#coloring is shitty but I’ve already made it clear that I can’t do coloring | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

vileviale · 1 year ago

Text

Miguel x Reader Fanfic! (Pt. 2 of 2)

tw: blood, gore, but there’s only a little bit of that it’s mostly fluff

no I’m not telling you what it’s about YOU GOTTA READ IT TO FIGURE IT OUT

Just then, Dr. Parker entered the room, along with Jess. He was tall and lanky, and wore a light teal suit. Over it was an oversized white coat, and he carried a leather bag in one hand.

“Doc!”, you called out. “Thank goodness you came fast. Miguel needs stitches immediately.”

He gave a curt nod and looked down at Miguel. “How are you feeling?”

“I’ve been better,” he mumbled. “But besides my leg and shoulder, I’m alright. Maybe a little lightheaded.”

“Lightheaded? You’ve been keeping pressure on the wounds, yes?”

“Ever since I got the chance. Which was around thirty minutes ago.”

“Good. How long have you been injured?”

“An hour or two.”

“Okay, then we should get to work straight away.” He knelt down next to Miguel, taking some rubber gloves out of his bag and pulling them onto his hands. You rose to get out of his way.

“Mind if I take a look?” Doc asked, reaching questioningly towards the gauze Miguel’s shoulder.

“Here, let me do it,” Miguel insisted, releasing his pressed hands from the gauze. He took the corner of the one on his shoulder and pulled quickly, inhaling sharply as he did so. Miguel paused, then ripped the other gauze off his leg. He grimaced, but barely made a sound.

The wounds were dark, almost black, and deep. Four parallel gashes repeated here and there across Miguel’s leg and shoulder. Blood dripped down freely from them, released from the pressure of his hands. His suit glitched out around the gashes, fluttering with different colors. You turned your head away, shivering as you imagined how painful they must be.

“Looks like you’ll need several internal stitches…”, Dr. Parker trailed off. “This is going to take a while. There are several lacerations, many of which overlap.”

“Take all the time you need,” Miguel replied.

“I would if we weren’t already short on time. I’ll take all the time I can. Let me get everything ready.” He pulled from his bag a blueish cloth and placed it on the floor. He then began to spread his instruments across it.

As he prepared, you turned to Jess and smiled. “Thank you so much for bringing Doc. You couldn’t have come sooner.”

“No problem. I wasn’t gonna leave him bleeding like that, even if he did slam the door in my face.” She raised an eyebrow towards Miguel, who turned slightly red.

“I was late for my injection and feeling off. I’m sorry.”

Jess nodded. “Makes sense. I knew there was something, but Lila and I agreed we should get Doc ASAP.”

“That’s right!”, Lila chimed, suddenly appearing again. “Just out here casually saving your life. You don’t have to thank me.” She paused. “Mm-HMPH,” she fake coughed, holding a hand to her ear.

“Thanks, Lila,” Miguel muttered reluctantly. “And you too, Jess.”

“I’d be a shitty friend if I didn’t do something,” she replied.

Dr. Parker held up a syringe full of clear liquid in front of Miguel. “This is some anesthetic for numbing. I will let you know, injecting it is going to be painful, but once it takes effect you shouldn’t feel any of my stitching save for a slight pressure.”

“Can’t be much worse than the wounds themselves,” Miguel shrugged. “What do you want me to do, bite on a towel?”

“That actually may be helpful. The areas around the lacerations are inflamed, and they’re a lot more sensitive than you might imagine.”

“I’ll go get one,” you exclaimed.

“No- I wasn’t- “, but before Miguel could finish you had already hurried to the bathroom. You grabbed an old hand towel from under the sink. On your way back, you stopped by the kitchen to grab a couple of water bottles. All this “lightheaded” talk got you worried. Maybe if Miguel drank some fluids, he’d get a bit of color back in his face.

“Here, babe.” You knelt next to Miguel and handed him everything. “You should drink something too before you pass out on us.”

“I’m not gonna pass out,” he said, taking one of the waters and chugging it swiftly down. “But thanks.” He took the second water and drank half before sealing the bottle again. “Damn, I was thirsty.” You knew it was probably some version of the placebo effect, but Miguel already looked a bit better than before.

“Do you want me to hold your hand?”, you asked, reaching for it before he could answer. He looked puzzled, but remained still as you held it. “It’s okay. I think I can handle a few shots.”

“Oh c’mon,” Jess complained to Miguel. “No one’s questioning your strength. They just wanna help. Isn’t that right, love?” You nodded.

Miguel exhaled a small huff. “Ok, fine. But I’m not biting on the towel.” You watched Miguel’s tension wash away as he softly squeezed your hand. You knew he couldn’t keep the façade for long. “Alright. We all set then?”

“I believe so,” Dr. Parker replied. “Let’s begin.” With clean gauze, Dr. Parker wiped Miguel’s shoulder and leg until most of the blood was gone, and then prepped the area around the wounds with an alcohol wipe. Taking the syringe, Dr. Parker drove the needle into his skin. Miguel jolted as his gentle hold of your hand changed suddenly into an iron grip. He gave a short yell of pain.

“Hijo de…” Miguel trailed off. He exhaled loudly and looked at Dr. Parker. “You weren’t kidding,” he laughed weakly.

“You ready to do that about twenty-eight more times?”, Lila grinned.

Miguel sighed. “Of course you calculated it. Let’s just get this over with.”

Dr. Parker continued giving the anesthetic around the wounds. Miguel didn’t yell with the subsequent injections, but instead grunted and occasionally inhaled sharply. He was, in Lila’s whispered words to you, “taking this like a champ”, and you were amazed at how stoic his face remained. His grip, however, was a different story. It melted between injections and hardened during them like metal being warmed and cooled.

“Ok,” Dr. Parker stated, setting the syringe down. “Time for the stitches. Again, now you should only feel pressure, no pain.” Miguel nodded. With a needle, nylon thread, and scissors, Dr. Parker began stitching the cuts shut. His eyes furrowed intensely as he swiftly yet carefully pulled and tied the cuts closed. It was nasty-looking, but fascinating to watch above all else.

Eventually, the last stitch was tied, and Dr. Parker put bandages and gauze over his work. “There. Everything is patched now.”

“Thank you,” Miguel replied. “What do I owe you?”

“Nothing at all. Your work on keeping the multiverse safe is enough.”

“No, I’m-“

“Please. I insist.” Dr. Parker started to pack his things. “Now. To go over taking care of the stitches: Keep them dry, at least for 24 hours, and whenever you can help it. Clean them regularly to prevent infection, and keep them in the dark to minimize scarring, though by the looks of it there will inevitably be some. Don’t do any strenuous activity while the stitches are in, which should be around ten days. Afterward, I’ll stop by and remove them.”

“Yeah, I know the drill,” Miguel nodded. He looked up at Jess. “Can you stand in for me while I recover? Ask Ben too.”

“Of course,” she replied. “And I’m sure Ben will be more than happy to help.”

“It’ll boost his ego even more than it already is,” Lila laughed.

“Dios mio, you’re probably right,” Miguel muttered.

“Nevertheless, his strength compensates for it,” Dr. Parker remarked. “As long as someone covers for you while you rest, I’m happy.” He got up and took his black bag. “I’ll be going now. Eat and drink something to replace your blood. And call me if you have any more questions or trouble with the wounds.”

“Will do,” Miguel replied, getting up slowly with a grunt and giving Dr. Parker a few manly pats on the back, which he received stiffly. “Thanks again for everything.”

“I better get going, too,” Jess added. “Now that I know Miguel’s good.” She reached towards you for a hug. As you embraced, she whispered:

“What happened to your arm? Is everything okay?”

You let go of her and nodded. “Yeah, yeah, it’s nothing,” you whispered casually. “He hadn’t taken his medication. It’s not gonna happen again.”

“You sure you’re good?”

“Yeah, of course. It’s only a scratch.”

“Okay…” she said, her eyebrow raised. “Call me later, k?”

“I will. I’ll explain everything.” You lowered your voice even farther. “But please, keep it between us. I don’t want this circling around.”

“Don’t worry, love. I won’t tell a soul.”

“Thank you. Talk to you soon.” You walked over to Dr. Spider, reaching your hands out to embrace him. But when you saw him slightly shrink back, you lowered your arms.

“Fist bump?”, you asked, shrugging while you closed your hand.

His mask’s round spider eyes squinted into a small smile. “That’ll work.” He gave you a small tap with his fist while looking down at your arm. “Do you… need me to check that?”

“I’m fine. It’s just a scratch,” you told him, in a tone that, despite your efforts, was a little exasperated. “I’ll text you what happened.”

“Ok, good. Let me know. See you in ten days.” He walked out the door with Jess.

“I’m so glad they came,” you proclaimed after they had closed the door.

“Me too,” Miguel replied. “I’m not letting Doc leave empty-handed like that though. I’ll find a way to pay him back.”

“Yeah, I’ll help you figure out something. Buuuut I was thinking in the meantime we could watch a movie? Something chill so you can relax. You’re still looking pale, hun.”

“I’m looking pale?”

“A little,” Lila replied. “Trust me though, it’s better than before. Your vitals are now somewhat stable. Finally.”

“I guess that makes sense. I am feeling exhausted.” He shuffled over to the couch and sat down, exhaling loudly as the old springs creaked under his weight. “Watching a movie sounds perfect right now. Lila?”

“What’s up boss?”

“Do you mind…”

“Not at all. See you lovebirds soon!” She pulled down her sunglasses, winked, and vanished in an instant.

“I thought we could have some alone time,” Miguel shrugged.

“Yeah, of course.” You sat down close to him, leaning your head against his arm.

“So… what do you wanna watch?”, he asked.

“I dunno. You choose!”

He shook his head. “No. Not falling for that one again. Pick a genre at least.”

“Ok…,” you said, looking down and resting your chin on your hand. “Comedy.”

“Comedy?”

“What? You said I could choose.”

“No I’m just- surprised I guess. I thought ‘comedy’ wasn’t your thing.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”, you scoffed. “I chose it because it seemed like an easy thing to watch.” You paused. “And… I haven’t seen you laugh in a while.”

He made a face. “Ok. Fair enough.” He grabbed the remote from the coffee table and turned on the TV, clicking Prime and flipping through movies under the “Comedy” page. “Super Troopers… Anchorman… Life of Ryan…”

“Wait, Life of Ryan?”

“Yeah, what’s wrong with it?”

“On my earth it’s called Life of Brian. I love that movie. It’d be cool to see the differences between worlds.”

“Eh… it’s no fun if you’ve already watched it…”

“Ok… A different Monty Python movie then?”

“Sure. Uhh… I haven’t seen The Holy Grail before. I’ve heard it’s good.”

“Same. Search it up.”

Miguel held the remote close to his face. “Monty Python and The Holy Grail,” he spoke slowly. You snorted at the monotony of his voice. “Why’d you have to say it like a serial killer?”

“Really? You’d think I’d have enough pain for one day. Now you’re telling me I look pale, I don’t laugh, I sound like a serial killer- “

“Hey, hey, hey, hold on. You’re seriously getting worked up about this? First of all, I can say whatever I want right now.” You pointed to the scratches on your arm. “Second, I’m just making observations; I’m not- “

“I know, I know. I was joking. I wasn’t actually getting worked up.”

“Sometimes it’s hard to tell…” you trailed off, shrugging and raising your eyebrows. “Anyways. Before we begin the movie, we should probably get dressed in our PJs, grab some snacks… everything like that.”

“True. I’ll go get changed and try to find you something.”

“Ok! I’ll grab the snacks then, and maybe some drinks.”

You sat up and went into the kitchen while Miguel, still shuffling a little, went into his room. Aimlessly opening the cabinets, you finally found the one with all the food.

“I left some tostones and rosquitas the last time I was here,” you shouted. “¿Quieres un poco?”

“Tu español está mejorando,” Miguel yelled back from his room. “They’re those Peruvian snacks you like, right? Yeah, they’re delicious. Get them.”

You grabbed the bags, a couple of LaCroixs from the fridge, and Miguel’s giant YETI water bottle and sat back down on the couch. Ten minutes had passed in patience before you started to wonder what was going on.

“Everything okay in there?”, you called to him.

“Yeah,” Miguel answered. “Just this damn shoulder won’t- augh!”

“Hold on. I’m coming,” you exclaimed, jumping off the couch and running into his room. When you entered, you saw him sitting on his bed shirtless. Well, not exactly. He did have a gray tee around his neck, but his abs, chest, shoulders- all of it was exposed. You desperately tried to keep you eyes on Miguel’s face.

“I can’t raise my arm,” he admitted in defeat.

“You tried going on the ceiling?”, you asked, quickly jumping up there and letting your arms dangle.

“I can’t stick,” he retorted.

“Oh yeaaah. No foot claws?”

“What? No, what are you talking about?”

“Just asking questions,” you replied, jumping back on the ground. “Don’t worry hun, I got you.” You pulled the shirt off his head and slid his arm through one sleeve, then his head, then his other arm. You gently smoothed the tee down with your hands, feeling the hills and valleys that Miguel’s muscles made. Uncontrolled giddiness spread throughout your body. “There we go,” you breathed, barely keeping it together.

“Thank you,” he muttered. “I found something for you too.” He grabbed a shirt off his bed and held it up for you to see. It was dark blue, and had a faded graphic of the James Webb Space Telescope on it.

“Since you said I look like an idiot, I found this old thing. Used to wear it in college, because I’m smart. It’ll be huge on you, but I thought you could wear it like a dress.”

“Whoah, whoah, whoah, I never said you looked like an idiot. I just forget you’re smart sometimes. But yeah, that’ll work.” You grabbed the shirt and tucked it under your arm. “In my universe, this just recently launched.”

“Really? Hardly anyone remembers it here. It’s a shame. We discovered countless celestial objects with it. But I won’t spoil.”

“Thanks. I do wanna find out in my own time,” you replied. “I’ll go ahead and get changed.” You started to walk out of the room, but paused in the doorway. “Fucking nerd!”, you yelled mockingly before sprinting to the bathroom.

“Ai! Pendeja!” Miguel shouted after you in a tone that was more annoyed than angry.

You slammed the bathroom door shut, then took off your spider suit with a sigh of relief. After checking yourself out in the mirror, you pulled the JWST shirt on. Miguel was right: it did work kinda like a dress. It was soft and worn with time and smelled a little like his cologne.

When you walked back into the living room, Miguel was waiting on the couch, already digging into the tostones. “You ready?”, he asked.

“Yeah, play it.” You sat down and snuggled close to him. Cracking open a LaCroix, you sipped it slowly, letting the bubbles dance on your tongue before finally swallowing. As you watched the screen, you couldn’t help but snicker at the moose jokes during the beginning credits. Even Miguel had a small smile on his face.

“Can you grab that pillow for me?”, he asked later on, nodding to the one across the couch.

A sudden idea hit you. “You know what? I have something better than a pillow,” you grinned. You scooted away from him and crisscrossed your legs, then patted your lap.

He grinned back, then slowly eased himself down until his head was nestled between your legs. You gently ran your fingers repeatedly through his long, dark hair. “Much better than a pillow,” he mumbled.

“You can still see the screen, right?”

“Yeah, this is perfect.” He let out a slow, soft sigh. “You’re too nice to me,” he murmured.

“Nonsense. I only give you what you deserve. Now shut up and watch the movie.” He smiled a little, and you let your hands move slowly from his hair to his face. They seemed like magic as you smoothed away the lines from his forehead with just your touch.

You kept your eyes on the TV, laughing or smiling at the air-speed velocity of an unladen swallow and the peasants rolling in the mud. Eventually, you looked back down at Miguel, wondering if he took your words seriously when you told him to shut up. His eyes were closed, and his face was soft and tranquil with sleep. It was so peaceful looking you wondered if this was the same man who had just a few hours ago snarled at you and even clawed your arm. ‘Seeing him like this,’ you thought, ‘I could forgive him for anything.’

#fanfic #miguel fanfic #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel spiderverse #atsv #across the spiderverse #writers on tumblr

2 notes · View notes

surrealsunday · 2 years ago

Text

@how-mytearsricochet ... Apologies this response is late! I wanted to give my answers proper time and thought! So I’m going to paste that part of your previous ask below:

I’m more than curious to hear about your opinion at this point of the storyline and I’m practically dying to know the behind-of-the-scene details because it will never cease to fascinate me your writing process and your line of thought: were you frustrated with some of the characters and their actions at some point? Has it been challenging to write scenes like that, do compromises to make it follow a precise timeline given that this time you had to follow a predetermined script ecc

None of your other versions of Elu had ever been through such a horrible messy betrayal as this one; how did that make you feel as an Elu stan and/or as an author? Can you picture it as something one of your versions of Eliott and Lucas (I don’t mean the ones we’ve already met, I mean hypothetical ones that could be born by your hand) would be capable of do eventually (betraying Lucas’s trust)?

So how did “10 Things” was born exactly? What put this specific idea in your mind -The Chosen One- and consequently translated into action? Do you have any other Elu ideas/drafts we don’t know anything about?

Was there anything you would’ve liked to change and/or point out of the OG script? I’ve found insightful the way you pointed out at the very beginning how shitty was for Arthur and Bas as “friends” to act like that behind Lucas’ back -and essentially at his expense-, although I’ve forgiven Bas the very moment Eliott make him notice it, and it was clear Bas never actually thought what kind of friend the deal made him look like and was starting to feel bad (Bas is a baby, you can’t stay mad at a baby 😭); color me naïve or shallow but I admit although I watched it countless times, I’ve never given a lot of thoughts about how ethically moral was the deal from that point of view lol but uhm at least Cameron and Michael weren’t Kat’s friends in the movie.

How did you pick the topic between Lucas and Charles, where did it come from? (if we’re speaking about that, I’m quite curious about Lucas and Doctor Moreau as well; how do you pick Lucas’ different personal trauma? do they come later in the process or are they part of the initial process of building up a specific AU?)

