#i shit you not the AMOUNT OF TIMES their thoughts are hearing noises or voices is absurd GO TO A DOCTOR PLEASE

[sargeteen]

📝 THOUGHT I LOST YOU⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

ᵎ!ᵎ𐔌 a charles leclerc fic loss surrounded him until he couldn't breathe anymore , it was all he knew . he just wasn't ready to lose anybody else , he couldn't lose anybody else .

pairing & warnings ... ♯ charles leclerc x rival mercedes driver ! male reader ꒱ ﹕ loss was a parasite, and it stuck to charles like he was its lifeline. talk of death, religion, god, lots of swearing, and google translated french. requested by @darkestmrhyde

WHEN Y/N SAID HE WANTED TO BE LIKE GROSJEAN, he didn't mean like this. He didn’t know where he was; everything was dark, and there was a constant pressure on top of his head. He didn’t remember anything that would’ve gotten him to this point. He tried to turn his head, but with the pressure sitting on his head, that was nearly impossible.

His arms were stiff and stuck, something you never want if you’re a Formula 1 driver. Y/n squinted, trying to get a better look at his surroundings. The only things he could see were his steering wheel, the halo, his body out of his peripheral vision, and that was pretty much it. He could see a small amount of light coming from under the top of the halo.

Wait. The top of the halo?

He was upside down. The pressure on his head was the track under him, and the only thing keeping him from getting squished was that halo and his seatbelt, which was mostly still intact. Fucking hell.

There was no way out of this. Y/n closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. He thought of his family, fans, the other drivers…Charles. Fuck, Charles. Suddenly, everything came rushing back to him—him and Charles going wheel to wheel, and they got too close coming around a turn and their wheels caught on each other, sending both of them flying into the barriers, y/n ending up on his head. He blacked out immediately after the impact, so he didn’t know where Charles ended up, and he immediately started to worry more.

What if Charles isn’t okay? What if he’s in worse condition?

Condition—his condition, right. Y/n opened his eyes and tried to look around again, the best he could without jostling too much. He could see the sides of the car were pinched in, which trapped his—most likely broken, but he couldn’t tell—arms. Shit, what the fuck happened? Y/n tried to wiggle his arms free from the makeshift cage that his car turned into, but there wasn't enough room for him to move.

"Fuck," y/n grumbled. He was starting to feel lightheaded from hanging upside down, but he tried not to notice as he tried harder to pull his arms out.

Suddenly, after being stuck in a weird and unsettling silence, his radio crackled to life.

"I hope that worked, Charles. Y/n, can you hear me? Answer me. Y/n, let us know you're alive," Bono pleaded over the radio, an emotion lacing his voice that y/n has never been on the other side of. "Just like a noise, or something. Please, tell us you're alive."

The last time someone had gotten in a horrible accident like this was Grosjean, and while he did get out walking himself, his car wasn't tipped over in the middle of the track while threatening to catch fire.

Y/n grunted as he gained movement in his right arm, and he celebrated quietly in his head. In a frustrating movement that made y/n want to scream out, he moved his arm slowly and pressed the radio button to let the people know he's alive, for now, at least.

"Bono?" His voice was quiet and hoarse, for some reason. Y/n blinked slowly, and black started to invade his vision. He tried to blink it away and stay awake, awake for the team, for Charles.

"Y/n!" It was Toto on the radio now, his voice was urgent and didn't fill y/n with relief that he was going to get help soon. "Are you okay? How are you?" Toto asked, even though he already knew the answer as he watched y/n's upside-down car sit in the middle of the track, the other cars already sitting in their respective garages, except for Charles's, which was sitting next to y/n's, but in the barriers right side up.

Where the fuck were the marshals?

"Tired," y/n said, honestly. His lightheadedness was getting harder to ignore, harder to push away and focus on the now, but he had to; there was no way he was going to get out of this car alive if he didn't. "My—fuck—my arms. They're stuck, mostly. Can't move my left arm, right arm is moving. Legs...I can't feel them," y/n tried to relay as much information as he could, mostly so that he could stay awake and not lose consciousness, because that is not what he needed right now.

The radio was silent for a beat, but then Toto came back on, his voice shaky and thick with emotion, like he'd been trying too hard to keep his tears from falling.

"Can you get out?"

It was a simple question, and y/n should've been able to answer it right away, but he couldn't. He looked around him once more, as much as his head could let him, and he sighed when he realized there was a good chance that he wouldn't be able to. Y/n moved his right hand away from the steering wheel, away from the radio, and he moved around, trying to find the seatbelt without his vision.

His eyes caught onto the small gap between the car wall and the halo—he could fit through that, couldn't he?

"Y/n? Can you get out?" Toto asked again, his voice more urgent than before. Y/n and Toto had a special relationship, and it would be hard not to see that.

After getting his seatbelt unbuckled after some struggle, y/n moved his arm forward again—he couldn't feel the pain in his right arm anymore, the pain that made him want to yell out the first time he moved it, and he was sure that wasn't a good thing—and he pressed the radio button.

"I think so. If I can't, tell my mom I love her. Tell Charles I'll miss him. Tell—"

Bono interrupted him, his voice no longer as urgent as it was before, and he was calmer than Toto, "You can tell them yourself, y/n. Get yourself out safely. The marshals are stuck with another accident. It's just you and the car, mate. Be safe."

Fucking hell, okay.

A fire was lit under y/n's ass, he needed to see everybody again. This couldn't be how he goes out, in a crash with Charles? The Ferrari driver would blame it on himself and would go down another spiral, and might even hurt himself. No matter how much they had a frenemy relationship, y/n couldn't bear giving Charles one more person to grieve.

Grief was a losing game, and Charles was sure to fall victim to it if y/n didn't make it out of this car.

Despite his lightheadedness coming back to light, y/n pushed his visor up with his right hand, and now that he didn't have his seatbelt holding him up, he slid further onto the track, causing his shoulder and left arm to bend weirdly.

He heard a yell, the first one he's heard his entire time being under his car. It strangely sounded a lot like his voice, but he pushed on the carbon fiber of his car with his right hand, trying to free his left arm. As he did so, he started to smell smoke, something that nobody ever wanted in this situation.

His radio crackled alive once more.

"Fire, y/n, there is fire on your rear wing. Get out of there," Toto said over the radio quickly.

"Fuck!" Y/n yelled out. Time to speed-run getting out of a crushed and on fire Formula 1 car. After a couple of more forceful pushes with his right arm, his left arm was free. He couldn't move it, so he dragged it along as he pulled on the halo as much as he could with his right arm. He dragged his body up towards the halo, but his helmet bumped against the halo.

Fuck, his helmet was too large for him to slip out of it.

Y/n had no idea how he was doing this, but he pulled off his helmet, HANS, and balaclava with his right hand. He gripped his right glove in his teeth and pulled, pulling off the glove so he could grip the halo better. He felt as though he was a superhero as he tried to pull himself through the halo with only his right arm, his helmet, and HANS sitting in the open space between the car and the track.

As soon as his head was through the halo, he felt the heat from the fire, despite it being at the end of the car, not at the front. But that wasn't a part of his problem right now—it was, and he should worry about it, but he was busy pulling himself out of the car with one arm.

