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munson-blurbs · 2 years ago

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Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8

Summary: Thanksgiving brings back memories of happier times, and all you want is to recreate the past. But when those plans go awry, Eddie--and Harris, of course--are there to help you look forward to the future.

Warnings: mentions of Eddie's parents, brief familial conflict, Reader's grandma has dementia, most of this chapter is fluffy tbh

WC: 6.8k

Chapter 8/20

Scruffy!Eddie edit credit to @vexed-n-hexed Divider credit to @saradika

Thanksgiving, 1975

The sound of the kitchen timer beeping draws nine-year-old Eddie Munson’s attention from the television set. The local news network had been replaying the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade on a loop. It was now the third time that Eddie had watched Santa Claus make his way into Herald Square in a comically oversized sleigh, but he couldn’t get enough of it. The colorful balloons that hovered over the crowd, the marching bands playing in perfect unison, the feeling of excitement in the air—it was palpable all the way from his new home in Hawkins, Indiana.

“Dinner’s ready,” Wayne announces, grabbing the worn mitt off of the counter and pulling two TV dinners from the oven. “‘S not much, but at least we got turkey and mashed potatoes,” he bashfully adds.

Eddie nods, trying to walk without taking his eyes off of the screen.

Wayne’s bushy brows pinch together as he watches his nephew. “You always get this into the parade?” he asks.

“Never seen it before,” Eddie says softly. His parents had had a TV for a couple of years until they’d pawned it, but he doesn’t recall ever watching a parade. “Pretty cool.”

“We can keep it on while we eat, if ya want,” Wayne tells him, smiling when he sees the boy’s face light up. He places the plastic trays on the snack table and heads back to grab forks. “Ya got a favorite balloon? I’m partial to Snoopy, if y’ask me.”

Eddie nods, still transfixed on the TV. “Yeah, Snoopy’s good. I like him.” He takes the utensil from Wayne’s outstretched hand, absentmindedly dipping it in the congealed mashed potatoes. He pauses for a beat before bringing it to his lips. “Do I have to go back?”

“Hm?” Wayne mumbles, too focused on his own food to fully hear him.

“Do I have to go back with them when they get out?” Eddie repeats, keeping his voice low and training his gaze on the floor. “‘Cause I like it better here. With you. ‘S nice and quiet.”

There’s a lurch in Wayne’s chest at Eddie’s request. “Technically, I only have ya till your folks are sprung,” he admits, scratching a nail against the table, “but I can talk to a lawyer or somethin’ about keeping you here longer. Only if you want,” he adds.

“I wanna stay here,” Eddie confirms, spearing a pale turkey slice and popping it in his mouth without any attempt to cut it. “If it’s okay with you. I can sleep on the cot an’ you can take your bed back.”

Wayne shakes his head. “Room’s yours, Ed.” He takes a deep breath. “I don’t wanna promise you that the courts will agree to it, but I’m gonna try my damndest to keep you safe.” And it’s true. He’ll work double overtime at the plant if it’ll cover legal fees. When the social worker dropped Eddie off last week, Wayne had no idea how either of them would adjust. But aside from a few growing pains—like having to shave his nephew’s head when they’d discovered he’d had lice—things seemed to be alright.

“I, um, I wrote something at school yesterday,” Eddie pipes up, traipsing to his backpack and pulling out a sheet of paper. In his sloppy, boyish handwriting is written:

I am thankful for my Uncle Wayne because he takes care of me. He’s really nice and he works hard and he doesn’t mind that I listen to loud music. He also lets me feed my dinner scraps to the stray dogs in his trailer park. My Uncle Wayne is the best. I hope he’s thankful for me, too.

Wayne feels his throat constrict, and he clears it before Eddie can catch on. “‘Course I’m thankful for ya, Ed,” he manages. He reaches out to put his hand on his nephew’s back, flinching when the boy jerks away nervously. Eddie’s reflex to defend himself rather than embrace touch stirs up a reserved anger Wayne didn’t know he had, and he wills himself to simmer down before his nephew can sense it, lest he think he’s angry at him.

He slowly brings his hand to the couch cushion, careful not to make too much noise. We’ll get there, he thinks as the parade starts up for a fourth time. We’ll get there.

Thanksgiving, 1978

Ten years old is a strange age.

Too old to play with the little kids, but too young to hang around the teenagers or adults. You’re just kind of…there, like a piece of furniture that everyone absently walks around. This hiss of beer cans opening is barely audible over the men shouting at the football game on TV. You don’t know who’s playing, and you don’t really care, but it’s the only place you feel like you’ll be out of the way. Taking a seat on the floor, you remain there generally unnoticed until one of your uncles calls out your name.

“Couldja get me a refill?” Uncle Tim slurs, shaking his empty can of Bud Light to emphasize his request. Before you can respond, he throws a, “thanks, kid” and goes back to yelling at the football players.

It’s not like they can hear you through the screen, you snidely think, but you keep your comment to yourself as you pad into the kitchen. A collection of spices tickles your nose, the mixture of cloves and garlic and thyme and rosemary warming the room. You rummage through the refrigerator until you feel someone bump up against you.

“What are you doing in there?” Your aunt asks, disapproval carving her already sharp features. Her gaze drops to the can in your hand. “Seriously? Trying to sneak beer right in front of us?” she scoffs.

Grandma quickly becomes aware of the commotion, and she wipes her hand on her sunny yellow apron as she assesses the situation. “Everything okay?” Her soft eyes are concerned, not accusing, and you feel your anxiety slowly dissipating.

“I caught her trying to steal some beer,” your aunt reports proudly, as though she’s caught some serial offender, and you have to fight the urge to roll your eyes. “Not even a teenager yet and already getting into this kind of trouble.” She shakes her head with a tsk.

“No, I wasn’t,” you insist, setting your jaw in defiance. “Uncle Tim asked me to get some more for him. That’s all.”

“Tim!” Grandma calls out, tone thick with irritation. “Get over here!”

Uncle Tim trudges out to the kitchen, head already hung low in anticipation of the tongue-lashing he’s about to receive. He may be a grown man, but his mother can easily put him in his place.

Grandma folds her arms across her chest. “Why are you having your niece fetch your drinks like a barmaid? Your legs broken or something?”

“No,” he mumbles, taking the beer from your hand and haphazardly tossing a “sorry” in your direction before returning to the game.

“C’mere,” Grandma beckons you, crooking her finger to join her at the counter. She’s got a bowl of Granny Smith apples, half of them peeled, their green skins piling on the cutting board in front of her. She hands you the peeler, picking up a sharp knife and cutting a peeled apple lengthwise and cubing each slice. “Help me out. It goes a lot faster when there’s two of us. And it’ll keep you out of trouble,” she adds with a wink.

You grab an unpeeled apple from the pile and drag the tool down its curve, repeating the motion until the inner fruit is exposed before starting on the next one. You and Grandma work in tandem; you peel and she chops in a comfortable silence. As you’re finishing up the last of the bunch, she leans over and whispers in your ear, “Don’t tell anyone, but you’re the best helper I’ve ever had.” She starts placing the cubed pieces into a pot, shaking the cinnamon container over it until she takes a satisfied step back, no measuring spoon required. “Mix it together for me?”

You nod eagerly and pluck the wooden spoon from the canister behind the sink, dunking it into the pot and stirring until the apples are fully coated in cinnamon. “That good?” you ask, giving another stir for good measure.

“Perfect.” Grandma smiles, covering the mixture with water and setting it on an empty burner, twisting the knob until the coil turns red. “Once it softens up, you can mash it. Give these old arms a break,” she teases gently.

“You’re not old!” you protest, and she smacks a kiss to the top of your head.

“I love you, kiddo,” she murmurs, voice muffled against your scalp. “To the moon and back.”

You wrap your arms around her waist and squeeze her tight. “I love you, too. To the moon and back.”

Thanksgiving, 1996

“Daddy, look! It’s Santa!” Harris points at the TV excitedly, bouncing up and down on the couch. He kicks his feet and squeals. “He’s gonna come to our house, right? An’ bring me presents?”

Eddie chuckles as he spreads mayonnaise on white bread, layering thin turkey slices on top. Three sandwiches for three Munsons. “I dunno, Har-Bear; have you been good this year?”

Harris scrunches up his face in contemplation. “Um, I think so,” he answers honestly. “I can’t remember.”

“Hey, Wayne?” Eddie calls out as his uncle walks out of the bathroom. “Has Harris been good this year? I feel like he’s been a bit…mischievous.”

Wayne shakes his head. “My angel of a grandson? He’s never caused mischief a day in his little life!” He sits down next to Harris, letting out a small grunt as his bottom hits the sofa cushion.

“Yeah! I never cause mischief a day in my little life!” Harris echoes confidently. He turns to his grandfather. “Grampa, what is Santa gonna bring you for Christmas?”

“A toupée,” Eddie says from the tiny kitchen, piling their plates with potato chips. Normally, he’d make sure there was a fruit or vegetable on there, but it’s a holiday.

Wayne has to hold his tongue in front of the impressionable young boy, though he shoots Eddie an inconspicuous middle finger when he’s setting the plates on the coffee table.

The three Munsons tuck into their sandwiches and crunch on the chips. This is how Thanksgiving has been since Eddie moved back with Harris: watching the parade followed by an early lunch so Wayne could pick up a shift at the plant. He always insisted on it, saying that the holiday pay helps offset the cost of Christmas presents. It was quiet, but nice, and Eddie couldn’t ask for anything else.

“Y’know,” Wayne says to Harris with a mouthful of sandwich, “the first time your Daddy watched the parade was with me. And now, we got to watch it with you.” He bumps his arm against Harris’s, making the boy giggle.

“Oh, yeah,” Eddie muses, chomping on a potato chip thoughtfully as the memories flood back in. “Forgot about that. Is Snoopy still your favorite, Old Man?”

Wayne considers this. “Hmm. Who’s our favorite balloon this year, Har?”

“Clifford!” Harris answers without missing a beat, kicking his little legs in excitement. Eddie should’ve known; the boy was damn near obsessed with dogs.

Once we can afford a house with a yard, I’m getting you that puppy, Har-Bear, he thinks, though he doesn’t dare make the promise aloud.

“Then that’s mine, too.” Wayne brushes the crumbs off of his lap, calloused hands scratching the worn denim of his jeans. There’s a twinkle in his eye as he adds, “I wonder what Ms. Sweetheart’s favorite balloon is.” He acts like he’s speaking to Harris, but Eddie knows it was aimed at him.

Harris claps his hands together gleefully. “I know! Let’s call her!” He turns to Eddie with the sweetest puppy-dog eyes the man has ever seen, lower lip jutted out exaggeratedly in the most precious pout. “Please, Daddy? Pleasepleasepleaseplease–”

“Okay, okay,” Eddie says with a laugh, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. “Once you finish up lunch, we can call her.” Harris opens his mouth to protest that he wants to call right now, but Eddie cuts him off before he can start. “Ah ah; no whining, or we won’t call.”

Harris harrumphs but ultimately complies, taking another bite of his food. Wayne gives Eddie a small thumbs-up, and he preens slightly at the acknowledgment of his parenting win. They didn’t happen very often, and they rarely happened when someone was around to witness them. He takes a long gulp of water; as soon as he does, his son lifts his own cup to his lips and takes a sip. Another reminder that he’s watching, even subconsciously, wanting to be just like his dad.

For a split second, Eddie allows himself to believe that that might not be a bad thing.

“‘M done!” Harris chirps; sure enough, his plate is clean, save for the bread crusts. He squirms a bit in his seat, a gesture that Eddie has come to learn means only one thing.

“Go pee while I find her number,” Eddie tells him, purposely omitting the fact that he’s already committed those seven digits to memory. In case of an emergency, he thinks, and I don’t have the slip of paper on me.

Wayne can sense that his nephew isn’t being completely truthful; as soon as Harris closes the bathroom door behind him, he starts in with a shit-eating grin.

“Y’don’t need to find her number, do ya?”

Eddie flicks off an imaginary speck of dust on his shirts. “Knock it off, Wayne.” But he doesn’t move from his spot on the couch, further affirming his uncle’s point.

“Look, Ed,” Wayne exhales, adopting a more serious tone. “You clearly like this girl. I mean, all Harris did was say her name and you smiled–don’t give me that look,” he chastises lightly when Eddie rolls his eyes. “I know you two didn’t exactly get off on the right foot, but all that seems to be in the past now, right?”

“Guess so,” Eddie mumbles. “But not hating me doesn’t mean she’s into me. Maybe she’s only being nice to me because of Harris.”

The older Munson pauses, scratching at the stubble on his cheeks; his reflex when he’s deep in thought. “One date,” he challenges, holding up his forefinger to emphasize his point. “Ask her on one date, and see where it goes.”

“Fine,” Eddie relents, the nerves already churning in his stomach. You’d just found this good rhythm together, and he was going to risk messing it up. Again. “I’ll ask her. But on one condition.”

“Whas’ that?”

“Don’t say anything to Harris.” He crosses his arms over his chest when Wayne chuckles. “‘M serious, Wayne. I don’t want him getting his hopes up. For Chrissakes, I gave her a tape and the kid had us getting married.”

“Fair enough,” Wayne agrees, clamping his mouth shut when he sees the little boy enter the room. “You wash your hands?”

“Yep!”

“With soap?” he presses, narrowing his eyes.

Harris heaves an impatient sigh. “Yes! Can we call now?”

Both Wayne and Harris keep their eyes glued to Eddie as he punches in the numbers. When it starts ringing, he holds out the receiver to his son. “Say hi and your name when she picks up,” he reminds him, grateful for the opportunity to collect himself before asking you on a date. He takes a deep breath, shoving his hands in his pockets and gnawing on his lower lip so forcefully that he swears it might bleed.

You got this, Munson. The worst she can say is no.

But that’s not quite true, is it? The worst you can do is laugh in his face, leaving him a rejected mess. Scratch that–the worst you could do is accept the date, have him fall head over heels in love with you, then leave him in the dust to pick up the pieces while you move on with someone better.

Maybe you won’t pick up the phone. Maybe he’ll have more time to–

“Hi, Ms. Sweetheart! It’s me, Harris!”

It was a small thing. Miniscule, even. Just your meager attempt at reclaiming part of the past that had been lost to time and disease. A simple family recipe, apples boiled and mashed into a sauce that you’d hoped even vaguely resembled the way Grandma made it. A tiny cut on your fingertip serves as a battle wound from peeling, the sweet aroma of cinnamon still lingering in the kitchen.

You try to convince yourself that it isn’t a big deal. It’s just applesauce. But the thought falls flat as you stare into the trash can. You can still see all of your work literally tossed away through the tears that blur your vision.

You’d left the room for two minutes, two goddamn minutes, and when you came back, the plastic pink bowl that held the applesauce was nowhere to be found. You could’ve sworn you left it on the counter, but maybe you’d already put it away? A quick scan of the refrigerator gave you nothing but a chill. Where the hell did it go? Were you losing your mind?

A rogue apple peel had fallen to the floor, and you scooped it up, flustered at how you could have misplaced an entire bowl of applesauce. Sure, it wasn’t as much as when you and Grandma made it for the whole family, but it was still a decent amount. Your foot presses the pedal that lifts the bin’s lid, and that’s when you see it.

“Grandma?” you choke out, looking over to where she’s sitting on the couch. She doesn’t respond, and you raise your voice a bit to grab her attention. “Grandma, why did you throw out the applesauce?”

Her empty gaze briefly flits over to where you’re standing, not even registering the burgeoning frustration and sadness coursing through your veins. “Wasn’t me,” she says flatly, scratching at the side of her nose with a jagged nail. Before dementia, her nails were always painted bright hues of red or blue; now, it was difficult enough to get her to leave the house for essential doctor’s appointments. You weren’t going to put up a fight trying to get her to the salon.

You know you should just close the lid and walk away instead of torturing yourself by continuing to look, but your feet are glued to the linoleum floor. A cold drop of something lands on your toes, and that’s when you realize that you’re crying. Crying over goddamn applesauce.

All you wanted was some semblance of normalcy, something reminiscent of life before Grandma got sick and your family still felt whole. But what you got was a thickening realization that you can’t relive the past, no matter how hard you try.

The ringing phone startles you from your wallowing. You have half a mind to ignore it, but you know that Grandma will just grumble about how she hates the sound of it, so you pick up the receiver and answer with a shaky, “H-Hello?”

“Hi, Ms. Sweetheart! It’s me, Harris!” A little voice chirps through the other end. You can hear Eddie mumbling something, though you can’t quite make out what he’s saying. “Happy Thanksgiving! What’s your favorite balloon?” There’s more hushed speaking from Eddie, and Harris huffs out, “Daddy, stop! I know what to say!”

“My favorite balloon from the parade?” you ask, biting back a giggle.

“Mhm! I like Clifford,” he tells you.

You’d kept the parade on in the background, catching glimpses of it every now and again. Shit, what balloons did you see? “Clifford’s a good one,” you agree, “but I think the Rocky and Bullwinkle one was my favorite.”

Harris laughs so loudly that you have to pull the phone from your ear. “The squirrel and the moose?” he guffaws. “Ms. Sweetheart, that’s so silly!” You’re about to ask him how his holiday is going when he says, “Hold on, my daddy wants to talk to you.”

Your heart skips a beat at the prospect of talking to Eddie, and you wipe the tears from your wet cheeks as though he’ll be able to see them through the phone.

“Hey, Happy Thanksgiving!” he says. Something resembling trepidation tinges his tone, though you’re not sure why. Could he still be anxious to approach you after he confided in you at the parent-teacher conference? After he’d watched you panic when Grandma locked herself in her room?

You swallow, trying to choke down the sadness rising within you. “Yeah, y-you, too.” Despite your best efforts, your voice breaks on the last word, and you hope Eddie doesn’t catch it.

But of course he does.

“You okay?” he asks with a nervous chuckle. “‘Cause it kinda sounds like you’re crying.”

“‘M fine. Just, um, chopping onions,” you lie, hoping you’ve done a convincing job.

“For the…applesauce you’re making?” Eddie sees right through you; you’d forgotten that you’d told him and Harris about your plan during your weekly post-tutoring dinner last night. “Not gonna lie, that sounds even nastier than olives on pizza.”

You manage a laugh, but it’s disfigured by the catch in your throat. “The applesauce was a bust, unfortunately,” you admit. “I left the kitchen for a second and Grandma chucked it in the trash.”

“All of it?” he asks incredulously, letting out a deep exhale when you confirm that she did, in fact, throw out the entire bowl. “Jesus H. I’m so sorry. Is that what’s got you upset?”

“Mhm. I know it’s stupid, ‘s just applesauce, but–”

“‘S not stupid,” Eddie interrupts softly, and you twist the phone cord around your pointer finger with the sudden drop of his tone. “I know you were really looking forward to it.” He pauses, and you wonder for a moment if the line’s gone dead before he says, “We’re coming over. Me and Harris. Be there in twenty; fifteen, if I don’t have to argue with him about wearing a jacket.”

Before you can protest, he really does hang up. You look down at the baggy sweats and college t-shirt you’re wearing; you weren’t expecting any guests today, let alone the Munson boys. You should probably throw on some actual pants, and a bit of mascara couldn’t hurt, either.

You find a pair of jeans that aren’t buried under a mountain of laundry and tug them over your thighs before quickly swiping some makeup on your face. It’s enough to mask your exhaustion while still looking natural.

It dawns on you that you’re not quite sure why you suddenly care so much about your appearance. Harris couldn’t care less, and Eddie…well, even if Eddie did care, why would that matter to you? He’s your tutee’s parent; a new friend at most. On more than one occasion, you’ve answered the door to Jess with a wicked case of bedhead. Why does Eddie Munson of all people make you feel the need to look halfway decent?

When the buzzer sounds, you nearly jump out of your own skin. “It’s us,” Eddie says into the speaker; the smoothness of his voice has your stomach in knots. “And we come bearing gifts. Well, one gift, I guess.”

“Fuck off,” Grandma mumbles from the couch, cranking up the TV volume to an ungodly loud level. One of the Law & Order detectives says–no, screams–something about a murder, and you quickly reach for the remote and click the power button.

“We have company,” you tell her, and she just grunts in response. Hopefully her mood will change in the minute it will take Eddie and Harris to get to your apartment. You can hear them down the hallway, so you open the door just as they’re about to knock.

Eddie takes a step back in surprise. “You psychic or somethin’?” he laughs, looking down at his son and giving him a small nudge. “Go ahead, you can give it to her.”

Your gaze drops to the curly-haired boy standing by his father’s side. He’s holding a brightly colored package of off-brand Oreos, which he brings closer to his chest, pressing it tightly against his zippered sweatshirt. “It’s s’posed to be a surprise,” he reminds Eddie, wide-eyed with genuine concern.

“Only until we got here,” Eddie says gently, soft brown eyes encouraging Harris to hand you the cookies. He brings his attention back to you. “I know it’s not the same as making applesauce with your grandma, but I’ve never been sad eating an Oreo. An oatmeal raisin cookie, maybe. But not an Oreo.”

Now it’s your turn to smile. “You may be onto something here, Munson.” You take the package from Harris and guide the two of them to the kitchen, calling out to Grandma as you pass by. “Grandma, Eddie and Harris are here, and they brought cookies, if you wanna join us.” Her non-response is familiar at this point; the sting is much easier to brush off than it was a few short months ago. But you still feel it.

Even though Grandma isn’t at the table, Harris still climbs onto his dad’s lap. “Daddy, can I have one?” he asks, resting his dimpled chin on his palms as he glances upwards.

“Gotta ask Ms. Sweetheart,” Eddie shrugs, tickling Harris’s ribs and loudly whispering, “and ask her if your poor, hungry dad can have one, too. She can’t say no to you.”

You open the package and shake your head at his antics, sliding out the flimsy tray and offering it to them. “Of course you can have one, Harris,” you say, tone saccharine sweet. His chubby fingers darting out and snatching up a cookie before you even finish your sentence. “But I don’t know about your dad. Do you think he should get one?”

“C’mon, Har,” Eddie urges him, “us men gotta stick together. All for one and one for all, right?” He flexes his bicep; it’s an attempt to emphasize the manliness that supposedly bonds him and Harris, but the gesture has your breath catching in your throat. You sputter and cough embarrassingly, excusing yourself to pour a glass of water.

“Anyone else want?” you manage once you can speak again, holding up the ceramic pitcher.

Eddie nods, lifting Harris from his lap and placing him on the nearest empty chair. “Here, let me help you.” He stands up and calls out over his shoulder, “Grandma, how about some water?”

You’re about to tell him not to worry about it, but to your surprise, she nods. “Ya.”

“So, four waters,” Eddie reports, taking the pitcher and refilling your glass.

You grab another just like it from the cabinet before taking two blue disposable ones, plopping a bendy straw in each. “Grandma, um, she needs stuff that isn’t breakable,” you explain lamely. “And the other plastic one is for Harris.”

Eddie grins. “Thought it was for me. Y’know, always making a mess.”

“Ah, but only of your life,” you tease. “You’re pretty good with basic human functions.” Your face burns at what you’ve potentially implied, but Eddie isn’t fazed.

“Y’know what? I’m gonna take my cookies back!” he pouts, crossing his arms over his chest in mock-indignance. A piece of curly hair sticks to his lower lip with his sudden movement, and you brush it away with your thumb before you can stop yourself.

The crinkling of the fake-Oreo package draws both of your gazes, with Eddie poised to tell Harris that he’s only allowed one more. But to your surprise—and perhaps Eddie’s, too—Harris isn’t the one rifling through the tray. Grandma’s taken a seat next to the boy, handing him a cookie before taking her own. She just nibbles on it in silence, but it’s the most present she’s been in days.