You said once that long stories drain the hell out of you as a writer, did that happen with 10 Things in its own way? How much do you think you have invested, given but also gained, grown as a writer from this experience?

So I’m going to start with how the idea of 10 Things came about and how the story developed. But keep in mind that I am super chaotic in how I write and not organized at all lol. I fly by the seat of my pants and often my best ideas come as I am writing. I am very visual so most of the time I have scenes playing out in my head long before I try to write them. And if a scene won’t play in my head I find it nearly impossible to write (which did happen to me a few times with this fic which is part of why it took me much longer than usual to write).

I thought following a movie premise would make the writing process a lot easier becuase the outline is right there for me. And in some ways that was definitely true. Especially when I started the fic. I knew I was never going to follow the movie line-by-line or scene-by-scene because that would have bored me completely and it’s just really not my thing, but I was still able to follow of rough outline of how things were going to go.

Now of course my own ideas coming into play did complicate things a bit. I didn’t have any problem coming up with ideas. Those came very naturally (like how each character would work into things, what role they would play, the background story for Lucas and Charles, etc). But figuring out how I was shifting those storylines in my own world did occassionally stump me. It actually became harder to follow a movie premise because I am used to just sort of letting the characters go and I see what happens. Here I wanted to keep things more concise and I wanted to stick to a similar breakdown of plotpoints so it was almost like forcing myself to be more organized than I would be normally with writing. It worked out and I did still enjoy, but I definitely had moments of needing to stop myself and asking ‘ok, but what are you trying to get out of this scene?’ Because it’s not enough for me to say, ‘The scene was in the movie.’ I need to have a reason for that scene existing and it needs to impact and move the story forward in some way. Doing that while not doing my usual ‘Oops now it’s a 200k story’ was a challenge lol.

10 Things was really just born from me rewatching the film and I s2g 9/10 I watch things and immediately think ‘ooohhh but what if this was elu’? It’s just how my brain works lol. Hyperfixation is a funny beast. So it wasn’t anything more complicated than that. But why I chose to actually write it is that I thought it would be an easier (ha!), more light-hearted (hah!!!) fic and I was in the mood for that at the time as I had just finished Mood Tattoo.

Also I found it fascinating that you said none of my other Elu’s have ever had such a horrible messy betrayal. Like that is very true but honestly I didn’t really think it explicitly like that when I wrote it. So I wasn’t intimidated by that at all. Tbh I think my main thought was, ‘Oh yes, opportunity for some delicious angst.’ And it was interesting going into that knowing that the reader (at least those familiar with the movie) would know where the angst was coming from and would generally know when it was going to hit. It made me wonder if it would still have an impact. Obviously I changed things and I didn’t flinch from making it painful, but I wasn’t too worried about it being as messy as it became either. I’m not sure if that’s just because I had confidence as a writer tho lol. I think it is more that I write as I go and then I step back at the end and look at the whole product.

In terms of things I would change about the OG 10 Things movie, tbh I think most of what I would change was likely scenes that were cut. Like Bianca’s role in the betrayal of Kat and their very precarious relationship... that shit is never really resolved. And I understand why it wasn’t because it was a huge can of worms and the movie wasn’t as focused on that but damn...

I’m honestly not sure if there were other things I would change. It’s an interesting question. I think I would have liked to see a bit more from Patrick in between when Kat finds out the truth and when she confesses her feelings in the iconic poem. It would have been good to see a bit more of his suffering. Overall tho, even with what they cut or skip over, the feeling from the movie is that it works. It’s so enjoyable to watch and so satisfying and that’s really what I want out of a movie like that. So critique doesn’t come as easily. And I get what you mean about not really considering how eithically moral the actions of the characters are. That’s truly because the aura of the movie is fun and light-hearted. And they follow through on that in every way, especially with the humour. So it doesn’t demand that kind of reflection. But I went darker and more serious with my fic and added sex in the mix so I knew I had to deal with everyone’s actions in a more profound way.

As for any other future Elu AU versions being a betrayal of trust sort of messy situation... yes I could see this. For example, in an exes au, I think it could be very messy. I actually don’t normally like exes au’s so tackling that would be a challenge (it was the same way for friends-to-lovers for me but I ended up loving Punzel). But I think two premises for angst in future au’s would be interesting. One being where either Lucas or Eliott are entirely at fault in a really hard ‘how do we get past this’ way (I don’t mean cheating or something like that... that’s a no-go for me... but that betrayal element just involving much more hurt), and two, an angst premise where the angst comes entirely from an external force and at no time do they doubt they want to be together. 10 Things touches on the betrayal kind of angst but in more depth I think those two angst premises are ones I haven’t really tackled.

Ohhhh man... the question about how I come up with Lucas’s personal trauma in fics like Mood Tattoo and 10 Things. God... I have no idea hahahaha. The way I come up with ideas is legit so random and spontaneous. Like I know some people don’t believe me when I say that because a lot of themes and idea weave through the entire fics in a very intentional way but I have no explanation for that... my brain just kinda works it out 😂. In Mood Tattoo I truly have no memory of how I came up with the idea. I think I was probably coming from the initial idea of having an actual reason for Eliott to be critical of Lucas, and then the power dynamic of Lucas being close with an older surgeon... and then somehow the rest of the fucked-up-ness developed. Usually it happens when I’m out running and daydreaming. For 10 Things I knew I’d use Charles and it would be darker but I also knew I didn’t want it to be exactly like the OG - with Kat sleeping with that version of the guy because she felt pressured and everyone was doing it. For one, I didn’t want it to be a ‘Charles is closeted’ or anything like that. I wanted it to be more like Charles sees sexual conquests as being less than human and only in that way is gender irrelevant. Because it’s about power and domination. It’s about taking and it doesn’t matter who he takes that from. So that just didn’t translate to anything but a brief sexual encounter where Charles ‘takes’ and Lucas though willing, is in a vulnerable state.

10 Things did not take it out of me as a writer the same way other fics have. But each experience has been different. I found 10 Things more difficult simply because I had fallen out of a writing mode. And I don’t like to write unless I really am into doing so because I feel like it will read as laboured. I think my joy when I write does come across in what I write and in the same way, when I am really struggling with a scene and forcing myself to write it - I almost always end up very disatisfied with that scene later and it undergoes a lot of editing work. One thing I have realized in recently tackling my ADHD is that it can be near impossible for me to write when I’m not hyperfixated on it. For all the other fics I was and that’s how I was cracking out 200k stories. For 10 Things my brain had gone elsewhere and it actually wasn’t until I was on some ADHD meds that I was able to complete writing it. That helped me focus and I got a lot of the joy back in writing.

I think I’ve grown and probably changed hugely as a writer in some ways but I also think there is a lot that hasn’t changed. I remember when I started out writing Tempo my main goal was that I just wanted it to be a joy to read - like just really read so easily and just feel fun. And I really felt like I captured that. And that goal has pretty much stayed the same. I’ve struggled more with it as I have written new stories but a lot of that was simply because I worried I’d repeat myself or not create content that was original enough from what I’d already written. So it was a lot of pressure I put on myself. And interacting with readers really was the most inspiring and wonderful thing. It made me really want to put energy into writing and create thoughtful stories with depth. I love so much how readers like yourself analyze and dive into the complexities of the stories, and it makes me want to provide content that is layered. Thankfully I usually do write in a way where I am adding in details or layers I actually never expect readers to pick up on. It just satisfies me to know I’ve connected those threads for myself. But then I’ve had readers notice all those tiny things and it’s the most exciting and amazing thing. So that has driven me to be even more thoughtful with those choices.

I think the only other thing I’d mention in a way I changed - but then didn’t change lol - also has to do with interaction with readers. So back when I was writing for Skamfr and the fandom was more active I of course had interaction with a lot more people and a lot more readers. And while that was obviously wonderful, I did recieve a hell of a lot of terrible messages too. Thankfully for the most part the messages were very overtly hateful and that is extremely easy to dismiss and not have it affect me at all. But messages that were viscious but more specifically critical were a lot harder. I don’t mean fair critique. I have had plenty of that and while I don’t think it’s anything most fic writers are looking for, I’ve had really lovely readers offering critique or just general questions that have made me think about my writing differently and I think I’ve improved as a writer as a result. So yeah, I’m speaking about a different thing when I mention these messages and it did make me a bit nervous or gun-shy when it came to my next stories. With that said... I then got over it quickly, said fuck it, and did what I wanted anyways 😂😂😂. So that’s what I mean by it not changing me. I very much trust my own process and remind myself I’m just doing this for the joy of writing and it’s helped me calm down about the whole thing. Plus the fandom is obviously pretty non-existent now so I’m just left with really lovely readers and that has made the 10 Things experience really lovely.

Omg this truly turned into the longest essay. I’m sorry but also not because you know me and you know this is who I am as a person lmao. And I wanted to give your questions some serious thought and so here we are! I hope I answered all of your questions. I think I did. I will go back and edit this later so apologies for now if I have major typos or anything. Thank you soooooo much for your interest. It really is such a wonderful thing to get to discuss with someone who is actually interested. I’m forever thankful to have you as a reader ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️.

#writing things #fanfic things #10 things fic

6 notes · View notes

itstheelvenjedi · 2 years ago

Text

15 Questions, 15 Mutuals

I was tagged by @mimabeann ty! :D I’m not gonna tag 15 people bc I have fear of being that annoying so :’) if you wanna do this consider this a tag, and no pressure if not!

1. Are you named after anyone?

Not exactly. Though my name is biblical. My mom isn’t particularly religious, she just liked the name.

2. When was the last time you cried?

Literally yesterday rippp :’) having to talk to multiple diff ppl none of whom have notes on what you’ve told the other people so you have to re-live the terrible shitty awful 2 year period that was 2020 - 2022 all over again = panic attacks and lots of crying (I’m ok today just hella tired ;w;)

3. Do you have kids?

NOOOPEEE. And I never will. The bullshit from this family ends with me y’all XD

4. Do you use sarcasm a lot?

I’d have to be honest and say yea, I do. It’s prolly a defence mechanism oops. Also I just grew up like that so weh

(No. 5 is missing)

6. What’s your eye color?

Hazel! it switches between 2 of the 3 colours depending on what colour(s) I’m wearing etc. not gonna get any more specific than that bc Safety uvu

7. Scary movies or happy endings?

Happy endings! I don’t hate scary movies and I will watch em on occasion but pls I’m depressed enough already I need happy endings /hj

8. Any special talents?

Apparently I’m scary good at customer service for someone with such crippling social anxiety and fear of conflict so ig that counts? lmao

9. Where were you born?

on the coast in South Africa (again, not being any more specific for safety)

10. What are your hobbies?

Drawing, writing, playing video games (SWTOR, RDR 2/RDO, The Sims 4, Harvest Moon/Story of Seasons and ARK: Survival Evolved are the usual go-tos but I have others aswell ofc), I will never not pet a (friendly) dog/cat/animal if I see it

11. Have you any pets?

I have a corn snake named Enigma, at the moment! But my finances recently took a hit so as much as I’d love to get another pet once Enigma goes I prolly won’t be able to afford any more pets. Being disabled & unable to work and yet still expected to pay hundreds of bucks a month just so you can have food to eat bc you can’t cook on your own and someone has to do it for you kinda do be like that /s

12. What sports do you play/have played?

I used to play both Tennis and Netball as a kid! I have not played a sport in over 10 years, since my hip crapped out. I can barely walk without dislocating it now, I ain’t running or jumping NOWHERE bucko LOL

13. How tall are you?

5′4″ or thereabouts, idk the exact measurement nor do I care lol

14. Favorite subject in school?

English, Biology, Drama

15. Dream job?

idk really. I’m too disabled to do the one thing I actually trained for now (working with animals). I really wanted to get a qualification in Animal Assisted Therapy forever ago and train and use therapy animals (like cats, dogs, ferrets etc.) to help people work through trauma and stuff but I struggle so much with day to day things nowadays that it’s clear to me I won’t be able to do that (and I’ve made peace with that) I guess it’d be nice to publish a book or something one day, idk *shrugs*

#tag memes #15 questions 15 mutuals tag #about elven

1 note · View note

blackwoolncrown · 3 years ago

Text

Resolvable Help Needed

Okay tumblr, here’s the deal: I’ve reached a really shitty bottleneck and need your help clearing it up. The situation is ultimately one of pressure and time but the resolution requires financial assistance.

Over the past year or so I’ve been working as hard as possible to achieve lots of goals set the year before, one of which being an intention to continue my education and leave sex work. Long story short I have made huge efforts and have been working my ass off and even got a scholarship- but as it turns out all of the stuff I’ve been doing has been costing me a LOT in time investment which ultimately means a loss of income.

I tried to stick it out and work some of my newly built income streams harder without giving up but I’ve got to draw the line somewhere and this is the fifth month or so paying rent is going to be a struggle. Between this and the pandemic I’ve been working in overdrive in multiple arenas for very little, compared to what I was making. However also due to the pandemic SW doesn’t have too much to offer either, bc the economy is shit and the market is heavily over saturated w everyone needing to make money. I have had to quit school (my partner is helping me earn my certificate in time thank god) and some of the work I do bc it’s sucking up my time and I can’t quit the mutual aid or land back project.

This weekend after making these decisions I’ve also put some plans in action that should steady this shift but for the past two months I’ve been so busy with everything I was already doing that there was no way to do anything to work more. It’s hard to describe here but I’ve been in a really heavy work gridlock where all my time is full but none of it is making me enough to survive.

I’ve received some help by not having to focus on school and someone else is going to look for gigs for me but my immediate concern is paying rent this month. Until I have some sense of security there I’m still stuck in an increasingly stressful situation. If you could all help out by throwing a few bucks in a pot it would buy me enough wiggle room and resources to work myself out of this intense time deficit.

I am also offering sketch commissions (inks and color on the way I just- surprise surprise- haven’t had the time today to do them for an example) for $20; I used to be a professional digital artist and am getting back into the swing of it to knock the rust off and hopefully generate some cash- but have I mentioned I hardly have any time???

Please help me out late stage capitalism and racial disparity are kicking this Black femmes ass and I really, really need a breather and to know some money is coming in this month so I can focus on forward plans instead of scrambling 24/7 to try and milk what drying streams I currently have. No cap I’ve been working almost every day since 2020 from 8 to 9:30.

Your help is much appreciated, more info on the art to come.

TO COMMISSION: please email me at [email protected]

TO DONATE:

Cashapp: $moonseye

PayPal.me/ellipsislux (this one will have taxes taken out so if you want to make the most of a small donation cashapp is a better bet but LITERALLY ANYTHING helps!

$1,400/$2,200

#boost pls #donation #mutual aid #reparations #black femmes #bipoc #art #commissions

262 notes · View notes

michiieewrites · 4 years ago

Text

THORST COLLAB: Bakugou - Starving till I tasted you

A/N: First: IF YOU’RE UNDER 18, BEGONE FROM MY BLOG SINCE I WRITE MATURE CONTENT!! This one has been sitting in my documents for almost 2 months now. This week inspiration finally struck me once again tho!

This fic is actually a Thorst Collab between my lovely friends & I on Discord. I’m the first one to post mine, so I can’t wait to see what the others will write!

Now.

STRAP ON YOUR SEATBELTS CAUSE THIS MOTHERF!@#$%CKER IS 4.2K+ WORDS LONG

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If someone told you a year ago that you would have enough money to pay off your student debt, buy your dream apartment, help out your family and friends, move abroad and drive in a ’67 Chevrolet Impala, you would’ve died laughing at the joke.

You told yourself it was stupid, buying that lottery ticket. But here you are; $100.000.000,- on your bank account. A young and now rich Omega in her prime. After making sure you had spend part of it wisely, you made sure to live the rest of your life on interest alone.

The first month had been nice. Decorating your new place, going out for dinner every day, getting a new wardrobe, spoiling yourself silly. You got new nesting materials, softer blankets and bigger pillows. It felt nice. Until it didn’t anymore. It started to feel pointless and empty. You felt like you were becoming one of those people that flaunt their money and that isn’t the type of Omega you are.

So here you are. Sitting in your peach colored dress and a numbered paddle in your hand. Tonight, you attend a charity auction. The charity was a rehabilitation program for criminals who want to get back on the right path.

The auction items aren’t exactly… items. They’re Pro Heroes. People could bid on having a date with some of the most desirable Pro Heroes, Alphas, Betas, Omegas, all of them. Even No. 1 hero Deku and No. 4 hero Red Riot are up for auction, both being Omegas.

One of the last dates are being auctioned and you realize you have been zoning out. Not having bid anything yet, you put up your paddle.

“Going once, going twice… SOLD TO NUMBER 917 FOR TONIGHT’S HIGHEST BID OF $300.000,-! A date with explosion pro hero Ground Zero!”

Oh lord. Yes! You got- wait… You got actually got it? You won a date with Pro Hero Ground Zero. Wasn’t he the one with the explosion quirk? Impressive power and always capturing the villains. What separates him from Deku is his social skills. Or lack thereof, to be more precise. Ground Zero isn’t really the type of hero to stick around the people he saved to see if they’re okay.

On top of all that he’s also an Alpha. Highly sought out by Omegas who want a pup, but not the Alpha. His genes are what people want, not the man himself. His personality also making it harder for people to approach him. And you just won a date with the most desired and aggressive Pro Hero Alpha there is.

“Oi!”

The voice behind you pulled you from your thoughts. The subtle scent of caramelized candy apples caught your attention. You turn around and find a handsome Alpha standing there. Arms crossed, cardinal red eyes watching you and his lips in an almost angry looking pout. This is the man you just bought yourself a date with.

“H-hi!” you manage to stammer out.

With a huff, he places a card on your table. You pick it up and see that it’s a business card from Ground Zero’s agency. At the bottom, writing in sleek handwriting, is a phone number. You look back up at him, ready to ask him why he gave this to you. But he’s already turning around and heading for the exit.

