#he ruined my life so bad that i started a x reader fic of him-who said that!? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ugh-yoongi · 2 months ago

Note

hi. i would like to request seungcheol (obviously). all i request is enemies-to-lovers. you may do with this what you wish. i leave it up to you to decide exactly how you will ruin my life 😌

tysm for the request my beloved !! he is so enemies to lovers coded i had TEWWW many thoughts (and started three separate wips oops), but here we are. i hope u enjoy this !! can't wait to get the collab fics out of the way so i can torture u further with baseball dk. i picked dodgers hat!cheol just for u. ♡

— we need to talk

pairing: choi seungcheol x f. reader summary: sometimes the only way to win the game is to not play, but sometimes it's not a game at all—sometimes it's four years of emotional build-up with nowhere left to hide. genre: enemies (kinda) w benefits to lovers; frat/university au; smut, angst?, fluff rating: explicit. minors do not interact with this or any of my work. warnings: frat boys. gendered language and insults. swearing. mentions of drugs & drug use (vernon is literally a drug dealer 🤷🏻‍♀️) as well as alcohol. possessive, jealous seungcheol who is extremely down bad and kind of an asshole and would be toxic af irl but is fine in fanfiction probably. this is maybe more "people who used to fuck and started disliking each other along the way bc they can't figure out their feelings" to lovers than enemies. there are very slight, very meaningless mingyu x reader undertones here. jeonghan is a bastard. feelings you think are unrequited but alas! this got softer than i intended oops. smut warnings: seungcheol truly is a man driven to the brink of madness bc of pussy idk what to say. kissing. hair pulling. mentions of masturbation. the dynamics shift in this one a lot, but to be overly cautious i will say dom!cheol and slightly dom!reader undertones that are not implicitly stated or defined. seungcheol uses the term "whore" once, sorry. oral sex (f. receiving). pussy slapping. unprotected sex. if i missed any pls lmk. wordcount: 8k. no i do not know what a drabble is, leave me alone. author's note: title from the song of the same name by waterparks but this was actually brought to you by "i'll never stop" by nsync bc it's their best song and fit the vibes perfectly. anyway, i still do not love writing smut but i am insane over this man so whatever, we persevere. everyone go shower mj in lots of love bc she's the best and deserves it. also everyone say thank u @the-boy-meets-evil for looking over this for me. i did not look at this again after she beta'd it so any mistakes are of my own stupidity. <3

Seungcheol is incensed.

What in the fuck are you thinking, showing up here? Ignoring him, walking by him with nothing more than a brush to the elbow and that sultry, electric gaze? A pair of painted-on jeans and a sheer top?

Who the fuck had invited you?

He looks around the room, gaze heavy under his furrowed brow. Bass thumps in his ears, the music so loud he can feel it in his chest. Still, his feet stay planted on the floor, already sticky with spilled alcohol and god knows what else. He needs to find Vernon—just needs something to get through this very unexpected (and very unpleasant) surprise, take the edge off.

But he can’t see through the sea of people. They’re everywhere, occupying every inch of available space in the house, but he just needs a glimpse of that mop of cornflower blue hair. If he could just—

Instead, he sees a streak of white-blond in his peripheral vision. “Soonyoung!” he calls, grabbing the man by the arm. “Hey, have you seen Vernon?”

Soonyoung stares up at him with glassy, bloodshot eyes, his breath already stinking of alcohol as he shrugs and says, “Dunno, hyung. Think he’s upstairs.”

Fingers still wrapped around his bicep, Seungcheol heaves a sigh. “Go find Jeonghan. He’s on babysitting duty and you’re already fucked.”

“I’m fine,” Soonyoung argues, slurred words giving him away immediately.

Seungcheol scoffs. “Bro, you can barely stand and you reek of shitty vodka. Go drink some water.”

As he sends Soonyoung away, he can feel eyes boring into him, tension wound tight in the center of his back that refuses to dissipate no matter how many times he rolls his shoulders. He turns slowly, already knowing exactly what he’ll find, but knowing does little to stop the hitch of breath as he takes you in.

And he hates it. Fuck, he hates the effect you have on him more than anything.

Hates that he’s still pining after you. Hates that all you have to do is look at him and he’s putty in your hands. Hates that you’re the first person he looks for in a room, the last person on his mind before he falls asleep. Hates you, hates that all of this is unreciprocated, because if Choi Seungcheol is anything, it’s proud. He’s rich, he’s good-looking, he’s pre-law, and the president of this fraternity, for fuck’s sake—he should not be hung up on a girl.

But he’d been doomed from the beginning. Ever since you’d been assigned to him as a challenge to overcome, an impossible task to conquer, he’d been helplessly, pathetically smitten with you.

And fuck if you didn’t know it, too.

So, it’s a game now. A lifetime’s worth of pining for Seungcheol all because his frat was misogynistic and refused to keep up with the times. They’d nodded in your direction and laughed at the confusion on his face, the knot between his brows. Seungcheol couldn’t figure out why his initiation was to fuck a girl, one his brothers wouldn’t even address by name, but when he’d approached you at a party and you’d immediately told him to go fuck himself, he’d figured it out pretty quick.

Call it determination, call it a stubborn streak that refused to quit, but the two of you soon came to a reluctant agreement: you would let Seungcheol lie to his frat, figuring he was attractive enough that people thinking you’d slept together wouldn’t be complete social suicide, and he’d owe you a favor you’d keep in your back pocket for as long as it took to cash in.

Which hadn’t taken long. The stress of finals that first year had gotten to all of you, and it wasn’t long before you were at his door looking for his drug-dealing roommate and a quick fuck.

That was the second time Seungcheol had been doomed to hopeless pining, because once he had you, he knew it’d be impossible to let you go.

Short of outright saying the words, he’d all but told you as much during some alcohol-induced brain shortage junior year. And, in turn, you’d all but laughed in his face.

Right.

Of course.

That was to be expected.

So, you’d continued your… well, whatever this is: quick fucks when both of you were bored or lonely or horny, usually under the influence of something illegal; a mutually tense but beneficial relationship for each of you, because you had been Seungcheol’s initiation and the initiation itself awarded him connections and opportunities. You got a back-up plan. A safe body and warm bed to retreat to when the need arose—one who clearly wanted it to be something more, but was, all things considered, fine with the current arrangement. Didn’t pressure you.

But, as was also to be expected, it was never going to be that simple when feelings got involved. When he started feeling slighted. When he wanted you so bad he ached with it sometimes and it was beneath you to care. Which is why he really, really needs to find Vernon. If he’s going to endure an entire party with you, he’s not going to do it sober.

He takes the steps two at a time, feet stumbling onto the landing as soon as he reaches it. Vernon’s door is the third on the left, and he can hear a separate, distinct bass line from the one booming downstairs that hums louder the closer he gets.

And Vernon knows. Of course he does, because he’s yanking his door open before Seungcheol has even raised a hand to knock, the stench of weed seeping out into the hallway, and all he needs is a quick look at Seungcheol before he pulls the door open wider and says, “Ladies and gentlemen, the President of the United States of America,” as if he’s speaking into a microphone. When Seungcheol doesn’t react, he awkwardly tacks on, “Hi, hyung. I’m assuming she’s here.”

Seungcheol nods, dumbly, and stands as awkwardly in the center of the room as someone who’s about to ask their roommate for drugs tends to be. “Yeah.” Shoves his hands in the pockets of his overpriced jeans so Vernon can’t see the sheen of sweat.

“You looking for somethin’ specific?” he asks, rifling through the top drawer of a tall dresser. “Like, is this an I’m about to fuck her the rest of the night visit or an I need something to help me forget she doesn’t actually like me visit?”

The words come like a reflex. “Fuck you,” he seethes. Vernon’s not wrong, per se, but he didn’t have to go and just… say it like that.

Vernon just shrugs, one side of his worn-out collar slipping down his shoulder as he does so, and Seungcheol can’t tell if he’s actually dressed for the party or not. “Gonna guess it’s the second one, then.”

Seungcheol scoffs. “Well, it’s not,” he insists, knowing damn well he should let it go, that he’s just digging himself a bigger hole, but the truth sits in the pit of his stomach like lead.

And, really, he knows he just needs to accept it. That little strand of hope hasn’t brought him anything but more pain—allowed him to delude himself into thinking it could be something more, something tangible—and it’s time to let it go.

You don’t want more.

You don’t want the label and the relationship.

You don’t want him.

He knows this, but it still tastes sour in his mouth. Still tastes like the chill of autumn when you’d first showed up at his door all that time ago. Tastes like all the blunts you’ve shared and the liquor from all the parties you’d snuck away in the middle of. Tastes like the sharp notes of your perfume, the ones that’d coat his tongue when he’d kiss down your neck—the same notes that stain his bedsheets.

Mostly, it’s the pitying look Vernon’s giving him that hurts the most. He’s above pity. Doesn’t need it, especially not from Vernon Chwe, but it hurts all the same to be on the receiving end of it.

“Give me whatever you’ve got.”

Vernon’s face quickly morphs into surprised concern. “Uh, I’m not sure that’s a good idea. I mean, I’ve got some pretty heavy shit here.”

Heat flares in his belly. The pity was bad enough—now he wants to be patronizing? “Then give me whatever the fuck you think I need,” he snaps. “I don’t care. I don’t have time for this shit.”

“Well, you definitely need to chill,” Vernon mumbles. “You want some dabs?”

“No. Something…” The word feels thick in his mouth. Stronger implies that Seungcheol does heavy drugs, and that’s not true. “Else,” he finally finishes.

Vernon sighs as he continues rifling through the drawer. “Your dad would fucking kill me if I gave you my real heavy shit, so…” He pauses, eyebrows raising in triumph as he finds what he was looking for: a small baggie filled halfway with some nondescript powder. “You want a bump?”

Maybe he should be ashamed at how quickly he agrees, at the urgency and greed with which he grabs the baggie from Vernon’s fingers, but he just needs something. Needs the distraction, the brain fog. He shoves it in his back pocket next to his wallet. “How much do I owe you?”

Vernon wrinkles his nose. “Nah. Consider that one a freebie. No offense, but you’re a real piece of shit when you’re like this.”

The implication only pisses him off more. Seungcheol is loaded—he can afford to pay his drug dealer, thank you very much—but he’s not like anything. “I’m sorry?”

True to his nature, Vernon barely shrugs. “I’ll put it on your tab, hyung,” he says in a way that implies he’s not at all going to do that and is only saying so to get the fraternity president off his back.

Jeonghan (23:12) Better come get your girl. Kim Mingyu’s dick looks like it’s halfway up her ass by now. Jeonghan (23:12) Uh oh! I think I just saw a testicle

Seungcheol stares down at his phone, hands trembling in anger. Of course it’s Mingyu. That pathetic loser has been taking up residence on the subs bench ever since you’d made out with him months ago in an admittedly successful attempt at payback. Seungcheol had hooked up with some downgrade at a party one time and you’d gone and made out with his friend. It was hardly a fair trade.

Seungcheol (23:14) Good for Mingyu, he can deal with her then Seungcheol (23:14) I’m busy Jeonghan (23:14) Doing what? Jerking off in the upstairs bathroom again? Jeonghan (23:15) Do you know what size condom he wears btw? Looks like I might need to fetch him one if you don’t want to take care of another man’s baby Jeonghan (23:16) Although, to be fair, you might want to sit this one out. He has way better bone structure than you. Might be a blessing in disguise Seungcheol (23:16) Fuck you Jeonghan (23:16) Better be nice to me, Choi Seungcheolie~ that might be the only fuck you get tonight

Seungcheol needs better friends. He needs a lot of things, really, but number one on his to-do list is to never let Jeonghan be on babysitting duty ever again. Somehow he’d forgotten how obnoxious Yoon Jeonghan is when he isn’t stoned and half-asleep on a couch somewhere.

For now, he just stomps down the hallway; locks himself in his room and doesn’t bother to turn on the light. He’s not going to be here long. Just enough time to do this line, change his t-shirt, and come up with a game plan, because he’s not going to let Mingyu even entertain the thought of being able to have you but he also can’t appear desperate. Not just to you, but to everyone else. Choi Seungcheol is not clingy, especially not over a girl.

Especially especially over a girl who doesn’t even want him like that.

But the longer he sits in the dark, the more trouble he has finding his resolve. Can’t bring himself to dig that baggie out of his pocket. Can’t drag his t-shirt over his head. Can’t bring himself to think about anything other than Mingyu’s hands all over you, and fuck, does that image drive him insane.

Does he touch you like Seungcheol does?

Does he coax those same jagged whimpers from your mouth like Seungcheol does?

Does his semi-hard cock feel as good pressed against you?

God, he’s so fucked. Utterly and completely fucked. And he wonders if this would be as bad if he’d just kept his mouth shut, took that secret to his grave instead of fooling himself into thinking it could be more. If it wouldn’t have devolved into… this. You’d always told him not to get attached, that sex was just sex and there was no need to ruin a good thing. But Seungcheol is a selfish man, always has been, and what if? is a dangerous question.

Jeonghan (23:36) Wow, you’re a fucking pussy. Stop hiding in your room like a little bitch. Seungcheol (23:36) Fuck off

He can’t go down there. Not because he’s a coward, but because he’s barely tethered to his sanity as it is. Something about you brings him out of his mind, makes him toss whatever good judgment he has left to the wind. Seungcheol is far too impulsive when it comes to you, reckless in ways that have all twenty years of his social training weeping in a corner; have alarm bells ringing in his brain. So, no, he can’t go downstairs right now because he knows he’ll do something stupid. Stick not only his foot but his entire lower body in it. He should’ve listened, yet here he is, dick pulled halfway out of his jeans because the thought of you alone gets him hard but his pride won’t let him jerk off to the image of anyone touching you that’s not him.

Forget whatever Jeonghan had called him. He’s a fucking fool. A moonstruck, delusional fool who’d tricked himself into thinking he could swim when he can barely tread water.

You (23:41) Something wrong?

Oh, here we fucking go, he thinks. Because this is Seungcheol’s game—one he’d perfected years ago, the one where he’s coy and chilly, never too eager, never committed. Just a little bit of a tease. Barely enough to keep them on the hook, a little needy; still enough to keep them coming back. But you’d taken one look at him all those years ago and had him pegged immediately. Figured out his game and learned the rules, used them against him. Now you watch him flounder with a smile on your face.

Seungcheol (23:42) Never knew you were so needy baby. First you show up uninvited and now youre missing me?

But just because there’s now a player two doesn’t mean he’s doomed to lose. He knows how you look when you’re on your knees for him. Knows how you sound when you’re begging to cum and stuttering out his name like you’re singing hymns. Knows how you look with your eyes rolled back after he’s fucked you dumb. Kim Mingyu doesn’t know shit.

Seungcheol knows he’s the only one fortunate enough to experience you like this.

And god does it kill him.

You (23:44) Don’t act stupid

A pleased exhale of laughter, an equally-smug smirk. Yeah, this is still Seungcheol’s game, the crown still sitting atop his head. You can let Mingyu grind his dick against you all you want, but Seungcheol is still the one you’re seeking out, pouting at the fact he hasn’t come to find you yet.

You (23:44) Mingyu invited me

Oh, you’re good—know just which buttons to press and how much pressure to use. Whatever smug expression Seungcheol had been wearing slides off his face immediately, tongue pressing into his cheek.

Seungcheol (23:46) And yet youre looking for me? You (23:47) Don’t have to look for you to know you’re upstairs sulking in your room because Jeonghan tattled on me like a fucking five year old Seungcheol (23:49) Maybe you should come up here then Seungcheol (23:49) Away from prying eyes

You don’t reply immediately. It’s just long enough for Seungcheol’s brain to conjure up something indecent—the way you’ll straddle him, the way his cock will feel pressed against the apex of your thighs; the goosebumps that’ll raise on his arms when you work your tongue along his neck, that spot near his collarbone you know he likes. His cock throbs against the confines of his jeans when he thinks about the devastated look on Mingyu’s face when you make up some excuse to get away from him, to traipse up the stairs and fall into Seungcheol’s bed, when he realizes he’s not going to have you.

You (23:56) It’d be pretty rude to leave my date, don’t you think? You (23:57) If you want me so bad, come down here and get me yourself

Seungcheol doesn’t play games; doesn’t compete because he has no competition. He’s always been given whatever he wants on a silver platter, no questions asked, so he’s wholly unprepared for this turn of events. What he knows he should do (respond to your text and tell you to fuck off, that you know where he is should you stop being a brat and change your mind) is not what he does (tucks his dick back in his jeans, finally throws on a clean t-shirt, and takes his time descending the stairs so he doesn’t look too eager), because logical thought gets tossed out the window entirely wherever you’re concerned.

“Ah, if it isn’t our resident pissbaby making his grand re-entrance.”

Seungcheol clenches his jaw for the nth time and glares. “Fuck off, Jeonghan.”

The man in question laughs—the annoying raspy one that grates on Seungcheol’s nerves—and hands over a cup of something brown and pungent. “Well, judging from your attitude, and the fact you’re barely hiding that boner you’ve got, you clearly didn’t spend your time away jerking off. What finally got you down here, the promise of cheap whiskey I nicked off some freshman or the fact that your girlfriend’s about two seconds from getting a public indecency charge courtesy of Kim Mingyu?”

Well. Jeonghan may be an asshole but he’s not wrong. Even through the crowd of people and the haze of whatever’s in his cup and a contact high, Seungcheol spots you immediately. Your back is pressed against Mingyu’s chest, his fingers gripping tight at your waist as you roll your hips in time with his. Whatever manufactured filth he’s whispering to you draws a smile, causes you to reach up and tug sharply at his hair. Fuck, Seungcheol can almost hear Mingyu’s moan from across the room, and his blood quickly heats to a rapid boil.

Another chuckle from the demon beside him. “Stop fucking laughing,” Seungcheol snaps, still unable to take his eyes off of you. “Fuck this. I’m going back upstairs. Make sure everyone’s out of here by three. I’m not paying for another noise citation.”

Jeonghan rolls his eyes. “I’m absolutely not going to do that.” He shoves a bottle of something in Seungcheol’s hand. “Take this and think of me when you’re crying yourself to sleep because Mingyu stole guaranteed pussy right out of your hands.”

“Why do you do this?” Seungcheol asks, shoving at Jeonghan’s shoulder roughly. “You never know when to fucking quit.”

Another streak of white-blond. “Hey, no fighting!” Soonyoung slurs, trying his best to push Seungcheol to the other side of the kitchen with his useless, limp arms.

This attracts the attention of Joshua, who struts into the room looking straight out of Fashion Week, much like he always does. He hasn’t even broken a sweat. “Aw, are Mom and Dad fighting again?” he asks, his lips tugged into a smirk. He ignores Seungcheol’s scowl as he fixes himself a drink. “You know Mingyu only does it to get a reaction out of you,” Joshua adds, quieter this time, as if he’s telling Seungcheol a secret only meant for the two of them to share.

“What’s her excuse, then?” Seungcheol fires back, because even if he doesn’t like it, Joshua’s right. This is exactly the kind of behavior he’d expect from resident campus whore Kim Mingyu, but he never expected you to go along with it.

Joshua cocks an eyebrow. “She doesn’t need an excuse, Cheol. She’s not your girl.”

Even though it’s a truth he already knows, it somehow hurts worse being spoken in plaintext, a hushed conversation in a crowded kitchen. Being let down gently. Seungcheol knows he needs to make a decision. He needs to let you go and start moving on with his life; can’t be having these quasi-meltdowns during frat parties anymore. Can’t be possessive and spiteful. You don’t want him. Everyone knows you don’t want him, so that’s all there is to it. Maybe you’ll want Mingyu and he can finally wash his hands of this forever, scrape the jealousy off his tongue.

He steels himself. Rolls his shoulders back, cracks his neck. Navigates the crowd in the living room until he reaches you and your so-called date. Grabs you by the elbow—gentle enough that it doesn’t hurt but firm enough to send a message—and says the two of you need to talk. Upstairs. Now. Mingyu just smiles like he knew this was coming and presses a pointless, wasted kiss just below your ear. Seungcheol tells him to fuck off, too, and Mingyu grins wider, tongue darting out to wet his lips.

As he guides you to his room, he doesn’t think about the way your hand fits in his. Doesn’t think about how this is going to be the last time he has you. Doesn’t think about who’ll have you after. Doesn’t bother to wonder if you’ve finally changed your mind like he had all those other times he’d walked this same familiar path with you in tow. Because it’s the last time. Whatever happens once it’s over is out of his control.

Perhaps that’s what it’d always been about. Seungcheol has always been spoiled and selfish and so terribly, terribly desperate to prove he’s more than his family name and family money. So, yeah, he’d wanted the control; wanted what was never his for the taking. You’d always been the opposite—his perfect little counterpart. Always so pliant and careless and free: everything Seungcheol tried so hard to be but couldn’t, and that’s where the switch flipped.

Someone like you isn’t meant to be controlled.

What he used to want so badly now tastes rancid in his mouth.

The door locks behind you. Seungcheol doesn’t meet your eye as he says, “You got what you wanted. Are you done being a fucking brat?” It’s not a tone he usually takes. Usually he’s dirty, a little possessive, willing to let you set the pace. He doesn’t miss the way your breath hitches. “I asked you a question.”

“Seungcheol—”

He clicks his tongue, stalks closer until you’re nearly in his grasp. Your eyes close instinctively as if you’re expecting his mouth on yours. Instead, he threads his long fingers in your hair and pulls. “What’s so hard about answering a simple yes or no question? Did you really want Mingyu’s dick so bad you’ve gone dumb all of a sudden?”

You gasp. “No.”

“No what?” Seungcheol chides. “No, you’re not done being a brat? Or no, you weren’t just downstairs acting desperate and pathetic for mediocre cock?” He runs his thumb across the seam of your lips, follows their movements as you speak.

“I wasn’t—”

A low, mocking chuckle. “You were, baby.” Sounds condescending; speaks to you like you’re a stupid child. He’s so close to you now. Can smell the tang of your skin, the sticky notes of your perfume. Feels your breath fan against his own sweat-slick skin. Still avoids your gaze, because as domineering as he appears, he knows he can unravel just as quickly. “Take your clothes off. This is the last time I’m gonna fuck you and I’m not going to ask twice.”

Now you truly look caught off-guard. “What?” Still he ignores you, expensive silver rings clinking into a dish on his dresser one by one, expensive watch following. “What do you mean the last time?”

Deft fingers play at the buttons on his shirt. Not silk, but just as expensive. “Shit. You’re really testing my patience, you know.” You’re still standing at the edge of his bed, staring dumbly as if he’s just going to start spilling all his secrets, give you some kind of explanation. “I believe I told you to strip.”

Unlike Seungcheol, your fingers tremble as they work at buttons and zippers and hemlines, push down denim and remove heels. It’s clear you’re trying to work out what he’s playing at—if this is some punishment for fucking around with Mingyu or if he really means it—but you’re not going to risk asking. Things between the two of you are already tense as it is. Seungcheol has never been wound this tight, never been so ready to snap.

“That’s it,” he praises once you’re left in nothing but a skimpy underwear set you know he likes. “Look at you. Fucking gorgeous. I bet that’s why you think you can get away with embarrassing me, huh?” He grabs your chin, forces you to meet his gaze for the first time since he’d dragged you up here. “Get on your knees. I’m getting tired of repeating myself.”

It’s not an unfamiliar sight—as it is, you usually leave Seungcheol’s room with bruised knees on a good night—but it settles differently in his gut this time. Because he’d dared a glance at you once and knows he can’t do it again, so he watches the top of your head as you fumble with his belt buckle and looks away whenever he thinks you might risk a glance upwards. Finds some point on the wall to focus on. Hisses through his teeth when you pull his cock from his briefs, your hands cold against his flushed skin.

All he wants to do is kiss you. Draw this out. Give you a memorable last time, maybe mark you up a little. He really wants to savor the feeling of your tongue on his cock, but all he can focus on is the fact that he’ll never be enveloped in that wet heat again. He’s never going to feel your mouth working him over, feel you humming around his length because he knows you love the weight of it, you love wrenching away that little bit of control, turning him into a mess.

But he’s not going to dwell. He’s going to thumb at the hinge of your jaw, force it open just wide enough for his cock to fit inside. Then he’s going to fist your hair into a makeshift ponytail, grip it tight, use it to guide your mouth until there’s only an inch of space between you. He’s going to stare down at you, silently revel in how fucked out you look already even though he hasn’t touched you. He’s going to watch the way your fingers dig into your thighs because they can’t touch him. Then he’s going to say—

“Beg me. Beg me to let you suck my cock.”

There’s a flicker of hesitation. Seungcheol doesn’t talk to you like this. This is not the kind of dynamic the two of you have, and Seungcheol finds himself wondering if things would be different if it was. If he’d never started going so easy on you. Would you want him then? Or would you have left a long time ago?

He’s half-expecting you to do that now. You look ready to bolt, to pull your clothes back on and tell him to go fuck himself on the way out. Probably go straight back to Mingyu, let him fuck you hard but routine, the way Seungcheol usually does, the way he knows you like. He expects you to leave, and this is the last time, anyway, so he figures he has nothing left to lose.

“I’m going soft,” he snaps, the admonishment harsh on his tongue. When you look up at him, his jaw is clenched, eyes narrow. “You have one fucking job and you can’t even do that properly? Who’s going to want a dumb little whore that can’t follow simple instructions?”

He watches your eyes squeeze shut involuntarily. Wonders if he’s gone too far before deciding he doesn’t care if he has. It’s the last time, anyway, so it’s not like it matters. Watches the indents in your thighs grow deeper. Watches you inhale and try to steady your breathing.

Watches your eyes snap open, any trace of hesitation long gone. “Did you make that other girl beg for you?”

Seungcheol snorts, amusement showing all over his face. “Is that what this is about? You’re still mad I hooked up with some other girl so you act like this?” He clicks his tongue at you, fists his cock, slicking it up. “Are you jealous?”

“No,” you answer simply, “I’m just trying to figure out why you think you can speak to me however the fuck you want.”

Seungcheol’s hand stutters along his length before it stills, your words sharp and immediate against his skin. He should’ve known. Shouldn’t have thought something like this would work on you, that you’d like it, and he’s halfway to soft and throwing his hands up and tucking his dick back into his briefs when you say, “Answer the question.”

“What?”

You tsk. Move your hands from your thighs to his, nails pressing just deep enough to leave crescent moons behind that match your own. Something for someone else to see. “Did you make her beg for you?”

Seungcheol’s brain power decreases the higher your palms go, when your thumbs press into the dimples of his hips. Can barely choke out a hissed yes, yeah, fu-fuck when your hand covers his, fingers wrapping tightly around his own as you guide it back and forth, up and down the length of his cock. “What did you make her beg for, Cheol?”

“To—to to-touch me.”

You hum. Tighten your grip on Seungcheol’s hand and laugh as his hips roll involuntarily, seeking the friction. “Touch you how? Like this?”

“Yeah—fuck, yes, like this.”

“Did she? Did she listen to you like a good girl?” Your hand leaves Seungcheol’s only to collect the precum at his tip. “Don’t get all shy now, Cheolie.” You suck your thumb into your mouth and he whines. “Was she a good girl for you?”

You sit back on your haunches. Watch him jerk himself off. “Yeah,” he finally says, word cracking in the middle. “Boring, though. Not like—not like you.”

“No one is like me,” you admonish. “I could’ve told you that for free, before you went off and fucked someone else.”

“Not an idiot,” Seungcheol replies, the pace of his hand quickening. He’s playing a dangerous game; approaching the cliff edge at a dangerous pace. “No-nothing comes for free with you.”

All you do is smile, lopsided and smug. “Mm, that’s true. Guess your little dom moment earlier can just be chalked up to momentary stupidity, hm?” Seungcheol wants to nod, wants apologies to tumble from his lips until you shut him up, but his palm is so slick against his dick, fist tight enough to white out his vision. “Did you make her beg to suck your cock?”

Truth be told, Seungcheol can’t remember much of anything right now. He’s perilously close to coming, right at that precipice, and each filthy word that slips from your mouth just pushes him further to the edge. He remembers Chan inviting him to a party. He remembers a few drinks, a few hits from a blunt, compliments of Vernon; he remembers a girl making eyes at him from across the room—eyes that had looked a lot like yours in the haze of his crossfade. He remembers a locked bathroom and the sound of his voice as he told that girl how to touch him so it felt like you. He remembers her doing whatever he told her to, remembers how eager and submissive she was, how she didn’t mouth off to him the way you always do—

Remembers how unsatisfying it’d been when he came.

You’ve ruined him.

Not a revelation. Not even close to one. Seungcheol has known this for a long time, but that doesn’t mean annoyance doesn’t flare in his belly at the reminder. You don’t want him. Being so hung up on you isn’t doing him any favors, just means he’ll have a longer drop when this is all over. God, what the fuck is he doing?

He wants you so badly he’s aflame with it. He wants you so badly he can barely look at you anymore. He wants you so badly it consumes him, drives him insane, has him all fucked up and seething. He wants you, he wants you, he—

Loves.