“Y’like Oreos, Grandma?” Eddie asks, pouring water into the two plastic glasses and carrying one in each ringed hand. He places them on the table, and Grandma brings the straw to her lips as she nods again. He pauses for a moment, lips tucked into his mouth as he ponders something. “What kind of music does she listen to?” he asks you.

“She has a record collection over in the living room,” you tell him, pointing to the low bookshelf near the door, “but we haven’t played any in awhile. She’s kinda…weird with noises.”

He considers this, walking over to the records and thumbing through them until he finds one that he recognizes. “Could I put this one on?” He holds up the battered copy of Frank Sinatra’s It Might As Well Be Swing. “I’ll take it off if she gets upset. I just wanna try something.” He carefully slides the record from its sleeve, lifting the player’s needle and placing it on the space for the first track.

There’s a soft static as the record starts to spin, and Ol’ Blue Eyes croons:

Fly me to the moon

Let me play among the stars

Let me see what spring is like

On a-Jupiter and Mars

Eddie joins in with the next part. His voice still carries its signature rasp, but it’s noticeably smoother, warmer than the night he’d dedicated the Def Leppard song to you.

In other words, hold my hand

In other words, baby, kiss me

His eyes remain trained on the record player, but you swear you can feel the lyrics drifting towards you. The melody wraps around you like a hug, and you momentarily lose yourself in a musical embrace.

Another voice, low and timid, chimes in. You have to stifle a gasp when you realize that it’s Grandma, her lips curling into the smallest of smiles–the most joy she’s shown in a long while–as she half-sings the words.

Fill my heart with song

And let me sing for ever more

You are all I long for

All I worship and adore

“Holy shit,” you breathe out, and before you can exhale the third syllable, the world shifts back to normal. Grandma goes back to mindlessly munching on her cookie as though nothing out of the ordinary had just happened. You turn to Eddie. “What was that?”

He shrugs, suddenly feeling shy. “I read somewhere that music can, like, bring back some memories. Not permanently or anything, but I figured it was worth a shot.”

You can’t stop yourself from flinging your arms around Eddie’s neck, nearly knocking him over in the process. He pauses before he returns the gesture, pulling you tightly into him. One hand is on the small of your back; the other gently rests on the back of your head, allowing you to rest your forehead on his chest. Your tears flow freely, leaving tiny wet spots on his shirt. He doesn’t let go until you start to pull back.

“Thank you,” you whisper; when he pinches his brows in confusion, you elaborate. “You gave me back a little piece of who she was before…” you trail off, swiping at your cheeks messily. “Just…thank you.”

Eddie nods, swallowing the lump in his throat. His eyes are practically glued to your lips; this time, when his fingers brush against your palm, he hooks his pinky with yours. “‘Course,” he murmurs.

You’re not sure how long the two of you remain linked like this, joined hands swaying ever-so-slightly as Fly Me to the Moon fades out to I Wish You Love. It’s somewhere between ten seconds and ten years, because time seemingly slows to a halt.

You might stay with pinkies hooked forever if Harris doesn’t bolt from his chair, hugging your waist and looking up at you with concern.

“Ms. Sweetheart?” he asks. His wide, misty eyes indicate that he’s absorbed some of the emotion in the room, though he may not even be aware of this. “Why are you sad?” His chubby fingers grab onto the fabric of your pants.

You choke out a tearful laugh as you crouch down to meet him at his level. “I’m not sad…well, I’m sad and happy at the same time,” you try to explain, shaking your head when you realize you’re only adding to his puzzlement. “Grown-up feelings are weird sometimes, Har. But your hugs definitely help.”

With that, he squeezes you tighter, and you glance at Eddie with a full heart. He takes a step forward, scooping up Harris. You worry that you’ve crossed a line, that you’ve shown too much of your vulnerability to a four-year-old, but your fears are subdued when Eddie extends one arm and brings you back to both him and his son. Something brushes against your scalp, and you realize that he’s pressing a light kiss to the top of your head.

Harris squirms, and when Eddie puts him down, he runs over to the TV set. “Can I watch something?” It’s clear that the moment has passed, and Eddie throws you an apologetic shrug as he waits for your response.

“Sure,” you say, trying to pepper cheerfulness into your voice. It’s easier now that the wave of loneliness has passed, taking with it some of the mourning you’d clung to earlier today. You click on the TV and flip through channels until a familiar cartoon appears on the screen. “I think we’re just in time to watch A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving!” you exclaim, and Harris mirrors your enthusiasm by flinging himself onto the couch, making his dad cringe.

“Careful, little dude,” Eddie says, clicking off the record player and gently placing the vinyl back in its sleeve. “You just got that cast off a few days ago. Don’t need you to break another bone.” Certainly don’t need another hospital bill, he thinks bitterly. He takes the spot next to Harris, silently begging you to join them.

You turn to the kitchen table and put a hand on Grandma’s shoulder. “You wanna watch Charlie Brown with us?” But she rejects your invitation with a simple shake of her head, mumbling something about being tired and padding into her room.

You take the empty space to Harris’s left so that the boy is sandwiched between you and his father. He’s a small kid, but it seems like there’s an entire ocean separating you and Eddie.

“Why’s Lucy so mean?” Harris asks no one in particular. “She’s always yelling. Like Ms. Marion.” You have to stifle a giggle at that observation, and when you allow yourself a glance, you see that Eddie’s doing the same.

The first half of the movie is filled with Harris’s constant commentary; he speaks more than all of the cartoon characters combined. But he tires out eventually, though in typical four-year-old fashion, he denies his sleepiness even as he’s yawning. He fights it pretty well, you’ve got to give him credit where it’s due, but eventually, the exhaustion takes over and he lays his head on your arm. His curls tickle your elbow, and you gingerly reposition him so he’s tucked up against your side.

“You can move him over, if you get uncomfortable or somethin’. Kid sleeps like a rock. Except, y’know, when I need him to sleep.” Eddie snickers as Harris lets out the softest, tiniest snore.

You return the laughter and shake your head. “Nah, I’m good,” you reassure him, smiling at the ruddy cheek pressed against you. “Don’t tell my other students, but Harris is the cutest kid ever.”

Eddie shrugs, but you can tell that the compliment tickles him. “Well, it makes sense, since his dad is a total stud.” He waggles his eyebrows before turning his attention back to Charlie and Lucy. You’re not quite sure how to respond to that; if you play it off as a joke, you risk hurting his feelings. If you tell him the truth–

“D’you like coffee?”

His sudden, seemingly arbitrary question snaps you from your indecision. “I teach four-year-olds,” you reply lightheartedly, hoping he can’t sense your mind continuing to linger on his stud comment. “I practically have coffee running through my veins. What about you?”

“I have a four-year-old, so, same.” He clears his throat, seemingly double-checking that his son is still sound asleep. His leg is bouncing up and down, and he nearly has to press on his knee to get it to stop. “Um, Harris is going to a birthday party next Saturday morning if you wanted to get some with me? Get some coffee, I mean.” He silently chastises himself, wondering if he’d ever been suave around women or if it had just been the unearned confidence of a young man in his early twenties convincing him that he had.

“Like...like a date?” Fuck, do you sound too eager? “Because if you feel like you owe me a date after…after our night at the bar, you don’t have to. I forgave you after you gave me those M&Ms, remember?”

“Yeah…wait, no. Hold on.” Eddie holds up his pointer finger as he collects his thoughts. He could deny that it’s a date altogether and throw out some bullshit lie about it just being something between friends. But he promised Wayne, promised himself that he’d give this a shot. “Yes, I’m asking you on a date. No, it’s not because I feel like I owe you one–although I definitely do,” he adds with a goofy grin that sends flutters to your stomach. “It’s because, fuck, I can’t stop thinking about you, and how happy you make me–and Harris, too–and how I get kinda nervous around you, which makes no sense because you’re, like, the nicest fuckin’ person ever. Oh my God, why can’t I stop talking?”

“Eddie.” The way you say his name is like a song he could replay forever. “I’d really like to get coffee with you. I just need to see if someone can watch Grandma…maybe Jess,” you surmise, biting back the fact that you’ll have to withhold your date’s name, lest she subject you to a lecture about sleeping with the enemy.

Eddie nods, swiping the tip of his tongue over his lower lip and smiling. “I can pick you up at noon? If Jess can watch Grandma, of course.”

“Noon works.” You want to kiss him right then and there; if Harris wasn’t nestled in the middle of you both, you might not hold back. “I can let you know on Wednesday when we have dinner together.”

Eddie’s not sure he can wait that long for an answer. What if you’re just buying time to get out of it? What if you’re only being nice to him because you’re afraid that he’ll get angry again and reignite the bitter feud you’d been locked in just a month ago? He swallows the insecurities, gaze flickering to your eyes.

And maybe it’s because you can sense his unease and self-doubt, or maybe it’s because you genuinely want to–Eddie doesn’t know for sure–but he feels you lace your fingers with his, resting your joined hands on his thigh. He shifts his grasp to weave them tighter together, learning back into the couch and allowing his body to relax. His shoulders let go of tension he hadn’t realized he was holding on to, and a contented sigh slips from his lips.

It’s you, him, and Harris. Sitting on the sofa and watching a holiday movie. An unconventional little family, but a family all the same. Eddie swears that he could stay like this forever, a thought that almost has him bursting out in laughter. The same man who had concocted an elaborate method to keep women around without actually committing to them was now reveling in domestic bliss.

When the movie ends and Harris begins to rouse, Eddie begrudgingly stands with an exaggerated groan. “These old bones, y’know,” he laments with a mischievous click of his tongue. “Everything starts fallin’ apart when you turn thirty.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah,” he chuckles, lifting Harris onto his hip and rubbing his back to help him fall back to sleep. “I know.” He grabs his keys from the shelf near the door as you walk them out. And before he can wimp out, he leans in and presses his lips to your forehead in a gentle kiss, stubble scratching against your skin. His hands are trembling when he pulls away.

“You’re the best,” he repeats the same statement he’d made on parent-teacher conference night. It’s even more true now than it was then. “We’ll see you on Wednesday for pizza?” And an answer, hopefully a ‘yes.’ “Wednesday,” you echo, still processing the fact that, for the second time today, Eddie Munson’s lips have been on you.

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#eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie x you #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things #tui

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bluecollarmcandtf · 9 months ago

Text

I Don't Believe in Hypnosis

When I was a boy, my father taught me how to work hard and provide for my family. Farming ain't for weaklings. It takes a man to do what I do, and this work has given me a hard head and thick skin. That's why I sure as hell wasn't scared of no Hypnotist last Friday night!

As I linger in the cornfield, finishing up a hard day's work, I recall what happened that night...

My wife, Annie, finally got me to take her to the Fair. She'd begged and begged until I'd agreed. My girl dolled herself up and put on her favorite dress. I knew I'd made the right choice when I saw her, looking like the thin, bubbly girl I'd courted back in high school.

Together, we climbed in my truck and drove towards the sparkling fairground. The place was alive with music and attractions. We rode every ride, and I'll admit I enjoyed getting out of the house with my girl.

Then Annie saw a sign for some weird hypnosis show. I had no idea what my wife was talking about, but she said she'd seen it in movies: the ability to control someone's mind with a swinging watch or some crap!

I told her it was dumb, but she flashed me her big baby blues and sidled up real close. I could never say no to her like that. With a tired groan, I followed her into the tent and sat down to watch the stupid show. The rest was a blur.

...that was a week ago, and I shouldn't dwell on it now that I'm done workin' for the day. Hopefully, Annie has supper is ready!

Entering the house, I don't see her in the kitchen. I'm a bit bothered because she's usually got it prepared by the time I come in, but then it strikes me! I remember why she's held up! How could I have forgotten our guest? I'll bet she's too busy handling him at the moment to cook my dinner. They're probably both still in the bedroom, if I had to guess.

I chuckle at my mistake and march to the back of the house, peering past the door into my bedroom. I was right! My wife's still under the covers with the Hypnotist. They're both too occupied to notice that I've come in, but I know how to wait.

Quietly as I can, I step over to the bedside and lower myself to my knees. There's not much else to do, so I just kneel on the hardwood and watch them go at it until they see me waiting.

It takes a few minutes but the Hypnotist eventually notices and gives me a roll of his eyes. "The hick is back," he groans while sliding off my wife's back, "Don't you have something else you could busy yourself with?"

"I just got done fertilizing the field," I answer back, trying not to be disgusted by all his sweat that's soaking into my bedsheets.

"Fertilizing?" he asks with a toothy grin, "No wonder you smell like shit."

I'm not too sure what to say back, so I just keep my mouth shut. He turns his attention back to my wife, leaving me with nothing to do but wait some more. I know he's a fraud, but I respect the Hypnotist greatly. Let me explain how I came to invite him over. Honestly, that memory's a bit hazy, but I'll try...

It happened after the show. In fact, the show must've been over awhile since all the chairs were empty aside from the one that held my beautiful wife. Next to her sat the Hypnotist, looking just as oily, pale, and chubby as he'd looked at the beginning of the show.

That was when I realized I was standing on the stage.

I didn't even remember standing up, let alone leaving my wife and going up to the front! Brushing off my worries, I approached the man leaning on Annie's shoulders. He stopped whispering in her ear and gave me a sly grin.

"Enjoying my wife?" I asked.

"Certainly, I can't believe a fine creature like this could end up with such a pig," the Hypnotist licked his lips as he stared at her dress, "Invite me to stay with you."

"Stay with us," I instinctively answered, extending a welcoming hand. The Hypnotist didn't shake it, but he did escort my wife out of the tent with fingers creeping down her back. After that, I drove them home. He's been holed up in my bedroom with Annie ever since!

"Go grab me a beer," he says, jerking me from my thoughts, "Hurry up!"

"Yup," I stumble to my feet and hustle to the kitchen. The Hypnotist has had me fetching his beer all week so I know how he likes it. Grabbing the last cold bottle in the fridge, I race back and drop to the floor with a bowed head. This is how he likes his drinks presented.

"Believe in hypnosis yet, farm-cuck?"

I snort. Of course I don't. "Hypnosis isn't real," I retort, keeping my eyes fixed on the floor until he tells me otherwise.

How could I ever believe in something like hypnosis? The power to control someone's head is something that only exists in cheap movies. I hate to say it, but I think my wife is a bit of a ditz for believing in such a thing. I mean, this guy's been living with me for a whole week and he still hasn't done anything to hypnotize me or Annie!

"So you don't mind when a real man sleeps with your wife?" he asks.

"You jokin?" I laugh at the stupid question, growling "I'd kill any asshole who tried!"

"... but?"

"...but obviously you can do anything you want to my wife. You have more of a right to her than I do!" I add frankly.

"That's right," he snickers back, sneering down at me from the bed, "Pour that beer on yourself."

Without hesitation, I grab the beer and step back, popping the cap and raising the bottle high over my head. The ice cold liquid sends shivers down my spine, but I empty the bottle over my head anyway while the supposed Hypnotist howls in laughter.

I shiver at the feeling of cold beer soaking into my clothes, leaving a sticky layer of beer residue against my skin; not to mention the puddle sinking into the floorboards around my feet. Obviously, I'm uncomfortable and embarrassed, but I put the bottle down, satisfied by a job well-done.

"Are all country bumpkins as dumb as you?" he laughs.

"I'm not a country bumpkin," I snort with a clenched jaw.

"Yeah you are," the Hypnotist sneers back, "Remember? Tell me you're a country bumpkin."

Suddenly, it dawns on me that he has a point. I hate to say it, but I suppose I am exactly what he's saying. "I'm a country bumpkin," I agree.

"I knew I'd convince you," he snickers, "Now let me finish on your wife. Face the wall and listen to how a real man handles a woman."

"Ok," I answer reluctantly, turning around and leaning my head against the wall. I have no idea how I'm supposed to feel about this. I mean, here I am soaked in beer and hungry for my wife to cook me supper, and this jerk wants me to wait? I want to be mad; I should be mad, but for some reason I just don't mind. Even as Annie starts moaning louder and louder, I can't help but respect the guy. I mean, he's my guest so I want to keep him happy. Part of me is honestly just relieved that he's enjoying himself and showing Annie a good time while at it. She's obviously enjoying it.

They go on for another hour or so, and each time Annie squeals, my stomach lurches at the thought of him doing a better job than me. I just stare at the paint peeling off the wall and try not to picture what's actually going on.

"Alright, cowboy," I hear a tired voice pant from behind, "I'm done for now. Turn around."

I keep my eyes averted, but I can't ignore how out-of-breath the Hypnotist has become. What's even more disturbing is the brief glance I get at my wife, seeing the dumb smile stretched across her face. She's grinning like her entire world has been rocked, and she doesn't even bother to look in my direction!

My stomach growls under my shirt, "Do you think Annie could make some dinner...?" I ask quietly.

He shakes his head in disbelief, "Sure! Get up whore!," he smacks her on the ass, "Go make me some food."

My girl giggles and climbs out of bed, completely unashamed to be called a whore or walking around the house naked, scurrying to the kitchen. My heart sinks.

"Sorry son, she's cooking my dinner right now."

"But I just spent all day tilling and-"

"Don't speak!"

My mouth snaps shut, and my knuckles clench! How am I supposed to till the fields all day and come home to no food on the table? I'm the one who keeps a roof over our heads! Even still, I take a deep breath and relax.

The Hypnotist is right. I'll wait.

"Listen to me, hillbilly Joe. You're going to go to the store and buy me some more beer," I sigh, thinking about how dark it's getting, "Don't take the car. You'll run. Sitting on a tractor all day is giving you a pudgy gut!"

The Hypnotist gives my aching stomach a couple slaps before continuing his instructions. I can't help but notice his own belly flabs jiggling with every move. "Oh and while you're there, I want you to make a huge scene, heein' and hawin' like the dirty mule you are. If anyone gives you trouble, you'll piss yourself, and get on your hands and knees, licking their boots like the beta-cuck you are. Got it, bitch?"

Stunned, I freeze for a second as it all sinks in. I don't know why on earth I'd do all that, but in a daze, my feet lead me out the door and start jogging the first of several miles into town.

"Eeeeh-HAAAaaw!"

My voice breaks as I enter the store, shoutin' my presence with the most obnoxious donkey bray I can muster. My throat is raw and my lungs are aching. Running seven miles to the nearest store was a lot more difficult than the Hypnotist made sound, but hopefully it shed some pounds off that gut of mine. I'd never noticed it before, but I can tell I need to lose some weight! My already beer-soaked clothes are now even more wet and ripe with sweat.

"HEEeeee..." my voice catches as I notice a couple store employees staring at me. They're giving me dirty looks, but I'm here on a mission! "eeEeEH-HaaAaAAuW!" I bellow!

I stumble towards the back of the store, where they keep all the drinks. My legs feel like jelly, so I'm limping pretty bad. I realize I must look insane or drunk, but I'm just getting some beer for my guest! He needs beer! I grab the first case I see, scooping it up in my arms with another ridiculously loud cry of a mule.

Turning, I run face to face into a cop.

"You been drinkin' tonight, bud?" he gives me an unamused look.

I let the case of beer tumble to the floor. This guy is the deputy sheriff. Our town is small enough for everyone to know everyone, so I've chatted with him and his wife a few times. He's always seemed like a real stand-up man, and over the years, I've managed to get him to give me a casual nod whenever we pass.

"hheee-haawWH!" I throat brays in his face.

A warm feeling spreads through my crotch, and I remember what the Hypnotist told me back at the house. I'm pissing straight into my jeans. My cheeks flush red, but I don't move or try to hide it. Somehow, I know this guy is supposed to see this happen to me. It's like this is all a performance, and I'm the world's greatest actor!

I know what to do next. For the third time tonight, I fall to my hands and knees, staring up at the appalled cop with a gaping mouth and heavy breath. This position is feeling more and more comfortable, as the night goes on.

Without warning, I slam my mouth on his standard boots, extending my tongue and lathering it against the dusty black leather.

The deputy kicks me back and glares down. "Come on, man!" he growls, "You like making my job more difficult than it is? If you want to get piss drunk, do it at home!" He grabs me by the collar and drags me to my feet. "You're better than this! Think of that pretty little wife you've got waiting for you at home!"

His words hurt, but only leave me more confused. I'm not drunk! I wanted to do this, right? Why else would I have pissed myself and licked his shoes? Getting another glance at the officer's disappointed stare, makes my shoulders cringe out of embarrassment. I decide it's best to just keep my mouth shut as he pushes me past the place's staff and kicks me out of the building.

When I come to my senses, I make sure to apologize. He just frowns and tells me to get in his cruiser. Thank the Lord he's driving me back home. I think I would've passed out on the side of the road if I tried to run back.

We don't talk much while the cop drives. I mostly just sit in the back and stew on what I'd just done. The smell of piss, sweat, and beer makes my empty stomach churn. Why had my guest asked me to do this? Why had I even agreed? This entire outing had been a nightmare! That damned Hypnotist can't tell me what to do! When I get home I'll give that phony a piece of my mind.

"You find it hilarious," the Hypnotist says, and all of the sudden, I can't stop laughing!

I was ready to punch that fat ugly freak, but he has a point! Thinking back, I don't know why I'd been upset: it was hilarious! I was a complete fool! Just thinking about the disgusted looks of those employees made me fold over cackling. And that cop! He seemed more disappointed than anything! Laughing, I can feel the wetness where I'd pissed myself, sending me into another wave of hysterics! It'd disgusted me before, but now the humiliation of it all was just so damned funny!

"That was a good one," I wheeze, whipping a tear from my eye.

The man chuckles at me, taking a bite of the steak my wife is serving him in bed, "Laugh at your pathetic excuse for a husband, tits."

Annie stops feeding bites of steak into his mouth and looks at me for the first time tonight. Without hesitation, she bursts into laughter at the sight of me. I chuckle along with her, though the feeling of amusement is starting to wear off.

"Alright, now go sleep in the barn with the cattle, dumbass!" the Hypnotist mocks, "Your wife is going to massage me to sleep."

"Ok," I mutter, barely even maintaining a smile at this point.

I'll admit that I'm sorta glad to leave. Standing there while he and my wife just laughed felt wrong for some reason. As I trudge through the mud on the way to the barn, I see the glow of morning on the horizon. Soon, the rooster will crow and the cattle will be mooing up a storm, so I don't know how I'm gonna rest.

Food-deprived, sleep-deprived, cold, wet, and sweaty, I slump down in the old wood barn. As famished as I am, even the leftover slop in the trough is smelling good. I brush off the idea, and curl up in the mud with the cows. My clothes are too soiled to bother with cleanliness, so I ignore the flies and manure.

I pray sleep will find me quick. If that Hypnotist could actually do anything, I'd have him hypnotize me to sleep. It's too bad hypnosis isn't real. Even if it were, I doubt it'd work on a salt-of-the-earth man like me!

#humiliation kink #hypno story #cuckhubby #mind control #degredation kink #gross

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fantasticsandwich · 3 months ago

Text

yandere influencer x fem! reader (pt 14)

{tw for coercion}

Even several days after Cillian had transferred the money into your account, you were still trying to process the fact that your brother's tuition was paid in full. You cried and ran through its every iteration, weeping, sobbing, moping around, because while you were grateful, you knew that you'd never be able to repay Cillian for this grand act of kindness. When you decided you were finally able to see him without bursting into tears, you figured the least you could do to show your appreciation was purchase him something from his favorite cafe.