“Just contact me when you wanna plan that date things.”

And just like that, you had Ground Zero’s personal phone number.

~ A few days later ~

You’re sitting at a small booth, sipping on your matcha latte. You were a half hour too early, so you decided it wouldn’t hurt to go ahead and order a drink before Bakugou would arrive. In his very first text he made it clear to call him ‘Bakugou’ and not by his hero name. He said that it would feel too much like an interview otherwise. In return you told him to just call you ‘Y/N’.

After some back and forth texting the last couple of days, you two agreed to meet up at a local coffee shop. Not a lot of people know about this shop. It’s small and the interior looks more like cozy living room than a flashy coffee shop. It was your favorite place to sit down and enjoy a cup of coffee, tea or like right now, matcha latte.

Neither of you had any set plans for the rest of the day. Just kind of going with the flow seemed like the way to go. This would give you the freedom to hopefully have a quiet ‘date’. But you can’t really know that for sure when the person you’re on a date with is a Pro Hero.

The sound of the bell above the front door rings. You look up and see him walk in. Sitting all the way in the back, you can’t even smell him scent. Weren’t Alpha’s supposed to have very strong scents? Maybe he’s on suppressants?

He scans the shop, probably looking for you. His eyes land on you. He walks over and sits across from you. He leans back against the chair and swings his right arm over the arm rest while the left one is resting on the table. His eyes trail down from your face to the drink in your hands.

“I see you couldn’t wait for me to arrive,” he gruffly says.

“Uh-uhm, yeah. Sorry, I was super early. I hope you don’t mind.”

The silence that spreads between you two makes your Omega feel uncomfortable. Something doesn’t feel right and you’re starting to think that the Alpha in front of you truly doesn’t want to do any of this. So, to make it a little more bearable for yourself, you pump out a small amount of calming pheromones. Just to take the edge of this meeting.

Bakugou keeps looking at you. Until he finally picks up the menu card and says: “It’s fine. It’s your day, after all.”

He was right, you figured. But you still wanted him to have a pleasant time today too.

And so the day continues. The conversation isn’t very lengthy or deep. You discuss basic things like work, hobbies, favorite food. After a while the conversation kind of dies down. You suggest you two head out and into town. The man in front of you doesn’t seem overly thrilled about it, but still agrees.

When you go up to the front to pay, you hear him quickly walking up to you. He pulls your arm back. Surprised, you let out a small sound of shock and look up at him. A confused look is on his face and he pulls his hand away from you.

“The heck are you trying to do?”

Confused, you say: “Uh, paying?”

“I see that, but why? Omegas don’t pay when they’re with Alphas.”

Wow. At first you didn’t know how to respond to this remark. True, Omegas usually aren’t the ones paying on dates. In the past an Alpha would go out and hunt for their Omega. Since the hunting days are over and many Omegas work nowadays, treating them on dates are a way to show the Omega they can provide for them.

“Well,” you say as you hand over the money to the Beta barista behind the counter and thank him, “I don’t know about other Omegas, but I’m perfectly capable of paying for drinks too. I can provide just as well as any Alpha.”

You two walk outside and turn left to head into town. You’ve been meaning to go to the bookstore and hopefully find some new reading material. Two birds, one stone, right?

“Tsk, should’ve known a rich Omega like you doesn’t like to be told what to do,” Bakugou mumbles to himself.

You stop in your tracks. What? Was that really what he thought of you? A rich and snobby Omega?

Realizing you’re not walking beside him anymore, Bakugou turns around. Your head is bowed in shame. Normally your scent smells like peaches and hazelnuts, but now it turns into that of rotten fruit. You feel called out. For winning the lottery, for treating this Alpha to some drinks, for basically buying yourself a date with someone who clearly wishes to be anywhere else but here.

Your voice shakes, but you gather all your courage. “I’ll admit I was given a lot more financial freedom recently. And yes, I don’t like being told what to do. I believe everyone should be treated equally, regardless of their second gender. But I have never in my life asked for something. I was taught to work hard, to help people and to help and reward the people that help you.”

You pick up your head and look him straight in the eyes, politely smile and say: “I’m sorry you had to do this. This isn’t really how you planned your day would go. You can go, if you want to.”

As you pass him, determent to still go to the bookstore, you feel a weight being lifted from your heart. It really is unfair to the Alpha to make him go on a date with someone he doesn’t like. Deep down inside your Omega whines sadly. She recognized a good and safe provider in the Alpha, one who isn’t driven by hormones to just get an Omega pregnant. One who isn’t controlled their Alpha status. Too bad his Alpha isn’t interested in the Omega.

“Fuck, crap- wait! Shit!”

The cursing Alpha quickly catches up to you. He stops in front of you, holding up his hands to halt you. “Okay, fuck-just… let me explain.”

You cross your arms at him and wait for him to continue.

“Okay, so… Listen, I’ve been a real dick to you. Not just today, but basically since that charity event when I gave you my card. It was wrong of me assume anything about you. Shit Y/N, you’ve been nothing but nice to me. You don’t mind carrying the cost of a date, you’re not flaunting it around town that you’re spending time with a Pro Hero, you put up with my shitty responses and that isn’t how you should be treated. Or anyone for that matter! You deserve a proper date. So just, maybe I can make it up to you?”

By the end of his apology, Bakugou practically gives you angry puppy eyes in an attempt to ask for forgiveness. He reminds you of an angry Pomeranian. Smiling, you tell him that you forgive him. This day is supposed to be a fun one.

“But! You’ll have to carry the books I’ll buy as a punishment. And just so you know, I always come out with two shopping bags,” you tell him.

Bakugou just grins. “Fine. They’ll probably weigh nothing for me.”

Something in the air changes. A little sniff of your nose helps you identify the change. The scent coming from the Alpha next to you is slightly peaked. You heard that when an Alpha is preening their scents get stronger. You hardly think that’s the reason. Maybe it’s just because he’s in better mood now. Whatever the reason, you find yourself agreeing with your Omega; it’s a very nice scent.

~ An hour and a half later ~

“I’ve never met someone who spends over an hour inside a bookstore!”

“I told you when we came in that it could take a while,” you reply to Bakugou’s complaints.

“You do this with nesting stuff too? You know, blankets and shit,” he asks.

In both his hands, Bakugou is carrying a bag containing close to twenty books you can add to your bookcases back at home. Even underneath the sleeves of his hoodie you can see the muscles of his arms. He’s not as bulky as Pro Heroes Deku and Red Riot, but those muscles are pretty impressive. You bet your money that those thighs could squish a watermelon. You can practically feel the water filling your Omega’s mouth. She wants nothing more than to chomp down on those delicious shoulders. And honestly, you wouldn’t mind that either.

You remember you were asked a question. “I do. How else am I gonna know I made the right choice? All of those blankets and shit, as you put it, go in my nest. I’m at my best with a perfect nest.” A confident smile forms on your face and from the corner of your eye you can see Bakugou looking at you. A small smirk creeps up on his face.

While enjoying our little banter, you both failed to notice the Alpha towards the two of you. Until he opened his mouth. “I bet I can make your nest even better, little Omega.”

The other guy stops right in front of you, completely ignoring the Alpha next to you. You’re shocked and take a step back to create some distance between you again. But the guy doesn’t let up and steps closer again.

“No, now get lost,” you firmly say. This wasn’t the first Alpha-asshole you encountered.

“Awh, why the sour face, baby? Bet I’ll be more fun than the hedgehog here.”

“Oi, asshole! She said to get lost.” The smells of pheromones of two Alphas are dominating the air. The strongest one being the creepy guy, Bakugou’s not so much. You honestly confused on that point. With an Alpha as desirable as Bakugou, you truly expected a stronger scent.

You can’t help but release your own distressed scent. The tension is getting to you. Even other people noticed and are stopping to see how this plays out.

The creep briefly looks at Bakugou before returning his attention on you. “Come on, baby. Ditch this guy and then you and I can have our fun. What do you say?”

He extends his hand to put it on our waist and before you know it, you slap his hand away and punch him in the face. He stumbles back while cupping his now bleeding nose. Screaming in pain and shouting names at you. He’s beyond pissed; punched by a fucking Omega!

The adrenaline is pumping through you and every instinct in your body is telling you to run. Hide. Find an Alpha to protect you. You’re frozen on the spot. Your mind shutting down.

That’s when you feel a hand tugging you away. Your Omega recognizes the person this scent belongs to. Caramel candy apples. Bakugou.

You don’t know where he’s taking you. Your mind still processing things. All you know is to follow. ‘Cause he’ll lead to safety. Alphas keep Omegas safe. Follow. Safety. Alpha.

By the time you get to take in your surroundings, you realize you’re in an office. An office? What are you doing here? You look around and see a wooden desk with a black leather chair. A small bookcase, a closet and a couch with coffee table. A puffy black rug is covering the wooden floor, complimenting the one black wall behind you. The other walls are a tinted orange color.

The scent hanging in this office is… comforting. Soothing. Safe. You’re safe in here.

You’re seated on the couch. Wrapped in something soft. A blanket. A big, fluffy and soft blanket. The scent is even stronger on the blanket. You slowly inhale, imprinting this delicious mix of sweetness. After a couple seconds you finally notice the man next to you. Bakugou grins as he sees your focus shifting to him.

“I take it the blanket is approved,” he jokes.

You slowly nod. This small little cocoon makes you feel less vulnerable. Just like the presence of Bakugou next to you. It feels right. “Where are we?”

“Oh yeah, fuck. We’re at my agency. This is my office.”

You’re confused. “Your office? Why? I’m sorry, I kind of… froze. Can you tell me what happened afterwards?”

The smile that spreads on his face makes you feel funny inside. “What happened?! Y/N, you punched that fucker right in his fucking face! Shithead had it coming, tho. You just beat me to it. Omega or not, you know how to fight.”

You two look at each other and burst out laughing as you think back to that glorious moment. The creep definitely didn’t see your punch coming. It feels good to know the man next to you thinks you’re a decent fighter. He seems to actually be enjoying your company. Maybe he’s one of those people that are careful with who they get comfortable with. It feels good to know he feels like he can relax a bit more around you now.

You jokingly nudge him and say: “I bet I can even take you on, you big grump.”

“Oh yeah?” His eyebrow is raised, grinning with his canines on display. “Prove it then.”

Knowing a challenge when you see one, you keep your eyes fixed on his cardinal ones and slowly lean in closer. Baring your neck to the side in submission to lure in his Alpha. Your Omega is very pleased by the motion. Just as he moves to lean in too, you throw the blanket in his face, grab his neck and shove him down on the ground. Stradling him and jabbing your elbow into his side, pressing your nails into the skin of his neck.

Smiling down at the man below you; “How’s that, Alpha?”

A short lived victory as he snarls and the two of you roll over, with Bakugou keeping you pinned underneath his weight. He may not look like it, but this man weighs a ton!

“If you’re trying to be a worthy opponent, why not call me by my first name? It’s ‘Katsuki’,” he breathes heavily atop of you.

Next to your ear you hear a low grumbling sound. Still seeing this as a playfight you laugh and reach back. Your fingers finding pressure points in his neck, making him let go of you. This gives you the chance to overpower him again and straddle him once more while holding his wrists above his head.

Victorious once again, you look down. Growling and teeth bared, the air around you growing thick. The smell surrounding you hits you like thunder. The caramelized candy apple scent overwhelming your senses. Your eyes travel down to his neck and see something you failed to notice before; gland patches. Patches to block someone’s scent from becoming too noticeable. That’s why the other Alpha smelled so much stronger. But now, now you’re drowning in it. You can pick up on rage, possessiveness and… arousal. As much as he’s growling and snarling at you, you know that he’s enjoying this too.

Chuckling at you, he cranes his neck. His face now closer to you than a moment ago. “I’m pretty sure I just got my ass handed by the most perfect Omega.” His words push through the alarm bells his instincts are sending off. His Alpha is not pleased about being pinned down. But as it takes in the Omega’s scent of peaches and hazelnuts, it can’t help but lie down and surrender itself to this tasty smelling Omega. An Omega that can fight back. An Omega that can hold him close. An Omega worthy of carrying his pups.

His Omega.

Before either can properly get out any words Bakugou has wrestled his hands free and grabs a hold of your hips while your hands pull his face closer and seal the distance between your lips. The taste of sugar coated apples is even stronger on his lips and you can’t get enough of it.

His fingers press deeply in your skin, kneading the flesh. His hips pushing upwards while holding you in place. The low rumbling sound in the back of his throat being accompanied by your mewling. You wanted more of him, your Omega needed more.

The Alpha makes his displeasure heard. You both part to breathe in fresh air. His lidded eyes are on fire and following every movement you make. Your hands slip down to his collarbones and settle on his shoulders. The path of your hands make Bakugou throw back his head. His body is pressing into yours desperately, like he has no control over it anymore. His growling increases in volume.

Through gritted teeth he manages to speak to you. “Fuck, Omega. What are you doing to me?”

Taking a leap of faith, you answer: “I don’t know. All I know right now is that I need capable Alpha to take care of me. Are you that Alpha, Katsuki?”

Before you can even blink, you’re being rolled over again. This time you’ll let him have his way. His hands are sliding their way up to your chest, grabbing the front of your shirt and tearing it apart. You try to protest, but you’re stopped by the warning growl of his Alpha. You lay back down and occupy yourself with running your fingers through his hair. Your gently massage making the Alpha let out a content sound.

Entranced by the man above you, you hardly even notice his onslaught on your clothes. And his own clothes. Getting those replaced will be a worry for later, your Omega decide. All you need to focus on right now is Katsuki. You want this Alpha to mate you and it needs to happen right now, or else your Omega just might perish on the spot.

That’s when you feel it. The hard and heavy feeling of his cock rutting itself against your core. Your body can’t help but react to it and release a good amount of slick. Katsuki’s mouth nipping along your collarbones as your bare you neck in submission. You feel his fangs graze your scent glands and you start to whimper desperately.

“Fuck, Y/N. Keep making those pretty noises,” Katsuki says.

“Yes, Alpha, yes. Just-ah shit! Just fuck me already!” you loudly exclaim.

Now who is Katsuki to deny such a nice plea from such a good Omega?

Wasting no time, he slides himself inside. The stretch making you cry out for more, deeper, more, anything he can give you. You just know you need more. Barely able to hold himself back from ramming himself inside and fucking you like you’re in a heat, he takes his time for your to fully take him in. A sigh of satisfaction leaves you both when he finally does.

Your legs wrap around his waist and try to pull him deeper in. Your fingers curl around his spikey locks and tug harshly to get him moving. Grunting, Katsuki finally complies. Being buried inside you sends him into over-drive. You feel too damn good around him. He feels too good inside you as he sets in a brutal rhythm. You’re pretty sure no other man could ever make you feel this good. No other Alpha could ever please your Omega ever again. Feeling his body slam into yours like his life depends on it is possibly the best feeling in the world. Your lungs are sending out a mix of his name, pleas for more, for him to go faster.

Katsuki can’t help it, he can’t stop himself anymore. He need to do this, he needs you, his Alpha needs to mate your Omega. Give her everything she wants and all that she’ll take. Only the best for his Omega, he will be worthy of giving her pups.

You can feel the base of his cock starting to inflate. His knot. His knot is growing. As soon as you notice, you start to claw at his back. A need filling you till the point you’re almost bursting.

“Alpha! Knot, please- Alpha, knot me- I need- Need your knot, Alpha!” you scream in desperation.

He wants to. Oh, he wants to so badly. But in the back of his mind there’s one braincell left that tells him that now is not the time nor the place. His Omega deserves better.

“You deserve better than to be knotted in my office, Y/N,” he moans, “please give me a chance to give you something better one day. I’ll be the best fucking Alpha there is!”

You love the sound of that. Something better. Somewhere in the future. A future with Katsuki. “Yes, Kastuki! Only you, you’re the only Alpha, please, I’m so cl-“

The moment he sinks his teeth into the flesh just above your collarbone, you’re send into a world of blinding lights and exploding fire. His name keeps falling from your lips. The waves of fire keep pulsing through your body.

The tight grip around him becomes too much for Katsuki. He needs to pull out or else he’ll knot you for sure. When he you keep chanting his name, he pulls out and covers you in thick, long, white streams of his cum. Covering you in his seed, marking you as his in an obscene, but beautiful way.

“Look at you, perfectly covered in my cum,” he pants.

You preen at the compliment. A content scent is released. The smell of a happily fucked Omega. Katsuki could get addicted to this smell.

With the shredded pieces of clothing he cleans you up. He pulls the blanket you discarded earlier over you both as he lies down next to you. Your tired and warm body cuddles closer to him. He drinks in your scent a you purr softly.

“What did you have the blanket for in your office?” you ask with a yawn.

Katsuki looks down at your half-asleep face. A smile forms on his lips as he gently kisses the top of your head.

“I kept it for my future mate.”

Tagged: @reinawritesbnha @thots4daze @hipster-merchant-of-death @aizawascumslut @strawbirb @ravenfeet222 @sailor-manga @yanderart @league-of-villians-headcanons

#bnha #bnha fic #mha fic #bnha bakugou #bakugou katuski x reader #bakugou katsuki #alpha bakugou #alpha bakugou katsuki #alpha bakugou x reader #michiiee writes #bnha smut #bnha a/b/o #omegaverse #bnha omegaverse #bakugou x reader #plus ultra #bakugou fic #bakugou smut

4K notes · View notes

irrelevantwriter · 4 years ago

Text

House Call

Pairing: Rio (Good Girls) x Female Reader/You

Rating: Explicit, NSFW

Warnings: Language, vaginal fingering, unprotected vaginal sex, mention of bodily fluids, reader being scared and horny, Rio’s BDE (y'all know what's up)

Word Count: 4.2K

Summary: Part 1. Rio shows up unannounced to talk business. Among other things.

