professor, I was just a little confused on the difference between a trigger and a stressor,” you spoke, watching as the amusement sparked and amplified in his expression.

“I have to say I’m concerned about you, Miss L/N,” he answered, moving to lean against his desk. “The exam is in a week and that’s a fairly simple concept we’ve gone over in detail.”

“That is concerning, Sir,” you played along, taking a step forward and watching how his eyes took on a more dangerous look. “It’s so important to me that I pass this class. Do you think you could tutor me privately?”

“Y/N,” Spencer warned as I took another step closer. His feet were inches from mine and we were close enough that if I raised my hand, I could touch him. I didn’t though, intent on having him enter the game willingly.

“Yes, Dr. Reid?”

“I seem to recall you telling me you’d be a good girl.”

“Am I not? You might need to remind me how that looks like.”

He just looked at you for a long moment, long enough to wonder if you’d pushed it too far this time. Then, the oddest thing happened. Spencer surged forward, pressing his lips to yours and digging a hand in your hair harshly. It reminded you of the night you offered yourself up to him, how he’d taken out all of his troubles on you that night.

“Wait, what if someone comes in?” you gasped against his lips, hands helplessly digging into his shirt. The doors on the lecture hall didn’t lock on their own, meaning anyone could walk in at any time to see you two pressed together like this.

“They won’t,” Spencer promised simply.

“What if they do? They’ll see us.”

Spencer pulled his head back just enough so he could look at you in the eyes, a smirk on his face that made you think that maybe he’d actually been the cat all along. His hand never loosened in your hair, keeping you watching him closely. “That never bothered you before. You’ve been teasing me all week, what did you think would happen?”

You didn’t have an answer. You knew what you’d hoped would happen, but had you ever expected him to touch you like this again? Absolutely not. It was reckless and dangerous; if anyone found out then his position and your reputation could be in jeopardy. The risk of it all almost made it better.

“If you want this to continue, you’ll be a good little girl in public,” Spencer was telling you, tugging a little on your hair and smirking at the whimper it elicited.

“And in private?”

“I’ll give you anything you want, all you have to do is ask.” The words went straight to below your jeans, warming you against the chill of the lecture hall better than a jacket ever could.

“I don’t do friends with benefits, or flings,” you spoke. As much as you enjoyed teasing Spencer, you didn’t want this to become that sort of relationship.

“As I said, Y/N, I’ll give you anything you want,” Spencer repeated, releasing his hold on your hair to move his hand down to your cheek.

“I want you, all of you.”

“Then you’ll have me,” Spencer spoke, voice so soft you could’ve imagined he’d never said it aloud at all. His lips were soft against yours then too, allowing you to take the lead. You reached up, your own hand tangling in his curls and keeping him pressed to you for as long as your lungs would allow it.

As the two of you parted only in the physical sense, you couldn’t help but think that this was a dangerous game to be playing. It was one where the risk of being hurt was greater than the chance of it working out. Still, as the lingering sense of danger loomed over your shoulders, you decided Spencer was worth the risk.

Fall had always been your least favorite season. The weather turned cold enough to freeze even your bones and the leaves turned brilliant shades of orange and yellow only to wither away when they were at their most beautiful. Days grew shorter and the darkness of night crept up on your heels, constantly reminding you of the approaching winter.

As October began, you wondered if one person could make you change your opinion on an entire season. Spencer was unlike anyone you’d met before. There were times when he was so strong and commanding, and yet others he was so gentle even you were afraid he might break under your gaze. You thought learning more about him would help you understand him, but as time went on you realized there was no way you would ever fully understand all of the intricacies and hypocrisies of Spencer Reid.

You’d grown more careful on campus. Where there were once stares there were now only briefly lingering glances. Before you had no trouble stepping into his personal space but now you kept your distance. It was easier now that you knew you would have him to come home to nightly.

Or rather, you would go home to him. Your apartment was too near campus, too surrounded by other apartments occupied by students. He lived across the Virginia border, nearer to Quantico where his primary job was and most importantly, away from any prying eyes of students or faculty members. So (almost) every night you two would leave campus separately but end up at the same destination: his apartment. Where once you would keep a night bag in your car, now there was a drawer of your clothes in his dresser and a little bag of your bathroom products on the counter next to his.

It was so domestic and comfortable that it scared you. The idea that it could all end and no one would know how much you meant to Spencer terrified you to your core. Your friends knew you had a partner but didn’t know anything about them. You didn’t even tell them Spencer’s gender, not wanting to give away anything when the risk was so great. The fact of the matter was, as you drove a half hour to spend the night with him and traveled even further to have dates, you felt more like his secret than his partner. You told yourself it was okay. After all, Spencer hadn’t hidden from you that he wouldn’t tell anyone about you. You’d gone into this willingly, knowing all of the risk and all of the hurt that would fall on you should this come to an end.

Still, as you sat in a restaurant two and a half hours from campus, the idea couldn’t quite be shaken from your shoulders.

Spencer had once promised that he’d never profile you but even in that moment, you knew it was an unintentional lie. After doing it for fifteen-plus years, it would be impossible to fully turn it off. Of course, he would notice the weight pulling on you and dulling your gaze whenever you looked at him that night.

“You know you can talk to me about anything, right Y/N?” Spencer finally asked as he’d finished his dinner and you’d moved yours around on the plate more than you actually ate it.

The question felt more like a loaded gun than an invitation. You could easily imagine the revolver he often carried when he wasn’t on campus raised and aimed at your heart, daring you to threaten all of the good between you two.

“I know,” you answered simply, but the invisible gun never lowered. It also never fired, either.

“Even if it’s about school or someone in class. I’ll still be an unbiased professor, I promise,” Spencer continued, not realizing that what he thought were comforting words only served to click off the safety.

“There’s nothing wrong, Spencer,” you told him, staring as you took a bite of food as if to prove it to yourself and him.

“Are you sure? I didn’t know it was possible for you to be this quiet.”

“I’m sure.”

The gun was lowered for the moment, but it wouldn’t last. When you two got into your car—you’d found out early on that Spencer would rather walk everywhere than drive his car—it went off with a bang that deafened your ears.

“I feel like a dirty mistress,” you blurted out now that you could focus on the road ahead of you and not on Spencer’s face. Still, you could see him spin to look at you from the corner of your eye, lips parted in shock.

“What do you mean?”

“I just, all this sneaking around. It feels like we’re having an affair. I know I said I was okay with it but the longer it goes on, the more I feel dirty and wrong.”

There was silence for such a long time you wondered if Spencer would ever answer you. Was this it, the moment you’d been watching over your shoulder for since that day in the lecture hall? His words only seemed to confirm it as he said, “We don’t have to continue this if you’re uncomfortable, Y/N.”

“That’s the thing, Spencer,” you answered, never daring to sneak a look at him, making you miss the hurt that washed over his face at the thought of losing you. “I don’t want to stop this. I just don’t want to be a secret anymore.”

“You know we don’t have another choice.”

“There’s always another choice,” you spoke rapidly, unable to stop the flow of words once they began, “You’re done teaching the class in another week. In one week, you won’t be my professor anymore.”

“What would people think about you if they knew, Y/N? People can be cruel. I don’t want to see you get hurt because of me.”

“I don’t care what people think of me! They can think whatever they want, I just want to be with you.”

“You are with me,” Spencer tried, and this time you had enough courage to look at him at the red light. His eyes were shining in the reflection of the traffic light, face illuminated in the red glow. He was tense, jaw tightened and eyes narrowed, hands fidgeting with each other in his lap.

“Am I? We drive over two hours away just so I can hold your hand in public. My friends keep asking me who I’ve been dating and I can’t tell them anything about you. They’re so upset because they just want to meet the person who’s made me happier than they’ve ever seen me and I want to tell them so badly. I want everyone to know how much I care about you, Spencer.”

“I don’t know that I can give you that, Y/N,” he admitted in soft-spoken words that made you think you knew what it felt like to get a bullet to the heart.

“Then I can’t do this anymore.” You didn’t even register the words as yours, just that one second they were said aloud and the next a breathless gasp was slipping from Spencer’s lips. “This isn’t good for me, you’re not good for me.”

You pretended not to see the hurt on Spencer’s face, knowing you’d been the one that put it there after promising to be the one to take it all away.

As difficult as life was with Spencer, it was even worse without him. Simple things such as going to class or even somedays getting out of bed were nearly impossible. You didn’t go to Spencer’s class again until the final exam for his section of the course. You’d come in, sat in the back instead of your usual seat, and tried to focus on the exam instead of the way he openly stared.

It was easier when a week passed and there was no longer the fear of running into him on campus. Spencer Reid went back to his life at the BAU, and you could try to return to yours.

So you forced yourself to go to class every day you had it, began sitting in the library so you’d be pressured to do your work. You even began going out with your friends again, evading their questions about who had hurt you so badly. That was the worst part of it all, that in the worst heartbreak you’d ever felt, you couldn’t find any comfort in your friends. They did their best, but how could they comfort you over a situation they knew nothing about?

You never thought the grieving process would apply to you, but as time went on you found it comforting to psychoanalyze yourself. It was objective, allowing you to process your hurt with plenty of distance.

The denial ended when Spencer’s time as a professor did. It had been impossible to know he was on campus and you had no right to his time anymore. You told yourself that you didn’t want him anyway, that it was you who had ended the relationship so that clearly meant you didn’t need him.

The anger lasted the longest. How dare he make you care about him only to throw you away like this? He was the experienced one, the one who promised to give you every part of him. He laid with you as you spoke about your past experiences, your fears and insecurities. He’d sat beside you in a car and used each one against you. It was Spencer’s fault that you were hurting, and he didn’t deserve you anymore.

You weren’t sure where you stood on religion, but when anger morphed back into grief you found yourself laying awake until the late hours of the night asking the universe why it did this to you. It could have given you happiness and love, it could have given you a happy ending. Instead, all it gave you was the taste of happiness before cruelly tearing it from your grasp. It was then, delirious from a lack of sleep and your grief, that you called him. He didn’t answer, you hadn’t expected him to at 4am, but still you said everything you’d been thinking in the time since your breakup.

When Spencer’s birthday came and went without the celebration you’d promised him, the bitter sadness set back in. Everything between you two was well and truly over; killed by the gun he’d held, the gun you’d wrapped your fingers around and fired. It was that night you finally cried for him, for everything you could’ve had if you’d taken that damn class a semester later, if you’d accepted being his little secret, if he hadn’t been ashamed of his feelings for you.

A day later, you were leaving your apartment to head to class when you saw him. It took you a second to recognize the car—you’d only ever seen him drive it once—but sure enough, you could see his tuft of curls through the driver-side window as it sat parked in the apartment complex lot.

Before you could take off running, Spencer noticed you. He scrambled to get out of the car, and if this were a few weeks ago you’d have giggled at his clumsiness. Instead, you rolled your eyes and tried to keep walking past him.

His hand stopped you, though, curled around your forearm and squeezing just tight enough to keep you where you were. “Let go of me,” you spat out, eyes staring forward so you didn’t have to see him. You were scared if you saw him, actually looked at him, you wouldn’t be able to do anything but forgive him.

“We need to talk.” You’d forgotten how much you loved his voice, strangely soft compared to his trauma-hardened exterior.

“We don’t need to do anything. I have class, remember? You used to teach it.”

“Skip class today. I want to do something with you, please,” Spencer told you, “Just look at me, Y/N, please.”

You couldn’t help it. Spencer was there begging for you like you’d imagined so many times after the breakup. This moment showed up in your dreams so often you’d stopped yourself from sleeping many nights just so you wouldn’t have to see a fake version of what you wanted. It was here, though, happening before your eyes. So, you sighed and turned, finally taking Spencer in.

There was so much pain in his eyes. You winced, missing his hand as he finally let go of you. “Why should I skip class, Spencer? What could you possibly say to change anything?”

“Trust me, Y/N. Let me have today, and if this doesn’t change anything then I won’t bother you ever again.” It sounded convincing, genuine.

“I can’t get hurt like that again, Spencer, it’ll break me.”

“You won’t,” he promised, and that was the moment you knew he could have today. If nothing else, maybe this is what you’d need to finally get over him. So you nodded, allowing him to guide you over to the car you’d never been in before.

You fidgeted for the entire half-hour drive. Nervousness bubbled up and out of you as neither of you spoke, wondering what Spencer had planned. What couldn’t he tell you about now? He was nervous too, fingers tapping on the steering wheel and eyes taking every free second to look at you as if he was checking to make sure you were still there.

The nerves only grew when the sign appeared. FBI Headquarters, Quantico VA. “Spencer, what are we doing here?”

“You’ll see.”

“No, I don’t want to see. What are we doing? Are you arresting me for something?”

A playful smirk you hadn’t seen in weeks lit up his face, finally showing Spencer could feel something except for pain and fear. “Why, do you want to be arrested? I still have the handcuffs.”

“Spencer,” you repeated pointedly as the building came into view.

The car was parked and finally, he turned to you. His hands raised as if to take yours but paused, apparently thinking better of it. “I want you to meet my team.”

“Why?” The bundle of nerves twisting your stomach only grew. You didn’t want this hope to be building in you, knowing with one second he could snuff it out. This wasn’t fair.

“They’re my family. I want them to meet the person who has made me the luckiest man on Earth. Some people believe there’s only a ten percent chance you’ll meet your soulmate. Before you, I didn’t know if I believed in the concept of soulmates.” Spencer sighed, licking his lips and allowing his gaze to drop down for only a moment before snapping back up to meet yours. “I love you, Y/N. I don’t want you to feel dirty or used when you make me happy in a way I never thought I deserved.”

“Does this mean...?” You didn’t dare say it aloud, not wanting to hope for something doomed to fail.

“Yes, Y/N. I don’t want you to be a secret. I want you to meet my family and I want to meet yours. I want you to live with me and I want you to be mine.”

You were sure you’d never breathe again. Spencer’s confession took away the ability permanently, leaving you breathless and trying to understand the weight of his words. “Don’t make me believe again, Spencer.”