Reality washes over him like a cold wave. Knocks him backwards, drowning, desperately trying to remember how to breathe. In, out; in, out—and none of it changes a goddamn thing.

Four years of this. Four years of touches exchanged in the dark, behind locked doors. Four years of yearning and trying and failing. Four years of everything getting lost in translation, because it’s hitting him now, but shouldn’t he have felt it before? Shouldn’t all those ‘drive me fuckin’ crazy, can’t fucking stand you’s he spoke into the crook of your neck rang hollow?

“Cheol—” you say, because you asked him something, tried to play along with this whole stupid charade, and he knows he’s frozen, just standing there, hand still wrapped around his cock, and he needs to say something, he needs to fix this—

“I’m a liar,” is what he comes up with. You’re still staring up at him, brows furrowed, pinched in the middle. Move, he wills himself, but nothing happens. “I’m a liar,” he says again, because if he says it enough you’ll believe it. “I’m sorry. I’m—”

“What are you talking about?”

He swallows. I’m in love with you, he wants to say. Feels the weight of the words on his tongue, heavy and pressing, and he thinks you should know. Even if you don’t feel the same, he thinks you deserve to know, but the way you’re looking at him—

He can’t bring himself to say it.

But he can—“Can I show you instead?”

Slowly, you nod. Seungcheol nods, too, still feeling off-kilter as he cradles your face in his hands, thumbs in the contours of your cheeks. Moves them down your neck, your shoulders, down the length of your arms. You meet him halfway, twining your fingers together, and he helps you stand, careful and considerate. At full height, he places a hand in the small of your back to tug you closer, kisses you like it’s the end of the world. Whines into your mouth at your familiar taste, and if he lets himself be delusional enough, he can pretend there’s form and substance to those sounds, that their edges are squared-off to form the words he wants to say.

Because it really might be the end of the world. Seungcheol has never known how to play the cards he’s been dealt when it comes to you. Always gets it wrong. Feints one way when he’s meant to go the other, takes the field with two left feet, always playing catch-up. Maybe the mistake was treating it like a game. Maybe the mistake was strategizing, only playing to win, because he lays you gently on his bed, fits his body in the space you create for him between your legs, and realizes he already won a long time ago.

He won the first time your eyes met. He won the first time he’d kissed you, more nerves and teeth than anything else. He won the first time you tucked yourself against his side and stared at his bedroom ceiling, half-smoked joint between your fingers, and made fun of the stupid flag he’d hung up. He won every time you took all the bullshit he threw at you and dished it right back. He won every time he had the privilege of tracing mindless shapes into your soft skin.

Every second of your time you chose to give him—all victories.

He presses in further. Groans when your hands move to his shoulders and grip tight; when your nails dig into the skin of his back. “I’ve been so stupid,” he says, punctuating his words with a nip at your ear. Smirks out of the corner of his mouth at your shuddering breath. “Haven’t I?”

“Yeah,” you answer, rolling your hips upward. He grabs at you desperately, tries to keep you still; hisses when you swat his hands away and redouble your efforts. “You’ve been a fucking asshole for a—for a while.”

You can’t see the way he pouts. Wonders, too, if that would work on you, if it’d earn him one of those rare moments of tenderness. “Well I’m trying to—shit, baby—trying to make it up to you, but you seem pretty determined to make me bust right now.”

He can see the way you roll your eyes. See the way the corners crinkle after as you laugh softly, breathlessly, still trying to chase a high Seungcheol refuses to provide. “You deserve it. You tried to dom me, you dickhead.”

Embarrassment sits obvious on his ruddy cheeks. He hides his face in the crook of your neck so you don’t see it, don’t have something to poke at him with later, but you’re having none of it. You thread your fingers through his hair and tug gently, forceful enough to have him pliable, and there it is: there are stars in your eyes as you stare up at him, tender and soft just like he hoped you’d look, and he misses the feeling of your nails on your scalp until you’re tugging at the delicate chain around his neck and pulling him closer. “Just kiss me and we’ll call it even.”

This is how it feels to get struck by lightning, he thinks. Every part of him is on fire, and he’s content to burn as his lips find yours. He sighs happily into your mouth, hikes your thigh higher around his middle, presses in to lay claim to what little space is left between you. Seungcheol is so close he can feel the rapid pace of your heartbeat, because this is not the way you usually kiss. What used to be dirty and quick, a means to an end, now has intent, purpose. He’s kissing you like he wants to steal the air from your lungs to replace it with something better.

Trails those same kisses down the length of your body. Open-mouthed at your neck, your collarbones, the space between your breasts. Teasing and slow in the space between each rib, just to watch the way your skin pebbles. Hungry and insistent at the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, because if he’s feeling this unhinged, he wants you right there with him. Can’t bear the thought of still being in this alone. Not anymore.

“Legs over my shoulders.” You listen immediately, and Seungcheol mutters a quiet fuck at the sight before him. “God, you’re so wet.”

“No shit—”

He swats at your clit, delighting in the way your body jolts. “Hush. The only thing I wanna hear out of your smart mouth from now on is my fucking name.” And then he’s diving in.

He eats you out like a man starved; like he could do this every day for the rest of his life and he still wouldn’t be satisfied. Can’t help but rut against the mattress at the way you taste, the way your thighs tighten around his head, the sting as you pull at his hair. Places both hands beneath your ass to lift and drag you closer to his waiting mouth—licks at you wet and feverish, all of this seemingly more for him than it is for you, and you’ll get tired of it soon, just like you always do. You’ll tell him—

“Do it right, Cheol, please—”

And he’ll pull away and tsk, swat at you again. His responding laugh will be cocky and derisive when your body trembles again, frantic with the need for more. “What did I say, baby? Do you not trust me to make you come?” You cock an eyebrow, torn between throwing some sarcastic remark at him and following the rules long enough to get what you want. His voice grows serious as he presses a soft kiss to your core. “I will always take care of you.”

The rest is muscle memory.

The rest has a chorus of Cheol, Cheol, Seungcheol spilling from your lips as he suctions his own around your clit. The rest has you grinding your pussy against his face. The rest has him groaning at the way he’s so wholly consumed by you: the taste of you on his tongue, face soaked, two fingers pressed deep into your cunt. The rest has him saying that’s it, baby, come on my face, I know you can and feeling delirious when he finally pushes you over the edge; when your walls clench around his fingers, breathing fractured, when you grab at him until you’re eye-level and you’re licking into his mouth to taste yourself.

Tastes a lot like I love you.

“Want you to ride me,” he says, gaze half-lidded and pleading. You whine as he moves his thumb back to your clit, tracing slow, slow, slow circles, oversensitive. “Will you do that for me?”

The party seems so far away. Grows even further away when you nod and straddle his lap. Seungcheol sits up, tells you to wrap your legs around him. Can’t stand not touching you; needs every inch of his skin to be covered by you like a bruise—something deep that’ll last for days, weeks, months. The mottled colors will change, but it’ll still be there.

“Need you, Cheol,” you whisper, kissing his eyelids. He hadn’t realized he’d closed his eyes.

“You have me,” he answers, but it sounds foreign to his ears—sounds wretched, like the words have been punched out of him. It sounds like forfeit. “Always have.”

You pull back. Study his face. Run over his plush bottom lip with your thumb. It feels like an eternity of silence before you speak. “No, I haven’t,” you insist, tone insistent but delicate, like you’re trying to convince him of it, too. “Not like this.”

I love you.

You lift your hips just enough to sink down on his cock. Seungcheol’s moan is loud and unabashed, not afraid to let anyone hear the way you make him feel. All he can think is familiar: he knows your blinding white heat; has made countless homes in your tight grip he still holds the keys to; has done this so many goddamn times it’s second nature.

He was an absolute fool to think he could ever walk away.

You roll your hips, taking him deeper like you’ve got something to prove, body moving on its own sinuous accord. Seungcheol loves you like this, when you know exactly what you want and aren’t afraid to take it. When you press sloppy kisses to his neck, the column of his throat. When he grabs at your hips, tries to move you faster along the length of his cock, and you swat his hands away. When your rhythmic up-and-down turns into a slow grind that has you gasping and breathless, pussy spasming around him.

“Goddamn, I love this pussy,” he chokes out, fingers gripping tightly at the sheets since he can’t touch you. He’s mindless with pleasure, feels himself start babbling nonsense he can’t make sense of, and it’s overwhelming, having you like this. Isn’t sure how he’s survived this long, but maybe you were right.

Maybe it was never like this before.

Usually he’d take you from behind, quick and dirty, hands digging into the meat of your ass, palm cracking down on it every now and then, imparting white heat of his own. Usually he’d have you beneath him, knees pressed to your chest, all condescension as you told him, eyes rolled back, that he was too deep, that you couldn’t take it, and he’d rub at your clit and tell you you could as he dragged another orgasm out of you. Usually he’d be so frenzied and worked up he’d take you against the door, sweats pushed to mid-thigh, forearms straining as they held you up.

So, yeah—this is different. This is a patient, sensual dance to the finish line. This is Seungcheol in his rawest form: a live wire, vulnerable, anxious. This is the unknown, because something has to come after but he doesn’t know what it is.

This is Seungcheol throwing caution to the wind, leaning in close enough to taste the salt on your skin, and saying, “I love you.”

This is Seungcheol planting his feet and fucking up into you, unwilling to hear your response. Sometimes ignorance is bliss, but sometimes bliss is just bliss, and he’ll willingly take either.

This is you coming undone on his cock, breathing rapid and ragged, pupils blown wide as you stare at him in awe.

“Say it again.”

Someone slams into the wall just outside Seungcheol’s door, and all at once the real world creeps back in: the thrumming bass line of the music downstairs; laughter, shouting, and yelling; fists banging on shut doors—but he hears you loud and clear. Presses each word into your mouth this time and groans when you swallow them. Barely makes a sound as he spills inside of you, feeling like every nerve in his body is aflame.

The two of you are quiet for a time as you try to catch your breath. Seungcheol only moves to grab his duvet and wrap it around your shoulders, smiling fondly at the small thank you you mumble, seemingly still bogged down, well-fucked.

He presses a tender kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“Okay?”

You nod, push at him until he lays back and pulls you with him, lets you use his firm chest as a pillow. That flag you’d made fun of before isn’t up there anymore, but Seungcheol feels warm at the memory anyway, almost laughs at the comment he imagines you’d make.

Clears his throat. Tries to find his courage. “I really am sorry,” he tells you again, because it doesn’t matter if he loves you if he doesn’t know how to be good at it.

“I know, Cheol,” comes your easy reply. You’re tracing shapes on his stomach that have his muscles contracting. “I know you love me, too.” You sigh, press your lips to his rib cage. “Who knew it’d only take making out with Mingyu to get you to admit it.”

A wild laugh tumbles out of him. “Fuck off.” He can feel your grin.

“You got a fucked up way of showing it, though.”

He hums, holds onto you a little tighter. “Go easy on me, I only figured it out about an hour ago.”

“An hour?” you faux-gasp, make like you’re about to leave. “I’m outta here. I know my worth. If I’m going to say it back to someone, they need to be in love with me for at least two.”

He chokes at the implication, heart threatening to beat right out of his chest and into yours. He knows he looks exactly like the moonstruck, loved-up loser he is, and he coughs to cover it. “That’s what I said,” he lies. “Two hours. You must’ve heard it wrong.”

No, it was never like this.

#seungcheol x reader #seungcheol smut #scoups x reader #scoups smut #seungcheol imagines #seventeen x reader #seventeen smut #seventeen fanfic #seungcheol fanfic #scoups fanfic #jewel writes #fic: wntt

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glossdebut · 29 days ago

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PRICE OF FAME | MYG ★ 02

✧ PAIRING: yoongi x fem!reader

✧ SERIES SUMMARY: You were about ready to give up, your career nowhere near what you dreamed it’d be when you started at eighteen, bright-eyed and naive. Reality for you these past few years has consisted of pouting at a camera, ignoring whispers of your name at company events, and ensuring that the stupid, tiny designer purses they keep forcing on you can at least carry a flask. But now, you’re helping a friend in need. For the first time in a long time, it feels like you’re doing something worthwhile with your life. Too bad Min Yoongi, the newest thorn in your side, seems insistent on stopping you.

✧ SERIES TAGS: enemies to lovers, slow burn, angst, smut, fake/pretend relationship (not main couple), rockstar!yoongi, model!reader, guitarist yoongi, singer jungkook, bassist taehyung, drummer jimin, manager namjoon, yoongi & maknae line are in a rock band, reader & seokjin are best friends, yoongi & hoseok are best friends (sope duo ftw), yoongi has a tongue piercing, reader is a brat

✧ CHAPTER WARNINGS: aqua uses her journalism degree to write a fake article, lots of yoongi pov, MC lore drop, extremely brief descriptions of sexual acts, some questions are answered but not many, sope cameo! also seokjin cameo! do you detect a hint of hyyh yoonkook-ism? because you should! EVENTS TRANSPIRE! (see series masterlist for series warnings)

✧ CHAPTER WORDCOUNT: 5.2k words

✧ AUTHOR’S NOTE: damn i always drop early don't i? here's a pre-holiday gift for those of you who celebrate thanksgiving. thank you to tanni @yooniivrse for beta reading SO FUCKING FAST LOL <3

p.s. from here on out updates are going to be much slower. we’re getting to the Real Plot now and i have to use my brain a little bit more. plus i want to make time to write other, shorter things! so be sure to check out my other fics if waiting for this becomes unbearable lol

CH. 02: A HIT IS HARD TO RESIST

Love in the Spotlight: Is "Burn The Stage" Singer Falling for a Scandal Magnet?

It’s the love story that’s rocking Seoul—and leaving fans divided. Jeon Jeongguk, the smooth-talking, chart-topping frontman of “Burn The Stage,” has been the subject of intense speculation after rumors surfaced that he’s been secretly seeing one of South Korea’s most talked about models, YLN YN. And while Jeongguk’s millions of fans would do anything to claim him as their own, it’s YN’s wild reputation that’s making this relationship one to watch.

The dating rumors of the two surfaced online when YN was seen on the balcony at Wasteland during the final show of the Burn The Stage’s world tour. Eyewitnesses claim that after the show, the two were spotted backstage together, sharing a private moment.

While Jeongguk’s image has been polished and pristine despite his rock star persona, YN’s name is frequently linked with controversy. From a string of public feuds with fellow influencers to rumors of reckless behavior, she has garnered a reputation for attracting scandal wherever she goes—a trait at odds with what fans have seen from Jeongguk. So what could possibly draw the two together?

Some fans are already sounding the alarm, warning Jeongguk that dating someone like YN could tarnish his squeaky-clean image.

“I don’t know why Jeongguk would choose her,” one concerned fan commented on Instagram. “She’s trouble, and he’s too good for her. His image will be ruined if this is true.”

Despite the criticism, others are rallying behind the couple, suggesting that Jeongguk may be the one to help YN change her ways. “Everyone has a past,” one fan posted on X (formerly known as Twitter). “Maybe Jeongguk sees something in her that no one else does. People can grow and evolve.”

While neither Jeongguk or YN’s companies have released an official statement on the matter, YN hasn’t been shy about fueling the rumors. In a recent post on her Instagram, she shared a photo of herself wearing a Burn The Stage hoodie, captioning it, “i guess i’ve got good taste 👀” which has sent fans into overdrive speculating that she’s sending a not-so-subtle message about her relationship with Jeongguk.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” Yoongi groans to himself. He can’t read any more of this drivel. The wooden table in front of him suddenly looks all too inviting, perfect for him to bash his skull into.

You’re everywhere, completely inescapable for the past week. Apparently, Yoongi’s bi-weekly breakfast with Hoseok is no exception. The first one they’ve been able to have since the tour, too. God forbid he wants to mindlessly scroll on his phone for a second while he waits for his friend to return, because there you are, taunting him.

After the concert, Yoongi had been so annoyed by seeing you again. Pissed off at the circumstances. Ready to do anything in his power to extricate you from Jeongguk as fast as possible.

The past week has dulled his rage considerably. The endorphins of playing live have died, as have the potent emotions that come with them. Yoongi’s logical adult brain has set in, leaving him with only a headache.

“Woah,” Hoseok says, snorting as he slides a coffee into Yoongi’s field of vision. He slips into the booth across from him, taking a sip from his own cup with an amused look on his face. “You look much more homicidal than I left you. What could’ve possibly pissed you off in the last five minutes?”

Wordlessly, Yoongi hands Hoseok his phone, the article still displayed on the screen. Hoseok silently reads the first few paragraphs, and when he scrolls back up to look at the photo attached, his eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

“Oh?” he says, zooming in on your face. On Yoongi’s phone. The audacity. “This is the Innisfree girl, right? She’s dating Jeongguk?”

“Allegedly.”

“Is her skin really that nice in person?”

“Not the point,” Yoongi hisses, snatching his phone back from Hoseok’s grip and hastily closing the article to get your dumb face off of his phone. Dumb, poreless face.

“Okay, touchy,” Hoseok says, raising his hands in surrender. “Please explain the point.”

“I don’t trust her,” Yoongi says, tapping his foot under the table. “The relationship is bogus. She’s after something, I just can’t figure out what it is.”

“And you’re basing this on…?”

“Intuition,” Yoongi says flatly.

“Right. Because your intuition is never wrong,” Hoseok says, tone laden with sarcasm. “Need I remind you that you weren’t the biggest fan of me when we met?”

“I thought you were annoying,” Yoongi agrees. He takes a sip of his coffee to mask a smirk. “Who says I was wrong about that?”

“I’d probably be hurt if you hadn’t essentially bought us couple rings last year,” Hoseok says, waggling his eyebrows. “You want to fuck me so bad it makes you look stupid.”

“Aish, they weren’t couple rings,” Yoongi complains. “Stop saying that. The wrong person is going to hear you and think it’s true.”

“Your ears are pink!” Hoseok exclaims triumphantly, pointing at the evidence. “Your mouth says one thing, but your ears always give you away.”

“I’m going to kill you,” Yoongi grumbles, pulling his beanie down. “Stop changing the subject.”

“Right, right. Sorry, hyung, you’re just so easy to tease,” Hoseok says, not even bothering to stifle his snickering. The bastard. “Jeonggukie’s new lady love. Go. Wait, do you want to fuck her?”

“What?” Yoongi sputters, eyes widening because what the fuck? “No—what? Look, it’s not just intuition, okay? I’m right about her. And you saw what the article said—drama follows her wherever she goes. Maybe she thinks dating Jeongguk will rehabilitate her image, or something like that.”

Yoongi had been so confident that wasn’t the case, since you’ve maintained all of your brand deals even in the midst of your many scandals, but maybe he was wrong. He still doesn’t know why you’re doing this, and it’s like the closer he gets, the less he can see.

“I don’t know,” Yoongi groans, rubbing his hands over his face. “She’s also just a bitch.”

“Okay,” Hoseok concedes, crossing his arms. “If you say so. She’s a bitch who you don’t want to fuck. What are you going to do about it?”

Yoongi shrugs. “I have that dinner tomorrow night. I was thinking of talking to Jeongguk after or something.”

“And telling him that his girlfriend is the devil? I’m sure that’ll go over well.”

“I’ll figure it out,” Yoongi sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “Jeongguk is a stubborn kid, but he knows I wouldn’t ruin something good for him. If I word it right, maybe he’ll listen.”

“You’re not wrong. For whatever reason, Jeongguk trusts your judgement.”

Yoongi glares at him. “Go fuck yourself, Hob-ah.”

“Whatever, hyung,” Hoseok says, rolling his eyes. “Let’s talk about something else, please. I haven’t seen you in months.”

Yoongi relents easily. He doesn’t really want to be talking about you either, not when it feels like an ice pick is being jammed into his temple.

He’ll just have to figure out what to say to Jeongguk later.

★ ★ ★

“Wow,” Seokjin says around a mouthful of jjapaguri. “He really hates you, huh?”

He’s fresh out of a long shift at the hospital, but he still headed straight to your apartment at the promise of food and celebrity gossip—his two biggest weaknesses, especially when the food doesn’t have to be made by him and the celebrity is you.

“Seems like it,” you sigh, using your chopsticks to push your noodles around aimlessly. “Normally I wouldn’t care, you know? Like, get in line, asshole.”

“But you care.”

“But I care.”

“Because of Jeongguk,” Seokjin says knowingly.

You drop your chopsticks and groan, stifling the sound by covering your face with your hands.

“Yes,” you concede. “But not because of that. I just want to help him, you know? He got me through a really rough spot last year. I’d feel like shit if I agreed to do this for him and then it ended up blowing up in our faces because of me.”

“Mmm,” Seokjin hums, chewing thoughtfully. “I’m sure the fact that you’re in love with him is a big motivator, though.”

You pick up your head, glaring at him. “Love is a big word, Jin.”

A very big word, you think, picking up your glass of wine to take a long gulp. God help you.

“A fitting one, too!” he says gleefully. “Come oooon. No judgement here. He’s hot. Not as hot as me, of course, but I have to give credit where credit is due.”

“Yes, you’re a god among men,” you mumble, rolling your eyes. “I don’t love Jeongguk. Not like that, at least. Do I need to remind you of the whole reason I’m doing this in the first place?”

“Yeah, yeah, the secret girlfriend,” Seokjin says, waving a hand dismissively. “Whatever. You’re spending a lot of time with him, is all I’m saying. The tides may turn in your favor.”

Wow, and you thought you were delusional.

“Fat chance,” you deadpan, polishing off your wine. “Especially if Yoongi is as persistent as he’s making himself out to be.”

“What’s his beef with you, anyway?” Seokjin asks, snorting to himself as he picks up a piece of steak with his chopsticks. Hilarious. “I feel like he’s going a little far for it to just be protectiveness, you know?”

Right. When you’d given Seokjin the rundown via text, you’d left one pretty substantial piece of information out.

“He said, um,” you start, picking at one of your nails nervously—a habit that Hyerin would smack you on the back of the head for, if she were here. “He said that he knows… more than I think.”

Just like that, all of the humor drains from Seokjin’s expression. “Meaning…?”

“I don’t know,” you say, your voice wobbling just a bit. “I don’t know, but if it does mean that… It makes the idea of rolling over and doing what he says pretty enticing, not gonna lie.”

“Fuck that,” Seokjin says firmly, your eyes widening in response. “If he’s the type of guy to use something like that as blackmail, then he’s a piece of shit. I don’t care if he is trying to protect Jeongguk.”

“He can’t know, though,” you groan, fully resting your head on the cool marble of your kitchen countertop now.

You’ve been wracking your brain for days now, trying to figure out if it’s even possible for Yoongi to know anything. You’re pretty confident the answer is no, but there’s no way to be one-hundred percent sure without confirmation from the man himself. And you’d honestly rather die.

“Nobody knows except the people involved and you. You’re the only one who didn’t sign an NDA, and I’m pretty confident you’ve never met Min Yoongi. Not to mention you just wouldn’t—”

“Share that information? Hell no, I wouldn’t,” Seokjin interrupts, scoffing. “Okay, well… Regardless of whether he knows anything, he honestly just sounds like a dick and I think you should kill him.”

You snort, lifting your eyes to look at him from where your head rests on the counter. “Maybe that can be plan B,” you offer.

“Fine, then what’s the plan A?” Seokjin counters, crossing his arms and raising a conspiratorial eyebrow at you.

Fantastic question, one you’ve been thinking about the answer to since you abruptly left the afterparty that night. It’s not like you can tell Jeongguk what’s going on and risk having to tell him the whole truth. You trust Jeongguk, but…

No, it’s not an option. You don’t want anyone else to know. So, if Yoongi’s going to insist on being a problem for you, you might as well return the favor. It’s only fair.

You grin, lifting your head and leaning closer to Seokjin.

“I’m going to make his life a living hell.”

★ ★ ★

Yoongi hasn’t touched a cigarette since he was twenty one years old.

He picked up the nasty habit at sixteen, when one of his friends doled out African Ice Jacks amongst the group, bragging that his hyung had bought the pack for him. As soon as the lighter was flicked on and the bittersweet taste of bubblegum and tobacco filled Yoongi’s lungs, he was hooked.

It was stupidly easy to get his hands on cigarettes before he was of legal age, even when his friend’s hyung couldn’t supply them for whatever reason. All of the adults around him smoked, including his parents.

It felt as though cigarettes were an extension of his hand, felt wrong when he didn’t have the option to light one up. During school hours, Yoongi’s fingers would twitch on his desk as he waited for his last class to end.

He was a fucking anxious, wound-up kid. Smoking was the only thing that helped, sometimes. If he had a shit day, at least he could have a cigarette.

When the band got signed, though, things changed. Despite the fact that the majority of the population in Korea smoked, celebrities were vilified for it in the media. For whatever fucking reason. Yoongi didn’t care much what the media had to say about him, but he reasoned that it would be pretty stupid to let his dream die over Ice Jacks. So he quit.

It was hard at first, but it’s been five years now. After so much time, it’s rare that cigarettes even cross his mind, even when others smoke around him.

Sitting across the table from you now, though, Yoongi’s fingers twitch just like they had when he was in grade school staring at a clock.

He and the band started frequenting Yoojung Sikdang long before there was any real hope for fame. It was their chosen spot after every practice. The ajumma who owns it knows their names, remembers their orders by heart. Over the years, the only part of the restaurant that’s changed is their autographed photos on the wall. They’ve celebrated every single milestone here, big or small, just the five of them. Alone.

Wrapping up their first world tour should be no different. It’s their biggest milestone yet, and all Yoongi wanted was to eat ssambap with his best friends. Remind himself that none of the fame matters as long as they still have this.

But here you are. Of course. Encroaching on everything Yoongi’s built, everything he holds dear to his heart.

The only time it’s ever been more than the five of them here was the night they signed their contract, accompanied by two label executives. Even if you’re allegedly riding Jeongguk’s dick, no way are you that fucking important.

Yoongi would laugh if he wasn’t so pissed off. You are such a fucking pest. He just can’t shake you off.

“You don’t like what you ordered?” Jimin asks you, snapping Yoongi out of his thoughts.

Yoongi’s made an effort to keep to himself for the majority of the dinner. No use in ruining everyone else’s night—it’s still a special one, after all. Besides, he’s still trying to be an adult about things. You may have ruined his plan to talk to Jeongguk tonight, but it’s not like he’s going to cause a scene in front of a restaurant full of people—

“Oh, I’m just not very hungry,” you say. Yoongi’s eyes narrow.

All you’ve been doing all night is burrowing into Jeongguk’s side, barely touching your food. Lipgloss still perfectly in place. Normally, Yoongi wouldn’t care—he’s not paying for it. He wastes food on the label’s dime all the time. At Yoojung Sikdang, though?

“Why did you come, then?”

The words come out of Yoongi’s mouth before he can stop them, sharp and pointed. He’d fully intended to keep his mouth shut, eat his food, and then go home. Maybe buy a pack on the way. But now they’re out there, and Yoongi can’t bring himself to care. Certainly not to feel bad.

For the first time since you’d walked in on Jeongguk’s arm, you make eye contact with him. On purpose this time—challenging. Yoongi’s not a little bitch, so he stares back.

“Because Jeonggukie invited me,” you say, faux sweetness dripping from your words as you lean your head on Jeongguk’s shoulder. Eyes still fixed on Yoongi. “I figured it would be okay, since you all gave me such a warm welcome last time.”

Yeah. Yoongi’s buying that pack of cigarettes.

“You’re always welcome to come out with us,” Taehyung coos, like he thinks you’re the cutest thing in the world. Knowing Taehyung, he probably does.

Everyone seems to be in agreement on that front, too, except Yoongi who rolls his eyes as he shoves a ssam into his mouth. Whatever.

“It’s gonna be hell getting you out of here, though,” Namjoon adds from Yoongi’s left. He leans over to glance at the crowd of people peering through the front of the restaurant, cameras at the ready, desperate to get a glimpse of you and Jeongguk. Not that you’re making it particularly hard.

“We’ve never had a crowd like that out there,” Jimin says, in awe. “I’m not surprised, though. Those articles about you two have been getting tons of clicks.”

“Ah,” you say. If Yoongi didn’t know better, he’d think you sound almost sheepish. “That, um. That might be my fault. I told my manager I was coming here. She must’ve tipped someone off.”

Of course.

“Anything for a photo-op, right?” Yoongi sneers, unable to help himself. It’s such an easy shot, after all. You’re being so transparent.

“Hyung,” Taehyung says, eyes wide as if he’s appalled.

“I’m sorry, Yoongi-ssi,” you say, tilting your head at him. That little flash of a challenge is still in your eyes, and Yoongi doesn’t like it one bit. “Do you have a problem with me being here?”

Yoongi scoffs, sitting up. When he speaks, it’s laced with bitterness. “We just don’t normally come here with guests, that’s all. I guess I didn’t get the memo that that’d suddenly changed.”

“I invited her, hyung,” Jeongguk says. “She’s my girlfriend.” He wraps his arm around you protectively and, fuck, you’re good. You’re so good at making Yoongi look like the asshole.

“I get that, Guk-ah,” Yoongi tries, his voice considerably softer now. “But, come on… Here? And the mob outside, I mean… Do you really think that was just a harmless mistake?”