A/N: It’s here...it’s happening. It took me a whole 2.5 seconds to become obsessed with Rio once I started watching GG. Ya’ll know how I roll. Anyway, this is me just dipping my toe into the water. I didn't get too deep with a plot (spoiler alert: there isn't any). It’s essentially just reader-insert into the show’s current plot, but with some smut thrown in. For fun. I hope you guys like it. Feedback is that good shit. 💗

*Added a Part 2! Read it here.

*Give and Take series masterlist

*Masterlist in bio.

***********************

“You okay?”

The sound of your friend’s concerned voice filled the line, pulling you back to the moment and the conversation you’d been engaged in before you’d burnt yourself in the spray of hot water.

“Yeah, just washing dishes.” You explained, cradling your cell between your shoulder and cheek as you maneuvered dirty dishes under the spout of water.

“So the meeting with the principal? How’d it go?” Rachel asked, getting you back on track.

You sighed, beginning to scrub at a stubborn coffee stain left behind on one of your favorite mugs.

“Fine. The kids are still having a hard time with the divorce so it’s…” You paused, unsure of how to describe the child-like brooding your son and daughter had taken to participating in since you’d separated from their father.

“Tense? Difficult? Weird?” Rachel listed off helpfully.

“All of the above.” You deadpanned, still scrubbing.

“You take the rest of the day off?”

“Yeah, I’ve gotta figure out what I’m going to do with these kids. Paul said he’d come over later to talk it over.”

“How incredibly thoughtful of him.” Rachel replied, sarcasm and disdain dripping from her words.

“Well, it’s a start. And as much as I’d like to tell him to fuck off, I can’t. He’s still their dad.” You explained for the hundredth time, feeling the stress of your situation with your ex starting to creep into your body. Your shoulders felt stiff and your head began to throb with a dull ache. It was a familiar reaction these days. One you loathed.

You opened your mouth to steer the conversation elsewhere when the doorbell rang, chiming throughout the empty expanse of your home.

“Paul?” Rachel asked, obviously hearing the alert of someone’s company over the phone.

“I guess. Look, I’ll call you later.” You said with another sigh, this one more tired than annoyed. You gave up on the stained mug and moved onto drying it, shutting the water off as you did.

“Okay. Good luck.”

“Thanks.” You ended the call, aware that you were short with her, but unable to feel sorry for it. You had plenty of other things to worry about, none of which involved your shitty ex or his new girlfriend.

You placed your cell on the counter and turned to make your way to the entryway, mug still clutched in your hand. The ceramic cup dropped to the floor and shattered into pieces when you saw who was already in your kitchen. You gasped, clutching your chest and yelping at the familiar man in black, the dark ink splattered across his throat the first thing you noticed. Your heart leapt, your body going rigid at the unexpected visit. Pop-ups like this were never a good sign.

“I let myself in.” Rio supplied, voice low and thick with authority and charm. He wore a smirk, lips upturned at your surprised reaction. He always seemed amused by you. That fact only served to unsettle you further.

“What’re you doing here?” You managed to say between shaky breaths, fear making your own voice quiver.

“Just checking in, mama. Can’t I do that?” He challenged with his arms spread wide, daring you to say otherwise.

You didn’t.

You went to move around the large kitchen island but the shards of broken mug prevented you from getting far on bare feet. Rio took notice and strode towards you, all clean lines and hooded eyes. He had a swagger about him that radiated. It sent a clear message about the kind of man he was. Confident. Skilled. Smart. There was an ease in his movements, but a beast lay in wait inside, ready to strike when the need arose.

His piercing gaze took in your dress, uncaring of being discreet or polite. He appraised you from the tips of your painted toes to the top of your head. It was as unnerving as it was thrilling. He crowded your space. He always did. While the scent of him filled your nostrils. Something spicy, but pleasing. It sat in your nose, and you knew from previous experience that you’d smell it for hours after.

You swallowed, wanting to avoid his close proximity. You hastily bent down to gather what you could of the jagged pieces, moving around his sneaker-clad feet that stood before you. You tried to ignore his presence, tried to appear calm and composed. It was an uphill battle. The man always knew how to throw you off. He knew how to keep people on their toes. It was yet another facet of him that you both coveted and despised.

You hissed, feeling the edge of one of the shards dig into the tip of your finger. You stood and sucked the tip into your mouth, trying to clear the area of the blood that had started to surface. His eyes were on you, watching you with interest and a certain level of lust that you didn’t allow yourself to explore. You stiffened when he reached for your wrist and pulled your finger away from your lips. He inspected the cut, his flesh warm and soft against yours. It was a side of him that eclipsed the man you’d come to know over the last several months.

“It’s not bad. I’ll be fine.” You whispered, attempting to pull your hand free of his. It was futile.

“Band aid?”

“Uh...yeah. In that drawer. Next to the stove.” You pointed in the direction of the drawer, holding your breath as he retrieved the item. This time, you watched him. Watched as he unwrapped the bandage and tended to your finger with all the care of a parent with their child. He held the appendage steady as he got ready to wrap it, but he stopped himself. He locked eyes with you instead, making you shiver.

“I make you nervous.”

It was a statement. A very true statement. And yet you found yourself shaking your head; ironic because your voice felt too unsteady to use.

Your heart stopped when he placed a tender kiss to the cut. The air around you crackled with heat and tension. It was unlike any feeling you’d ever been subjected to before. It was danger mixed with primal fascination...attraction. And it called to you like a raft in a sea of treacherous waves.

He ignored your silent response and sealed the band aid over your finger, ensuring the ends were smooth against your skin. He didn’t let go of you.

“Don’t lie to me, okay? Trust is an important thing. And we’ve gotta have it if we wanna keep doing business together.”

His calm demeanor and gentle chastising made you a puddle of obedience. Your need to please wasn’t just born from fear. It was something you’d been unable to come to terms with until now. You saw it for what it truly was. You wanted to please him. In as many ways as he’d let you.

You nodded in response, agreeing to his statement.

“Let’s try it again then, yeah?” He started, eyes roaming your face. “I make you nervous, don’t I?”

“The constant threat of my life makes it difficult for me to be calm.” You said, choosing to still be untruthful.

You forced yourself not to fidget as his stare scorched your skin. His black eyes roamed across the open expanse of your collarbone and to the modest neckline of your wrap dress. He licked his lips as he focused on the measured breaths of your chest, your breasts rising with each pass.

“That’s not the only reason.” He retorted with a shake of his head. He leaned in close, noses almost touching as he spoke. “Don’t move.”

You said nothing as he bent down, continuing your failed task of picking up the broken bits of ceramic. You observed him dutifully gathering each piece, piling them into one large hand. His face looked pensive, as if he was trying to solve an equation in his head. You leaned against the island for support and bit your lip, unwilling to give into the lecherous thoughts that haunted you at night and managed to infiltrate your dreams.

“Nice dress.”

His compliment made you pause, looking down to meet that familiar smirk. He’d set what was left of the mug onto the counter, the floor relatively clear of large fragments. His fingers now played with the hem of said dress, the flowy material dancing in the air and away from your body.

“Thanks.”

Your voice was small. The apprehension so clear that you could both taste it. He found it funny. You found it humiliating.

He slowly straightened, taking the fabric with him as he gathered it to just above your knees.

“Color looks good on you.”

Again, the juvenile warmth of his praise sent you reeling further into anxiety’s waiting arms. Inwardly, you were responding to every lick of his lips and quirk of his eyebrow. Your thighs shifted restlessly against each other, waiting for that satiation that you hadn’t felt in forever. Outwardly though, you remained as skittish as a wild horse. You were as much on the edge of pleasure as you were on retreating.

“Thanks.” You said with a pleasant smile, wanting to conceal the yearning that bubbled just under the surface. You smoothed out the hunter-green fabric that rested against your abdomen, hoping to urge his hands away from you and the dress.

No such luck.

Instead, he ran his fingers up your skirt and along the outside of your thighs and hips, almost meeting the edge of your lace panties. Your traitorous body showed its hand, your nipples hardening in eagerness. Rio’s gaze predictably caught the action. And his face showed his approval.

“How long you been divorced?”

You furrowed your brows in confusion at his sudden curiosity. But the switch in topic had you alert again and somewhat clear of the fog he was so insistent on throwing you into.

“Why? What does that have to do with anything?” You questioned, stepping back from his body.

His hands fell away from you finally, but they didn’t stay idle for long. They skimmed over your hips, pressing your backside into the edge of the kitchen island.

“Answer me, mama.” He demanded, head craning down to meet your eyes. The intensity of his stare made you shift on your feet. He had an amazing poker face. A skill that left you envious.

“Two years.” You dutifully supplied, leaning backwards every inch that he moved in.

“It’s been that long then.” He commented with a nod, a finger tracing along the neckline of your dress, hovering just above your cleavage.

“That long for what?” You asked, taking note of the subtle ways in which his face changed. There was no trace of the teasing, light-hearted flirting that you’d become accustomed to seeing from him. He was serious. Almost as serious as the times he’d threatened your life. His touch was more insistent, telling you what he wanted rather than hinting. His mouth lowered to your ear, his nose brushing against your neck in a far too erotic manner. Your fingers itched to anchor yourself to him. You denied the request.

“Since someone stretched you out.”

A gasp caught in your throat, though you didn’t know if it was more from his words or his touch. He’d managed to slip a hand under your dress, tracing the crotch of your panties with a dexterous finger as he spoke.

“Wh-what do you mean?” You stammered, knuckles tightening against the edge of the counter you were currently gripping.

“I mean…” Rio started, lips brushing against the shell of your ear with each syllable. His finger barely teased your slit, but his voice more than compensated for the lack of physicality. “You haven’t had someone here,” He emphasized the word with a firm press of his finger against the soaked material that hid your clit from view. “In two years. Maybe more.”

You whimpered, biting your lip as he continued to manipulate your body. Your head screamed at you to stop, to pull away. But the sensation of his body pressed so firmly to yours was far too comforting to deny.

“You don’t know that.” You attempted, though the effort was obviously pointless. It was true. Since your separation and subsequent divorce from Paul, you’d barely been on a date, much less had sex. Your body was fiending for it...for him. And he knew it.

He scoffed, finding amusement in your words. He pressed his finger along the same dampened area, seeing your eyes roll into the back of your head. He licked his lips when your hand shot out to grasp at his wrist.

“Yeah, I do.” He affirmed with a nod, finger still teasing over your lace-covered slit. “He stepped out on you, didn’t he?” He continued, his eyes taking stock of the way you responded to his touch.

You had trouble focusing on the conversation he insisted on having while his hand was up your dress and practically in your underwear. You didn’t feel the need to supply an answer anyway. He already had all the information he needed.

“He didn’t deserve you.”

You were jolted back to reality by his words, straightening your spine and pushing his hand from between your legs.

“And what? You do?” You threw back, agitation seeping into your tone. You felt like he was patronizing you. He was always one step ahead. Always aware of the skeletons in your closet before you were.

“Never said that.” He said with a shake of his head, not stepping out of your space. His hands were off your body now, but the stains they’d left on you would remain there. They wouldn’t easily be erased. And you weren’t entirely sure that you wanted them to be.

“Why are you here?” You asked, trying to sound more confident than you felt.

“Business.”

“A simple call or text works for that.”

“Wanted to come in person.” He said with a shrug of his shoulders. He wore an expression of smugness, as if he knew something you didn’t, which was often the case.

“What do you want then?”

“Why don’t you tell me?” He retorted swiftly, lips pulled into a thin line.

The seriousness was back, his eyes nearly swallowing you as all humor became sucked from the room. The nerves in your stomach came back full force, the fear aiding them in their efforts. He was challenging you, apparently done with your lying.

“I…”

You didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know how to even begin. He was too intimidating. Just too much.

“I-I can’t.” You finished lamely, shaking your head and looking down at your feet.

He tilted your chin up, his mouth only centimeters from yours as he dared you to move.

“Just say the word.” He rasped against your lips, his free hand cradling your cheek.

You let yourself stare back, taking in his dark lashes and the angles of his face. He confused you on many levels, angered you beyond belief. He made your life a living hell. And yet, you wanted him more than anything. More than the money and the thrill of crime. And somehow he was privy to it all. And he wanted to give it to you.

So you were going to let him.

“Kiss me.” You breathed out, your hands finally coming to rest on his chest.

He needed no further encouragement. His mouth settled over yours in a tangle of lips and tongues. He tasted like mint, his lips much softer than they looked. The scratch of his facial hair only added to the moment as you pressed further into him, asking him to take more.

He did.

His hands were rough, but not unpleasant as they trailed along your body. They had the marks of healed scars. Not to mention the blood of those who chose to cross him. They were everywhere and all at once. Your breasts, your neck, your waist, your ass. He kneaded where he knew you yearned for more and tenderly stroked the areas in between. You struggled to keep up as his hips pushed into yours, his own yearning making its presence known.

“We shouldn’t do this.” You managed to say between heavy breaths, Rio’s mouth attaching to your neck and sucking near your throbbing pulse.

“Why not?” He mumbled into your skin, hands unwilling to slow down.

“Things will get complicated.”

He pulled himself away from the crook of your neck, his thumb running over your kiss-swollen pout.

“Yeah, they will.” He said with a chuckle, that devilish smirk staring back at you.

It was all a blur after that.

Limbs intertwined together as you worked on the buckle of his pants while he pushed your dress up and over your hips this time. He harshly pulled the lace away, the elastic snapping against your thighs as it got caught before making its way to the floor. Your mouths didn’t separate, not even when he lifted you onto the counter. He pulled one side of your dress away, exposing the matching bra you wore underneath. Your pebbled nipples called to him and he responded, massaging the flesh with expert precision. You moaned and writhed like a woman possessed. Like a woman that hadn’t been laid in two years.

“Feels good?”

The roughened gravel of his voice made your walls spasm, the hint of self-assuredness causing a wave of arousal to seep from within you. You could only nod, wordlessly pleading with him to continue on. His touch ventured south to your spread thighs. You widened them, allowing him access to the place you needed him the most. He didn’t disappoint.

His fingers were long and probing as they penetrated your sex, slipping easily in. You gasped at the fullness, the stretch around him making your eyes squeeze shut. He let your body guide him as he rubbed at your clit, his fingers curling against your walls.

“I’m...god...I’m gonna cum.” You confessed, only somewhat embarrassed by the suddenness of your climax.

He worked hard and faster. Your nails dug into his back, your mouth landing on his shoulder as you struggled to not cry out. You bit down when the euphoria of orgasm washed over you, trapping his hand within you. He could feel every tremor he brought forth as you shook in his arms. It felt like it lasted for hours, your body unwilling to let the feeling be a fleeting moment in time.

“You still with me?” He asked, lips pressed to your temple.

You nodded, hissing when he removed his fingers from the confines of your body. You watched, feeling as if you were in a daze. He shifted his pants and boxers down, revealing his length to your ravenous eyes. The hand that had been so deeply embedded in you now wrapped around himself. He was long and hard, as rigid as his hands. You felt like a moth to a flame, hand reaching out to feel if he was real. He was.

You swiped your finger over the tip of him and were overcome with wanton pride at feeling the moisture that sat there. His jaw clenched in a way that you’d only ever seen him do in anger. He didn’t allow you to continue. In an instant he was wedged between your thighs, his body already pushing into your waiting sex. Even with the climax from his fingers, he was a tight fit. You both expelled breaths, his a mumbled curse and yours a throaty moan. You shut your eyes as a new burst of pleasure radiated from your core and traveled up your spine. There was only a brief moment of intimacy as he sat unmoving within you, letting your body adjust to him.

It was short-lived.

“Fuck...” He cursed as he began to fuck you into the counter, hands holding your hips in place.

You wrapped your arms around his neck as he lavished yours with kisses and bites, each thrust of his hips causing his teeth to graze your skin. The chill of the marble countertop beneath your bare ass cooled your overheated skin. You bit your lip so hard you could taste blood as he filled you over and over, each pass making your walls accept more of him. He was deep and hitting that gloriously elusive spot that sat within your womb.

He cupped your breasts while you scraped your nails down his back, hearing him growl in response. The sound made you yearn to hear more. So, you did something you’d always wanted to do...you licked the ink on his throat. You decorated his skin with tantalizing kisses, your tongue aiding your actions. He shivered against your lips, the reaction making your walls clench around him. He was, at least for the moment, a slave to your ministrations. And it was a high unlike any drug you’d ever encountered.

It was animalistic fucking at its finest. He hit every nerve, soothed every ache. The union of your bodies was enough to send you sailing off the proverbial cliff, but his touch kept you tethered to solid ground, longing for more. He rocked his hips mercilessly into you, making your back arch at an almost painful angle.

“Right there, huh?” He teased, feeling you squeeze around him in raw desire. “Yeah, that’s the spot.”

You whimpered and tensed when he savagely rubbed your swollen clit, forcing your legs to tighten around him. He laughed, the sound ominous in your ringing ears. You could only hold on as he delivered the sweetest torture you’d ever felt. You spread your thighs wider, trying to get him closer than humanly possible. You opened your neck up to him, letting him have access to your bare flesh. You wanted him all over you and leaving a scorching trail of hunger in his wake.

It was manic. It was frenzied. It was passionate. And it all combined into a seductive elixir that made fireworks burst from within.

“Shit...I’m cumming.” You warned, feeling him double his efforts. Every muscle went taut with blinding pleasure as that coil finally snapped. You felt weightless, and yet the firm body still driving into your depths made you feel sublimely solid. And whole. More whole than you’d felt in the entirety of your marriage.

It was on the tail-end of your climax that Rio found his. His hips stuttered as he grunted and groaned, releasing himself into you and painting your walls. His fingers dug into the flesh of your inner thighs while his face burrowed into your chest and neck. It was as uninhibited as you’d seen him. And you were addicted to the sight.