“You don’t have to answer right now, Y/N. I know I’m asking for a lot. You don’t have to believe right now, just come meet my family.”

You nodded, able to agree to as much. The pair of you got out of the car and it was you who grabbed his hand, pulling a noise of surprise from him that made you squeeze tighter. You may not be able to forgive him right now, but it would come. There was hope because like always he knew exactly how to comfort you, how to make you feel like the most special person in the world. So you walked beside him to meet his family, already knowing that the risk was worth it. This hope was dangerous, treacherous, but you would take the risk of falling if it meant you could love Spencer for even a moment longer. Of this you were sure.

SERIES TAGLIST

@samuel-de-champagne-problems @alexlovescriminalminds @reidsbookclub @givemeth @fightingdragonswithreid @girloncorneliastreet @silverhetdanes @just-a-human-witha-pen @shemarmooresfedora @rexorangecouny

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid x you #spencer reid imagine #loving you was red #my fics

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zealouscanonindeer · 2 years ago

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My guy

Warnings slight mention of blood

I felt a bead of sweat trickle down the side of my face, making it's way down my cheek and jaw all the way to the nape of my neck and it settled there. My scrunched eyebrows were damp as I balanced all the glass shards in front of me trying to conjure a portal to the sun att classroom from my dorm.

I have been struggling with mirrors and portal work ever since the Raife attacks. My body just doesn't respond to this magic. I let out a small grunt, envisioning myself sitting on the tiled floor working on my prescience , the sunlight peeking in from the gaps between the four massive yet intricately carved pillars. I construct every little detail I can recollect, all the while slowly moving the shards together to walk through the portal.

Ells! someone whispered in my ears as I felt two hands encircling my waist from behind, making me lose composure and jolt at the sudden unexpected touch.

Aahhhh! I yelled immediately losing all progress and focus. The glass shards flew right at me making only part portal. I lost all memory of the magic I knew. Instead all I did was succumb to my reflex and hold my hands out in front of my face.

I landed on the ground, on Beckett who somehow seemed more startled than me. A shard pierced through my skin, lodged right between the index finger and thumb of my left hand.

I felt dizzy and uncomphrehensive to my injury, the adrenaline too high to feel any pain. The blood gushed out of the deep cut, staining everything in its way a fiery scarlet.

Oh God! I'm so sorry! I heard Beckett's velvet tone and registered his presence truly for the first time.

Hey. I smiled meekly at him. I could already see the worry forming on his face. His anxious eyes constantly looking at me in between inspecting my wound, the curve of his mouth when he was a bit frightened, the way his breathing felt a bit heavy.

He slowly guided the glass out using his magic, I could feel it against my skin as the pressure reduced, the familiarity of his magic running through me, I felt safe.

Use your blood magic, darling. He reminded me softly. I let out a slow breath, my vision foggy as I felt him guide me. I connected to the flow, slowly bringing it to a halt, reconstructing my skin until it was good as new.

Or so I thought. As I looked at my hand I saw a scar running down the length of my slender finger. It stung a little and I winced.

Is that supposed to happen? I looked up, into Beckett's troubled eyes,I could tell that this was clearly anguishing for him.

You tell me.

Um... Oh. Oh I reckon because the shard was projecting powerful sun magic intensely magnified by the portals which themselves emit and amplify source magic , partly your own it can't completely be undone by your blood magic. I read about a similar amplificiary magic counter interactive theory.

So it's basically that I can't heal myself completely because I hurt myself in the first place.

In a nutshell, yes . He nodded. Although technically it's my fault. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to startle you. He said engulfing me in a hug holding my left hand so impossibly delicately. I rested my pounding head on this chest and scooted into his lap.

I'm really sorry. I really am. I'm an idiot. I should have realised you were working with the shards. He kissed my hair mumbling into my hair.

And now look I've hurt you and it's turned into a scar.

I looked down at my hand resting in his, slowing turning to see the scar. It wasn't particularly big. It just made my finger feel a bit loopy.

I like it. It's from my guy .

Wh-? You what?

Yeah. It's from someone special. It's like I have a permanent memory of you etched on my body. I smiled feeling particularly cheesy, it also shows that I'm yours.

Despite his pensiveness, he smiled. I'm sure there are better ways than that to show that. He kissed my hand and intertwined his fingers in mine.

Next time I'll be careful. Yeah?

I'm not going to do this mirror thing for a while. I couldn't react and all I could think about was Raife. I just froze through and through. Lucky for me, my guy was looking out for me

Yeah he snorted. Especially when he's the reason you got hurt. I can't believe I hurt you when I promised to protect you.

Hey! Stop throwing shade on my guy. He's so genuine, caring and protective. I would forgive him in a blink of an eye any day. I love him.

I love you too. So much, beckett said leaning down to kiss me.

Whoa! Slow down there! Beckett gave me a confused glance as I continued. I don't kiss random strangers, my guy doesn't like that.

I'm sure he will make an exception, just this once. And with that he proceeded to kiss me.

#beckett harrington #beckett harrington fanfic #beckett harrington fanfiction #beckett harrington x mc #choices fandom #choices fanfiction #choices the elementalists #play choices #the elementalists #the elementalists beckett

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ryoskuna · 4 years ago

Text

⭑ shaken, not stirred. | bartender!sukuna au.

notes: this thought of bartender!sukuna has been in my head for weeks, but it’s when my mom was giving me a lecture while i was thinking of sketching him as bartender that solidified the fact. this may become a series thing, and you’re also welcomed to ask questions about this au (please do, it is one of my new favorite things). also i have no idea what reader will be in this au-verse, but i’m thinking a law student (am i self-projecting... perhaps), but i’m open to y’all’s suggestions and can do headcanons for whatever kind of reader y’all want to see. additionally, did i screenshot that picture for the banner from episode 14 bc i thought he looked extra good?? yeah... i did.

warnings: like... mild nsfw via music suggestions, mentions of drink tampering but not from sukuna

bonus: there’s a playlist that goes with this, here.

taglist: @lethargicyashi, @night-rook, @izuniias, @skys-luce-stellare, @skys-luce-stellare

there’s something about 6′4 sukuna shaking a cocktail shaker to toxic by britney spears that just.... chef’s kiss. no i will not elaborate, just think about it.

sometimes, you think he’s taller than 6′4, but that’s just his platform doc martens.

god, the man chewing on a thin stirring/cocktail straw or just holding it in his jaw, in between his teeth and watch his lips purse around it. he’ll take it out to talk, of course.

the waist apron he wears only emphasizes his shoulder-to-hip ratio

the best seat in the house is literally anywhere you can see him??? like behind him, you can see his back muscles flex, but in the front, you can see his tattoos on his chest peeking out from the fact that he is not going to ever button the top two buttons on his shirt. also, he leaves his sleeves pushed up to his elbows on most nights

tongue piercing, check. both of his ears are pierced, but he tends to change up whether he has just one in or both.

you find out about the tongue piercing when he does his taste-testing of the drinks he mixes, via the straw drop (take a black plastic straw, dips the straw into the glass, covers the unsubmerged straw end with his index finger to create suction, lifts the straw to his lips, releases his index finger, and "tastes" the cocktail). usually he’ll put the straw in his mouth, but if he notices you’re watching, well, there goes the tongue piercing.

he wears rings, constantly. at least two, one on each hand.

he is a megan the stallion fan (and nicki minaj too, but i digress) and knows most of the words to her songs. his personal favorite is crybaby, and you being his s/o, well, he’ll sing it word for word to you while making drinks at home. he leans in and whispers the real intense/filthy parts like (”uh-uh, don’t fuck me like that fuck me like this”) yeah. he looks like he’s talking normal, but the way his voice drops more and he whispers??? goodbye world.

sometimes he likes to tease too much while he’s singing and will lean in to lick the shell of your ear or maybe nip your earlobe, who knows

and then he’ll pass your drink like nothing ever happened

also has doja cat on his playlist, but yuji is to blame for that

cherry knot tying king

casual friday for the staff at said bar/establishment, and he’s coming in jeans and a loose tank top, you know, the ones with the drops on the sleeves on the sides??

sukuna is extremely aware of what’s happening in the room at all times. some creep hitting on someone? intervene. someone trying to spike a drink?? he catches them in the act. someone spiked a drink???? he just looks at the recipient, tells them to switch with him, and before they can say anything, they have a new, safe drink while he has the tampered one.

does he grab offenders whether they’re being following creeps, coming on too strong, or trying to tamper with drinks by the scruff of their necks and carry them out personally? yes, yes he does. if you’re there, he’ll wink at you before he gives him a kick on the ass for good measure as he pushes them out the door.

he makes custom drinks for people, like he’ll ask what’s your preference in taste like sweet, strong or whatever, plus two other questions that seem unrelated but he’s managed to make the perfect drink for you

again, he’s highly aware of his surroundings, so if you’re looking at his back, he knows, and will look over his shoulder to smirk at you, looking you right in the eyes. (SHEESH)

thinking of him coming in on one of his days off with a ballcap and a tight, dry fit t-shirt on, so by the time he’s working, his hair is a lil messy, and you better thank heaven for that dry fit t-shirt because MUSCLES BABE

is working on his own lil drink recipe book, which means you either get to be his taste tester, or taste it when he kisses you

this man knows he’s hot, he’s a smug shit about it, and works it to his favor. does he tie cherry knots at work because the women at the bar go crazy and give him extra tips?? yes

but if you’re there, oh sweetheart, he’s actually going to give you the cherry before putting the knot in his mouth to tie, BYE

also.... hehe, had to mention this but uh... you could bounce a quarter off that ass of his

he comes home from a late/graveyard shift, and just crawls into bed, smelling like syrup and cologne, just... run your fingers through his hair and he’ll be out in a few minutes

occasionally, he will sleep on the couch as not to disturb you, but the man really is too big to be sleeping on a couch.

if his shift starts at 6, he comes in at 5, hair a little damp from the shower he just took, and in a clean dry fit shirt and tight slacks or dark colored jeans. he’ll either work in the dry fit shirt, or he has a button up he can change into in the back

also??? really decent and will help you get stains out of your clothes if it’s something he can swing to clean in the sink like a shirt

otherwise, he’ll write what you need on a napkin and pass it to you

fucking hates white claws with a passion, ngl

during particularly slow moments at work, you might be able to catch him plucking a few cords on the guitar that sits on stage or poking around with the piano (look, i think he’s very capable of playing instruments and his fingers are good for it)

painted nails!! they’re usually a dark purple or black, occasionally a dark red. sometimes they’re clear, but he’s gotten the idea from when he supposedly was in his emo phase (and learned to keep something on them from breaking from his younger brother’s friend nobara)

likes to dance with you to the songs on his playlist in his minimalistic kitchen in between cooking or making drinks

at least once a month, you can catch him in a necklace

during the winter months, tight turtlenecks or ribbed long sleeved shirts are his best friends

he also drives a very nice and sleek black car (i’d imagine it’s like a black audi TT or an audi R8) that sits in the back of the parking lot and has a habit of turning his keys on his index finger as he walks towards the building/into work.

bartending might have started as a part time job when he was in college, but it’s something he’s just kept up over the years

man fills up a lot of space and knows it, even when he’s leaning on his back countertop during breaks or on the bar to take orders with his arms folded over his chest

ANYWAYS. be nice to your local bartender because he can bite. take that as you will.

#this was so utterly self indulgent #enjoy the meal #sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna x y/n #bartender!sukuna au.#sukuna.#jujutsu kaisen imagines #jujutsu kaisen headcanons #jujutsu kaisen x y/n #Jujutsu Kaisen #jjk #jjk hcs #jujutsu kaisen x reader #my writing.#rsff

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little-mad · 3 years ago

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Downsides of Thievery Pt. 5

~ Previous Part ~ Next Part ~

The moment Gavin stepped out of his cage, he felt ten times more vulnerable and exposed than he had previously. The fact that he was on the ground with everything looming up above him did not help in the slightest. Though the alteon wasn’t even standing at his full height, Rael looked like an absolute monument before him. Gavin felt more like an insect next to the giant than ever.

“Knock it off!” Gavin scolded himself mentally. “He may be insanely big, but I’ve got a bigger mouth.” He wouldn’t allow himself to be cowed just because his captor happened to be taller than a building.

“Hurry up,” Rael’s voice thundered from above, effectively forcing Gavin out of his contemplation.

The alteon looked down on Gavin with his usual level of disdain. He had to wonder how much of that was due to the fact that he was a convicted criminal, and how much was just because of how much he seemed to dislike humans. The criminal part, Gavin could understand, but not liking him because he was a human seemed pretty...was racist the right word? Or would the proper term be speciesist? Either way, Rael was acting like some kind of -ist.

When Gavin didn’t immediately start moving at his order, Rael seemed to grow even further agitated. “Why are you incapable of following simple commands?” he questioned sharply, leaning forward slightly as he glared down at Gavin.

This particular comment was very reminiscent of something Gavin’s seventh grade social studies teacher had said once. The cranky old bastard had basically had it out for Gavin since day one. Apparently Mr. Borgan wasn’t a fan of class clowns. Gavin had never really liked following orders from authority figures before that, but he was pretty sure that ass of a teacher had set him down his path towards crime. Mr. Borgan made him realize that just because someone was in charge, didn’t mean they were right.

And now, here was Rael trying to order Gavin around. Yes, Gavin had been placed in Rael’s custody and therefore was his responsibility. But that didn’t mean he got to order Gavin around like some kind of dog.

“Maybe if you tried asking nicely,” Gavin told Rael. Though he said it sarcastically, it wasn’t entirely untrue. He would be much more likely to do what Rael wanted if the guy would just try being a little friendlier.

Rolling his eyes, Rael shook his head. “I never asked to babysit a human.”

“Well maybe you’re being punished,” Gavin retorted with a bit more bite than he’d intended. Obviously he hadn’t really meant what he said, he had no idea what life was like in the “Imperial Guard.” However, the moment Gavin caught sight of the look on Rael’s face he knew he had said something he shouldn’t have.