“What are you implying?” Jeongguk grits out. He’s angry now, that much is clear, and it’s Yoongi’s fault.

You have him trapped. He’s surrounded by landmines, unable to come up with a single response that could possibly defuse them.

“Come on, guys,” Namjoon says, glancing at Yoongi pointedly. “We’re here to celebrate.”

“If Yoongi-ssi is uncomfortable that I’m here, maybe I should go,” you say, making to get up.

Jeongguk reaches for your arm, stopping you. “No,” he says. “Yoongi-hyung, you can either get over it and stay with us, or you can leave. You’re the only one who doesn’t want her here.”

Un-fucking-believable.

“Are you serious?” Yoongi scoffs, looking around at everyone. Is this really happening to him right now? This is his band!

The table is deadly silent. Everyone refuses to meet Yoongi’s eyes except you and Jeongguk, who raises a challenging eyebrow at him. It’s immediately apparent to Yoongi that he’s not winning this one. That somehow, he’s ruined the night meant to celebrate him and his friends.

Bitterly, Yoongi laughs. “Fine.”

No one protests when he pushes his chair away from the table and stands up, and that stings much more than Yoongi would like to admit.

He catches your eye as he grabs his jacket off the back of his chair, anger flaring at how pleased you look.

“Have a nice fucking dinner,” Yoongi mutters, before turning on his heel and walking towards the door. Leaving his friends to face a crowd of photographers and fans that you called.

As he walks out into the cold, dodging the phones being shoved in his face, all he can think about is the way Jeongguk had looked at him.

★ ★ ★

You met Jeon Jeongguk a year ago, give or take a few months. You just remember it was cold.

Less than twenty-four hours after a particularly nasty breakup with a guy you didn’t love but liked enough, you were back on the clock. Zipped into something tight and expensive, wearing the best waterproof mascara money could buy.

You hated those events to begin with—the galas, end of year ceremonies for awards you were no longer viable to win. They were torture for you. But the sting of being freshly single only made things worse, so you had decided to make the most of it.

You may not have been able to win a KMA, but you were well within your rights to treat the KMAs themselves like your own personal dating pool. No better way to rid yourself of your ex like getting with someone new, you thought.

Which is where Jeongguk came in, devastatingly hot in his tailored suit. You’d ran into him on your way from the bathroom—much like you had with Yoongi, now that you think about it—and you instantly found yourself wondering what it would be like to kiss a guy with a lip ring. Jeongguk, as it turned out, was very interested in showing you.

You were both a little drunk, but the attraction was real. Instant.

One very handsy cab ride later, and you were in his apartment, grinding on his lap as you experienced first-hand just how little of an obstacle a lip ring can be if the man who has it knows what he’s doing.

Things were going so well—Jeongguk’s tongue exploring your mouth as you felt his cock stiffening beneath you. But it all came crashing down as soon as his hand slid under your dress.

The fact of the matter was, you’d just been dumped. Regardless of how strongly you did or didn’t feel about your ex, you’d still been dumped and it still hurt. As soon as Jeongguk really touched you, it became all too apparent that you wouldn’t be able to go through with it. Luckily, at the slightest bit of hesitance from you, Jeongguk’s hand immediately retreated from under your dress.

He was sweet about it. Really, really sweet. Valiantly ignored his erection and offered to listen instead, which made you laugh. Comforted you even though you hadn’t thought you needed it. Let you sleep in his bed anyway. When you left the next morning, kindly offered to be your friend, because you clearly needed one.

You’ve been friends ever since.

Not in the same way that Seokjin is your friend, of course. Seokjin is your best friend, has been since you were both kids. But Jeongguk just… He gets the industry, in a way that Seokjin never will.

Which brings you to last month.

Last month, when Jeongguk called you nervously in the middle of his tour schedule. Asked you to be his fake girlfriend in guilty, hushed whispers.

You didn’t need to know why. You were always going to say yes.

But Jeongguk explained anyway. He explained that he has a girlfriend, a real girlfriend, who isn’t from your world. That he hasn’t been able to see her nearly as much as he’d like to because he’s terrified of the backlash she could receive from being connected to him romantically.

You read between the lines—you have nothing to lose, at this point. There isn’t a day that goes by where someone online doesn’t have something to say about you, reputable or not.

He explained that in order to maintain the lie, no one in the industry could know the truth, not even Jeongguk’s bandmates. According to him, they wouldn’t understand why he felt the need to go to such lengths. You didn’t completely agree then, but having met Yoongi now, you get it.

His girlfriend knows about you, he’d told you. She knows who you are, knows about that night last year, and that she still agreed to let him ask you this. She doesn’t see you as a threat.

It stung, a little. Of course it did. You and Jeongguk may be friends, but you’ve always felt a hint of something else there. Maybe it was the kindness he’d shown you when you met. Maybe it’s just him. But you never said anything, convinced it was one-sided.

Clearly you were right.

Still, you want to do this for him. You care about him, and just because you can’t maintain a stable relationship doesn’t mean Jeongguk doesn’t deserve a chance at one.

You think, if Yoongi knew, he’d feel the same.

★ ★ ★

Five years down the drain, Yoongi thinks. Ashes his cigarette. Oh well.

Honestly, it’s not even really about you, although Yoongi would love to pretend otherwise. If he pins it all on you, it makes his mission to get rid of you all the more noble. The label breathing down his neck. The impending deadline of an album he doesn’t know if he can write. Dongsaengs that don’t know how to stay out of trouble. If it’s all your fault, it can’t be his.

This—the smoking—was bound to happen, with or without you. You just helped the process along.

He’s perched on his windowsill, puffing his way through cigarette number two, when his phone buzzes next to him.

Namjoon doesn’t call him nearly ever. Yoongi has a way that he likes things done, and Namjoon is probably his only friend that actually respects it. Emails for work. In-person or texts for personal shit. Video calls never. Phone calls only if Yoongi needs to hear it now and there’s no other way.

Yoongi picks up.

“Joon-ah?” Cautious. He likes phone calls the least because phone calls mean trouble, like someone is in the hospital. He’s gotten that call before, more than once.

“Hyung,” Namjoon says. “Do you have a minute?”

Namjoon wouldn’t be asking that if someone was in the hospital, so Yoongi allows himself to unclench. Just a little. “Yeah, I have a minute.”

He hears rustling on the line, like Namjoon is fidgeting. But Namjoon is always fidgeting, so that could mean nothing.

“I figured, given the events of tonight, that it would be a good call to warn you ahead of time. I would’ve come by your apartment, but I’ve got meetings all morning tomorrow and it’s late. I didn’t want to wait until next time I see you though, so…” Namjoon starts, trailing off.

Yoongi works his jaw. “Spit it out, Joon-ah,” he says, because Namjoon is shit at delivering bad news. He’s always beating around the bush, trying to soften the blow. It’s great for the kids, but it makes Yoongi feel like he’s about to have to bury his first-born or some shit. Yoongi likes clear, direct.

Namjoon knows this, so he always gets it right on the second try.

“YN is going to the Jeju house with you guys,” Namjoon says. Clear and direct, but the absolute last thing Yoongi wants to hear right now.

“You’re fucking with me.”

“I’m not.”

“She has literally no fucking reason to be there, Joon-ah,” Yoongi grits out. The cigarette secured between his index and middle knuckles has burned down to nothing, singes his fingers. He hisses and flicks it out the window. “Is she going to help us write an album? Is that it?”

“Hyung—“

“No, she isn’t. She’s going to distract my lead singer the whole time and make the whole point of the trip fucking impossible,” he interrupts, because once he gets started he can’t stop. “Who signed off on this? Doesn’t she have a job? Isn’t there a goddamn camera that needs to be smoldered at?”

“Yoongi-hyung,” Namjoon says. He’s using his manager voice, and Yoongi shuts up instantly.

Namjoon uses this voice on the kids all the time. Realistically, it’s not a big deal. It’s his job. But he’s never had to use it on Yoongi before.

He deserves it, though. Yoongi knows that. He knows that he’s been insufferable ever since you showed up, and he doesn’t like it either. He’d wanted to talk to Jeongguk, to have a heart-to-heart with him about it, but that’s proven impossible given that you’re always around. And Namjoon is their voice of reason.

Yoongi tries again.

“I don’t like her,” he explains, keeping his voice level. “I don’t think she has Jeongguk’s best interests at heart. I’m just trying to look out for him.”

The line stays quiet for a long moment, like Namjoon is taking special care in choosing his next words. It would make Yoongi nervous, but that’s just what Namjoon does.

“Hyung, you need to leave it alone,” he finally says.

What the fuck.

Yoongi could have foreseen plenty of responses from Namjoon. He’s been on the receiving end of Namjoon’s sage advice more than he’s proud of. Yoongi worries a lot, and Namjoon is particularly good at quieting those worries, particularly when they pertain to the kids. And they usually do. But he sure as shit wasn’t expecting to be blown off like that.

“Joon-ah, Jeongguk is gonna—“

“Jeongguk is a grown man. He’s fully entitled to make his own decisions, and you need to respect that if you don’t want to lose him.”

Lose him? Is Yoongi going insane? Is he fucking missing some integral piece of this puzzle that everyone else seems to have?

The notion of losing Jeongguk is completely absurd. How could he lose Jeongguk over something like this? Jeongguk, the college freshman with the huge eyes who followed Yoongi around like a puppy. Jeongguk who sang so softly when Yoongi asked, who beamed with pride when Yoongi told him he had something special. Jeongguk who dropped out alongside Yoongi, took a risk because he trusted his hyung to take care of him.

It was Yoongi and Jeongguk before it was anyone else, and Yoongi has never let Jeongguk down once, won’t allow himself to. This is the thing that’s going to change that?

“What are you even talking about?”

“Just… leave this one alone, Yoongi,” Namjoon sighs. “She’s coming whether you like it or not, and you need to at least pretend to play nice.”

Yoongi doesn’t appreciate being treated like a child who’s the cause of his parent’s headache, not by Kim Namjoon. The label dickheads are one thing, but the one person Yoongi has entrusted with everything for the past five years? Before that, even? Fuck that. Namjoon doesn’t talk to him this way, and that’s not about to change because of you.

“Namjoon-ah, if you’re going to blow me off, at least put my cock in your mouth and do it right,” Yoongi spits, hanging up before he can think better of his words.

Fuck.

Yoongi hasn’t bitten Namjoon’s head off like that in a long time. It doesn’t feel good to be back in old patterns like this. Yoongi knows why he doesn’t trust you, but he doesn’t know what it is about you that makes it so—urgent. Like he’s a wild animal primed to bite. To hurt. Yoongi isn’t that guy.

If what Namjoon said is true, if Jeongguk really is at risk of slipping through Yoongi’s fingers, he has to get his fucking act together. He has to try harder to handle this like an adult.

So, you’re coming to Jeju. Fine. Yoongi can be civil.

Even if the only way for him to be civil is not to speak to you at all.

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allbark-no-bite · 6 months ago

Text

don’t write checks you can’t cash.

jake seresin x reader (wc: 3.6k)

summary: jake seresin is under your skin. or maybe you’re under his. either way you’re going to eat each other alive. jake isn’t about to take the fall

warnings: mentioned age gap, heavy sexual tension (the smut is coming i promise)

author’s note: back on my topgun bullshit bitches (respectfully). i’m not usually one for multi part fics but i actually wrote something with plot for once so please just bear with me. loosely inspired by Zach Bryan’s ‘nineball’. please note this fic title is subject to change bc i hate it

(you can read part 2 here!)

————————————————————————

You don't believe in love at first sight. You think the whole concept is some foolish idea that people who have already fallen in love have the liberty of saying they believe in. Then people who have been through failed relationship after failed relationship are convinced that they're never going to fall in love because it just doesn't happen. The whole idea pretty much just sets the rest of the population up for failure from the start.

Even the concept of finding the right person one day and growing to love them is hard for you to grasp. Because how can you love someone that much? How do you know you love them enough?There are some days that you don't enjoy the presence of even your closest friends for very long, friends who you would do anything for. Even family, you only tolerated so much.

Your high school boyfriend hated that about you, the fact that you realistically needed so little of him—or anyone for that matter. You have always been violently independent, able to provide what you require, and therefore having to maintain a simplistic relationship became nothing but a monotonous task. Even most of your closest friendships faded with time.

Eventually, you prosed the question: what can someone else give me that I cannot give myself?

The answer was companionship. Because when you strip away everything from a person and all they have left to offer you is themself, you have to be willing to choose them. And sometimes that's not the most appealing quality.

Something did happen, the first time you made eye contact with Lt. Jake Seresin, but it was far from love. It was something terrible in your chest, like an aching. Like you knew in your gut that he was going to change your life. Good or bad, you didn't know, but it was certain to happen.

You don't even believe that you two were destined to meet — you just happened to, and in that moment, the damage was done, it was your fate to ruin each other.

——

You like the way he says your name. You like that he says your name on purpose, like he is intentionally seeking out reasons to say it. It's not as harsh sounding coming from his mouth.

"You from around here, [L/n]?"

You're wiping down the glass hatch of your F/A-18 when he approaches you from behind. You swivel your head to catch sight of him behind your back but he's already making a wide circle around you, his chin tipping up then down as he inspects your plane from behind his tinted aviators.

As you watch him scrutinize your aircraft, you regard him with a certain level of apprehension. Jake Seresin was nothing short of gorgeous. He was six feet of bronze skin and lean muscle, withbright green eyes, and a movie star smile. Not to mention the southern accent that had girls drooling over him.

"Austin," you correct him. "Austin, Texas."

You'd been transferred over to Miramar a little over a month ago, becoming the newest addition to the Dagger squad. California was a nice change of scenery, and everyone you had met so far had welcomed you with open arms. That is, everyone but Lt. Seresin— Hangman as they called him. You were still trying to find your footing with him.

You genuinely don't know what his problem is with you. The guy had hardly even given you a glance since the moment you'd arrived. Your first guess would have been that he was one of those dickheads who didn't like women working in the field, but his relationship with Phoenix disproved that theory.

Your answer seems to warrant his attention, and he looks up. His expression twitches at the correction but he doesn't say anything in response. For the first time since you arrived at Miramar, still, unsmiling green eyes catch yours from across the aircraft.

You hold his gaze. After a moment, your stomach twists in an unsettling way, like even it doesn't know what to do with itself. Your first instinct is to look away. Your brain is telling you that if you do, you can avoid any sort of confrontation that may happen as a result. But it's like you can't.

This is the first time he's looked at you, and now you don't dare to look away.

Even from behind the tint of his perfectly polished aviators, you can make out the distinct color of his green eyes. They're so distracting that you have to remind yourself to breathe.

After what feels like eons of uncomfortable staring, he breaks your gaze —surely it couldn't have been longer than a few seconds. Flustered, you glance around to see if anyone else has picked up on the affair. Fortunately, or unfortunately, you're not quite sure which, it's nearing 6pm and the base is on the better side of empty. It's a Friday evening and everyone is eager to head out for the weekend.

Someone clears their throat. Hangman is still standing there, hands shoved in his pockets like he doesn't have anywhere better to be. You want to say something but your gut is telling you that there's some sort of game going on here and you're not sure of the rules.

Finally, he faintly nods his head, as if to excuse himself, and turns to walk away. You watch his retreating back and relax a little, breathing a bit easier.

As you're turning back to your plane, relieved that the interaction is over, you hear him call back over his shoulder.

“The team is heading to the Hard Deck at nine. Don't be late."

And then he's gone, disappeared between one of the hangars.

——

For nine thirty on a Friday evening, the bar isn't nearly as busy as you'd expected it to be. You don't have to fight for a parking spot out front and there's not even a line at the bar. Other than a rowdy looking gaggle accumulating at the pool table, the atmosphere is pretty laid back. Looking around as you walk further in, there is a handful of people in civilians, but the majority of the crowd is composed of off duty aviators in their summer khakis.

You're about to head over to the bar top, where you were sure you had spotted Captain Mitchell, when someone shouts your name.

"Hawk!"

Your head swivels at the sound of your callsign, and you catch sight of Rooster beckoning to you over at the pool table. Immediately you recognize the familiar faces of the Dagger squad around him. You acknowledge him with a smile and head over to join them.

“And here we thought you were going to be a no-show," the brunette pilot chirps, his arm wrapping around your shoulder as soon as you're close enough. You lean into his embrace while touching his chest with a friendly pat of your hand. Bradley is by no means close to drunk but most definitely more than a little buzzed if you're going off of the smell of beer and lime on his breath and the occasional involuntary twitch of his mustache.

"I thought about it, but I can't keep letting you guys have all the fun," you laugh, holding out your other arm so that you can greet Natasha with a hug as Rooster releases you.

After hugging you, she presses a sweating bottle of beer into your hand. "Coyote bought everyone a round so I figured I'd save you one before the boys wiped them out. Sorry if it's a bit warm, you did show up fashionably late."

You playfully roll your eyes at her, taking the beer anyhow. "Thanks, Phe."

Payback places a large palm on the top of your head, diverting your attention towards him as he returns from the bar. "Don't let her fool you, we're just getting started over here. Rooster isn't even drunk enough to get on the piano yet."

Laughing, you glance over at the brunette aviator. "Now that I've been waiting to see. I hear you're quite the show, Bradshaw."

Since you transferred over to Miramar, you had been hounded nonstop to go out drinking with the team for weeks, and Rooster's infamous performance had been one of their key selling points. That and the fact that the owner, Penny, often gave them free drinks. Apparently she had a thing for Captain Mitchell.

Rooster grins, leaning against the pool stick in his hand as he waits for Fanboy to take his shot. "Let me get a couple more beers deep and I promise you won't be disappointed."

As you go about making your rounds to greet everyone else, you can't help but notice that there's someone missing. After you take a seat beside Bob to watch Rooster and Fanboy play, you glance around the bar a few times, convinced that you've somehow overlooked him despite the fact that the place isn't busy enough for that.

An almost disappointed feeling pulls at you despite how ridiculous the realization makes you feel.

After spending the better part of an half hour trying to push the feeling away, you finally spot a familiar head of blonde hair over at the dartboard. He's by himself, about three darts in and half a bottle of beer down. So much for the personal invitation, you think.

You watch as he throws a dart, practically without so much as aiming whilst contemplating whether or not you even have it in you to muster up the courage to face those green eyes again.

Without giving yourself the chance to back down, you swallow back the rest of your now warm beer and head over.

He tosses another dart just as you reach him, and it finds itself dead center with the previous three.

"With a hand like that, you should be kicking Rooster's ass over there in pool," you say as you come to a stop behind him.

Walking away from the dartboard, Jake turns to grab his bottle of beer from the table beside you.

"I'm not much of a betting man," he huffs, leaning back against the table. The muscles of his biceps bugle distractingly against the sleeves of his uniform.

You look back over your shoulder, watching from a distance as Fanboy's cue clips the eight ball and sends it ricocheting off the sidewall. He groans, and Rooster whoops triumphantly from behind him.

"It wouldn't be much of a bet. Even with his winning streak, I think you'd give him a run for his money."

Hangman takes a sip from his bottle, mouth lingering on the rim before he sets it back down and crosses his arms. "Rooster's all luck and no skill. The table's got a lean."

You raise your eyebrows at the confession, half laughing at his lax confidence. "Oh? And you would know this how?"

"C'mon, son. Fuckin' hit it in."

Body tense, his arm quivers ever so slightly and the pool stick bobs shakily in his hand. He closes his eyes and takes a breath in.

"I haven't got all day, kid."

He breathes out and breathes back in. The smell of cigar smoke and cheap beer swims in his head.

"What're you doin'?! Quit wastin' time."

He exhales, opens his eyes, and hits the pool stick forward. The white cue ball shoots out to the left, bounces against the eight ball, and sends it hurdling towards the side pocket. At the very last moment, it veers off to the left and falls into the back corner pocket instead.

The man standing on the other side of the table curses, his pool stick dropping to the ground, but Jake pays little mind to him. He straightens, looking around eagerly for the only set of eyes that matter. The grin falls from his face when he realizes the old man isn't even watching, too busy counting out his prize money and yanking out a ten to hand to the bartender.

Jake looks up at the clock on the wall over his shoulder.

12:57 am

"Dad, I wanna go home."

"Not yet, son. I've already got fifty put down on another round."

"Want me to show you?"

His offer makes you pause, and you can't help but cock your head a bit as you try to weigh out just where this is heading. For weeks he has acted as though you barely even existed and now you're engaged in the longest conversion the two of you have had since your arrival.

Jake finishes his drink and sets the bottle down whilst walking over to you. "Final offer. Take it or leave it."

You laugh a little before stepping back so that he can make his way to the pool table. "Lead the way then." But before you can make it too far, his palm finds the flat of your back, pressing you forward so that you're in front of him. You're glad he can't see you because your face flashes hot at the unexpected contact.

"I'm not the one playing, kid. I'm just going to show you the ropes."

"Oh, I didn't-"

Any objections you have about the situation are ignored as he pushes you firmly in the direction of the pool table and asks Payback for his cue. "Look alive, Bradshaw. Hawk is about to show you how this thing is done."

Straightening his wide shoulders, Bradley grins, smug and easy as you and Hangman approach the opposite side of the table. "And here I thought you were here to reclaim your throne now that I'm intoxicated."

Jake grins back. "You don't need to be drunk for me to do that."

Bradley's mustache twitches, but he's still smiling. "Sure."

Jake turns back to you, placing the pool stick in your hand. You can't help but think that his expression is all too confident for someone who has never even seen you play pool.

"Nervous?" he asks as you take the stick from him.

"Should I be?" you ask back, turning your head to watch as Rooster takes the liberty of breaking the rack.

He shakes his head, his green eyes glowing with a warmth that you've yet to see from him. "Not as long as you don't totally suck."

Seeing that it's your turn, you brush past him to stand at the table. "I guess I'll let you be the judge of that."

Thankfully you've played your fair share of pool and so you're able to hold your own for most of the game. Jake remains criminally silent as you play, arms once again crossed as he leans against a nearby stool, but you can feel his gaze burning into your back the entire time. It isn't until the end of the game and you've missed the same ball multiple times that he steps in.

"Shift left," he directs you. When you glance over at him, he nods his head as if to insinuate where you should move but doesn't move from where he's planted himself since the beginning of the game.

Hesitantly, you shuffle over a half step and take the shot. The ball comes closer than you have been but still hits the sidewall just short of the pocket. You huff in frustration, and Rooster steps forward to take his turn, sinking his second to last ball in the same pocket.

"I hope you're ready to buy the next round, Seresin. Looks like Hawk is losing her nerve," Bradley goads, unable to keep himself from boasting a little at your expense. When it comes to Hangman, he can't resist the chance to taunt him.

You roll your eyes at his comment, not bothered so much by it as compared to the fact that you're losing. When it's your turn again, you line up the ball and lean down to assume your position when Jake stops you.

All the sudden he's right beside you, palm pressing into your hip to scoot you to the side. "Move over." When you look at him like he's crazy, he huffs. "C'mon, do you want my help or not?"

It isn't so much of a question as it is a statement and the press of his hand against your side doesn't leave you much of an option and so you shuffle over to the far right side of the pool table.

Before you can even comprehend what's going on, he's leant over you, his impossibly tall frame pressed to your back so that he can reach around you and guide your hands. One wraps around your hand on the stick and the other cups your opposite elbow.

It takes everything in you not to jerk away, overwhelmed by his sudden proximity. Instead you try to focus on controlling your hammering heart and pray he can't tell how clammy your palms suddenly are.

"Hey, that's not allowed," Rooster complains. "Is that allowed?"

Coyote shrugs. "It's not not allowed."

Distracted by their bickering, his voice in your ear nearly makes you jump. "Hit the cue ball. Hard."

The lean press of his body is almost enough to distract you from the fact that he's done a god awful job of lining up the shot. There's not one alternate reality where you make this shot.

"You can't be serious."

He's so close that you feel him smile beside your ear. "Dead."

"Any day now," Rooster prompts, as if you aren't aware that Jake Seresin has been pressed against you for an uncomfortably long amount of time. And if Hangman has noticed the fact that your heart is fluttering erratically inside your chest or that your skin is flushed hot to the touch, he doesn't let on.

"I'm waiting," he reminds you, his voice placid in your ear.

Against your better judgement, you take the shot.

The white cue ball hurtles into the black eight ball with a hard clack and sends it flying across the table. It smashes against the sidewall, exactly as you had expected it to, and you release a breath of defeat. And then something unexpected happens. The ball slows, but instead of bouncing to a stop, it continues to roll left across the table. You all watch as it rolls directly into back corner pocket of the table.

"Well I'll be damned," Payback mutters aloud.

"Hell yeah, [L/n]!" Phoenix shouts, her loud and robust voice ringing out across the bar. "Shots are on Bradshaw!"

"Thanks buddy," Coyote laughs, teasingly grabbing the back of the brunette aviator's shoulders as he heads off for the bar.

Bradley waves them off, looking a bit miffed but still good naturedly accepting his defeat.

"How about it? You're a cold blooded killer."

Like a bucket of ice water being dumped over your head, the sound of Hangman's voice coming from behind you jerks you back to reality. You haven't even noticed that he'd stepped away. Something inside you twinges at the loss of his body pressed against yours.

You turn around to face him, your brain still trying to comprehend what just happened.

"How'd you do that?" you ask incredulously, your tone almost accusing. A deeper part of you wants to ask 'why did you do that' but the smile on his face stops you.

His top row of pearly white teeth that you glimpse is pristine, however brief, before his pink lips come back together in a more subdued smile. It's an expression that is so very genuine and carefree that it sends a spark straight through to your heart. You've never seen him actually smile before, and especially not at you.

"You're smiling," you accuse before you can stop the words from coming out of your mouth, half giddy at the discovery yourself.

Jake looks slightly away, turning his head briefly in order to suppress his smile before looking back to you. “Yeah? So?” His green eyes are twinkling as he says it, like he knows he’s been caught.

You jab the short end of the pool stick into the center of his chest, but he’s quick to grab it before it can find home.

“Up until yesterday, you could barely stand to even look at me,” you say.

He bites the inside of his cheek. “That’s not true.”

“So you’re saying that I’m seeing things.” You try to tug back on the pool stick but Hangman doesn’t release it.

“I’m saying you shouldn’t be seeing things.”

With that, a larger portion of the previous smile is gone from his face, a more sober look replacing it.

Just like that the spark fades. Even though you want to shut down, turn your back to his face and just walk away. You force yourself to keep talking, holding your voice steady. “I don’t think I’m following you.”

Inside you know exactly what he means.

His eyes flicker up over your shoulder but the Dagger squad has already moved on to crowd around Rooster at the piano.

You clamp your jaw together as he releases the pool cue and crosses his arms in front of his chest. It makes him look more relaxed than he is.

"Look, whatever this is—whatever you think I am, I'm not." He says this with the realistic conviction of someone who knows that even if it is, you can't. He says it like he’s trying to convince himself.

You’re not quite sure how old he is—barely thirty if you had to guess— but he’s older. Too old. Not to mention fraternization is deeply frowned upon.

"I know," you answer firmly. Because you do. Because even if it isn't, you want it, whatever it is.

He stares down at you with those green eyes, his pupils pinpoint sharp. After a moment he heaves a sigh and releases it, nodding his head. “So we’re in agreement?”

“Yeah,” you answer. “We’re in agreement.”

“Good.”

#top gun maverick #jake seresin x y/n #jake hangman fic #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin x you #jake seresin #topgun maverick #top gun fanfiction #jake seresin fanfiction #jake seresin fic #jake hangman seresin #top gun maverick hangman #hangman top gun #hangman x reader #hangman imagine #hangman fanfiction #hangman x y/n #hangman x you

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thatfandomslut · 11 months ago

Text

Get Her Back!

Regina George x Reader

Word Count: 2.3k

Trigger Warnings: messy breakups, toxic relationship talks, jealousy, language,

Request:

Hi can you write a fic about fem!reader being Regina's ex? Like they met and started dating during summer. Reader is from another town/state and Regina spent the summer there over some relatives house and they had a nasty break up but then a few months later reader's family moved to her town and she started at Northshore 😂 she sees Regina acting like a queen b before Regina saw her and she befriends Janis and Ian <3 anyways don't spare us all the drama hehe

Mean Girls requests are open.

(Y/n) sat beside Janis as the crowd parted and four girls made their way through the halls. With raised brows, she looked their way, despite Damian's pleas not to. There was Cady, the girl she had met alongside Janis and Damian in French class, a girl with wavy black hair without a thought behind her eyes, a honey-blonde haired girl who looked around at everyone, and Regina George, her summer fling from Newport, Rhode Island. (Y/n) was surprised to see Regina, and she wasn't expecting her to be so popular. Her icy glare surveyed the room as they landed on (Y/n)'s, widening when they made eye contact. Fortunately, (Y/n) had the sense to sever the contact and sit down.

"What was that?" Damian questioned, looking between her and Regina, who let her eyes latch onto (Y/n) for a few moments longer before she made her way to their usual table. Janis was looking just as expectant at (Y/n), but the girl shrugged innocently. She was new to school, she didn't want to be involved in all of the drama high school had to offer within her first week. "Girl, you better answer. I've never seen the Queen Bee break her icy stare for just anyone."