You both heaved with shallow breaths, the exertion of each of your climaxes literally taking the air from your lungs. The room smelled of sex and instant regret as you straightened in Rio’s arms. He separated from your body, eyeing you as he redressed. You shifted your dress back together to cover your bra, the mess between your thighs preventing you from closing them completely.

Before you could say anything, Rio reached up and cradled your cheek. He played with your bottom lip, his thumb once again finding the appendage. His eyes took in every part of you, as if he hadn’t fucked you senseless seconds before. He licked his lips in that dangerous way that let you know his thoughts were on more than just money.

“Business is good?” He asked, warm palm still pressed to your cheek.

“Yeah, it is.”

“Cool, cool.” He nonchalantly replied, hand leaving your face as he stepped back from your debauched body. “I’ll see you soon, yeah?”

“Yeah.” You said with a nod, pushing your dress further down over your thighs, a lame effort to protect any modesty you might’ve still possessed. He smirked at the action.

“Might wanna clean up the mess.” He said with a cheeky upturn of his lips, hands gesturing to the remaining fragments of ceramic that still littered the floor but eyes locked solely to the spot between your legs. The place he knew he’d left a part of himself.

You bit your lip and nervously played with the hem of your dress, feeling his eyes bore into you. Despite still being fully dressed, you felt naked to him. Bare. Exposed. Vulnerable. You hated it.

He retreated, facing you as he walked backwards towards the front door. You watched him from over your shoulder, still unsure of what to make of the whole situation.

“And lock your door from now on. All kinds of madmen running around these streets.” He quipped, eyes lighting up at his own joke.

He was gone as fast as he’d arrived, causing havoc and then leaving without a second thought. The door closed with a crisp click at his exit, the house now feeling bare without his foreboding presence.

You didn’t move from your spot. You remained on the counter, Rio still leaking from your walls and your dress still disheveled despite your best efforts. Your mind raced with thoughts, each one riddled with panic. His unexpected visit left you with more questions than answers, all of which were tinged with fear. What did this development mean for you? Did it actually mean anything? Or was he simply taking what was so obviously laid out in front of him?

Did it matter?

No. It didn’t.

Because although he may have indulged your craving, your appetite was far from being fulfilled.

#rio good girls #rio #good girls rio #good girls nbc #nbc good girls #rio x reader #rio x you #rio imagine #rio fanfiction #rio fanfic

2K notes · View notes

vizowrites · 3 years ago

Text

That’s One Hell of a Resume

{Set during the Harvest Moon Festival competitions}

~*~

To Blitzø’s great surprise, the Harvest Moon Festival was actually turning out to not be a fuck fest invite after all.

He honestly hadn’t been sure when the games initially kicked off. The horde of imps that had come to compete for the title of “the roughest, toughest, bastard in Wrath” had a proclivity for violence that could easily--and not inaccurately--be described as a passion. Then of course there was Stolas, watching him thirstily from atop his fancy seat underneath his fancy tent, cooing and cheering out “Blitzyyyyy!!'' at every opportunity he got to speak. Yet the honored owl prince somehow still managed to keep his pants on throughout each and every event--and even more impressively managed to keep his degrading sweet talk void of any sexual obscenities. He hadn’t even been able to manage that much on a day trip to a theme park with his daughter. Yet somehow...this wasn’t even the best part of the festival to Blitzø. It was up there to be sure, but it wasn’t the toppiest top. The “dom of the disco”**, if you will.

No, the BEST part of the festival--and the thing that kept the imp grinning from ear to ear throughout the entire competition--was that this honkytonk battle royale was shaping up to be the perfect opportunity to show off and be recognized for just how much of a boss-ass bitch Blitz actually was: 2nd to absolutely fucking none.

Well...maybe with ONE slight exception.

“I gotta say, you just keep on impressin’ me every chance you get,” that one slight exception said with a smirk, the tip of his tail flicking forward into a small curl. “No wonder your killin’ biz is so successful. You do every kill single-handed there, Boss Man?” The two were standing off on the sidelines together during one of the many interims inbetween contests, where the first round winners had already secured their victories and now were stuck watching the remaining shitty losers battle it out to find out which of them would end up being the absolute shittiest loser. It was taking a stupidly long-ass time, a hell of a lot longer than Blitzø would’ve normally had the patience for, but with his present company leaning up against the bleacher stands like that.....there were definitely worse ways he could be spending his down time right now.

“Nah,” he answered with a small flick of his wrist, gesturing vaguely in the general direction of where he’d last seen Moxxie getting his ass kicked and Millie sitting in the stands watching it happen. “I know he’s not doing a great job of showing it right now--” he said just as Moxxie got elbow dropped by a shark “--but Moxxie’s not completely useless. He did get me shot on a job once while he was in the middle of being a little bitch, but as soon as he finally found his balls again, he got things back under control pretty fast. And Millie’s just a straight up badass. If her parents had allowed her to play in the games, you’d have gotten your ass handed to you three rounds ago.”

“That so?” Striker’s lips drew back into a slight smirk, just enough for the light to catch on the very tip of his fanged gold tooth. “Because I seem to remember a certain someone else bein’ the one to get themselves all roped up in a hogtie about three rounds ago.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about but it sounds like complete bullshit.”

“That’s kinda what I was thinkin’ myself to be honest after that first relay run--” Those snake-like eyes raked in every inch of Blitz’s annoyed face, feeling the corners of his own pleasantly sting as his grin spread even wider. “Right up ‘til I saw some o’that nice red color risin’ up in their face--”

“IT’S HOT--THERE ARE FUCKING VOLCANOES NEARBY OKAY!!” Blitz realized, very quickly, just how loud and defensive those words sounded, but he also realized just as quickly that there wasn’t anything he could do to take them back now. Instead, he straightened himself up, cleared his throat, pretended that there wasn’t some of ‘that nice red color’ in his face now, and said in what he thought was a much more nonchalant voice, “Anyway, I’m starving, and since these last few dipshits are taking forever to get their asses kicked, I’m gonna go find something deep-fried to shove down my throat. Catch you at the awards ceremony or whatever the fuck they do around here to finish themselves off.”

The I.M.P. Head made it a grand total of two steps before the unmistakable crunch of boots sounded behind him, followed by a faint scoff of a laugh and the distinct rattling of a tail as Striker joined him at his side.

“There’s a whole row of food stands back there behind the stage,” he said with a nod, meeting Blitzø’s stride and starting to veer them off in that direction. “And now that you mention it, I wouldn’t mind grabbin’ a bite. Besides--I feel like I might owe you one for bringin’ up such a tender subject.”

The unrepentant but non-malicious smirk he sent Blitz’s way wasn’t at all softened by the wink that accompanied it, but it somehow brought a slight smile to the smaller imp’s lips all the same.

“You got fucking lucky and that was it,” Blitz insisted with a sharp flick of his tail, not having the faintest fucking clue why he was smiling about this in the first place but subconscioiusly hoping that swatting at Striker would be distracting enough that the taller imp wouldn’t notice. “And besides, I could’ve gotten out of it if I had really wanted to.”

“Oh, so you wanted to be all tied up like that?” The grin that spread across Striker’s face was even wider than the first, his razor sharp teeth now on full display. “Well now, if that’s what you were wantin’ you could’ve just asked. I’d’ve been happy to oblige right from the start.”

“Ha! Like I’d ever make it that easy for you,” Blitzø retorted with a challenging grin, his eyes dancing with a truly impish gleam of delight as he and Striker rounded the stage together, his earlier thoughts of the food shacks that waited beyond almost entirely forgotten as they were overtaken by memories of their constant back-and-forth scuffle throughout the festival. “You beating me fair and square is one thing--even though you still totally just got really fucking lucky and also it definitely never even happened in the first place. But if you were actually going to beat me...you better believe it’s not gonna happen without a fight. I don’t just bow out like some sloppy bitch who can’t figure out where they put their car keys and has to take the walk of shame back to their shitty apartment at 4 in the morning. If you wanna come out on top over me, you better fucking work for it.”

The black tip of his pointed tail flicked up to poke Striker once in the center of his chest, punctuating the word ‘work’ perfectly.

Striker’s tail, on the other hand, began to rattle.

“Yeah?” he said, his earlier easy tone starting to become weighted with something softer, but deeper. Neither he nor Blitzø made any indication that they were aware that he was guiding them both right on past the front of the stand that they had originally been headed toward, and instead had them disappearing into the shadows behind it. “You’re okay with not coming out on top so long as whoever does earns their place there?”

“I mean...” Blitzø trailed off a bit as he casually leaned up against the back of the stand, folding his arms over his chest as he eyed Striker with that lingering gleam in his own gaze. “You have been able to keep up with me in all the other games...so I guess it might be possible for you to get the upper hand on me for at least one of them.”

“Just me?” The rattling sound intensified.

“Well there sure as fuck wasn’t anyone else who was able to keep up,” Blitzø rolled his eyes in annoyed exasperation at just how much everyone else truly sucked in comparison to the two of them, before he slowly looked back up at Striker--and realized that the snake-like imp was suddenly a lot closer than he’d been before. Much closer.

“...Striker?”

“Yeah, Blitz?”

“Please tell me we’re not actually talking about the fucking games anymore.”

A short, soft laugh was the initial answer, followed by that still rattling tail coiling around Blitz’s slender waist as Striker propped himself up on one arm against the structure behind them, his hand splayed just to the side of the crimson imp’s right cheek.

“I haven’t been talkin’ about the games since you got me with your tail, Darlin’,” he whispered, his hooded eyes narrowing to glowing slits of pale gold as he leaned in almost close enough to touch. “But I don’t know if there ain’t somethin’ to be said about that “fuckin’” part yet...”

Blitz’s words came back to him then, ringing in his head as clear as when he first said them:

“...Well if you promise this isn’t some fuck fest invite...”

“.....You gonna work for it, Cowboy?”

“Yessir, Boss Man.”

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

“So...lemme get this straight--” Blitzø finally shifted his weight, easing it off of Striker and rolling to rest his back on whatever podunk concession stand they’d spent the last ten minutes fucking up against. “--You tie me for first place in the games, you ride around on the most majestic fucking horse I’ve ever seen, you take down a hell hog with a single stab while completely and mercilessly humiliating one of my employees in front of his in-laws at the same fucking time, and you called me “Sir” when we first met? AND you’re a great fuck??”

The quirked eyebrow and smug gold-toothed grin he got in reply said more than words ever could, especially when accompanied by the satisfied rattling of that long, spiked tail.

“That’s one hell of a resume you’ve got there.” Blitzø didn’t even realize his own face had split into a grin until he saw it reflected in Striker’s eyes, hypnotized by the sheer reckless abandon he felt ignited between them. “Want to join I.M.P.?”

Striker couldn’t help but laugh, reaching up to adjust the brim of his hat from where Blitz’s tail had nearly knocked it off, his unwavering gaze sparking into an infernal glow.

“Tell you what,” he said, his tone a warm rumble of amusement meeting temptation. “You and I head on back to the stage, revel in our well-deserved glory, and--once we’re satisfied it’s been rubbed into the faces of those sorry ass losers enough--I’ll head on back up to the farm and have a little talk with Miss Mildred’s folks about finishin’ things up around here for the season. Maybe see if they can find another set of hands to join ‘em for the next one if mine are gonna be occupied with--” His hand found its way down to Blito’s face, the sharp claw-like nail of his thumb pressing under the shorter imp’s chin to tilt it up towards his own. “--other things.”

“Believe me, Cowboy,” Blitzø’s eyes were burning, twin embers of eagerness that ran so deep he could feel the heat of it vibrating through to his very core--and his vocal chords. “You’re not going to find a more hands-on job than the one you’re gonna get if you come and work for me. ESPECIALLY in that order.”

Striker’s tail snaked its way up and along past Blitz’s hip, the pointed tip flicking over his chest as it’s rattle joined in the chorus of that deep, heated purring.

“Don’t mind if I hold you to that, Sir.”

“Oh fuck me--”

And Striker did. Again.

~*~

Random Notes:

**My counterpart to the phrase “the belle of the ball”--”the dom of the disco”. I think I’m way funnier than I actually am. :D

ANYWAY tho I really hope y’all like it!! This is the first fanfic I’ve posted anywhere publicly in a hot minute so I hope it’s not a bad kickoff to something I’m hoping to really get back into!! I have plans to post the full fic of this--with the non-censored sex scene to my AO3 oohlala--so if that’s something you’d like to see, feel free to lemme know here and I can get right on that!! Otherwise have a great day, thanks for reading, and if anyone wants to hit me up for some lovely BlitzStrike talks, I’m always open to messages!!

Thanks again Lovelies!! <3

#BlitzStrike #Striker x Blitzo #Blitzo x Striker #Helluva Boss fanfiction #Helluva Boss #vizowrites

99 notes · View notes

sneezefiction · 4 years ago

Text

answers

oikawa x reader

desc: oikawa changes some lyrics in taylor swift’s song “love story”

a/n: please keep in mind that most of this is just humorous & there’s no serious characterization in this particular story. i laughed a lot while writing it :,,) for @cutiekawa because you gave me the idea; thank you for that! and also for @seroto-rin because this is very similar to your husband’s lyric changing habits lol – i still laugh whenever i think about it <3 warnings: language, mentions drinking/being drunk

wc: 3k

— It’s 2 am when you hear Oikawa pattering down the hallway and past your room. From the gentle footsteps and the occasional whisper of “shit” when the floor creaks, it's obvious that he’s trying to stay quiet.

But his attempts are in vain because, one, you’re wide awake and, two, he’s just knocked over an empty beer can from earlier. It was probably the one he’d left on the hall table – you’d told him to throw it away but he’d refused saying that he’d “throw it away in the morning when his arms weren’t so tired.”

This is just karma.

The clatter of the aluminum on wooden floors echoes throughout the dorm. A much louder, especially frustrated, “fuck” follows right after it.

The word, though crass, sounds deceptively attractive on his tongue. But most things Oikawa-related just happen to be attractive.

You muffle your laughter with a blanket. He’s probably disoriented from the alcohol – it’s only been an hour and 5 drinks each since you both called it a night. You’d headed straight to bed but he’d fallen asleep on the couch where you left him, hair a-mess and lips parted.

But, for someone who used to stay out till daybreak on weekends, he’s spent most Fridays hanging out with you instead.

This weekend was no different.

Oikawa ordered Thai takeout, you found a mindless Netflix series to binge, both of you had a little too much to drink, laughter ensued, the doe-eyed boy found his head in your lap, and…

You pull a face – one that goes unseen because of the dark, but you make it anyway.

Okay, that last part was a little different.

He’d had his head in your lap.

His head… in your… lap.

And, if you’re not mistaken (or delirious), you’d had your hands in his hair, twirling strands and tracing circles at the base of his neck. A foggy image of him gazing up at you with softened eyes, deep chocolate in color, begins to solidify.

That lazy smile, a hand on your thigh, tresses tickling your skin...

You turn over in your bed, bunching up your sheets and holding them close to you like a shield of fabric — a flimsy, make-shift defense against tipsy mind-wandering. It isn’t very effective.

Your brain is not wandering but racing around this hand-in-hair realization.

Like an iron rod poking at hot embers, these prodding memories make your cheeks grow hotter by the millisecond. You bury your face in your pillow, embarrassment tight in your throat.

Somehow you’d forgotten that he’d practically climbed into your lap. You’re not in the clear quite yet, but your brain is functioning well enough that it wishes you’d had a little more to drink – just enough to forget about it entirely. You starfish out on your bed, arms and legs dramatically splayed across the mattress.

Do (hot, charming, charismatic, windswept) flatmates usually get this... cuddly? Is that normal?

Does Iwaizumi wrap his arms around his roomies after a long day and a few bottles? How about Mattsun? Makki…?

Okay, no, none of them really seem like the type to get up close and personal with their roommates without good reason. Well, maybe Makki, but he’d do it to be a pain in the ass – not to charm the living-hell out of someone.

You try to take in a deep breath and wrap your head around what this means for you… but end up inhaling a feather from your pillow instead. As you hack and cough, you try to smother the noise in more cloth material – you really didn’t need him coming into your room, much less leaning over your bed to check on you.

Oikawa is messing with your head.

If you knew any better, you’d have run away screaming the moment he’d asked you to room with him. No one that pretty and charismatic is good news. At least, not when it comes to shared housing.

But, here you are, writhing under the covers and hot like a fever all because he couldn’t keep to himself. Screw him and his charming smile for putting you in this position.

He either knows you’re crushing like he’s the last man on earth or he’s blissfully unaware and way too physically affectionate for his own good.

You don’t dare consider that he likes you back though. Only deer and Olympic athletes made leaps like that. Oikawa had too many admirers… an irritating amount.

The blankets scrunch even tighter between your fists, likely thanking their maker that they don’t have nerve endings.

Every fiber of your being is begging to know if these feelings are reciprocated. You’d hate to live out the rest of this semester knowing the boy down the hall may not like you back. Worse, that he finds out you think he’s hot shit and doesn’t like you back – that would be unrequited love at its finest.

But, with a degree and your mental health on the line, why should you care about such minor, itty bitty, pointless details.

This isn’t that big a deal.

And even if he did like you back? Well, Oikawa isn’t someone you can simply “pin down.” He comes with a distinctive, dramatic personality and a meddling side. Not to mention, he’s already the embodiment of chaos – he’s proven this to be true over the past 4 months he’s lived with you.

There’s a familiar squeak of the shower faucet handle and the hiss of hot water. You jump at the sound.

Maybe he’d forgotten, but your bedroom shares a very thin wall with the bathroom. Though you recall him saying he wanted to take a shower earlier, so you guess that he’s only just remembered.

You pick up your phone, blue light casting a less-than angelic glow on your sleepy face. You pray that TikTok will have some sort of life-changing “I’m in love with my hot, crazy flatmate” advice. Or that it will distract you from your inner turmoil. Either would be appreciated but the latter seems more likely.