His shoulders were in the halo now as he pulled himself out on his back. The fire was bright, and right in front of his face, now. He was sure he was getting burned, but none of that mattered—he needed to get the fuck out of this goddamn car.

Suddenly, hands were on his shoulders, and he was being pulled out. He looked up, and above him, in a Ferrari red race suit, stood Charles with his helmet on.

Y/n doesn't remember anything after that—he was sure he blacked out now. Maybe it was all of the blood that rushed to his head, or the fact that he just pulled himself out of a wrecked and on fire Formula 1 car with one arm.

CHARLES WAS AT THE MERCEDES GARAGE THE SECOND HE WAS RELEASED FROM THE MEDICS' TENT. Nobody questioned him as he pushed through the unknown garage to find Toto, Bono, and George nervously sitting in front of the screen that remained on y/n's upside-down car. Charles was lucky after the accident, and he got a ride from a lone marshal who said his safety was the number one priority, all the while y/n was most likely dying in the car next to his.

"Is he okay?" Charles made his presence known in the Mercedes garage as he rushed up to the screen where the group of 3 were standing. "Do they know anything?"

Toto glanced over at Charles, tears noticeable in the corners of his eyes, "Nothing. Fucking marshals are stuck at the accident with Alonso and Checo. Neither of them are fucking upside down in the middle of the fucking track!"

Bono was next to Toto, not paying attention to the cursing as he continued to press the radio button under his right pointer finger. "Y/n? Get back to me, y/n, please," it sounded like he was seconds away from pleading with God to make sure that y/n was okay after minutes of radio silence from the veteran driver.

To the right of Bono stood George. His eyes were closed, and his hands were clasped together. He held them in front of his mouth, pressing his hands onto his lips. Now he looked like he was already pleading with God to make sure y/n was okay, and Charles didn't even think that George was a religious person.

Grief made everybody want to believe in God, that he was out there saving the person they loved the most.

Charles watched the unmoving car on the track, and he had horrible deja vu. First Jules, then Grosjean, now y/n. While only one of them hadn't been able to walk away from their accident so far, it was hard to not group y/n in with the two other drivers.

Closing his eyes, Charles whispered to himself. He doesn't pray often but in times in need he does. "Dieu, s'il vous plaît, faites en sorte qu'il aille bien. S'il vous plaît, faites qu'il s'en sorte vivant. Je ne peux pas vivre sans lui. Je t'en supplie, mon Dieu. Qu'il s'en sorte, qu'il vive," he mumbled. He earned looks from Toto, Bono, and George, but not weirded out ones—thankful ones.

[ God, please let him make it. Please let him make it out alive. I can't live without him. I beg you, God. Let him come through, let him live. ]

Charles opened his eyes, and after a beat, Bono pressed the radio button again.

"I hoped that worked, Charles," he muttered under his breath. "Y/n, can you hear me? Answer me. Y/n, let us know you're alive," it was getting to a concerning time where they hadn't heard anything come from the car, and nobody had arrived to help him out. Bono cleared his throat, pressing the button again, "Just like a noise, or something. Please, tell us you're alive."

Charles didn't realize it, but he had started to cry. Tears streamed down his face, and he only noticed because he went to wipe the tiredness out of his eyes, but his fingers came away wet.

"Bono?"

The garage went still, not a single person moved. On the TV where they were watching y/n's car, the stream of the race, they showed y/n's radio graphic, and Bono's message was typed out on the screen. And soon, so was y/n's response. So, they weren't just hearing things.

Y/n was alive.

Toto leaned over and pressed the radio button himself, calling out, "Y/n!" like a dad who hadn't seen his missing kid for days. It was obvious, the relationship that Toto and y/n had was leaning on the familial side—anybody could see it and people often pointed it out, but the two always laughed it off. "Are you okay? How are you?"

"Tired," the response was quick now, which Charles knew was a good thing. Y/n was alive, and he was speaking with them right now. He thought he was dreaming, but this would rather be called a nightmare if he really was dreaming. "My—fuck—my arms. They're stuck, mostly. Can't move my left arm, right arm is moving. Legs...I can't feel them."

Charles's chest started to heave. He cared about y/n, no matter how much they fought on and off the track, he cared for y/n. They grew up racing together, much like the other drivers, but there was something different between the two of them. It took Charles years to figure it out—he was in love with y/n.

But, of course, he couldn't share any of that with y/n or anybody else on the grid, because he could be threatening his spot in the grid and his spot with Ferrari.

"I'm going," Charles said quickly, and before anybody could reach out and stop him from running to y/n's car, he grabbed his helmet and started to run out of the Mercedes garage and into the pit lanes. Teams watched confused as Charles sprinted down the pit lane with his helmet in hand. The Ferrari garage was at the end of the pit lane for this race, and Charles saw Lewis standing outside of it with a bike.

"Charles!" Lewis called, holding out the bike for Charles. "You're not a runner, take this."

Charles didn't have time to be offended as he pushed on his helmet, and he snatched the bike from Lewis's hands. He started to pedal towards the wreck site, where, still, y/n's car remains untouched by the marshals.

Didn't they know that a driver was fucking dying here?

Charles has never ridden a bike so fast in his life, and before he knew it, he was at the side of y/n's car, where he was trying to pull himself out of the car with one arm. But the car was on fire now, which was definitely not good.

Charles dropped the bike as he ran over to where y/n was pulling himself out of the car, and he grabbed y/n's shoulders and pulled him out of the car himself. He saw y/n's eyes lock onto his helmet before he passed out. Charles pulled y/n away from the car on fire, and when he thought he had gotten far enough away, he set y/n down and he crouched at y/n's side.

The Monegasque pulled off his helmet and tossed it off to the side, and he bent down, putting his ear right up to y/n's mouth, to make sure that he was still breathing. As he did so, he heard sirens make their way down the track towards him and y/n. Charles moved back up when he heard and felt y/n breathing steadily. He refused to look away from y/n's face, which was already starting to scar from the hot fire, which Charles had just noticed he practically ran into just to pull y/n out of the car.

Time moved quickly as the marshals and emergency vehicles finally arrived at the scene. They pulled a broken y/n onto a stretcher, extinguished the fire on the car, and allowed Charles to hitch a ride on the ambulance, leaving nothing behind other than a charred car and a Ferrari-branded bike that lay on the side of the track.

Charles stayed out of the EMT's way as they got to work on the scarring on y/n's face and right hand. One then started to pull off the race suit that saved y/n's life. Charles looked away; he didn't want to look at the state of y/n's left arm and legs. While his legs looked fine while he wore the race suit, his left arm looked insanely damaged, and he couldn't even see the arm.

Charles thinks he blacked out, because before he knew it, he was sitting in a hospital waiting room, still wearing his race suit, and he zoned out, staring at a painting of the Eiffel Tower on the opposite wall. He didn't even know what country he was in anymore, but he did know that they didn't have a race in Paris.

Someone sitting in the seat to his right made him look up. It was Pierre with a large backpack in hand. He pulled out Charles's phone and handed it to the Ferrari driver. "I have your phone, a change of clothes, and some deodorant because you stink," Pierre smiled at Charles and handed him the backpack.

"Thank you, Calamar," Charles said quietly. He stood up with the backpack and stepped up to the front desk, where a younger woman was sitting. "Where is your bathroom?" Charles asked with a small smile. Even if there wasn't much to smile about, since y/n was stuck in surgery, Charles was always polite to strangers.