With a sigh, (Y/n) glanced up at him, then looked to Janis for help. But she was curious to understand their connection, too. "Let's just say that Regina and I met when I was staying at my grandparents and she was staying with her grandparents in Newport, Rhode Island over the summer. She left me at a party I didn't want to attend because a guy flirted with me, then ignored me when I apologized. Even though I was apologizing for something I didn't do. The official breakup was through a text." (Y/n) explained casually as she ate some of her pizza. She ignored the wide stares from Damian and Janis, knowing they had a million questions.

Leaning back, Janis tapped her knuckles dramatically on the table. "Okay, okay, so how did you end up in the same school as her?" She looked like she was going to burst if (Y/n) didn't answer her questions. She was getting so red in the face, that Damian had to remind her to breathe, but his actions were not effective. Janis was just too curious about how their relationship went down.

(Y/n) glanced at her nails before looking over to Janis with risen brows. "Unfortunate circumstances. Our fathers are doing business together." She stated simply. A sigh escaped her lips as she looked at her pizza, losing her appetite. "Regina wasn't all bad. She was just jealous. Like, when I think about her, I'm in between keying her car and making her lunch. Sometimes, I think about her, and I'm still enamored by her, but then I'm like 'No fuck her, she left me at a party for a guy flirting with me.'" (Y/n) hummed as she pushed her tray away slightly.

Now, Janis was going to explode. She already was ruining Regina's life with Cady, but what if she also messed around with her love life a bit, too? After all, that is exactly what Regina did when she had a crush on her in middle school. "It's kind of like… You want to make her feel jealous and sad over her loss." She associated as Damian eyed her. He always seemed to know when she was plotting. She made this face where her smile looked a little more sly than usual and her eyes narrowed.

(Y/n) blinked at Janis's statement as she nodded in understanding. A small, bitter laugh escaped her lips. "Yeah, 'cause I miss the way she kissed me and the way she used to make me laugh even though she didn't deserve me." She agreed before standing up to discard her food and trash. She didn't mean to be wasteful. but she wasn't feeling her meal anymore. She was too busy thinking about her ex who gave her a whirlwind of a summer and then provided a whiplash type of breakup. Thinking about Regina brought back the whirlwind feeling and the whiplash after-effect every time. It made her bitter. Janis could relate to that bitter feeling. She never got over what Regina did to her. From the kiss to 'Sissy Liz,' Regina's actions were inexcusable. "All in all… I want sweet revenge but I want her again, too." (Y/n) admitted shamelessly.

Janis smirked, leaning forward, and taking (Y/n)'s hands. She knew that Regina tensed at this because she saw it from her periphery. "We can make that happen for you. Do you see those girls beside Regina? The girl with big amber eyes is Gretchen, and the girl with wavy black hair is Karen… There's a party next week on Halloween… If you flirt with them, that will set Regina off." Janis stated, biting her lip excitedly. "Hopefully, this will set Regina George straight for you," Janis confirmed, winking at (Y/n). (Y/n) considered this for a moment. Finally nodding, Janis almost squealed before the three got up and headed to their next class.

On the night of Halloween, Janis and Damian helped (Y/n) get ready. And Janis had to try not to stare at herself. She understood why Regina was so into (Y/n). She kind of was, too. (Y/n) turned around in her very revealing devil costume, smiling over at Damian and Janis. "So, what do you think?" She questioned, wiggling her eyebrows over at them to get their opinions. Damian smirked over at her as he nodded in approval, but Janis was too stunned to speak. "I'll take your faces as a sign of approval." She said happily as she kissed the little cape over her shoulders. "I'll come right over once the party is over." (Y/n) promised, heading out the door, but not before blowing them kisses.

Regina was blown away when (Y/n) walked into the party, and she was taken aback when she saw Cady's outfit. Everyone screamed when Cady popped out behind the girl in red, but she couldn't say she was phased. She was used to Cady doing things that were out there. Still, she didn't stop herself from texting Gretchen and asking who invited Cady. Regina rolled her eyes when she saw that Gretchen pointed out Cady's crush on Aaron. This was obvious to her, but still, maybe she could kill two birds with one stone. She could make (Y/n) jealous and Cady miserable. Even though a bigger part of her wondered if making (Y/n) jealous was worth it. Until she turned to see a flustered Gretchen and a confident (Y/n).

Regina realized that (Y/n) was flirting with Gretchen. Her plans on getting Aaron back and making Cady miserable were put on hold, her eye twitching as (Y/N) soon moved over to flirt with Karen, too. Was this a game to her? Before she could react, she bumped into Aaron, who almost spilled his drink all over her. That was when she realized that making (Y/n) jealous was more important than making Cady jealous. "I was just looking for you," Regina smirked as she took Aaron to the side, acutely aware of (Y/n) and Cady staring with wide eyes.

(Y/n) felt annoyed as she watched Regina and Aaron flirt, but her heart sank when Regina kissed him. Her eyes landed on Cady, who looked heartbroken in the distance. Making her way over, she led Cady out of the house and towards Janis's. "Okay, that's it." (Y/n) spoke as she barged in. "We need to go farther. She has now officially gone after Cady, too." (Y/n) said, gesturing to the mess that was Cady right beside her, her thick make-up running down her cheeks as tears helped create pathways for them.

Janis cursed as she pulled Cady into her arms. "I completely agree. Let's run this bitch into the ground. She's always been like this. She takes everything too far." Janis gritted her teeth in frustration. She looked very angry, but (Y/n) was beginning to wonder if it was for Cady or because Regina had wronged her, too.

"So, then what did Regina do to you?" Janis looked up, horrified by the question. Damian's neck also snapped up, but his eyes were trained on Janis. Janis tried to get the attention off of her, but (Y/n) raised her brows. "Janis, this is important information. Cady and I have a reason, but what is for you? Why do you care what happens to Regina George?"

Janis flushed a bright red, realizing she wasn't going to drop it. "I guess I don't want to discuss it." She crossed her arms, falling back onto the couch behind her. Not wanting to make eye contact with anyone she slipped her mask over her face. This caused everyone to glance at each other and Damian shook his head at her. Janis knew that she was acting childish, but she didn't want to tell her new friends what Regina did to her. She was embarrassed about it, and she didn't want to lose her illusion as a confident lesbian.

"Janis, it's time," Damian ignored her protesting as he slammed a box down, grabbing a Bratz doll and a Dora doll. He then went on to explain that, once upon a time, Janis and Regina were best friends. He then went on to explain why they had stopped being friends. He explained how Regina had kissed her at a party, even though she knew how Janis felt, and then he explained how Regina outed her to the party-goers and then her class using a TY baby she named 'Sissy-Liz.' (Y/n) looked at the ground with her brows furrowed. "Now you know, Cady and (Y/n), you can never trust Regina George." And thus the revenge party began.

During lunch on Monday morning, (Y/n) ignored the looks that Regina gave her. She was mad at Regina for hurting Cady in an attempt to make her jealous. She was mad it worked, and she was even more upset that she used Gretchen and Karen to try to make Regina jealous. As Janis sat next to her, (Y/n) smiled at the girl before leaning over to wipe off the paint that smeared over Janis's cheek. At the action, she saw Regina storm out. So, in an attempt to finally talk to Regina, she excused herself and followed the blonde out of the cafeteria. "What's your problem, Regina? What the fuck is up with the Sissy-Liz and why did you kiss Aaron?" (Y/n) questioned loudly, stopping the girl down the hall.

Regina looked around at everyone with a glare, pulling (Y/n) into the classroom beside her, thankful it was empty. (Y/n) stared at her for a long moment as Regina glanced her up and down with a glare. In a weak moment, (Y/n) thought about pushing her against the door she just closed and kiss her. "What's my problem? You're the one flirting with everyone at this damn school. And why do you care who I kiss? You're the one who is all over Janis Imi'ike." Regina said Janis's name in disgust as she narrowed her eyes. Then it clicked in (Y/n) that Regina was, in fact, jealous. "Besides, I only kissed Aaron. It's not like we got back together. We talked that night and he likes Cady, for whatever reason." Regina looked away, pretending not to know why Aaron liked Cady. Everyone knew Cady was incredibly sweet and pretty.

Blinking, (Y/n) shook her head in slight frustration. "Wait, you and Aaron only kissed? Also, when are you going to realize that I only like you? I'm pissed that I still love you. You left me at a fucking party, Regina, but I'm still into you. And no matter how much you hurt me, I still want you. Do you know how fucked up that is for me?" (Y/n) sniffed as she tried to hold back her tears. She was not going to cry over this. Again. She refused to.

Regina's mouth was agape as she forced herself to look away from (Y/n). Her jaw clenched, and she felt her own tears welling in her eyes. Only these were real tears, not the fake tears she usually used on people. "I feel bad about leaving you at that party. I should have never done that. Last night, I had a reflection on the treadmill and I realized… I've hurt a lot of people. Most of all, I hurt you at that party because I was scared you would leave me for that college guy. I want to make it up to them, starting with you. I want a second chance." Regina confessed, not knowing how (Y/n) was going to react. "I want to apologize, first. So, I'm sorry." Regina swallowed thickly.

(Y/n) stood there in silence for a moment, thinking about how Regina had left her, drunk at the party with no one she knew. It had stung, but here Regina was, pulling out the stinger. Nodding slowly, she took Regina's hand, intertwining their fingers. Neither of them looked at each other, the silence becoming louder than either anticipated. "I forgive you, and I'll give you a second chance. But I can't just bounce back to being your girlfriend. You can, however; ask me on a date… I will only accept if you promise to apologize to Cady and Janis though. You don't have to do it this second or even today, but you still need to say sorry." (Y/n) said, her thumb running over Regina's knuckles.

Regina felt a bit odd, feeling soft like this. She knew it was the right thing to do though. She really cared about (Y/n) and hated seeing her and Cady rush to escape the Halloween party because of her actions. So, the expectation of apologizing to the girls was only fair. "Okay, I will. I promise. And thank you." Regina whispered. The two stayed there for long moments before they were finally forced to separate, having skipped their last two periods to stand together in silence. As they left, Regina gave (Y/n)'s hand one final squeeze, ready to try again with her. (Y/n) smiled with a nod, ready to tell Janis, Damian, and Cady all about Regina and her unexpected apology.

#regina george x reader #regina george #mean girls x reader #mean girls

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notjoelmiller · 9 months ago

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i cared

MDNI simon "ghost" riley x f!reader summary: three and a half years ago and an ocean away, he tore you apart. now he's turned up at your door. wordcount: 4.1k warnings: smut (fingering), drinking, AFAB reader, possible past dub-con (reader was in a bad mental state and simon knew), simon is a shitty guy in this, talk of hypothetical suicide, talk of past bad mental state (depression), mentioned PTSD, heartbreak on both sides, death mention (MW:III canon) a/n: hey remember when i said that my next fic would be joel and i posted a little insert. that was a lie! instead of working on that (12k word, currently) monster, i wrote something else. if you couldn't tell, i started this before the holidays and then forgot about it.

ao3

The house is much nicer than Simon anticipated. When he saw the New York City address, he had expected you to be crammed into a shitty 6th-floor walk-up. But no, not you. Instead, you have an honest-to-God three-story home with red brick delicately dusted with snow. You certainly couldn’t afford it on the 141 salary. He always suspected you came from means. This just confirms it. It just makes him wonder why the hell you decided to slum it in the services for so long.

It reminds Simon that he shouldn’t be there. You weren't made for that life and left for a reason. Who is he to ruin your peace?

He’s not alone on the street. Well-to-do families of strangers pass by, all watching the masked man observe their neighbor’s home. He can still turn around and leave you to the life you so clearly want.

Something shifts in one of the windows, the curtain being tousled by something. A dog. You got a dog– a golden retriever with sharp eyes and, evidently, an even sharper bark. The canine goes berserk, barking and howling and growling at Simon through the window. It’s Simon’s cue to leave, to leave you be with your semi-rabid, semi-domestic canine.

But before he can move, the curtain shifts again– pulled this time –and you’re there. You squint for a moment, surely wondering what masked freak is standing in your walkway like he owns the damn place. He lets you scrutinize him. It’s now or never. Either you’ll tell him to fuck off once you realize who he is or you’ll call the police on him, though it’s not like they would do anything after he calls Kate.

Instead, you disappear behind the curtain, your loyal steed of a dog following hot on your heels. In a moment’s notice, the large front door, with a gilded knocker and door knob open. You beckon him in. He follows, eyes trailing up and down your body once you’re facing away from him. You’re dressed casually but smartly in a short denim skirt and cashmere sweater. Simon’s never seen you in that getup before, even when going out to the pub.

“Shoes off,” you order, motioning towards the neat shoe rack next to the door. They’re all women's shoes of the same size. Simon’s shoulders relax, and he slips off his boots. It was for the best, he figures. His old boots would have just dragged dirt into your space. He takes off his mask too, hanging it up with his jacket. It’s nothing you haven't seen before.

Simon follows you into the sitting room– at least, that’s what Simon guesses the room is. It’s too neat for your taste, or his memory of what your taste is exactly. The couch and single chair seem untouched, the air still, like Simon’s presence is cutting through some sacred stillness.

You point to a couch and Simon obeys, sitting with his hands on his knees. Your eyes lock with his without granting him any semblance of your thoughts. Simon keeps his gaze soft, neutral. You can scrutinize him all you need.

You sigh, straightening your posture. A smile pulls at your lips. Your smile lines crease deeper than he remembered. Or maybe they always creased that deep.

“Tea?”

***

“He’s quite protective,” you drop two sugar cubes into a cup of tea. The spoon in your hand lets out a delicate tink as it hits the porcelain cup. You hand Simon the teacup, it’s just how he likes it. “Always has his haunches raised, even when he’s not working.”

Ah. A service animal. He’s surprised to not have put that together sooner. Always loyal, the pooch plants himself at your feet, gaze burning into Simon. If looks could kill…

“Your home?” Simon asks. He lifts the teacup to his lips and sips. Simon places the teacup on its saucer impossibly slowly. Simon can’t believe you’d trust him with something so delicate.

“I inherited it.”

A smile creeps on Simon’s face. Teacups and generational wealth. He always knew you were posh. Or whatever Americans call posh.

“You’re on holiday?” You ask.

“‘Tis the season.”

You hum. Your house is the only one on the block without some sort of holiday decor. Simon wonders if it was a pointed decision.

“And you came here.” Why?

He can’t tell you the truth. The fact is that every day since you left– all one thousand two hundred ninety-eight of them since John uttered to his fuming lieutenant that you just weren’t fit to serve any more –he’s ached. One thousand two hundred ninety-eight days of no contact. Of his only proof that you ever existed being a photo and a tear-stained note with one sentence scribbled in ink: John has contact info– emergencies only.

“I wanted to wish you a happy holidays.”

You laugh dryly, though it sends a pang of pain through Simon. He hadn’t realized how much he missed that sound. “Usually people send a card for that.”

You observe Simon with precision, like you never left the force, though the way you scratch Yogi’s belly unconsciously betrays the hardened exterior. It’s a glimpse into the last three and a half years. Of the woman you’ve become– so foreign to Simon. Foreign to your past self. Or not. Maybe this is who you’ve been all along, just hidden behind fatigues. Maybe the woman Simon thought he knew was just a farce. Rich girl playing army for a few years.

Maybe you joined the force just to fuck around for a bit. After a few years, you’d have stories to tell your socialite friends back home. Except, you didn’t get what you wanted, didn’t you? Simon knows well and good that serving, the 141, and him, as much as he doesn’t want to admit it, destroyed something in you.

You tap the porcelain of your teacup. It makes a pleasant ding. “Did John tell you where to find me?”

“No. Well–” Simon tries to tell you the truth without throwing his comrade under the bus. The truth was, John had indulged in one too many drinks at the pub one night and hadn’t locked his quarters. An envelope addressed to you sat front in center on his desk. “Not intentionally.”

It’s a satisfying enough answer. Only a small twinge of annoyance crosses your face before you hum. “This isn’t a guilt thing, right Simon?” You ask, “I didn’t do what I did because of what happened.”

“What we did back then, on the field,” Simon traps you under his gaze. His stare is aggressive, but he hopes it conveys the intense feelings he’s struggling with. “I can’t just leave it. That’s why I came.”

Simon doesn’t dare speak. He doesn’t dare breathe while he watches you process his words. It’s a load of crap, he knows it, and he knows you know it. It’s just a matter of whether or not you want to kick him out.

You smize, teeth coming out to tug at your bottom lip. “Have you ever had New York pizza?”

***

You order two pies, hushing Simon when he insists it’s too much. You were right. Two isn’t enough. Simon scarfs down one pie without coming up for air. It’s delicious. It isn’t until he’s four slices deep that he realizes that you, smiling widely at him, haven’t yet picked up your first.

You’re a gracious host– a natural, really. You perch yourself on the kitchen island, legs crossed in a way that makes your skirt ride so sinfully up your thighs. Simon doesn’t look of course, he’s a gentleman. At least, he is for the first bottle of the ungodly expensive red wine you procure. It’s then that you perch your leg on the counter opposite your spot on the island, right next to Simon. Old habits die hard– especially when inebriated –and Simon places a hand on your leg, massaging the skin of your ankle.

You pay no mind to Simon’s ministrations, though, lost in the domestic bliss and mindless conversations you’ve probably been drowning yourself in for the last few years. You wave the glass of wine wildly about, like you wouldn’t give a damn if it spilled all over your expensive clothes. It seems so natural for you. Simon wonders what you were ever doing with the 141 when posh city living fits you like a second skin.

Simon inches his hand higher up your leg as you speak. He doesn’t get very far, but it’s enough so that he can trace patterns into the soft skin of your thigh. It’s too much, though, because your eyes lock onto his. But you’re not mad. You don’t tell him to stop. Rather, you examine him, and in your eyes Simon sees what looks like mirth.

“I missed this,” Simon says. He cringes at the words leaving his mouth. He’s succumbing to the domestic bliss you’ve created, looking at the past through rose-tinted glasses.

You reach for a third bottle of wine and a corkscrew, furrowing your brow in thought while twisting the screw. “I didn't want to abandon you,” you say. Simon, watching you pop the cork off with ease, almost forgets that you’re talking to him until you lock eyes. He watches you sniff the cork, pause, then sniff it again before topping off your glass. You take a heaping swig, like that Pinot Noir worth more than Simon’s monthly pay is unremarkable. “I left for a reason, you know.”

Oh, Simon certainly knows. The rumors had been inescapable in the first weeks of your absence. All around base every soldier had entertained the question of what happened to the American chick in the 141. Simon had only so many threatening looks to give privates before curiosity got the better of him. He abated the desire to ask John for so long, but there was only so much longing he could handle coupled with the cacophony of voices asking the same thing he desperately wanted to know.

John didn’t flounder when Simon finally came to him, demanding to know why you left.

She was discharged.

Why?

For… mental reasons.

Simon lost his shit in Price’s office that morning. He collapsed onto the couch with a gasp, a hand grasping and squeezing his heart. His breath left him, but Simon was too bloody stupid to understand what the hell was going on until Price was handing him a brown paper bag.

Breathe, son.

“Simon,” you breathe, your saccharine voice the most tantalizing sound Simon has ever heard. You lean forward, your finger tracing the scar parallel to the cut of his jaw. You were there for it, saw the knife slice through his mask and the skin underneath. You bandaged it in the helicopter after, making Simon promise to go to medical afterwards. He promised he would. That night he closed the wound with superglue. “Why did you really come?”

Because you disappeared. Because Price said you were on the brink of becoming a statistic. Because I fucked up. Because I said things I didn’t mean and I thought that it killed you.

“Johnny’s dead,” he lies. But it isn’t a lie. It’s true, sure, Johnny’s been reduced to ashes and scattered in the Scottish highlands. But that isn't why he came.

“I know.” You sniffle. Christ, Simon’s made you cry. Nausea washes over him. A voice in his head screams, fix it, idiot! But emotions were never Simon’s strong suit. Instead, Simon reaches for the bottle and tops off your glass of wine, probably a bit more than he should have, but it seems like you need it.

You mutter a thank you and down a bit more than half of the glass. You come up for air and hiccup. “John told me.”

“Price?” He asks, as though there was any other John. Anything to get you talking rather than crying.

You nod. “He dropped by around Thanksgiving. Asked if I wanted to be there when you all…” You wave your hand in the air, “You know.”

Something ugly festers in his chest. Maybe if he actually went to a therapist, Simon could recognize what it is.

“You said no?” He asks.

“I didn’t think I could.”

Simon nods, holding your gaze in a way that he hopes conveys his sense of understanding.

“How’d it happen?” You croak. Your eyes are glassy, a reminder of the ever-looming threat that you could fall apart again. Simon reminds himself that you wouldn’t be crying if he had just kept his distance.

“Bullet in the head.”

You tense, your head flying to Simon. Your eyes are frantic, searching for something in his face. “He…he…?”

Christ.

“No, no,” Simon scrambles to get his next words out, “Makarov. It was-” His voice cracks. Unusual. “-was too fast to stop it. To save himself.”

You hum, slumping down like it’s comforting to you that Johnny had his life torn from his arms. Like it’s comforting that Johnny couldn’t go on his own terms, but on the terms of a Russian terrorist.

“You know,” you say like you know he knows, “Johnny’s the reason I got out.”

Simon shifts. Johnny never talked about your discharge, always responding to speculation like he was none the wiser. “He is?”

“Yeah,” you laugh. It’s deep and watery. “Things were…bad one night. He found me. Talked me through the night. Listened to me.” You throw your head back, eyes tracing imaginary patterns on the ceiling.

“He told Price?”

You nod.

“That was after we…”

You nod again. Simon feels sick.

“It had nothing to do with you, Simon.”

“I never thought it did.”

“Then why,” you ask, “did you bring it up?”

Simon shifts. “Thought it was relevant.”

You smile, though your eyes are still lined with tears. “Guilty conscience?”

“Of course not, love,” Simon laughs, hoping you buy it. It works, he thinks. You seem to deflate, slumping a bit. You take some time to think. Simon, panicking at the thought that your self-reflection could send him out the door, pulls out the one trick he has over you.

He lets your legs fall. They bang against the cabinets with a soft umph from your lips. Simon slides off of the counter and stalks your way. You watch him and put up no fight as he slots his wide body between your knees. You don't even complain as the parting of your legs forces your skirt to ride even higher.

Fingers card through Simon’s hair. He hums.

“Why did you do it?” You ask.

Simon tilts his head, and with the wine in his veins and your hand in his hair, the world spins. Your other hand slips under the hem of Simon’s shirt. Warm fingers graze the skin of his stomach and then side, before your hand settles on his back, palm splaying across scarred flesh.

“I–” Simon croaks, “–I felt something for you.”

You snort. Simon’s chest burns and he takes some deep breaths to calm himself. He imagines Price’s paper bag, inflating and crinkling over and over.

“You knew I would leave. That’s it, isn’t it?” You accuse with a gleam in your eyes. “I was in a bad place and was leaving so it didn’t matter if you hit it and quit it.” You laugh. “You got what you wanted without risking your position.”

“That’s not true.”

Your thighs bracket his legs, trapping him against you. Your words curl around your wine-stained tongue. “‘I don’t love you’. Isn’t that what you said Simon?”

“Love–”

You tense, thighs squeezing him like a vice. “Love,” you coo, the imitation of Simon’s long vowels curtles unnaturally on your tongue. “Love, love, love. You know Simon,” you wrap your hands around the back of his neck and lean into the crook of his neck. Your lips brush against his skin as you speak, “You say it, but you’ve never meant it.”

“I’m sorry,” Simon utters, his fingers slipping beneath the hem of your skirt.

“You’re not.”

He’s not. He doesn’t argue. He could– should, rather –but he can’t think straight with you this close to him. The scent of your perfume itches the deepest part of his brain. You never wore perfume when on duty, rather, always coated in the aroma of base-issued shampoo and sweat.

“I really cared for you, you know,” you whisper, your lips millimeters from his, them parting when his fingers rub you through the fabric of your underwear.

“I know,” Simon closes the distance, capturing your lips with his.

He pushes you back onto the counter, you let him, lets Simon cage your body like he has the right to. You groan into his mouth when he traps your bottom lip between his teeth and melt when his fingers slip past the hem of your panties, his fingers plunging through the wetness into your cunt.

It’s obscene— the noises you make as he thrusts his fingers into you. With his free hand, Simon pushes your skirt up over your hips so he can watch your cunt squeeze around him.

He slides his thumb up to your clit and you gasp. “Simon,” you moan. He nearly stops. It’s been years since he’s heard you say his name, let alone moan it. Fuck, Simon can’t help but grind his cock against the island counter, groaning.

It doesn’t take much to work you into an orgasm. Before he knows it, your moans become softer, higher pitched, and you’re coming apart, clenching hard on Simon’s fingers.

He works you through your orgasm, whispering praise into your ears. Simon gives you no time before pouncing, fisting his hands in your hair and devouring you. You wiggle underneath his weight, uttering something, but the words are lost into Simon’s mouth. He pulls away, his eyes meeting your expectant ones.

“What?”

“Upstairs,” you say, chest heaving. “My room is upstairs.”

***

Simon wakes before dawn. He’s lying on top of you, your strong breath rocking him up and down. Your limbs are impossibly tangled. He’s reminded of an identical morning, years ago, of what he did then, and what that choice led him to. But that was years ago. You were different then, broken. How was he supposed to know that his choice would make you shatter?

He untangles himself slowly. It feels like the process takes hours, though the sun fails to make an appearance by the time he slips out of bed. The clock reads four in the morning. That explains it. It also explains the way the room around him is spinning slightly. He’s still drunk– or at least buzzed –from the night before.

His pants are an easy find, discarded by the door. His shirt though… Simon spins around the room, eyes glazing over the space. He tries not to take anything in too deeply, too personal for this morning.

He spots his shirt on your vanity. Simon yanks it off, but something hard and heavy comes with it. It nearly drops to the floor, but Simon catches it before it can hit and wake you up.

It’s a perfume bottle, heavy and half-filled. Simon can’t suppress the urge of his half-drunk brain to sniff it. The scent— the scent of you —explodes in his synapses. He tosses a glance over his shoulder, ensuring you’re still asleep, before pocketing the bottle.

The dog follows Simon as he walks through the house. Luckily, as he slips on his shoes, the dog disappears into the rest of the house.

Simon lingers with a hand wrapped around the door knob. It warms under his touch.

“Are we doing this again?”

He flinches at the sound of your voice, “I ‘ave to.” Simon stays facing the door, though he doesn’t make a move to turn around. He knows how he must look to you, too cowardly to face you. He’s reminded of the last time he spent the night with you. He got out scot-free. What would have happened if you found him then? Simon can’t say for certain whether or not he would have left then, if you called out for him in the same delicate voice.

“Stay.”

“What?”

“In New York,” you say, voice dry with sleep. “With me. Get out of the SAS, the 141, all that bullshit.”

“‘S not that easy.”

“It is. I left. You can leave. Or you can stay and end up like Johnny–”

“What do you know about Johnny,’ Simon growls, turning on his heels. He straightens his spine, puffing his chest up like you’re a threat. Your dog buys it, growling and worming himself between you and Simon. You don't take the bait though. You honest to God laugh in Simon’s face.

“I know enough.” You step closer to Simon. The pooch gets the memo, clearing the way for you. Simon almost does the same, he wants to. Some instinctual part of his brain needs to cave to you. “You mean something, Simon,” you flick your eyebrows up, letting them drop immediately. It feels like a challenge, like you were asking Simon the silent question. Do you matter?

“You’re more than a soldier– more than a body on a field, waiting to drop.” There are tears in your eyes. You don't let them fall. Simon hopes you’ve finally realized that he isn’t worth your heartbreak. He’s never been, but at least your realization would stop his cruel cycle of him chewing you up and spitting you right back out.

“Come to New York, Simon, please. There– there’s a butcher shop up the block, they’re always looking for help. You said you used to do that stuff, right?”

Fucking hell. He had said it to you, years ago after a mission. Simon went drink for drink with Johnny and Gaz and got positively wasted. It was the night he first set his sight on you, when your tenderness sunk its claws into his heart and refused to let go. You didn’t know then what it would lead to. Simon did. Every love Simon had wilted in his claws. Why would you be different?

“Come here,” you plead, “Take the job with them. I can help you find an apartment or you can live with me but–” You grab Simon’s shoulders, tugging. It isn’t strong enough to turn him around, but he does. Your cheeks are wet and eyes glassy as you stare up at him. “Simon, it’s too late for us, but don’t let it be too late for you.”

Simon lifts his hand to your cheek, fingers grazing the plump skin. It slides to the back of your head and tugs– yanks you into his embrace as he crashes your lips against his own. The morning makes you soft though, as Simon nips your lips with his teeth, you melt, softening and slowing your movements.

It’s you that pulls away first, staring at Simon. You let him swipe his finger across your cheek, caressing you.

“Please,” you beg, kissing the palm of his hand.

Simon lets his hand fall from you. It sits achingly cold at his side.