Scrolling slowly, you get through about 3 videos before something else catches your attention.

There’s a deep reverberation buzzing through your wall. A gentle hum, much like a shower-concert lullaby.

But the noise is getting louder. And the humming? A lot more lyrical.

You shift into a sitting position, propping yourself up with your hands. With your side sunken into a pillow, you press your ear against the cool drywall. Your ears tune into the sound.

Oikawa, voice confident and free, is… singing.

“...But you were everything to me, I was begging you ‘please don’t go’…”

But he’s not just singing.

“And I said…”

He’s belting Taylor Swift with the enthusiasm of an 11-year-old Swiftie super-fan. Like the world would end if he didn’t put enough passion into this performance. Like the showerhead is his microphone and the surrounding tiles are his adoring audience.

“Romeo, take me somewhere we can be alone. I'll be waiting; all that's left to do is run...”

Most people would be pissed if their friend were singing in the shower at 2 am… but you can’t find it in yourself to be anything but enamored.

God, you hate him for doing this right now. Hate that he’s inadvertently endearing you to him. Hate that, no matter what you do, he’s somehow always there.

Pressed up against you on the couch, meeting you for dinner at his favorite restaurant, fussing at each other over a shitty cup of coffee in your even shittier kitchen, calling you when he needs somebody to keep him company at the library…

“You'll be the prince & I'll be the princess…”

And now he’s accidentally serenading you with Taylor’s “Fearless” album. In the shower.

You facepalm, sinking into your hands, exasperated and just so… done.

You sink back down into the bedsheets, wishing your earbuds were nearby to drown out the regrettably adorable performance.

“It's a love story y/n, just say ‘Yes.’”

And your heart drops, panic setting in like the touch down of a whirling tornado. A fire tornado. A fire tornado with frogs and lizards and sharp objects spinning around inside of it.

What… did he just say?

The lyrics… they were muffled. You definitely heard them incorrectly. You… you just need to get your ears checked. Yes, that’s it. That’s all there is to it. You’ll schedule an appointment first thing tomorrow morning.

Because who the fuck sings like that at 2 am in a shared dorm? And who the fuck puts someone else’s name into a song like that? No one? Yes, no one.

Especially not the Oikawa Tooru.

And especially not with your name.

Because that’s just... weird.

The grip on your phone is mighty – thank God for durable glass because any other material would’ve splintered or shattered in your hold.

But what the hell.

“Y/n, save me, I've been feeling so alone,” he sings as though he were Beyoncé’s son.

This time it’s clear as day. Oikawa is definitely still out of it and he’s undoubtedly singing your name.

No, no, no.

“I keep waiting for you but you never come…”

You bolt out of bed, feet hitting the floor at lightning-strike speed.

“Is this in my head? I don't know what to think,”

In one swift movement, you fling the bedroom door open and rush down the hall. You shouldn’t be listening to this.

“He knelt to the ground & pulled out a ring, and said...”

And before you can stop your hand, it’s knocking rapidly on the bathroom door.

There’s a gasp, what you assume to a bar of soap hitting the shower floor, and an abrupt silence that follows.

You’d only wanted to stop him from singing.

However, you hadn’t thought through what you were going to say to him about this whole... lyrical mess. Your face feels like the surface of the sun, burning and flaring and flushing. What are you supposed to do now?

Oikawa speaks up, voice quiet, “Hello?”

Shit.

Maybe if you’re careful you can get yourself out of this. Just act like you didn’t hear anything and bring it up tomorrow when you’re both thinking straight. A thorough and sober discussion would be needed.

You had questions. Questions that needed answers.

Why did he have his head in your lap? Had you said anything to him that you’d regret later? Does he like you? Where should you two place your boundaries if he doesn’t like you back? And why Taylor Swift?

“Y/n, is that you?” He asks, nonchalantly.

Who else would it be?

The handle squeaks and, with that, the water stops. Only the gentle swirl of the drain and the occasional drips and drops from the showerhead are audible.

It’s too late. You’re already there. You’ve knocked and, in doing so, you’ve sealed your fate.

“...Yes,” is your whisper of a reply.

“What’s up? Was I too loud for you?”

You’ve got the entire building on high-alert singing that loudly.

...is what you would say if you weren’t currently imploding. This is like nothing you’ve ever experienced before. And nothing you ever want to experience again.

“Um, yeah, sorry.” You look down at your shuffling feet.

The hallway is pitch black, hardly allowing for even a mere shadow. Rushing out of your room, you’d forgotten to turn on even a single light.

You hear him step onto the tile floor and the rustle of a tower from the bathroom closet.

“Wait, can we talk?” He asks as though it weren’t the question of the fucking year. “I mean, preferably after I get out of the bathroom.” There’s a lack of tact to his words.

This isn’t the charming Oikawa you’re used to. This is a blunt… confusingly straightforward Oikawa.

His tone wavers like maybe he’d had a little more to drink than you’d last remembered. Your memory was proving to be disappointingly unreliable tonight.

You swallow thickly, “Sure.”

Because what else can you say?

“Can I stop by your room in a minute?”

You take a deep breath, “Yeah.”

And you patter back to your no-longer very safe haven. Oikawa is about to infiltrate your space… with your permission. And the weapons he’ll bring will either harpoon you or leave you emotionally paralyzed – whether that emotional paralysis is a good or bad thing will be decided in the near future.

Your bed, though soft and blanket-covered, looks far less appealing now. It may as well be a bed of nails because you would rather hide beneath it than sit atop it.

But you sit anyway, letting the mattress dip and the springs twang.

The bathroom door cries as it opens, putting you on edge. Your heart is pounding like a drum at a summer festival – hotter and louder with every beat.

The trod of footsteps tells you he’s approaching and, sure enough, the open door reveals Oikawa.

With only a lamp to brighten the space, he’s more contoured than usual. His hair is wet and heavy against his head, taking on an even darker brown than before. You’ve seen him fresh out of the shower before, but this… is different. Oikawa’s shirt sticks to his chest slightly – he must’ve thrown it on without drying off fully to get to you faster.

He takes a few steps into your room, choosing to lean his back against a wall next to your work desk. Oikawa brings his hands behind his back, pressing his weight into them. Brown eyes flicker from you to the wall behind you and back again.

Naturally, tension lays thick as a fog in the air space.

“Hey, I’m…”

You cut him off, “You don’t have to say sorry! It’s… it’s okay.”

Oops, you’d said that a little too loud. Not that it mattered much after Oikawa’s passionate performance.

An eyebrow raises and confusion sparks across his face. Your body freezes.

He brings a hand behind his neck. “Oh, I was just gonna say that I’m still kinda drunk.”

You knew that much. Though you really thought he’d say something other than that. Preferably something about the, uh, devoted love-song?

Why is he acting so casual right now? Is this even Tooru? Had he read too many alien conspiracies and been abducted for learning too much about extraterrestrials?

Maybe he doesn’t realize you’d even heard him say your name in the shower.

“Oh... right.” You say slowly, lips staying parted at the end of your sentence.

“Which… probably isn’t good for either of us,” Different words drawl out and there’s a soft slur to some syllables, but at least he’s easy to understand, “me drinking too much, I mean.”

“Yeah,” you mutter.

“I think we should both just go to bed then.”

Your chest tightens. Of course, you want answers.

They’re likely embarrassing, face-reddening, Taylor Swift-centric answers. But you want them, nonetheless.

Although, it’s probably for the best that you don’t bring this up tonight. It was all probably a joke or a harmless accident – and, anyway, he admitted to being drunk.

“Right.”

“But I think you should know that I like you. A lot.”

“Yeah,” you respond again, automatically.

There’s another heavy silence. The pretty boy just stares at you, cherry colors tinting his cheeks but showing no expression of fear or embarrassment. You stare back, processing his words at turtle-like speeds.

The words tumble out, “Wait, say that again?” You double back, your own face reheating to its earlier temperature.

“I’m gonna be mad at myself in the morning if I don’t leave right now. And I really need to stop listening to that stupid song,” Oikawa says to himself.

“But I wanted to see how you would respond if I changed the lyrics,” the words are pointed back at you again.

He stands up, feet moving slowly toward the doorway. Did he just… completely ignore your question?

Your jaw drops, “Did…” you can hardly speak.

Clearing your throat, you try again, focusing intently on your words, “...did you mean for me to hear you?”

“...Maybe.” He draws out the “e,” looking back at you.

That’s it. He’s lost his fucking mind. You’re going to strangle him.

No TikTok advice could have prepared you for the monstrosity that is Oikawa Tooru. How Iwaizumi put up with that... that child for all these years, you have no idea.

You have to make a note of sending him a “get well” card, because nobody could be mentally okay after dealing with him for that long.

“B- but… why? What?” You stammer out, back stiff as a board.

“You like me don’t you?” He tilts his head, hair flopping cutely with it.

You gape like a fish, mouth opening and closing.

And it’s not that you don’t want to respond.

It’s that you can’t. You have no words. You vocal chords are on a panic-induced lockdown.

Because he knew.

He knew this entire time. Which you thought he might, but that doesn’t make the situation any less infuriating.

“And I like you back.”

You’re dumbfounded. You can’t think. This is ridiculous.

You open your mouth once more but he has no intention of continuing this conversation.

“Sleep well!” Without further comment, Oikawa flashes you a sleepy smile and begins scampering back to his room after having wreaked havoc on your poor heart.

Your voice comes back just in time for you to wake up the entire building once more,

“No, you get your ass back here and explain yourself!”

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu x reader #oikawa tooru #oikawa #oikawa x reader #oikawa scenarios #oikawa imagines #seijoh #what did i just write #this is gonna go under: 'things i gave up my sleep for'#ughsjdljlds'ldsdjd #also #i dont like the term crack fic anymore? so i think just calling it humorous is... a good way to go #goodnight yall #queued up!

258 notes · View notes

tales-unique · 3 years ago

Text

FAITH, LOST IV

Oh honey she starts off so spicy! Hence why it's all under a Read More since I don't wanna get done for showing the nasty straight out the gate. Minors better beware! ;3

Tagging the boos, for obvs reasons @chelseareferenced @buckysbaby1 hope you all like it! 😘😘

Chapter 4

It begins as soon as your eyes flutter open. The darkness, familiar, like an old friend, coerces your senses into a heightened state. Exposed, your skin prickles at the coolness of the room, writhing against soft sheets. You exhale in exhilaration; you know what’s to come. It starts small, a low thrum of electricity in the air that tickles your bare flesh. Then it builds, tantalizingly slow, a measured surge of power that has you twisting yourself in knots. You want more. Only He can give you more. His arrival is heralded by the scent of oil and whiskey, leather and smoke. It caresses you, embraces you, and sends you into overdrive. It’s instinctual, a primal desire. It corrupts your mind, the sequence disjointing in its take over. Thick boots echo on a wooden floor, your mouth falling open with a heated breath. Your back arches when you feel his weight dip the bed, heat radiating from him. The contrast has you trembling, body wired. His hands, strong and calloused, grip the backs of your thighs easily. A simple tug and you’re at his mercy, legs parting easily in his strong grip. You moan, he growls. He likes what he can see, those beast eyes glowing a dangerous red in the blackness. Sharp indents form against delicate skin, his claws marking your inner thighs. His little lamb, so sweet and so ready for the slaughter. Then there’s movement, the shuffle of fabric, the chink of a belt buckle. You tense, but you’re ready. The air surges with the oncoming crescendo, the room spinning, or maybe it’s you? You’re not sure, preoccupied with the molten heat that pools suddenly between your legs. You feel his grin, all teeth and tongue helping to blot out the sharp stab of pain. Forgive me Father, for I have sinned—

The sudden chaos of a burst steam pipe in the hallway outside your room abruptly shocks you from your slumber, a cacophony of sounds assaulting your sleep-hazed senses. You hear Heisenberg shouting, the scraping of metal being reshaped at will, the harsh hissing of escaping steam. Groaning at the rude awakening you flop back against the lumpy couch cushions, kicking off your blanket in protest. A light sheen of sweat covers your body, making your nightclothes stick to you in an uncomfortable way. As you stare up at the ceiling you try to decode the meaning behind your dream. You recall with an embarrassing amount of clarity just what it was you were doing and who you were enjoying it with. Humiliation blooms within you, coloring your cheeks a shade of scarlet. It wasn’t as though you hadn’t indulged in the past, you just never had desires so blatant before. Especially for someone who was your superior in every way. “Hey, you awake in there?” Heisenberg’s voice cuts your thoughts short. All the racket has stopped, there’s just the usual hum of the Factory. “Y-yes!” You squeak, stomach clenching uncharacteristically as you sit up, “I’m awake!” “Well get your ass up, we have work to do!” He claps his hands hard to exaggerate his point and you lament your new found torture as his footfalls recede down the corridor. Oh merciful Mother Miranda how were you supposed to face him anymore?

Heisenberg is, for lack of a better word, pissed. It surges through him and it shows in the haphazard, volatile approach he takes with his work. It isn’t rational, this level of response on his part, but he can’t help it. You’ve barely spoken a full sentence to him all day. Now, he’s under no illusions that you were going to become the best of friends. After all, you had been sent to him by Mother Bitch herself to be his servant and he knew that you were three sheets to the wind over this religious bullshit, but he’d thought that you’d been showing progress in becoming your own person. At least, you were , until that little incident where he had you pinned against his desk and decided to take his teasing to the next level. It isn’t often that Heisenberg considers that he may have gone too far with something, or someone , but he’s definitely considering the possibility now that you seem to be avoiding him wherever possible. You’d even brushed off his blatant last ditch attempt, an offer to accompany him to see his forge and the projects he’d been working on, in favour of praying to Mother Miranda. It’s the exact opposite of what he wanted to happen. You’d been so close to opening up, to no longer being a tool, but instead you’re become even more the meek little lamb of Miranda’s flock. Frustration bubbles within and his temper, short-fused as it already is, takes a critical hit. As a result everything he does has a sharp, volatile edge to it; even something as simple as opening a door is menacing in his current state. It serves to further deter you from him, giving you the space you so desperately desired. That is, until Heisenberg reaches his limit. “Just open up already! You can’t ignore me forever!” He thunders where he stands in the hallway, gritting his teeth in a vicious snarl. When he’s met with your persistent silence he howls in frustration, throwing his arms up in the air. The irony of him choosing to remain outside your door doesn’t go amiss, since it’s well known that he could easily rip the door from its hinges with the flick of his hand because of his nifty little ability to manipulate metal. Which, coincidentally, nearly everything in this Factory is made of in some form or another. But he doesn’t and you’re thankful for that, even if you still don’t want to face him. It continues on relentlessly, neither side backing down, and without realizing it, the whole thing becomes a game in its own right. One that pits you against one another to see who cracks first. So it’s a surprise when it’s Heisenberg that seeks you out first. It’s a situation of his own making, having followed you on the gritty live feed from his security cameras. With ease he catches you off guard on your way out of the elevator, taking your fright in his stride. “Easy now!” He exclaims, his hands raised in surrender. You’re cagey, looking for a way out. He isn’t going to give you one because he’s had about enough of you giving him the cold shoulder over a goddamn joke . You’ve pressed yourself tight against the wall, watching him like a hawk. He can hear the frantic flutter of your heart, the sharp intakes of breath, and his jaw tightens. He can’t get distracted now, he needs to focus — this was not the time to enjoy your distress. “Now I know that I can be a bit of a handful,” he starts, then falters, mouth working to try and word it just right, “but, really, hasn’t this gone on long enough? I didn’t mean any harm by it! Just a little teasing, you weren’t meant to get upset.” Oh, he thinks this is because of that time. You stare up at him in utter disbelief. You want to slap him. It’s the first time you’ve ever felt the innate burning desire to inflict bodily harm on anyone, but here you stand, about ready to knock those glasses right off his face. “You have literally no idea how you make me feel , do you?” You accuse him, incredulous, your posture straightening. Things might have slipped back to the way they were before all of this if he had just let you be, allowed you to warm back up to him, and maybe you might have been content with that. This was a turmoil of his own creation, after all, so why not let him stew in it a while. But now? Now you were at your limit. You’re tired of constantly tip-toeing around yourself because of him and his stupid games. If anything, you’re even more tentative to rekindle whatever this relationship is that you have with him, to throw in the towel and tell Mother Miranda she’d been wrong about you. It made you sour to think that what little progress you had made had been lost and it’s taken its toll on you. There’s a harsh look to you that has Heisenberg’s head spinning, apprehension gripping him. “H-Hold on a minute,” he attempts to defend himself, an uncomfortable blend of emotions sitting like a stone in his stomach. He’s conflicted over your new found confidence. You’re no longer the mild-mannered devotee that was wound around Mother Miranda’s finger, standing tall. You’re practically shining. It’s a good look on you, but he’s not exactly thrilled to be the one on the receiving end. “No!” You snap, squaring up to him. You see his brilliant eyes widen behind his circular glasses and for once in your life you feel powerful and in control . “I’ve done nothing but try my best here, trying to make something good out of this situation and you made me feel like a complete idiot !” The words feel heavy on your tongue, but you feel lighter now that they’re out in the open. Who knew that having your shame out in the open could feel so liberating. You take a deep breath when you feel the pinpricks of tears sting your eyes, trying to ground yourself. You wouldn’t forgive yourself if you cried in front of him. Not in this lifetime, or the next. Heisenberg stares down at you with a look of realization on his face, now fully aware that there was more to this than your feelings of inadequacy, that you were little more than a joke to him. It’s always been there, in the way your heart races when he gets just that little bit too close or how your eyes soften when he’s agonizing over his work. He goes to speak this revelation but you shake your head, lower lip trembling. “I was just trying to help .” The way your voice breaks has him in a tailspin, the look of pure anguish in your eyes cutting him deep. This is in no way what he had envisioned when he spotted the chance to clear the air with you. “Oh come on, don’t cry!” It’s a desperate plea, something you never thought you would hear from him. “You’re making me feel really shitty here!” “That’s because you are!” You sob, unable to hold it back anymore. You feel like such a pathetic idiot. That overwhelming monster of self-degradation looms, fueling your misery. If only a dark abyss could just swallow you up and save you from this embarrassment, but you know that’s not going to happen. There’s only this awkward moment, lingering between you. You whimper, trying desperately to wipe away your tears. They stream down your cheeks, burning against your already flushed skin as you sniffle. Suddenly his hands are encasing your own in a firm grip. With a surprisingly gentle touch he tugs them down, exposing you. The whites of your eyes are marred with tiny lines of red and your long lashes clump together from your tears. You’re a mess, but he doesn’t mind. In fact, he finds you oddly endearing in the moment. Swallowing, you try to understand what’s going on. Your hands are still held in his, the feel of soft leather almost comforting against your skin, and you wonder if you’re dreaming again. Something stirs in you, glowing embers kicking up from ashes, and you try to pull away. It’s an admirable attempt but Heisenberg easily catches you, holding you in a vice-like grip against him. You whine at the harshness of his grasp and he frowns, loosening his hold just enough to make it bearable. “I’m sorry, alright?” He mumbles, hesitating. It’s been so long, too long, since he’s been in such close proximity to someone who wasn’t prey. You aren’t fighting him, you aren’t trying your damnedest to get away. In fact, you look as though you’re captivated by him. It’s a side of him that no one has ever seen before, the dejection of a man twisted into being a monster. Something inside you breaks anew at how lost he looks, the last and most dangerous of the Lords at Mother Miranda’s disposal. He’s nothing more than a dog on a choke chain, to be used when it’s suited and then discarded afterwards. Just like you. “Heisenberg,” your voice is hushed, woeful. The words are so genuine and your heart isn’t yet made of stone to be immune to their plight. When you shift in his grasp there’s no resistance and you reach up to gently cup his cheeks in your hands. The stubble on his face tickles your palms and his skin is warm and smooth to the touch. You find you quite like it, the contrast of textures. He does little in the way to stop you. In fact, he encourages you. His hands find purchase on your hips, thumbs brushing the delicate spots just below your rib cage. It elicits a soft gasp from you, your body stiffening beneath him. Glistening eyes stare up at him, a swirling maelstrom threatening to drown him along with you. He’s curious whether or not you’re ready to commit to this. Heisenberg knows what you want, or better yet, what your body wants, but your mind eludes him. He waits with bated breath to see what path you will take, the uncomfortable feeling of anxiety creeping in his bones. It’s like poison, a crawling taint that threatens to take over him. What have you done to him? The exact same thing he did to you. It’s a disquieting notion, one that almost overtakes him, until it doesn’t. The doubts are suddenly banished and relief washes over him at the feel of your silken lips against his in a tender kiss. The chain breaks; you're both suddenly free, and it feels euphoric .