The woman looked up and smiled politely. She pointed to her left—Charles's right—, "Down that hall, it should be right next to the elevator. There is a single stall bathroom, which is bigger and easier to change in."

Charles smiled, "Thank you."

Charles quickly changed in the single-stall bathroom and made his way back to the waiting room, where Pierre was waiting for him, his race suit and fireproof now stuffed into the backpack. He stopped dead in his tracks when he walked into the waiting room.

The entire grid sat and lounged in the uncomfortable waiting room chairs as they quietly conversed with themselves. They were all changed out of their race suits and into civilian clothing. By the front door, all standing in a circle, were a handful of team principals and head engineers, Toto and Bono included.

Charles smiled softly as he took his spot back next to Pierre. He slid the backpack under his chair, and he kept his phone face down, refusing to look at it because he knew that he would want to go on Twitter and look up videos of his and y/n's crash.

"What is everyone doing here?" Charles asked quietly, leaning into Pierre's shoulder.

"They canceled the race," Pierre said back, turning away from the conversation he was having with Yuki, "so everybody decided to come to the hospital. You know how much y/n is liked by the grid; nobody can live without him. And, we were all worried about you. You seem particularly rattled about this." Pierre shifted in his seat so he was fully facing Charles, sitting sideways in his chair. "Are you okay, Charles?"

Charles leaned forward on his knees, his head dropping. "No," he mumbled. "It's my fault, I should've given him more room. My tyres caught on his, and I sent him flying. It's all my fault," tears started to prick his eyes again.

Before Pierre could respond, a doctor came into the waiting room, "Y/n L/n?" The entire grid looked up, but Charles and George were the only ones to stand up. Toto and Bono stepped away from their conversation. The doctor, who Charles guessed was the surgeon who was working on y/n, smiled softly and nodded, "He's okay. He's stable." Everybody let out a breath of relief.

Thank fuck.

"He's sleeping right now, but we can have one person visit him for right now," she looked around at the large group. Everybody looked to Charles and Pierre pushed his right buttcheek, pushing him towards the doctor. She looked over at Charles and smiled softly, taking note of his tears, but not saying anything about them. "You can follow me, sir."

Before he knew it, Charles was at y/n's bedside, gripping his right arm in his hands. Y/n's arm was covered with bandages, along with the left side of his face. His left arm was in a full cast, and there were no obvious-looking casts on his legs. Charles pressed a soft kiss on y/n's forearm.

"Mon Dieu, I thought I lost you. Merci, mon Dieu. Que Dieu vous bénisse. Merci de l'avoir laissé sortir vivant, de l'avoir laissé s'en sortir," Charles whispered against y/n's arm in French.

[ My God…Thank you, God. God bless you. Thank you for letting him out alive, for letting him get away with it. ]

"Charlie?"

Charles perked his head up and laughed in disbelief as y/n looked at him with only his right eye.

"What happened?" Y/n asked, his right brow furrowing.

"You, mon héros, crawled out of a burning and crushed car," Charles smiled softly at the man.

[ my hero ]

"Oh," y/n said softly. "Did I look hot doing it?"

"Extremely."

a/n: ok so this is longer than i expected it to be, i kind of just started writing and never stopped. please correct me if any of the french is incorrect! hope you guys liked this and lived up to the expectations (sorry it took forever to come out)

tags: @milessunflowers @lokisen @kevinlolwife @op-81-lvr-reblogs @kazanskied @481rosier @raizelchrysanderoctavius @mountainshuman @spoonfulofmilo

[chasing-faith-and-fate]

can we hear about robinfleck?

Robinfleck | 27 | Nervous Paranoid They/Them (Any) | Sapphic

Robin has grown incredibly paranoid after the death of their mother. At the time of disposing of the body, they didn't know what Takers were, and due to the stress of the situation, they actually never thought about how she died.

Dewbat told them what Takers were and how they functioned. Ever since then, they've been suspicious of everyone older in Brindleclan.

They used to have a good relationship with their dad, Milkweedstar, but it has started to deteriorate over the last few moons.

Sadly, they've been getting close to Storm, even considering him a close friend. Robin truly has no idea that Storm is a Taker.

Robinfleck often goes to the Rift and stares into the darkness of it, Dewbat has caught them doing it enough times that he will come by to check every night to make sure Robin is okay.

They genuinely do not know how to kill the Takers, but they have started to... experiment with it. Not that it helps, because they don't know who's a Taker and who's not.

On a lighter note, they've recently developed a crush on a new cat in the clan! A former loner named KD (she/her). KD likes them back, but they have yet to learn that.

[grugruel]

Your daddy know 'bout this?

(Don't be fooled, there's no daddy kink!)

Pairings: dbf!cowboy!bucky x f!reader

MDNI/NSFW

Masterlist

Summary: A few days short of your 21st birthday, you decide to celebrate with your friend at the local bar. Unbeknownst to you, a close friend of your dad's is there.

When he sees you with beer in hand and in the lap of another man, things get heated. Somehow, you end up in his shirt, at his house.

Word count: 5.1k

Warnings: pinv sex, passionate sex, forbidden realationship, violence, blood, underaged drinking, slight angst, cum eating, I love yous', mentions of masturation, tension, arguments, slight jealousy and protectiveness, pet names (girl, woman, ma'am, princess, sweetheart)

AN: not yet proofread, might be rough around the edges! Enjoy girlies🥹🫶

It was his one free night in a long time, and his buds pulled him along for a drink. He had no real objections, for he was in a good mood and it'd get even better once he had a drink in him.

The group of men emerged from the damp, rainy night and dove into the smoke tainted air and usual bustle of the local dive. They ordered their drinks and made their way to the back where the booths were, a jumble of familiar faces greeting them on their way. Until-

Bucky saw a face he ought not to see in a place like this. "Excuse me a moment, fellas. I got somethin' to take care of."

Their group turned to him, confused. "Wha-" and looked in the direction he was already headed. "Well shit, good thing her daddy ain't come with us." The group shared a few nervous glances, then shrugged and chuckled. "Wouldn't want to be one of those boys right now."

-

"Well . . . " a voice chuckled loudly.

She could see the source approaching their table from her peripheral, his form vaguely illuminated by soft lamp light through the gloom. " . . . Aint this a sight?"

She knew that voice, she could hear the telltale grin that shaped it.

Catching onto the change in energy, the giggles and boisterous laughter of their small group died down. Tense glances exchanged between them, all eventually landing on the intruder, all except her own.

Commotion continued sounding around them, their table the only to emit an unusually low amount of noise. "Anyone wanna tell me whats goin' on here?" The voice asked.

Swallowing, she realised she'd been intently staring into a cadleflame. She belived that maybe she'd have a chance at going unnoticed if she sat still enough.

"I asked you a question, doll."

She winced. That was his nickname for her. Fuck. She tore her gaze from the candle, snapping it to her friend across the table and gave her a sidelong glance that meant 'trouble' to which her friend nodded in agreement.

The low light that made the place cosy just moments before now only existed to muddle her thoughts. But, it could work in her favour. She carefully pushed her drink behind her elbow, hoping it wasn't too late to hide, and her friend followed her lead.