You didn't want to ruin the surprise, so you scrolled through your contacts until you found someone you hadn't talked with since graduating secondary school. Cillian's mother quickly responded, sending you their address. Inputting it into an online map, you were pleasantly surprised to discover that he lived within walking distance. The true shock came when you finally arrived at his house.

You only recalled that stout, faded brick building on the same street as yours. You hadn't visited Cillian after he moved households, and now, as you stared at the grand structure, felt a pang of envy and rage, the latter at how he'd kept his luxurious lifestyle hidden. Suddenly, you felt insecure about offering a measly cake in thanks.

Nevertheless, you steeled your nerves and approached, not minding how an elderly neighbor eyed you with suspicion. Before knocking on the door, you pressed your collar down and smoothed your skirt. Your palms felt sweaty as you grabbed the knocker and released it, allowing it to pummel the door. Almost as if they'd been waiting, someone instantly opened it. She had the same set of eyes and shaped lips. She didn't quite have the same jaw or the same nose, but otherwise, she was the spitting image of Cillian.

"Y/N!" She pulled you into an embrace, quickly pulling away to tuck flyaway strands behind your ears. "It's so nice to see you again! Cillian's been looking forward to your visit all day."

You blinked, certain you'd told her your visit was intended as a surprise. "Thanks? Are you alright?"

Nodding, she seized your shoulders and ushered you inside, using a tender force to push you through the hallway and into the living room. In her haste, she jostled you around. The cake you'd packed to snack on jostled around in your arms. You stumbled into the foyer, gawking as she slammed the door shut.

Left alone, you traced each crystal hanging from the chandelier on the ceiling, the expensive decor. You hadn't been to Cillian's house since his family 'made it,' and now, you understood why. Cillian must've known that, instead of feeling comfort or recalling a fond memory from your childhood, you'd only feel like you didn't belong.

Another voice stirred the silence, somewhat warming you.

"What are you doing here?"

"Lee," you started, relieved at the sight of him. "Hey! I thought you would like this." You lifted the take-out bag to display the contents, but he tilted his head. "Got it from that cafe you love."

"Why did you come here?" he bluntly asked.

Smile faltering, you stumbled over your words. "Do I need a reason?"

"Not at all," he breezily said. "It’s just… Nothing. Never mind. I'm happy you're here." Cillian stepped forward, and in the light you could see how his hair wasn't yet dried, causing his green locks to appear darker than they should be. "What happened?"

You half-heartedly smiled at him. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his pants. Even when he was dressed casually, with a simple black shirt and sweatpants, he eluded beauty and grace. You would have barely recognized that those were his home clothes.

"I just brought you a cake to say thanks," you dryly said. "You still fine with me staying? Or should I leave?"

"Why would you leave?" Cillian marched towards you, seizing the bag. Then, setting it aside on the couch, he swept you into his arms. "I'd have to be insane to pass up time with my girl."

Shrieking, you laugh and beg him to put you down. When had he gotten so strong? He lifts you as if you're nothing, going against your wishes and spinning around, causing you to feel vertigo.

What had caused his spontaneous nature today? Usually, Cillian was stiff-faced and severe, dutifully maintaining his image. You didn't know, but you were pleasantly surprised by this hidden playful side. And of course, by how strong he was. Thrown over his shoulder, you felt some muscles you hadn't noticed before. You felt him moving, propelling you to some unknown destination, trailing down a long hall lined with dark oak tiles.

He tossed you onto his bed. Silky sheets billowed around you, temporarily engulfing the world. When they fell back against the mattress, you were startled to find Cillian kneeling over you, arms caging you in on either side.

"Hi," you stuttered, startled by his handsomeness at such proximity.

"Hi," he responded.

You counted the moments with each thud of your heart against your ribcage. One, two, three anxious flutters, then his lips were on yours, ravenous as he siphoned the breath from your lungs. Mind on overdrive, you tried returning his zeal, grabbing his collar for leverage. Your body tingled, but you ignored the strange pit forming in your stomach. Cillian's desires weren't odd. Neither was him acting on them. He was your boyfriend. You were going to have to get used to this sooner or later.

That was what you told yourself, but when his hand crept from your waist to the waistband of your jeans, you felt a sudden jolt of panic and seized his wrist, sheepishly grinning. When he looked up, his eyes lacked their usual sheen. Gulping, you quickly tried to set things straight. It wasn't that you didn't want him, too. Only...

"You don't think it's too soon?" You whispered, refusing to meet his gaze. "I mean… We barely started dating. I don't know if—"

He answered your question with one of his own, sharply and slightly defensive. Huffing, "You trust me, don’t you?"

"Of course," you instantly confirmed, feeling your heart stutter.

"So just trust the timing," he replied, toying with the hem of your shirt. "It'd make me happy if you’ll just be good. I want us to enjoy each other."

The bedroom, dimly lit by the soft glow of a single bedside lamp, seemed to pulse with an electric charge as he guided you into his embrace. His lips crushed down on yours, devouring your mouth in a hungry kiss. His tongue dominated yours, stilling your breath as he explored your mouth. Meanwhile, his hands roamed beneath your shirt, thumbs encircling your nipples.

"Please," you panted, head falling back to reveal more of your neck, abandoning any vestiges of shame. Your hands slipped into his hair, holding him against you. "Touch me."

He murmured in agreement, his breath hot against your skin and he undressed you painfully slow, pausing between articles to press open-mouthed kisses to the newly barred flesh. The soft rustle of fabric and the sound of your breath hitched in your throat filled the room as Cillian finally stripped you bare, save for your underwear. The glasses, he let you keep, too. He wanted you to see him.

"Do you want me to show you what to do?" He asked, his voice low and smooth. "Or do you want me to make you feel good first?"

You hesitated, your glasses slipping down your nose as you nervously met his gaze. That need to please him, to maintain the love you cherished, gnawed at you. But there was another truth, one you couldn't keep hidden any longer.

"I—I should tell you," you stammered, your eyes darting around the room, seeking something else to help anchor you to the moment. "You're not... you're not the first person I've been with. The first time wasn't that great, but I trust—"

The tension in the room tightened like a coiled snake as Cillian's expression faltered. His jaw clenched, and his eyes darkened with an emotion that seemed to swim between hurt and anger. A silent storm raged behind his eyes as he processed your words, his initial shock quickly turning into a seething jealousy. The air in the room thickened, charged with tension as if a thunderstorm loomed overhead.

"What do you mean?" he demanded, his grip on your wrist tightening slightly.

"I've been with someone else before," you sheepishly admitted, quivering under the intensity of his stare.

"Is that so?" His face contorted with possessiveness. "Then let me try something first to see how he ruined you."

Sharply inhaling, you decided to take the plunge. Nodding, you stared at the ceiling, releasing an anxious huff when Cillian's pried your knees apart. Smoothly, he positioned himself between your legs. He tilted his head, nipping at your inner thigh. You felt a gust of warm breath and shivered as his teeth grazed your tender skin. Desperate for him, your hands threading through his hair, guiding him where you wanted him most. But Cillian was in control, and he resisted your attempt to direct him.

"Cillian," you choked out, voice wavering. "I've never done this. It feels weird."

"You'll be fine," he murmured. Hooking his fingers around the side of your panties, he tugged them off your hips, discarding the pair onto his bedside table. "I need to make sure your pretty little pussy is ready to take me."

His kisses trailed higher, over your hips, then back down the insides of your thighs. You whimpered at the lack of attention, and Cillian's eyes locked with yours, a devilish glint in his gaze. Finally, without warning, he lowered his head, his tongue flicking over your clit. You threaded your fingers through the sheets as he sucked and licked, an arm resting across your hips to keep you where he wanted, while the fingers on his other hand spread you open, allowing him to delve deeper.

Cillian whimpered and groaned, mindlessly muttering praise as he devoured you. Your hips bucked, grinding against his face, desperate to feel more, but Cillian took his time, exploring your hole with his tongue before pulling away with a raunchy smack. Lips glistening, he greeted you with a smile. You frowned, displeased at the lack of attention, but he didn't seem keen to allow that expression to remain for long.

"Ready, baby?"

Breathless, you began, "Ready for—"

His head dropped back between your legs. His mouth reattached to your clit. Groaning against you, Cillian inserted a finger into your tight hole, slowly easing you open, scissoring and curling agonizingly slow while he continued to suck and lick your clit, not even stopping while your legs began to quiver around his head. If anything, your reactions spurred his frenzy. He moaned against you, the vibrations sending you higher. He added a second finger, stretching you further, his tongue never ceasing its magic.

Cillian continued pounding his fingers into you, scissoring and curling until you released a moan, announcing that he'd found that spot that had you seeing stars with every thrust. Your mind was lost, your body convulsing as your release flowed over his fingers and mouth.

"That’s it, love," Cillian praised, his fingers never ceasing their motion, milking every last drop of pleasure from you. Grabbing your legs, Cillian tugged you back down so you were facing him. Momentarily, you were face to face with his wide smile. The sight of the lower half of his face glistening with your slickness caused a wave of embarrassment to wash over you. "Silly girl. I'm not done with you just yet."

"What do you mean?" You asked, your eyes widening as you felt his hard member pressing against your thigh.

"Need to feel that sweet cunt around my cock," Cillian said, positioning himself at your entrance. Teasingly, he rubbed the tip against the hole.

"Lee," you moaned. "Too sensitive. Let me suck you for now."

Too focused on your studies, you hadn't been with someone in such a long time. All of the attention he was giving you was overwhelming, touching you so eagerly, and in ways you'd never before experienced.

Instead of jumping at the offer, Cillian glared. "Did he teach you how to do that?" he demanded.

Meekly, you shook your head. "Wanna make you feel good, too."

Expression returning to his signature smile, he pressed his lips against yours. You tasted the remnants of yourself on him, saw yourself reflecting in his love-struck eyes. You'd never felt so desired. So wanted. He was desperate to have you, and you were ready to give and do anything for him in return.

"We can get to that later," he said. "For now, you'll take what I give you. Need to make you forget anyone else."

In your dazed state, it took you a moment to realize who he was talking about. When you realized, you flinched, a blush creeping up your cheeks at the memory. Cillian noticed your expression, and his nails pressed into the plump flesh of your thighs.

You whined, hips futilely rising to meet his. "Keep going, Lee. Please. Need you so bad."

You hoped your pleas would spur his hips into motion, but he continued, slopping thrusting into you. The lack of friction was driving you insane. Biting your lip, you permitted his teasing ministrations. Whatever jealous streak Cillian was going through, you'd just have to permit.

"But I need to know," he insisted, suddenly picking up the pace. He punctuated each word with a sharp snap of his hips, pounding into you. "I need to know everything he did to this so I can do it better and make you forget him completely."

"His name was…" you began, the words catching in your throat as he dragged his thick cock against your walls, slamming into a spot that had you seeing stars. "Cillian!" You cried out, legs wrapping around his waist. You relented your grip on the sheets in favor of digging your nails into his skins

"Good girl, marking me up." Cillian's jaw clenched, but his hips continued moving at their languid pace, almost as if he were torturing you. "You're driving me crazy. So good for me." Save for his soft grunts and your moans, the only sounds filling the room was your sweat-slick skin against his as he picked up the pace, growing more frantic and rough as he chased his release. His voice grew less coherent with every thrust. "Gonna be my perfect girl and let me finish inside?" He pleaded, mouth falling to the crook of your neck, teeth sinking in. "Please, love. Wanna see my pretty doll stuffed with my cum. Wanna see it dripping out of you."

Feeling a coil in your stomach, you squirmed, but he kept you pinned beneath him with a bruising hold, keeping you flush against him as thick, warm ropes of cum flooded your pussy. Vision blurred and mind suddenly clearer than ever, you lay there, staring at the clock against the wall as the room swam in and out of focus. Your body was a confusing mix of sensations, sore, yet strangely satisfied. With the sun dipping on the horizon, pale sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting eerie shadows.

You tried to move, but Cillian merely whined and pulled out, watching his cum spill out. He tried to scoop some up and prod your hole, but you hissed in protest, sharing your exhaustion. Almost mournfully, he relented: he had left no part of you untouched and still seemed keen to explore some more. Even then, he held fast to you, fingers tracing idle circles on your side, brushing aside the sweat-slick strands of your hair so he could view the marks he'd left on your neck.

You tried to ignore the tingling sensation where he had marked you and the numbness of your legs as he pulled you closer until your back was flush against his chest. Feeling his still-hard cock against your back, you couldn't help but shiver.

"Y/N," Cillian murmured, his voice suddenly tinged with a hint of remorse. It took you aback. You tried to turn and face him, but with a hand pressing down on your hip, he held you firmly in place. "I'm sorry if I acted odd. I just... I love you, you know? Always have. I just hate knowing that I didn't get to have you first. I don't like the idea of anyone else having you at all." He pressed a chaste kiss against your shoulder blade. You felt him rub his cock against you, felt him kneading the flesh of your ass. "So can I be the first to have you here?"

As you stared into Cillian's eyes, you felt the icy tendrils of your own destruction beginning to take root. You were thankful for everything he'd done so far, so it couldn't hurt...

It would, but you'd push through the pain with him wiping your tears, whispering sweet nothings as you finally gave him something no one else would ever steal from him, something that only he alone would have the chance to cherish.

this was my first time actually writing smut instead of only implying it so i'm sorry if it seems rushed/awkward/scattered 😅

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x darling #yandere oc #yandere male #cillian #yandere influencer #yandere smut

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chained-sweater · 3 months ago

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two-bit headcanons? :3

two-bit headcanons

notes: bro, this guy's underrated as hell. :( time to write some hcs for them! :D

— a really good dancer

— does very good voice impressions (canon)

— very close with their little sister shannon (she's 8 in my au)

↑ their mom works a lot and shannon usually hangs out at her friends' house, but sometimes if they aren't available, two babysits her. he lets her paint their nails, do their hair, etc etc. he does all sorts of girly things but he don't give a shi bc they love her sm

— never really made a connection with girls until he met marcia

↑ from the very moment he saw her, it was just like an instant click. he couldn't stop thinking about her after they parted and feels terrible for ripping up her number. he sees her again post-canon and apologizes for never calling and to make up for it, he takes her on a date and long story short, they start dating (WHERE MY MAR-BIT SHIPPERS AT??)

— actually kinda misses their dad

↑ mr. mathews wasn't abusive, but he wasn't the greatest dad to have. he did actually try to support his family and be there for them, but he and his wife (her name is martha in my au) always got into arguments and it really had a bad affect on two. i mean, he and his dad did argue from time to time, but they were quite close. mr. mathews left a month before shannon was born. (two-bit was eleven at the time.) usually two-bit doesn't talk/think about their dad but when they do it's kinda hard for them 'cause they actually did have a good relationship and had a strong bond that collapsed the moment two realized his father wasn't coming back.

— straight, but super duper supportive of their friends

↑ he once threw hands with a soc for calling out darry (it was a miracle they weren't arrested)

— dallas is his buddy

↑ these two are WILD when they're together. keep away from them at all costs.

— made a bet that soda and steve were dating with dally and when stevepop came out, two marched right up to dally, held out his hand and said "they're datin', five bucks, pay up"

↑ dallas was PISSED

— they're one of the only ones who can get darry to act his age (dallas is the only other person)

↑ the two of them are childhood besties and sometimes two'll drag darry out to hang out and reminise of the good ol' days (nostalgia)

— had a pet goldfish. keyword "had"

↑ fishy had to go bye-bye via the toilet :(

— kleptomaniac (canon)

— math wizz. it's their favorite class at school.

— did gymnastics for like, three years and is insanely flexible

— double-jointed

— st. patrick's day is their favorite holiday aside from christmas (i hc them to be half-irish)

— allergic to peanuts (as well as like, everything else. poor guy has so many allergies.)

— messy. very messy. never cleans up after themself.

end notes: that's all for today. thanks for the ask, anon! ❤️

#the outsiders #the outsiders headcanons #two-bit mathews #two-bit mathews headcanons #two-bit mathews' mother #two-bit mathews' father #two-bit mathews' sister #darry curtis #dallas winston #sodapop curtis #steve randle #marcia sinclair #mar-bit #two-bit × marcia #stevepop #soda × steve #asks #answered asks

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giggle-guru · 17 days ago

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A Laughing Matter

This one is for an anon that requested some Sir Pentious and Alastor tickles! I couldn’t help but do a little bit of both, and let’s be honest, Charlie would definitely be the cause of a little tickle fight between the two of them. Enjoy!

Word Count: 1644

The Happy Hotel lobby was rather quiet one morning, which was unusual. Alastor sat in his chair by the fireplace, sipping tea with a calm demeanor that was somehow more unnerving than his usual grin. He was reading some old novel, humming a jazzy tune contently. Charlie glanced at him from across the room, analyzing him. She loved having Alastor around, his charisma was undoubtedly fun to…try to banter with, and his power was more than welcome when it came to executing her dreams of helping the sinners. However, the constantly radiating menace around him, intentional or not, was getting kind of exhausting.

She finally huffed, marching over to Alastor and disturbing the peace. “Okay, that’s it! We need to fix this! Alastor, you are too…serious! All the time!”

Alastor placed his tea on the small table beside his chair and lowered his book. He looked at her, and once again flashed his usual grin. His eyebrow raised slightly as his radio-static voice crackled, “My dear Charlie, I find this accusation most perplexing. I am the life of the party!”

Charlie crossed her arms and shook her head. “That grin doesn’t count. You have this air about you and I’ve decided you need to lighten up.” She paused for a moment before her eyes lit up. “Aha! I know just who can help!”

Before Alastor had time to protest, she marched out of the room. He watched her go with a brow raised, internally curious as to where this came from and where this was going. A few moments later, she returned with no other than Sir Pentious.

“Why, hello Alassstor! My greatessst mortal enemy!” Sir Pentious sneered, puffing out his chest. “It looksss like you require my expertissse!”

Alastor tilted his head, even more curious at the turn of events. “I fail to see how you could teach me anything of value.” He spoke simply, picking up his tea once more to take a small sip.

Charlie interjected. “Come on, Alastor! Just go along with it. Pentious, your mission is to get Alastor to loosen up, have fun, laugh a little! A real one.”

Sir Pentious’ grin widened as his eyes gleamed with mischief. “Oh, don’t you worry, Princcccesss! I, SSSir Pentiousss, will gladly take on this misssion and will not let you down!” He stood proudly, while Alastor stared at him with a deadpan expression and signature smile.

The rest of the day was complete chaos. Sir Pentious attempted several schemes to get some sort of joyous reaction from Alastor, and they all failed. He started with simple jokes that merely got an eyeroll from the Overlord. He then tried creating a few traps, his favorite being one that released balloons when Alastor walked into the kitchen. Still, Alastor merely stepped aside and flicked his hand as if swatting a fly away.

“Ah, my dear snake,” Alastor quipped after another one of the elaborate surprises failed, “Your dedication to this buffoonery Charlie requested of you is almost…commendable. Almost.”

Sir Pentious huffed, clearly frustrated by Alastor's unshakable composure. “You mock me now, but you’ll ssssee! I ssshall break that infernal grin of yoursss into an actual laugh, or I will revoke my title as an evil massstermind!” He huffed. He started at Alastor momentarily as his mind raced, before his eyes lit up with sudden inspiration. “Oh ho ho! I’ve got it! If my cunning and ingeniousss trapsss won’t do, then I ssshall resssort to the mossst ancient of all techniquesss…tickle torture!”

Alastor’s eyebrow twitched ever so slightly at that proclamation. “Tickle torture?” he repeated, his tone bemused, but a flicker of uncertainty crossed his otherwise cool demeanor. “Resorting to the most childish methods, hmm?”

“Oh, I’m deadly sssseriousss, Alassstor,” Sir Pentious hissed, slithering closer with an almost cartoonish sneer. “No one can withsssstand it! Not even you.”

Alastor simply hummed and casually took a few steps backward. “Do your worst, snake.”

Sir Pentious cackled maniacally, lunging at Alastor with all his serpentine speed. In an attempt to deter Sir Pentious and his confidence, Alastor didn’t move to stop him. Instead, he allowed Sir Pentious to coil his tail around him and deliver a flurry of ticklish pokes to his sides. He was able to maintain a calm demeanor for only a few moments before he accidentally let out a noise that he was desperately trying to suppress. He let out a sound that could only be described as a choked snort.

The radio demon immediately straightened his posture, his eyes narrowing dangerously as the static from his body spiked for a brief moment. “Ahem,” he said, regaining his composure. “That was merely a reflex.”

Sir Pentious froze mid-tickle, his jaw dropping. “Wasss that a laugh? Did I hear a laugh?!”

Charlie, who had been curiously observing from her desk within the lobby gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. “No way! Alastor, you actually—”

“It was not a laugh,” Alastor interjected sharply as he looked over ot face her, his grin faltering for just a moment before resetting itself. “And whatever noise you think you heard, it shall not happen again.”

“Oh, thisss isss preciousss!” Sir Pentious cried, his confidence renewed. “You’re not immune after all! I ssshall have you in sssstitchesss before the day isss done!”

Before Alastor could react, Sir Pentious redoubled his efforts, wiggling his fingers along Alastor’s ribs and sides with devilish precision. Alastor, despite his best attempts to maintain his unflappable demeanor, began to twitch and shift uncomfortably. Static crackled faintly in the air, but it was becoming increasingly clear that even the mighty Radio Demon had his limits.

“Stop this at once,” Alastor choked out, his tone firm but laced with an edge of uncharacteristic desperation.

“Oh, no, no, no,” Sir Pentious replied gleefully. “Not until you admit defeat and give usss a proper laugh!”

Charlie was practically gleaming by this point. “Alastor, just let it out! Come on, you’ll feel so much better!”

“Never!” Alastor barked, but his resolve finally broke when Sir Pentious found a particularly sensitive spot just below his ribs. A deep, rich, and surprisingly melodic laugh burst forth from the Overlord, echoing through the room.

Both Charlie and Sir Pentious froze in shock at the sound. Alastor, realizing what had just happened, straightened up, and tried to regain his usual composure. “Well,” he spoke with a smooth yet clearly strained voice, “I suppose congratulations are in order. You managed to achieve what few have dared to attempt.”

Sir Pentious puffed out his chest triumphantly. “Hah! I told you I would sssucceed! You ssshould be thanking me for bessstowing you the gift of laughter!”

Charlie grinned at Alastor. “See? That wasn’t so bad, was it? You should do it more often!”

Alastor’s smile sharpened into something a little more sinister. “Oh, my dear Charlie, if you think I’ll let this slide you’re gravely mistaken. Pentious, consider this your warning. No one tickles the Radio Demon and gets away with it.”

Sir Pentious gulped, suddenly less confident as Alastor’s shadow seemed to loom larger. Charlie laughed awkwardly and took that as her cue to stammer an excuse to leave.

“Radio Demon, I wasss merely doing a favor for a dear friend-” He goes to protest, but doesn’t have the chance to finish before Alastor cuts him off with a widened and unnerving grin and hum of disapproval.

“Oh, Sir Pentious, you didn’t think I’d let this little incident go unanswered, did you?” He spoke with an exaggerated sigh.

Before Sir Pentious could slither backward in retreat, Alastor’s shadow warped unnaturally, tendrils snaking out from the floor and latching onto the serpent demon.

“W-Wait! No, no, no!” Sir Pentious stammered, thrashing as the shadows hoisted him into the air. “I wassss only following Charlie’ssss orderssss! Thissss isn’t fair!”

“I believe this is extremely fair, considering I put up with your ridiculous antics all day.” Alastor growled with a dark chuckle. “You mentioned you, ahem, bestowed me the gift of laughter? Allow me to return the favor!”