There was a dark look on the alteon’s face as he glowered down at the human at his feet. Gavin took an instinctive step backwards. He was sure if his body came equipped with lights and a siren they’d be going off like crazy.

Before he could make another move, a giant hand was coming at Gavin in a flash. He stumbled and ended up tripping over his own feet and falling onto his back. The hand was an inch away from him. He braced himself to be grabbed, slamming his eyes shut in fear. But then a moment passed and he remained untouched.

Cautiously, Gavin reopened his eyes, and the sight he saw made his heartbeat stutter. Though no part of it made contact with him, Rael’s hand hung over Gavin. He was caged in by the appendage, his head sticking out between the massive index and middle fingers.

Looking past the hand, Gavin stared up at Rael’s face, which now hovered almost directly above him. The alteon’s head blocked out the sunlight that filtered through the canopy, and it was almost like his face was a moon that had eclipsed the sun.

Rael’s beautiful teal eyes were clouded with rage, his lips pulled into a snarl. Suddenly, Gavin felt like a mouse that had been caught by a vicious cat. God, what a stupid mouse.

Rael had never been particularly short tempered, or rather, he had never allowed himself to be. If he was ever going to be taken seriously as someone worthy of being a member of the Imperial Guard, he needed to prove that he was more than his peasant parentage. And so he played the role of the refined, even-tempered gentleman.

Perhaps it had been his tendency to constantly suppress his true emotions around others that caused him to snap so abruptly at Gavin Stone. Or perhaps it was just the human himself who had a unique skill for getting under his skin. Either way, Rael had found himself dying to put the little man in his place.

All it had taken was for the human to say something that hit a little too close to home. The fear that Rael had never been and would never be truly viewed as a member of the Imperial Guard had haunted him for a long time. He wondered whether the rest of the soldiers secretly whispered about him behind his back, poking fun at the peasant who dared try to play at being someone of any standing.

When Rael had been given the less than favorable assignment of collecting a human prisoner, the idea that he’d been purposefully given the task due to his background had quickly taken residence in the back of his mind. He had been trying not to dwell on it, to just do his job and move on. However, when the human suggested Rael might be being punished, it reminded him of all his insecurities.

The next thing he knew, he was pinning the human to the ground. His fingers surrounded the little creature on all sides. Rael couldn’t deny the sight gave him a rush. It was satisfying.

Gavin Stone was a thief who was willing to potentially put the relationship between the human and alteon realms at risk just to satisfy his own greed. “He’s a criminal, that’s why I dislike him so much,” Rael told himself. However, in the back of his mind he knew what really angered him about Gavin Stone’s insolence was the fact that he was a human. Humans were smaller and weaker than alteons. In the animal kingdom, would that not place alteons above humans?

“Remember your place,” Rael growled as he stared down at the human trapped beneath his hand.

There was no defiance in Gavin Stone’s eyes, just panic and fear. Perhaps this time the message would sink in.

Rael gave the human one last hard look before removing his hand and resuming his seated position on the log. Though he was still tense, he could feel himself beginning to come down from the sudden spark of rage he’d experienced. He took a steadying breath as he returned his attention to the human. The little man had yet to get to his feet, though he’d sat up and was staring up at Rael with wide eyes. “Hurry up and do your business before I change my mind.”

Obviously, Gavin had known he was tiny compared to Rael and the rest of the alteon dimension. It was pretty hard to forget. And yet somehow he hadn’t quite fully comprehended what it meant to be so insignificant to the world around him.

A part of being a thief was knowing that people, for the most part, were too absorbed in their own business to pay much attention to the actions of a stranger. Gavin could be a ghost, a nobody. Now take that concept and amplify it tenfold. That was how little of an indent Gavin made on the alteons’ world. And that had been what Rael seemed adamant on imparting on his captive.

As much as he hated to admit it, Gavin had been shaken by Rael’s outburst. It had been a harsh reminder of how easily the alteon could hurt him or worse. Laying there trapped under the giant hand, Gavin had felt totally and completely helpless. It was not a feeling he enjoyed in the slightest.

“How am I supposed to stand up to that?” he pondered as he pulled his jumpsuit back up over his shoulders.

Gavin had to wonder whether this was the kind of treatment he could expect from the Emperor. The alteon ruler had been diplomatic and peaceful with humanity as a whole, however, he questioned whether or not that would apply to a human criminal.

Gavin sighed. He really wasn’t looking forward to facing Rael again. He would much rather just stay concealed within the confines of the large bush he currently resided in. Of course, that would only serve to piss Rael off even further. Chances were, the giant would just reach in and snag Gavin if he took too long. He shivered at the thought of being anywhere near that hand again.

And so, quite reluctantly, Gavin exited his cover and returned to the clearing where Rael was waiting. He approached the alteon silently. For once he didn’t have anything to say--or more accurately, he didn’t have the confidence to say anything. Rael appeared as though he had calmed down at least somewhat, but Gavin wasn’t ready to risk incurring his wrath again.

He came to a stop in between Rael’s feet and stood silently. He kept his gaze downwards, unwilling to meet those eyes which had so recently stared at him with burning fury.

When Gavin Stone had returned, he seemed almost like a different person. Gone were the animated expressions that had lit up his face. He was quiet and passive. At Rael’s command, he’d gotten back into his cage without making any sort of fuss.

Now, Rael was back on the path to the city and the human was sitting in his cage without saying a word. It certainly seemed as though Rael’s show of force had been effective. So why didn’t Rael feel more happy with himself?

At the time, when he’d seen Gavin cowering under his hand, Rael had been quite pleased. However, for some reason the feeling had only been temporary. Now he almost felt...bad? “No, surely I don’t feel bad for a human criminal,” he tried to convince himself. Gavin had made himself a nuisance and Rael had corrected the behavior. It was the logical thing to do, right? There should be no reason to feel any kind of regret.

Rael glanced down at the human. The little man had his arms wrapped around the iron bars to keep himself secure. His gaze was focused down into his lap. He almost looked...dejected.

It had been obvious from the get go that Gavin Stone was far from fearless. However, he had seemed to bounce back from his fear fairly easily. It had only taken a few minutes after being grabbed, caged, and transported to a new realm for the man to gain enough confidence to address his giant captor. Now that Rael thought about it, it was kind of impressive.

But now, Gavin showed no signs of bouncing back. It was possible he would remain quiet and compliant for the rest of their journey. Rael should have been celebrating, and yet....

“Perhaps I just regret losing my temper,” Rael thought to himself. He was supposed to be in control of his emotions, and while letting loose for that moment had felt good at the time, he knew it was wrong. “Yeah, that has to be it….right?”

#g/t #giant/tiny #g/t writing #my writing #fearplay #oc: gavin stone #oc: rael #g/t fearplay

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casuallyimagining · 4 years ago

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You and Me

Min Yoongi x Reader

Summary: Yoongi has something he needs to ask you before the Grammys. Genre: slight angst, kind of fluffy at the end? Word Count: 1,865 Rating: T (there’s some swearing) Notes: Part of the Long Term Couples series. Read more here.

As he was leaving to go out to lunch with Namjoon and Jin, Yoongi told you that he had news he wanted to tell you when he got home. Which, of course, is possibly the worst thing to leave a person with.

What could he want to talk to you about?

You had a feeling you knew. Physical therapy had been progressing well for Yoongi, and while he still had a lot of healing to do, he was to the point where he could do almost all normal, daily tasks without help. He still had to wear his sling when he went out, and he was still in quite a bit of pain, but it was to the point where he would probably start back to work soon. And, of course, he would probably be moving back to the dorms again, and you would return to your lives pre-November.

Which meant you would go from seeing him literally all the time to only seeing him a few times a week--a return to taking him meals in your spare time, to sitting in the studio watching him work, to short dates to go grab coffee or a milkshake on his rare breaks. Thankfully, you had written the code for the Genius Lab down in your notes app, because after almost two and a half months of not using it, you weren’t confident that you remembered it.

Honestly, you weren’t sure if you could go back to sustaining yourself on text messages, and video calls, and brief, 15-minute meetings. Adjusting to him being there constantly--underfoot when you least expected him to be, but always there to lend an ear or a hand or just generally be there for you--had taken some time. Your routines had melded together so quickly, that having him wandering around your apartment at two in the afternoon was no more uncommon than you not being able to find a series to watch on Netflix. You knew it was coming eventually, but you weren’t sure you could stand the separation.

You would, though, for his sake. You would walk through fire for him.

And it would only be for a short time, right? He had promised you on Christmas. As soon as he was able, he was going to start moving out of the dorms and into his own apartment. He wanted you to join him, wanted you to move in with him. But you weren’t sure when that would be. He had never given you a timetable for when he expected to start moving. Which was fine, you supposed. He could take his time.

But the whole thing made you anxious, even though you knew it shouldn’t. What if he got too busy once he got back to normal life and forgot? What if he decided he wanted to stay at the dorms indefinitely? Worse, what if he changed his mind and he decided he did want to move, just not with you?

Your mind raced as you sat in your office at your piano, trying to lose yourself in the music. You wanted to believe that you had nothing to worry about, that even though things would change, you would continue to be a priority in Yoongi’s life, that you wouldn’t be taking a huge step backwards in your relationship. Somehow, you managed to distract yourself enough that you barely noticed you were playing “Spring Day” until you were almost done with the song.

You continued to play through some of the other songs you had memorized. Most of them, you noticed, were BTS--a strange side-effect of who you spent your time with and your students, the most prominent of which was, of course, Jimin.

As you played the final chord of “Black Swan,” the sound of gentle clapping made you jump, causing you to hit your knee on the bottom of your piano.

“Fuck,” you hissed, rubbing where the corner of the wood caught your leg. Now that you weren’t so surprised, you could see Yoongi standing in the doorway of your shared office, a look of concern barely masking his earlier amusement.

“I didn’t mean to scare you. I thought you heard me come in,” he said softly. “I put some leftovers in the fridge, and Namjoon made us stop for hotteok on the way back, so that’s in there, too. Are you okay?” He crouched down beside you, his hand falling to your knee.

“Unsurprisingly, that is not the first time I’ve done that,” you said with a laugh. “I’m honestly kind of shocked there’s not some sort of dent in the wood.”

Yoongi offered you an amused smile. “Well I’m glad there’s no damage. To you or the piano.” He leaned in to kiss you as he stood, the action quick and easy--like he had done it a thousand times before--but contained no less love. “You’ve been holding out on me.” You could hear the mirth in his voice as he moved one of his paintings to pull the office chair closer to the piano.

You waved off his comment, shutting the lid on the keys of the piano. “I don’t take credit for the things Park Jimin forces me to memorize.”

“Maybe you should start.” He shrugged, and the two of you fell silent. After a moment, he wiped his hands on his thighs and looked at you, though dropped his gaze to his lap the second you made eye contact. “So, I was talking with Si-Hyuk-hyung, and he had some… news he wanted me to pass on.” You raised an eyebrow in curiosity. Was this what he was talking about before he left?

“News?” you question, trying to play it off like you hadn’t spent the past few hours in a downward spiral of anxiety. “About…?”

“He and I were talking about us.” Yoongi gestured to himself and then to you. “He asked me if we wanted to go public any time soon.”

Your eyes went wide. “I… what? Why?”

“He apparently talked to Jin, Namjoon, and Jungkook about it, too.” He shrugged. “Si-Hyuk-hyung didn’t say why, but we think it’s because of the Grammys.” When you continued to look confused, he elaborated. “I mean, that’s kind of the thing, right? If you win an award, you turn and hug the person you love and then you go to receive it?”

“Oh, so you’re expecting to win?” you teased, trying to pretend like your cheeks weren’t a little flushed.

“Well, I think…” he stammered. “I think we should be prepared. Just in case.”

“So what did you tell PD-nim?”

“I told him I would talk to you about it.” You hummed. “He said he’d leave it up to us, but he’d like at least three days’ notice so they can prepare a statement.”

You stayed silent, unsure of what to say. Of course you had thought about it, about what going public would do to your relationship. You had considered the potential hate from the fans you would receive, and the fact that your private life, no matter how hard you tried, would never be fully private after. You knew about the strain it could put on your relationship with Yoongi, about how the saesangs and the paparazzi drove a wedge between many idols--particularly male idols--and their significant others.

But at the same time, you wanted to be able to go out with Yoongi without having to constantly look over your shoulder, without having to worry about someone from Dispatch seeing, or a well-meaning fan posting on social media. You wanted to be able to go with Yoongi to events, to publicly support him at concerts.

You sighed and reached for his hand. “What do you think?”

“It’s what you want, jagi. My life won’t really change much,” he said, squeezing your hand.

“Yoongi, please.” You didn’t like how exasperated your voice sounded, but you could feel your anxiety starting to spike again. “I need to know what you’re thinking.”

“Honestly?” You nodded. “I don’t know. It actually kind of terrifies me.” He laughed, but there was no humor in it. “I’ve seen idols’ careers die when dating scandals come out. But at the same time, I want us to have a normal life.” You snorted. “You know what I mean.”

“It’s very sudden,” you said softly, gripping his hand with both of yours. “The Grammys are in a few weeks. We’d have to do something in the next few days.”

“I’ll tell him we’d like to wait, then.”

You hummed, tracing his hand with your index finger. “We’d be able to do it how we want?”

“That’s what Si-Hyuk-hyung said. I imagine there’s a limit, but I don’t think he’d lie about that.”

“How much of an advanced warning did he say he wanted?”

“Three days.”

Would it really be that bad? You weren’t a stranger to hate comments and wildly unfounded criticism, although not quite to the scale it might get to. Yoongi rarely looked at social media, unless he was posting a selca to Twitter. And what? You might have to private your Instagram? Delete your Twitter? Honestly, it might do you some good to get away from social media. You trusted Yoongi to not drop you the second things got tough, and there were six other members of BTS there to help lessen any damage his career might take. As long as the two of you could weather it together, you were confident that you could come out on the other side relatively unscathed.

“Fuck it.”

“What?” Yoongi’s eyes were wide.

“Fuck it. Let’s do it.” You squeezed his hand, a small smile starting to form.