She turned toward the man, a cheap grin plaster on her face. "Hey . . . Buck," she spoke slowly, as if it'd somehow make him more agreeable.

"Hey there, princess," he grinned. Hat on his head. "Wanna explain this to me?" Pointing lazily to their gathering.

She shrugged, attempting to act nonchalant. Because admitting your wrong would confirm it's wrong. "Nothin special, we were just leavin', in fact."

A scoff blew past her ear. "The hell we are." The lap she sat on stiffened beneath her, tapping his feet–once, twice–in a show of impatience, and rocking her body in the process. The man then whispered in her ear. "Who is this guy anyway?"

She inclined her head, nervous eyes avoiding the big cowboy that stood imposing at the end of their table, and murmured a quiet reply over her shoulder. "No one. . . in particular." A lie, of course. "Let's just go."

The cowboy chuckled. "You're not leavin' with him, you're leavin' with me." That drawl could make the most steeled stumaches jittery with butterflies. Her friend must've felt it too by they way she squirmed in her seat.

She had to screw her eyes shut in a moment of contemplation. Why'd he have to be here tonight? Why'd they have to go to a bar he frequented?

She looked back at her friend with panic in her eyes. Boy, were they in for it. She could think of nothing else then to simply ask nicely, hoping it'd appeal. "Please, just go."

He smirked, putting a hand on his hips and showing a stern but playful disposition. "Your daddy know 'bout this?" He tipped his hat in their direction.

She pinned him with her eyes, narrowing them with independent annoyance. "Im my own woman, B-"

'What's it to you?' The guy beneath cut her off.

Bucky switched his attention to the guy, and she could feel him shrink a little under Bucky's gaze. "Hell, no need for that tone! I was just sittin' with my buds over there." He pointed to the group of men Buck came with, no doubt to put some pressure on the poor guy. From the looks of it, they'd been listening in on our conversation, and now waved to her, idly laughing at the situation, ready to jump in at any moment.

She shyly waved back, a tight smile on her lips.

"See, I just saw your little group havin' a grand ol' time over here and wanted to join you," Bucky laughed. "And when I noticed that fine woman in your lap, I thought I'd have a chat with her." He disguised it well, but she could hear the anger beneath his humoured exterior.

"You two know each other?" The guy asked, I'll at ease.

"Well enough." Bucky took a moment to look her over, a scan for any harm. But his eyes stuck on the short skirt and thin shirt. If possible, he looked even more bothered. "Wouldn't you say, sweetheart?" He glanced at her, and she could see the danger that lurked in his eyes. It began to dawn on her more and more how knee deep in trouble she was.

She cleared her throat, a nervous blush creeping up her cheeks. "Mhm," she hummed. It felt like he could see through her.

The guy's hand slunk to the bare skin of her thigh, attempting to mark his territory when seamingly he'd decided his dislike of the situation. "Huh, what's with the hat anyway, you some kind of sheriff?" He asked. But cut Bucky off as he was about to answer. "Either way," he waved his hand dismissively. "She's fine where she is. She can make her own decisions." And just like that, he'd successfully stolen the point she'd been trying to make.

She shook her head. Stupid, stupid boy.

Bucky's face hardened, any sign of humour gone from him. "I assure you, I dont need a sheriff's badge to take her home, It's within my right." He braced his hand against the table, leaning closer to them.

Her uterus roiled at that. 'take her home'

"Now, get that hand off of her, boy." He snarled, annoyance and authority resounding in his voice, promising a solution to the mans cocky demeanor. "She ain't yours to touch."

"Why?" The guy asked. "She yours?" His hand slid higher, squeezing her thigh, challenging the much broader man.

She exhaled, releasing a frustrated hum in early defeat, he'd doomed them both.

The cowboys jaw tensed. Silently, but undoubtedly steaming, he rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and pushed them above his elbows. The veins on his forearms pop from strain, knuckles turning white from his fists clenching. "Fella. . ." He began, calming his composure, then pointed two loose fingers at the girl in the mans lap. "Had she been mine, you'd be on the floor already. Now, that girl, ain't of drinkin' age, neither is she to be touched by a slimy bastard like yourself."

Fuck, so he did see the drink. She shook her head again, warning him. "Bucky. . ." A very bad attempt at dissuading him from doing whatever he was about to do. She could almosy feel the guy beneath her sink into the booth they were sitting in. Perhaps he had some sense after all.

Her friend grabbed her arm, loosely yanking on it as her anxious eyes flickered between the men in conflict. She herself sitting in the lap of the guy's friend, who was preparing to step in if necessary. "We should go before this gets ugly," her friend whispered.

"Respectfully, ma'am, she ain't going nowhere without me." The cowboy opposed, directing his attention to her friend.

No, no, no no. . . Dread filled her, he'd drive her straight home to her parents.

Bucky's eyes fell back on the guy, now shrunken and small under his gaze. "So. . . Stand up, 'n leave, boy," he spoke with the authority of a sheriff but stood with the confidence of an outlaw. "There's no need for altercations, I was enjoyin' my night. N' I don't wish that to change-"

"I'll call on the bouncer," the guy shot out, his face probably as pale as his overly white and fragile shirt, pointing to a man behind the cowboy. Her eyes followed the steps down from the seating area, and through the dimly lit dive where a big man stood posted by the door. The guy beneath her then glanced at his friend across from them, both extending curt nods to one another.

She wanted to wretch, he was acting a coward and standing up to Bucky with the threat of enlisting two other men to his side. She sighed loudly, making a point for him to hear as she eyed her friend. "Well, I sure know how to pick em'." And her friend, inspite of the commotion they found themselves in, covered her mouth in snicker.

Bucky narrowed his eyes in a second of silent fury, then answered with a laugh, not missing a beat. "You mean that bouncer?" He asked and turned around, calling a greeting to the bouncer, who in turn tipped his hat with a smile. The type of gesture that indicated a longstanding friendship. "We're well aquainted," Bucky grinned. "But im sure he'd love to sort this situation out."

If they had any sense at all, the two men would leave with what little dignity they had left and realise that they were already outnumbered inspite of being 2 to 2.

"Leave, girls," the guy easily dismissed them.

She gave him a pointed look, flashed her eyebrows, and jerked her head to the side in a 'you had it coming' motion, and then grabbed her friend's hand.

"Asshole," she sighed and steered them out of the booth, taking the cider in her other hand. Silly as she was, she thought she could simply leave, perhaps just slip by Bucky. But no, his strong hand grabbed her bicep as she passed by, and set his blues deep into her own. "Wait by the truck, I'll drive ya' home." He said, looking between the two girls.

"Fine . . . " She sighed.

"N' dont even think of running, cause I'll catch ya'," he warned, and she rolled her eyes inspite of the burning that settled in her core.

She tried to yank herself free, but he didn't let go. "What? You wanna hear a 'yes sir'?" She dared the words, teasing, as nervousity built in her gut.

His eyes searched hers, a slow grin spreading over his lips as he leaned closer, bending down to whisper in hear ear. "Dont get cocky with me, girl." And his hand began sliding downward, making her shiver, leaving goosebumps in the wake of his touch.

She swallowed, that tone, the hat? God. Her uterus purred, and in a sudden surge on confidence, she answered. "No, sir."