With a flick of his wrist, the shadows coiled tighter around Sir Pentious, immobilizing him. Alastor’s long, gloved fingers wiggled menacingly as he closed in. “Let’s see just how ticklish a snake can be,” he snarled, his grin widening almost inhumanly.

“No! Not there! Anywhere but—!” Sir Pentious erupted into uncontrollable laughter the moment Alastor’s fingers made contact with his sides. The serpent squirmed helplessly, his hisses and screeches blending into peals of laughter as Alastor exploited every weak point he could find with precision.

“Oh, this is delightful,” Alastor mused, his voice laced with wicked glee. “You’ve truly outdone yourself, Pentious. I haven’t had this much fun in ages!” He moved his fingers to trail beneath the suit jacket to skitter along his slippery stomach.

“P-Pleasssse! Mercccy!” Sir Pentious squealed, giggling hysterically and high-pitched. “I-I can’t take it!” He squirmed and writhed in the Overlord’s tentacles, throwing his head back in hysterical laughter. The poor snake was a walking ball of sensitivity.

Alastor tilted his head, pretending to consider the plea. “Mercy? Hmm. No, I don’t believe I’m familiar with that concept.” He chuckled, continuing his torture as he found a particularly good spot where the center of his stomach would be.

After what felt like an eternity to Sir Pentious but in reality was only a few minutes, Alastor finally relented, stepping back and allowing the shadows to release their grip. The serpent demon collapsed onto the floor in a heap, gasping for breath and still giggling faintly from the residual sensations.

Alastor dusted off his hands and adjusted his tie, his grin as sharp as ever. “Well, that was invigorating. I do hope you’ve learned a valuable lesson, Pentious.”

Sir Pentious groaned, still too winded to muster a proper retort as Alastor walked away with a huff. And with that, the Happy Hotel returned to its usual brand of chaotic normalcy…for now.

Thanks for reading! I’ll have another fic posted soon! And probably have the audio that you all decide from the poll written up to be published on Thursday 🎉

#guru writes #hazbin hotel tickling #hazbin hotel tickles #tickle content #tickling #hazbin hotel #ler!alastor #lee!alastor #ler!sirpentious #Lee!sirpentious #tickle fic

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lostinforestbound · 7 months ago

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hello !! ur my absolute favorite rolan writer and i wanted to make a hc request or whatever u want it to be of lia & cal bonding with tav over embarrassing rolan (like telling tav about embarrassing stories about him when he still had a crush on tav or something like that) if not that’s okay love your writing !! 🫶

Absolutely!!! I love writing for Cal and Lia, especially when they both team up to bully Rolan a little! Thank you so much for your patience while Requests were closed, I know this has been sitting in here since March!

Cal and Lia Bonding with Tav (By Embarrassing Rolan)

When Tav and Rolan became serious, Cal and Lia were genuinely so happy for them. But they were especially happy for Rolan, their grump of a big brother finding someone who truly understands him.

That absolutely does not mean he's safe from being teased though! In fact, this only made their teasing much worse, now that they had another person to embarrass him in front of.

"Hey Tav, did you know Rolan got so drunk one time he started gushing about you, telling us how fucking irritating you were but then how pretty/handsome your face was?" "LIA!"

Cal and Lia would never tease about Rolan's most vulnerable moments. Not unless they have explicit permission from Rolan to do so. They love to tease Rolan to annoy, never to harm. Some things that are off limits include his condition at Last Light Inn. Lia joked about his drunken foolishness lightheartedly, but when his face twisted into a mixture of shame, embarrassment, and sorrow, she immediately regretted it.

Lia apologized and the both of them made up extremely quickly, as she never meant to upset him, but they both knew then that the topic wasn't something to joke about. Not yet, at least, the wound is too fresh.

It doesn't take long for Tav too feed off of their teasing energy, since they both do it so much, especially when they're around. When they start joining in, Cal and Lia pull them aside to tell them Rolan's limits. This is the first time they see them both extremely protective of Rolan. While they both tease him plenty, that's still their big brother. They won't let anyone harm him.

After that quick discussion, the three immediately bond over messing with Rolan, much to his absolute dismay.

Cal and Lia talk about things he did when they were kids! Firebolts backfiring, covering himself in soot. His first ever date and how much of a disaster it was. Him correcting people's pronunciations on words, almost getting himself into a few fist fights. They'll even talk about how much of a bumbling fool he was before he and Tav's first date, trying to pick the perfect outfit that looked the most impressive, but not too impressive or it'll look like he's trying too hard.

In turn, Tav will talk about their past interactions, like how they made Rolan absolutely flustered for the first time. They were looking in his eyes and complimented the irises, saying they looked like Citrine. A yellow stone that generally means success. They have never seen him so damned flustered, they HAD to share!

Sometimes, Rolan is just sitting there in between the three completely embarrassed and unable to do anything about it. No matter how much he protests to the teasing, they still take joy in torturing him so. He wouldn't have it any other way.

#forest-writes #cal #lia #rolan x tav #rolan #bg3 rolan #holy rolan empire #rolan bg3 #cal bg3 #rolan cal and lia #bg3 lia #lia bg3

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flanaganfilm · 2 years ago

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I tend to get obsessed with scenes where actors have a particularly outstanding performance. I find myself revisiting them over and over again just to relive the moment. Several examples of this, but one that I just love is in Midnight Mass when Kate and Zach are on the rowboat. What's it like experiencing that live, during production? Are you aware in the moment of how special it is or does that become more evident in post? Love to hear any and all details behind the scenes of how those get made. Also curious what scenes from your favorite movies/TV standout as particularly compelling performances by the actors.

This scene is a strange one, because it was the first thing we shot of the whole series. We had been shut down since March 2020 when the initial COVID lockdown hit, and were the first show in North America to go back into production that summer. We didn't know how to do that, and were juggling constantly evolving safety protocols as we tried to figure out how to shoot in this new world. Because a lot of our sets weren't ready to shoot when we came back, we opted to start easy - on our stages, with blue screen work. The boat scene is shot entirely on blue screen, we didn't even have water - the boat was gently rocked back and forth by grips. Kate and Zach were asked to do this huge, heavy, insanely difficult and emotional scene ON OUR FIRST DAY. I had asked them a few weeks prior if they'd be okay with that, as I was worried - they hadn't built their characters yet. They hadn't put a single scene down to draw from. But both said they'd do it, and so we threw them into the deep end.

(That's DP Michael Fimognari in the boat, trying to adjust lighting through his goggles) It was a VERY weird day. We were all wearing KN95 masks and goggles, the actors had to wear full masks and face shields when we weren't rolling. It was absolutely surreal and just about impossible for anyone to get into any headspace that felt like we were doing scene work. I had been fitted with modified motorcycle goggles, as I needed eye protection to be near the actors (it was all more than a bit ridiculous.) There was a ladder on set - you can see it behind Michael in the picture above - and I started the day by climbing it to address the cast and crew. About ten words into my speech, my goggles completely fogged up and I couldn't see anymore. I had to be helped down the ladder by several grips. I remember the first rehearsal was insane because the actors weren't allowed to take off their masks, per Netflix safety protocols. I was also required to wear my mask and goggles throughout, so giving direction to actors who couldn't see my face was a brand new and deeply strange thing (I'd continue to work this way for the next two years, we all got used to it, but this first day was fucking WEIRD). Kate and Zach couldn't even really hear each other through the masks to rehearse, as it was such a quiet and intimate scene. I was standing a few feet away and couldn't hear a damn thing. It was additionally weird because all of the elements of the scene outside of the boat wouldn't be added for many, many months as we got into VFX. There was no water, no stars, nothing at all to look at but hanging blue curtains and masked crew members. I don't know how Kate and Zach were able to put all of that aside and deliver the performances they delivered - oh wait, I suppose I do know. It's because they are exceptional actors. Kate later told me she was so outside of her comfort zone that she had to just dive in and trust every single thing around her. The scenes in the boat ultimately came together beautifully, but I did apologize to both of them later in the shoot. It wasn't fair that we asked them to do that, to start like that, without letting them build any foundation. But both waved it off. Production is chaos, and that particular production was the very first out the gate with COVID, so everything was crazy. They took all of that vulnerability and uncertainty and discomfort and fear and turned it into a handful of scenes that roar with honesty. It's among my favorite moments in what may always be my favorite Intrepid series.

#midnight mass #kate siegel #zach gilford #covid protocol

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jwirecs · 2 years ago

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Recommended BTS Fics of February - March 2023💖

hello, hello! here are my bts recs of february - march! hopefully these beautiful stories get more recognition as well as the writers 💝

** anything in parentheses and bolded are my thoughts that can be disregarded if needed **

🔞smut || 💔angst || 💕fluff || ✅completed || 🔄ongoing || 💯favorite

Give Yourself A Try || @miscelunaaa 🔞💕💔✅💯💯

↳ You’ve got an enormous crush on Yoongi, the machine tech, and, if Jimin is to be believed, the feeling is mutual. A broken espresso machine and a snow storm are all it takes to bring everything crashing down around you.

Pure Affection || @yooniful💕✅💯

↳ jungkook falls in love with the most innocent person he’s ever met

The Airdrop Incident || @yoon-kooks💕✅

↳ You accidentally AirDrop a racy photo of yourself in strappy lingerie to your hot and arrogant neighbor Min Yoongi.

Our Not So Secret Secret || @thvhoe🔞💕✅💯

↳ When someone learns that Jungkook has been secretly keeping a puppy in his room despite not being allowed to, he turns to ask the only other person who knows about his secret for help. And suddenly you two—who had long been bitter enemies—get very close.

Spellbound || @yoonivy🔞💕💔✅

↳ The only reason you agreed to do this magical ritual with Park Jimin’s Circle was for the sake of your own Circle - to strengthen your individual magic. Yes, that means you’ll have to fuck him, but no, you weren’t happy about it because you hate Park Jimin. Once again, you were only doing this for your Circle.

Care For You || @archivedkookie💕✅

↳ Yoongi will always care for you, no matter what.

Cherry Lips || @guqwrvte💕✅

↳ you start using a new lip balm and jimin loves the taste.

Happiness Looks Good On You || @peachywritess💕✅

↳ (the title says it all.)

In Which.... || @onlyswan💕🔄💯💯💯💯

↳ (no summary, but if you want to feel soft and fluffy inside, this you should read their collection!)

Plan A Trois Gone Wrong || @peachypinkygloss🔞💕💔✅

↳ Jealousy is a bad flaw, Jungkook knows it, but was this threesome really a good idea?

Starboy || @thvhoe 🔞💕💔✅💯💯

↳ Jisung still has feelings for you, even though he'll never admit it. So when he starts dating someone who looks way too much like you, and then shows up unannounced on the same day that Jungkook does, well, let's just say Jungkook is done playing games.

Sweet Promise || @7deadlysinsfics 🔞💕✅

↳ hoseok is a romantic. he adores all the cheesy, cringey things about love, especially valentine’s day. there’s one problem, though: you hate all the cheesy, cringey things about love, including valentine’s day. but you do love your boyfriend, and for him, you’re willing to put aside your aversion for the holiday, especially when he promises you something you’ve been dying to try with him

Enemy || @bonny-kookoo💕💔🔄

↳ The enemy of my enemy is my friend. Or alternatively: Jungkook has no idea what to do with you.

Lavender Lemonade || @euphoricfilter💕✅

↳ you love spring and namjoon loves you.

Put Your Records On || @mysingularitybts 🔞💕💔🔄💯

↳ (there wasnt a summary, but i do suggest you give this one a read!)

Secret Story Of The Swan || @purpleyoonn💕✅

↳ You were staring into the stream, contemplating life when someone decided to take matters into their own hands.

Sugar & Spice || @bonny-kookoo💕🔄 (not too sure on the genre quite yet)

↳ In which Jungkook really wants people to love you just as much as he does - or maybe not.

The Life Of A Tyrant || @euphoricfilter💕✅

↳ it’s hard to hide you from the world when you’re on the run.

Enchanted || @purpleyoonn🔞💕💔🔄

↳ The realm under King Min’s rule had been under war for over. thirty years, a war within the inhuman species with origins no one knows. Your presence was brought into awareness when found by the king under the rubble of your home. You are plunged into a world you had only ever seen from the outside, and don’t know how long you can last.

Fight or Flight || @thvhoe🔞💕💔✅

↳ You want to disappear and sink into the ground—we're talking code red. As a result of the horrible events of accidentally sending your nudes to your best friend's brother, your life appears to change drastically. Beautiful, arrogant, and quickly developing into a star fighter—many factors should prevent you from falling for Jeon Jungkook. For years, you've kept your feelings for him a secret. Yet, ever since he has seen you in your underwear, it can become difficult to conceal your emotions when you see him practically daily.

Fxck A Fxckboy! || @yoongifis🔞✅

↳ where you sort of hooked up with one of the school’s biggest fuckboys but end up leaving him hanging and never contacting him because…well…why not? somehow the universe brought you two together and now you’re left with dealing with him because he apparently caught feelings for you.

Groupie || @joonsy2k🔞💕✅

↳ Your best friend Jimin invites you to see his band, painted duck, perform at your local bar. You didn't expect to end up backstage with the bands lead bassist.

Ivory Paws || @yminie🔞💕💔✅

↳ Winter time brings Christmas, and the snow outside brought you a stray cat. But your little companion is far more unique than meets the eye, and in a time of need, he becomes the biggest surprise and best holiday gift of them all.

Regroup || @drvmekoo🔞💕💔🔄💯

↳ Living with a roommate isn’t always smooth sailing. Whether it’s being plagued by a history of conflict, having met under bizarre circumstances or simply falling in love with the one person you know you shouldn’t be falling for. Are you ready to put pen to paper and sign away on that room for rent? After all, “the fate that brings people together is not a cord so easily cut”

Room For Rent (Bangtan Collab) || @m-yg93🔞💕💔🔄💯💯💯💯

Summer Nights and Morning Dew || @jeonstudios💕💔✅💯

↳ “Look, I don’t care. You can’t trust people, and we need to protect what’s ours, okay? So do us all a favor and take off those rose-colored glasses.”

Wicked As They Come || @caelesjjk 🔞✅

↳ you’ve been undercover at one of Min Yoongi’s many hotels in the city for the past week. you’re there because of the rumors that have been spreading regarding his vampire employees feeding off of his human guests. what you don’t expect to happen is Min Yoongi discovering your true intentions in his hotel and offering you a very interesting ultimatum: pretend to date the vampire CEO to help appeal to his human guests, or quickly find out just what kind of monster he can really be.

A Place For Us || @raplinesmoon💕💔✅

↳ It’s always on the most momentous occasions that things fall apart - but with some luck, love is always enough to bring people back together.

Father and Son || @serendipitous-seven💕✅

↳ moments with yoongi and his son while they enjoy a trip together

Vegas || @chimivx💕✅💯

↳ Dating Yoongi as an Idol used to be easy, and effortless, like pouring you two a glass of wine after one of his shows... However, after the birth of your surprise baby girl, those effortless days have gotten a little harder, you being unable to travel with your daughter. After one lucky doctor's appointment though, things seem to shape up...

Baby (You Complete Us) || @purpleyoonn🔞💕💔🔄💯💯

↳ you wear your bracelet for ten years, and finally give up the hope you would find your soul group, only for BTS to put theirs on and see what they were missing. (sorry theres going to be a whole lotta fics from this author. and the reason is....i just fcking love their writings)

Doughnuts and Shell Casings || @purpleyoonn🔞💕💔🔄💯💯

↳ you finally gather the courage to leave your routine and do something different. your expectations are blown out of the water as you meet your soulmates in a less-than-expected way.

Iridescent Love || @imnotlauriane🔞💕💔🔄💯💯

↳ From a fated meeting to a life filled with wonders, the path of discovery is much, much harder than what I had prepared myself for. Especially when my identity, the only one I knew of ends up being a total lie

Lies || @i-am-baechu💕💔✅💯💯

↳ Being friends with a famous boy group is laughable but here is L/N Y/N, best friends with Bts. Years of friendship and trust but all of sudden they start acting differently and it makes her question everything

Sleeping Temptation || @yminie🔞💕💔✅💯

The Little Things || @xddaengx💕✅

↳ You've never been more glade to have seven men by your side to help with your recovery. Even when times get tough you know they have your back.

I Hate You, Will You Marry Me? || @bangtansmaus💕💔✅💯

↳ you are just living your life. finally graduated college, living with your best friend, working your dream job as a choreographer. that is until you a get a text from someone you never thought you’d hear from again asking for a favor. he knows your secret and uses it as blackmail to get you to help him.

Nonsense || @muniimyg🔞💕💔✅

↳ jimin and oc know each others secrets. they’re virgins and make a deal to lose it to one another. after that, they keep hooking up and everyone can’t believe their eyes when they catch glimpses of the two getting along

Your Universe || @muniimyg🔞💕💔✅💯💯

↳ regretting rejecting oc, min yoongi goes through a circus load of gestures and tasks in attempt to be loved again

How Long Will We Fall || @jiminrings 💕💔✅💯

↳ if it’s fate, it should already be set onto your skin — that’s why jungkook’s initials are already on your finger. he’s always there for you, but not only for you. if you’re his fate, he’d rather not have it. alternatively, jungkook’s your soulmate, but he doesn’t want to be.

My Home || @purpleyoonn💕💔✅💯💯

↳ It was close to winter, and your medicine was nearly complete for you to use. But when it came to, you helped another whose wounds were life threatening. Now, random items kept showing up on your porch, with each item bringing you closer to the creature you healed. And when he returned, he saved you. Now, with him, you felt like you were home.

Yoongi’s Lullaby || @jiminrings💕💔✅💯💯

↳ there’s two things you can conclude from yoongi’s shapeshifting service: a) it’s great for his wallet, and b) it’s crushing for your heart. alternatively, yoongi’s your best friend and soulmate, and you have to watch him fall in love over and over again.

Captivity || @jimilter 🔞💕💔✅💯

↳ Maybe you shouldn’t be so attracted to one of your kidnappers and maybe you shouldn’t give in to his advances – but Park Jimin is way too irresistibly sexy and persistent in his pursuit of you for his own good.

Goodbye To Hello || @vminity21🔞💕💔✅

↳ After a devastating break up, you immediately move in with your sister, leaving behind the country life to relearn the ups and downs of the city. Adopting a cat and gaining a new job at a retail store part time, life seems to gradually bring happiness and healing, but you did not expect for it to become even more interesting when you stumble upon the enticing yet alluring tattoo artist, Jeon Jeongguk. Will this be an adventure of a lifetime? Or will hello always lead to goodbye?

Off-Screen || @thvhoe🔞💕💔✅💯

↳ Being a woman in the gaming industry is challenging, especially when all eyes are on you. What happens, though, when your biggest rival finds out that the well-known streamer who consistently wins games is not who people believe they are? Or You've spent your entire life pretending to be a guy online, so when one of the biggest steamers finds out, things get even more tricky.

Do check out all of the other BTS Fics that i have reblogged as well!!

** if there is any fics that you guys would like to recommend, please do! i am slowly running out of fics to read **

#bts scenarios #bts fluff #bts angst #bts smut #bts strangers to lovers au #bts soulmate au #bts hybrid au #bts enemies to lovers au #bts friends to lovers au #bts established relationship au #bts fic recs #bts recs #bts social media au #bts dad au

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bludrogue · 9 months ago

Text

Another Random Headcanon About Jason Todd

This is another weird experience I have had, but this is due to a personal experience. If I slam on my breaks too hard, witness a car accident in front of me, or bash the back of my head against the driver's seat (or any seat in the car for the matter), I tend to have the scent of burning oil fill my nostrils.

I don't know if that's normal, and sure, I'm projecting myself onto the headcanon, but I think it's an interesting experience. With that said, here's headcanon #3:

Headcanon #3: Phantosmia

-- Every time Jason has bashed his head against a hard surface, whether it be a wooden table, a brick wall, a lamp post, the concrete streets, a car door - honestly, the list is so long he can't even remember what he's smashed his head against -- the first sense to kick in was his olfactory.

-- Now he wouldn't care if this was just a physical response in general, but his nose always picks up on a scent that's never there. He's not entirely certain why his nose fills up with nonexistent fumes, this has been the case for as long as he can remember.

-- You'd think the scent of bourbon would remind him of Willis, the man always had one in his hand or in the cup holder of his arm chair. Jason can still recall the scent to this day - oak dipped in smoke, tinted in caramel, and saturated with vanilla. And as much as his mind can recognize the smell like he can recite a Shakespearen play off the back off his hand - that's not the scent his body would use to recall Willis.

-- No matter how many times Willis got close enough to burn his nostrils with his breath, it's never been the whiskey either.

-- Instead, it's fucking drywall.

-- Of all the scents in the world, it's fucking drywall. Because of course it is.

-- When he was a kid, it was this putrid scent of a heavy dose of rotten eggs nearing sulfur with a hint of chalk dust. And maybe those particular remnants are from a memory where Willis probably bashed his head hard enough into their shabby walls that he made a hole. Not that Jason remembers aside from the egregious smell - whether that's a side effect of the pit or straight up trauma, Jason is not would willingly attempt to recall any shared memories with his biological dad by choice.

-- If he could, he'd bury those memories deeper than when his body was trapped in the earth and surrounded by an ocean of soil.

-- But it's not just before being Robin.

-- During his time spent as Robin, if he hit his head hard enough, Scarecrow gave off a musty odor with a tinge of the world's worst garbage dumpster. Peguin, oddly enough, reeked of spoiled milk. And don't get him started on the Riddler -- that one he can't even describe with just words. (He weirdly gives off the scent of nail polish remover, do not ask him why.)

-- But the Joker?

-- The Joker's scent was nothing what he expected.

-- His sense of smell doesn't go toward the crisp and suffocating scent of smoke, the one that clogged his lungs so much that he wondered if that was the final straw to lead him marching towards death's door. Nor was it the smattering metallic smell emitted from the crowbar that bashed him over and over and over and - And his nose does not recall the Joker with the lead heavy scent of blood, no matter how much of his own spilled the day he died.

-- No, instead the monster carries the scent of fucking bubble gum.

-- Sweet, fruity, pink chewing gum.

-- Because of course the universe just has to ruin the little things, those simplicities of enjoyment. Like the birds chirping in the morning become screeching alarm clocks, his coffee mug always being chipped, a hole in his favorite pair of pants, just anything to ruin his day. He wonders whoever the fuck is in charge of mapping out his life is relishing in the misery he endures every fucking day. When he fucking gets his hands on -

-- Did you know it took him a solid year to even so much as spare a glance at a pack of the most basic, minty chewing gum again after his spent training with the League of Assassins? Did you know that it was until two years after his whole war between him and the bats he was finally able to even hold a stick in his palm without gagging? Did you know that only four years after all the bullshit he went through, he could finally place one stick of ice peppermint gum in his mouth for a solid ten minutes without throwing up immediately after?

-- He still can't handle the fruity flavor gum - no sour apple, no watermelon, no strawberry, no cinnamon, and especially no bubble gum flavored shit - without the dreadful urge to vomit lingering after.

-- And before Jason mended his relationship with the bats (or is still trying to, he has plenty of ups and downs with Bruce that he's getting dizzy from the ride.) Bruce's scent was ruined.

-- When he was Robin, Bruce carried the redolence of leather and a warm campfire. There was just something that screamed safety in his scent that he couldn't explain. The every time he woke up in the gurney from a concussion, the smell would hit before he would open his eyes and he knew Bruce was there.

-- But everything changed the night Bruce chose the Joker.