#RE #RE8 #RE 8 #Resident Evil #Resident Evil 8 #Resident Evil 8 Village #RE Imagine #RE Imagines #RE8 Imagine #RE8 Imagines #Resident Evil Imagine #Resident Evil Imagines #Karl Heisenberg #Karl Heisenberg Imagine #Karl Heisenberg Imagines #Karl Heisenberg x Reader #Heisenberg Imagine #Heinsenberg Imagines #Heisenberg x Reader

127 notes · View notes

youwerenevermeanttofeelalone · 4 years ago

Text

Shitty Birthdays and Little Stars | Jason Todd

✦ pairing — Jason Todd x gender neutral!Plus Size Reader

✦ word count — 1.9k

✦ summary — a stranger makes your shitty birthday better – maybe even more than just your birthday.

✦ request — Can I have a smutty prompt 11 with Jason Todd, please?

✶ S11 - “If you keep making those sounds I’m not going to be able to stop myself.”

✦ warnings — angst, mentions and usage of alcohol, language, reader has a vagina, mild smut, fluff.

════════════════════════

Sean, the bartender’s shadow loomed over you as he stood in front of you. Sniffing, you looked up at his still frame.

“It’s too early to close my tab,” you reminded him defensively, “I just got here.”

Chuckling, he shook his head and placed a glass identical to the half-empty one in your hands.

“What’s that?”

He lifted his eyebrows, deviating his gaze to your left. Your eyes fell on a dark-haired man, a little mysterious looking, clearly stupidly tall, deep pretty eyes and all...

Why did he have to appear today precisely?

“Shit, he’s hot.”

“Go,” Sean encouraged you.

“No!” you said between your teeth, eyes still on the handsome stranger. “I’ve been crying the entire day.”

“Oh, I know. Everybody can tell, even him, yet he sent that drink.”

Your head snapped to where the bartender was standing. You glared. “Sean, do you even know wh—“

A gruff voice next to you interrupted you. “Can I sit?”

The effect that voice had on you must’ve been clear on your face because Sean snorted and walked away.

You nodded your head. “Of course.”

“I’m Jason,” he introduced himself as he sat down next to you, twisting on the stool to face you.

You gave him your name and immediately felt the need to explain yourself under his gaze. “I’m flattered,” you assured him. “But I’m in a shitty mood and I wouldn’t want to ruin your evening.”

“What happened?”

“Let’s go with a ghost from the past.”

“Metaphorical, I hope.”

You tilted your head. “So you believe in ghosts? Like actual ghosts?”

Jason considered the question for a few seconds. “Can’t say I do, can’t say they absolutely don’t exist.”

You hummed. “It’s just been a shitty day.”

“We all have those. Some have shitty years even.”

“You know Sean, right?” You nodded your head upward in direction toward the other end of the bar. Jason nodded. “Well, today is my birthday and the only person who remembered was him.”

“Happy birthday.”

You could tell that he meant it which wasn’t making things better. Or easier. “Thanks.”

“So a shitty birthday brought you to a bar?”

“Yeah. Long story short.”

“I have time.”

“You really want me to ruin your evening, don’t you?”

He shrugged, almost sheepishly. “Got somebody else’s evening to ruin?”

Finishing the half-empty drink, you sighed. “My two best friends live in another state and they were supposed to be here yesterday but they’re too busy which I completely understand. And my dad is out of town visiting my half-sister whom I hate — that one I don’t understand so much, but I guess she’s his daughter too.” You grimaced as the words left your mouth. “You wanna hear the worst part?”

“I’m all ears.”

“I was in the parking lot of the supermarket, trying not to cry because apart from the shitty birthday thing, I fucking hate doing groceries on the weekend.” You moved your hands as you spoke. “Somebody taps on my window and it’s my asshole ex-boyfriend. I roll the window down, and what’s the first thing he does?”

Jason tapped on the bar as he guessed, “He wishes you a happy birthday.”

“Yes! It’s fucking infuriating! And now I’m here like a damn idiot telling you all about it when your intentions were clearly different.”

“It’s okay,” he tried to assure you, softly.

“No, it’s not! I should be getting laid right now, not telling you about this.”

He couldn’t help but smile, a little nervously. “I— I mean, that can still happen...”

“Yeah?” your voice dropped. You were nervous, too.

He leaned in, eyes on your mouth as he tilted his head. Jason licked his lips before answering. “Yeah.”

You let out a shaky breath and then wished you hadn’t opened your mouth as you sniffed again. “I should wash my face first...”

He bit down his bottom lip. “Take your time.”

You giddily walked into the bathroom, and as quickly as you had walked in you did out. For whatever reason, Jason waited for you.

He even smiled as you walked back toward him, finishing his tall glass just as you stood in front of him.

“I’m sure you were trying to be all smooth and I ruined it.”

“I was about to thank you. I’m a little sleep-deprived and thankfully you skipped the small talk.“

You giggled, resting your hands on his cheeks. “You’re a breath of fresh air.”

He placed his hand on the back of your head, softly smiling at you. “Likewise. Uh... may I kiss you now?”

You caressed his cheeks, tracing his facial structure. “Yeah, sorry.”

Instead of repeating that it was okay, Jason closed the gap between your mouths. You felt as though you were melting as his lips tentatively caressed yours.

His kiss tasted sweet with a lingering acidic tone. You weren’t sure as to what he had been drinking, but the taste only made you kiss him harder.

His free arm circled your middle as he opened his legs to bring you closer. Standing between his legs, you slid a hand to the back of his head and nipped on his bottom lip.

As your lips molded together and the two of you grew more comfortable, you let him pry your mouth open.

Soon, he was slamming you against his bedroom wall, devouring your lips as his hands wandered up and down your sides.

He made you whine as his grip on you tightened which only prompted him to kiss you harder and in response, you moaned.

On your lips, he panted, “If you keep making those sounds I’m not going to be able to stop myself.”

“Who said I wanted you to stop?”

You almost tripped with your own jacket as he walked you towards the bed. Jason picked the item and threw it to the other side of the room where his own had landed earlier.

Hovering over you, he went directly to kiss your neck. You didn’t know how he did it, but he found the perfect spot in seconds, making you whimper.

He hummed, pleased to know you were enjoying yourself. His fingers traced the space between your waist and hip, waiting for your permission to slide your t-shirt up.

You really wished you were wearing a matching pair of underwear and not a sports bra and a pair of white panties with colorful stars.

Knowing it was unavoidable, you placed your hands on his chest so he would kneel on the bed. He allowed you to sit up, watching you as you gripped the ends of your t-shirt and took it off.

He left a trail of kisses down your stomach, hands tracing your thighs. Tugging on a loop of your jeans, he asked for permission to take them off which you granted him.

As the button popped open and the zipper was lowered, you waited for a comment about your underwear that never came.

He made you lift your hips so he could discard the denim, eyes lingering on your crotch.

“Don’t laugh.”

Clearly amused, he said, “The little stars are cute.” Impatient, he pulled your panties down, dragging them down your legs and dropping them onto the floor.

You didn’t expect him to bury his face between your legs, hands drawing patterns over your hips and thighs as he feasted on you.

Panting as you recovered your breath, you followed his now naked form as he laid on the bed just next to you. After getting rid of your sports bra, you crawled towards him. His eyes mapped your every moment, and he licked his lips. With a ragged breath, he brought you over him.

Groping the back of your thighs, Jason searched for your mouth. His tongue shoved past your now bruised lips, pressing against yours.

Whimpering on his mouth as you felt his girth against your slit, you intentionally rolled your hips against his.

He stretched his arm and reached for a condom. You kneeled between his legs, watching his movements as he rolled the condom down his cock.

Gripping your waist, he pulled you onto his lap again. “Ride me,” he breathed out.

════════════════════════

The wail of your cellphone startled you awake. You were so comfortable that you let it ring, but whoever wanted to reach you insisted.

Grabbing for the phone, you sleepily hummed as you answered.

“Where are you?”

Your eyes widened as you heard your dad’s voice. Leaving the bed as silently as possible, you held the phone to your ear between your neck and your cheek while you slid your panties on.

“One second,” you whispered into the phone and placed it onto the bed in order to throw your t-shirt on.

Snatching the device, you slowly opened the door and walked toward Jason’s living room. “I’m not at my place right now,” you rasped.

“Oh, I know,” your dad mocked you. “I waited outside for half an hour.”

“I didn’t know you would be back so soon,” you defended yourself. Tilting your head, you made sure that Jason was still asleep. “Are you still there?”

Your dad snorted. “Of course not.” He then repeated his question, “Where are you?”

You saw Jason stir awake, rubbing an eye with his fist. As he turned to the side and observed the empty bed, you breathed in shakily. “With a friend.”

Your dad’s grunt was enough for you to understand that he didn’t believe you. He didn’t press on the subject anymore, though, he never did. “Let’s get dinner. It’s on me.”

“Yeah, yeah. That sounds good. Where?”

Jason approached you just as your dad gave you the specifics. He watched you with curiosity, both hands in his hair as he fixed his bed hair.

The line clicked on the other end and you immediately acknowledged Jason. “Sorry if I woke you up.”

“Are—“ He cleared his throat. “Are you leaving already?”

You fiddled with your phone as it laid between your hands. “Should I?”

Jason quickly answered, “No! I just thought...” He shook his head. “It’s stupid.”

“You can tell me.”

“I thought you had left without saying goodbye.”

You didn’t know what to say, you weren’t even sure if you would’ve said goodbye had he not waken up. There was something in his eyes that almost made you feel guilty, but you weren’t able to decipher what it was because he spoke again.

“Well, that and I, uh, last night I thought that this would be, uh, more than... you know, a one-time thing.” Seeing your surprised semblance, Jason cursed, “Fuck. I made it awkward, didn’t I?”

“No, no!” Putting your cellphone down onto the coffee table, you stepped closer to him. “Please, Jason, don’t worry. I just wasn’t expecting that.”

He gazed at you, waiting for a clear answer.

This was crazy, and it excited you after so many months in which you tried to find someone willing to at least try to stay.

“You made it better.” You slanted your head. “Easier.”

Hesitantly, he opened his arms. Surely, you snaked your arms around his waist. He wrapped his arms over your hips.

The two of you allowed silence to settle between you, to turn comfortable. And then made peace with it, you made peace with Jason’s breath and he made peace with your mindless swaying.

He traced the edge of your panties, huffing a laugh when you bashfully shook your head. “They’re still cute, I promise.”

“You sure are something.”

“A good something, I hope?”

Afraid of ruining the moment with your morning breath, you opted for kissing his cheek. His lips could wait. “An amazing something, I would say.”

#jason todd x reader #jason todd x plus size reader #jason todd smut #jason todd

246 notes · View notes

criminalmindzjunkie · 4 years ago

Text

I Carry Your Heart With Me (Part One)

masterlist playlist

previous next

Summary: Spencer and the reader are reunited for the first time in fifteen years.

A/N: Very excited to get the ball rolling on this one. I hope you all enjoy it! Message me if you would like to be added to the taglist.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Content Warnings: swearing

Word Count: 4.5k

“I cannot believe you talked me into this,” Damien mutters from the passenger seat, his icy blue eyes wide with fright. He pulls his gaze away just long enough to point at a lone cow grazing to the left of the road. “Look! That cow is just like… standing there. No fence around him or anything. What’s stopping him from stampeding into us the second we get out of this car?”

Damien sounds so genuinely horrified that you almost feel bad for laughing. Almost.

“I don’t think that’s going to be a problem, Dee. Besides, that cow didn’t even look up when we drove past. We’re not even on its radar.”

“Oh, yeah? Ever heard of a little thing called mad cow disease?” Damien persists, in typical dramatic flair. You roll your eyes at him and he curses underneath his breath. “You know, when I agreed to go with you to this wedding, I pictured something more akin to a five-star resort with a minibar and a heated pool. Not rogue livestock and shitty cellphone reception.”

“You didn’t agree to anything – you practically begged me to take you with me.”

Damien waves his hand, dismissive, his eyes still roaming over the pasture. “Because I wanted an excuse to take a week off work. This is not the controlled environment I expected.”

“If you don’t quit complaining, I won’t hesitate to push you out of the car and leave you here with the cow,” you retort. In your periphery you’re able to make out Damien raising his middle finger to you. Rude.

You chuckle and fix your attention back on the dirt road. You’re driving almost painfully slowly, because the very idea of having to pay extra for damages to this already astronomically expensive rental car makes you feel nauseated. Despite your efforts, the car is covered entirely in dust. Its once pristine, white paint job has transformed into a muddy color.

There goes my deposit.

You shake your head at the thought. You had more pressing matters to concern yourself with; i.e., the fact that you were approximately five minutes away from coming face to face with the one person you swore you’d never speak to again. Two months seemed like ample time to prepare yourself in theory, but now that it is no longer some far-off thing, you know that your attempts at preparing yourself were in vain. With each day you crossed off the calendar leading to your departure date, your anxiety grew and grew until you worried your poor heart would give out under the stress. Getting onto the plane bound for Montana felt like the proverbial nail in the coffin, and a hefty dose of Dramamine was the only thing that kept you from spiraling as the plane ascended into the air. You slept through the entirety of the trip and, much to Damien’s chagrin, there is a sizeable puddle of drool on his left shoulder to prove it.

The lengthy nap helped. The tight band constricting your chest had loosened, and you pulled out onto the highway feeling refreshed and rejuvenated. You had Damien by your side and five vacation days to enjoy. Your best friend was getting married to the love of her life, and you were hellbent on standing by her side through it all. Spencer Reid can kiss your ass, as far as you are concerned. No way is he going to ruin this for you.

You are still very much clinging your take-no-shit mentality when you breach a hill and the ranch comes into view, effectively expelling every single positive thought from your head. Aforementioned anxiety reappears in full-force and you stomp down on the breaks.

“Fuck, I don’t think I can do this,” you squeak out, casting a look at Damien, whose eyes are trained on the sprawling expanse of the house ahead of you. “We can still turn around – no, we should turn around. There is no version of this that won’t end in me getting embarrassingly drunk and crying in front of everyone. I’m turning around.”

Damien’s hand on yours, strong and steady, is the only thing that keeps you from whipping the car around and retreating with your tail between your legs. His fingers pry your white knuckled grip off of the wheel slowly, his thumb rubbing reassuring circles across your skin. Its sweet and so overwhelmingly gentle that you’re a bit stunned. You glance at him in a silent question, as if to ask who are you, and what have you done with my friend?

He gets the message loud and clear, because of course he does. Damien fixes you with a smile, grip tightening on your hand.

“I’ve seen you hold your own against some of the biggest names in journalism on an almost daily basis – looking damn sexy while you do it, might I add,” Damien chuckles, and you can’t help but give a weak laugh of your own. Damien’s smile grows at this, and he continues, “If you can handle your business against those conniving pricks, I’ve no doubt that you can tough it out for this. You’re not the type of woman that lets some guy dictate what she does or doesn’t do. And you sure as hell aren’t the type of woman that would let some guy rob her of the opportunity to stand by her best friend on the most important day of her life. As the person who probably knows you better than anyone else on the planet, my opinion of you is pretty rock-solid, if I do say so myself. So, unless I’ve completely overestimated the extent of your badassery, I suggest you rethink that plan. What do you say?”