He grabbed the glass bottle from her hand and grinned, taking a sip. "Good, girl. Now go." And pointed to the door.

Would it be wrong to say she started salivating? His words, together with his lips making contact with the same surface she had? There was something about it, something that made her . . . Pulse.

Bucky whistled and his friend–the bouncer–came bounding up the steps, him along with the group of dad's and bucky's friends only a few steps behind.

The bouncer tipped his hat to her and her friend in passing, a smirk on his lips. Nice to know there was still some gentlemen in the world.

She smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. He was quite handsome too.

"Dont even think 'bout it," Bucky warned.

She rolled her eyes, and then they were finally on their way out, meeting Bucky's group of friends on the way, all nodding and greeting her. "Tell your daddy we missed him tonight." One said, and they all chuckled.

The girls hurried off, giggling. But anxiety lingered in the depths of her chest. Those men were rogue witnesses in all of this.

As she held the door open, voices raised behind them. She could see the crowd turning to look in Buckys direction, anf she herself followed their gazes. And found them just in time to see Bucky's knuckles collide with the jaw of the guy she'd spent her night on, sending him sprawling.

-

Plunging into the deep night, the cold swept over them. "He's hot, ain't he?"

She didn't want to answer, or simply didn't want to admit it and just gave her friend a look of understanding.

"God, I was ready to pounce on him the second he called me ma'am."

The girl understood that too.

-

After about ten minutes wait, Bucky emerged from the bar. Unscathed, apart form bloody knuckles and dark cloud around his head. Before even saying a thing, he'd already removed his jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders. "I only got one of them. Apologies, ma'am," he told her friend and opened the truck door for them both. "The truck'll warm you up."

"Thats ok, thank you," her friend answered, and the girls shared a knowing look. Their thoughts connecting in fiendish collectivity.

"Alright, get in. We'd better get goin'."

-

The ride was relatively quiet. We knew better than to anger him further. Anxiety was growing within her, though, she didnt wanna know what would happen when her friend was let off.

"Text me ok? I'll se ya' later." Her friend said, eyeing Bucky. She leaned her head through the open window of the truck. "But- let me know how that goes," she whispered. "And good luck." She raised her eyebrows with a smirk on her lips.

The girl rolled her yes. "Sure will." And with one last wave, they were off.

-

When there were only the two of them, they could say whatever they wanted with confidence. But so far, there'd only been a few sighs and breaths of shared irritation. Neither of them were particularly pleased with the situation.

But she wanted to be the first to speak. "I'll be 21 in a few days, Buck."

"Doesn't mean you have good judgement."

She bristled. "I'm not a little girl anymore!"

" 'Course not, I can tell by the way you dress. That what a grown woman look like to you?" He nodded to her body, barely covered apart from his thick jacket over her torso.

She pulled it closer around herself. "Like what exactly? What do I look like to you? A slut, a hooker?" Her face stung from embaressment. She felt like a child again, being berated for something she wasn't able to puzzle together by herself.

He clicked his tongue, jerking his head to the side. His patience was running thin. "Dont twist my words, doll. I'm callin you careless."

"That dont matter comin' from you, you're not my daddy." She knew the comment would get a rise out of him, because she knew he'd ment no ill intent, and she knew he cared for her. But she was mad, and so was he.

"No, n' you should thank fucking god he wasn't there to bust you. I was the better option, I can promise you that."

She exhaled a frustrated breath, turning her attention toward the windshield. Watching droplets of water paving their way over the condensation covered glass. "You weren't the only one to bust me, though, were you?" She spoke lowly, feeling like a coward for even asking. "The boys gonna say something?"

He gripped the steering wheel harder, his roughed up knuckles tearing. "I told em' I'd take care of it." It must've stung, but he took no notice. Other things pestered his mind.

Worry mixed in with all other emotions as her gaze drifted to his hands, and her mind immidetly moved into recovery mode. "So what's that mean, you gonna tattle on me now?"

He looked over at her, brows furrowed right beneath the rim of his hat. He couldnt begin to understand her. "That all you care about?"

"Right now? Well, yeah. I dont want a scolding."

"All grown and still daddy's little girl, worried about his opinions."

"And if I say yes, what then, girl?

"I dunno, m' gonna have to convince you not to."

"Like you convinced that guy to buy you beer, huh? What'd you do, flirt with him? Give him a handjob, suck him off? What did I miss before catching you?"

Her mouth hung open in disbelief. "You fucking asshole!" She shook from anger, she never expected words like that to be thrown at her. Especially not by him. But she'd get him back, there was no reason behind her actions now. "Maybe I would've, I even bet it would've worked if I'd asked you. Right? You would've just loved having your friends pretty daughter gettin' you off, huh!" She half shouted the last sentence, her chest heaving with effort and fury.

"That's enough." His tone was unforgiving, shooting a sense of reality back into her.

"I'll shut up if you answer the god damned question Buck, would it have worked?"

But Bucky didn't answer, his jaw clenched and unclenched, biting back his words. If she thought the silence had been bad before? It was deafening now.

After calming down again, her words hit her like a freight train. She always had a friend in Buck, but now she wasn't sure. The words that'd been thrown back and forth had set them off balance, their entire relationship was on unsteady ground. Something had been rewritten in the rules between them.

There'd always been attraction, but that wasn't something they ever spoke of. They'd always been close, good friends even. But now, something had changed. And it made her feel sick. She'd had an ally in him, but now, she wasn't so certain.

After a long whole of shutting her mouth out of stubbornness, the fate of her father finding out was worse, so she broke. "Please don't bring me home, Buck. Dad'll throw a fit." She tried to smile, to soften her voice. But it felt wrong.

After a moments uncertainty on her part, and strained breathing on his, he spoke. "Im not makin' the detour, you can sleep at mine, that was always the plan anyway." He admitted, sounding utterly tired.

And now she felt extremely guilty, eyes studying him as he gripped the steering wheel harder. Her gaze drifted over his body, his face, his hands. Stopping on the roughed up and bloody knuckles. He'd beaten that guy for her. Out of jealousy, or simply because he was protective?

She turned away, her chest feeling hollow and followed the birches and sprucetress as they flashed by the truck. Their colors and textures blending together as they met the dark consistent sky above them.

Bucky's house was dark, he only lit a few tablelamps when they arrived. It was better that way, she recognized herself here, within the gloom and the safety of his home. It was second to her own.

"I'll get your something more comfortable," he said, his eyes avoiding her clothes, her body as a whole and disappeared into his bedroom.

Was it because he thought they didn't fit her, or the opposite? Had he been mad at himself for being attracted to her?

She nodded slowly, calling out to him, "we should do something about that hand of yours."

"It's fine, I'm fine." He said, re-emerging, meeting her eyes. "Here," he handed here a t-shirt and a pair of shorts, most likely too big for her. "I'll take the couch, n' you can take my bed."

She nodded again, and headed into the bathroom.

Buckys t-shirt was longer on her than the skirt she'd worn, so she opted out of the shorts. Luckily findig a roll of gauze in the bathroom cabinet.

She emerged from the bathroom, a pair of panties and the oversized t-shirt the only things on her body. "You want something to-" Bucky paused as she rounded the corner, and suddenly she herself stopped short–caught off guard.