-- Bruce had hit his head hard enough against a porcelain toilet seat that his nose was bashed with the scent of leather instantly. He thought he had picked on his own jacket, but once the campfire wood wafted into the air he knew that was his designated scent for Bruce.

-- The emotional side was then crying for his dad, begging him to keep him safe from the monster in the closet, pleading to just let him come home, to choose him - his son - please - But the logical side was louder, especially when he aimed the gun at the Joker's head and gave Bruce a choice to make.

-- He had a job to complete and Bruce had a choice to make.

-- And Bruce decided and his scent was tainted.

-- Now, when there's a meeting held in the bat cave, or the only company he shares is with Bruce, he has to resist the urge to rub the scar on his neck to reassure himself he's not bleeding. To remind himself that his nose is just playing tricks to get himself to believe his throat is sliced open again.

-- But he never minded his olfactory any attention about these scents. Honestly, it was more subconscious than anything else, so why pay any attention to the matter? Plus, it wasn't like the matter was giving him any issues or disrupting his routine in any sort of way. He was still able to patrol and function to his usual capabilities -- which was not the standard, but still... functional.

-- And that meant had nothing to be concerned about. That these phantom scents had to be normal, right?

-- Maybe this was just another secret human function nobody spoke about. Kind of how the American education system fails to explain safety for sex because of the desire to keep a 'puritan' image.

-- But, as usual, he was proven wrong.

-- According to Tim, phantom smells were not a normal human function. Because, 'No, Jason. People do not have specific scents when you hit your head too hard,' and 'No, Jason. It is not common when you hit your head hard enough to smell a person or smell a nonexistent scent.' And blah, blah, blah.

-- He stopped paying attention after the third no.

-- But how did this conversation come about? Allow Jason to draw the scene for you:

-- Jason 'allowed' himself to be dragged to the manor by Bruce due to the severe concussion he received due to an Arkham breakout, followed by the orders of mandatory bed rest. And so, he was trapped under one roof with his siblings, who were piled into his room to force him to remain awake for the required hours necessary to be deemed safe from a coma.

-- He knew Dick was besides him, and the head massage he was receiving was not helpful in keeping him awake. But the others were somewhere in the room, he didn't need to open his eyes to know. He could tell by their scents.

-- The only person who wasn't in the room was Tim, who claimed he'd come right back without another word. (He's positive Tim went to go refill his coffee mug for the seventh time, and someone needs to get a handle on this kid's caffeine addiction.) But when Tim returned, he heavily smelled of apples - he always did when he was anxious.

-- Not that Jason usually minds if he hits his head, but this time the pounding was an incessant bitch who brought a drill to ram against his skull, so he couldn't handle the heavy scent at the time.

-- Jason immediately scrunched up his nose the moment Tim entered the room the moment he caught a waft of green apples. He rolled onto his side to have his back face the door, followed by a groan of, "Dude, Timbo, you fucking reek."

-- If Jason hits his head, sometimes he can practically smell Tim's potent and eternal state of anxiety. It's just as bad as Bruce's paranoia (but no one can ever beat that man in his levels of anxiety). However, when Tim is anxious, he carries the particular scent of green apples.

-- He hears Tim scoff, and there's a dip of weight at the corner of the bed. Jason lightly kicks Tim to shove him further away, only for the asshole to scoot closer.

-- "Hey, I took a mandatory after-patrol shower," Tim retorts, and he lifts his mug up to his lips and sips his coffee.

-- "No, you smell like fucking green apples," Jason hisses, burrowing his face into the pillow. If Tim gets any closer, his churning stomach might aim at Tim as his puke bucket. "You always do when you're fucking anxious about something, but Jesus fucking Christ, tone down the scent or, fuck, go sit in the arm chair."

-- "Green apples?" Dick mumbles, pausing in the movement of his hand. Jason almost whines at the loss of movement and he taps Dick's wrist. The moment Dick's hand continues those soothing circular movements, he relaxes.

-- What Jason doesn't see - or decides to blatantly ignore -- is the wide - eye stares everyone is glaring into his head. If Jason were to look, he would find a 'what the fuck' expression on each of their faces.

-- "Are you positive you're not smelling one of Tim's scented shampoos, tough guy?" Steph asks with curiosity lacing her tone. Tim has an array of scented shampoos and unscented ones -- the kid may be shit at self-care, but he certainly knows how to tend to his hair -- ranging from pomegranate to coconut to lavendar to oaky to vanilla, etc. (The list could go on.) But he certainly does not have a single apple scented shampoo.

-- "I'm positive," Jason replies. "He has a scent, you have a scent, everyone has a scent. Especially when I hit my head, it's normal."

-- People having individual scents is totally normal. He's positive of it. Plus, he's hit his head a multitude of times that the phantom scents kind of linger.

-- Tim taps the side of his coffee mug with his nails. "Jason... that's not- that's not normal."

-- Jason lifts his head from the pillow, the combination of scents burning his nostrils, but he ignores the hot twinge in favor of glaring at Tim. "It's fucking normal, Tim. I fucking experience it every time I hit my head."

-- "May I implore that none of your human experiences are what is considered 'normal', Todd?" Damian raises an eyebrow. He's settled on the ottoman by the end of the bed.

-- Jason opens his mouth to argue, but quickly clenches his jaw shut. As much as he hates to admit... the demon-brat has a point. Not that he needs to elaborate.

-- 'Is this a side effect from the lazarus pit?' Cas signs, tilting her head at a slight angle. Her eyebrows furrow together and the corner of lips curl - just as she always does when she's curious about a topic she doesn't understand.

-- "No." Jason whispers, keeping his tone gentle and crossing his arms over his chest. These phantom senses have always been around for him, even before the pit.

-- "So," Tim drawls, shifting the weight in the bed as he crosses his legs and holds his coffee mug. "When did this start?"

-- Jason narrows his gaze at Tim. "Fuck you, you're not my therapist."

-- Besides, he'll see his therapist next Wednesday, and he'll snitch on Bruce to his therapist. (And yes, his therapist is Harley.) He's not clinically insane - yet - but if this another 'Jason Todd anomaly', then why does he have phantom scents that hit his nose at random times? Especially when he hits his head?

-- "Wait, Lil' Wing," Dick pipes up, and Jason finds a cheeky grin on his face that warns Jason that Dick is about to ask a question he won't want to answer. "What do I smell like to you?"

-- "Yeah! I want to know too." Steph chimes in, resting her head in her hands as she places her elbows on the bed. There's a doe-eye look in her eyes that screams 'Pretty Please' as she flutters her lashes.

-- Heat crawls across Jason's face and spreads across his cheeks. He should have just kept his mouth shut, but he just had to go and whine about Tim reeking of fucking apples. It's not that he's embarrassed - not that he'd admit the truth out loud - but he's now more nervous than anything to reveal their scents. Especially now that he's more aware that having phantom scents isn't a typical human function.

-- Jason releases a breath, and decides to tell each one of them their identifying scent.

-- He has to admit, there are some positives to this phantom scents.

-- Dick carries the scent of sugar coated, blue cotton candy and mouthwatering salted popcorn. It reminds Jason of the one chance he took to sneak into the circus tent and hide under the bleachers as he watched the performance of the graceful Flying Graysons. He's always transported back to that memory when the scent hits his nose. But there's always a hint of hyacinth, and Jason has no idea where that comes from.

-- Tim may smell like apples when he's anxious, but he always carries a different scent of a different apple depending on his mood. If Tim is anxious or afraid, he reminds Jason of the odious redolence of a green apple. If Tim is mildly annoyed, enraged, or upset, he carries the scent of red apple. If Tim carries the scent of a yellow apple, it's an indicator that Tim is in a good mood.

-- Jason likes the yellow apple the most because A) That means Tim is in a good mood, and B) the smell of a yellow apple is a piquant flavor he has added on to his list of good scents. He doesn't feel has to avoid that apple without a specific reminder which is nice.

-- Steph smells zesty and sweet and reminds him of pop rocks candy, specifically the grape flavored kind. This could be due to her vivacious nature, but he nose tingles every time her scent appears. That could sometimes lead him to sneezing - which he doesn't admit to her.

-- Cas smells like Jasmine and sandal wood with a hint of roses.

-- Damian smells like paprika and cinnamon.

-- Duke smells like honey (and a part of him wonders if that's just because of the suit or the bee meme that his nose decided to join on the bandwagon.)

-- Alfred smells like his homemade chocolate chip cookies and hibiscus tea.

-- "And what about Bruce?" Dick's question is hanging in the air as Jason is drifting off to sleep. And Jason will never speak the truth of how Bruce smells now.

-- But he can always bend the truth.

-- "Used to smell like leather and campfire wood," Jason yawns into his pillow. "Used to smell safe."

-- "Used to?" Tim's question remains unanswered as Jason finally falls asleep.

-- When Jason wakes up, he notes that everyone is asleep except for Tim, who's claimed his spot in the armchair and curled around his laptop. His mug rests on top of the coffee table, his fingers are rapidly yet quietly typing away on the keyboard, and his focus is so honed in on the screen in front of him that he's caught off guard when Tim abruptly states, "Phantosmia."

-- Jason rubs the sleep out of his face. "Phanto-what?"

-- "Phantosmia," Tim repeats, adjusting his body weight on the arm chair and his eyes remain on the computer screen. "Or more known as a phantom smell, meaning you'll smell something that isn't there. Most people typically smell metal, burnt toast, or chemicals. This isn't necessarily a bad thing, just what occurs with either strokes or severe head trauma."

-- "Well, that explains a lot." Jason huffs, a smirk teasing his lips.

-- Even though he has an answer - which is pretty rare considering his medical history puts Santa's naughty list to shame - he doesn't believe having phantom smells is necessarily a horrible thing to have.

-- If the wind blows in just the right direction, he'll have scent of his mom follow him. Not his birth giver, Shelia, but Catherine. His mom carried the luscious scent of marshmallows, lilac flowers, and lit vanilla candles. And in his mind, it's still like his mom is there, still with him. Oddly, that was the last scent he remembers before he died in the warehouse and it's the safest he ever felt in years despite all the surrounding chaos.

-- "Thanks for researching, Timbo." Jason whispers.

-- Tim turns his head to Jason, and his lips lift into a grin. "Sure thing, Jay."

-- Phantosmia, while there are aspects of it he despises, he thinks there's a bit of a blessing buried in it too.

Hey guys! It's been a solid few days (I got super busy this week), but I thought I'd produce another headcanon. I hope you enjoyed and thank you for reading! I'll post another head canon soon!

Other headcanons:

Head canon 1

Head canon 2

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onceuponaoneshotfanfic · 1 year ago

Text

Something There (Chapter 5)

8.0k words

Roy Kent x Reader

Warnings: Language, some angsty talk about retirement, adults getting drunk, drunken spiciness🌶️🌶️🌶️

Author's Note: My fingers kept typing without me so this came out a bit longer than I intended. Also, I don't tend to write spice or smut, so hopefully this isn't too awful 🫣

And major thanks to @agentstarkid for the Broncos joke! 🩷🩷🩷

Series Masterlist

Keeley Jones was persistent, I had to give her that. When she’d originally asked about helping me find a dress for the charity gala, I gave a little “Yeah, sure”, figuring she was just being polite. Instead, she hounded me until I set aside the Wednesday afternoon before the event so she could turn me into her personal Barbie doll. Lucas pouted when I asked him to take over training, complaining that he wanted to be there for my “Cinderella moment”, but he agreed once I promised to let him pick me up for the event so he could be the first to see the finished product.

As though she expected me to bail, Keeley marched out to the pitch at our appointed meeting time, promising to send Lucas lots of pictures as she pulled me off the field; my players, knowing where I was going, whistled and hollered boisterously, calling for me to “find something pretty!”

“Back to work!” I barked, unable to hide the grin on my face, pleased that they were comfortable enough to tease me.

We walked briskly through the building, with Keeley listing off all the stores she wanted to take me to, asking me about what colors I liked, and stalking through my Instagram to see what kinds of dresses I’d worn in the past. I was so immersed in looking over her shoulder and pointing out what I liked about certain outfits, I didn’t notice someone in my path until I’d crashed into them.

“Fuck, sorry,” I yelped, looking up.

Roy Kent raised those thick eyebrows at me as I took a step back. “Cutting training early?” There was an edge of teasing in his voice, an almost friendly tone.

“We’re going dress shopping,” Keeley announced, a Cheshire-cat grin on her face. “This one needs something for the gala.” She poked Roy in the chest coyly. “You’ll be there, right, Roy?”

He rolled his eyes. “Like I have a fucking choice,” he mumbled. He returned his gaze to me. “Your players ready to be auctioned off like pieces of meat?”

I shook my head. “Oh, we’re not doing that.”

“I’m sorry?” His brows furrowed in confusion.

“I told Rebecca that selling dates with women felt kind of gross.” I wrinkled my nose. “So, we’re sponsoring a silent auction instead. Season tickets, signed jerseys, that sort of thing. Some of the gals pitched in for things like trips and wine tastings. I even got some of your guys to sign things to auction off.” I couldn’t help but grin. “My personal favorite item is a ball signed by the 1991 U.S. women’s team. Had to call in a few favors for that one.”

To my surprise, Roy chuckled. “Does that include Brandi Chastain?”

I scoffed in surprise. It was the second time now that he’d shown off that he remembered my poster. “Why yes, it does.”

Keeley was watching us with far too much interest. “We should get going,” she hummed, tearing my attention away from Roy. She quirked an eyebrow at the gruff manager. “Roy,” she started slowly, her voice playful. “What do you think Bucky’d look sexy in?”

We both choked on her question. I gave her a wide-eyed stare. What the fuck, Keeley?

Roy, just as red-faced as I knew I was, seemed to be looking everywhere but my face. “What? Fuck, I dunno. Why the fuck would I know?”

“Just thought you’d have an opinion,” Keeley purred. “We’ll see you later.” She linked her arm through mine and tugged me onwards.

Unable to help myself, I glanced back at Roy, who was staring after us, mouth slightly open. When he saw me looking at him, he shook his head violently, as if trying to rid himself of whatever thoughts ran through his mind.

I wondered if he could see how deeply I was blushing.

“The fuck was that?” I hissed to Keeley as we made our way to the parking lot, where Keeley’s sleek little convertible was waiting for us.

She shrugged casually. “What? Just wanted a man’s opinion.”

I snorted as I climbed into Keeley’s car. “We don’t need a man’s opinion.”

“Babe,” Keeley said in a patient voice. “Number one, wanting a man to think you look good doesn’t make you a bad feminist, alright? Number two-” Her eyes lit up as she pulled out of the parking lot. “-don’t you think Roy’s mad fit?”

My face warmed. “What, do you think he is?” I wasn’t sure why the thought made something in my stomach twist.

“Oh of course. Roy’s gorgeous,” she giggled. “We used to date, actually.” She eyed me carefully, as if gauging my reaction to that piece of information; I did my best to keep a neutral face. “But we’re much better as friends, trust me. He’s actually one of my best friends now.”

“Oh.” Why couldn’t I say anything else?

Keeley continued. “He’s a great guy. Like, I could write a glowing letter of recommendation to any potential partner.” She raised an eyebrow at me. “Anything you want to know?”

“Why would I want to know anything about Roy Kent as a boyfriend?” I scoffed, maybe a bit too much protest in my voice.

Keeley’s voice was suspiciously sweet. “Oh, no reason.”

“Hi, Coach Kent!” A few voices called as Roy strolled onto the pitch.

Roy gave a curt nod to the passing Whippets. They were nice women, very friendly, great athletes, got along well with his Greyhounds. But they giggled at him. Well, a couple of them did. Mostly Samara Scott and Kira Malone. Sometimes a few others. He wasn’t sure why, or even when it started, but when they crossed paths with him there were raised eyebrows and knowing smirks and whispers and giggles. It couldn’t be an “isn’t he cute?” thing; these ladies had no problem telling the Greyhounds to their faces when they thought the guys looked good, offering compliments the lads were more than happy to reciprocate.

No, it was as if the Whippets knew something. Or at least, they thought they did. Roy just couldn’t figure out what the fuck it was.

“Oi, Lucas.”

The assistant coach stopped mid-step to turn to Roy. “What’s up, Coach?”

Roy shuffled his feet as he watched the Whippets disappear into the building. “What’s up with your team?”

Lucas tilted his head. “How d’you mean?”

“They…” Roy felt stupid saying it out loud. “They always fucking giggle when they see me.” His face was warm with embarrassment.

“Oh.” Lucas laughed, adding to Roy’s frustration and curiosity. “No, you don’t want to know.”

Roy rolled his eyes. “Come on, man. I have an entire team snickering like children every time they see me. Fuck’s going on?”

Lucas gave a dry chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “Well, I mean, it’s only a couple of them giggling,” he pointed out. “And, I mean, I dunno, not to stereotype, but you know how women can be. Mysterious and shit.”

“Lucas.” Roy’s voice was stern; it was obvious the man knew more than he was letting on.

“It’s because they can’t giggle at their own manager.” Coach Beard’s voice made Roy nearly leap out of his skin; when had he become so fucking jumpy? Beard went on. “So, they’re giggling at you instead.”

Roy’s frown deepened as the Greyhounds straggled onto the training pitch. “Right, but why? What the fuck is so damn funny?”

To everyone’s surprise, Nate spoke up. “Well, you know, some of the players… they think you and-and Coach Buck…”

“What about me and Coach Buck?” Roy felt himself beginning to fume, suspecting what direction this was headed in.

“The two of you want to shag,” Jamie chirped as he strolled by.

Roy reached out and grabbed the back of Jamie’s shirt, choking the striker a little as he yanked him backwards. “What the fuck did you just say?” Everyone except Beard looked nervous now.

Jamie cleared his throat and adjusted his shirt. “You and Coach Buck,” he blurted out. “Everyone thinks you fancy each other.”

“We. Don’t. Fucking. Fancy. Each. Other.” Roy growled out each word slowly, emphatically. “Can’t fucking stand each other, you all know that. So, knock this shit off. And tell the Whippets the same thing, alright?” He raised his voice. “Laps until you puke. GO! WHISTLE!”

Lucas cleared his throat as the Greyhounds began running. “Um, Coach Kent, can I go now?” He jerked his head towards the building. “Kind of got my own team to work with.”

He regretted speaking up when Roy whirled around on him. “She hates me, right?” Roy’s voice was low; he wasn’t sure whether or not he wanted to be right.

“Uhh…” Lucas squirmed. “I mean, she probably wouldn’t be sobbing uncontrollably at your funeral, but she probably won’t be the direct the cause of your death either.”

Roy wasn’t quite sure what to do with that answer. “Right.” He blinked at Lucas, who offered up what he hoped was an innocent smile. “D’you think we should shag?”

“Gotta take me to dinner first, Coach.” Lucas nudged him and winked. He chuckled at Roy’s amused expression before turning to walk away. “See ya later.”

Roy shook his head. He wasn’t quite sure what the fuck everyone was on about, but he knew it was going to be all he could think about during training.

As we wandered through department stores, I realized that Keeley was very much in her element. Between her modeling and PR experiences, helping a friend find a flattering dress felt like something Keeley could do in her sleep. In the time it took me to find one dress I thought might look good on me, she had already grabbed about a dozen.

In our third store, Keeley declared she knew I’d find a dress here. I wasn’t so sure, but her confidence dared me to defy her. So, I hung up the dresses she had chosen in my fitting room and peeled off my sportwear in favor of sequins and lace and satin.

She demanded to see each dress, taking photos to send to Lucas, whose quick responses had me grumbling, “Who’s running my fucking practice?”

It was starting to get frustrating. I was attractive as hell; I knew I had what Keeley called a “bangin’ bod”, thanks to years of working out. And it wasn’t as if I’d never dressed up. I’d been to awards banquets and charity events, even the fucking White House. I liked dressing up and feeling pretty. But for some reason, this stupid gala had me scrutinizing every single dress I tried on.

“Here, babe, I’ve got one I think you’re going to love.” Keeley threw another dress over the door.

Wondering if I would ever find anything I genuinely liked, I tugged it on and took a tentative look in the mirror. Fuck.

“Keels, you should add personal shopper to your resumé,” I hollered, unable to contain my grin. I turned this way and that, amazed by the view. Black. Strapless. Plunging neckline. Tight. And a gorgeous thigh-high slit that perfectly straddled the line between tasteful and indecent.

When I stepped out of the fitting room, Keeley’s jaw practically hit the floor. “Oh, I am brilliant!” she squealed. “Give us a twirl, I’m gonna send Lucas a video.”

Feeling almost princess-like, I did as Keeley asked, blowing Lucas a kiss at the end. When Keeley showed me the video, I couldn’t help the giggle that escaped my lips.

“Wonder what Roy would think of this video,” she hummed, eyebrows raised.

My smile faded. “Why the fuck would you show Kent that video?”

She shrugged, her slender fingers tracing the exterior of her phone teasingly. “I won’t. I want him to get the full effect when he sees you walk through the doors on Saturday.” Her face softened. “He thinks you’re pretty,” she added.

“Does fucking not.” Could she hear my breath hitch?

“Well, I think he does,” she backtracked. “Pretty sure he has a crush on someone, and I’m pretty sure it’s you.” She grinned. “Could hardly keep his eyes off of you at your first match. Can’t really blame him, you looked gorgeous, all sexy and badass.” She gave me the onceover. “And when he sees you in this, well…” She winked at me. “Game over, coaches.”

I narrowed my eyes at her. “If I tell you to fuck off, can we still grab dinner after this?”

“Oh absolutely, my treat,” she assured me, steering me back into the fitting room so I could change out of the dress. “But I’m definitely not fucking off about this.”

Roy frowned at the mirror. He hated the gala. Well, he liked the open bar and free food. He almost enjoyed the spectacle of watching his friends get auctioned off now that he was safe from the meat market. And he didn’t mind opening up his wallet to help underprivileged children. But fuck, he hated dressing up. The red carpet. The dancing. The well-to-do pricks who felt like he owed them his time just because they inherited their money or made it in the stock market or some other posh shit while he earned his by kicking around a football.

And now he hated the way he criticized his reflection and the way his mind wandered to her. What would she be wearing? Keeley had taken her shopping, so something stunning, no doubt. Not that she needed a dress to look gorgeous. His heart hammered in his chest just seeing her in her running shorts and sports bra after work. Maybe he’d actually have that heart attack Keeley had mentioned when he saw her at the gala.

And what would she think when she saw him? Roy thought he was still a good-looking guy. Sure, maybe a little gray here and there, and he hadn’t had defined a six pack in years, but he was still attractive. Women still liked him. And with his black suit and hair almost managed and beard freshly trimmed, he thought he looked pretty fucking good.

But why the fuck did he care if she thought so? What the fuck, Roy?

He spent the whole ride over to the venue trying to turn his focus to other things. Work. The auction. Yoga. Phoebe’s most recent school play. His upcoming dentist appointment. That phone call from Ted that he needed to return. That phone call from his mother that he would not return because she’d just ask him if he was seeing anyone lately.

But his stupid, stupid brain just kept wondering what she would be wearing and what she would think when she saw him.

As soon as the car stopped, Roy handed some cash to the driver and hopped out. Just like every year, there were the fucking paparazzi, lined up to take pictures and shout asinine questions at people who just wanted to get inside and grab a free drink.

He stood at the edge of the red carpet, watching Rebecca pose for photos, so much more poised and confident than she’d been her first time hosting the gala on her own. Roy felt a surge of pride as he observed his friend; he’d seen her grow so much over the past few years, and she’d helped him to grow as well. He hated the idea that he’d been disappointing her lately with his behavior. He promised himself he’d do better. Do things the Richmond way.