Yoongi’s eyes locked on yours. He was smiling, but you could see him hesitate. “Are you sure?”

You nodded. “Ask PD-nim if we can do something right before they send out their release. I think it’ll go over better coming from you.”

“You’re already planning this?” It wasn’t a question. He laughed, a sweet, gummy smile spreading across his face. “Okay. Yeah. Let’s do this. I’ll text Si-Hyuk-hyung and let him know.”

You watched him slide his phone out of his pocket and unlock it. “Hey Yoon?” He hummed, continuing to type for a moment before looking up at you. “We’re gonna be okay no matter what, right? Still us?”

Yoongi pulled you to him as he stood up, his arms immediately wrapping around your back to hold you close. “Don’t be silly. Of course we will be.” You felt him sigh as he tucked his chin onto your shoulder. “I can’t promise that things won’t change, but we’ll be okay.”

You hugged him, your arms around his shoulders, careful not to press too tightly on his bad one. This certainly hadn’t been where you were expecting the conversation to go when he walked out the door that morning, but you hoped he was right. Telling the fans was an important step to take--and an inevitable one, if you wanted your relationship to last. “You and me?” You pulled away slightly to look him in the eyes.

He smiled and pressed a soft kiss to your lips before resting his forehead against yours. “‘Till the end.”

Read more of the series here

#yoongi x reader #min yoongi x reader #suga x reader #yoongi #suga #min yoongi #bts suga x reader #bts suga #bts yoongi #bts yoongi x reader #thebtswritersclub

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speechlessxx · 5 years ago

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Call It What You Want (Ransom Drysdale x Reader)

Summary: There’s an unspoken bond between the Reader and Ransom.

Warnings: poorly written SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI), unprotected sex, oral sex (fem receiving), soft Ransom (because i love him idc), bad relationship with parents. This fic was honestly so self-indulgent because I love this song.

Word Count: 3.7k

Loosely inspired by Call It What You Want by (the Queen) Taylor Swift.

Sometimes life felt as if you were playing a Jenga game alone on a table with uneven legs.

For brief moments, everything was normal. Your movements were delicate as you built the tower. Higher and higher it would go, but then you’d stop to admire your work. You would rest your elbows against the surface and accidentally cause the table to shift. The tower would collapse, and you would have to rebuild it again.

However, you never had a stable foundation to begin with. The table was always wobbly. So, time and time again that tower fell. And you’ll have to start over alone.

That was your life.

Your parents were wealthy workaholics. You don’t remember being held or cuddled by your mother or father. You had a revolving door of nannies. None stayed too long so you could form any connection. Your mother would catch them in bed with her husband and terminate their employment. Even through your father’s infidelity, your mother refused to leave him. You remembered her drunkenly admit to you, her 7-year-old, that she stayed because she was afraid of what others would think.

When they weren’t working, they were fighting. You spent nights crying alone in your bedroom as you overheard endless arguments throughout the night. Your parents’ voices would echo through the large house and you’d hear every single insult, threat, and slur.

Your family was sitting upon a tense string that refused to break.

You had no stability – no constancy. You had no siblings either. Your school friends – whether they were from grade school or high school, it didn’t matter. They were all the same – were too self-involved to pay you any mind. You had no shoulder to cry on. No one to kiss the bruises and the scars away. No one to lean on when your life itself felt like it collapsed.

You only had your parents who both resented you because you were the result of a love that they no longer had.

Perhaps, that’s why you and Ransom Drysdale got along so well. Trust-fund brats who were neglected by their wealthy parents. Maybe it was a good thing that you at least had each other.

The closeness between you was surreal. You read one another like an open book whereas others had difficulty even pronouncing your titles. You were each other’s confidant, best friend, and rock. You found in comfort in each other’s mess.

It would be easy to mistake you two as a couple.

Both of you were once touch starved children, so you couldn’t keep your hands off each other. It was in the grazes of your fingertips and the tight embraces where you would snuggle your face in the crook of his neck, and he’d bury his into your hair. Ransom often kissed your wrists and fingers as he toyed with your hand in his. Every time you sat down next to each other, your knees were touching, or you’d be playing an unconscious game of footsies. It didn’t matter what your bodies were doing or where you were – you were always touching.

Strangers, and even those who knew you, often did think that you two were together. And when confronted, both of you would always scoff and say no. You were just friends. Nothing more, nothing less.

But behind closed doors, there was something. Something more that ignited your skin and set your body on fire. Something more that left Ransom – the talkative asshole – speechless and panting as he tried to catch his breath.

You both agreed only to have sex when it was absolutely necessary.

“It helps us blow off some steam,” Ransom had explained to you while you just nodded in agreement. You couldn’t find your words. Your wits had been fucked to silence and your brain felt like jelly.

You have your shared struggles and frustrations. Sometimes a simple lay was all you needed to let out your bottled-up emotions. It made sense when you established the agreement in your late college years.

“It doesn’t mean anything,” you agreed breathlessly.

You didn’t do it often. It would ruin the friendship. You even established a “no kissing on the lips” rule. You said it made everything all too real.

But as the years went by, something else began to blossom. Something else established itself. But neither of you would ever dare speak of it.

It would ruin the friendship after all.

-=+=-

You hated coming back to your childhood home. Haunting memories were the only keepsakes you had there. You had moved out right after college and would only return for holidays – upon your mother’s demand. You always felt as if it were empty. The house was massive and for many years was only home to three people, excluding the help.

You sat at the table alone as you anxiously fumbled with the initial necklace Ransom had given you for your birthday. The dainty gold ‘R’ charm was between your thumb and index finger as your leg bounced while you stared at the untouched feast.

Your father had excused himself, saying he had an emergency video conference for work. You and your mother rolled your eyes as he rushed off. You both knew it wasn’t for work. Enraged, your mother stalked off, glass full of chardonnay in one hand, the bottle in the other.

You didn’t know what you expected. It was like this every holiday – your parents made no exception. You stared at the turkey before you. Your parents didn’t even last to meal itself.

Frustrated, you decided to wrap everything up and packed them into take-home bags. You knew your parents probably wouldn’t eat the leftovers, so you thought about donating the feast to the foodbank. You could drop it off on your way home.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket. You dug it out and smiled upon seeing Ransom’s name.

Surviving? Because I’m not.

You chuckled. Suck it up, Drysdale. It’s Thanksgiving.

If I have to spend one more minute with these assholes, I’m going to throw myself down the stairs.

No exaggeration.

Before you could respond, you heard your mother call for you. Her glass was empty, and she was staggering into the kitchen, clearly drunk. You wondered if she drank the whole bottle.

“What the hell are you doing? Where’s the food?” She slurred.

You gestured to the packed meals. “I was wrapping them up because no one was eating.” You decided not to tell her about donating them. Lord forbid that you tried to be a decent human and help those less fortunate than you.

Your phone buzzed again. You gave it a quick glance.

Heading home now. They’re gonna give me an aneurysm.

How’s dinner?

“Why would you do that?” Her brows furrowed, but with her Botox, it made no wrinkles appear on her aging face. She put her hands on her his, the glass nearly slipping from her loose fingers. She was an angry drunk. She always was.

You wanted to say that she and your father ruined Thanksgiving. If they’d only just sit down and eat and pretend they were normal for thirty god damn minutes. But every year, that was never the case. You were always disappointed. “I can unpack it if you want.”

“Your father is an asshole.”

“You could’ve left him years ago,” you muttered.

She didn’t hear you. “How’s the job?”

“Good.” You said as you began to unpack some stuffing. Get some food in her since she was already full of alcohol.

“I don’t know why you decided business was for you,” she let out a long sigh. “Just like your father.”

“I don’t like setting up events. PR’s not my thing,” you tried to joke, topping it off with a forced laugh.

She set down her empty glass and flicked her hair off her shoulder. “Could always work for me, sweetheart. I need a new assistant.”

“I’m fine. Thanks, ma.”

“No, for real, sweetie,” she insisted. “I’d love for you to work for me. That’s every girl’s dream. Work for their mother.” You frowned. I don’t think that’s it, you thought.

“I’d rather not be tied to this family any more than I am,” you muttered. This time she heard you.

An exaggerated offended noise came from her lips as she stared at you with her jaw dropped. “Don’t be an ungrateful little bitch.” She spat. “That’s why you never do anything right and that’s why you’re unmarried, unloved, and unhappy.”

“I’m unhappy?” You laughed mockingly. “I’m not the one trapped in a marriage to man that constantly cheats on me. In fact, I’m ecstatic that I’m nothing like you or dad. I’m buzzing with jubilation.” You couldn’t stop yourself. You knew you were worsening the situation.

“You’re a vile bitch that’s gonna end up alone.” They were drunken words. You knew that. But it didn’t stop it from hurting.

You didn’t bother to respond. You chewed on the flesh inside your cheek before turning away and rushing out to your car. You cursed yourself for leaving the food. It would be trash tomorrow. Wasted. Stray tears rolled down your face and you wiped them away aggressively as you drove.

Being alone was something you should’ve been accustomed to already. In fact, you were. You were an only child, had friends that never bothered to ask if you were okay, nannies that cared more about your dad than taking care of you, parents who didn’t even remember your birthday unless they were reminded by their assistants. You knew how to be alone. You were so good at it.

And that frightened you.

You didn’t want to be alone. You craved affection, companionship, love. You wanted that for yourself. But despite all the luxuries you were granted throughout your life, that was one luxury that you desperately wanted but seemingly would never receive.

You felt your anger bubbling inside of you. A pressure started building in your head – steam that needed to be released.

Luckily, you knew where to go.

-=+=-

The holidays were a particularly hard time for both of you and Ransom. Your families demanded your attendances at events, so you both were always forced to come see the very people you loathe the most. Throughout the years of your friendship, it became a tradition to check up on each other as you spent time with your … “loved” ones.

It was a sanity check – something to keep you both grounded. He had a big family, so he could talk shit about them for hours. You loved to read the messages he’d send you.

But this time, he had sent you several messages that you hadn’t responded to. He began to worry until he heard a car door slam in his driveway. You let yourself in. You had a spare key.

“Ransom!” You called out.

“Bedroom!” He responded. He paused the movie he was watching just as you walked through his already open door.

There was something wrong. It was written all over your face. He didn’t need to ask you if you were alright. He knew you weren’t. So, instead he patted the empty side of his bed, inviting you to come lay down with him. But you had a different type of lay in mind.

“How hard is your dick right now?” You asked, bluntly, as you shrugged off your jacket and tossed it to the floor.

A smirk crept its way to Ransom’s face. “Come here and find out.”

You kicked off your shoes and shimmied out of your skinny jeans, leaving your legs exposed in only your plain, black panties. You climbed onto his bed and straddled his lap. You began to grind yourself to his growing erection. The friction stimulating both of you.

Ransom groaned as he watched you. His hands searched his sheets until he found the remote. With clumsy fingers, he managed to turn the TV off and toss the remote to the edge of the bed. He heard it fall, but he was too preoccupied with the gorgeous woman grinding her pussy on his slacks to even care.

“Let’s take this off, hm?” Ransom asked, fiddling with the hem of your blouse.

“Show me yours and I’ll show you mine,” you teased, stopping your movements.

“You’re childish,” Ransom chuckled, his tongue grazed the back of his teeth. He gave your ass a sharp slap. “I didn’t tell you to stop.”

“You aren’t the boss of me, Drysdale.”

He quirked up an amused eyebrow as if to say we’ll see before he pulled your top off your body. You were now sitting on top of him almost nude in your matching bra and underwear. You returned the favor, pulling off the hole-ridden baby blue sweater and exposing his body to you.

Your hands explored his chiseled chest and stomach. Hard as marble, but not nearly as hard as his cock beneath you, begging to be released from its confinements. You shifted down a bit so that you could undo his belt, but his hands stopped you. He grabbed your wrists and you frowned at him.

“What?” You snapped with furrowed brows.

“We’re on the same page?” Ransom asked you. He was concerned. Sure, this almost friends-with-benefits arrangement was years old at this point, but he still wanted to make sure you wanted this. He always asked before anything got too far.

“Please, Ranson…” your voice nearly cracked. He stared into your eyes and despite the lust being evident in your blown-out pupils – he was sure his mirrored the look – he saw the light red lines, an indicator that you were crying. “I need it.”

“Okay,” he nodded and let go of your wrists. Without hesitation, you began to expertly undo the belt and unbutton his pants. With his help, you were able to successfully pull down his slacks and left him in his boxer briefs. The tent inviting. Before you could reach into his underwear and pull out his friend, he flipped you over. You squealed in surprise as your back was pressed into his bed. “You need it, baby?” You nodded. “Okay… I’ll think about being nice.”

“Ransom,” you whined.

His fingers lightly traced the sides of your body. You shivered at his touch. You took it upon yourself to arch your back so that you could unclasp your bra. You threw it away, exposing your chest to your best friend who groaned.

“God, I love these.” He muttered.

His hands cupped your breasts, toying with them. His fingertips tweaking at the nipples as he ground his desire to yours. Ransom leaned down and latched his mouth onto one of your nipples. His tongue swirling around the skin as he sucked it until it pebbled. He then switched to the other. He’d also take a break from your nipples just to leave stray hickeys all over your chest, collarbones, and neck. He loved marking you up. Whilst his mouth continued its assault on your chest, one of his hands slipped into your panties and began to explore your wet folds.

And slowly, Ransom started to make his way down your body, leaving wet kisses on your skin. He kissed right on top of your underwear before slowing pulling the black fabric down your legs. You lifted your hips to assist. Once they were off, you instinctively bent your knees as Ransom pulled them apart and leaned down to give your pussy a broad tongued lick.

You used to be insecure of the stretchmarks on your thighs. When you and Ransom first started having sex, you were afraid he would find them unappealing – that it would turn him off. But your best friend assured you that every part of your body – including the flaws – were beautiful. “Nothing about you could ever turn me off, (Y/N),” a younger Ransom scoffed. The present Ransom, the one who was about to eat you out like a Thanksgiving meal, couldn’t agree more. (He’d often joke and say you ruined other women for him).