It would be cowardly to leave you without a goodbye after forcing himself back into your life, even if it was for one night. Simon considers himself to be many things, but never a coward. Yet, standing in front of you, staring into your expectant eyes, words don’t come easy.

You step towards him. Simon steps back. The door knob presses into his back. His heart is pounding, the blood in his eyes deafening him. Your scent wafts his way, your perfume. The one whose bottle he knocked over, nearly let slip through his fingers and shatter. The one which you never got to wear in the 141. The one weighing down his back pocket.

“I shouldn’t have come,” Simon says.

He doesn’t look back. Not when you gasp his name. Not when he opens the door. Not when he walks down the snowy street.

Price and Gaz will ask about his holiday. They’re kind like that. In the cab to the airport, passing the bottle of perfume between his hands, Simon considers his answer. Single word answers are his forté, but won’t suffice with the prying curiosities of his captain and sergeant.

The answer comes to him when he sniffs the perfume once more.

In the coming week, when Gaz claps him on the back, he will ask, “How was the holiday, Ghost?”

Simon will answer, “I had a meal with an old friend.”

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley fanfiction #ghost fanfiction #cod fanfic #ghost x female reader

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santanasaintmendes · 4 months ago

Text

“might sound crazy but it ain’t no lie, baby bye bye bye”

part 6! to the Cosmic Girl Records

summary: the gang goes to watch the new deadpool and wolverine movie. . . without you? oh no, that can’t be right.

ollie bearman x reader & platonic!grid x reader

all photos are found on pinterest!

warnings: swearing, nothing too bad this time lol

a/n: wow. this took forever to finally get out bc i started so many other fics 😭 but here it is, it’s a bit short but enjoy!

landonorris has posted on his story:

liked by alex_albon, georgerussell64, charles_leclerc, carlossainz55, lilymhe and 5,292,402 others

landonorris: the gang is back 💪

tagged alex_albon and georgerussell64

view 11,482,493 comments

user1: uh oh, has y/n seen this yet 😬

alex_albon: 😰

georgerussell64: 😰

user2: may the 2019 rookies rest in peace 😔🙏

user3: rip lando he’s in for a mouthful

user4: why’s everyone freaking out

user5: just wait, give it a minute

unfortunatelyy/n: MF???

user5: and there it is.

unfortunatelyy/n: UMMM WHAT IS THIS

unfortunatelyy/n: WHAT HAPPENED TO OH I'M SORRY I CANT COME OVER FOR DINNER I’VE GOT A DOCTORS APPOINTMENT THIS FRIDAY

user6: OH NO.

user10: dawg’s dead fs this time 😔

user7: LANDO RUN WHILE YOU HAVE THE CHANCE 😭😭

user8: he’s probably left the country by now

landonorris: 😀

unfortunatelyy/n: PICK UP YOUR PHONE

landonorris: no.

landonorris: @alex_albon @georgerussell RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN

georgerussell64: YOU ASSHAT I TOLD YOU NOT TO POST IT

landonorris: YOU WERE LITERALLY THE ONE WHO TOLD ME TO POST IT

user9: oop 🫢

georgerussell64: i never took you for a LIAR

landonorris: @alex_albon you were there you believe me right?

alex_albon: . . . ummmm

landonorris: i see how it is i’m friends with a bunch of TRAITORS

user10: how does it feel to be betrayed by your best friends

alex_albon: 😶

unfortunatelyy/n: PICK UP YOUR PHONE

landonorris: omg i forgot about you

unfortunatelyy/n: oh you are so dead

liked by lilymhe, charles_leclerc, carlossainz64, alexandrasaintmleux, maxfewtrell, danielricciardo and 23,782,883 others

unfortunatelyy/n: whoever said revenge is best served cold clearly has never had chimichangas before

tagged landonorris

view 22,682,692 comments

user1: HELP SHES AT IT AGAIN 😭

user2: absolutely violated my poor boy 😔

user3: i fear he may never learn his lesson

landonorris: oh i hate you.

unfortunatelyy/n: just remember, you did this to yourself

landonorris: i hope you

user17: bro died mid comment

user4: his pr team got to him before he could ruin his life

unfortunatelyy/n: that’s what i thought punk

mclarenracingf1: 🖕

user5: LANDO?! 😭😭

user6: HE DID NOT LMAOO

user11: pr team probably took away his phone privileges so now he’s hacked into mclaren insta acc 😭

user12: lando rn: 🤓💻

user9: the side eye goes hard

user10: HELP WHERE DID SHE GET THESE PHOTOS

user14: she’s probably got a whole collection

| user15: mission: steal’s y/n phone

unfortunatelyy/n: 😓

user16: HELP HAHA

alex_albon: can you send me that second pic

unfortunatelyy/n: don’t even think about it, you’re next

alex_albon: 😨

alex_albon: @lilymhe your girlfriend is bullying me

user7: alex albon confirmed snitch

user13: at least he’s not in denial anymore

user8: can’t do nothing wrong in front of this guy otherwise next thing u know police are at your front door

liked by unfortunatelyy/n

lilymhe: do you deserve it

alex_albon: no?????

unfortunatelyy/n: HAH what a little liar

alex_albon: why do you hate me

alex_albon: no wait don’t answer that

alex_albon: wait i’m sorry

alex_albon: don’t embarrass me please

alex_albon: answer my texts y/n

alex_albon: please y/n

liked by lilymhe, charles_leclerc, logansargeant, landonorris, georgerussell64 and 23,832,993 others

unfortunatelyy/n: shhhh, my common sense is tingling, something you clearly don’t have

tagged alex_albon

view 11,482,399 comments

user1: the deadpool references, she is not holding back 😭

user2: dayummmm pop off queen

user3: can’t wait till it’s george’s turn i just KNOW she’s going to use the 2023 intro pose

alex_albon: HOW MANY TIMES DO I NEED TO APOLOGISE

unfortunatelyy/n: @landonorris ?

landonorris: do i have to

unfortunatelyy/n: yep

landonorris: are you sure

unfortunatelyy/n: YES

landonorris: fine.

landonorris: she only takes apologies in cash no card 💅🎀💋

unfortunatelyy/n: mhm that’s right

user4: HELP

user5: girl has homie in a chokehold fr

user6: the second pic 😭

lilymhe: what is that first pic 🤣

unfortunatelyy/n: alex tried to steal my car so I ran him over

alex_albon: THAT DID NOT HAPPEN

landonorris: y/n doesn’t even have her licence

unfortunatelyy/n: HEY WHAT DID I SAY

landonorris: im sorry 😔

unfortunatelyy/n: as you should be

georgerussell64: why do i have a feeling that i’m next

unfortunatelyy/n: my goodness, he has a brain AND feelings would you look at that

georgerussell64: oh you think you’re so funny don’t you

unfortunatelyy/n: i do actually

georgerussell64: 🖕

unfortunatelyy/n: 😘

user7: they’re never beating the siblings allegations i fear

unfortunatelyy/n: negative. i would rather die than be related to this child

user8: child 😭 i’m wheezing

liked by landonorris, alex_albon, lewishamilton, charles_leclerc, olliebearman, carlossainz55 and 6,923,749 others

unfortunatelyy/n: you look like something i drew with my left hand, which is coincidentally my non dominant hand

view 3,482,429 comments

user2: I KNEWWW ITTTT AHAHAHA I CALLED IT BITCHES

user1: HELP Y/N WHERE DID U FIND THAT SECOND PIC 😭😭

unfortunatelyy/n: dm me 😌

georgerussell64: nO STOP

unfortunatelyy/n: whatcha gonna do old man

user5: OLD MAN IM WHEEZING 💀

user6: so is george

user7: 😭😭

georgerussell64: call in the reinforcements @landonorris @alex_albon

unfortunatelyy/n: AHAHAHAHAHHA

georgerussell64: why are you laughing . . . guys? guys where are you

| unfortunatelyy/n: their loyalty lies with me peasant

georgerussell64: i can never win around here

unfortunatelyy/n: im glad you’ve come to terms with that

georgerussell64: OH YOU SUCK

unfortunatelyy/n: that’s what you get for being an ass

georgerussell64: IT WAS LANDO’S IDEA

unfortunatelyy/n: GASP

unfortunatelyy/n: WHAT

unfortunatelyy/n: jk i already know

user6: HELP 😭

georgerussell64: then why are u getting mad at me 😭

unfortunatelyy/n: cuz you’re fun to bully

georgerussell64: blocked and reported 🛑

unfortunatelyy/n: its ok you’re not the first

landonorris: she’s right 😐

unfortunatelyy/n: ugliness rears it’s head once again

landonorris: oh you are the worst

unfortunatelyy/n: 😘

a/n: tysm if you got to the end, have an amazing day xoxo santanasaintmendes

taglist: @ilivbullyingjeongin

#olliebearman x reader #f1 smau #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f2 #f1 #cosmic girl records series #santanaspeaks<3 #george russell #lando norris #f1 imagine #f1 fic #lando norris x reader #george russell x reader #alex albon x reader #2019 rookies #deadpool and wolverine #Spotify

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its-not-that-weird-blog · 5 months ago

Text

On the wrong foot

Matt Rempe x Reader

Summary: Maybe starting off on the wrong foot wasn't as bad as everyone thought…

Warnings: A little angsty but nothing to bad, enemies to lovers.

A/N: Due to the lack of Matt Rempe´s fics, here you have one, hope you guys like it. Sorry for any grammar mistakes, english is not my first language :) Let me know what you thought about this little fic

2.8k words

Being an intern for the New York Rangers has its ups and downs. Some positive aspects are that you get to do what you like (having fun on social media and forcing the players to make TikToks) and having free access to all the games in the season. All of that makes you grateful for this amazing opportunity, but there is one thing that makes this job unbearable..

And that is Matt Rempe, a cocky, 6'7" rookie who acts like he has the entire world in the palm of his hand. His arrogance and overconfidence make every interaction with him a challenge. He struts around the locker room, flaunting his height and abilities, often disregarding the efforts of those around him. His constant need for attention and validation only adds to the frustration, making what could be an amazing experience a bit of a nightmare.

Y/N and Matt started off on the wrong foot, meeting under the worst possible circumstances. It was the worst day of Y/N´s entire life. She had woken up late, throwing off her entire morning routine, and had to rush out the door without even grabbing a quick breakfast. Her day only got worse as she hurried to catch the train, only to miss it by mere seconds. By the time Y/N finally made it to the rink, she was frazzled, starving, and running on empty. That’s when she ran into Matt Rempe for the first time. Their initial encounter was less than pleasant, setting the tone for our strained relationship from the very start.

“You know this is a private practice, right?” Matt asked the poor frazzled girl.

“Yes, I am very aware of that,” she answered, chuckling. “You must be Matt, right? The new rookie?” Y/N asked, looking up at the lanky, very tall boy standing in front of her.

“Yeah, I mean, hard for you not to know, I guess... And you are?” Matt trailed off.

Y/N was taken aback, mainly because the team directors always made sure to let the new guys know who worked in what, especially in the media and marketing department.

“Oh, umm… I’m Y/N, one of the media interns,” she replied with a tight-lipped smile.

Matt raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “Media intern, huh? So, what do you do? Take pictures and post tweets?”

“Actually, I manage the team's social media accounts, coordinate player interviews, and create content for our marketing campaigns,” Y/N replied, trying to keep her voice steady despite her irritation. “It’s a lot of work and responsibility.”

“Right, sure,” Matt said dismissively. “Well, try not to get in the way.”

Y/N felt a surge of frustration but forced herself to stay calm. “I’ll do my best,” she said, her tone tinged with sarcasm. “And maybe you can try to remember who’s on your team next time.”

Matt smirked. “We’ll see about that.”

As he walked away, Y/N couldn’t help but feel a mixture of anger and determination. She knew she had to prove herself, not just to Matt, but to everyone. This internship was too important to let one arrogant rookie ruin it for her.

She brushed it off, but it still annoyed her the audacity of that boy.

°°°°°°°°°°°

A few weeks had passed since their first encounter and it has been a constant fight between Y/N and Matt, mainly because of Matt’s attitude towards her. December rolled around and the team´s marketing director told the staff that they needed to do a promotional photoshoot to use during summer break.

It was a chilly Tuesday morning, and the team was gathered for the photoshoot at an outdoor rink. The bright sunlight reflected off the ice, creating a beautiful backdrop for the shoot. Y/N had been working tirelessly to ensure everything was set up perfectly: the lighting, the props, and the shoot schedule.

Matt Rempe, on the other hand, seemed determined to test Y/N’s patience today. As the players gathered for their turn in front of the camera, Y/N called Matt over for his individual shots.

“Alright, Matt, let’s get started,” Y/N said, holding up a clipboard and checking the list. “We need you to do a few action poses first, then we’ll get some close-ups.”

Matt strolled over with a cocky and sarcastic grin. “Sure thing, but can I ask, why do we have to do this out in the freezing cold? Couldn’t you find a warmer spot?” Making his grin disappear and tuning his face into an annoyed frown

Y/N kept her professional demeanor. “It’s about the look we’re going for. The outdoor rink adds a unique touch to the photos. Plus, it’s only for a short while.”

Matt sighed heavily but positioned himself on the ice. As Y/N instructed him to perform a few drills and poses, Matt’s resistance became evident. He was slow to follow instructions, often taking a few extra seconds to reposition himself, and his expressions were lackluster at best.

Y/N tried to stay patient as she gave him clear directions. “Matt, please try to focus on the details of the poses. We need these shots to look sharp and engaging.”

Matt responded with a distracted nod but continued to make minimal effort. When Y/N asked him to adjust his stance, he grumbled, “I’m doing my best here, but this isn’t exactly my favorite way to spend an afternoon.”

Y/N took a deep breath, keeping her frustration in check. “Matt, I understand it’s not the most exciting part of the job, but it’s important for the team’s image. We need to get this right.”

Matt didn’t seem to take her seriously. He continued to make things difficult for everyone, giving half-hearted poses, shooting dirty looks at the camera, and maintaining his scowl. The photographer was visibly annoyed, and Y/N could feel the tension rising.

“Matt, if you can’t cooperate, we’re going to have to reschedule,” Y/N said, her voice firm.

Matt stopped his antics and looked at Y/N, realizing she was serious. “Alright, alright. I’ll play along. But can we make this quick? I’m freezing out here.”

With a reluctant nod, Y/N directed Matt through the remaining poses, this time with a bit more cooperation. Though his attitude was far from perfect, he made an effort to follow directions and get the shots done. Y/N was relieved to finish the session and hoped that Matt’s cooperation would improve with time.

Matt’s POV:

A few days after my awkward encounter with Y/N at the photoshoot, I was at the rink, trying to shake off the frustration of another rough practice. As I was heading to the locker room, Trouba stopped me in the hallway, looking a bit more serious than usual.

“Dude, you should leave poor Y/N alone,” he said, shaking his head. “You’re driving her crazy, and not in the right way.”

I raised an eyebrow, confused. “What are you talking about? I haven’t done anything that bad.”

“Really?” Jacob replied, his tone indicating he was unimpressed. “I’ve seen you giving her a hard time. She’s not just some intern; she’s part of the team’s media and marketing department. You’re making it difficult for her to do her job.”

I shrugged, trying to downplay it. “I didn’t realize it was such a big deal. I thought I was just being straightforward.”

“It’s not about being straightforward,” Jacob explained. “It’s about showing some respect. She’s working hard behind the scenes, and she’s under enough pressure already. You don’t want to be the guy who makes things worse for her.”

I sighed, realizing he had a point. I hadn’t thought about how my behavior might be affecting Y/N. “Alright, I get it. I’ll try to be more considerate.”

Trouba nodded, seeming satisfied. “Good. Trust me, it’ll make things easier in the long run.” He started walking back toward the locker room but stopped and turned around to face me again. “And if you have a crush on her, that second-grade bullshit needs to stop.” He winked at me before finally leaving.

As Trouba walked away, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I needed to make things right with Y/N. It was clear that my attitude needed to change, and I had to start finding a way to work with her, not against her.

And maybe Jacob’s right; I might have a little—just the tiniest—crush on Y/N. She’s a gorgeous, smart, and driven girl, and because of my little game, she probably won’t give me the time of day. But first things first, I need to turn around the relationship we currently have, or rather, the lack thereof.

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

The next day, Matt found himself lingering outside the media office, trying to figure out how to approach Y/N. Apologizing wasn't something he was used to, especially when he wasn’t sure how she’d react. But he knew he had to start somewhere.

Y/N was at her desk, headphones on, focused on editing a video from the previous game. She hadn’t noticed Matt standing in the doorway until he cleared his throat, causing her to look up in surprise.

“Oh, hey,” Y/N said, pulling off her headphones and sitting up straighter. “What’s up?”

Matt rubbed the back of his neck, feeling a bit awkward. “Hey, I just wanted to talk to you about the other day. You know, at the photoshoot.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, clearly curious where this was going. “Okay…”

“I realize I’ve been a bit of a jerk,” Matt admitted, his voice slightly strained. “I didn’t mean to make things harder for you, and I’m sorry for being difficult.”

Y/N blinked, taken aback by his sudden apology. It was the last thing she expected from him. “Well, that’s… unexpected,” she said, not quite sure how to respond. “But I appreciate it.”

Matt nodded, feeling a small weight lift off his shoulders. “I know I’ve been giving you a hard time, but I want to make it up to you. Maybe we can start over?”

Y/N studied him for a moment, searching for any signs of insincerity. To her surprise, Matt seemed genuinely contrite. “Alright,” she said finally, offering a small smile. “I’m willing to give it a shot.”

Relief washed over Matt, and he smiled back. “Great. Maybe I can help out with some of the social media stuff, or anything else you need?”

Y/N chuckled, the idea of Matt willingly helping with TikToks and Instagram posts was amusing. “We’ll see about that,” she said teasingly. “But I’ll definitely let you know if there’s anything you can do.”

Matt grinned, feeling a strange sense of satisfaction. “Deal.”

As he left the office, Matt couldn’t help but feel a bit more relieved. Maybe he’d been too quick to judge Y/N, and maybe, just maybe, there was a chance to turn things around.

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°|

Over the next few weeks, Matt made a conscious effort to be more cooperative and approachable, especially when it came to Y/N’s work. It wasn’t always easy—old habits die hard—but he was determined to keep his word. Slowly but surely, the tension between them started to ease.

Y/N, for her part, noticed the change in Matt’s behavior. He was still cocky and sarcastic, but there was a noticeable shift in his attitude. He wasn’t as dismissive or difficult as before, and he even started to show some interest in the work she was doing. It was a refreshing change, and it made her job a little less stressful.

One day, as they were wrapping up a content planning meeting, Y/N decided to take a chance. “You know, Matt, we’re shooting a new series of TikToks next week,” she said casually. “We could use a player who’s good on camera… Interested?”

Matt smirked, recognizing the playful challenge in her voice. “Oh, so now you need my help?”

Y/N rolled her eyes but smiled. “Only if you’re up for it.”

Matt pretended to think it over, then nodded. “Alright, I’m in. But only if you promise to make me look good.”

Y/N laughed. “Deal. But you’ll have to take direction without any complaints this time.”

“Fine,” Matt agreed, holding out his hand. “Shake on it?”

Y/N shook his hand, feeling a sense of accomplishment. It was a small victory, but it felt like a step in the right direction. Maybe, just maybe, this internship wouldn’t be so unbearable after all.

And as for Matt? Well, he found himself looking forward to working with Y/N a lot more than he’d expected.

°°°°°°°°°°°°°

As the weeks passed, the collaboration between Y/N and Matt grew smoother, and so did their relationship. They began to banter more playfully, their exchanges losing the tension they once had. Y/N started to see a different side of Matt, the side that wasn’t all arrogance and bravado, but someone who was actually fun to be around.

Matt, too, couldn’t help but notice how much he enjoyed spending time with Y/N. Her sharpness, her determination, and the way she handled everything with grace under pressure all intrigued him. The more he got to know her, the more he found himself wanting to be around her.

One evening, after a long day of content creation and practice, Y/N was finishing up some last-minute edits in the media room. The office was quiet, with most of the staff having gone home. She was so engrossed in her work that she didn’t notice Matt walk in.

“Hey,” Matt’s voice broke the silence, startling Y/N slightly.

“Oh, fuck!” Y/N yelped, “ Matt, you scared me!” she exclaimed, laughing as she turned to face him. “What are you doing here so late?”

Matt leaned against the doorframe, a small smile playing on his lips. “I was just wondering if you wanted to grab a bite to eat. It’s been a long day, and I figured you could use a break.”

Y/N blinked in surprise. This was the first time Matt had ever suggested something like this. “Are you asking me out on a dinner date?” she teased, raising an eyebrow.

Matt chuckled, his expression softening. “Yeah, I guess I am. What do you say?”

Y/N hesitated for a moment, then smiled warmly. “Sure, I’d like that.”

They ended up at a cozy little diner not too far from the arena, the kind of place that felt welcoming and unpretentious. As they settled into a booth, the conversation flowed easily. They talked about everything, from their families and childhood memories to their hopes and dreams for the future.

For the first time, Y/N saw the genuine person behind the cocky exterior. Matt was funny, thoughtful, and surprisingly down-to-earth. The more they talked, the more she found herself drawn to him.

And Matt? He couldn’t stop thinking about how beautiful Y/N looked when she laughed, or how her eyes lit up when she talked about something she was passionate about. He realized that this wasn’t just a crush anymore, he was falling for her, and hard.

As they walked out of the diner, the night air cool and crisp, Matt felt a wave of nervous anticipation. He knew he didn’t want this night to end just yet.

“Y/N,” Matt began, stopping in front of her. “I know we didn’t exactly start off on the right foot, but… I really like you. And I want to see where this could go.”

Y/N looked up at him, her heart skipping a beat. She could see the sincerity in his eyes, and it made her heart swell. “Matt, I like you too,” she admitted, a soft smile spreading across her face. “I wasn’t sure at first, but… you’ve shown me that there’s more to you than I thought.”

Matt took a step closer, his hand reaching out to gently tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “So… what now?” he asked, his voice low and hopeful.

Y/N’s smile widened as she closed the distance between them. “Now,” she said softly, “we see where this goes.”

With that, Matt leaned in, his lips brushing against hers in a tender, sweet kiss. It was soft at first, almost hesitant, as if both of them were testing the waters. But as Y/N responded, the kiss deepened, filled with a warmth and affection that had been building between them for weeks.

When they finally pulled apart, both of them were breathless, but smiling. Matt rested his forehead against hers, his arms wrapped around her waist.

“I’m really glad you didn’t let me mess this up,” Matt whispered, his voice filled with emotion.

“Me too,” Y/N replied, her eyes shining with happiness. “I think we make a pretty good team, don’t you?”

Matt grinned, leaning in to kiss her again. “Yeah, we really do.”

As they stood there, wrapped in each other’s arms under the soft glow of the streetlights, it was clear that this was the beginning of something special—something neither of them had expected, but both of them were more than ready to embrace.

#matt rempe #matt rempe imagine #matt rempe x reader #matt rempe x y/n #matt rempe fic #ny rangers #nhl imagine

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stitched-mouth-vs-the-world · 1 year ago

Text

Edge You To Death

Pairing: Undertaker x AFAB! Reader or Undertaker x Fem! Reader.

Summary: Undertaker loves ruining your orgasms.

Warnings: NSFW, Smut, Casual sex, Undertaker and Reader have a weird ‘situationship’, Age gap relationship, Mention of pedophila (not in reference to Undertaker! UT is not a pedo!), Reader is unaware Undertaker is a reaper or of what he does for Ciel, Reader has MY personal thoughts on pedophila (I don’t think they are controversial but just in case you don’t wanna here it skip the introduction), Oral sex (fem receiving), Edging, Daddy kink.

Writing Time: 1 hour.

Word Count: 1,317.

Format: Kinktober Fic, Day 20.

A/N:

I kinda forgot wtf I was doing here.

Most of my Kinktober works were written well in advance, but this wasn’t one of them. I wrote this 2 days before it was due. My requests are pilling up but I should start prioritising these now. I doubt I’ve gotten that Matthew Patel request done yet, I planned to do that when I got the requester’s first message about it, sent the same day I got the request, but not anymore. Sounds a lot like a request got ages ago on my previous account but deleted when I started feeling harassed by the requester. This is more for the Matthew Patel requester than anyone else but yeah… don’t harass people about requests especially if it hasn’t been that long since you sent it. Everyone, harass me over a request and I’ll just delete it. You can send one reminder after a week and that’s it. Anymore and I delete. I usually have requests done in a week or two and those kinds of messages just destroy my motivation.

Anyway! Please enjoy this Undertaker smut.

Here are my other Kinktober 2023 works.

—-///—-

You had been feeling dam good since you started sleeping with the Undertaker.

You had new relationship jitters, even if it wasn’t really a relationship. He was what you had fantasied about for years. An older gentleman who was kind and treated you like a Queen, but also open about wanting to ravishing you. With his age also came along a lot of life and sexual experience, a lot more than you had. He never mocked you for knowing less than him, he was just happy you wanted to know and happily taught you a lot.

Whilst age gap relationships have always been common and considered normal prior to the Victorian era, it was slowly becoming distasteful. Something many were unhappy with but also many other who were happy. Undertaker, years ago, would have been in favour this but with you now… he was in the middle and uncomfortable with it. Surely you and his relationship was ok because you was definitely an adult.

You were pretty set in stone on the matter. To you, age gap relationships were bad, unless it was you. You were a young woman who would never say no to an older man, even when you was a girl. You knew your exes were absolutely pedos, but you didn’t care as long as it was just you they were after. And no you didn’t consider yourself a victim.

You didn’t think of Undertaker in the same way though. You was an adult when you met him therefore wasn’t bad for perusing you. Well, you perused him but it didn’t matter.

Right know you was doing some dusting in the front of Undertaker’s shop, he was in the back. The first thing you took notice of when you first met your lover… was how nasty his shop is. It’s always covered in dirt and stinked of death. Obviously it would smell of death, it’s a funeral home, but the dirt was unnecessary and you was surprised that Undertaker had tried to do something about the smell. You figured he’s probably gotten used to it now and gone nose blind.

Once you had cleaned to a satisfying amount, you heard the bell go. You looked up and saw the familiar Earl Phantomhive and his butler. The young boy always looked so dam miserable, it depressed you. You didn’t like interacting with either of them and they never seemed to want your help, so you called your bedmate.

Undertaker came into the room, happy to deal with the Phantomhive and his butler. You was aware the two engaged in a different kind of business than coffins or funeral services, but it was none of your business what their business was. So you wasn’t going to ask…

Instead you headed out of the room and upstairs to bed, it was late and you knew Undertaker would join you after he was done with his ‘business’.

—-///—-

“Sort out the Earl?” You asked.

“Yes, Dear.” Undertaker smiled as he climbed into his bed, next you.

You sat up immediately and glared at him, “How many times have I told you Undie?! No sleeping in your day clothes!”

He laughed as you pushed him out of his own bed. Yeah, Undertaker had a bad habit of sleeping in his day clothes. He didn’t own PJs until you came into his life, nearly a year ago now.

“Ok! Ok!” Undertaker walked over to his drawers to fish out his sleepwear.

Once he did, he placed them on the end of the bed and looked down at you. You gave him a small smile, suddenly remembering this was his home and his bed and who are you say anything about how he sleeps? After all, you’re not even dating.

Undertaker grinned widely at you and slowly started removing his cloak. Ah, he was trying to indicate something.

He slowly stripped completely in front of you before getting back on the bed and crawling onto you. You kissed his lip gently and took hold of his arms, but Undertaker shook your hold off his arms and grabbed your face to pull you even closer to him, deeping your kiss. He quickly slipped his tongue into your mouth, desperate for a makeout session.

You moaned in between the kisses, you were started to feel a growing sensation in between your legs. If not dealt with quickly, it would become uncomfortable. Luckily for you, Undertaker could sense your arousal and was more than willing to help.

He let go of your lips and before you could even whine or complain, he was pulling the duvet and sleep shorts down and licking your lower regions. You made your hands comfortable, pulling on the pillow under your head and proped up your legs and planted your feet into the bed.

Undertaker ate you out like a mad mad. Sucking, licking, spitting and groaning like crazy. Your pussy and it’s sweet smell made him act unusual, way less calm and in control than usual. This was something you was proud of. You had the power (or pussy) to make Undertaker lose all composure.

You started to feel less prideful about your achievement as you started to feel yourself losing to Undertaker’s tongue. Your whimpered had become cries and moans, you begged him for release but you should of known better. It would be a long while before you got that.

Undertaker grinned evily against your cunt then looked up you, just go get a glimpse of your flustered expression. Having wait himself for release was a sacrifice he was willing to make if he got to see you cry and beg him for climax. He absolutely got a weird power trip from it.

“Oh please… oh please Daddy, I need to cum now!”

“Nu uh uh! You don’t get to cum until I say so, Dearie!”

You were still staring up at the ceiling and unable to look down, but you didn’t need to look down to know Undertaker was wearing his usual evil wicked grin. He always had that look when he was planning to edge you to death.