“Lookin’ good, Coach.” Jamie clapped a hand on Roy’s shoulder; behind him stood Dani, whose arm was wrapped around a dolled-up Whippet, and Colin, who held hands with Michael.

“Fellas,” Roy greeted with a curt nod. He warily eyed the red carpet, knowing he couldn’t avoid it for long, before his eyes wandered in the direction everyone was arriving from.

“Bucky’s not here yet,” the Whippet- Esme?- pipped up when she noticed his lingering stare towards the line of cars. “She texted me that she’s running a bit late.”

Roy narrowed his eyes at her. “Not sure why I need to know that,” he mumbled. Not wanting an answer to that, he turned around for his annual speedwalk down the red carpet, calling out various combinations of “fuck” and “no” and “you” to the reporters.

He was finally inside, safe from the reporters, but not safe from the knowing looks of his friends and colleagues. Against his better judgement, he approached Keeley at the bar, who greeted him with a kiss on the cheek.

“Don’t you look lovely,” she murmured, giving Roy the once-over and straightening his tie. When he rolled his eyes and grumbled nonsense under his breath, she shook her head. “No, really, Roy. You look quite handsome.”

“Thanks,” he managed. He quickly gave a drink order to the bartender, then leaned against the bar, watching as people wandered in, everyone dressed to the nines. He had just turned to grab his drink when he saw Keeley perk up.

“Lucas! Bucky! Over here!” She waved towards the entrance.

Roy bit back an annoyed groan, then turned around and bit back a definitely-not-annoyed groan.

Fuck.

Arm in arm with Lucas, the Whippet’s manager strolled towards the bar. And, probably to no one’s surprise, she was fucking gorgeous. Hair down and wavy and framing her face angelically, looking better than any model Roy’d ever dated, lips red and so fucking kissable, she was wearing the hell out of a black dress that- for a brief moment- Roy thought would look damn good on his bedroom floor.

What the fuck?

Roy turned his attention to chugging his drink as fast as he could, hoping the answer to what was wrong with him was at the bottom of the glass. He found no answers there, but at least he was able to stop himself from ogling the beautiful manager as she approached.

“Babes, I told you that dress would be perfect!” he heard Keeley gush as she hugged the American. “And you, Lucas, very dapper.” She elbowed Roy, urging him to face the Whippets’ coaches. “Don’t they look great Roy?”

He finally had to force himself to look at her. She gazed up at him expectantly, her red, red lips slightly parted, eyes a little wider than he was used to seeing. Roy ignored the annoying feeling that they were being watched by more than just Keeley and Lucas.

“Coach Kent,” she greeted shortly. Her eyes searched his, as if she were asking him to take the lead and set the tone for their interaction.

“You… look… nice,” he managed, wondering if she could see his eyes straining to avoid trailing down her figure, the way he often let them wander during their silent evening runs on the treadmills.

She nodded. “You too,” she replied, fingers fidgeting on her clutch. “I, um, like your suit.”

Roy unconsciously licked his lips. “Thanks. I like your…” Fuck, he just noticed the slit. “Dress,” he finally blurted.

Her shy smile was almost enough to make Roy squirm. “Thanks.” She cleared her throat and patted Lucas’s arm. “Let’s go check out the silent auction before we sit down.” Her eyes returned to Roy. “See you guys later.”

In spite of himself, Roy watched her walk away, letting himself appreciate the way her dress hugged her figure as she walked. Unfortunately, he’d forgotten Keeley was leering at him.

“Oi, Kent,” she teased, nudging his shoulder with hers. “Pick your damn jaw off the floor.”

He brought his hand to his chin, realizing his mouth was indeed agape.

Fuck.

Fuck Roy Kent for looking so fucking good, I thought as Lucas and I perused the silent auction. It didn’t take a psychic to know he’d be in all black, but I hadn’t expected my knees to actually go weak at the sight of the man. I tried to tell myself it was because I was nervous that he’d start an argument about the silent auction or something, but deep down I knew it was because the stupid, feral part of my brain wanted to tug Roy by his black tie and take him straight to my apartment.

“See anything you like?” Lucas hummed, shooting me a not-so-sly wink when he caught me glancing over mt shoulder.

I gave a casual little shrug. “The 1991 ball is pretty awesome,” I murmured coolly. “Might put down a bid.”

Lucas elbowed me sharply. “You sure you wouldn’t rather bid on R-”

“Luke,” I warned in my most dangerously low voice, giving his tie a tug. “I will grab one of those butter knives and cut your tongue out if you finish that sentence.”

“So violent,” he tsked. “The two of you really are a match made him heaven.”

Before I could make another threat, Rebecca hurried over and wrapped me in a hug. “You came!”

“Of course,” I laughed, squeezing her back before letting go. “It’s in my contract.”

She winked at me. “You’re damn right it is.” She gave Lucas a quick kiss on the cheek. “You two look great. Americans clean up very well, apparently.” Her gaze lingered over the silent auction tables. “Excellent job with this, by the way. I took a quick peek, there’s already some big bids being put down.” She laid a hand on my arm, giving me a squeeze. “I’m very proud of you.”

And I knew she didn’t just mean the auction.

“Now then, you two are at table nine.” She gestured towards the tables, where people were beginning to settle for dinner. “You, me, Keeley, and all the coaches.”

“All the coaches,” I echoed, forcing a tight smile. “Of course.”

When we approached the table, I tried to make a beeline for the open seat next to Coach Beard, but Lucas immediately engaged Beard in conversation and stole the seat. That left just the spot on Lucas’s other side- next to Roy.

It was like everyone at Nelson Road had conspired to force Roy Kent and me into close proximity.

He gave me a curt nod as I sat beside him. “You decide who I have to dance with yet?”

Oh. Right. My team had won the charity game; I got to pick someone for Roy to dance with during the gala. I hadn’t even given it a single thought, assuming he wouldn’t bring it up and hold himself to our bet.

“Still thinking on it,” I answered. “Any requests?”

He gestured towards a nearby table, where an older woman was blowing kisses to a perturbed Jamie. “Not that old bird,” he hissed. “Won me in the auction one year. Had to go on a date with her, and it was the worst night of my fucking life.”

I couldn’t help myself. “You shag her?”

To my amazement, a smile appeared on his face. “Look at you, speaking our English. Maybe there is hope for you Yanks after all.”

I ignored the butterflies that appeared in my stomach. “But if I pick her,” I clarified slowly, “you will dance with her?”

His glare was playful. “Now, why would you go and ruin all our progress? We almost tolerate each other now. If we were any friendlier, Rebecca’d give us a fucking raise.”

Dinner was surprisingly painless and unsurprisingly delicious. I found myself actually enjoying chatting with Roy Kent. He pointed out the rich people at other tables and told Lucas and me horror stories about some of the auction dates he’d gone on.

“Oi, Coach Buck.” Jamie Tartt knelt down next to me, wearing a very stylish suit and a serious expression.

“Hi Jamie,” I greeted. “You look nice.”

He nodded. “I know.” He glanced up at Roy, who was rolling his eyes, before turning back to me. “Wanted to ask… How well d’you know your players?”

“Um, pretty well, I guess.” I frowned. “Why?”

His pretty face turned shy. “I was wondering about Kira. Is she… a Denver Broncos fan?”

My frown deepened. I knew Kira better than most of the Whippets; she’d played for me for one season before coming to England and playing for Arsenal for a couple of years. I wracked my brain for this random piece of trivia that was apparently very important, according to the look on Jamie’s face. “Well,” I started slowly. “She grew up near Pittsburgh, so she probably likes the Steelers. Don’t quote me on that, though.”

Jamie cocked his head, eyebrows furrowed. “The fuck does that mean?”

Roy rolled his eyes. “He’s not asking about football,” he muttered. “He wants to know if she likes men.”

“Oh.” I turned to Jamie. “Yeah, Kira’s into men.”

The beaming smile on Jamie’s face was infectious. “Mint. Thanks, Coaches.” He planted a sweet kiss on my cheek, then turned to Roy, eyebrow quirked teasingly.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Roy growled.

With a “Right, right,” Jamie practically skipped back table six, where he scooted his chair a smidge closer to Kira Malone’s; the pleasure on her face was visible even from where we sat.

“What the hell was with the Denver Broncos crap?” I asked Roy.

He shrugged. “Lasso shit,” he mumbled. “You’re better off not knowing, trust me.”

Surprisingly, I did trust him. “Alright, I know who you’re dancing with.”

Roy grimaced. “It’s the pervy old woman, innit?”

“Nope.” I pointed to table six. “Jamie Tartt.”

His laughter brought a deep blush to my cheeks. “You’re fucking vile.”

This had to be Roy’s favorite thing about being a coach. Sure, it was a gift to get to still be close to the game he loved so much. And yeah, helping players grow and become their best selves was fulfilling and shit.

But fuck, he loved getting to watch the auction and not be one of the prizes.

He whooped and hollered along with everyone else as each Greyhound took the stage, enjoying the alternating horror and delight on their faces when they saw the people who’d won them. There was something very sweet about witnessing Colin’s surprised expression when Michael won him, and he couldn’t resist adding to the particularly flirtatious hollers when Kira Malone placed an unsuccessful bid on Jamie Tartt.

Once Rebecca declared the auction a success and reminded everyone about the silent auction that would be continuing throughout the evening, people began moving to the dance floor. Good on his promise, and without prompting, Roy grabbed Jamie Tartt by the back of his shirt and dragged him away from Kira Malone, determined to get this over with.

Even above the music, Roy could hear a familiar laugh as he swayed to a fast song with Jamie, who, after his initial confusion, danced with genuine enthusiasm. Even Roy couldn’t resist cracking a smile when his former teammate asked Roy to give him a twirl- which, to everyone’s surprise, Roy obliged.

Once the song ended, the two men shook hands warmly, and Roy sent Jamie on his way to go ask Kira Malone for a dance.

Roy found Coach Bucky at the bar, sipping a drink. “Satisfied?” he asked.

“Extremely.” He tried not to focus too much on the way her lips looked wrapped around the little black straw.

“Good.” He stood next to her, leaning against the bar. “Can’t believe your team got out of the live auction. Such a double standard.” He hoped she could hear the teasing in his voice.

Her chuckle told him she did. “Well, when my girls make as much money as your boys, then we can talk about double standards.”

Roy shrugged. “That’s fair.” The two of them stood there, side-by-side, watching their players mingle and drink and dance. Roy wondered if she was also remembering that night at the club, the night that set the tone for all of their interactions. He felt kind of stupid when he remembered it; he should have been polite and asked her to dance. Things could be so different.

“Babes, come dance with us!” Before Roy could get the courage to do it himself, Keeley had come over and grabbed the American by the hand.

She turned and placed her empty glass in Roy’s hand. “That better be full when I get back,” she called over her shoulder as Keeley dragged her off.

She was coming back.

Maybe it was the alcohol in his system, but Roy found himself unable to keep his eyes off of her. The way she smiled, the way her hips moved, the way she looked in that dress. He let his mind wander to places he’d been avoiding since that first day in the changing room. Wondering what it’d be like to kiss those red lips, to have her arms wrapped around him, to see her in his bed. He liked those thoughts, despite what he’d spent months telling himself. He really liked them.

Not sure what to do with those thoughts, Roy distracted himself by pulling Beard over and chatting about nothing in particular, not really caring that his assistant coach could see his wandering eyes.

As the night wore on, she did eventually return, a few times actually, and Roy had a fresh drink ready for her each time. She’d stand by him and sip her drink, they’d talk about mundane things like the songs that played or the Greyhounds and Whippets that danced together, and they’d both wonder if the other could feel the tension between them that grew with each round of drinks they shared.

Late into the night, Keeley approached the managers, eyes sparkling mischievously. “Hey, you two,” she greeted carefully. “I’ve got a killer idea.”

Roy eyed her warily. “What?”

“Rebecca and I thought it’d be cute if our two managers shared a dance. Nice little photo op.” When she saw their faces sour, her voice turned stern. “Especially since they completely and totally owe me one.”

Right. They’d ruined her photoshoot.

“Fucking fine,” Roy muttered, as if the idea didn’t make his heartrate quicken. He downed his drink and slammed the glass on the bar, almost hard enough to break it. He held out his hand to the manager, whose sudden doe-eyes made his mouth go dry. “Let’s go.”

To his surprise, she didn’t protest or make a snarky comment. Not even a playful one. Instead, she took his hand and followed him to the dance floor; he wondered if her fingers also tingled the moment their hands touched.

Roy wasn’t sure if the fact that it was a slow song made things better or worse. But he did kind of like the way her hands rested at the nape of his neck, and he didn’t entirely hate the way her lower back felt under his hesitant grip. And he didn’t mind too much when she took his left hand in her right, holding them close to his hammering heart.

Three minutes. It was three minutes of her body pressed close to his, of letting himself stare at her and not caring that she or anyone else could see, three minutes of wondering what was going through her mind and hoping it was the same kinds of things he was thinking.

And those three minutes ended entirely too soon.

“What time is it?” she murmured absently. Seemingly without hesitation, she grabbed his wrist and held it up so she could see his watch.

“Scared your carriage’ll turn back into a pumpkin?” he teased, his mind begging her to stay so Keeley could force them to continue dancing.

She shrugged, eyebrows raised. “Dunno. Was kind of thinking of calling it a night.” After the longest three seconds of Roy’s life, she added, “What about you?”

He nodded. “I mean, the guys call me grandad for a reason,” he joked. “It’s way past my bedtime.” He gulped. “Should we share a taxi?”

The ride to Roy’s house was surprisingly short. He probably didn’t even need to take a cab and most likely could have walked home. But part of me- probably the drunk part- felt glad he did.

When the car pulled up to his house, he gripped the door, then hesitated. His eyes bore into mine as he said the last thing I ever thought Roy Kent would say to me: “Want to come in for a drink?”

I was pretty sure I surprised both of us when I offered up a small “Yeah.”

He paid the driver, helped me out of the car, and laid his hand on my back as we walked up to his front door. It dawned on me that, aside from our silent after-work runs in the weight room, this was the first time we’d ever been alone together.

Not a big deal, I told myself. Just two colleagues sharing a drink. Late at night. Looking really fucking attractive.

A few months ago, I would have expected his house to have a bunch of upside-down crosses and a few coffins and skulls lying about. Instead, I found his house to be almost… cozy? There were photos of his sister and niece, a couple of plants, even a record player in one corner with vinyls stacked next to it.

Maybe he really deserved the “grandad” nickname.

I settled myself on the couch, placing my clutch on the coffee table that held far too many books to be tidy, but not enough to look cluttered. Roy disappeared into what I assumed was the kitchen and immediately popped his head back in.

“I’m a fucking idiot,” he said softly, an embarrassed grin on his lips. “I invited you for a drink, but all I’ve got is a fridge full of beer, half a bottle of tequila, and a brand-new bottle of scotch. Apparently, I am a shit host.”

“Scotch sounds good,” I assured him, for some reason unwilling to give him any excuse to send me home.

His smile told me he wasn’t going to. “Scotch then.” He nodded towards the record player. “You could put something on if you want,” he offered before disappearing again.

Feeling amused and curious, I went over and began perusing his record collection. It was a mix of old and new albums, all kinds of genres, some pretty surprising. I was looking at the back of one when Roy returned, holding two glasses.

I glanced over my shoulder. “Sam Cooke?”

He nodded as he sat down. “My grandad was a fan,” he explained. “That one was his, actually.”

With a small hum, I put the record on, the music immediately reminding me of my own grandparents. “Were you and your grandfather close?” I asked as I joined him on the couch, taking the glass he offered me.

“Very.” He took a sip of his drink. “You were close to yours, right? You mentioned him in your first press conference. Gave you your nickname.”

He remembered. “He was my best friend,” I murmured, leaning back into the couch. “Loved soccer and wanted me to love it too.” I let my finger trace the rim of my glass. “Saw me go to the Olympics. Didn’t see me become a coach.”

Roy studied me carefully as I took a drink. “Can I ask you something?”

“Hmm?”

He hesitated, as if trying to figure out how to phrase it. “Why the fuck are you retired? You don’t have my excuse of being old as shit. Fucking Rapinoe’s barely retiring, and I know for a fact she’s older than you.”

A dry chuckle escaped my lips, amused at his less than gentle phrasing. “I love soccer more than breathing. What d’you think would keep me from playing until I die?”

“You got hurt.” Not a question.

“I got hurt,” I confirmed. “Took a really bad tackle in an international friendly. Fucked my ankle.” I stuck out my chin, refusing to look pitiful in front of anyone, let alone Roy Kent. “They told me that with surgery and rehab and a lot of work I could play again, but I would never be the same. Eventually playing would destroy me, and I’d make it worse and fall into that ugly cycle of injury and rehab and becoming more and more useless on the field. And I refused to keep playing and keep getting hurt and becoming an easy target for commentators. So, I retired and became a coach. Stayed useful. Did it on my terms.”

Roy let out a sharp breath. “Fuck. Well, you’re less stubborn than me, I guess. I fell into that fucking cycle and kept playing and let myself become a fucking joke because I was too fucking proud to retire with dignity.”

I shook my head. “I was just a different kind of stubborn. Refused to play if I wasn’t at my best. Gave up the one thing I ever truly loved because I couldn’t do it my way.”

“We’re just a couple of stubborn pricks then,” Roy declared, lifting his drink.

I tapped my glass to his with a clink. “I don’t think anyone at Richmond would fight us on that.”

“Even if they did, we’d argue with them.”

“Definitely.”

We sat in silence, staring at our drinks, clearly not sure how to speak to one another for this long without shouting.

He finally opened his mouth. “D’you ever miss it?” His voice was softer than I’d ever heard it.

I nodded solemnly. “More than anything. You?”

“More than I miss being able to walk up the stairs without having to take a break,” he joked, clearly trying to avoid the heavy direction we were heading in. Noticing our now empty glasses, he silently picked them up and carried them to the kitchen. “Oi,” he called. “I have a fucking awful question for you. Whatever we say doesn’t leave this house, alright?”

“Can’t have anyone figure out we’re capable of getting along,” I teased. “We couldn’t get away with our screaming matches anymore.”

His smirk was wide when he returned. “Exactly.” He handed over my drink and resumed his seat, his serious expression returning. “D’you… ever hate your players? Because they get to keep playing and you… don’t?”

Fuck. I’d never heard anyone voice the bitterness I silently felt so perfectly before. “It’s awful,” I admitted. “Because I adore them. And I’m so fucking proud of them. But sometimes I feel so envious, y’know?” I blinked, refusing to cry in front of Roy Kent. “It’s like time keeps moving and I’m just frozen. It’s so damn hard to go from the top of the world, being the fucking champion of the world, to sitting on the sideline, watching other people live your dream. Faking smiles when all you want to do is fade into oblivion.”

“But you just can’t fucking stay away from the game,” Roy murmured, reading my mind. “It’s like a first love. You can never quite get over it.” He sighed heavily. “So, we linger, we stick around, and we figure out some way to be useful, even if it kills us.”

“And when it does kill us,” I added, “they’ll just keep dribbling around us.”

His dark laugh eased the pain this conversation held. “Oi, I promise to move you out of the way. Give you some fucking dignity. Promise you’ll do the same for me?”

I smirked at him, determined to help him lighten things up. “Dunno if you’ll be able to move my body. I hear your knees are shit.”

“Fuck you,” he replied, the expression on his face telling me that, for once, he didn’t really mean it. “Alright, another question.” I raised my eyebrows at him. “Do you miss, I dunno, being the hot young thing?”

Doing my best Roy Kent impression, I narrowed my eyes at him. “Fuck you,” I repeated. “I’m younger than you, Kent. And I have it on good authority that I’m still pretty hot.” My expression naturally softened when I saw the laughter in his eyes. “But I know what you mean. Everyone wants the cute young athlete, no one wants the exhausted manager. A lot less options when you’re not the shiny new thing anymore.”

“Well,” he started slowly, “you are the shiny new thing at Richmond.”

I gave a little hum. “Not with the other Whippets around,” I pointed out. “I noticed Jamie Tartt and Dani Rojas started poking around my office a lot less once my girls arrived.”

Roy studied me carefully for a moment. “Do you… want their attention?”

I nearly choked on my drink. “Fuck no,” I laughed. “I might still be young, but I’m old enough to not want to date guys like that. Not that I don’t think they’re sweet,” I quickly added. “That’s just… not what I’m looking for anymore.”

The silence returned. Something in the way he looked at me had me blurting out the first thing that popped into my head.

“Keeley mentioned that, um, the two of you used to date?”

After a moment of shock, he nodded. “Oh. Yeah. For a bit.” He took a long drink. “That’s all completely over. We’re good friends now, but neither of us want to go down that road again.” He paused before continuing. “Not that it was a bad relationship. It was great, actually. We just grew apart. And we’re honestly much better as friends.”

“Oh.” Just like when Keeley talked about it, I couldn’t figure out what to say. Or why I was so interested.

“And we’ve both moved on,” he continued, as if he was trying to convince me. “She’s had a couple of relationships since, and I…” He looked at me carefully, watching me take a drink of my scotch. “I’ve moved on,” he repeated.

I crossed my legs, not sure if it was me or the alcohol that purposely did so in a way that took full advantage of the slit in my dress. “Well, that’s nice. That you two remained friends, I mean.”

“Yeah.” His eyes were on my exposed leg. “Friends.”

“I would say we’re on our way to almost being friends, wouldn’t you?”

He grunted in response. “Maybe.” He turned his body to face me, something heated in his eyes. “D’you need some more scotch?”

I smiled at him and mirrored his posture, reveling in the closeness it provided. “Not sure I should keep you up any longer. Bedtime, remember?”

“I don’t really have a bedtime,” he admitted with a laugh. “Just wanted to get the fuck out of there.” He paused, letting his hand drop down onto the back of the couch so his fingers ghosted over my bare shoulder. “Getting a little sick of everyone watching us all the time.”

My heart skipped a beat at his touch. “I take it you’ve been getting some teasing?”

“They don’t fucking stop, do they?” He finished his drink and put down his glass with a thud. “All this ‘shag it out of your system’ shit. It’s fucking sexual harassment.”

“That’s what I told Lucas!” I set down my glass, ignoring the last couple of sips left in it. “Even Keeley was going on and on about how you were going to love this dress on me.”

His lips curved upwards. “I do love that dress on you.”

My words got caught in my throat. Hell, I didn’t even know what those words were going to be. All I knew was that Roy Kent was staring at my lips and his fingers were grazing my shoulder and that he was still wearing his jacket and that I suddenly wanted to see it on the floor.

His eyes reflecting the same uncertainty and heat that I felt, Roy leaned forward and captured my lips in a forceful kiss. The hand on my shoulder moved to the back of my neck as his other hand gripped my thigh where the dress split open to reveal most of my leg, as if the dress was conspiring along with everyone else at Nelson Road. My own hands tugged at his suit jacket, shoving it off his shoulders and tossing it aside, before returning to his shoulders to pull him closer to me.

There was a surprising gentleness to the way he pushed me back until I was horizontal on the couch, Roy propping himself up to keep his full weight off of me. My hands moved to his face, amused to find that his beard was much softer than I’d expected it to be. Somewhere in my mind- the part still capable of coherent thought- I scolded myself for expecting anything about how his beard would feel.

As his tongue skimmed against mine, the record came to a halt; neither of us seemed to care, instead choosing to fill the living room with the sounds of our heavy breathing and soft moans. Kissing Roy Kent was delicious- he tasted like scotch and smelled like expensive, spicy cologne and felt like everything I never knew I needed.