You avert your eyes and swallow against the lump in your throat.

“Spencer’s not just some guy. For a long time, I was convinced that he was the guy,” you whisper. The car is silent, save for the quiet crooning voice of George Michael flowing through the speakers. Damien squeezes your hand, prompting you to continue. You blink up at him with wet lashes, lips pulled into a sad smile. “Have you ever been in love?”

Damien shakes his head and rubs his thumb along the top of your hand. “I can’t say that I have, babe. Haven’t been that lucky.”

You let out a shaky breath and bring your other hand up to wipe at your eyes.

“Maybe you’re better off. I’ve only been in love once,” you gesture to your pitiful appearance and choke out a wet laugh. “Look where that got me. He fucking crushed me, and fifteen years later I’m still broken up about it. It’s pathetic.”

Damien frowns and shifts in his seat so that he’s fully facing you.

“I don’t want to hear you say that self-deprecating shit again. You were hurt by someone you gave your heart to, and I can only imagine how devastating that must feel. Being upset about seeing him again does not make you pathetic. The fact that you’re here, about to spend a week with the guy just so you can be there for Cassidy, is pretty damn admirable as far as I’m concerned.” Damien ends his monologue by pulling you into a tight hug, and you couldn’t be more thankful that he’d come with you. Not only was he a secret sweetheart, he also gave the very best hugs.

By the time he releases you, the tension in your chest has eased significantly. You nod once, and Damien’s rewards you with a smile.

“I am pretty cool, aren’t I?”

Damien snorts rather unattractively and rolls his eyes.

“I take back everything. You suck, and I don’t know why I bother with you, you narcissist.”

Now that the mood has lifted significantly, you reluctantly press your foot against the gas pedal.

“Too late. No takesies backsies,” you singsong. “You think I’m sexy and badass, and I’m never going to let you forget it.”

Damien mutters something undoubtably snarky underneath his breath, but it’s drowned out by the sound of gravel crunching underneath the tires. That, and the sound of your blood roaring in your ears as you inch further down the driveway.

The house, a beautiful log cabin with stone accents along the underside, is massive. Standing at two stories tall with a large wraparound porch and more than a dozen large windows, it’s a far cry from the modest little cabin in the mountains that Cassidy had made it out to be. Even Damien is slack jawed at the sight of it, sitting pretty against a back drop of rolling mountains, and you can’t help but feel a little smug.

“Still want to complain about that five-star resort?”

Damien shakes his head dazedly, “I retract my earlier complaint.”

All too soon, you roll to a stop and put the car in park. Several other cars are parked haphazardly in the grass around you, and that annoying voice inside your head wonders which one belongs to Spencer. It’s not that you care – you totally don’t – it’s just that you are kind of hoping that he hasn’t arrived yet. A few hours to acclimate to the environment before having to deal with him would be nice.

“You’ve got this, babe,” Damien murmurs. “And I’ll be with you the whole time, just in case you need a reminder.”

You flash Damien a nervous smile.

“You’re a really good friend, Dee. I’m really glad that you’re here,” you say, before narrowing your eyes at him. “If you tell anyone I said that, I’ll deny it.”

Damien snorts and pushes open the door.

“Get your sassy ass out of the car. I’m ready to mingle.”

As soon as you set foot on the porch, the front door flies open and a flash of curly red hair precedes a collision that nearly sends you flying back into the railing. Ecstatic squeals rip through the otherwise serene evening air and two boney arms envelop you into a tight hug.

“I cannot believe you’re actually here,” Cassidy laughs as she squeezes you tight. Her enthusiasm has you joining in, the two of you laughing happily and pulling back to examine one another. Cassidy places a sloppy kiss to both of your cheeks before throwing an arm over your shoulder. “I fully expected you to just blow off the whole thing, if I’m being honest.”

You cast at Damien, who’s watching on with an amused grin on his face.

“Believe me, she tried.”

Cassidy turns her attention to Damien and extends her free hand.

“I take it you’re the infamous Damien that I’ve been trading emails with?”

Your eyebrows scrunch together in confusion, “Wait, what? The two of you have been emailing?”

Damien accepts Cassidy’s hand and gives it a firm shake, all while smiling smugly.

“Yep. Me and Ms. Cassidy go way back.”

“I mean, that’s cool, I guess, but why?”

Cassidy and Damien share a look, both of them shrugging.

“Mainly to talk about you,” Cassidy admits, not even bothering to look apologetic. When you frown up at her she waves her hand dismissively at you. “All good things, I promise. Don’t worry your pretty little head about it.” Cassidy punctuates her words with a patronizing pat on your shoulder.

“I knew letting you two meet was a bad idea,” you grumble.

Cassidy simply drops her arms from its place on your shoulder in favor of tugging on your hand.

“Come on, sour puss. I want you to meet my husband. He’s a real sweetie – you’re gonna love him.”

A flash of white-hot panic shoots down your spine and you dig your heels into the floor.

“Wait,” you squeak out, eyes wide. “Is… Is he here yet?”

Cassidy’s eyes shine mischievously, briefly flitting up to Damien before returning to you.

“He is. And you’ll be happy to know that pictures do not do the Good Doctor any justice.”

Salt, meet wound.

“Don’t know why you’re telling me that,” you mutter.

“Denial is not just a river in Egypt, my friend,” Cassidy singsongs as she begins tugging you forward. For someone so tiny, she makes easy work of forcing you through the threshold.

The foyer is just as impressive as you expect it to be – beautiful cedar walls and a grand staircase that leads to the second floor. If you weren’t horribly on edge at the current moment, you would definitely comment on the fact that the foyer alone is probably larger than your entire apartment, but you’re too busy scanning the immediate area for tall skinny white guys with stupidly curly brown hair to comment on the grandiosity.

Cassidy leads the two of you to double doors to the right, and just as she’s about to push them open, the shrill ring of your cellphone offers you an out.

You slip your hand from Cassidy’s grip and give her a faux apologetic look.

“I should probably take this – it might be work.”

Damien narrows his eyes at you. “I thought you left your work phone at home.”

You ignore him and begin taking a few steps backwards, “Is there somewhere private I can go?”

An indiscernible look flashes across Cassidy’s face and then her lips pull up into a sugary sweet smile. “Follow the hallway to the very end. Leads to the back porch,” she says. “No need to rush. Take all the time you need!”

Okay, weird, you think to yourself, but the idea of putting off the inevitable for a few extra moments is too tempting to pass up, so you continue your retreat. You make it to the back door in record time and let out a relieved breath as you bring the phone to your ear.

“Hi, mom.”

“Hi, baby. I was just calling to make sure the two of you got there safely.”

You push open the back door and the breathtaking view of the ranch prompts you to take pause; sprawling fields and rolling hills as far as the eye can see, grazing livestock congregating near a lazy stream at the far end of the property, and several horses running across the expanse of the left field. It was wonderfully serene and vastly different from the bustling rat-race that was New York.

You smile to yourself when a loud moo rips through the otherwise quiet ranch. I could get used to this.

“Yeah, we made it,” you murmur into the receiver. “You would love this place, Mom. It’s probably the prettiest place I’ve ever been. I’ll send you a picture when I hang up.”

“How’s Cassidy? Still a little spit-fire, I assume?”

You lean against the railing and let out a snort, “Oh, absolutely. Don’t think that’ll ever change.”

“I’d hope not,” your mother hums. “How does Damien like the ranch?”

“He’s not exactly a fan of the livestock,” you chuckle. “Damien’s never even seen a real cow before. City boy through and through, that one.”

You and your mother share a laugh that dissolves into a comfortable silence. Comfortable, until the telltale clearing of your mother’s throat warns you of the impending inquisition.

“So,” your mother begins. “Are you going to tell me how it went, or are you going to leave an old woman wondering? “

You sigh and run a hand through your hair. “Fortunately, I have yet to run into him. I may or may not be hiding out on the back porch as we speak in an attempt to avoid just that.”

“Y/N,” your mother chastises. “Prolonging the inevitable isn’t going to make this any easier.”

“I know, I know. I’ll go in there soon. It’s just a lot, you know? I needed to take a breather, first.” Just until my hands stop shaking. Or until Cassidy comes hunting for me. Whichever comes first.

“I know, baby,” your mother coos. “I’m proud of you for trying. Just don’t drag things out, okay? You’ll only make yourself sick with nerves.” Unfortunately, that ship has sailed. The rolling in your stomach can attest to that.

You laugh a humorless laugh, “I don’t know, Mom. You always like to remind me how stubborn I am. I’m sure if I put my mind to it, I can just avoid him for the entire week.”

A tiny movement at the very corner of your vision and a loud creak makes you whip your head around, and what you see has your heart falling to your ass.

Spencer Reid, looking absolutely stunning in a pair of khaki dress pants and a white cable-knit sweater, sits in a porch swing with wide eyes and a book clutched tightly in his hands. Soft, caramel-colored curls frame his face and a five o’clock shadow runs the length of his jaw, adding a bit of grown-up flare to his otherwise boyish features.

He looks every bit as beautiful as he did on the day he broke your heart.

Spencer knows that he should have spoken up as soon as you walked onto the porch. It was immediately obvious that you hadn’t seen him, and he swears he’s one second away from clearing his throat and launching into the introduction he’d been planning for the last sixty days. But the words die on his tongue as he drinks in the sight of you.

You’re so close to him for the first time in years and it’s more than a little bit dizzying. And yeah, he’s used his very limited knowledge of how the internet works to Google you on more than one occasion, but the version of you leaning against the porch railing is a far cry from the pixelized one. A light breeze rolling through the air lifts your hair away from your face, and Spencer’s breath catches in his throat as he surveys every perfect inch, from the curl of your lashes to the smattering of freckles on your nose. He indulges himself, eyes settling on your cherry red lips, fascinated by the way they move as you talk on the phone. Spencer is intimately familiar with those lips – can recall the way they felt pressed against his own. The years spent apart have done nothing to dull the memories. He’s not entirely sure if that’s a good or a bad thing.

It amazes him how you’ve somehow managed to change a lot, but also not at all. You stand before him as an oxymoron personified, and it’s a lot for Spencer’s poor heart to take in. Your hair is a bit lighter than he remembers, as well as a little longer, but it still looks just as soft and he can recall with startling clarity how it felt when he used to run his fingers through it. You have a few more laugh lines than you did, as well as a scar on your left elbow that hadn’t been there before, but everything else about you is so painfully familiar that Spencer could almost pretend that no time had passed – that he still knows your body as well as he once did.

Spencer knows this isn’t true. Every seven years, the body resets; old cells destroyed and replaced with new ones. You’ve both spent enough time apart that your bodies have reset twice over. You’re as much of a stranger to him as he is to you.

Spencer positively abhors the thought.

The sound of your laughter pulls him from the depths of his mind, and while the laugh isn’t warm or inviting in the slightest, he relishes it. What was once one of his favorite sounds has existed in his head as only a memory for far too long. Hearing it in person is jarring in the best of ways.

The euphoria he feels dies a horrible death when you speak again.

“I don’t know, Mom. You always like to remind me how stubborn I am. I’m sure if I put my mind to it, I can just avoid him for the entire week.”

Fucking ouch.

Spencer cringes hard, too hard, because the porch swing screeches out an angry creak and you whip around and holy shit, have your eyes always been that entrancing?

He watches as your entire body goes rigid, tensed as if you’re about to bolt. You blink hard, eyebrows drawn together to form an adorably bewildered expression as you assess him. Spencer hopes he doesn’t look too disheveled. He hadn’t even thought to freshen up after his trip, an oversight that he’s regretting terribly as your eyes flit over him.

Spencer isn’t sure why, but he stands up. Maybe it has something to do with feeling vulnerable. Maybe he just wants to close the distance. The two steps he takes towards you support the latter. He’s thankful that you don’t move away, but the blank expression on your face worries him.

The two of you stand five feet apart, but you feel worlds away. Spencer refrains from speaking for as long as he can stand, which is only about thirty seconds.

“Hi.”

Your lips part, and Spencer holds his breath.

“Hi.”

More silence. Spencer gulps.

“It’s good to see you,” he says, cautious. The last thing he wants to do is fuck up within the first five minutes. Unfortunately, his brain and his mouth seem to have some sort of disconnect, and Spencer continues against his better judgment. “It’s been a while.”

It’s been a while? That’s seriously the best I can come up with?

Spencer contemplates drowning himself in the nearby stream.

“It certainly has.”

“Five-thousand, five-hundred and seventeen days.” And roughly thirty-six and a half hours, but who’s counting?

Muted noises flow out of your phone speaker and you pull your eyes away from Spencer. He’s both relieved and devastated.

“Yeah, Mom, I’m fine. I just ran into someone. I’ll call you back later, okay?”

Spencer agonizes over the fact that he’s been reduced to someone while you and your mother exchange goodbyes. You’re smiling when you look up at him again, but Spencer’s seen what a genuine smile of yours looks like, and this isn’t it.

“I didn’t see you sitting there. My apologies.” Your formality makes the situation all the more excruciating.

Spencer lets out a nervous laugh, “I suppose avoiding me is out of the question now, huh?”

It’s hard to tell who’s more horrified by the words that tumble from his mouth, you or Spencer. A fierce flush spreads across your cheeks. It’s the first crack in your otherwise calm and collected exterior thus far and Spencer relishes in it. Maybe you’re not as unaffected by him as you seem.

“I… I’m sorry you had to hear that,” you stammer, blinking up at him with guilty eyes. “That wasn’t very kind of me.”

“Don’t worry about it. I can’t say that I’m undeserving of your anger,” Spencer whispers so quietly that he worries you don’t hear him over the gentle flow of the stream. The hardness that returns to your eyes lets him know that you heard every word.

You clear your throat, signaling your unwillingness to discuss that particularly painful topic. “You’re still partial to Cummings, I see.” You gesture to the book clutched tightly against his chest.

Now, it’s Spencer’s turn to blush. The book in his hands, tattered and worn from years of use, is incriminating. The two of you both know what lies just beneath the binding. The fact that Spencer has it with him now makes him think that he might as well be wearing a t-shirt that reads, I’M STILL NOT OVER YOU.

Spencer raises a hand to scratch at the back of his neck. “Oh, yeah. Old habits die hard, I guess.” His eyes scour your face for a sign of anything that might clue him in to you feeling the same way. A flicker of something dances across your face, but it’s gone so quickly that he can’t be sure if he imagined it. He forces a nervous smile. “If I remember correctly, he was your favorite.” It’s a shitty attempt at a joke.

You exhale a shaky breath and to his absolute horror, your lower lip begins to wobble. He wishes he could reach up and pluck his words from where they hang heavy in the air.

“Not anymore,” you murmur, and fuck if that doesn’t absolutely wreck him.

Spencer shouldn’t ask, but he can’t help himself. “Oh. Why not?”

He holds his breath, anxiously anticipating your next words. You seem to be battling with yourself, mouth opening and closing several times. Spencer is content to wait as long as it takes for you to answer, but the universe is much more impatient than he.

The door leading onto the porch swings open and out walks an honest to God Abercrombie and Fitch model. Or at least, a man who meets the qualifications and then some. Long, flowing blonde hair and a crisp white dress shirt makes Spencer’s unruly brown mop and dumpy sweater look pitiful in comparison. Spencer frowns.

“Sweetheart, you’ve been out here for like ten minutes,” the man chastises as he closes the distance between you and him. Spencer watches him wrap his arm around your shoulders and pull you to him like someone might watch a car wreck happen; with equal parts horror and morbid curiosity. “You can’t hide out forever.”

All traces of rigidity leave your body and you melt into the man’s side. It happens in such a way that screams familiarity, as if the pet name hadn’t already driven that point home. The awful, gut-wrenching realization slams home and Spencer has to fight to keep his knees from buckling.

“Uh, sorry,” you mumble, before nodding your head in Spencer’s direction. “Damien, this is Spencer Reid.”

The man’s – Damien’s - eyes go almost comically wide as they settle on Spencer’s dejected frame, before schooling into a cool indifference. He offers him a polite smile that’s a little tight around the edges, but doesn’t outstretch his hand.

“Ah, Spencer. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Spencer swallows hard to keep himself from barking out a crazed laugh. He’s heard of me! That’s certainly something, considering the fact that no one thought it necessary to tell Spencer that you have a –

Spencer’s eyes dart down to your left hand. Thankfully, mercifully, your ring finger is bare.

“Uh, y-yeah. It’s nice to meet you.” The words burn as they roll off his tongue.

Damien nods at him before turning back to you. There’s an unmistakable fondness in the way he looks at you as he speaks. “Cassidy wants everyone back inside. They’re about to serve dinner.”

You smile up at him, not even casting a parting glance at Spencer before Damien leads you back inside. Spencer stands there long after the door closes behind the two of you.

The book feels heavy in his hands.

taglist: @is-this-even-important @evelyncade @usuck @m0rce1ddd @bauhousewife @whxt-to-write @spencerwaltergubler @lovesicksofi @idgafayiowf @shadyladyperfection @mercy-burning @sapphic-prentiss @itsmytimetoodream @m0rce1ddd @bauhousewife @whxt-to-write @spencerwaltergubler @enchantedcruelsummer @no-honey-no @inkstainedwritergirl @tnoh13 @xxconfettiitsaparade @calm-and-doctor @muffin-cup @fortheloveofcriminalminds @arcticrory @holl2712@themanwiththreephds @blameitonthenight21 @stellabelle @me-a-hopeless-romantic @musicxlover97 @anightflower @andiebeaword @annesauriol @haylaansmi

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #spencer reid self insert #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds self insert #fanfiction #icyhwm #my writing #spencer #reid

185 notes · View notes

vileviale · 1 year ago

Text

Pt. 2 (word count around 2500-3000)