Bucky stared at her, and whatever he'd been about to say was lost the second he looked up. Bucky cleared his throat, and with the weight of a 15 year long friendship on his shoulders, his eyes stayed glued to hers.

Inwardly, she smiled and hoped the lowly lit livingroom couldn't reveal the blush on her cheeks. "Found some gauze," she held the roll up, indirectly asking for permission to bandage him.

He opened his mouth to decline, she could even see his head begin to shake in dismissal.

But she cut in before he had the chance. "Just let me help, you can be mad and still let me help."

His eyes hardened, but hesitantly, he nodded all the same. "Im fine, doll."

She raised her brows with skepticism and made her way toward him, the fabric of buckys shirt doing its best at showcasing her breats.

Bucky clenched his fist in an attempt to control himself, he winced, the wounds on his knuckles re-opening.

"Yeah," she scoffed. "Sure seems fine to me." And placed herself infront of him. From his position on the couch, he had to look up at her. At that, a flicker of heat blazed in her core. Oh, those eyes. His big, pleading eyes, all sad and hurt. Did he want her gone or want her in some other way?

She kneeled, settling between his thighs and grabbed his hand. "You don't got to be so stubborn all the time. . . Just wanna help you." She wrapped his hand carefully, enjoying every second of his corse skin over hers. Once done, he tried flexing his hand, and winced again. He still hurt, that much was clear, but was too proud to admit it. "Want me to kiss it better?" She joked, hoping it would lighten the mood. But he did that thing again, where he said nothing, and instead clenched his jaw, as if holding back a yes. So she took her chance.

Keeping their eyes locked, she brought his wrapped knuckles to her lips, and kissed them through the bandage once, then moving further up to kiss the softer skin of the back of his hand. Again, his eyes were pleading, and he moved the hand to cup her cheek, stroking her cheekbone with his thumb. She took it as encouragement and kissed his palm, his wrist, his forearm. She stood up on her knees, kissing his bicep and reached for his shirt to pull him closer. She cupped his face and brought him inches from her own, nuzzling her nose against his.

Finally, when her lips reached for his, he pulled away. "Stop, stop," he nudged his forehead against hers. "We can't," he moved his lips away, cheek to cheek, he kissed the soft spot in front of her ear. "We can't."

"Cant, or wont?" She asked dully.

Those pleading eyes were back, begging her not to make him answer that question. She nodded absentmindedly, pulled into her thoughts. She stood up and moved away from him, his hand sliding down her arm and locking around her wrist, stopping her. "Dont leave."

"I'm comin' back."

After a few minutes of bustling in the kitchen, she returned to him. Sidling up next to him on the couch, her curled up legs lulling into his lap as she handed him a whiskey glass, then cradled her own. He whispered a thank you, looking into her eyes, and she whispered a you're welcome, looking into his. Then they sat like that for a while, quiet, unmoving. Bucky's hands finding their home on her legs, glas in one hand and her knee in the other. Somehow, this wasn't crossing a line for them, this was their normal, this was something not even her family questioned, this was them.

"Im sorry, doll." he said finally. "I never meant to imply-"

"It's ok, Buck." He opened his mouth to speak again, but she stopped him. "Really, It's fine. I'd rather not dwell on it."

Another moments silence passed between them, it was uncomfortable, but the unsaid lingered in the air like a thick wall between them, and hung over them with the threat of smothering. "We need to talk about us."

"I didn't like the way he was touchin' you," he said, choosing the topic before she had a chance at it. If he had to approach them, he would do it indirectly. "It didn't look like you were enjoyin' it."

Her eyebrows raised, "You would've punched him even if I were enjoying it." She commented sourley.

He squeezed her knee, gently rubbing circles into the skin beside. "He acted like he owned you," He turned his unscathed hand upside down, brushing his knuckles up and down her sensitive skin.

It all went straight to her head, veins throbbed with heat she didn't know she could feel. All brought out by a single touch of his hand.

But she wouldn't let off. "And what do you 'spouse beating him for it is?"

He stayed silent, his hand turned again, this time to grab her soft flesh, squeezing it with purpose. Much like the guy had done, but this felt different. This felt good, real good.

She swallowed, closing her eyes to focus on the words she needed to say. "What made you think you had the right? If not that I already belonged to–" she stopped, and their eyes met in a quick glance.

He let out a frustrated sigh. "I was only protectin' you." He defended, but it didn't quite sound like he believed the words himself. Nor did she. But if he wasn't ready to see it as it was, she wouldn't pressure him.

Instead, she laid her head on his shoulder. "It shouldn't be this hard."

He shook his head, the words seemingly struck a cord within him. For he sat insilence, pondering, a long while. "I would've said no, you know. And it would've killed me." She looked at him strangely, forgetting what he was referring to for a moment. "I would've said yes, if you hadn't felt forced to it, like it was a last resort to keep your secret."

Oh. . . "Had I wanted it, you'd said yes?" She stared unbelieving into the dark space infront of them.

"Nothin' could stand in my way." He slid his hand further up her thigh, fingers exploring the skin just beneath the hem of his/her shirt.

She sat up straight to look at him properly, she couldn't tell if he was serious. "You want me?"

"More than anything," his voice was breathless, barely a whisper. His index and long finger reaching further up, exploring more than he'd ever dared. "Cant even explain how many times I imagined you gettin' me off after you said it. How much I hated the thought, the sight of you with that guy, his hands all on you."

A pang of need shot through her. She put her whiskey down, and braced her hands against his chest. "But why tell me now, whats changed? Whats changed in this last hour?" His fingers rubbed the skin of her hips beneath her panties, sending shivers running over her body, shivers she'd only previously dreamed he'd be the cause of.

"You're right, it shouldn't be this hard. I'm makin' it too hard." His hand slid to her waist, still invisible to him, but no longer untouchable. Magnetically, they were pulled together, faces inching closer and closer to oneanother.

"And what about daddy?" It was becoming hard to focus, she wouldn't stop him for the world. Bow, they were close enough to feel the dampness of their breaths.

His hand continued exploring farthur up, fingertips finally reaching the soft, plush flesh below her breast. "Your daddy ain't here, is he?"

She began shaking her head in disbelief, lips brushing against eachother. "Dont promise something if you can't follow through."

His hand stopped, "I can, please," he begged, waiting for her go-ahead. "I can. . ."

His words vibrated against her skin, electrifying her body. "Fuck," she moaned, he's right there. Right, there, infront of her, for her. "Then do, please do, Buck."

And just like that, both hands were beneath her shirt, pulling her into his lips and squeezing her breasts.

Breathless moans filled the silent air, they tore at eachother greedily. Pulling and pushing eachothers bodies, fighting to get Bucky free of his clothes.

Snaking one arm behind her back, he guided her down onto cushions and placed himself above her. Still clothed by jeans, he rolled his hips against her core, grinding the rough fabric against her barely clothed clit. This, is what she had been craving. The exact static friction, the heat and movement between their bodies producing all the pleasure she needed. She moaned heavily, beacause still, she wanted more. Pulling her legs up and her panties off, she wordlessly signaled for him to do the rest.

With a groan, Bucky dove into her neck, kissing and sucking, all the while he unzipped his jeans and pulled them off together with his boxers. No time was wasted, he lined his member up with her core within a second, prodding and teasing at the opening. "Please, please, please." She sounded desperate, but fuck, she was. And feeling it was worse then sounding it.