You were a moaning mess as Ransom’s fingers pulled your lips open to expose your clit to his tongue. He looked up at you from his position and the sight of you with your eyes closed in a blissful trance alone could’ve made him cum on the spot. His tongue swirled around your button in tiny, circular motions before slipping his tongue into your slickening channel.

“Oh my god,” you moaned. “Ransom, Ransom!” It was music to his ears.

He ate you out slowly, relishing in your taste. Ransom took pride in your reactions. You had one hand clasping the ‘R’ charm around your neck and the other lost in his hair. He smirked into you as he watched you wither in pleasure as he used his fingers to tease your opening. When you began to buck into his face, he used his other hand to hold down your waist, keeping your hips still for his assault.

You clenched around his fingers. “Ransom… I’m close… oh, my god,” you warned. Ransom grunted, taking great pleasure from eating you out. “Don’t stop, don’t stop,” you begged. He pressed two fingers deep inside of you, curling them and stroking your walls. He buried his face deeper into your dripping cunt and stared up as you came. He wished he could have your reactions of video. The sounds you made were porn worthy and he would’ve loved to have his own private collection.

He stroked you as you rode out your high. You were breathless as your eyes slowly fluttered open, staring up onto the ceiling. “You with me?” Ransom smirked as he stripped his underwear and stroked his hard cock. You nodded. You reached out for him and he gladly leaned down to let you wrap your arms around his broad shoulders.

“I want you to fuck me until I’m stupid,” you whispered. “Only thing I wanna remember is your name.”

Ransom almost frowned. Your parents must’ve really done a number on you this time. In the years that this arrangement had been established, Ransom would – 9 times out of 10 – be the one to initiate the stress relieving sex. But he was more than happy to oblige.

“Your wish is my command, baby,” he muttered, nipping at the skin of your neck before pushing into you.

In one hard thrust, he pushed his entire length into you. You winced when you felt him brush against your cervix. His thrusts were sharp and hard. You’ve had enough sex with each other to know the various spots that made one another tick. Ransom was eager to give you another orgasm – he got off on it.

The shifts of his hips were deliberate, bringing your legs up to drape over his shoulders. He hit spots deep inside of you that you never knew existed before you had sex with him. Your hands were searching for something to hold, something to occupy themselves with. Ransom leaned over, folding you in half, as he took your hands in his, interlacing your fingers while he pounded into you.

You gushed around his thick cock, another orgasm being pulled from you unexpectedly. You moaned his name over and over. “Yeah, baby? Only I make you feel like this, huh?” he grunted. “You take my dick so well. Only you do that, baby.”

You moaned in response, no tangible sentences could even form. His name was the only thing you could say. Your brain effectively melting as you requested.

“I’m gonna make you cum over and over for me.”

He made good on that promise. You lost count of how many times Ransom had made you cum. You had no idea where he got the stamina. But he fucked you through orgasm after orgasm. You fell apart so many times only for him to put you back together.

The obscene sounds that came from your heated core were accompanied by a symphony of moans and the slapping of skin.

“Ugh,” you moaned after what felt like your 6th orgasm of the night. “I love you, Ransom,” you moaned out, and it was the truth. In your fucked-out state, you confessed the three words that you both were too afraid to tell each other. But Ransom smiled, his thrusts becoming less rhythmic. He was about to cum.

He leaned down and captured your lips, groaning into you as he found his release inside of you. The warm feeling spreading throughout your body as you kissed back. Your lips melting into each other, eager and hungry. It was years in the making.

Ransom pulled away first and pulled out of you. You winced and whimpered upon feeling the emptiness. Your mixed fluids slowly trickled out of you and onto the bed, but neither of you minded. You were both too tired.

Ransom slumped beside and you naturally snuggled into his side. By this time Ransom would’ve offered to help clean you, knowing your legs would be like jelly, he’d walk you to the bathroom. But he wanted to enjoy your shared afterglow as he pulled you over his body so that you were resting on his chest. Both of you were panting, lungs trying to pace themselves.

You slowly began to feel the fear settle in.

Ransom was your best friend. The one constant thing in your life. The only stability you had. Your place of comfort. And you’ve ruined it. You said it. The three words. The feeling that’s been building up for years. You scolded yourself for saying it so recklessly.

You’ve done it. You’ve toppled your tower again. Your fingers played with the ‘R’ charm on your necklace again. A nervous habit it seemed.

“I love you, (Y/N),” he whispered in the darkness. He kissed the top of your head as he wrapped his arms tighter around you.

And then a feeling of ease settled upon you. A smile on your face as you realized the tower didn’t fall… not yet. But even if it did, Ransom would be there to help you rebuild. You weren’t alone.

#ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale imagine #chris evans x reader #chris evans #chris evans imagine #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers #smut #ransom drysdale smut #chris evans smut

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set-phasers-to-whump · 3 years ago

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beaten

prompt: beaten (from day 18)

whumpee: kurt wallander

fandom: young wallander

whats up! this is set at the end of episode two aka i am forever mad that they didn’t show kurt getting beat to shit! enjoy :)

“Excuse me. Kurt, is it?”

The man’s fist slams into his stomach once, twice, three times, knocking the air out of him. He reaches out a hand and grabs onto the man’s shoulder as his body slowly sinks down…

He’s been dragged outside, behind the club, and this is no longer a one-on-one situation. Four men surround him, including the one who had brought him out here. He’s trapped. The music from inside thumps loudly, and he thinks that even if he were to shout for help, nobody would hear him. He figures he ought to try and say something, end this before it begins, although he’s pretty sure there’s only one way this goes.

Sure enough, just as he opens his mouth to say something - what, he doesn’t know, he hasn’t gotten that far yet - the same man from before punches him in the stomach again, and he tries to double over in pain but is shoved back up by one of the other men, who aims a punch at his head.

Knuckles collide with his temple, and there’s a horrible scraping feeling courtesy of the ring on the man’s index finger. Kurt’s head snaps sharply to the side, and he cries out in pain. The man who’s just punched him laughs. “You’ve got worse coming,” he says, smiling.

The next punch is to his nose. It doesn’t break, Kurt is reasonably sure, but it starts bleeding almost immediately and it makes his eyes water and it hurts so much more than the previous punches had, and there’s blood dripping down the lower half of his face and some of it gets into his mouth and he feels sick.

The hits keep coming after that, relentlessly. The men focus their attention on his face, which Kurt is in some bizarre way thankful for. So far, his stab wound is unharmed, which is quite shocking but extremely good. Kurt really doesn’t need to be doing any more bleeding than he is already doing.

So punch after punch hits his face - his forehead, his nose, his cheeks, underneath his jaw...each gets hit multiple times. Sometimes, there’s blood. He feels a cut open below his left eye, another on the side of his nose, one high on his forehead. Blood drips steadily down his face and mixes with tears.

At first, he cries out with every hit, but as time goes on he just...stops. It never stops hurting, but in some bizarre way he grows almost used to it. His head is constantly spinning and there’s blood dripping from everywhere and his ears are ringing and he can’t see straight and he just wants it all to be over.

Eventually, it is. A particularly hard punch to the side of his face makes him see stars, and everything goes sort of blurry around the edges, and the men’s voices sound like they’re underwater, and then he’s on the ground?

He doesn’t remember falling, but his body does. It aches all over and his palms sting from their impact with the asphalt. He looks up and sees the blurry shapes of the four men clustered around him. His ears are still not working quite right and he can’t understand what they’re saying, but there are some gestures and some nodding and a decision seems to have been reached and Kurt just lies there and hopes that they aren’t going to kill him.

The men move, then, and Kurt sees two of them walk away, back into the club. The other two are still above him, and then one of them is grabbing his hands and dragging him along the ground. He tries to lift his head so that it doesn’t get scraped up on the asphalt, but he’s too weak. His hair catches on the ground and every little bump he hits sends a ripple of pain through his head and then through the rest of his body. It hurts and he feels so strange and disconnected from his surroundings but at the same time hyperaware of his own body, and especially of the feeling of tacky blood on his face. The nighttime sky blurs and spins above him and he wonders if he will see the day again.

He’s stopped moving. That takes a moment to process, and he doesn’t know what it means - why have they stopped? Where are they? It’s too dark and his vision is too messed up and he doesn’t know. They could have dragged him right out of the city, for all he knows.

He hears something, a familiar kind of sound that his brain can’t quite place. And then one of the men is grabbing him and lifting him up, rough and ignorant of his aching body, and he’s dropped carelessly down onto something that is so much softer than the hard and uneven ground, and for a moment Kurt just relaxes into it. And then there are some more familiar yet unplaceable noises, and then he’s moving, and Kurt realizes he’s in a car. He wonders what that means, but finds he doesn’t really care. His head hurts too much, both on the outside where he’s cut and scraped and probably bruised all to hell, and on the inside, where his brain feels like it’s been put through a washing machine. The rest of him hurts, too, more of the same scrapes and aches, and he is absolutely exhausted, and the seat of this car is the softest thing he has ever felt in his whole life, and he closes his eyes.

thanks sm for reading this! sorry its a bit short but i hope you enjoyed :)

#summerofwhump #summerofwhump18 #beaten #beat up #young wallander #kurt wallander #i say things #my writing #its the weekend babes! so excited to sleep past 6 and not do shit!

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fumiko-matsubara · 4 years ago

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Expectations and Fantasies

“You know…” Kaho suddenly started, absentmindedly playing with the bending straw that she had used for her now finished iced-tea.

Sitting across the table before her, Ryuunosuke perked up at her voice, tearing his gaze off his phone screen. He slightly tilted his head in mild curiosity, with his usually sharp eyes opened wide, blinking owlishly after. “Yeah?” He gently prompted, his initially surprised face slowly contorting into a soft smile.

Kaho bit the insides of her left cheek as she silently stared back at him. It had been a few months since they had formally met, and yet, she couldn’t really see herself getting used to the stark contrast between DREAM’s wild lead guitarist Ryuunosuke and the Ryuunosuke who was softly smiling at her as he waited for her to continue.

They began hanging out outside the live house every other day after the rain had stopped pouring. It was surprisingly Ryuunosuke’s idea, saying something along the lines of “wanting to stray away from the stress of school and having to constantly put up with Eiji’s bullshit,” which was totally valid and she completely agreed that he really needed to take a break. But she couldn’t help but to wonder why he wanted to spend his break with her, as delighted as she felt when she first received the offer. She supposed that he had plenty of friends outside the band that he could’ve asked instead. Like Miki, for example, as they seemed to be close enough to casually hang out together all the time.

Speaking of Miki, the stylist had been particularly excited when she heard the news (which also made Kaho wonder why Ryuunosuke felt the need to inform her about it, but she decided that it's a concern she could ponder over at another time), that she took it upon herself to pick out outfits for both of them, even having them pose together for a picture once she was done. The memory of Miki going over to her home and practically raiding her closet was still fresh on Kaho's mind. She assumed that Miki was just enthusiastic since the hang out was just a rare opportunity for her to style two people who she (legit) made her personal models in the same setting.

But the way the stylist came about it made Kaho think it was for a different reason, and the thought itself made her feel extremely giddy the first time she realized it.

Who could blame her though? Spending the whole day together, with Ryuunosuke planning where they would go, while wearing seemingly matching outfits to boothー if the whole situation was taken out of context, it almost looked like they were on a date.

Kaho blinked, snapping out of her thoughts. Now is not the time to start fantasizing! Especially since she had yet to know the reason why she was the one who Ryuunosuke invited of all the people he knew.

Her eyes briefly darted between Ryuunosuke's eyes and the straw she had been playing with. Perhaps he wouldn't mind it if she asked him, right?

"For some reason," she finally continued after a minute of pausing. She leaned towards the table, resting her chin onto her free palm, as her other hand was still preoccupied with the bending straw she's playing with. "When the person I had a crush on also began to take interest in me and asked me out, that crush I had just vanishes completely as if I never had one in the first place."

Wait, what?

Kaho immediately lifted her head, her eyes widening in alarm. 'Idiot! You're supposed to ask him why he's interested in hanging out with you, not talk about people who're interested in you!'

She mentally sighed, her lips slowly contorting into a tight smile. 'Whatever, the topic's not too far off. I can just find an opening to ask him later.'

She returned her gaze back to Ryuunosuke, only to see him eyeing her in surprise. He probably wasn't expecting that crushes would be the first thing they would talk about to strike up another conversation, thirty minutes after their last one.

"It's weird, right?" Kaho nervously laughed.

At her voice, Ryuunosuke suddenly blinked, as if he was just snapping out of his reverie. "I don't think it is." He answered.

He then gave her yet another soft smile. "You probably just enjoy doing the chasing and that's not weird at all."

"Probably…" Kaho trailed off, staring down at her bending straw in thought. She didn't think of it that way and, in a way, it does make sense. After pondering over it for a few moments, she locked eyes with Ryuunosuke once again.

"There's also the fact that, once that person began noticing and showing more of their personality to me, I tend to get disappointed because they're usually far from what I've fantasized about them," she explained softly, proceeding to twirl a lock of her hair with her index finger.

"And that really rubs me off the wrong way for some reason…" she sighed.

It took Ryuunosuke a few seconds of staring into space before he mouthed a big 'oh' when he understood what she was saying. "Ahh… it's that kind of disappointment."

"But romantic fantasies are usually just like that, especially if it's towards a person whose personality is what you've hardly known about them." He briefly quirked an eyebrow at her in mild confusion, likely wondering why she was making a big deal out of it. "And that's pretty normal, actually. Nothing weird about that at all."

"I see…" Kaho trailed off. Somehow, that made her feel slightly better, even when it wasn't her main concern in the first place. She discreetly smiled at that.

Ryuunosuke leaned back to his seat and faced the ceiling. "Though, it makes me wonder why you dated Maehara…" he softly muttered, but mostly to himself.

However, Kaho managed to pick that up and let out a gasp, her eyes wide opened in surprise. "Huh?"

"Ah w-what?" Ryuunosuke suddenly jolted when he realized that he said that outloud and was heard. He quickly tore off his gaze from the ceiling and looked at her in alarm, his eyes opened just as wide and in panic.