#stitched #stitched talks #stitched mouth #stitched writes #stitched’s kinktober #kinktober 2023 #kinktober #black butler #kuroshitsuji x reader #kuroshitsuji smut #kuroshitsuji #kuroshitsuji undertaker #black butler x reader #black butler smut #black butler undertaker #undertaker x reader #undertaker #undertaker smut

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louloulemons-posts · 1 year ago

Text

Tea and Toast

Eddie Munson X Reader

Summary : Eddie shows up at your house in the middle of the night.

Word Count : 1.1k

Warnings : Not proofread, another 2am fic, angsty, happy ending?, reader isn’t described with any pronouns or psychical features, Eddies dad, Eddie gets hurt, physical assault, talks of Eddies mom, sad Eddie, cuts and bruises, reader takes care of him.

A/N : This one is a heavy one, so please don’t read if you don’t feel comfortable 🤍

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

“Baby,” you hear, brain foggy with sleep. Whining in reply, you try to block out the noise. “Sweetheart,” you feel your body being shook.

You’re awake, rubbing your eyes, to wake up your mind. Looking around in the darkness you find Eddie. “Hey,” you say, voice thick with sleep.

Pushing up, you look at him, leaning over to your lamp. He stops your hand. “Eds?”

“Just leave it off.”

“What are you doing here, thought you weren’t coming over tonight?”

“I know, I’m sorry I shouldn’t have come.” He stood from your bed, but you pulled him back gently.

“You know you’re welcome anytime,” you said softly. You pulled him closer to you, “But I know you, and I know you wouldn’t show up at,” you paused and looked at your clock, “2am, randomly without a reason.”

“I couldn’t stay there,”his voice broke.

“What?” you instantly become concerned.

“Im sorry I didn’t know where else to go. He showed up and Wayne’s at work and I-I couldn’t,” his breathing sped up.

“Hey, hey slow down it’s okay. You’re safe,” you pulled him into your arms. Rubbing his back and playing with his curls the way you know he loved. “It’s okay Sweet boy, I’ve got you.”

Slowly you felt him calm down. “My dad,” he began, you didn’t rush him, “I got back from dropping you home and he was at the entrance of the trailer park.

“Wanted to talk to me. To Wayne. Started yelling, saying we ruined his life, his reputation. I tried to get him to leave but he wouldn’t … a-and then … then he um ..”

“Baby did he hurt you?” you asked carefully, not wanting to overwhelm him. He nodded into your neck, letting out a sob. “I-if he wasn’t being so loud, and the neighbours didn’t come out … I just shut down … just like I used too.”

“It’s okay. You’re okay. You’re safe.”

“One of the guys at the front of the park threatened to call the cops and he bolted.”

“Cause he’s a coward,” you didn’t like bad mouthing people, but Al Munson was the worst.

“Eddie my love, will you let me see your face?” you softly kissed the top of his head and he nodded, sniffling. Pulling back slightly, but not letting go, you turned on your lamp.

Looking at his face, tears came to your own eyes, “Oh my baby, let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?” leading him to your bathroom, you pulled out your first aid kit.

His lip was popped, the side of his face bruised, he had a black eye coming and his eye brow was cut. “Can you sit here for me?” you motioned to the closed toilet. He sat on the lid silently.

Making your way to stand between his legs, “This is gonna sting,” you spoke, antiseptic wipe in hand. He hummed, you tried to be as careful as possible, touching his eyebrow, but he let out a hiss.

“Sorry, oh I’m sorry baby. I know it hurts.”More tears fell but you knew it wasn’t out of pain, well not physically, this was in his heart. “Why does he hate me?” he sobbed, resting his head on your stomach.

“Because he’s an awful person. You are everything he could never be. You are kind and loving and sweet and gentle. He is a mean man, a broken man.”

“H-he said it was my fault mom-“

“Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare listen to him, it was not your fault, it wasn’t anyone’s fault.

“B-but he said-“

“I know, but that is because he is a broken man who never learnt how to deal with his emotions. He didn’t talk about your mom and took out all his feelings on you, but Eds you were a baby.

“You were your moms pride and joy, she would hate the way he’s treated you. You have such a good heart and soul, and you honour your mom everyday by being so strong and kind,

“The way you look after Wayne, the kids, me. She’d be so proud. So please do not listen to a thing that nasty man says.”

He calmed in your hold, still holding you tightly. “I love you, thank you for being here,” he said, pulling away from your tummy, his face now splotchy and swollen with tears.

“I will always be here. I love you so much.” You kissed his lips softly, not wanting to hurt him anymore. “Tell you what, if you’re feeling up to it in the morning, we can go and talk to Hop. Tell him what happened, how does that sound?”

“You’ll stay with me?”

“Always. Now let me finish cleaning you up.”

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

Eddie had changed into a pair of clothes he’d left here, whilst you went to make him some toast and tea. Something your mom did whenever you were upset.

You also decided to call Wayne’s work place. “Hello?” an unfamiliar voice answered, clearly tired. “Hi, um I was wondering if I could talk to Wayne Munson please.”

Soon enough you heard his voice, “Munson,” he said simply. “Hey Wayne it’s me.”

“Oh hello Honey, is everything okay?”

“Not really,” you then explained the events of the night. “Is he okay?”

“He was shaken up. I’ve cleaned him up, we’re going to talk to Hopper in the morning. I just wanted to tell you so you could be careful, keep an eye out for him”.

“Well thank you for letting me know. Just … tell him I love him okay, and thank you for taking care of my boy.”

“I always will Wayne, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You wandered up to your room, finding Eddie sat on the bed, legs crossed, eyes skimming across your bookshelf, to keep himself distracted.

“Hey,” you said softly, not wanting to make him jump. “Hi,” he smiled weakly. Passing him the plate and the mug you sat next to him, sipping your own drink.

“I spoke to Wayne, just so he can keep an eye out. He wanted me to tell you that he loves you.” Eddie paused mid bite, almost choking.

“Really?”

“His exact words, he loves his boy. I love him too,” you nudged his shoulder.

“I love you.”

The rest of the night was quiet, you and Eddie drank your tea and ate toast. He lay on your chest, listening to your heartbeat, as you played with his curls.

Soon his soft snores were filling the room. He would be okay. He was surrounded by love, maybe not Al. But Al didn’t deserve him.

People like you, Wayne, your friends. Those were the ones he needed. His family, definitely strange and not at all normal, but a family nevertheless.

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

Thank you so much for reading! Please leave any requests 🤍

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writerslittlelibrary · 1 year ago

Text

I will help you

masterlist

summary: when your parents went to jail, you started your life in the foster system. it was never very great, and you ended up with an amount of bad coping mechanisms. to help you, you were put in a psych ward, and who happens to be your personal nurse? the woman who will stop at nothing to adopt you…

pairing: Dark!Natasha x foster teen reader

warnings: mentions of self-harm, mentions of abusive foster families, hints of kidnapping, mention of murder, mention of abuse, drugs, reader is basically not very happy…

genre: fluff, angst

words: 2884

a/n: this fic was inspired by @xanthreee thank you lovely for the suggestion and I hope you enjoy it 🫶

(please note I have no idea how psych wards work, so if anything is incorrect, I’m so sorry)

You do not have my permission to repost, copy or translate my work

|——————————— ⴵ ———————————|

You don’t remember much from that night. You suppose that’s how your brain protected itself from everything that happened.

You remember the sirens, and you remember the police that invaded your home. They carried guns and were dressed in full protection gear. It was scary. That’s what you do remember. The feeling you had the moment your entire life was ruined.

Sure, your father was never a great man, and sometimes he’d hit you, but he did it because he loved you. He needed to discipline you, because he cared. That’s what he told you.

You never thought he was capable of something so vile, so sickening. And you could’ve never predicted your mother helped him.

You knew your father was aggressive. You knew he had sickening thoughts, but the fact he’d murder someone, just for his own enjoyment? You would’ve never thought your father was capable of such a thing. And the fact your mother helped him hide the body? You couldn’t possible process all this information at once.

When you were put in the interrogation room at the police station, a man and a woman kept asking you questions. Had you known? Were you told to keep certain things a secret?

You hadn’t told them much. How could you? You were never allowed to tell anyone you were being hit at home. You were never allowed to tell anyone your father had some weird powder lying around.

You were only 9 when it happened, but it had made an impression on you.

The foster homes weren’t better than your home had been. At least you loved your parents, but now? These foster homes had people even more aggressive than your dad had been. They didn’t hit you to discipline you, they just did it because they felt like it.

After being in the foster system for 4 years, your mental health started to go down hill. You never really visited your parents.

You were mad at them, and you refused to let that anger slide.

After the police found a certain document, and you were called into the station to discuss it, you finally broke. That was the last straw.

The police had found plans to pay off a debt your father had with some high important drug dealer. Apparently, he had wanted to use you as payment. Had the police not found the body when they did, you would’ve surely been in a much worse place then you were now.

After learning that new piece of information, you broke. Your mind became darker than it already was, and your wrist became daily stained with fresh red blood.

You had no control over your own life. Decisions were made for you, and you were thrown around from foster home to foster home with no care in the world. You didn’t have anyone that cared about you, and you needed a relief.

Self-harming gave you back some control. After not having any control for so long, you gave yourself control over at least something, the pain.

Controlling the pain worked, until you turned fourteen, and you became suicidal on top of it.

You started skipping school and laying in bed all day. You never did anything anymore. Your days consisted out of self-harming and scrolling on tiktok.

You don’t exactly know how it happened, or when, but at some point, your foster parents had notified your case worker, and she had come to pay you a visit. Apparently, when foster children in your situation experienced mental health issues, and started showing signs of depression, you were immediately put in a mental health facility.

You didn’t really care when they came for you.

The ride in the ambulance was pretty peaceful. The man that was driving with you was very kind, and he had put up some of your favourite music to entertain you, and mostly keep you calm.

When you arrived at the psych ward, you were terrified.

You didn’t know what was going to happen, and you didn’t realise what you were supposed to do. The intake was one of the worst experiences you had ever had.

It had been embarrassing and incredibly dehumanising, and when you were given paper clothes to put in, you nearly lost it.

Luckily, after a few hours, that was over, and you were taken to your room by an old lady.

She told you shortly how everything worked, and she gave you five minutes to change into the clothes provided for you before your personal nurse would come to assist you.

Because you were classed as a high risk case, you were given a 24/7 nurse. She was supposed to keep her eye on you at all times, and make sure you never did or tried anything to harm yourself.

The moment the old nurse left, you quickly changed into the sweatshirt and sweatpants that were laid out on the bed.

They weren’t the warmest clothes you had ever worn, but they were comfortable enough, and definitely better than those paper clothes you had been forced to wear.

You changed fairly quickly, and after finishing you decided to just sit on the bed and wait.

Your entire room was empty, and you weren’t allowed to bring anything in to entertain yourself. You had brought a bag of clothing, but apparently all of that was checked by some nurses, so you were left alone with your thoughts.

You tried to open the window, but it would barely open more than a few inches.

You sighed and sat back down on the bed, staring out the window. You wished you could go home, but what did that even mean now? You had no home anymore. Your parents were gone. You weren’t going to see them in a long time, not that you wanted too, and your foster home basically got rid of you when they put you in the mental hospital.

You were truly and utterly alone…

Soon, you were pulled from your thoughts by the sound of the door opening. A red-headed woman walked in. She had a kind smile on her face, and she was dressed in a nurse outfit.

“Hello, y/n. I’m Natasha. I’m here to keep my eye on you,” she explained, smiling sweetly at you. That was quite straight forward…

You simply nodded, letting your gaze fall to the floor.

Natasha took a few steps forward, crouching down to your level and placing her hand on you knee.

“I know you have been through a lot, but I promise you, I will do anything in my power to help you get better,” she explained, smiling sweetly as she gently rubbed your knee.

You simply nodded, giving her a small, awkward smile before looking back to the ground.

Natasha didn’t take any offence, instead just standing up and lending you her hand. “Your room seems kind of boring. Maybe we should go and see if we can find some colouring supplies, and we can maybe try and decorate it a little,” she suggested, and you didn’t take long before you took her hand.

She helped you up, not letting go of your hand as she walked to the door, leaving the room, dragging you along with her.

She led you through a few hallways, explaining where certain things were, and explaining how you didn’t need to do anything if you weren’t comfortable with it.

To say you were relieved would be an understatement. You had heard horror stories of people in mental hospitals, where they were forced into group therapy sessions, and if they didn’t comply they’d be punished by having to stay longer.

You were quiet as Natasha led you around, not once letting go of your hand.

After showing you the main hallway, she led you to some kind of common area, where there were tables filled with other kids.

All seemed a bit older than you by at least a few years, but they didn’t even acknowledge you as Natasha led you through the tables, to a closet by the wall. Some of the kids greeted Natasha, clearly having met her before and taking a liking to her.

When you reached the closet, Natasha let go of your hand, opening the doors and letting you see all the art supplies the closet carried.

There was yarn, crochet hooks, glue, paper, crayons, tape, and even more.

There were also pencils and scissors, but those were in locked boxes. You figured those were only taken out when there was supervision. Natasha grabbed a blank sketchbook, asking you if you wanted pencils or crayons.

You gave her your preference, and you watched as she took everything from the closet.

“Let’s go back to your room. It’s a bit calmer there,” Natasha stated, and you nodded as you anxiously glanced around the room. You were never a big fan of people, but right now, you were already freaked out, and all the people you were surrounded with didn’t help in the slightest.

Once Natasha had balanced everything in one hand, she grabbed yours again, squeezing it reassuringly as she gave you another kind smile, leading you through the tables and all the way back to your room.

Once you were back in your room, Natasha set all the supplies down on the small table, pulling a chair out and taking a seat.

You followed her example, pulling the other chair out and accepting the paper Natasha handed you. As you started drawing, Natasha started drawing too, probably to make it less awkward and confronting.

She asked you multiple questions about yourself. They varied from your favourite colour, to how you felt about your parents and their actions.

You answered most of them, and tried to answer them as honest as possible.

You liked Natasha. She made you feel safe, and she talked as if she truly cared about you. You like how she made you feel. You felt at ease around her. Besides, she told good jokes.

After finishing your drawing, Natasha hung it up for you.

You asked if her drawing could be hung next to it, and Natasha agreed as she picked her own drawing up, hanging it next to yours.

You smiled at the drawings, and Natasha smiled at you. Maybe staying in a psych ward wasn’t the worst thing ever.

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

You had been in the psych ward for a little over a week, and until now, you were pretty much enjoying yourself.

It was a little boring at times, and you had definitely had better things to eat in your life, but with Natasha around you almost all the time, you felt safe and cared for. You heard other people in the psych ward complain about their nurses, and about how they wanted time to themselves.

You, on the other hand, had never felt more content.

Wherever you went, Natasha was always there, helping you, talking with you, or just staying silent and keeping you company.

You had grown quite fond of Natasha, and even though you didn’t know it, Natasha had grown quite fond of you too. She didn’t even want to think about the moment you would have to leave, and she would have to pick up a new patient.

She had grown quite close to the little girl she was supposed to take care of. She cared about you, and she knew she was the only person in the world that ever would.

No one would ever care about you the way she did.

After taking care of you for only a week, she had applied at multiple adoption agencies, wanting herself and her home to be cleared for fostering and adoption. She was told the process would go fairly quickly, seeing as though she was a licensed mental health nurse.

If anyone was capable of adopting, it would be her. She just hoped the entire process was done before you go out.

You had told her multiple times how much you enjoyed spending time with her, and Natasha had always told you how much she enjoyed spending time with you as well.

She had told you what a great kid you were and how you were a very nice person to be around. You were more than grateful that she was the nurse assigned to you, and you had told her that. Natasha had merely smiled and told you how nice she though that was.

You didn’t need to know it wasn’t a coincidence…

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

After about two months in the psych ward, you showed massive improvement. You were almost cleared to be released, and Natasha was a bit upset.

The adoption agency had cleared her, and she was cleared to take you in.

She had already pitched the idea to you, that after were released from the psych ward, you would come live with her for a period of time.

You didn’t need to know she meant forever…

You were overjoyed with the idea of spending more time with her. You had explained to her on multiple occasions you didn’t want to get out, as you would not get to spend time with her anymore. That’s when she told you, and you had hugged her and told her how happy you were.

She simply kissed your head, holding you close as you two sat on the bed.

Natasha was a bit upset, though. In the psych ward, she got to spend every moment with you, but if you were to come live with her, you would have to go to school, and she would have to- you would have to miss her half of the day.

She didn’t want that, and so she started setting up her place in the mountains. You trusted her, and she would make sure that trust would not be broken.

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

When you were finally released from the psych ward, Natasha had made sure it was one of the best days of your life. There was cake, and presents, and all sorts of things you had not been given in a long time.

After that day, Natasha had told you she was planning on moving up into a cottage in the mountains.

You didn’t need to know what country she meant…

You asked her if there would be snow, and she promised you there would be. You were more than happy to pack all your stuff, excited with the idea of living somewhere peaceful.

Natasha had called in a favour with her parents, arranging a jet to take you and her to the location. You had asked her where the house was located, but she had told you not to worry about it. It would be perfect.

You fell asleep pretty quickly on the jet, which was perfect, as Natasha didn’t have to explain why you were flying over the ocean.

When you arrived, Natasha carried you inside, tucking you in the nice bed that was already prepared for you, before going back downstairs and getting all the stuff from the jet inside.

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

You woke up from the sun shining through gaps in the curtains. When did you go to bed?

You stretched slightly, laying in bed for a few minutes to process waking up, before getting up and looking around the room.

The room was absolutely beautiful, and it matched your interests perfectly. It didn’t take you long to spot the two drawings on the wall. The were hung up in frames this time. It were the drawings you and Natasha had made the first day you were in the psych ward.

You smiled at the memory, soon recognising the pajamas that were hung over the desk chair.

You changed into them and left the room, finding the stairs quickly and making your way downstairs. The entire house smelled of pancakes, and it obviously was in the kitchen where you found Natasha.

“Hello sweetheart,” she greeted you as she gave you a small side hug, giving you a kiss on the head.

“How did you sleep?” she asked as she handed you a glass of orange juice.

“I slept fine,” you told her as you gave her a smile and took the orange juice, taking a few sips before sitting down at the kitchen island.

Natasha smiled at you, getting the last pancake from the pan before placing two plates on the kitchen island. She sat down on the barstool next to you, handing you the syrup as she took a bite herself.

“The house looks very nice,” you told her as you started eating your own pancakes.

“Only the best of the best for you,” Natasha told you and smiled softly at the slight blush that stained your cheeks.

“Is there a school nearby or something?” you asked her, but Natasha just shook her head.

“I figured homeschooling would fit you a lot better. There are a lot of benefits, and I think it would do wonders for your mental health,” she explained, and you nodded.

You could almost cry at how thoughtful Natasha was.

You didn’t need to know it was purely in her own best interest…

You were finally home. You were finally safe. You were finally loved. Natasha would finally be your mother, and you would finally get the chance at a normal life.

Somewhat normal…

Permanent tags: @marvelnatasha12346 @lesbionion @nova-kyle @darkstar225 @saraaahsstuff @marvelwomenarehot0 @screechcat @iheartjohansson @simp-erformarvelwomen @swaqcenix @karmasgxrl @marvel-lous3000

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scary-grace · 7 months ago

Text

Enough to Go By (Chapter 9) - a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

Your best friend vanished on the same night his family was murdered, and even though the world forgot about him, you never did. When a chance encounter brings you back into contact with Shimura Tenko, you'll do anything to make sure you don't lose him again. Keep his secrets? Sure. Aid the League of Villains? Of course. Sacrifice everything? You would - but as the battle between the League of Villains and hero society unfolds, it becomes clear that everything is far more than you or anyone else imagined it would be. (cross-posted to Ao3)

Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

Chapter 9

“Mitsu, come on. Mitsu, don’t.” You tighten your grip on her arm and pull harder, even though she’s drunk in six-inch heels and could topple over if the wind blows the wrong way. “It’s not worth it –”

“You hear that, you piece of shit? It’s not worth it.” Mitsuko’s imitation of your de-escalation tone isn’t as good as Tenko’s, but it sounds pretty bad when she’s using it to jeer at a couple of sidekicks. “Just like you and your fucking friends decided that my best friend’s life wasn’t worth it –”

“Mitsu –”

“When you left her under an apartment building one of you knocked down for six fucking hours!”

“We weren’t even there,” one of the sidekicks shouts at her, and Mitsuko spits at him. “Ugh! You crazy bitch –”

You suck in a breath, and so does everybody else. This fight has drawn a crowd, and you see at least one phone out, one camera on. Someone’s just caught a hero on camera cursing out a grieving civilian. You see the hero blanch. He turns towards Mitsuko. “I didn’t mean –”

“No, you said what you meant. You’re all the same,” Mitsuko sneers. “So big and bad, except when it counts. Fuck you.”

Mitsuko has a flair for the dramatic, even when she’s so drunk she can’t see straight. She turns to you. “Come on. Get me out of here before I puke on my shoes.”

You hustle her off down the sidewalk, leaving the crowd and the heroes behind, cursing yourself for letting this happen. It was your job to keep an eye on Mitsuko tonight, to keep her out of trouble, and now she’s on camera starting shit with a hero. Now that you think about it, so are you. Nobody’s going to remember you, not when Mitsuko’s there, gorgeous even with supposedly waterproof mascara running down her face, but it’s not a good thing. There are probably a grand total of eight people who think it’s a good thing, and you’re on first name (or code-name) terms with all of them.

Mitsuko comes to a stop, doubles over – then straightens up. “I need to pee,” she says. “Let’s go to Kamino. I want to pee on that statue.”

“Kamino’s a long way away. You sure you want to hold it that long?”

“Right. I should find a place to pee now,” Mitsuko says. “Then by the time we get to Kamino, I’ll have to pee again.”

There’s no way you’re letting Mitsuko get filmed peeing on a statue of All Might, no matter how much of a kick your new friends would get out of it. You take a deep breath and pull out the big guns. “Is this really how you want to honor Hiro? You know watersports weren’t her thing.”

Mitsuko snorts, then grimaces. Stomach acid in the sinuses will do that. “There’s only one way to honor Hiro,” you continue, “and you know what it is.”

“What is it?”

“Bone Endeavor, film it, and use the tape to ruin his life.”

Mitsuko bursts out laughing. Then crying. You’ve been seeing that a lot lately, anywhere and everywhere – on friends, patients, strangers, and more often than not, on your own face in the mirror.

Japan is reeling from the Kamino incident. You’re not watching world news, but you’re pretty sure the world is doing the same – it’s not every day that a country’s Number One hero goes down on national television. The wreckage of Kamino Ward has already been resurfaced, some of the remaining buildings reinforced but the rest knocked down to create a nice big concrete square for the Kamino Memorial Park, complete with a big statue of All Might. The All Might statue takes up most of the space. The walls featuring the names of the victims are off to the sides. New names are still being added every day.

The windows still haven’t gotten fixed at your clinic, and in addition to a dust and street debris problem, you’re having an animal problem. You chased a bat out with a broom and wound up needing rabies shots, which left you well-equipped to deal with the raccoon that showed up a week later. You’re working a lot, for a lot of reasons. It keeps you out of your apartment during the day or night, leaving it safe for the League’s use. You need the money. And as long as you’re busy with work, with the extra classes in trauma treatment you’ve started taking, or trying to keep Mitsuko from self-destructing, you don’t have to think about what happened at all.

Kazuo’s been keeping busy, too, but your other friends don’t have that option. Mitsuru’s job was in Kamino, in a business that was destroyed, and he doesn’t have a new one yet. Ryuhei hasn’t worked in a while, courtesy of his record, and Yoshimi’s so sick from her treatments that she can’t work at all. In spite of that, Mitsuko’s still the one you’re most worried about. She was closest to Hirono. She’s always had a lot of anger – like you, except you bury it so deep that you sometimes forget it exists. She doesn’t forget. And right now she thinks she doesn’t have anything to lose.

You and Mitsuko were supposed to have a wild night on the town, but after throwing up in two trash cans and one alleyway, Mitsuko’s ready to go home. You’re ready to take her home, too, and you let her sling one arm around your shoulders as you shuffle along. “You know, I can’t work it out,” she mumbles in your ear. “Kazuo I understand, but you? It’s weird.”

“What’s weird?”

“How calm you are,” she says. “Like, right from the start. You love Sho and Hiro just like we do, but you’re – calm. Don’t tell me you got religion about it.”

“No,” you say. “I’ve just done this before.”

It’s not untrue. You’ve lost a friend before, but you didn’t cope well at all, and even if you had, this isn’t the same. You’re miserable about losing your friends, but mourning them visibly isn’t something you’re allowed to do. Not when you’re responsible. All you can do is try to fix it, or at least try to make sure Mitsuko makes it home in one piece, without passing out somewhere or clawing a hero’s eyes out with her acrylic nails.

As you’re helping her unlock her apartment, an idea occurs to you. “Hey, why don’t you come with me to Yoshimi’s appointment tomorrow? I have to go to work, so I can’t stay long, but it would really make her feel better if you stuck around with her at the clinic.”

Mitsuko looks lukewarm on the idea. “I don’t think she wants me there. I’m not very good at comfort.”

“How about just company?” you say, and she shrugs. It irritates you to the point where you play a card you shouldn’t. “Hiro used to.”

“Don’t guilt-trip me,” Mitsuko says. It’s quiet for a minute. “Fine. I’ll sit with her. This time. Then it’s back to you.”

“Sure,” you say. You’re pretty sure you can make it so it’s not just this time.

You say goodnight to Mitsuko, stop at a convenience store for supplies on your way home, and drag yourself into your apartment building. Before you unlock the door, you have to brace yourself. In spite of Tenko’s insistence that you aren’t left alone with the League, there have been at least a few times in the past three weeks that you’ve come home to at least one villain in your apartment.

After Tenko and the others left, after you went to Kazuo’s and stayed up all night, drunk and mourning your friends from under the weight of your guilt, the first thing you did was buy a whiteboard. You hung it on the back of your front door, and each day, you write your schedule on it, letting Kurogiri know what times you’ll be out, when it’s safe to bring villains over for a break. You can tell when they’ve been there, even if you don’t see them – things will be out of place, or food will have disappeared, or you’ll find a ton of black hair dye stains all over the shower. You don’t care that Dabi dyes his hair. You just wish he’d rinse the shower out afterwards.

Sometimes the villains leave notes for you on the whiteboard – Magne commenting on the tragic state of your makeup collection, Spinner apologizing for using the last dryer sheet, Dabi bitching about the neighbors and the noisy sex they’re constantly having in the bedroom that shares a wall with your living room. Sometimes they leave requests for you to buy stuff for them, along with at least some money to pay for it. The only person whose things you buy without asking for payment is Toga.

Everybody else takes things, or asks for them. The only person who leaves things for you is Tenko. As far as you can tell, he shows up exclusively during times when you’re supposed to be home, but for some reason or another you’re always out and about. The first time you know for sure he was here, you came back late and found a flower sticking out of an empty energy drink can on your kitchen counter. The next time it was a piece of your jewelry, with a note: Compress stole this and had Twice leave a copy, but Twice told on him. You need a jewelry box that locks. The third time it was just a note, and just three words, in Tenko’s never-got-past-kindergarten handwriting. I miss you.

You miss him, too. While you’re braced for villains every time you open the door, you’re always hoping he’ll be there.

There’s a villain in your apartment tonight, but it’s not Tenko – it’s Magne, who’s in the bathroom availing herself of your blow-dryer. She’s doing laundry, too, or she’s done it. You catch the unmistakable scent of a dryer sheet that’s gotten sucked into the lint-trap on the air. The smart thing to do would be to leave, but you’re tired, and it’s your apartment to begin with. You set down the items you bought at the League’s request on the kitchen table and sit down in a chair, your chin propped in your hand. You think about scrolling your phone to pass the time, but you don’t need to. Lately all you have to do is stare off into space, and your mind supplies enough uneasy questions to keep you busy for hours.

You come back to awareness when Magne snaps her fingers in front of your face. “Rise and shine, sweetheart. Is this for me?”

She’s holding up the three-pack of deodorant. “Yeah. It’s not the brand you asked for – I didn’t have enough money – but I smelled all the discount ones and picked the one that was closest.”

Magne uncaps one and sniffs it. “Close enough,” she decides. “What about the rest of this? Who wanted thermal socks?”

“Spinner. His note said you all are staying in a warehouse and it gets cold,” you say, and Magne nods. You glance over the rest of the things you bought. Some of them need an explanation. “The numbing gel is for Toga. She bit her cheek and there’s a sore in her mouth. Tell her not to eat anything too acidic until it heals. And these are – she knows what these are for.”

Magne nods sagely. “Oh, and these are for Compress,” you add, tapping a stack of cheap paperbacks. “He said he was bored. These should help.”

“You spoil us,” Magne remarks. She smells like your shampoo. And your body wash. “The boss is as bad as it gets. Who would have guessed that his girlfriend would be such a little saint?”

“I’m not a saint,” you say. She’s not the first member of the League to say that, but your list of sins is long enough already, and it’ll only keep getting longer. “I’m just trying to help.”