"Yes ma'am." He said, and thrusted into her. A gasp escaped them in unisome. With the arm still around her waist, he pulled her into his hips, his body straining as he delved deeper inside her than she thought possible.

"Yes. . ." She whined. "More."

He kissed his way up her throat, their hips freed and collided into eachother with steady, strong thrusts, pushing her deeper into the cushions with every rut. Nothing could compare, he was unparalleled. Bucky, despite what he was already achieving, kissed his way up her neck, unfaltering in his duty.

Her hands found his face, cupping it and bringing him back to her, and their lips met again. "Taste so sweet," he murmured, sinking his tongue into her. The salt of her skin mixing with her saliva. "Want all of you."

She smiled against him. "Harder."

He did as ordered, keeping his pace and adding pressure. "Yeah," he moaned. "Being so good for me, girl." And pulled her deeper onto his member. Her breaths grew rapid and shallow, fingers clawing at his back as she had nowhere to go, all pleasure directed straight into her. "Close, so fucking close," she cried.

"Good," he chuckled breathely against her skin, and that was a she needed. Her back arched in euphoria, and stars stung her eyelids, speckling the darkness. "Good job, sweetheart. Just breathe," he continued thrusting into her, softly, easing her through the orgasm. "Good girl. Well done. . ." He whispered, kissing her jaw. The stars began fading and she regained her senses, tears rolling down her cheeks. "Beautiful, girl." He moaned, still rutting into her, chasing his own high while wiping the tears from her face. Her body began tingling, on the vege of breaking down.

"Dont know how much more I can take, Buck." She kissed his cheek, focusing on the skill of his lips.

"Almost there, almost. . ." he moaned, increasing his pace. The slickness of her core created a sickening sound together with the slapping of their skin. It was heavenly, but she could feel the pressure building within her again.

"Mmmh, m' gonna cum again, please buck, dont stop."

He didn't, he continued, intent on coming together with her. He bit into her lip, causing her to yelp and yield the hold on his face and licked a trail down her chest and breast, then taking it into his mouth. Sucking and slurping in an insane rythm with the slapping. "Yes, yes! Fuck, Bucky." she called out, and Bucky pulled out of her.

Coming only a second after, his seed spilling over her abdomen. "I love you, I love you." He moaned with faltering breaths, bracing himself on his forearms on either side of her, kissing every part of skin that he could reach.

Holy shit? "I love you too." She smiled lazily, drunk off of her two consequent orgasms. Laying her hand on her stumache, she felt his sticky substance coat her fingers.

His eyebrows knit together in guilt. "Sorry 'bout that sweetheart, I'll get a towel-"

She grabbed his bicep and shook her head, locking her eyes onto his as she brought the fingers to her lips and licked them off, popping them in her mouth to suck them clean.

Bucky stared, unable to form words.

"Cat got your tongue, cowboy?" She asked, a coy smile on her glistenting lips.

"Fuck," he awed breathlessly. "I just love you." He whispered, lowering himself onto her once again, this time striking his tongue into her core.

-

[scorpiosbite]

the first time drew saw actress!reader.

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 ────୨ৎ──── when drew was forced by madelyn to come watch this new show with her and the rest of the cast he didn’t expect to have his heart captured by the mesmerising woman on the screen.

𝜗𝜚 pairing: actress!reader x drew starkey

author’s note: this takes place in 2023 during the filming of obx 4 which is when game of thrones started airing in my timeline also actress!reader is anywhere between 19-22 years old.

drew was sprawled across the couch in his hotel room, aimlessly scrolling. after a long day of filming under the hot and heavy sun of morocco, he had no intention of doing anything that required effort. his plan was to simply scroll until his eyes got heavy and he knocked out, but knowing his insomnia that wouldn’t be until the early hours of the morning.

glancing at the time displayed on his phone ten pm it read, he let out a heavy sigh, though his body ached with exhaustion, his mind would not shut off. but before he could put down his phone and try to force himself to sleep, a knock sounded on the door “yeah?”

“drew! its maddie.”

“maddie?” he spoke softly, what’s she doing up at this time. usually she was asleep the moment she got back to the hotel. “come in, its open.”

she came tumbling through the door, coming to a stop in front of the couch where he laid. drew couldn’t help but chuckle as he watched her. “what’s up?”

“drew! you gotta come watch this new show with us!” her hands were placed on her hips as she looked down at him.

drew sighed, a noise of exhaustion. “i can’t be fucked getting up, cline.” her face scrunched up, ready to dispute him.

“drew you have to! the last episode of season one just came out and i watched the first episode when it aired and it was so good that i stopped watching so that we could binge it all when the season finished!”

recognition sparked on his face. “wait is this game of thrones? i remember you saying how good the first episode was, like two months ago.”

madelyn’s face grew excited at the fact that he remembered. “yeah! please please, you have to come watch it, jd, bailey, chase, laci, rudy and austin are already in my room waiting.”

drew mulled over the idea for a moment. either he could rot in his room until his call time tomorrow or hang out with his friends and possibly watch a good show, if maddie’s high praise was anything to go by.

“yeah, alright let’s go.” he stood up from the couch, stretching his arms and grabbing his phone to follow maddie, who was already halfway out the door, unable to wait any longer.

when they arrived at her room, the first episode was already lined up on the screen, the hbo logo blaring in the dark room. drew greeted everyone and then took a seat on the spare love seat by the window. “you guys get forced too?” he questioned.

“yup.” jd breathed out. “nah i’ve been wanting to watch this, i remember hearing about it when they started filming, it’s supposed to be like super graphic and vulgar.” madison commented. “shit, really? i know nothing about this show, other than the fact that cline can’t shut up about it.” austin added. chuckles sounded across the room, and madelyn yelled from the kitchen where the popcorn she was making turned in the microwave. “y’all are about to thank me!”

drew simply sat in silence, with the amount maddie was praising this show, his skepticism grew, no way this show was that good. someone pressed play as soon as madelyn was seated, he didn’t see who. the intro song of the show blasted through the room and drew settled back into his seat.

“yo, pass me the popcorn?” chase rolled up the bag and chucked it across the room from where he was sat, drew caught it with ease.

he couldn’t lie, the show was good, fifteen minutes in and he was hooked. and just when he thought that it couldn’t get better, you came on the screen.

“holy fuck who is that?” jd’s voice rang out, but drew felt as though his voice came from somewhere far away. he couldn’t tear his eyes away from you. “she’s beautiful right?” madelyn sighed out. mummers of agreement sounded from the people sitting in the room. “her name’s y/n y/l/n.”

“y/n” drew repeated to himself softly, almost as he was testing the feel of your name in his mouth. rolling the syllables on his tongue, in that moment he decided that no other word would ever compare to the way your name felt on his lips.

dressed in a flowing dress with daring cuts exposing your seemingly soft skin, he wondered what would it feel like if he ran his palms along the smooth expansion. your hair sliver, long and loose to play visenya targaryen, the last targaryen, the daughter of rhaegar targaryen and elia martell. drew felt as though no one had ever looked more stunning in the history of the world.