"I-I'm sorry! I didn't mean to say that!" He hastily apologized.

Kaho quickly snapped out of her surprise and shook her head in response. "Ah no no, it's okay! You're not overstepping anything since it's not that personal."

She then smiled at him reassuringly. "Also, we're both on good terms now, so you don't have to dodge the topic."

Ryuunosuke hesitantly eyed her, his eyebrows furrowed. "...are you sure?" He gently asked.

Kaho let out a hum with a smile in response, nodding her head almost eagerly.

That seemed to reassure him enough to relax his tense posture. He let out a long relieved smile.

"I see… That's good then."

Kaho smiled at him in mild amusement. Sometimes he can be too caring that he tends to worry for the smallest reasons, but she supposed that it's one of his charms. "So what were you about to ask?"

"Ah, it's just that…" Ryuunosuke slightly shifted in his seat. "I don't want to make it seem like I was trying to get something out of you…"

Kaho shook her head. "I'm telling you, it's fine."

"Well, if you insist." Ryuunosuke sighed, leaning towards the table. "Now where was I..?" He rested his chin onto the back of his hand, briefly looking up at the ceiling in thought. "You had a crush on him first, right? And he was the one who asked you out?"

"Uh huh!" Kaho answered, but mostly to confirm that he remembered it right, as she had already told him that herself a while back.

"Since that was the case, he must've felt the same way as you do then." He then returned his gaze towards her. "So why did you date him?"

For a brief moment, they stared at each other's eyes, unblinking.

"Well…" It was Kaho's turn to look up at the ceiling in thought, breaking off the eye contact. "In Maehara's case, when I used to have a huge crush on him, even with just watching him from afar, it didn't take me long to figure out the general idea of what kind of person he is," she answered truthfully, letting out a giggle. "It's mostly because he's very upfront."

Ryuunouske chuckled in amusement at that. "You're not wrong. That guy's personality just screams loudly even from a distance." He mused.

Kaho grinned. "Right? So when we began dating and that I'm seeing more of his personality, I wasn't even the least disappointed since he's exactly as how I imagined him to be." Her grin then softened. "Like even just when he suddenly asked me out, I was already seeing parts of his personality at that moment. So I said yes."

She returned her gaze back to Ryuunosuke, only to see him gazing softly back at her, the softness in his smile matching his eyes.

"That's really nice… you must've had a great time with him then, huh?"

Kaho nodded. "Yeah, he's a really good guy."

"Even with what went down last month, which sadly didn't end well at that time, it doesn't change the fact that I genuinely enjoyed his company when we were still together." She admitted with a small smile.

"Good for you, then." Ryuunosuke's soft expression then brightened. "I'm glad you're taking it well."

After a few seconds of comforting silence, Kaho also leaned towards the table. She then also rested her chin onto the back of her hand, a rather mischievous glint evident in her eyes. "So, what about you then?"

Ryuunosuke stiffened. "Eh?"

"It's kind of unfair if I'm only the one who talks about things like this, you know?" Kaho mused, smirking.

Ryuunosuke faltered at that. "W-well thats…"

"Oh, come on! Don't be shy~" Kaho grinned teasingly. "What's Ryuunosuke like when he has a crush on someone?" She prodded further, leaning towards him.

Ryuunosuke leaned away and turned to the side, avoiding her gaze at all cost. "The thing is… I don't really get crushes…" He hesitantly admitted.

"Really?" Kaho's teasing smile quickly turned into a confused frown. That was very surprising. "Seriously? Not even once?"

Ryuunosuke turned back to face her again, albeit a bit slowly. "Perhaps I did…" He finally said after a moment of hesitation. "But then again, I could just be confusing it with admiration or respect." He gazed downwards, stroking his chin with his fingers in deep thought.

"Wait." Kaho raised an eyebrow at him. "Who are we talking about here?"

He looked up at her. "It's Ayaka." He nonchalantly admitted.

"Ohh!" Kaho mused at that. It makes sense if she thought about it. They've known each other for three years and have been working together to keep the band going. Surely there are plenty of things that Ryuunosuke would notice about the older girl. "Well, I can't blame you on that. That senpai is hella pretty and smart."

"Hell yeah, she is." Ryuunosuke almost immediately agreed with her and Kaho had to briefly wonder why he sounded so passionate just then. "To be honest with you, it's kind of pissing me off actually." He then admitted.

Kaho chuckled in amusement. "And why is that?"

"Like, think about it. She's pretty, she's smart, fairly popular, and she can pull off any kind of clothing no matter how questionable her fashion sense is!" He exclaimed frustratingly.

"Anything about her personality, though?" Kaho asked, raising an eyebrow.

Ryuunosuke quickly dropped his frustrated expression, staring at her dryly instead in response.

"That's not a good trait." He deadpanned.

"Oi, don't let her hear you say that!"

He waved her off, though. "Not to mention, she's good at biology. That one is really unfair."

"Well, I'm not that good at biology myself, but is that really something you should be mad about the most?" Kaho asked, resting her cheek onto both of her palms.

"Yes?" Ryuunosuke raised an eyebrow at her incredulously. "You know what? She's just probably on my mind because I'm jealous of her." He decided.

"Oh really?" Kaho mused.

Ryuunosuke stubbornly nodded. "Yeah! I mean, of course, I still have my respect for her. But every time I think about Ayaka, the first emotion I feel is always jealousy." He crossed his arms and let out a small huff. "I'm probably just jealous."

Kaho just chuckled at him in pure amusement.

The topic had swerved off enough that there's no point in trying to find an opening to ask him that question, anyways. But Ryuunosuke was becoming more talkative, so Kaho couldn't really bring herself to suddenly switch topics, which can clearly throw him off, as evident as what happened earlier.

For now, she should just enjoy the passionate performance that's being presented right in front of her, seeing as there's not a hint of when Ryuunosuke will stop rambling at this point.

She can just ask him at another time.

My other ChiHo works: Masterlist

#I've had this in my drafts for months now #and i forgot if I was planning to continue writing this or if I'm already done with it 💀#so yeah I decided to just post it ahaha #assassination classroom #ansatsu kyoushitsu #chiba ryuunosuke #ryuunosuke chiba #tsuchiya kaho #kaho tsuchiya #chiho #my writing #Ryuu: that should be believable enough... right? I'm really hoping that ayaka wouldn't learn I just used her as a scapegoat.....

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adiwriting · 4 years ago

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Sunday Mornings 4/?

Notes: While this is the 4th ficlet in this verse, it’s technically the first thing I wrote for this verse. I was working to fill a prompt “watching them sleep” and it got away from me like most things. So I’m excited to finally get to post this part. It’s my personal favorite so far, so I hope you all enjoy! <3

Now on AO3

Week 4:

The feeling of the sun warming his face slowly pulls Alex out of a blissful dream. Not quite ready to move his body yet, he turns his head to the nightstand and opens his eyes. It’s 5:55am. He’s tired, sure, but years in the military have taught him that attempting to go back to sleep now is futile. His body is wired to be up between 0500 and 0600 everyday, no matter how little sleep he got the night before.

He yawns and turns his head to look at the source of his exhaustion. He can’t help but smile at the sight of his boyfriend. Michael spent the night last night, as he has most nights since they got back together a month ago. In fact, the only reason Michael isn’t in his bed every night can really only boil down to a stupid comment Maria had made about them moving in together. Michael still feels enough guilt over their breakup to have insisted that they are most certainly not living together. Alex would be mad at him for the entire thing, but he can’t bring himself to be. One, he too still feels how awkward things are with Maria and he loves her enough to want to be sensitive, even if she hadn’t always been sensitive towards him. And two… Michael can say he’s not living here all he wants, but the evidence speaks for itself.

Michael’s black cowboy hat is hung on the hook on the door, where Alex used to hang his favorite Air Force hoodie. The same hoodie that now permanently rests on the back of the couch because Michael always wears it like a blanket when they watch movies together. There is an ever growing pile of change accumulating on the dresser from where Michael regularly empties his pockets when he comes in to change out of his jeans. Next to Alex’s bottles of lotions and various meds is a bottle of warming gel that Michael uses whenever his hand acts up. Hanging up in the closet are several of Michael’s clothes that Alex put there when he’d pulled his laundry out the other day and realized that half of the clothes were Michael’s rather than his own. Over by the full length mirror is a pile of the only 3 pairs of shoes that Michael owns.

No. Michael doesn't live here. His things have just been slowly taking over Alex’s space… And Alex loves it.

He bought this house last year and fell in love with its character, but it hadn’t really started to feel like home to him until the day there were two toothbrushes by the sink instead of one.

Alex stretches carefully and tries not to groan at the way his shoulders pop. His body is particularly achy today, which he equates to a combination of lack of sleep and the enthusiasm that they’d gone at it last night. He’s going to have to talk Michael into a massage later.

Once his body is decently stretched out — or at least as stretched out as it can be without waking Michael — Alex rolls over onto his side to watch his boyfriend properly.

Michael is always beautiful. It’s a fact. But the truth is, there’s something particularly entrancing about the way the morning sun hits Michael’s tanned skin. Alex allows himself to stare in a way he can’t get away with when Michael is awake. Not without Michael teasing him for it.

He starts with his hair. Frizzy and all over the place. A combination of Alex’s hands constantly threading through and pulling whenever they have sex and the fact that Michael moves when he sleeps. A lot. The sun makes his hair glow like a halo, which is all too fitting. He reaches out and gently pulls a curl away from Michael’s face so that he can focus his attention there next.

Alex watches the quick, constant movement of Michael’s eyes underneath his lids. He’s always thinking. Calculating. Planning. Inventing. When they were kids, Michael told him that his head was constant chaos that only music could quiet. Knowing what he knows about Michael’s past, he can see why Michael had chosen that word. But chaos doesn’t describe Michael’s brain. Not anymore. He’s just brilliant. He’s wicked smart and never stops thinking. Michael processes information at an inhuman rate, which Alex would equate to his alien DNA if he didn’t know that neither Max or Isobel share in his genius level intellect.

It’s not rare for Michael to wake up in the middle of the night having somehow solved some complicated problem in his sleep. It’s why Alex had started to keep a journal on Michael’s side of the bed, so that he won’t have to get up at 3am and tear the house apart looking for paper so he could write down whatever complex equation he’s just solved.

Alex runs his fingers across Michael’s forehead gently. He loves that brain. He firmly believes that Michael could solve the world’s biggest problems if he tried. And though Alex won’t risk the fight by bringing it up, he seriously hopes that Michael gets his degree one day so that the world can benefit from his genius. Roswell is too small for a brain like Michael’s.

Alex traces the line of his nose and bites back a giggle when Michael scrunches it up in response. He’s so adorable at times that Alex truly marvels that anyone can honestly believe his tough guy act. Michael is so soft and tender with Alex. Even when they weren’t together and every other word out of Michael’s mouth was a sarcastic dig meant to goad Alex into a fight, Alex had always been able to see the vulnerability in Michael’s eyes. It was part of what sent Alex running so often. He always had a genuine fear of breaking and in turn, getting broken.

His palm moves to cradle Michael’s cheek and Michael’s head leans into the touch, turning his head to kiss his palm. Even in sleep, Michael is constantly seeking him out. It’s moments like this that make Alex question how he ever felt insecure about Michael’s feelings. Maybe if he had just trusted in their love earlier…

“Stop. Sleep,” Michael grumbles, seemingly cutting off his anxiety spiral before it could even start.

“I’m not tired,” he teases, but Michael is silent, having already fallen back asleep.

Alex’s hand drifts down to Michael’s neck and he cringes when he notices a bruise to the right of his collarbone that wasn’t there yesterday. Alex has always been incredibly careful about hickeys. He’d had to be. And by the time he’d felt safe enough to risk it, he was at an age where it was no longer socially acceptable. Thankfully, this one should be mostly hidden once Michael puts on a shirt, so hopefully he won’t be too annoyed with Alex.

His hand travels down Michael’s chest. He stares at the dark hair, one of the most noticeable changes from when they were seventeen. Alex hasn’t been with a lot of men, but virtually all of the ones he’s been with manscape. Which is fine. It’s understandable. It’s not like anybody wants to worry about hair in their mouth when they are kissing their way down someone’s chest. But damn, there’s something about the dark hair on Michael’s tanned chest that always gets him going.

It’s unfair really, because it means that Alex is pretty much always turned on whenever Michael is shirtless. Which is all of the time. The man has some kind of personal problem with wearing shirts.

He drags his index finger through the darker patch of hair on his stomach and he feels Michael’s muscles tense under his touch. Before Alex’s hand can dip under the sheet currently protecting Michael’s modesty, the man grumbles something incoherent and rolls over onto his stomach, snuggling into Alex’s side.

Alex sinks back into the pillow, his one arm pinned under Michael’s head. He moves his free hand up to play with Michael’s hair. Michael hums in content, but doesn’t say anything more or do anything to signal that he’s truly awake. Alex closes his eyes and tries to relax. While he isn’t likely to fall back asleep, that doesn’t mean he isn’t content to lay here for hours while his boyfriend does. This is the kind of stuff Sunday mornings are made for.

Isn’t this what Maroon 5 was getting at? Cause, yeah. Alex never wants to leave.

He buries his nose in Michael’s hair and breathes in deep, taking in the smell of rain and dollar store shampoo that is uniquely Michael. It smells like love and safety. Like home.

God, twelve years of loving this man and Alex didn’t think it was possible for that love to continue to crow. Each day he’s proven wrong. See, he’s starting to learn that these small moments together… the quiet unassuming moments… They are a thousand times more powerful than the big, dramatic moments that rom coms are made of. Because right here? At this moment? All he can think about is the ending of the stupid Grinch movie when his heart grows three times in size.

That’s how Michael makes him feel. Like his heart is constantly growing, aching with joy but always wonderfully welcome. Waking up next to Michael in the morning is one of those painfully sweet moments that pull at his heart. And maybe it won’t always feel like this. He hopes it does. He doesn’t want to get used to this, because he doesn’t ever want to stop realizing how lucky they are that they managed to come together after twelve years of will they won't they. Alex hopes he appreciates the magic of waking up next to Michael because he never wants to grow complacent in this relationship.