“I do wonder what the attraction is,” Magne continues, like you didn’t speak at all. “Guys like him – when they see something pretty and pure, all they want to do is ruin it. And then they don’t want it anymore. I wouldn’t get too dirty if I were you.”

“Thanks for the warning.” You see shadows flickering in your peripheral vision. Kurogiri’s here. “Take this stuff with you, okay? And tell everyone I say hi.”

“No problem.” Magne gathers up the results of the supply run. “Any other messages you want me to send? To the boss, maybe?”

“Nothing I’m telling you,” you say, and she laughs. A moment later she vanishes through the warp gate, and you’re alone. It’s past midnight. There’s really nothing for you to do except go to sleep. Or try to.

You’ve been having a hard time sleeping since Kamino. In some ways, it reminds you of how things were after you stumbled into the ruins of Tenko’s house. The images that won’t leave your head. The questions that chase each other through the darkness – did it hurt, did they know, were they scared, what happened next? There was guilt when it was Tenko’s family dead, the stupid thought that useless, quirkless, five-year-old you should have stopped it somehow – but it’s nothing like the guilt you feel now. Kamino’s death toll stands at nine hundred and eight. Magne said you were a saint, but you aren’t. No saint, no good person, lets nine hundred people, some of them her friends, die.

You’re on hour three of trying to sleep when the shadows in the far corner of your room begin to flicker. It’s another warp gate, and you watch, your heart in your throat, as someone emerges from within it. “Tenko?”

Tenko doesn’t look as surprised to see you awake as you thought he’d be. “I can’t sleep either,” he says. His face is unobscured by the hand. He gestures awkwardly at your side of the bed. “Can I –”

“Yeah,” you say at once, trying not to act like this is the best thing that’s happened to you all week. “For sure.”

Tenko’s wearing gloves already. He kicks off his shoes and strips off his shirt, then climbs into bed on the far side. You’re expecting him to stay there, but instead he reaches across the bed to pull you closer, and once he’s got you, the contented sigh that exits his mouth sets every inch of your face on fire. “That’s better.”

You manage to wiggle your arms free, folding one against your chest and wrapping the other around him. His skin is dry and warm beneath your hand, against your cheek. “Hi, Ten.”

“Hey.” Tenko hugs you closer. “This is your fault. I can’t go back to sleeping standing up after that.”

“That’s because humans aren’t supposed to sleep standing up. I have no idea how you did it for – however long you were doing it.”

“Too long, I guess.” Tenko yawns. “Why can’t you sleep?”

“The people I worked on after Kamino. I keep seeing them.” You keep seeing your friends, too, although there you’re restricted to whatever your imagination can conjure. “Other stuff, too.”

“Like what?”

Like what Tenko’s house looked like the morning after, when you ran into the wreckage. What blood and tissue felt like under your bare feet. You still don’t know if Tenko knows what happened to his family, how much he knows, how he got from his family’s house into the clutches of All For One. “Things,” you say. When you’re able to raise the arm that’s wrapped around Tenko’s shoulders, your fingers encounter the ends of his hair, and you start fiddling with them, to the tune of another contented sigh. “It’s late. Try to sleep. I will, too.”

Tenko relaxes against you, asleep within moments. It takes you another hour at least.

You expect him to be gone by the time you wake up in the morning, but instead he’s still there, shirtless, with a terrible case of bedhead that you think is way too cute. He doesn’t want you to get out of bed at all, but once you do, he trails you to the kitchen, where you start making tea and setting out something for breakfast. “It’s too early,” he complains. “Where do you have to go?”

“I’m taking Mitsuko to keep Yoshimi company during her treatment, and then I’m going to work.” You think through your day and grimace. “And after that I have class.”

“What about tomorrow?”

“It’s my day off.”

“Good,” Tenko says. “Twice is bringing a potential ally. I want you there to meet them.”

Your stomach twists, and your appetite, already fickle on its best day, goes up in smoke. “Who are they?”

“Some small-time yakuza. They want prestige and we need money.” Tenko shrugs. “I’ll come back tonight and we’ll go together in the morning.”

“Okay.” Something about this conversation strikes you as funny, but you’re not sure what it is. It takes a second for it to click, and once it does, you’re laughing.

“What?” Tenko asks suspiciously. “What’s funny?”

“We’re eating breakfast and talking about our schedules,” you say, still giggling. “We sound so normal.”

You think Tenko will laugh, too. He’ll say something snarky, something derisive, about the whole concept of normalcy and moving in with somebody and having any kind of life within the boundaries of a corrupt society. Instead his expression takes on a strange cast. “Do you think we would have been?”

You almost spill the electric teakettle out of shock. “What?”

“If nothing had happened. Do you think we’d have ended up like this?” Tenko gestures around the room, then between the two of you. “Like – us.”

If the two of you had gotten to grow up together, what would you have been? You’ve asked yourself that more than a few times. “If nothing had happened,” you repeat. If Tenko’s family hadn’t died, if he hadn’t wound up with a quirk – or even if he had, and you’d lived across the street from each other in middle school, high school. “I think so.”

“Yeah,” Tenko says after a moment. “I think so, too.”

He doesn’t say how he feels about it, and neither do you, but there’s a distant look in his eyes, like his mind’s gone somewhere else, somewhere far from here. It doesn’t fade until you set a cup of green tea down in front of him. “So,” he says, looking up at you, “how much do you know about the yakuza?”

“Not very much,” you admit. “What do I need to know?”

Tenko gives you a brief overview in between bites of food, then starts in on the details. “The group Twice made contact with is called the Shie Hassaikai. Their leader goes by Overhaul, and he’s young – not our age, a little older. Twice says he seems genuine, but I don’t want us caught off-guard.”

“Which is why you want me there,” you surmise. “If things get heated, turn the temperature down.”

Tenko nods. “It shouldn’t. He’s coming alone.”

“Right.” You force down a bite of your breakfast, then another. “And I should bring the disguise.”

“Yeah.” Black mist begins to ripple through the air near the door, and Tenko swears. “Go away, Kurogiri. I’m not done.”

“It is Dabi’s turn. And according to the schedule, she will be leaving soon.” If Kurogiri could tap his foot right now, he probably would. “With haste, Shigaraki Tomura.”

Tomura swears again, then heads back to your room for his shirt and shoes. “I’ll be back tonight,” he says as he pulls them on.

“Me, too.” You wince as Kurogiri loudly clears his throat, then hurry forward to kiss Tomura goodbye. He’s frustrated. You can tell by the tension in his mouth, the way it takes too long to soften against yours. “Hey. I’ll see you soon, all right?”

Tomura nods once. Then he disappears through the warp gate. As he vanishes, you see him removing his gloves.

You’re alone in your apartment again, and the surge of emptiness you feel threatens to knock you off your feet. You’ll see Tenko tonight, which is good, but tomorrow, you’ll be with Tomura – Tomura and the League of Villains, in disguise like you’re one of them. To the head of the Shie Hassaikai, you’ll be indistinguishable from the others.

And speaking of the Hassaikai – you weren’t lying when you told Tomura you know next to nothing about the yakuza, but you know someone who does. It’s a good thing you’re seeing Mitsuko today.

“The Hassaikai?” Mitsuko repeats, when you ask her while the two of you are waiting for Yoshimi to finish her vitals check. “Where’d you hear about them?”

“A patient.” You aren’t technically lying. Tenko was your patient. At one point. “It wasn’t a name I’d heard before, so I thought I’d ask. In case there was a chance you knew anything.”

Mitsuko’s settled down a bit now, but in middle school and high school, she was in a lot of trouble – skipping school, getting drunk and using who knows what else, hooking up with older guys, sometimes for money or gifts or just to make whatever was going on in her head go away. Some of those guys were yakuza. A lot of them were. And Mitsuko always said they liked to pillow-talk.

She thinks about it for a moment, frowning. “They’re a small group,” she starts. “They’ve got a cross-country network, but there aren’t very many of them. The old head of the family was popular, but the new one isn’t.”

Huh. “Do you know why?”

“The family thing – it’s not a joke to them,” Mitsuko says. “That’s how the former head treated it. Not the new one. One of the guys I used to see – he was from another group, but I remember he’d talked to somebody who’d left the Hassaikai when they were both in jail. That guy said the guys in his gang were just employees now. And they were expendable.”

“So the new guy’s a shitty boss.”

“Try worse. He called him a monster. Said he was empty inside.” Mitsuko looks troubled for a split second. Then she shakes her head. “They all are, though, aren’t they? Yakuza, villains – well, maybe not that Shigaraki guy. He looks like he’s so full of crazy it’s a miracle he doesn’t explode.”

You keep your mouth shut with an effort. What would you say, anyway? Nothing convincing, not without giving away more information than anyone outside the League should know. Mitsuko gives you a curious look. “Did your patient get mixed up with them somehow?”

“I guess so.”

“Hopefully they get out fast. Those guys are bad news.” Mitsuko grimaces. “I’d know.”

She looks like she wants to say more, but then Yoshimi comes out of the check-in room, and the two of you had a talk about not upsetting Yoshimi more than necessary. The two of you turn to her. “I don’t know shit about this,” Mitsuko tells Yoshimi, sounding so much like her usual self that you’d never guess she was wasted and hero-baiting last night, “but you’re with me today. Anybody who gives you shit, they have to answer to me. And I’m not nearly as nice as her.”

She points at you, and you roll your eyes. The only reason you were nice to the one nurse who was even sort of rude to Yoshimi is because you didn’t want her doing something worse when your back was turned. Yoshimi smiles gratefully at Mitsuko. “I’m so glad you’re here,” she says. “We need to catch up. Some of the nurses here are cute.”

You tell them both goodbye and sneak out while they’re talking about the cute nurses. Mitsuko could do a hell of a lot worse than a cute nurse. Maybe she needs that right now. As weird as she gets when she’s in a relationship, almost anything would be an improvement on the self-destruct sequence she’s cycling through. Not that you’re any better. If Kazuo wasn’t too busy pulling together the official incident report on Kamino to take a look at what you’re doing, he’d probably say you were doing the same thing.

You don’t look it. You hold it together at work, checking in on your younger colleagues, supporting the older ones, keeping an eye on the mood with them and the patients both. It’s not a good mood. The rest of the country is ready to venerate All Might and cheer for his victory, but Yokohama was hit too hard. Too many people lost loved one, and too many of those people live in the other Japan with you. Nobody’s gone so far as to sympathize with the League of Villains, yet, but plenty of them are angry with the heroes. And plenty of them are saying it out loud.

The organization that runs your clinic is worried about the staff. Absentee rates are high, and people come to work in bad moods and leave in worse ones. Your supervisor is offering everybody extra time off so long as you take it in shifts, and each and every one of you who was on shift during Kamino is scheduled to meet with a counselor over your lunch hour once a week. You don’t want to do it. You don’t have a lot, or any, good memories of doing therapy as a kid. And this time, there’s something you’re actually guilty of.

But it’s a requirement, and you don’t want to make waves, so you slouch into the mailroom for your counseling session as ordered. Your counselor is rich – you can tell by her clothes and her jewelry – and a whole set of unkind associations spring into your head when you look at her. You try to push them away. If your contempt is oozing from between your teeth, there’s no way you’ll get through this without raising a red flag or ten.

The counselor greets you, introduces herself as Yaoyorozu Shizuka, and something clicks in your head. “Your daughter’s at UA.”

“Yes, my dear Momo! We’re very proud,” Mrs. Yaoyorozu says, even though you didn’t’ congratulate her. “She’s been through quite an ordeal – just like you and your coworkers have been. Why don’t you start by telling me where you were on that night?”

“At first I worked triage with the evacuees,” you say. “When the casualties arrived, I went to assist the doctors and nurse-practitioners.”

“And how long did you do that for?”

“Until someone kicked me out.”

Mrs. Yaoyorozu makes a note in her notebook. Her leather-bound, monogrammed notebook. “How do you feel about the work you and your coworkers did that night?”

If you try to lie, she won’t believe you, and she’ll push the point. You need her not to push. “I feel like we failed.”

“Why do you feel like that?”

“Because that’s what we did,” you say. “Five people died in the exam rooms back there. Two more died in the hospital later. We failed our patients, just like everyone else did.”

“Just like everyone else did,” Mrs. Yaoyorozu repeats. She looks puzzled, or she’s faking puzzlement. You really don’t care which. “What do you mean?”

Of course she’d ask that question. You can’t stop the derisive sound that escapes your mouth. “Let me see. This clinic failed by not being ready to handle a mass casualty event, by not having the necessary equipment to treat major trauma or the staff who know how to do it. The site commander failed by sending those patients to us knowing we couldn’t help them. The heroes on-scene failed by prioritizing helping All Might instead of clearing the route to Yokohama General, so the people they were supposed to be rescuing when they decided it was more important to help All Might could have a chance to survive.”

Mrs. Yaoyorozu is staring at you. Your face is hot and your eyes are prickling, and you sink your nails into the palm of your hand, fighting for control. “We weren’t the only ones to fail those people. We were just the last ones. All those people –”

You cut yourself off. Mrs. Yaoyorozu scrambles to recover. “It was far from an ideal situation,” she says. “It was never going to be possible to save everyone –”

“I thought it was,” you interrupt. “Isn’t that what heroes say they’ll do?”

You need to be careful. You sound like Tomura. But Mrs. Yaoyorozu is shaking her head, smiling indulgently, ready to explain how you just don’t understand that sometimes hard choices have to be made, and you lose patience. “Look, what are you even doing here? Is it just a hobby of yours to come here and minister to the poor unfortunates who weren’t born quirked or pretty or rich? This isn’t your city and we aren’t your people. We don’t need saving. We don’t want your help.”

“Don’t speak for your colleagues,” Mrs. Yaoyorozu says mildly. “You don’t need saving. You don’t want my help. Why not?”

You look blankly at her. “You’ve been through something traumatic,” she continues. “The whole city has, and those of you who responded directly to the tragedy haven’t had time to process what you experienced. That’s what this space is supposed to be for. If it would be best for you to process by expressing your anger towards me, that’s all right.”

“So you’re going to martyr yourself.” You don’t understand where the disdain in your voice is coming from. “Sit here for an hour, then go home and tell your maids and your husband and your butler about how the nurse at the poor-people clinic was so mean to you when all you wanted to do was help.”

She’s staring at you now like you’ve slapped her, when you haven’t raised your voice or sworn or even moved an inch in your chair. You’re using your de-escalation voice, but the context is all wrong, and even as you struggle to rein in your temper, you can’t stop yourself from turning her words back on her. “If that’s what would best help you process your savior complex, that’s fine with me.”

Mrs. Yaoyorozu holds your gaze for another few seconds. Then she ducks her head, writing frantically in her notebook. “Are you crying?” you ask her. The false concern in your own voice makes your skin crawl.

Her eyes are clear when she looks up. “Blaming oneself or others for the traumatic events or for what happened afterwards,” she says. “Check. Persistent state of fear, horror, anger, guilt, or shame – check. Persistent negative cognitions, such as “I am bad”, “no one can be trusted” – check. Do you know what I’ve just listed.”

“Criterion D of the PTSD diagnosis.” Kazuo tried this trick on you already, and you were a lot more likely to listen to him. “What’s your point?”

“I can see by the dark circles under your eyes that your sleep’s disturbed,” she says. “Whether that’s by nightmares or by ruminating on what’s occurred, you’ve met Criterion B. By verbally sparring with me you’re avoiding engaging with your own feelings about what happened – Criterion C. Disturbed sleep partially covers Criterion E, and I imagine if I asked you whether you startle easily, find it difficult to concentrate, or feel unsafe in most settings, I’d get at least one yes. But I don’t need a yes to diagnose you – the first symptom under Criterion E is irritable behavior and angry outbursts. What would you call this?”

She gestures at the space between you, and you sink your nails into your palm again. “I’ve spoken to your coworkers about you. They describe you as kind, supportive, calm – the person who smooths over conflicts, not starts them. This conversation is a symptom, a sign of what you’ve been through. It’s not who you are.”

But it is. It is who you are now – a person who takes a skill you’ve used to help people and twists it into a weapon, a person who backs someone else into a corner and goes for their throat, and the worst part is, you can’t pin this on your association with the League of Villains. Tomura’s not standing here feeding you lines. This was all you. What’s happening to you?

Trauma, Mrs. Yaoyorozu would say, if you asked what she thought. You know the real answer: Guilt.

It’s quiet for a little while. When you speak up again, your voice doesn’t sound like your own. “I don’t want to talk anymore.”

“I understand,” Mrs. Yaoyorozu says. You spend the rest of your lunch hour in silence, staring at the wall.

#shigaraki tomura x reader #tomura shigaraki x reader #shigaraki x reader #shigaraki x you #shimura tenko x reader #tenko shimura x reader #tenko shimura x you #shigaraki tomura #shimura tenko #x reader #reader insert #please hold

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supercriminalbean · 1 year ago

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Hope you're having a good day/night

I was wondering if I could request Hotch x Male reader, the team get a case that leads back to an old unsolved case of a group of children going missing and start showing up dead at different ages from sever injuries from fighting(?)

Reader is part of the bau but has alot of secrets to hide including being one of the younger children that went missing and managed to escape but not without physical and emotional scars (being forced to play a cruel game of survival of the fittest for the entertainment of the Unsub who streamed the gruesome cruelty)

Maybe the unsub captures reader cause he was the one that got away and the team start to peice together reader was one of the missing kids by how fast reader state of mind went to a primal kill or die (like readers afraid he'll die there and no one will ever find him or know or care so when they do he's relived and breaks down but another part of him think he doesn't deserve it cause of what he's done to survive)

Hotch being there for reader

FIGHT CLUB

Aaron Hotchner x Male!Reader.

Summary: The reader is trying to find the group that ruin his life, but keeping it a secret from his team is differcult when he has to ask them for help.

Warning: Dark fic. Blood, fighting, death, abuse, kidnapping, swearing, drugs, unsub violence, bad eatting habits, bad self care, scars, angst. This whole fic is just dark and strange the ask it self is amazing and may help you know if this is something you can handle. (Any other warnings let me know xx)

Words: 9.4k

A/N: Hiiii! Omg this ask 😍😍 I love you!! I had to split this into a couple different parts due to I'm up to 12k words and got so much more i wanna add to it right now. Next part will be posted next week (hopefully!!) I just couldn't wait to post this. I did change it a little and hope this is what you were after. 🖤🖤 thank you for the request my love.

Part two. Part three. Part four.

Another body has shown up, and if you're right another kid will go missing in just a couple hours a few towns over from the latest body. You know it's just a matter of time as you read the article, one that barely has any information of the latest victim found, another teen boy. While the article prints out you give the detective on the case a call, you know you shouldn't, you should just let this go until your team is called in properly. But hey, there is no harm in asking innocent questions, is there?

“Hello, this is Detective Rose,” An older man answers.

“Hello Detective, I'm with the FBI, SSA agent (Y/L) from the Bau unit” Your voice comes out sharp as you hold back the emotions swirling in your mind. If this is the group you believe it is, you're going to have to bring your team in, but no way could they know just how long you have been looking for them.

“Oh Agent, how can I help?” The man's voice is filled with confusion.

“I heard you found a body of a teenage boy, I read in the report he was badly injured and a

John doe, look I think he might be connected to a case I'm working and I need you to send me all the information and photos of this boy you have as soon as you can” You don’t have time to explain to him, nor the patience.

“Case, but there's only one body?” There's a small arrogance laying under his tone as he speaks his next words. “Plus he seems to be a runaway, he doesn’t seem like the type anyone would be after”

“Excuse me” You can’t help but sneer into the phone, anger filling you up. “How dare you, he is a child, someone has to be missing him and even if not he deserves justice, so I figure you better send me what I asked for before I called your boss” Venom seems to drip from your words as your grip the phone like your life depends on it. Silence fills the other end and your patience seems to dry up, opening your mouth to send him another order when he finally speaks up again.

“Of course we don’t need that, files and photos have been sent, reach out again if I —” You hang up before he finishes speaking, you don’t need anything more from him.

~~~

Sitting on your couch, your mind spinning as you go through the new photos of the crime scene you have received. This is it, this is them, no doubt about it. He fits the victimology, he’s the right age, fit and covered in so many cuts and bruises it’s impossible to see his face. What makes your heart drop the most is the cut on his left forearm, two other previous victims also had it. You know how they got it, hell you got one quite similar to it. Which means you know where they are being kept and where they are going next which means it's time to bring your team in. Grabbing the pile of older files, ones that you have collected over the years, pulling the top few files off the top for the team to see, placing the older ones at the bottom of your to go bag. You can’t let your team know just how long you have been investigating this case. If you do things could unravel and your past could be exposed, the one thing that could never happen, because if it does you might not have a job any more.

Your phone starts dinging, your alarm going off. Great you pulled another all nighter, something you have been warned against many times in the past month.

~~~

Hotch has been on your ass a lot lately about looking after yourself, he’s the only one who can tell when you're struggling. Maybe that's why you're having a hard time figuring out how to bring this case to him. You know he’s going to know this isn’t just a regular case for you, you might be good at hiding your personal life and emotions from the team but that doesn’t include Aaron. You're not sure how you grew close to your boss, you two have hangout, outside of work many times, even including getting to know Jack and spending many weekends watching his soccer games, and of course getting ice cream afterwards as a reward. Somehow Aaron managed to get you to join them both for movie nights and your friendship has never been stronger than that night. But then you had to go and ruin it, pulling yourself away from him, when things started feeling real. You started feeling like you belong and not just with him, but with the team you're surrounded by. Belonging somewhere is something you have never felt before and it's terrifying, so you pull away from them all. Space is a good thing plus there were only a few reasons you took this job a few years ago and you need to remember that.

~~~

You're the first one at the office that morning, even beating Hotch to the office for once. You wait at your desk, your desk is different from the others. They all have personal items on their desk, things that make their desk seem more welcoming and comforting. Except yours, its fill of paperwork and a small fake desk plant that Garcia placed there one day that you just didn’t have the heart to move. Aaron arrives not long after you. Aaron stops by the glass door when he spots you, and he’s glad you're facing the other way so he can just watch you for a moment. He can’t help but feel something is wrong, the last few weeks you have been more off than normal. You're someone who keeps to themself and he knows that, maybe that's why he was surprised when you were spending a lot of your time with him and Jack. Not that he minded at all, he loves spending time with you, maybe more than a boss should but he shouldn’t be blamed when it comes to you, you're different. But when he was spending time with you, he managed to figure out your tell, and how you go inside your own mind when things aren’t right. Maybe that's why, even when you started putting more distance between you both, he couldn't help but remind you to get some sleep or remind you to eat, the two things you always seem to forget about. Aaron lets out a small breath, preparing himself for whatever the reason is that you're the first one here. The glass doors open and within a second you're spinning around in your chair, and the first thing Aaron notices is the files in your hands and then the bags underneath your determined eyes.

“Good Morning Hotch” Your voice is full of energy, which he can only put down to the empty coffee cup beside you.

“Morning, you’re here early” Aaron stares at you questionably, raising his eyebrow when you don’t respond. “Is there a reason why?”

“I need to talk to you, it's important” You jump up quickly, meeting him in the middle of the room.

“Alright, my office then” He bites back a sigh as you nod enthusiastically, climbing up the stairs before him. He can’t help himself but compare you to a puppy, one who uses up all their energy but still refuses to back down when it's time to rest. He’s waiting for you to burn out, it may have been three years with you on the team, but he can’t help but wait for you to break. He doesn’t understand how anyone could keep going at the pace you do without any consequences.

~~~

You both enter his office, Aaron places his bag down before taking a seat at his desk, signalling you to do the same, so you do.

“Okay so I found—” You can’t help but start, holding your own homemade files,your leg bouncing as you speak.

“Stop” Hotch holds his hand up to silence you, dread fills your eyes as you do. “Did you sleep last night?” Accusation dripping from his words, his stern stare digging straight into your sole, making a strange shiver roll down your spine.

“That's not important” The confidence seems to slip by as he stares at you longer, you can’t help but sink in your chair, the uncomfortableness just making you want to run.

“But it is, I need to know my agents are looking after themself” Aaron holds back the proper lectures he wants to give you. Sometimes he wonders how you managed to become a full functioning adult with the way you treat your body, running yourself so low he wonders how you're alive at all.

“I look after myself perfectly fine Aaron” You have to physically bite your tongue to hold back the taunt you want to say instead, but you need him to listen to you instead.

“Do you, because you didn’t sleep last night, and can you even tell me the last time you ate something homemade?”

“Last night” Smirking cockily at him, you indeed did make something last night so he can suck it.

“It doesn’t count if it was your usual cheese on toast” Aaron smirks as yours slowly disappears.

“Okay, uncalled for Hotch” Grumbling as you place the files down before crossing your arms. “Look I get it, I need to improve, but I need your help on something much more important, please?” Your mask starts dropping, the fear and doubtfulness visible for just a few seconds, before you pull yourself together again, your face hardening up again.

~~~

“Tell me what this is?” Hotch reaches for the files, the pile alot bigger than he first thought it was.

“Someone is kidnapping teenages all over the country, and just hours surrounded the kidnapping another teenage is found dead a few towns over from the new victim, I have found about seven different cases over the course of 18 months so far, but the dead victims are never the ones from the recent kidnappings, they look older almost like they could have been kidnapped years prior maybe, they all have the same marks all over their body, the victimology is the same” You take a deep breath as Hotch flicks throughs the file. “The ones being taken are either from abusive households or already living on the street, they aim for the ones who are strong but not confident, they seem to find the quiet ones are go after them, but they are quick, they don’t leave much room for the kids to escape, they move fast” Your words seem to run from your mouth, the rush to get out of your mind and into Aarons ear makes you forget to breathe. The urgency is great and he just doesn't understand.

“You keep saying they” Hotch looks up the files, his boss face activated, his lips pursed together. His eyes burn into you once more, you have to do everything in your power to not physically respond to that call out, unfortunately your body straightens up, your throat clutching.

“I believe it has to be at least two unsubs if not more, and one of them could possibly be a woman” You take a deeper breath as your heart starts to pace, your mind screaming at you to stop as Aaron's eyes narrow more.

“And why do you think that?”

“Because they're fast, they move around the country, and according to the autopsy the kids are well nutritious, they cause of death is mainly blood lose, or hits to the head, I think—-” You quickly cut yourself off. No you can’t say that, you can’t let that detail out quite yet, he won’t understand, no one will understand not yet. “I think they must be keeping them somewhere safe before they dispose of them” You change the words that almost slip out quickly, but not fast enough for Hotch to not notice. Hotch watches you closely as you grow quiet, waiting for his response. Your leg bouncing as your nails dig into your arms, your eyes begging him to say something, just anything.

“What do you think they are doing to them if they are keeping them for so long then?” His question is innocent enough, but oh lord. Your stomach is now on fire, your eyes darken with anger as you speak.

“Training them to fight each other, fight to the death and then they keep the strong ones for who knows what” Oh but you know, oh you know too well what they are keeping them for and that makes you want to be sick.

~~~

Silence fills the office as he stares at you, the anger that fills your eyes is something he hasn’t seen before, and he has seen you angry. But this is different, this is almost a murderous glaze in your eyes, something that makes Aaron uncomfortable.

He knows what he has to do, even if he doesn’t like it.

“How long have you been investigating this, how did you manage to get all of this information?” His voice is low as he speaks, his words filling with disappointment as he speaks.

“A few months” A lie, you both know that. But Aaron knows better than to question that right now, the can of worms that could open could be too hard to close.

“Why are you just bringing this to me now?” His voice raises, the disappointment sweeping out. “You should of came to me as soon as you saw a pattern forming”

“I know I should have, but I wanted to see if I was right, maybe see if I could find any clues before bringing the team into a goose chase” You try to reason with him, gulping as if you know what you have to say. “I think I found them, and if I'm right another person was taken last night and I have a feeling that another body will be found near the state line of Nebraska and Wyoming, we need to take this case, we need to save them” A shaky breath leaves you as you lean forward, placing your hands on the desk, your eyes pleading.

“Aar, please trust me on this” Gulping thickly as you see his eye flash with something unreadable as you say his old nickname, one you haven’t used in months.