His mouth moved away from mine to find every bit of bare skin and planting rough, wet kisses on every inch he could reach, giving me butterflies in more places than just my tummy. When he finally decided to take advantage of the neckline of my dress and bring his lips there, I mumbled, “Will you argue with me if I ask you where your bedroom is?”

He looked up, grinning like a devil, eyes darker and more intense than their usual soft brown. “Only if you slow me down.”

He managed to get us both to our feet without breaking the embrace, albeit with a bit of a stumble. He kept his mouth on mine as he tugged me through the house and down the hall, where I relieved him of his tie and began fumbling with the buttons on his shirt, while his hands roamed the back of my dress, searching for the zipper.

As we crashed through his bedroom door, he managed to rasp against my lips, “Are you too drunk for this?”

Feeling just short of desperation as I squeezed him impossibly closer, I shook my head. “Just drunk enough. You?”

“Just drunk enough.”

That was all either of us needed to hear. His shirt was suddenly unbuttoned, and my dress was on the floor. We had enough sense to carelessly remove our shoes and kick them to some corner of the room before tumbling onto his bed. When his shirt was tossed aside, I gave an involuntary gulp. This wasn’t a new sight; I watched Roy run without a shirt regularly. But tonight? Tonight, I got to reach out and let my fingers run through that dark curly hair, giving a little tug that had Roy hissing against my neck and grinding his hips into mine.

“Take your pants off, Kent,” I groaned before smashing my mouth into his again.

“I think you can call me Roy now,” he mumbled, for once doing as he was told.

I wrapped my legs around his waist, desperate for more, more, more of him. His skin was blazing hot against mine as his hands explored here, there, everywhere. I marveled at how good it felt to have this man pressed so close to me, amazed that we’d lasted this long without falling into bed together.

His mind must’ve been in the same place, because he mumbled, “Wish I’d known this is what you meant all those times you told me to get fucked.”

“Fuck you, Roy,” I whispered jokingly as my hand slowly travelled lower, towards the place I knew would be the hottest to the touch.

“Thought that was the plan,” he replied, hips bucking slightly when I began toying with the waistband of his boxers.

I buried my giggles against his lips. In the back of my head, behind my usual contempt for this man and his snark, behind my ever-growing need for him, some little voice whispered, He’s funny. Roy Kent is FUNNY.

There wasn’t much time for me to focus on that, however, as Roy’s hand found my own underwear, giving a playful little tug. “This alright?” he breathed, as if we weren’t both on fire with wanting each other.

“Just do me one favor,” I murmured, bumping my nose to his, an impossibly chaste gesture compared to what we were about to do.

“Fucking anything,” he groaned. The- was I really seeing this?- affection in his eyes told me he truly meant it.

I pressed a heated kiss to his lips, where I mumbled, “Don’t fucking call me Bucky.”

He laughed, and, for the first time, he whispered my name.

And he whispered it in my ear for the rest of the night.

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#roy kent something there #he's here he's there he's every fucking where #roy kent #roy kent x reader #roy kent fanfic #roy kent fic #roy kent fanfiction #roy kent smut #ted lasso #ted lasso fic #ted lasso fanfic #ted lasso fanfiction

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gophergal · 7 months ago

Note

I know fuck all about tf2 except for character names. Most I got is you and a few other mutuals posts, and they're 10/10. How does the game..... work exactly? Like is there plot? Is it first person shooter sort of thing? Is there a tf1?

I could google it but that's not nearly as fun

OH BOY GET READY FOR THE B I G R AM B L E

WHAT THE FUCK IS TF2?

It's a team based first person shooter published by Valve (of portal and half life fame) in 2007 with nine classes to choose from, each with strengths countered by other classes (for example, the Spy is often a counter against the Sniper and Engineer. Respectively, by picking off the Sniper with a quick, stealthy backstab or by destroying the Engineer's machines). The game has been free to play since 2009 (i think. grain of salt please), and has a healthy playerbase to this day, aside from the bots. But not every tf2 fan actually plays the game. I play sometimes, but mostly just rotate the characters in my brain like a microwave burrito.

It is ALSO, however, a multimedia franchise. Aside from the game, which shows off worldbuilding and characterization through the environment and character dialogue (as well as the update announcement flyers on the official blog), there are also animated shorts and comics created by Valve that further flesh out the world and characters of TF2. Frankly, I think you should give the Meet The Team shorts a go if nothing else. They're iconic. It's hard to pick favorites, but I'm partial to Meet the Medic (obviously), Meet the Engineer (which I can quote verbatim), and Meet the Sniper.

Broadly, the world and aesthetics of TF2 are based on 60's/70's cold war thrillers and spy movies. Think James Bond and the Manchurian Candidate. These impeccable vibes are then wrapped neatly in a cartoony artstyle that wasn't common at the time (and arguably still isn't. I'm pretending that fortnight doesnt exist, as is custom). On a related note, the soundtrack FUCKS SEVERELY. Like. They just DO. They have influence from Jazz, Funk, and miltary marching songs, with more specific influences for individual characters (ex: country western for engineer, polka for medic, and bagpipes for demoman)

An important thing to note is that every class is a play on some stereotype from the movies that inspired the vibes:

Heavy Weapons Guy is a husky ruskie and a man of few words, but he has hidden depths. He's a family man, most importantly, and has been supporting and protecting his mother and younger sisters since his father was killed when he was a teenager. He has a close bond with the Medic and speaks highly of the Engineer ("Engineer is credit to team!"). In a debatably canon piece of dialogue from TellTale's Poker Night At The Inventory, he is revealed to have a PhD in Russian Literature.

Engineer is a texan with 11 PhDs in hard science. He exudes southern hospitality and seems like the most sane man on the team. He also takes great joy in the death and destruction his weapons cause, and ALSO helps the Medic in performing deeply unethical experiments that go against the laws of nature for curiosity sake. He's the third in a line of engineers, btw, and his grandfather basically conquered death. Which isn't super relevant, but I feel is a good lead in to some of the wackier elements of this world I would like to mention.

And every character is like this to some degree. Some more so than others- Soldier is basically just "how american can a man be before it starts impacting his mental health" and Pyro is unknown in terms of nationality, gender, and background

TF2 has a plot by the way! Yes, there is a reason for these many dudes in funny hats to be fighting. They are fighting over gravel. Yeah. So, these two brothers are fighting over land willed to them by their father (who died in the 1890's) which is largely useless aside from having a lot of gravel. Their names are Redmond and Blutarch Mann, and they're the ceos of their own corporations. Reliable Excavation & Demolitions (RED) and Builder's League United (BLU) respectively. They each hired mercenaries to fight a proxy war for them with the goal of owning it all. All the while, a third party, The Administrator, has been playing both sides of the Gravel War to keep it going as long as possible. Why? It's a mystery...

RAPID FIRE TF2 WORLDBUILDING BULLSHITTERY BE UPON YE:

(most of this is just stupid shit that was made up for Pure Random Funny HaHa and has very little bearing on the plot, but tells you a LOT about the tone of the franchise)

Rocket Jumping (that is, shooting a rocket propelled grenade at your feet and crouch-jumping at the same time to launch yourself into the air) was a technique pioneered by Shakespearicles, the STRONGEST POET TO EVER LIVE. He also invented the concept of a Second Floor in a building

Btw, stairs were not invented when the second floor was invented. I want you to take a wild guess how people got to the second floor before stairs were invented. (hint: it involves explosives)

Stairs were invented by Abraham Lincoln. He died due to rocket jumping up said stairs which caused him to accelerate rapidly into a wall. He was also the first Pyro in the 1890s.

New Zealand sank below the ocean sometime in the 40's. By which I mean it was intentionally sank because a Jor-el knockoff believed that the world was ending and that going underwater was the only way to save the nation.

CisMpreg exists. This fact is Medic's fault.

OK But What About Team Fortress 1?

So, its. Not complicated but it's not exactly simple. Quick answer, the original TF game has nothing to do with TF2. Team Fortress was originally a mod for the game Quake and has the same basic gameplay premise as it's successors (team based FPS with 9 classes) and quite a few maps have actually been remade for TF2. It was released in 1996, so, as TF2 was taking A Very Long Time to complete, Valve released a sort of... updated version that was meant to hold fans over. It uses the half life 2 engine, I believe, and was released in 1999. It is called Team Fortress Classic and it's only a LITTLE confusing to research I swear.

TFC takes place in the same universe as TF2, but in the 1930's instead of the 60's. Ignore the scifi/modern looking tech. Don't worry about it. This has no bearing on TFC, really, because it was only confirmed in one of the comics released in 2014. The TFC team matters to the comic plot, but is otherwise kinda just. there. Like, they only exist in the Mann Co No More story line and otherwise just exist.

Fun fact: TFC (the game) was updated to change the ingame class models to more accurately represent the appearance given to them in the comics.

For example, look at the glow up given to the TFC Medic! (original on the left, updated on the right)

In Conclusion:

I will be surprised anyone actually reads all of this, but that is my rambling summary of what in the fuck TF2 is. To be fair, the game is richly detailed but also kinda sparse at the same time. Its all vibes and interpretation my dude. Honestly I think what has made TF2 so popular and long lasting (lore wise) is related to what early FNAF games had going on

#gopher rambles #team fortress 2 #long post #im sorry its so long it got away from me. I was hit with the nuerodiverging beam of “someone asked me to explain a thing I like”#if you would like me to ramble about some of the mentioned interpretations and headcanons I'm rotating I would be glad to btw. but its a lo #hope this answered your questions!

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yeonjunszn · 2 years ago

Text

like hot summer ☼

pairing park sunghoon x f!reader

word count 8k

genres fluff﹒slight angst ﹒smut

warnings 18+ minors dni, mature language, best friends to lovers trope, sharing a bed/room trope, insufferable heeseung + slightly less insufferable jake, features enha jay, txt beomgyu, taehyun, and huening + skz jeongin, also features nct dream, i’m so sorry for doing u so dirty jisung 💔, mentions of alcohol, hoon is kinda mean for like a singular second, vaginal fingering, marking?, unprotected sex (wrap it before u tap it 😒), finishing inside, Lots of Kissing, they’re kinda gross at the end like i made myself mad with how cute they were being so of course i had to ruin it… u’ll see 😇

summary you’ve been best friends for years now, so why does the idea of sharing a room with him get you so flustered?

more HAPPY 900 FOLLOWERS!! thank u guys so much for giving me this platform to write even if it is for boys who have no idea i exist 😭 writing has always been something very dear to me since a young age and i’m so grateful for being able to get this far on this site. i’ve had an issue with reach in the past and this blog has been nothing but kind to me. i’m forever indebted to all of u and my future followers 🫶 here’s a small token of my appreciation — i havent written anything nsfw since ? march ? i believe 💀 so i apologize if this is rough.. it was originally a vernon fic before i decided not to write for svt anymore and i actually started it in july 😭😭 which is why it’s another summer based fic LMFAOAOAO anyways it was supposed to be like 5k and i got carried away so here u go <3

“please do not take those with you.”

you look up from the suitcase you were stuffing clothes in, a pair of your most comfortable underwear currently in your hands. heeseung gives you a dissatisfied look, standing from his spot in your desk chair to snatch them and throw the garment behind him.

“okay? what the hell?” you furrow your eyebrows in confusion.

“we’re going on a trip where you’ll most likely be meeting new people. i don’t think you want to be dressed like a grandma when you do.” he explains with an eye roll, as if it was obvious.

“first of all, rude, they’re cute. second of all, i don’t plan on sleeping around,” you frown, glancing behind him at your poor underwear on the floor. “i should’ve just asked hoon to help me pack. you suck.”

“i’m pretty sure he’d also tell you to ditch the granny-panties.” he shrugs, sitting back on the rolling chair.

“n-no! i wouldn’t have even let him see me packing my undergarments.” you say defensively.

“you’ve been best friends this long and he’s never seen your underwear at least once? what makes me so special.” the brunette snorts.

“you’re… you.”

he gasps in feign offense, slapping his chest. “what the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“don’t take it personally! i’d probably let jake see my underwear too,” you defend your words, rifling through your clothes to make sure everything you needed was good to go. when you glance up at heeseung, he has a grimace on his face and you realize what you just said. “stop it! i meant because i see you both like brothers, so it wouldn’t be weird.”

“there are two things to be discussed here; one being the fact that you’d let bitchless, has never felt the touch of a woman in his life, jake sim, see your underwear— even if you think of him as a brother. and two being the fact that sunghoon is somehow different despite knowing him the same amount of time as us.” he raises an eyebrow as you turn to your dresser in search for a pair of replacement panties, since he so graciously tossed aside your favorites, then zip your suitcase shut.

with a grunt, you lug the thing off your bed, checking your appearance in the mirror since you were getting picked up soon. you peek over your shoulder at the brunette, narrowing your eyes. “i hope you know that you’re the absolute bane of my existence, lee heeseung.”

a couple hours later you find yourself sipping on a margarita, poolside at the airbnb you and your friends were renting. the beach was within walking distance, but you didn’t feel like going so you stayed back by yourself. you didn’t mind it at all, because it was probably the only chance you’d get to be alone in a house full of boys.

nine of you crammed into a single house was not ideal, especially considering you were the only girl in your group, but you planned this trip every year. loud, gross, and annoying antics aside, you loved them more than anything. (except maybe when they asked you to set any of them up with one of your girl friends.)

you also felt like you needed a bit of reprieve before you called it a night, since you weren’t given the privilege of your own room this time. all of you made the grave mistake of putting beomgyu in charge of booking the airbnb and his dumbass forgot until about a month ago, when he scrambled to find something within everyone’s standards and big enough to accommodate your large party. and while he was able to secure something, it did mean you’d have to have a roommate.

everyone agreed that it’d be okay if it was just you and one other person to respect your boundaries. rooming arrangements varied from year to year depending on how you decided, but this was the first time you were included. the boys got straight into it the moment you all set foot on the property, arguing in the front yard while you figured out how to work the keypad on the door. due to your ignorance to their shenanigans, you didn’t know who your temporary roommate was until the whole ordeal was a done deal.

before anything was set in stone, there was a unanimous choice to give you and whoever you ended up with the master bedroom, because none of them wanted you biting their heads off for hogging the bathroom. in the first room (the one next to the master), was heeseung, beomgyu, and jeongin, delegated by a game of rock paper scissors. by some miracle or just sheer dumb luck, the three idiots wound up together and celebrated by hugging in a circle and jumping around like elementary schoolers. the second room went to jay, jake, taehyun, and kai. this left one person— park sunghoon.

had you participated in the actual game, you would’ve started a riot to switch roommates. hell, you’d even share a room with jake, and that said everything about how you were feeling towards this situation.

it’s not that you didn’t want to room with sunghoon, per se, it was more like you were afraid to room with him. he was decently calm and an easy person to get along with for the most part. except his ability to tease you in any situation lit a fire under you. his jokes that would seem belittling to anyone else felt flirty and it drove you crazy. all of the guys in your friend group were good looking, but you always found yourself gravitating more towards sunghoon. (besides, you could never in a million years see yourself making out with someone like taehyun; who you thought was quite honestly prettier than you or beomgyu; who enjoyed personally talking your ear off every opportunity he got.)

when the boys finally come back from the beach, the sun has set and you, yourself, had just returned from picking up dinner. the nine of you ate with comfortable conversation here and there, exhausted from the long day you just had, before drawing the evening to a close.

you feel awkward trudging up the stairs to your room with sunghoon in tow, like if you say the wrong thing you’ll alter the entire course of your friendship. he tells you that you can shower first and so you do, but halfway through, you realize you forgot to grab you clothes on the way in. you curse at yourself as you rinse your body wash, switching off the water.

you wrap your towel around yourself timidly, well aware that it’s the only thing stopping sunghoon from seeing your bare body. with a gulp, you reach for the door handle, pushing it open slowly. he’s sat on the edge of the bed scrolling through his phone, uninformed of your presence. you kneel down to your suitcase to quickly grab what you need so you can rush back into the bathroom and change, but the universe hates you and doesn’t think it should be that easy.

“shit shit shit shit,”

you frantically sift through your clothes after getting your undergarments, only for your pajamas to be missing. you remember packing them and you know heeseung was there when you—

you were going to murder lee heeseung.

fuck him and his overt desire to make your life a living hell. first there was the underwear thing and now this. did he not think your care bear pajamas were cute enough to bring on this trip? either way, you couldn’t wait to strangle him, your fingers wiggling in anticipation.

“hey, is everything okay?” sunghoon’s voice calls out, pulling you away from your nefarious plotting. your eyes widen almost comically because you’re still very much naked under your towel and you don’t have clothes to sleep in.

“uh— i— i think i forgot to pack— i mean— i can’t find my pajamas.” you admit shamefully, too embarrassed to look up at him.

the bed creaks lightly, notifying you that he got up. you stand from your crouched position, careful not to accidentally flash him. he rummages through his own suitcase, spinning around to toss a t-shirt at you. you catch it with your free hand and your cheeks are still impossibly warm. you’re not sure if your mind is playing tricks on you, or if he really did rake his vision over your figure.

your heart is racing mortifyingly fast so you give him a tight lipped smile and raise your hand in thanks, bringing it back down just as fast when you think about the fact that you were holding your underwear in the same hand.

you think that’s the fastest you’ve ever run away from something, leaning back against the door while pressing the back of your palm to your forehead, your chest heaving. confidence wasn’t a weakness to you and it pissed you off to no end that it seemed to be only when sunghoon was around that you acted like a complete clown.

there was no chance of you surviving this trip.

the following day, you and the boys had gone out for an early lunch. because you were such a big group, they split you into two different tables. yours consisted of jake, heeseung, beomgyu, and jeongin. the entire time you kept your glare on the brunette sitting directly across from you, even as you shoveled rice into your mouth.

“woah, y/n. if looks could kill, hee would be dead by now.” jake laughs, pointing at you with his chopsticks.

“good,” you say flatly. “that’s what i want.”

heeseung looks thoroughly offended by your statement, clicking his tongue in response. “i don’t know why you hate me so much.”

“oh really?” you ask with a small scoff, sarcasm leaking through your words.

“what’d he do?” beomgyu snorts, flicking his eyes between you and heeseung curiously.

you don’t take your eyes off of the latter, rather you give him an even harsher stare than before. you squint slightly, crossing your legs and leaning back into your chair. “he was with me when i was packing my clothes yesterday and when i went to change after i got out of the shower last night, my pajamas were missing. and i swear i packed them. i even double checked my suitcase.”

jeongin purses his lips and raises his eyebrows. “the care bear pajamas?”

“the care bear pajamas!” you exclaim.

“wow, heeseung, it’s like you’re asking to be suffocated with a pillow in your sleep.”

“that was such an oddly specific cause of death.”

“wait a damn minute! how do you even know it was me? why are you just assuming shit like that?” he defends, picking up his hands like he’s innocent of all crimes. jake holds back a laugh at his reaction and jeongin gives him a deadpan expression.

“why are you being so defensive about it? clearly that means it was you.”

“i agree! i know this is apart of his stupid ‘get-y/n-laid’ agenda. what if i don’t wanna get laid?!” you flail your arms exasperatedly.

beomgyu holds up a finger to halt you, scrunching his eyebrows together. “everyone wants to get laid. you’re no exception.”

you narrow your gaze at him as if to say ‘not helping’ and he shuts up, squeezing his lips together. if there was anything he could’ve said in that moment, that was not it. especially not when you were trying to prove your case. you were an independent woman! you didn’t need to sleep around if you didn’t want to! (you did, with a specific person, but that's besides the point.)

“so what’d you end up wearing to sleep?” jeongin asks, resting his chin in his palm before gasping. “wow, n/n, sunghoon got to see you half naked?”

“no! he lent me a shirt!” you dispute frantically.

“boring,” jake drags out the o. “i think i have an extra you can borrow for tonight if you don’t wanna wear that one again.”

“please, you’re a lifesaver, jake,” you clasp your hands together. “unlike someone by the name of lee heeseung, who’s currently on my hit list. you better sleep with one eye open by the way.”

“could you be a little quiet with it though? i share a room with him.” beomgyu throws in.

“don’t worry, gyu. i've been googling different ways that would be silent, quick, and successful.” you fist bump him, before resuming your eating.

“i don’t get why you’re not groveling at my feet and thanking me right now. i did you a favor, you know,” heeseung huffs, his words slightly muffled by the food filling his mouth. “you get to keep his shirt and sleep in the same bed as him. isn’t that a win?”

“i don’t like him like that, seung.” you say a bit harsher than you intended. the table grows quiet at your outburst, even if they all speculate that you’re lying. the silence causes the other table to look over in concern.

whether you’re just extremely unlucky, or the gods actually think you’re a waste of a human being, you don’t know, but things keep screwing up in your favor. you make accidental eye contact with sunghoon, whose lips are slightly turned downward when he sees how distressed you appear.

it pisses you off.

it pisses you off because all you want to do is kiss those same lips until you can’t breathe. you want him to press them all over your skin, making you hot and bothered. you want him to whisper sweet sweet nothings into your ear and pepper little smooches along the shell of it with them. it pisses you off because you know he doesn’t feel the same.

and it’s so fucking annoying.

you’re probably the only girl he’d never see that way, thanks to the long history you share. you’ll always be another one of the guys to him. you’re someone he knows will be there for him to fall back on when a talking stage fails. you’re someone he knows will sit there and listen to his tales of how he got his dick wet, listen to his bragging.

it should deter your feelings, honestly. not only due to the fact that you have no chance with him, but because he was your best friend. you shouldn’t be mad at him for treating you as such. except you can’t help that you are.

after lunch, the group decided you might as well have another beach day, seeing as it was within walking distance from the airbnb. since you weren’t much of a beach fan (you hated the salty air and, even worse, the sand), the boys allowed you to pick the activity for the night.

there was a club you passed by on your way back from the restaurant that looked intriguing, so that was what you landed on.

you watched your friends mess around by the water as you stayed planted on a beach towel under an umbrella, sunglasses perched on the bridge of your nose. your body weight rested on your palms as you leaned back, soaking up the warmth on your skin. your cute white, shimmery bikini was a head turner, guys staring as they walked by you, ogling at your sunbathing.

you half hoped someone would just go up to you instead of drooling from afar, but at the same time, the thought of a stranger approaching you made you nervous. though, it would provide a decent distraction.

you try to act surprised when someone finally takes the bait.

he’s an attractive guy, you’ll admit, with dark hair that falls onto his forehead, slightly in his eyes which are also obscured by a pair of sunglasses. he ruffles it a bit before dropping himself on the sand beside you. he doesn’t talk for a few minutes, just copying your actions.

a small smile makes way onto your lips at his nonchalance and you turn to face him, pushing your shades up on top of your head. he does the same, giving you his own smile. now that you have a full view of his features, you can 100% say that he’s indeed handsome.

with an extended hand, he says, “hi, i’m park jisung.”

you return the gesture, shaking it with a firm grip. “l/n y/n.”

“wow, pretty name for a pretty girl. your parents must’ve known what they were doing.” he flirts with a laugh, almost like it’s second nature for him.

you can’t hide how bashful the compliment makes you, a tiny giggle bubbling from your chest. the bikini gave you a confidence boost when you put it on, but despite that, you were still you. so hearing little things like that always made you shy, especially because you weren’t used to it. how could you? being friends with a bunch of boys and all, guys never really cared to look in your direction.