“You’re being creepy again, and it’s too early,” Michael grumbles, not even bothering to open his eyes. Instead he throws his leg over Alex’s hip in an attempt to snuggle even closer.

Alex rolls his eyes at the argument they have most mornings. “Why is it creepy?”

“Because you’re studying me like you’re plotting the best ways to murder me in my sleep.”

Alex laughs at that, shaking Michael who reaches out to pinch him in his side and demands he stop so that he can rest.

“No murder today,” he promises, kissing the top of his head.

Michael’s hand moves up to rest at his heart and Alex reaches out to grab at his wrist to keep his hand in place. “I love you.”

Michael does open his eyes for that. Alex meets his gaze and the only way he can describe the way Michael is staring at him is fond.

“I love you, too,” Michael says, lifting his head just long enough to kiss Alex. “Go back to bed.”

“We’re already in bed,” Alex teases, earning him another groan.

“Go back to sleep. And get better dad jokes before we have a kid, please.”

Michael bringing up a kid is enough to stop any teasing that Alex would have likely continued with. Though his stupid boyfriend clearly doesn’t realize the gravity of what he’s just said, because he’s already fallen back asleep. Alex can tell he’s not just faking it either because he’s lightly snoring in that way that Alex really shouldn’t find adorable but does.

Dad. Him.

It’s an interesting thought. One he honestly hadn’t considered. The thought of bringing another Manes into this world is frankly terrifying. Alex would be satisfied if the family name died out with him and his brothers. But thinking of having a child with Michael? A little Guerin baby?

Yeah, that thought gives him plenty to think about for the next two hours while Michael sleeps.

Tagged: @callieramics

As always if anyone wants to be tagged, let me know!

#roswell nm #roswell new mexico #Malex fic #malex #fic: sunday mornings #alex manes #michael guerin #fluff #domestic bliss

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minchanslut · 5 years ago

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Needs - Lee Minho

Pairing: Lee Minho x F!Reader

Word count: 1.2K

Despite others seeing Minho as a very straightforward and standoffish person, you knew first hand how caring he truly was. He was very attentive when it came to the needs of those he cared for, always making sure to provide any support when necessary. You were very well aware of this, yet there were still times when you wouldn’t seek out his help, particularly when it came to your sexual needs. His days would often be very long and he would arrive home with little to no energy and you simply couldn’t bring yourself to ask him to do something that required so much energy. “It would be too selfish.” you thought to yourself.

Minho once again returned home completely drained, announcing to you that he’d be off to bed as soon as he was done with his shower. You figured it would be too inconsiderate of you to even bring up the topic of sex while he was in his current state, and decided that you were better off taking care of your own needs.

You decided to take advantage of his exhaustion, knowing that once in bed, he would enter a deep slumber meaning you needn’t worry about waking him. 15 minutes after you had wished each other a good night, you glanced over at Minho, checking if he was truly asleep. And surely enough he was. His chest rose and fell softly in a rhythmic manner and his light snoring could be heard. Biting your lip softly you allowed your hand to travel down your loose pajama pants, pushing your panties aside. You sighed, though cautiously, as you slowly rubbed your middle finger up and down your slit, your thumb leisurely rubbing circles around your clit and soon you were able to slip a finger inside your aching pussy. Pushing your shirt out of the way and giving yourself access to your now exposed breasts, you took the liberty of rolling your hardened nipples between your thumb and index finger all while inserting another finger into your tight hole. Your mouth hung open as you pumped your fingers at an increasingly fast pace, your arousal evident by the wet sounds now filling the room. You screwed your eyes shut, imagining Minho’s hand slipping in and out of you, giving you what you had been craving so long. You were too deep in your trance to realise that your moans have progressively grown louder, so much so that they had woken Minho who now laid wide eyes beside you. Suddenly the room felt hot and Minho’s desire for you suddenly began to overpower his exhaustion.

You curled your fingers upwards slightly which resulted in you brushing against your g-spot. The sensation reminded you of how effortlessly Minho would have your legs shaking as his fingers repeatedly rubbed against your g-spot and you felt as if you would cum from the thought alone. Minho felt his cock twitch when he heard the words that came out of your mouth.

“Minho, faster please, please, I need you so bad.”

His smirk grew wider as he inched closer to you, stopping beside your ear and whispered a response to your previous request.

“I’m right here, baby. What do you need?.”

In an instant you retracted your hand from the confines of your pants as you shrunk away in embarrassment. Minho could only chuckle at your action as he repeated his question, this time adding to it.

“Why are you getting embarrassed, you looked sexy.”

Your cheeks began to heat up as you searched for an explanation and desperately attempted to speak a sentence that didn’t consist of stutters and half spoken words.

Minho’s hand found its way to your cheek, holding your face ever so carefully in his palms.

“Sweetheart, if you wanted to be intimate why didn’t you just say so?”

Finally feeling confident enough to speak properly yet not enough to catch his gaze, you replied

“I didn't want to bother you. I know you’ve been tired lately, so I thought I could take care of it myself.”

His hand migrated south, your chin now being held by his thumb and index fingers as he invited you to look up at him. You expected him to say something, but were instead met with his soft lips crashing into yours. The kiss remained delicate for quite a moment, his hands running up and down the exposed skin on your sides. He gently pushed you down onto the bed, frame hovering over you. He broke the kiss to allow himself to discard his shirt, but once he looked down at you, he couldn’t tear his eyes away. His hands returned to your sides, this time traveling down to your outer thighs, gently caressing the skin.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered “how did I ever get so lucky.”

His fingers hooked themselves underneath the waistband of your pants, you had lifted your hips briefly, allowing him to push them down. He ran a finger up your slit, hissing at how easily he could slip it inside. Minho moved away from in front of you in search of a condom, yet this didn’t stop him from teasing you with his playful words.

“Poor baby is so wet, you must really really need me.”

He dangled the small foil packet he had retrieved from the nightstand in front of you, before finally rolling the condom onto his stiff length and speaking once more.

“Well then, I’ll be happy to give you what you need.”

He positioned his tip at your entrance and slowly began sliding into you, allowing you to stretch around him before going any further. With his lips now on your neck, he began lovingly kissing the skin of the surrounding area, all while he put his hips to work, rocking back and forth and burying his cock deep inside you. Occasionally he would groan loudly, his teeth sinking into your supple skin in an attempt to suppress unnecessary sounds. You clawed at his back, whimpering at the sensation but still begging him to go faster. While your left hand found itself tangled in Minho’s hair, your right was busy rubbing circles around your clit, your pussy clenched around Minho’s dick which caused his knees to buckle. He never once stopped showering you in compliments, constantly repeating how stunning you are and how he couldn’t wait to see your gorgeous face as you came.

Your erratic breathing and unsynchronized movements told Minho that you were close and he encouraged you to cum. Almost as if begging yet still very stern, his words pushed you towards your orgasm. He kissed your lips as he helped you ride out your high, your body convulsing ever so slightly. Several other feathery kisses were planted onto your face, followed by a sea of compliments. Once he pulled out, your eyes fell onto the still empty condom and you almost immediately reached for his member with the intention of finishing him off. Minho politely turned you down stating that it wasn’t necessary and that he’d rather return to bed but that he “Just couldn’t miss a chance at making you feel good.”

You complained about how it was unfair to him and how you feel guilty, which he only laughed off as he pulled you in closer, your head now laying on his chest as he held you in a warm embrace.

“You have no reason to feel guilty, I love you and I wanted to help you feel good. You have nothing to worry about, but if you really wanna make it up to me, you can make me breakfast in the morning.”

#lee minho smut #skz smut #stray kids smut #skz lee minho smut #Skz Minho Smut #skz lee know smut #lee know smut #stray kids lee know smut #stray kids lee minho smut #skz minho #minho smut #skz scenarios #stray kids scenarios #skz hard hours

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howtowhumpyourhiccup · 4 years ago

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Winter Whumperland Day 3: Caught

Summary: Written for Winter Whumperland Day 3. Set in a Modern AU, follows up on Day 2 'Alone'. All alone in the middle of a forest covered by snow, Hiccup makes his escape during a trip. But what has lead up to this?

Rating: Mature

Characters: Hiccup, Viggo, Ryker

Pairing: Vigcup, past-Hiccstrid

Words: 4 376

Fandom: How to Train Your Dragon

Prompt: “Escape in the Snow”

Whumpee: Hiccup

Author’s Notes: From this point on, it's going to be confusing as events will not be told in order just because of the order of the prompts. At least from Day 3 through 7. I've never done anything like this before either, so this was an interesting project to work on.

Anyway constructive criticism is appreciated!

Enjoy!

@amonthofwhump

Ao3

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

The Grimborn Empire is a company that focuses mostly on export and import. They have centers where trucks load and unload their wares and they have ships and containers to bring those wares to other countries overseas. There are many, many employees working under the Grimborn name.

But the headquarters, so to speak, is a tall building that stands in the city of New New Berk and that is where Viggo works.

His office is on the top floor and overlooking the city. Though quite sparse, the interior is as fancy as one would imagine and screams CEO. At the desk Viggo usually sits, his back facing the large, thick windows that make up the wall behind him.

At the moment, however, he's facing one and stands there as a slow afternoon passes. Hands clasped behind him, he watches the traffic down below.

With no work needing to be done, he's waiting for a meeting that is supposed to start in another hour or so. He has a particular disdain for waiting and doing nothing, he's just wasting precious time that could be spent on something useful.

If it wasn't so short, he would've used it alright. He would've gone by the house and see how his little pet project is doing, but alas!

So instead he has to think smaller and ponder if he should tell his assistant to grab him a coffee. He would go down to the local coffee shop he used to frequent, but the one barista he liked in that establishment is no longer working there. So he doesn't see the point in going himself.

Turning away from the view, Viggo decides that's what he's going to do. He approaches his desk with the intention to press a button on his phone to call his assistant in. She should come stumbling in seconds later like a hen without her head, rightfully in a hurry if she wants to keep her job.

But it's as he leans forward, index finger hovering over the little button of doom that she so dreads to have him use, that something on his computer screen draws his attention.

An alert? Of what? And how long has that been there?

It's a little black popup on the bottom right and it's barely noticeable. It certainly hasn't drawn his attention.

With urgency does he pull his expensive leather desk chair back. Viggo takes a seat and rolls back in, taking the mouse and clicking on it.

It appears to him that someone is on his home computer. That in itself wouldn't necessarily send an alert to his device at work, but when someone enters a certain password to gain access to a place they aren't supposed to be in, well, then Viggo likes to know who.

There is no one in the office but him, so he feels safe enough to open up an app and a different window pops up. This one allows him to see who's using his home computer. It takes him a little while to find the right one, but he finds it.

When he sees it's Hiccup, he's somehow not surprised.

A deep scowl appears on his face and Viggo growls. This isn't the first time he's caught Hiccup breaking a rule behind his back, but this is one of the worst he could've broken. That boy never learns.

How long has he been searching through his stuff? He wishes that alert came with a timestamp or something to help him see it. He isn't a tech genius, that's for sure. And does Hiccup even know what he's looking at?

He looks much too focussed, eyes quickly moving across the screen with the speed you'd expect from someone with his brain. Viggo would've been enamored if he wasn't so alarmed.

But then he's torn out of his thoughts as he sees Hiccup visibly react to something he must've found. His reaction is terrible as he visibly reels from something Viggo cannot see.

He doesn't know what it is that Hiccup's found, the feed has no sound either, but Viggo can see him quickly unravel on screen and it's a joy to see.

The quick jerk of the chair backward, the disbelief, the tears in his eyes, the telltale shaking of his shoulders as he begins to sob, following by his hand covering his mouth and then his face he folds in on himself.

It's all on-screen and that means Viggo can see him sink further and further in his breakdown.

All he does is hum thoughtfully.

"I have to say, Hiccup, whatever you must be looking at, I think you deserve it."

However, this does present him with a big problem. Hiccup isn't a fool and Viggo won't be able to tell what he's found, what he's been looking at. He doesn't have a good view of how well Hiccup is with electronics either, though that he's made it this far is certainly telling.

This is troubling. And worse is, he'll have to tell Ryker and he'll be expected to make his final decision about the boy. Because it's been much too long already and Hiccup still hasn't learned his place.

Viggo sighs in agitation and leans back in his chair, gaze still on the screen.

"Well, well, well, you've been especially troublesome, my Dear Hiccup. But now you've really forced my hand."

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

"A trip?" Hiccup cautiously asks, looking up at Viggo from his seat at the table.

There's a brochure that's been shoved into his hands. It looks like it's somewhere far away from where they live now, far away from civilization as a whole. It's of a place in the mountains, somewhere snowy. Clearly the perfect place to go when someone has a stump for a leg.

With how isolated it is, he'll still be stuck with just Viggo and Ryker. They might be counting on his leg to keep him inside and that Hiccup will know better than to wander through the woods in the freezing cold.

"Yes, a trip. It's the 20th, that means the holidays are fast approaching and I desire a break from work." Viggo tells him and Hiccup almost dares to raise an eyebrow.

Viggo? A break from work? Yeah, when pigs fly.

This just makes this whole sudden trip all the more suspicious, however. Here's the thing, this brochure isn't promoting some lodge or a resort or anything one would go to for a holiday getaway. It's one made of a fishing town by the name of Newport, using its beautiful sights as a way to lure people in.

This isn't the kind of place most people would go to when they think "vacation" and certainly not Viggo Grimborn. So what is the true purpose of this?

Maybe he should ask something first.

"So what'll happen to me?" Hiccup asks, assuming that he won't be left behind to starve.

He could order takeout, though. Make a quick getaway with the pizza courier, but that's the kind of stuff that will only happen in comedy movies. He wishes he can watch one again someday.

Hiccup wants to chuckle, but he chokes his amusement.