“I need to make a few phone calls” He looks away from you as he picks up the phone. Standing up you smile slightly at him, thanking him quietly as you make your way out.

~~~

The team soon arrives within the hour, where hotch is up in his office on the phone the whole time. Your body is on edge, sipping on your third cup of coffee as your mind runs. The team all stood around, talking and laughing as they usually do. Of course they try to get you to join in, but with one glance at you, they know this morning is not the time to get you to join in with them. It's Dave that talks to you this morning, his eyes couldn’t help but keep drifting to you as the team standing around teasing Reid and his crosswords.

“Hey kiddo” Dave stands in front of you, pulling you from your mind, and mainly your eyes off Aarons offices.

“Ah, Morning Sir” Forcing a small smile as you do your best to focus on him, and not whatever conversation is going on inside the office right now.

“How many times have I told you Rossi, or Dave is fine? '' He smile’s down at you, hating to see the bags underneath your eyes, or the fresh scratch mask around your wrist. You wear long sleeves half the time, but that doesn’t stop the team from seeing the way your scratch at your arms when you get overwhelmed.

“Right sorry” Pushing a small chuckle out, as you give him a weak smile. “My bad”

“It's okay, are you doing alright?” Rossi looks down at you worriedly, you weren’t the most talkative but right now you don’t even seem to know how to be your regular self.

“Fine si– Rossi” Your body tenses at the slip up, your eyes flicker back up to Aaron's office.

“Alright, if you ever need to talk kiddo you know I'm around” He smiles at you, one that's full of concern. A part of him wants to reach out, place a hand on your shoulder so you get the message, but he knows it won’t work with you. You don’t react well to physical touch, you jump when someone gets too close. The team remembers the first time Garica tried to give you a hug, you jumped back, hiding behind Morgan who was closest to you in that moment. She touched your shoulders, and you have never moved so fast, your body tensing your hands rolling into fist. You apologised as soon as you calmed down, you gave them no reasoning as to why. But they understood and no one has tried to touch you since, they even became your human shields when random people would try to hug you as a thank you. You were extremely grateful for that, it's been like that for three years now and still no one asks you why and you owe them so much for that.

~~~

Hotch finally emerges from his office after another hour, a sour look plastered across his face, and when you catch his eyes you know why. They found the body.

“We got a case” Hotch calls out to his team, everyone's head shoots up to him. A deep unnerving tension seems to fill the room due to the seriousness on his face, and the way his eyes never leave yours. The air seems to leave your lungs as you stand up, grabbing your notebook off your desk before following the team into the conference room. Hotch waits by the door as the team walks in, placing his hand up in front of you to stop you.

“One moment” His voice is low as he speaks, not wishing for the team to overhear.

“We found two bodies, one of them is Jason Ducan” Aaron speaks softly, as he watches your face flicker with recognition at that name.

“They found a body” You stare up at him, your eyes now empty of emotions, putting them on the backboard as you prepare for this case.

“Jason Ducan, he was my first missing kid when I worked here” Your breathing hitches as fear flashes through your mind, doing your best to keep your poker face on. Do they know where you work, have they been keeping tabs on you for the last three years? Or maybe they never stop keeping tabs on you.

“He doesn’t fit the profile, he was seven, from a good family. He was too young there is no way they would take someone from a family like that, it would be too difficult” Your mind spins as you speak, your words speeding up, slipping over each other in a hurry. Hotch hates the far away look that creeps into your eyes, almost more than he hates the numbness that dominates inside you. Taking a deep breath, hoping he doesn’t make it worse, Aaron slowly reaches out to you, placing his hand gently on your shoulder. You flinch sharply, your eyes narrowing on his hand, on his familiar touch. Aaron is the only one allowed to touch you, and only at certain times, only when you're ready for it, and normally you welcome his touch. Today is not the day you welcome it, his touch feels like fire, it sends painful memories of your past through your mind.

“Don’t” Your voice is low and full of danger, a shaky breath follows as he doesnt let go immediately.

“You need to tell me if this case gets too much, okay” Aaron words hold no judgement as he lets you go and just like he expected you stroll straight past him, anger radiating off you, as you fall into the chair beside Morgan.

~~~

Hotch starts the briefing, grabbing the team's attention with your homemade files. He informs them of everything you had told him that morning, minus your theories.

“So you made these files?” It was Morgan who asked the question. The one thing that had confused the whole team, because this screamed to them as an off the books case, something Hotch would never do.

“No I did” You speak up, leaning forward. You almost feel bored as Hotch gives the team the basic information, information you have been sitting on for many years. Everyone's heads turn straight to you, curiosity and surprised looks all over them. The quiet one who normally seems to keep to themself, is investigating a crime alone, and somehow convince Hotch to make it a real case. Oh you could feel the questions and doubt spreading throughout the room, and all you do is smirk at them as you lean forward.

“I didn’t think much of it at first, but something didn’t feel right so once I saw a second body drop in the same way. I started investigating a bit more, but I was always weeks behind, so in my time of hoping for new leads I went back and searched months back trying to find anything” You give them a brief explanation, making sure you don’t make eye contact with anyone, not needing to lose your nerve right now. The room stays quiet, giving you the confidence to keep talking, so taking a deep calming breath you continue.

“After I got an alert last night of a kid going missing, I knew it was them. Conor Blue, he fits the description that the unsubs go after. He’s between the age of Nine and fourteen, he came from an abusive household and he’s into sports which isn’t always a go to, but something I see they prefer” You speak slower than this morning, remembering to breathe as you do. Hotch might be hard to convince, but making sure the whole team has your back on this case, is something you didn’t think through. You needed their help, because without the team, you can’t get close enough to get rid of them for good.

“How long have you been looking into this?” Emily asks, looking over at you with concern. She can see ghosts in your eyes, and whatever answer you give her, she’s not going to believe you.

“About four months” Your lie is solided, you know that, you made sure all the files you gave them only look that old. Even if they have older information inside you can say it's from research.

“He came to me this morning, and I have been on the phone with a few detectives” Aaron glances at you as he says that, your stomach drops. He knows you used your FBI statues to gather information you weren’t supposed to have, opps. “And It seems to be happening all over the country, so we need to make a fast move on this case, two new bodies were discovered this morning” Hotch continues, the team watches you instead of Hotch. They all notice the tense look on your face, the way your eyes darken, your lips tightening as a way to stop yourself from interrupting the boss. Photos pop up on the screen as Hotch keeps speaking, your eyes land on the photos, your stomach twisting. Jason laid in the dirt, his body covered in bruises and blood, a hopeless look in his eyes. But what makes your mind ache is the body laying beside the ten year old boy. A 20 year old guy. He looks strong, someone who you know could only live that long in that place, if they were extremely strong and brave. The marks around his neck send a shiver down your body, your stomach swooshes so much you think you're going to be ill. He’s the only one that ages with that mark, and there is only one guy who would do that. He’s still there, and that's all your fault.

~~~

“So (Y/n), any theories?” Rossi the one to ask you, his eyes on the notebook that you're clutching tightly.

“Quite a few” You glance up at Hotch, silently asking for permission to take over, he gives a quick nod and with that it's your turn. “It's a team, I want to say at least two older ones that have been doing this for many, many years, and if anyone has lasted long enough they would train them to join them, using them to find more opposition. They need a good routine of fighters, more opportunity for them to grow” You speak in a matter of fact, your fingers tapping away at the table.

“What makes you think they are fighting each other?” JJ glances at you from the photos.

“Easy, look at them, there is only one way someone can get that many bruises and cuts on them. Also not to mention the autopsy results mention multiple broken bones that have healed, internal bleeding due to multiple blunt force trauma” Your not sure why but air soon becomes harder to inhale, it feels thick and the room starts heating up. Everyones eyes are on you, but you can’t look at them so you're focusing on the files in front of you instead. “Also look at their hands, they aren’t just defensive wounds, they fit back, also they are strong, it's like they train them. Plus they are well nourished so I guess someone is looking after them, my guess is a women is one of our unsubs”

“That’s one hell of a theory” Morgan says, his eyes burning into you. His gut is full of distrust when it comes to you with this case, something doesn't seem right.

“I know, but have a look and you will see why I’m right, also this case is nothing like we are use to, I have many theories and most of them are strange but, you can see why” You speak from gritting teeth, your hand now gripping the table in front of you.

“We are going to Nebraska, wheels up in thirty” Aaron eyes stay on you as you zoom out of the room, dying for some fresh air.

~~~

“Jupiter wake up” Her viciouses voice fills your ears, as a piercing pain invades your side. A sharp hiss slips through your lips as your eyes shoot open, your body shooting up into a sitting position, pushing the thin blanket to the side. Inside you feel numb, nothing inside you is alive anymore, years of training has made you the perfect soldier.

“Morning Ma’am” Your voice is emotionless, your eyes are dead as you stand up looking up at her. Keeping your hands behind you, your head slightly bent.

“We have a new comer, you are to welcome them this morning, I don’t care if they live or die just clean up your mess” Her voice is assertive, a cunning look on her face as she leads you down the hall and past the other trainee soldiers. Some of them are still asleep, most of them without blankets, only winners get comfort items. You stroll past the training room where your fellow soldiers are lifting weights before being allowed to eat. You glance at them a part of you wishing you could join them, but that's not your task this morning. Instead you get to fight, and you get to choose the outcome, oh you do enjoy these fights. You always win, and even better, it doesn’t take much effort. Ma’am leads you to the empty swimming pool, where most fights to the death take place. As you walk over to the edge you spot your opponent, he looks small and extremely frightened, barely a challenge. He’s already got blood over his face as he hides on the corner of the pool, the area where the bloodstains seem to be less. A small chuckle leaves you as you check him out, the thoughts of destroying him winding you up. Licking your lips softly before glancing over at Ma’am waiting for permission to go down.

“Go on, but try and make it fair” She laughs softly, enjoying the murderous gaze in your eyes. In a matter of seconds you're jumping into the pool, smirking darkly as you make your way over to him. The boy looks to be about 14 or 15, a couple years or so younger than you. He looks up at you, a confused and scared look plastered over his face, it grows when you stop a few metres back from him.

“Y you… you're alive” His whisper is barely audible, but it makes you freeze. That voice, you know that voice, how?

“Come here, now” You growl at him, gritting your teeth as you stare into his eyes.

“I thought you died (Y/n)” He takes a small step forward staring at you with hope. Oh how wrong that looks for a place like this.

“That's not my name” You spit at him, a horrible shiver dripping down your spine.

“Yes it is” He speaks more confidently as he steps closer. “Your name is (Y/n), we used to be friends” That name, why do you know that name, it's wrong, it's so wrong.

“I don’t know you” You sneer at him, taking a step towards him, dangour radiating off you.

“Yes you do, we used to be best friends, (Y/n) please you have to remember me, its Ryan” He begs you to remember. You freeze, Ryan. You know a Ryan, but he’s younger than him, Ryan was ten last time you saw him. But this can’t be him, because that part of your life is long gone, and who the hell does this guy think he is turning up claiming to be a part of that time. You react quickly with a sharp growl escaping you as you launch yourself on him.

“I don’t know you!” You scream as you grab him by his neck, and punch him repeatedly with your other hand. You're a lot stronger than him, using all your strength to pound into him. You let go of his neck, he falls forward with a gasp, begging you to stop but it falls on deaf ears. You knee him in the stomach as he falls forward, grabbing his hair holding him in place as you let him have it.

“I don't know you” You scream as your anger explodes. “I don’t know (Y/n)!” You shove him into the wall, his body slides down, so you kick him, as you scream repeatedly. “I don't know Ryan” You keep screaming, blood starts to pile around him, as you lose control. “I don’t know you!”

~~~

“I don’t know you!” A scream invades the quietness of the jet. Everyone's head turns towards the scream full of pain, landing on you. You're asleep at the back of the jet, shaking violently with tears streaming down your face. Aaron is up in a matter of seconds, running quickly towards you. The team stays quiet, letting Hotch take control of this situation. He drops to his knees beside you, small whimpers and cries leaves you as you stay dead asleep.

“(Y/n), wake up” He places his hand firmly on your arm, giving you a rough shake. But nothing, you stay asleep but your cries get louder.

(Y/n), open your eyes” Aaron shakes you again sharper and luck is on his side. Your eyes shoot open, breathing heavily as you scan your surroundings. The jet, you're on the jet, with your team. Oh shit your team, everyone is watching you, they stare at you with unreadable emotions on their faces, and you hate it. Soon you let your eyes drop down to the man beside you, fear enters you quickly, yanking away from his touch you straighten up quickly.

“Sir, I’m so sorry sir I didn’t mean to fall asleep, I am extremely sorry sir It won’t happen again” Your words fly out of you with fear, your breathing picking up, your hands shaking uncontrollably as you watch him, waiting for the punishment.

“It's okay” Aaron gulps, hating the fear you're experiencing, the panic attack that’s consuming you. “You are okay, you are safe here” Aaron speaks calmly, taking the chance to place his hand on yours, he’s grateful you don’t pull back.

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep” Your voice grows quiet, your lip quivering as the adrenaline dies down.

“It's okay you're allowed to fall asleep” Aaron reassures you, his thumb running over the back of your hand smoothly.

“I am?” You look up at him hopeful, your eyes full of tears. You almost seem child-like as you ask that simple question.

“Yes you are, I only woke you because you were having a nightmare” Aaron smiles softly at you, hoping he doesn’t embarrass you as he informs you.

“Oh no” You yank away from his touch, panic filling you. You know you sleep talk occasionally, what the hell did you say?

“We all get them, its okay”

“No.. what did I say?” You stare at him with a look of horror. Aaron's face drops, he knows that look, he’s seen it almost everyday of this job. A look victims have when they open up to much of their past, scared their abusiver will come back for them.

“You didn’t say much” He tries his best to comfort you but he knows that determined look in your eyes. “You said ‘I don't know you’ ”

A small sigh leaves you as you lean your head back in relief, that's all you said then you are fine, you can recover from that. “Thank you” You force a small smile, before raising your voice, turning to look at your coworkers who all seem to be pretending not to pay attention anymore.

“Sorry for disturbing you”

“You're not disturbing us” Hotch is quick to correct you, hating to think that you would think you're a bother. “If you want to talk about it–”

“No thank you, I’m fine” You interpret him quickly, a sharp glare and turning your back to him is all the dismissal he needs.

~~~

You're in the SUV with Morgan and Rossi, heading downtown to the morgue. You sat in the back seat, reading through the Jason Ducan files, before sighing loudly and laying your head back. The two men in the front seat share some curious looks before glancing back at you.

“You alright back there” Morgan questions you, a small smile on his face.

“Not at all, this makes no sense at all” rubbing your forehead as the frustration causes another headache. “Why the hell did they take Jason Ducan three years ago he doesn’t fit the profile and they wouldn’t of dumped him like that he would of hide the body better, you would think they know not to show of the bodies we are investigating” You can’t hide the frustration and anger invading you, your hand squeezing into fist and you think back. He was a clue back then yet you were so focused on moving on you didn’t see it, this is bad.

“Maybe your profile is wrong” Dave shrugs as he speaks, as if it's a casual thing.

“My profile is not wrong!” You snap at him, the anger burning away at your chest.

“I still don’t understand your interest in this case” Derek turns around to face you, a distrustful look in his eyes, one you can’t help but return.

“Well, no one was looking into it, someone has to care. I'm sorry if that irritates you Derek” Glaring deadly at him, as his eyes widen just slightly at your comeback before turning back to the front.

“I was just asking.'' He grumbles before glancing at Dave who is staring at you through the rearview mirror, watching as your face drops as you cross your arms.

~~~

You are shown the bodies and as the doctor talks you can’t hear her, the words flying over your head as you grab some gloves and start touching the bodies. Three pairs of eyes on you, watching like a hawk as you move like lightning. Your hands travel around the older unnamed victim's neck. The dark unformed bruises with a slight cut you can tell were made with wire, your stomach spinning as you move away from it and down to his feet.

“His neck wound was made by wire” You state as you kneel down by his feet, anger flooding through you as you see the scars. They are doing it again. “Holy shit” Your words are barely audible, but Morgan catches them, his eyebrow narrowing as he watches you.

“What did you find (Y/l)” Morgan makes his way over to you, spotting fear deep inside your eyes before you quickly mask the emotion once more.

“You need to ring Garcia” You look up at him, gulping thickly. “I think they are recording them”

“What, how can you tell?” It's Rossi that asks as he walks over, joining you and Morgan at the feet of the victims.

“Look at this” You show them the bottom of the left foot of the victim, where a big L is cut into along with the name victory which looks like it has been tried to be cut out.

“Okay” Morgan looks at you puzzled. “How did you get that they recorded them from this?”

“The L, It means they lost, I bet they showed this to the camera to show them that they truly did lose this time” Maybe what you said doesn’t make sense to the profilers, but it's what they do. But they stopped, you know they stopped. You couldn’t find them on the dark web so they had to have stopped but you never relooked when the bodies started dropping again.

“You can’t know that” Morgan goes to argue with you, a hand on his arm stops him. He turns his head to see Dave shaking his head at him. Morgan stares at him stumped wanting to argue but he can read that look in Dave’s eyes, there is something more going on here.

“It makes sense, they can earn money this way and also they are sick twisted little fuckers who can find other twisted fuckers to enjoy in on their torment as well” You speak quickly as you pull your phone out, taking photos of his foot.

“Okay I guess I’ll call Penelope then” Morgan sighs glancing at the dead set look on your face before walking out. You go to move onto Jason Ducan, touching his foot lightly before freezing. You stare at him for a few moments, your body frozen in place. He’s too young, his family loved him. How could they take him from them? It doesn't make sense.

“(Y/n), do you want me to do it?” Dave calls out to you kindly, breaking up your thoughts.

“No I got it” You reply letting out a small breath before pulling back his foot and taking a photo. A small W has been crossed out and replaced with a L, your heart crashing into your stomach as you see it. In a flash you're pulling away and making your way outside for some fresh air.

~~~

You lean against the SUV as you ring Reid, who is driving to see the other body that was discovered last night.

“Hey (Y/l), You're on speaker phone” You can hear Reid smile through the phone.

“Hey guys, are you at the body yet?” You focus on slowly your racing heart beat as you speak to them, readying yourself to pass on the information.

“Not yet, we are still two and half hours out from the town” Emily response, glancing at the phone as she drives.

“Okay that's fine, I just have a few things I need you to look at when you get there” Taking a breath as you think back to the cut on Jason's foot. “On his left foot I need you to see if there is anything cut into it, I am sending you a photo of the other two victims' feet okay” You quickly send them the photos.

“Okay I got it” Reid replies after a few moments.

“Oh that's gross” Emily groans.

“That's because you hate feet” Smirking just a little at her reaction.

“It's not my fault they are smelly and gross” She laughs just a little.

“Also you two should be driving through a small town called Cobar, it's a small town with a big population of homeless teenages It might pay to stop and talk to them, see if they have seen anything out of place lately” You take a sharp breath as a strange feeling starts filling you as you think about that place.

“Sure we can do that” Emily nods, her face tightening into a frown. “Hey, um are you okay?”

“I'm good, why?” Your lips pull into a thin line as you line.

“Because this case seems to be weighing on you alot” She explains, tapping her finger on the steering wheel.

“Nope It's just another case, I gotta go” You quickly hang up before she can ask more questions. Reid and Prentiss share some strange and concerning looks as the phone beeps.

“What is he hiding?” Emily mumbles to herself as she stares out at the road.

~~~

The rest of the day goes by quickly, you three end up meeting up with JJ and Hotch back at the precinct. Rossi and Morgan go and talk with Jason Duncan's parents once they arrive trying to get more information from them. JJ works with other precincts where the other bodies and missing boys have been reported, trying to get all the information she can. You and Hotch work together trying to organise a timeline for the last 12 months, and with all the information you already have some parts are easy to fill in. Until he starts questioning you on the one part you can’t answer.

“They shouldn’t be here, they should have gone east” Hotch sighs as you both stare at the map laid across the table.

“I agree but they didn’t” You don’t agree with that, but according to the timeline it makes sense.

“But do you agree?” Hotch looks up at you, doubt playing across his face.

“What are you getting at Hotch?” Huffing little as you pick up your coffee, staring back at him.

“You said they would be coming this way, so why would you think that?” There’s his stern look eating at you. Making your stomach sink as you hide the truth from him. The truth is, you know their base is around here. This town is the first thing you remember when you escape but you can’t tell him that, no one can know.

“I don't know” You lie, and it's a bad one.

“Don’t lie to me”

“I'm not lying!” You don’t mean to snap at him, but fear and guilt were eating away at you and you can’t contain it anymore.

“Then tell me the truth” His words are sharp and to the point, but his face stays calm, his eyes soft and caring as he stares at you.

“Fine, I had a feeling like this town means something, because look at the pattern here Aaron” Your shoulders tenses up as you lean forward, pointing at the map. “Look, they always avoid this town, and they always avoided leaving bodies in this state until last night so since they did that I decided to take a risk and wait for them to leave us something around here and do you want to know what I’m thinking right now” A smirk slips onto your lips as you speak, a feeling of excitement spreads throughout you as you share your idea.

“You think their base is around here” Aaron finishes your thought, not liking that smirk on your face.

“Exactly and if they left us this breadcrumb it only means two things, one they are somehow becoming sloppy or two—”

“They know you are investigating them” He finishes your sentence again, dread filling him due to just how close you are to this investigation.

“Not me, but someone yes and we can use that”

“How?”

Luckily Aaron's phone rings just before you have to answer that.

“It's Garcia” He glances at you before answering it, placing it on speaker. “Hey Garcia, what do you got?”

“Well boss man, I got good news and some gross news” Penelope's sweet voice floats through the phone.

“What's the good news Garica?” You straighten up as you hope.

“Well our unnamed victim is Liam Clark, he’s 19 years old and went missing five years ago in florida” Garcia informs you both just as the door to the conference room opens and the rest of the team walks in.

“Alright, can you send through his family information please” You sigh, leaning backwards in your chair, the stress of the case becoming too much.

“Will do my love, now are we ready for some more information?” Her voice starts filling with dread as she types aways.

“Hit us with the good stuff baby girl” Morgan speaks up, coming to sit on the edge of the table by the phone.

“Oh I wish it was good news chocolate thunder, but (Y/n) was right.” She sighs as Aaron phones dings. “I found their profile on the dark web and all their live streams have been saved, there are hundreds of them, maybe even closer to a thousand, and they got back many, many years” She takes a deep breath before continuing. “I haven’t looked at them all yet but there are some that are over 25 years old”

Your heart sinks, your palms becoming sweaty as realisation sits in. Your videos are still up, your team could find out in a matter of seconds what you are.

“25 years…” Your voice is as quiet as a mouse, your throat tightening up as your team glances over at you. “How did no one see this?” Your voice gets louder, filling with anger as you jump to your feet.

“They hide their tracks well” Reid speaks up, his eyes focused on you.

“Bullshit, no one can hide their tracks that well!”

“Okay you need to take a breath” Hotch gets up, walking closer to you. Watching the anger firing up inside your eyes.

“No, we need to find these monsters and make them pay, they have hurt and ruined so many innocent people's lives” You spit the words out, your hands squeezing into fist.

“Is that all?” Morgan questions you, getting up, standing uncomfortably close to you.

“What's that meant to mean!?” Your body is already in defensive mode, locking itself down as Morgan has a determined look inside his own.

“Well you seem to be hiding something from us and I would like to know what that is?” His questioning is dangerous, he steps closer to you. The rest of the room falls quiet, your eyes burning into his.

“How about, none of your damn business Morgan”

“It is my business when you drag us into it” He huffs back at you. “Just tell us what you're hiding” He steps closer, his breath lingering on your skin.

“Back the fuck up Derek” Your voice is lower, and full of danger. You can feel yourself about to snap and if you do, you don’t think you will be able to stop.

“We barely know you, so why don’t you just tell us what the hell is going on” Derek demands to know “What is wrong with you (Y/n)?” His hand raises up, and before you can process what is happening. Bam. Your fist collides with his mouth and you see red as he stumbles backwards. You follow him, a low growl leaves you as you punch him again, this time aiming for his eyes. He manages to block, trying to hold you back, but you don’t stop trying to get a blow on him. You can hear voices all around you but you can’t hear past the blood rushing in your ears. Soon there are arms wrapping around you from behind, pulling you away from Morgan. You struggle against them trying to break free as you stare daggering at Morgan who is being confronted by three people of your team, you don’t recognize them. Soon there is another person in your way, your body tenses as you see them. They quickly place their hands on your cheeks which make you freeze, the anger vanishing from inside you. Your vision starts easing up and faces start becoming recognizable. The person who is holding your face gently, has beautiful eyes, and a soft smile.

“Your safe (Y/n)” JJ speaks softly, “Just take some breaths” You stare at her, and soon start copying her breathing. Rossi lets you go, moving towards the rest of the team as you calm down.

“Let me go JJ” Your words are as cold as ice, the numb empty look in your eyes being replaced by guilt and anger.

“Okay” She takes a breath before removing her hands and as soon as she does you bolt out the door.

~~~

You keep running once you get outside, you don’t stop, you can’t, you just can’t. Your mind is spinning and the only way you know how to get it to become quiet again, is to run. So that's what you do, you run. The sun is already set so you enjoy the darkness as you run. You can’t believe you lost it and punch Morgan, but what the hell is he getting at? Now what the hell are you meant to say, what lie are you meant to produce that will cover your ass. You're not sure how long you have been running for, but you're running out of breath when you see a corner store and think oh why not. Checking you have your wallet you head inside grabbing a bottle of water and a pack of cigarettes. Walking back out you open it, throwing the rubbish in the bin before lighting it and taking a long drag. Closing your eyes as you inhale it, it's been a long time since you last smoked and god does it just hit right tonight. Slowly you begin walking back to the precinct, enjoying the nicotine hit. You know you're about halfway to the precinct when you decide to check your phone after feeling it ring a few times.

Missed phone calls: Aaron Hotchner (6)

Penelope Garcia (3)

You're not sure how many smokes you have consumed already but the pack is way lighter than it used to be. You really should ring them back instead of lighting another one, but oh well you think as you bring one more to your lips. Pulling out the lighter just as a car pulls up beside you, groaning softly as you recognize it. You keep walking, not caring to look at him as he rolls the window down.

“Get in the car” Hotch yells at you, following you.

“Nope” You go to light the smoke instead when he stops the car and gets out.

“We are an hour walk from the precinct, get the hell in” Aaron doesn’t bother to hide his anger, holding himself back from grabbing that cigarette from your hand.

“Or what?”

“Or you're fired, and I’ll leave you here” He huffs angrily, seeing you weighing up your options.

“Fine” You take a long drag on your smoke before stomping it out and climbing in.

~~~

The ride back is quiet, as you stare out the window.

“How angry is everyone?” Your voice is quiet and empty. Almost empty because Aaron can detect a small trail of sadness and fear in your words.

“Morgan winded you up on purpose, he pushed you too far. That wasn’t okay what either of you two did” Hotch ignored your question, because he knew you wouldn’t accept that fact no one is angry. No, everyone is just worried and concerned about you, something you don’t know how to spot or accept when it comes to yourself. He wishes you could just trust the team, trust him enough to let them help.

“I have a past” You pull yourself closer as you stare out the window, thinking about your next words carefully.

“You don’t have to tell me” Aaron quickly tells you softly, needing you to know there is no rush.

“And if I do want to tell you?” You glance at him quickly, and for a moment you forget he is your boss and see him in the light of your friend.

“Then I'm here to listen” He smiles lightly at you. You nod quickly looking back out the window, and then slowly you move your hand towards him, which he happily takes sliding his fingers between yours.

“I was abused growing up, no one cared and nobody knew, I never told anyone” You stare out the window, emotions settling down as you speak. “This case brings back memories I never wanted to relieve back up, I have to find these people so that we can save these kids” Your voice is sweet as you speak, this is a side no one but Aaron ever gets to see.

“And we will get them and we will get them help” Aaron smiles weakly as he pulls up. “But once this case is over we need to get you some help too, okay?” His thumb slides over your hand as you glance at him. If only he knew that nothing on earth can help you, and at the end of this case you don’t think you will still be on this team.

“Okay” You nod forcing a small smile before pulling away and making your way inside.

~~~

You walk in quietly, followed by Aaron. The team is staring up at the tv, watching some of the latest fights. You freeze as you catch a glance of his face on the screen. You knew he was still there but the look in his eyes is killing you. He's gone, replaced by a murderous robot, his skills are fast and sharp.

“Ryan” His name slips off your tongue before you can stop it, your body tenses up as you stare at the screen and the way he gets his opponent down in one quick move. Emily pauses it as everyone's head turns to you once more. This time everyone looks at you with concern as they see the tears forming in your eyes, which you quickly push away once you let everyone get a good look.

“You know him?” Reid asks you, tilting his head as he asks you.

“Um y yeah..” You take a deep breath. “I went to school with him” It's a lie, but you know it's golden. “He went missing when he was around 15 years old, we were best friends then one day he didn't turn up to school and well” You take a deep breath as Aaron leads you to a chair, your arms shaking just a little. “He was officially determined missing a week later, his parents were absent, they didn’t care for him” That wasn’t a lie, he told you about his parents and how much they hurt him and how they were barely at home.

“Oh (Y/n)” JJ places her hand softly on the table beside your hand, not touching but showing you she is here for you. You give her a soft smile in response.

“If he’s been there this whole time it's been twelve years” Twelve years, he is never going to be the same.

“Jesus christ” Morgan groans with regret as he looks at you. “That's what you were hiding?”

“I had a feeling he was there.. I was just hoping I was wrong” Your voice is weak and tiredness is starting to take over. It's been almost 48 hours since you last slept.

“Now we got a lead, tomorrow we get Garcia to look into him but let's call it a night it's late we all need sleep” Hotch states, everyone nodding in agreement including you as you stare at Ryan's face on the screen. That's all your fault.

#criminal minds #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x male!reader #aaron hotcher dark fic #aaron hotcher fic #bau x reader #bau x male reader

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