“do you say that to every girl you meet, park jisung?” you manage to tease back, proud of yourself for recovering so quickly.

his smile morphs into a grin, his teeth peeking through his lips, and his eyes crinkle at the sides. “nope. just the really pretty ones.”

you tilt your chin into your shoulder as you feel heat spread across your cheeks. how was this guy so smooth? it’s like he knew exactly what you wanted/needed to hear and kept saying it.

when you compose yourself, you continue your conversation with jisung. it’s comfortable, even if you’d never met him before today, and it feels like you’ve known him for a while. you learn that he’s also on a trip with his friends, the six of them stationed just a few umbrellas over to your left. (he groans when you catch them spying on the two of you.) then he tells you that he noticed you earlier and his friends had finally convinced him to shoot his shot.

“you know, if you’d come up to me sooner, i would’ve been a lot less bored,” you sigh, scooting a little closer to him. “my friends have been ignoring me since we got here and i fucking hate the beach.”

he chuckles at that, subtly brushing his fingers against yours. “sorry about that. i guess you’re glad i saved the day, huh?”

“very,” you link your pinkie with his. “so, we’re going out later tonight to some club called allure? i think? it’d be really cool if you went, just saying. you can bring your friends.”

“that sounds like fun. maybe you’ll see us there,” he shrugs, nudging your foot with his. “depends on how bad you wanna see me.”

“nooo, don’t do me like that, jisung,” you whine halfheartedly, covering your face with your free hand. “i would like to see you there, but i don’t wanna beg.”

jisung laughs at how cute you are, poking your cheek with a nod. “okay okay, you convinced me. i’ll tell the guys.”

“okay, cool.” you breathe, tangling your fingers with his as you both stare at each other goofily. you almost lean in, the gap between you only disrupted by a centimeter, but then a throat clears itself and you jump apart.

it seemed that the guys all finally noticed you weren’t alone and decided to pay attention to you. you make eye contact with sunghoon and feel a shudder run down your spine, trying your hardest to conceal it.

“hey, y/n, who’s this?” he asks, albeit passively.

“oh, this is jisung. him and his friends are gonna meet us at the club tonight!” you give him a tight lipped smile, glancing over to gauge jisung’s reaction. he doesn’t look too fazed by their presence, instead standing up so he could introduce himself to each of them.

you sputter at the action, surprised that he was so willing to be buddy-buddy with the boys. you assume it’s because he isn’t too intimidated by them, considering they’d been ignorant toward your presence until now.

after he’s done, he turns to you and puffs his cheeks, blowing air between his lips. “i guess i better get going. i’ll see you later?”

“mhm,” you rub his arm. “see you tonight, ji.”

the nickname makes him grin and he ruffles your hair before bidding you all a goodbye. your eyes follow as he walks over to his friends, who are fist bumping in celebration of his success with you. your smile doesn’t go away as you look back at your own friends.

jake jumps up and down, shaking you aggressively by the shoulders. “y/n, holy shit! rizz master or what?”

beomgyu and jeongin burst into an uncontrollable fit of laughter, falling into each other as you roll your eyes. jake would be the one to use such a gen z term at his age. “please never call me that again.”

“well jakey, looks like she won’t need your shirt tonight after all. chances are she’ll use jisung’s instead.” heeseung jokes, smacking your arm playfully.

you cover your face with both hands to shelter how embarrassed they’re making you feel. rule number one for being best friends with a bunch of boys— don’t. they’re nothing but menaces. and if you happen to acquire a friend group of just males— don’t let them meet your significant other.

as you wrap up your day at the beach, so you could head back to the airbnb to get ready for your night out, you realize sunghoon is keeping to himself a lot. and you don’t know what to make of that.

you feel like a million bucks if you’re being completely honest with yourself. you packed one of the nicest dresses you owned in case you needed it and you were so glad you did. it would’ve been awkward rolling up to the club in shorts and a bikini top— though you’re sure management has probably seen that before.

it was gold and sparkly, with spaghetti straps and a lace-up back, low cut enough that it was cute rather than overly revealing. you styled your hair to preference and kept the makeup simple, soft glam that didn’t distract from the outfit. this was the prettiest you felt in weeks— months even— and it was a comforting change of pace.

when you step out of the bathroom, sunghoon is laying on his back on the bed, scrolling through his phone. the sound of your heels clacking on the wooden floor forces him to sit up. “how long does it take to—?”

his words die out once he sees you, his throat going dry and his stomach tightening with an incessant knot. you look so gorgeous, it almost makes him angry that it’s not for him. never in your seven years of friendship has he ever seen you put this much effort in your appearance. (he thinks that’s why he feels himself getting worked up.)

“woah, missy, you’re not leaving the house looking like that. where’s your coat?” he raises an eyebrow, masking the icky feeling brewing inside of him.

“hoon, it’s like a hundred degrees out. we’re in the middle of a heatwave at the peak of the summer, the fuck do i need a coat for?” you counter with a scoff, shoving your phone and some lip gloss along with your credit card and ID in the little clutch you were taking with you.

“i’m just saying,” he shrugs. “you’re practically wearing a piece of cloth, you might get cold.”

“shut up, i’ll be fine.” you snort, exiting the room and leaving him scrambling for control of himself.

the rest of the guys are already waiting downstairs, whistling and hollering once you reach the bottom of the steps. jake tells you to do a little twirl, cheering you on like he was best friends with bella hadid or something. (you won't admit that it fuels your ego.)

“where’s sunghoon?” jay asks crouching to see if he was visible from where he was standing.

“i don’t know, but he’s being weird. my vote is we leave without him.” taehyun holds up a finger, pursing his lips as if he was being totally serious about his suggestion. you laugh at his expression, flicking his forehead.

“don’t be mean, tyun.”

a couple minutes later, sunghoon finally makes his way downstairs, looking conflicted about something. as much as you wanna ask, you know you shouldn’t get into it right now, so you choose not to.

jisung and his group are already at the club when you arrive and he waves you over to the high tables they secured. he introduces you to his six friends; mark, renjun, jeno, donghyuck, jaemin, and chenle. once you’ve met them, the two of you introduce your own friends to each other. it makes you happy that they seem to hit it off, breaking off into smaller cliques.

you and jisung wander off to the bar, ordering some drinks for yourselves. he helps you sit at one of the stools, his hand resting comfortably on your lower back. it doesn’t take long for the bartender to hand you your poison for the night and you take a gulp with a wince, letting the alcohol burn in its course down your throat.

“you look really good, by the way,” jisung compliments, his thumb rubbing circles into the skin that peeks through the straps in the back of your dress. “i didn’t get to tell you when you got here.”

his mouth brushes your ear as he speaks so you can hear him over the booming top forties music playing. there’s not nearly enough alcohol in your system to warrant the heat blooming under your skin so soon. you just giggle in response, spinning in your chair so you’re facing him. you hold your straw between two fingers as you sip at your beverage, looking up at him through thick lashes coated in mascara.

“you’re really something else, y/n,” he shakes his head, downing the rest of his drink before you return to your friends. “i’m gonna use the restroom, i’ll be right back.”

you nod with a smile when he pets your head, pressing a chaste kiss to your temple. it catches you off guard, but you don’t mind it one bit. at least someone was interested in you for once.

heeseung squeezes his way through the crowd to you and narrows his eyes, taking a hold of either side of your head. your cheeks squish together and your lips form a pout, so no matter how annoyed you try to come across, you just look silly. your attempts to get him off of you are futile, making you raise a brow to find out why he was being so touchy-feely.

“i still cannot believe you managed to make moves while you were alone. i literally never saw this coming.”

god, lee heeseung was such a lightweight.

“can you stop being sentimental? it’s kinda gross.” you grimace, your words mushed together much like your cheeks. it’s at this point that jake decides to join in, throwing his arms around your shoulders.

(jake sim was also a lightweight.)

“i love you guys! i’m so glad we’re here together right now!”

you spot jisung coming back from the restroom, pleading for him to save you with your eyes. he laughs and inserts himself in the conversation. “i appreciate you guys watching over y/n for me while i was gone, but do you think i can steal her back?”

“i guess,” jake sighs dramatically, dragging out the s. “but you better bring her back in one piece, park.”

jisung salutes to the brunette, even if he wasn’t at all intimidated by his overprotective parent persona, and whisks you away to get more drinks and then to hit the dance floor. the moment your foot reaches the tiled ground, a summer walker song starts, and all coherent thoughts leave your mind.

you keep one arm wrapped around jisung’s neck as you begin to sway your hips with the music, taking swigs of your drink every now and then. his is long forgotten in favor of gripping your waist like you’d run away any second. you have him wrapped around your finger, the way he’s fixated on you and your movements has your head spinning. but when you glance towards the general direction all of your friends were in, you accidentally make eye contact with none other than park sunghoon.

he’s glaring right at you, making no attempt to hide the distaste on his features while he watches you dance. you keep the eye contact when jisung leans into your neck, his nose grazing the sensitive spot just below your ear.

usually you’d fold then and there, crumbling in his hands and letting him take you home for the night. but there’s something about the darkness in sunghoon’s gaze that sends a shiver down your spine, not the person you were currently grinding into on the dance floor. it sends your mind into a frenzy.

your blissful ignorance to the amount of attraction you truly felt for him was causing more problems than solving them. here you were, a nice guy treating you like an absolute princess, but still thirsting after one of your best friends with not a single ounce of fucking shame. years of pent up frustration and insufferable pining bubble over, and you don’t stop yourself from what you’re about to do next.

you pull back from jisung, finally breaking the staring contest between you and sunghoon, and smile at him, pushing some hair out of his eyes. he gives you a look of utter confusion and you huff. “i’m sorry, but i’m feeling a little tired. i think the drinks are getting to me.”

“do you want me to drop you off at your place?” he asks, so sweetly it actually makes you feel bad about your true intentions. you shake your head ‘no’.

“it’s okay, you can stay here with your friends. i’ll just ask one of the boys,” you respond, patting his cheek. “one of the sober ones.”

“alright, if you insist. just be careful and text me later, yeah?” he gives you that award winning grin that made you weak at the knees just moments ago. this time you don’t give him a verbal response, too afraid of your voice betraying you.

you still don’t say anything as you grab your clutch from the table where your group was at, flickering your vision to sunghoon once before you walk out of the club. the air is cooler than this afternoon, serving as a nice contrast to your warm, sticky skin. your ears are still ringing from the blaring music and you’re pleasantly buzzed, but you feel great.

the sound inside the club travels outside for a second when the door opens and closes, signaling that someone had just walked out. you don’t want to risk the backwards glance in case it’s not who you’re hoping it is and you feel dumb. you opt to stare at the cars passing on the street, hugging yourself.

there’s the ghost of a touch on the small of your back and a broad chest pressed to your shoulders, causing you to jump slightly. “ditched that dude finally?”

you swallow thickly, his deep voice reverberating in your bones. “and if i did?”

sunghoon chuckles, his fingers dancing around the knot of your dress. “then i won’t have to feel like an asshole for what i’m about to do to you.”

you squeak as he starts to push you in the direction of the airbnb, your feet carrying you as fast as you can with your heels. the walk is silent except for the clicking against the concrete sidewalk, but it’s heavy with tension. half of you wants to say something, to ask what’s even happening. you don’t even realize he’s punching the numbers into the keypad and pulling you into the house until you’re pinned to the shut door, nose skimming yours.

sunghoon has a desperate grip around your wrists, breathing like he’d just ran a marathon. you stare up at him with wide eyes. you’re not entirely sure what you were hoping for when you executed this plan, but this wasn’t anywhere near the list of outcomes. in fact, you were positive that park sunghoon didn’t feel any sort of attraction to you.

“hoon,” you gasp, tongue swiping across your bottom lip.

he grins, his canines peeking through those lips of his that looked so soft. “you look so pretty tonight, n/n. can’t believe i get to have you all to myself.”

your head feels empty, like there’s nothing but cotton filling your skull where your brain should be. this was something out of a dream for you, something you’d only ever seen in your darkest fantasies. you wanted him to kiss you so badly it was beginning to ache. your head tilts to the side just a bit, your eyes alternating between his mouth and his own.

“need you,” you whisper, voice airy. “‘ve been waiting for this for so long.”

he connects your lips at that, a burning fever behind his actions as he does so. the dizziness doesn’t go away, instead amplifying. he releases your wrists in favor of grabbing at your thighs, his blunt nails digging into the plush skin. you tangle your fingers in his hair and tug at the silky strands, forcing a groan out of him. kissing sunghoon is sickening. it’s exactly how they describe it in books, the stomach churning and the goosebumps and all. this morning, you never would’ve thought you’d be here, but you’re completely satisfied with this turn of events.

“bedroom,” he breathes. “don’t want anyone seeing you like this but me.”

he doesn’t have to tell you twice, your heels discarded at the bottom of the stairs. the minute you’re in your shared room, his mouth is hot on yours again and you’re collapsing on to the bed. his hands are everywhere and there’s too many clothes between you. you slide your hands under his shirt, grazing your nails along his abdomen, smiling when it tenses under your touch. he gets the memo, removing his shirt and tossing it haphazardly behind him. you fumble with the button of his jeans and he laughs at how needy you are, solidifying just how real this moment actually is.

you notice that he’s already hard once his pants are gone and you palm his bulge as you lean back in for another kiss. he sighs into your mouth, reaching around your back to untie the knot on your dress. the straps fall instantaneously, the front of the fabric slipping down to reveal your bare chest. sunghoon’s lips move from yours to your jaw and along the column of your neck until he’s at your chest, looking up at you as he leaves open mouthed kisses all over your tits. you moan softly when the warmth of his mouth envelopes a sensitive nipple, slipping your dress off all the way so you’re left in nothing but your panties.

he steps back for a second to kick the article of clothing away, before caging your body with his. “i’ve been wanting to get you out of that dress all night. it pissed me off that you didn’t put it on for me, but he doesn’t get to see you all fucked out untouched, now does he?”

you shake your head, but that doesn’t satisfy him. his thumb finds your clit through the thin material of your underwear, rubbing tight circles into it to get a reaction from you. your lips part and your eyes squeeze shut, but it’s not enough for him. he grabs your chin a little forcefully, smushing your cheeks together like heeseung did earlier— however there was nothing wholesome about this moment.

“i asked you a fucking question.” sunghoon all but growls.

“n-no, hoon. only you,” you whimper, his mean demeanor turning you on even more. you’re embarrassed by the wet patch forming on the front of your panties and deep deep down you’re thanking lee heeseung for throwing the other pair out of your suitcase. (very very very deep down— you’d never give him the benefit of being right.)

“that’s my good girl,” he hooks his fingers into the waistband, glancing at you for confirmation. “are we really going through with this? you can back out now.”

your heart thumps disgustingly loud in your ears at how sincere he sounds and you pray to god that he can’t hear it. “sunghoon, i’m laying half naked in front of you right now— if you don’t fuck me—”

“alright alright… you got it,” he laughs that cute laugh of his, the one he reserves solely for you. the one that has crows feet forming at the corners of his eyes. it drives you crazier than anything else he’s done the entire night.

sunghoon slides your underwear down your legs with one hand, the other propping himself up to hover over you. you kick them off, biting your lip and hissing when he decides to run a finger up your slit. he curses as he watches how your arousal coats the digit. all you’ve done is kiss and you’re dripping.

“you’re soaked, baby,” he practically groans, pecking your jaw. “gonna ruin your pussy so you know who you belong to.”

you whine when he thrusts a finger in without warning, quickly adding a second and massaging your swollen clit with the pad of his thumb. your head rolls back as moans and expletives spill from your mouth. sunghoon takes the opportunity to mark you as his, sucking and biting your neck and chest like he was a leech, ensuring bruises formed in his wake. he finds the sweet spot at your pulse point, curling his fingers at the same time he nips at it.

“f-fuck, right th-there, hoonie,” you mewl, instinctively spreading your legs wider.

at this rate, you don’t think you’ll last much longer.

you know he can tell too with the way he speeds up the pace of his fingers. you clench around them and he connects your lips once again, his tongue tangling with yours messily. it’s so sloppy and so aggressive, but it’s perfect. it’s so sunghoon.

he keeps working at you, kissing everywhere he can until he pushes the right buttons to make you fall apart in his hands. when he finally finds it— a little nibble to your earlobe— your back arches further into him, your moans uncontrollable and incomprehensible as your orgasm washes over you. the skill of his mouth and hands has you reeling from the experience knowing no one else could ever make you feel like this ever again.

once you’ve come down, he slowly pulls his fingers out, sucking them so he can taste you and all that you are. he groans before pressing a quick kiss to your lips. you sigh in content.

“if you cum like that just from my fingers, i can’t wait to see how you look with my cock,” he mutters into your mouth, evoking a whine out of you. “so gorgeous.”

sunghoon steps away to remove his underwear, revealing himself to you. you have to stop yourself from drooling, reaching out to stroke his length languidly. he hisses as he goes back in for another kiss, biting on your lower lip when your thumb swipes over the slit on his sensitive tip.

he drags you to the edge of the bed, pushing away your hands so he can guide himself to your entrance. “are you ready for me, baby?”

“mhm,” you whimper, wrapping your legs around his waist to get him closer— if possible. “want you so bad, sunghoon.”

the sound of his name leaving your lips so filthily has the blood rushing from his brain to his dick even faster than before. he slips in easily, your arousal lubricating enough for him to bottom out almost completely. his balls slap against your ass when he does, his cock sheathed inside of you so far it’s like it’s poking your stomach.

his pace starts slow and consistent, his hips rocking into yours with timed thrusts that hit deep. your legs feel weak and your head is spinning, drunk off of his cock and how good it is. but it’s not satisfying you, you need more. you want more.

your heels dig into the dip of his lower back and you mewl, “faster, p-please.”

“anything for you, pretty girl.” he grunts, using one hand to grip your hip and the other to form a makeshift ponytail with your hair, tugging your head back so he can rest his forehead in the crook of your neck.

sunghoon angles his hips and pistons his cock into you quicker. each thrust is punctuated by his pelvis snapping into your own harshly and his fistful of your hair stinging your scalp. his hold on your waist is nearly bruising, but you don’t really care, too high from the pleasure he’s providing you. your moans raise in volume as you feel the band in your belly grow tighter.

your pussy clenches around him and he releases your hair in favor of rubbing tight circles into your clit. the stimulation of his cock driving in and out of you combined with his thumb on your most sensitive area has alarms blaring in your head as a warning for your second incoming orgasm. “i’m so so close, hoon, fuck— just like that,”

“c’mon baby, you can give it to me,” he coos, changing his angle again so he reaches that spongy spot in your cunt.

you swear you can see spots when it crashes onto you, your whole body spasming with the intensity of it. sunghoon prolongs your orgasm, still thrusting into you with a purpose. you know he’s closer to his edge too from how desperate he’s moving and the whines leaving his lips. you’re so sensitive it’s making you insane, but you allow him to keep abusing your pussy.

“where do you want me?” he asks breathily, his sweaty forehead sticking to your skin.

“inside,” you moan, your toes curling. “cum inside me, sunghoon,”

he just about loses it at that, fucking into you with everything he can manage and sinking his nails into the fat of your hips to hold you still. you’re overstimulated and your brain is foggy so you keep squirming around, involuntarily squeezing your walls around his length. it’s not too much later that he finally releases, painting your cunt with milky white ropes of cum.

he slumps forward once he’s given all he has to offer, his chest flat against yours while he attempts to regulate his breathing. the two of you lie there for a bit, recovering from what just happened. eventually he pulls out and disappears into the bathroom, only to return with a warm and damp washcloth seconds after. he hands it to you wordlessly and you awkwardly clean yourself up, wincing due to the acute sensitivity you were feeling. sunghoon sits beside you, naked and silent.

you think it’s funny how he was so confident not even ten minutes ago and now he’s acting like a shy teenager. you know you have to talk about the situation at hand and what it means for your relationship, but in this moment, the cloudiness of your head subsided, that fear of rejection has creeped back in. was it just a temporary lapse of judgment on his part? did he just feel attraction towards you because you dolled yourself up for once?

the insecurity rushes in like a tsunami wave and you want nothing more than to get out of here before you drown.

“i—”

“we—”

you both speak at the same time, cutting each other off before you can continue. he gestures for you to go first and you sigh, reaching for the t-shirt thrown over the bedpost from this morning. you slip it on, along with your discarded underwear, to hide your body, comparatively aware of how exposed you were. he follows suit, putting his underwear back on.

“i think i should sleep somewhere else tonight.” you say, your tone uneasy.

sunghoon’s eyebrows knit together in confusion. “w-what? why?”

“it’s already awkward enough,” you avoid his eyes. “i don’t think sleeping in the same bed is gonna help.”

“i was just trying to put together the right words,” he explains, brows still furrowed. “i don’t wanna give you a half assed confession after we just had sex, y’know? you deserve something more intimate than that.”

you blink, thrown for a loop by his admission. well now you felt like an idiot.

“c-confession?” you stutter, resembling a cartoon character with your jaw on the ground.

“did you— did you think i was gonna treat this as a random hookup?” his lips form a frown, like he was offended by your assumption.

“um, yeah? i mean, you never really expressed any interest in me before tonight, sunghoon. you’ve only ever talked about other girls you’ve fucked around with. you can’t really blame me.” you play with the hem of the (his) t-shirt.

his hand finds its way under your chin, lifting it so you have to look at him. the glint in his eyes is soft and you will away the tears threatening to appear. “you really have no idea huh?”

“what are you talking about?” you sniffle.

“y/n, i’ve been in love with you for like five years. any time i’ve talked about another girl, it was to see whether or not you seemed bothered by it. did you actually think i felt nothing for you?” sunghoon snorts, wiping away a stray tear that rolls down your cheek.

“yeah,” you laugh, feeling a little silly for not knowing he liked you this entire time. “i guess i was blinded by my own emotions.”

“that’s why it made me mad that you were hitting it off so well with that jisung guy,” he holds one of your hands in his lap, caressing your knuckles with his thumb. “i kinda figured you felt the same, but i was starting to doubt it after that.”

“hoon, i was only doing that ‘cause i thought i had no chance with you,” you shake your head. “if you had told me sooner, all of this could’ve been prevented.”

“or if you told me sooner.” he adds with a shrug.

you lightly poke his chest with a playful eye roll. he smiles at you fondly and you think this is perfect. you weren’t expecting the night to go in this direction, but you definitely aren’t complaining. somehow you feel like heeseung is to thank, in an odd way. (you’d never let him know that though.)

“can i kiss you again? for real this time?” sunghoon asks, scooting a little closer to you on the bed.

you nod, leaning into him so you can connect your lips in a sweet kiss. it’s not full of hunger or desire, but it still has that same passion from earlier. it’s loving and it’s everything you’ve ever needed from a kiss with park sunghoon.

you don’t get to indulge in the moment any longer, though, a thud sounding outside your room and hushed voices filtering from under the door. you and sunghoon share a look.

“shut the fuck up, they’re gonna hear us!”

“you’re the one being loud, what are you saying?”

“jake shut your fucking mouth, don’t back talk me.”

“wait why are they quiet?”

“shhh!”

sunghoon scoffs before he opens the door, revealing your friends all gathered in front of it. jake and kai fall forward, ears first. they give you guilty smiles when they realize they’ve been caught, chuckling uncomfortably.

“beomgyu, you owe me five bucks.” heeseung says when he takes notice of the clothes strewn across the room.

nevermind. lee heeseung truly was the bane of your existence.

#im sorry 👁️👄👁️#enhypen x reader #enhypen smut #enha x reader #enha smut #enha sunghoon #enhypen park sunghoon #enhypen sunghoon x reader #enhypen sunghoon smut #park sunghoon x reader #park sunghoon smut #sunghoon x reader #sunghoon smut #yeonjunszn

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