"You'll come along, of course. I realize you haven't been outside much," At that Hiccup can't help but give Viggo a glare. It's one that says 'you mean not at all?' But when he returns it just as strong in warning, Hiccup has to do his part and avert his gaze.

His jaw is still blue from the other day and his hand still painful and blistered from the boiling water that ended up spilling in that confrontation.

"What I was trying to tell you is that we both need new surroundings and this way I can spend more time with you." Viggo continues and Hiccup feels like what he's spouting is bull. Ryker is rolling his eyes in the background so loudly they can almost hear it.

Whenever Viggo is home, Hiccup is either one of two things; Completely neglected or clung to constantly, like he has a needy child that won't leave him alone. There is no in-between and it was particularly bad in the beginning three months of his stay.

"What happens to..." Hiccup hesitates, trying to find the right word to use. "The family cat?"

He hopes his choice of words will bring the cat in question some favor. The cat is a two-month-old kitten, one Viggo bought him as a gift when she was a month old.

Well, as a gift and as leverage.

"She'll go someplace where they can take care of her, don't worry," Viggo answers before he downs his drink. If he didn't know any better, Hiccup wouldn't have worried when he told him not to.

Hiccup looks back down at the brochure, brows knitting together in worry.

There is not one part of this that isn't suspicious and he fears what he may find on this "trip".

No, wait. Maybe this isn't as bad as he thinks.

"I... look forward to it." Hiccup tells him without a smile or anything that could possibly be mistaken for enthusiasm. He couldn't fake it even if he tried.

Viggo is displeased with this, but at least he doesn't see this as an excuse to 'discipline' him.

"We're leaving tomorrow morning. Get started on dinner and pack after." He orders him and leaves, walking away from the table.

Hiccup watches him go before his eyes move to the text on the brochure.

This trip might not be such a bad thing. Because even though he'll be spending even more time with his abusers, leaving the premise means the invisible fences keeping him in will be down. The plan he's been working on to get help from the outside is going to be ruined, but maybe that's not so bad. Maybe it's not even necessary and he can finally see an opportunity to escape.

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

If you're as rich as Viggo Grimborn, chances are that you don't take any of the conventional means of travel.

Why take a public flight if you can use your personal boat to make the trip there? And unlike with a car, you don't need to stop at a restroom for gas, food, drinks, or a restroom.

And since the brothers are aware of his mother's dragon sanctuary and his affinity for dragons, the last thing they want is to energize him by putting him on a plane and bringing him the closest to flying that he's been since they picked him off the street that faithful night.

The joke's on them, however. The breeze blowing along the shore is enough to give him that high.

That's the thing with keeping someone like him confined to the house. The smallest gust of wind will invigorate him, the feeling the Grimborn Brothers wanted to suppress most.

Hiccup is leaning over the side of the boat, knees on some leather seats, trying to catch as much of the wind as he can. It combing through his hair feels like heaven to him and it's like it's telling him that it's missed him.

Viggo scowls deeply at the display.

"You know, if you want him to stop enjoying himself so much, you should tell him why we're really here," Ryker advises his younger brother from the steering wheel.

Viggo would tell him to keep his eye on where they're headed, but instead, he looks thoughtful.

They've already left, Hiccup can do no harm here. What's the worst he can do? Throw himself overboard and make things easier for them?

Besides, he doesn't have the heart to hurt someone, the cat has proven how soft he is. While packing, Viggo had to resort to smacking him just to quieten his endless questions about the place they were sending her to while they were away.

Frighteningly enough, a yet unbroken spirit caused Hiccup to glare back at him, Viggo remembers the look well. If it could kill, he'd be dead.

After everything that's been done to him, that will to fight that he's been carefully ripping out of him piece by piece is still there. The boy bounces back quickly, a concerning thing.

But cracks have formed, cracks that made him not lash back out after that smack.

They're almost there, they've almost broken him. That's why this getaway is so important.

So Viggo approaches.

"Henry." Hiccup is torn out of his thoughts of his Bud by a name that isn't his and he tenses up immensely.

It's a cover name because unusual names like his tend to be more memorable than one as simple and common as that.

For as much trouble as his birth name has given him growing up, he prefers it greatly over whatever name Viggo has given him.

Plus, he knows it's just another method. He's changed his clothing, his eating habits, everything down to what brand he brushes his teeth and washes his hair with. So what is a name change?

"... Yes?" Still Hiccup responds, not feeling like getting hit again. The bruise on his jaw is still far from fading and there are many more beneath his clothes. His ribs hurt when he breathes too deeply. Just bruised, most likely.

But he must've not responded in the correct tone, with the correct face, or maybe he just took too long. Because he's smacked on the back of his head for whatever he's done this time. He'd flinched before it came and anger is what remains. All he knows is anger and fear and shame.

He can't remember what joy feels like.

All those negative emotions swirl inside and he has to swallow them, lest he be hurt worse and mysteriously break his wrist again. He flexes his hand on memory.

Look a certain way, sound a certain way, move a certain way, do this, do that, what Viggo wants is an obedient robot. A robot with very specific qualities and functions.

"Sit down." Viggo orders him and Hiccup listens, taking his knees off the seat and sitting down. He smooths his expression as best as he can while the older man comes down next to him.

He wants to take his hand, intertwine their fingers, but Hiccup draws his hand back. Viggo insists, taking hold and squeezing tight enough to hurt.

If he had a wish for pain, he would've squeezed back. He knows it's a game he sometimes used to do with Astrid.

And Snotlout, but that was more arm wrestling, he loves doing those. Hiccup is usually victorious in those and Snotlout is usually left with the bad taste of defeat.

Once in a while, however, he'd let him win. It always felt so good to see him smile, hear him holler in joy, watch him throw his fists in the air. That was always followed up by gloating and the flexing of his muscles, which consistently almost made Hiccup regret letting him win.

Gods, he almost forgot he used to do that. Sometimes he almost forgets he had friends at all.

Sometimes it feels good not to remember what you used to have.

"Henry!" Viggo calls him out his pleasant memories, the occasional reprieve, and tightens his grip some more.

It hurts because he's holding his left hand, which is the one covered in bandages. He can feel the burning pressure in those blisters grow.

So Hiccup quickly figures this isn't something he can win and submits quickly, loosening his hold and looking down.

In return, Viggo's hold on his hand lightens, too.

"So, Henry, you've been troublesome."

"Have I?" It's a genuine question, but it must've come out too sarcastic for Viggo's taste. A third strike and he'll be looking at another punishment.

The only reason he's so lenient now is that someone might catch them.

When he first arrived, a mere painful squeeze wasn't all it took to shut him up.

Maybe he's wrong. Maybe there was a bit of a Viking in him, too. Was, because he's very aware of how obedient he's been. He barely meets Viggo's eyes as of late, certainly not when he doesn't have permission. He hates that he can't.

"You've been troublesome." He repeats and watches for a reaction.

There isn't one, Hiccup's gaze is still downcast and that pleases him.

What he can't tell is the way his brows have furrowed. Is it anger again? Pain? Perhaps it's a mix of both. Let's just throw another pinch of shame in there as well.

"We've tried many things to make you fall in line," By trying to abuse the disobedience out of him, but Hiccup can't say that. "But you remain too stubborn. That is why we're going on this trip. This is meant as a way to finally persuade you."

"And you thought a nice trip up the mountains after everything you two have done would miraculously make me fall head over heels in love with you?" Hiccup mutters quietly under his breath, hoping he isn't heard too much.

"I'm warning you, Henry, this is your last chance." There is that name for the third time, but all Hiccup can focus on is the choice of wording.

His eyes are widened with alarm.

"Wait, what do you mean by 'last chance'? Last chance before what?" He asks. Nothing is ever just an accident with this man, that has to be on purpose and Hiccup wants to know why.

There's a beat of silence before Viggo answers, apparently wanting Hiccup to wallow in it.

"I know you've been messing with my computer. You believed I wouldn't find out, but the cameras on my property aren't just on the outside." Viggo explains and Hiccup stares at him with growing realization, caught redhanded.

"The bookcase you pick books from without permission, the bathroom while you shower, the living room where you watch your documentaries and tasteless movies, there are hidden cameras all over the house. Including on my personal computer." He continues to add and panic is about to erupt with Hiccup.

So he's been keeping watch on him from work all this time? But Viggo never punished him for breaking the rules when he wasn't home.

No leaving the house, which he never could anyway. No unauthorized snacking or drinking, not that there is anything to snack on in that house. He knows about Ryker's personal stash, but he's only stolen from there once and that wasn't without consequences. No entertainment and finish your chores, not even the books belonging to his keeper or the tv were allowed to be touched.

Those are only the rules he can count at the top of his head and Hiccup broke so many more then those. Sometimes the second Viggo left. So if there really are cameras all over the house keeping watch over him, why did he never show any knowledge of his childish rulebreaking?

His panic makes him forego the role of obedient little love.

"No, that's a lie! There are no cameras, you're just trying to get under my skin!" Hiccup shoots up, tearing his hand back. It hurts, but he cares little.

"Don't raise your voice at me, Henr-"

"Oh, stop it with that stupid name! It's Hiccup! I'm not letting you get-" While it is Hiccup who first cuts Viggo off, the latter is swift to return the favor.

He rises and backhands him with one seamless motion. Both for speaking out of turn and raising his voice. The ring on his finger cuts into his cheek.

Hiccup comes to glare at him, now silent as he holds it. He wants so badly to hit back, but knows that he can't.

He did try it once.

Once.

He sits back down and slumps forward in defeat.

"Did you honestly believe I would allow you to roam freely in my home without eyes and ears on you at all times?" The ears part is a lie, but Hiccup doesn't need to know that. Besides, Viggo feels satisfied with that look of alarm appearing on his face.

"Henry, I chose you because you were smart. Is that a lie? If it isn't, can you figure out the rest?" He asks and then leaves in a foul mood.

But yes, Hiccup can and he does.

He's telling the truth. And Viggo wouldn't be telling him all of this, disclosing the fact that he's been secretly watching him through hidden eyes all over his home, without reason him. Clearly, he's been keeping that fact to himself to reveal later when it would be of some significance and today is apparently that day.

This is Hiccup's "last chance" to fall in line. The sudden disclosure of secrets, the unexpected trip to somewhere cold and remote, putting his cat in a regular shelter for 'safekeeping' instead of one of those fancy hotels Viggo definitely has the money for...

His last chance...

If Hiccup doesn't fully submit to Viggo by the end of this trip instead of only half-submitting when he has no other choice, they're going to...

His hand falls limp to his lap, overcome with shock.

The fear has always been there. He's seen them on the news, missing persons that ended up found, but in a grave instead of alive.

If he doesn't become what they've taken him to be, they're going to kill him.

From his position at the steering wheel, having watched it all go down, Ryker smirks in delight.

"He's figured it out."

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

It's not like Hiccup is surprised to learn that his situation could end this way.

When he was first abducted, woken up in a bare dimly lit room, he'd once wondered if he was the first one or if there'd been others before him. People who'd mysteriously gone missing, went through the same stuff he has, and were never found. Not alive, at least.

But to think that, that day has already arrived...

No, he shouldn't be surprised. The very fact that plenty of people have had less, much less, time than he was given, people who were taken from the streets only to end up dead the very next day, makes Hiccup feel very lucky.

But should he still worry about his fate? He's finally made his escape and he's far away from the cabin now.

They arrived not even two days ago and settled into what was supposed to be home for the next two weeks. Funny, Hiccup hasn't been home for months.

His careful planning has been all for naught. In the end, he had to work on pure impulse to get him out of trouble.

He shouldn't be proud of it and he probably won't be. There was a reason for all that planning, all that waiting and enduring. He's sure he'll regret it later, whether he manages to get away from Viggo or not.

Hiccup supposes that matters little now. He's out here, wandering through a forest covered in a layer of snow that's at least a foot thick. He's not dressed properly for the cold, wearing just a hoodie and jeans, and he's not in perfect condition either. On top of the bruises and the hand, he's gotten injured in those two days.

His upper back burns and it's been burning since their first evening in the mountains. The horrible memory attached to it wants to break free and be a hindrance in his escape. Trudging through the snow and trembling awfully, he tries not to let it.

Besides his head is pounding. He doesn't know why that is as he doesn't know exactly what happened, what knocked him out. He just knows that he blacked out and woke up with an aching head.

An aching head, a burning back, and a foot in agony. He'd dropped something on it in the confrontation that lead to his escape. Now he's using a shovel to help him limp through the trees, a shovel of which the spade has blood on it.

A lot has happened in two days. A lot. There's something he has done that he can never atone for.

His last chance has passed.

It's dark out, too, making this trip through the woods ten times harder than it already is. It's pure agony to use his broken foot, but he has no other choice but to since his left his a fake.

He can feel the pain radiating up his leg through his ankle. He's had to stop several times just to take a breather, the used air from his lungs leaving in white puffs. But each time, his will to escape triumphs over his pain and he continues to drag his way forward. Bit by bit, step by step, giving up is not an option.

And yet, there's the threat of panic erupting and stopping him. Having a stubborn will is good and all, but it's useless if he doesn't get out of here.

Sure, he got away from Viggo, but he has no idea where he's going now. His hope is to find a road or the town they docked at, but he could be heading deeper into the forest for all he knows.

If he is, then what? Will he never see his friends again? Will his parents be able to move on, will they ever have closure? Will Toothless ever be up in the air again?

Hiccup's arduous limping comes to a halt and he slowly turns to look behind him. It's only because of how strongly pure white snow contrasts against the blue-ish black of the night that he can see the trail he's left behind. If Viggo is searching for him, it won't be hard to find him.

He's shivering, clinging to the shovel that's a clumsy crutch at best, and looks at the way ahead of him. He doesn't feel hopeful, he doesn't know what exactly he feels. Nothing besides pain and a possibly very foolish drive forwards.

Whether the cold lulls him into a false sleep during his endless wandering or Viggo puts an end to his life himself, this forest will be his grave if he doesn't find his way out.

For better or for worse, it's a big enough reason to keep on pushing through the pain and keep going onwards.

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