“drew? you all good man?” someone asked, he didn’t know who, he couldn’t hear or think of anything beyond you and the performance you were giving. “i think starkey’s got a crush.” rudy sang out, and the rest laughed. but drew couldn’t care less, too busy watching you.

they watched two more episodes and as the third episode came to an end drew finally broke out of his trance. while the rest occasionally made comments during the show drew could not tear himself away from the screen, afraid that if he looked away he would miss you.

“i gotta hand it to you, cline, i’m hooked. that shit was amazing!” carlacia grinned. “i fucking told you guys!” she retorted back. “but aside from that, starkey? what did you think?” she smirked at him.

“yeah, that was good.” drew’s body tingling “that’s it? just good? you don’t wanna talk about the moon eyes you were making every time visenya came on screen?” drew cheeks tinged pink. “yeah, she’s pretty.” “aye, shot your shot man, she’s so fine.” madison teased.

as drew made his way back to his room he looked at the time, two am, damn he didn’t even realise time had passed that quick. sliding into his bed after taking a quick shower, he couldn’t help himself but run a quick search of you on google. “fuck.” the soft curse slipping from his lips, just when he thought you couldn’t get hotter, he saw pictures of you, not in costume, naturally a brunette, he was so fucked. fuck it, he quickly searched up your name on instagram.

you were laying in bed scrolling through instagram when a notification popped up.

drewstarkey started following you. follow back?

first one, do you like it? if you do i’ll keep writing. reblogs and comments are welcome and appreciated.

[cherryite]

and they were roommates...

summary. being roommates with your friend (and longtime crush) mark isn't all its cracked up to be (w.c 2.1k)

content. fem!reader x mark grayson, roommate!reader, friends to lovers, slight idiots in love

warnings. MDNI!!!!, smut, mark... lowkey creeping but kinda not his fault, masturbation, voyeurism?, mark is jorking it rip, not proofread lol

author's note. hi so this is insane that i just wrote this but it was driving me crazy so i did it anyway.... have fun!! (i'm also aware viltrumites don't technically have crazy good hearing but have u seen how those fuckers act in the show.... like how did they hear that shit...)

All you wanted was a moment to yourself. A little release.

Having a roommate who can hear a pin drop doesn’t help with this predicament. It especially doesn’t help that that person is Mark. So the fact that Mark has been gone on a mission off-planet for two days gives you the perfect window to release it.

Your room is dim, the only light coming from the fairy lights strung across your walls and the amber glow of your bedside lamp. A slow, sultry track plays from the speaker, the music wrapping around your thoughts like smoke. You stare up at the ceiling, your face blank and your jaw tight. 

You groan, your hands coming up to cover your face, dragging them down as your mind spins. It’s not just stress, it's a deep ache within you. One that's been cooking in your stomach for weeks, constantly being ignored or pushed down until it was just a dull throb between your legs. 

Sighing, you grumble to yourself, dragging your hand down to the waistband of your flimsy sleep shorts. You have been practically unable to get off since moving in with Mark. It felt entirely not cool for you to finger fuck yourself when he was a room over, able to hear everything. Barely ten feet across the hall. 

Especially not when the thoughts in your head, the ones that get you closest, almost always end up looking like him. Kind, awkward, stupidly strong, with that boyish voice and a stupid habit of acting like he doesn’t know how good looking he is. You could never tell him that though, your brain makes up terrible scenarios about what would happen if you actually confessed to being helplessly in love with him. Because what if he teased you? Or looked at you weird? Not that Mark would ever do that, you know that, he’s too sweet, too polite… too Mark.

“I’m so pathetic,” you mumble to yourself as you slide your hands below the waistband of your shorts. But the deep need outweighs any guilt and your eyes flutter shut, your breath slows.

You find yourself thinking about his voice. You think about the way he leans in when he’s tired and forgets to keep his distance, his breath fanning over your face. You think about the heat of his body when he brushes past you in the kitchen. You think about the way he says your name when he’s laughing. And the way he’s sound if he wasn’t. 

~

Mark wearily opens the door to the apartment, his suit tattered, covered in bruises and cuts. Every muscle in his body is screaming in protest as he closes it behind him. He winces, reminding himself the next time Cecil wants him to go do something in space to decline. It’s late, the darkness outside flooding over all the surfaces of the apartment. 

Mark notices your shoes by the front door. You must be home. 

He silently shuts the front door, hovering a bit over the ground, just in case his footsteps woke you up. He can’t help his mind drifting to you, his chest squeezing as he runs a hand through his hair. He can daydream later. Currently, he needs ice and silence, and maybe a new spine.

The hallway is dark around him, save for the tiny amount of light that seeps through the crack in the bottom of your door. Mark floats his way down the hallway, about to just simply pass your door then his ears pick up noises from your room. He typically tries not to eavesdrop on you. Whenever you’re on the phone with a friend, he’s busy turning up the volume on his headphones to the max, stuff like that. But he does pick up a soft, choked breath mixed in amongst your music. 

He freezes, his body stilling instantly as he furrows his brows. His ears pick up a rustle of sheets, a faunt creak of a spring in your mattress both typical bed noices. What he hears next is not typical. 

A whimper, slightly muffled. It’s faint, soft, and it immediately makes his skin prickle. Heat immediately climbs up his neck, his ears growing hot. He steadies himself on the wall next to your door, attempting to control his breathing, as if even a breath could give him away.

 He knows he shouldn’t linger, he knows he shouldn’t. He knows he should just go to his room and blast white noise in his ears until his brain is mush. But his stomach twists as he can hear the wet slap of the intrusion of your fingers, pumping in and out of you steadily. He really should go now, but he’s frozen. His hand moving to cover his mouth, muffling his own voice and the sounds that threaten to pull themselves from his throat. His free hand presses to his eyes, pressing hard into the bone of his brow, trying to free himself from the mind control that's possessing him right now. 

He should leave. But the noises you're making continue to penetrate his ears. Subtle but unmistakable, a distinct sound that's steady, rhythmic. The slick slide of fingers moving through arousal. 

And then he hears it. 

It’s breathy, he almost thinks he hallucinated it before he hears it again. 

“Mark.”

A soft gasp, completely unguarded and raw. His name, moaned from your lips, softly in the dark. He can feel himself unraveling and his knees nearly give out.

His hand drifts downward before he even realizes it, gripping his semi-hard cock through the material of his tattered suit. The contact is sharp, jarring, and it sends a shiver of heat down his spine. His breathing is ragged now, chest rising and falling far too fast. He’s being too loud, as he stares at your door like it’s the only thing tethering him to this life. He squeezes his hard on, rubbing himself through the fabric as his ears pick up another moan that drops from your lips.

He knows he shouldn’t be doing this. It’s sick. It’s invasive. But he can’t bring himself to stop. Not when you’re on the other side of that door, touching yourself and saying his name. Mark feels like he’s burning alive with every small breath that puffs out of your lips. 

He hears another noise. This one is higher, needier, and it sucks all the air from his lungs. His body shudders against your door frame as his free hand clenches the waistband of his pants, his other hand still stroking himself through the fabric, pressure building fast as he speeds up his motions. He’s never heard anything like this before. Never felt anything like this before. The sounds you're making, the sound of how wet you are echoing in his ears.

It’s like something has him under a spell. He can’t leave. He can’t even breathe.

The sounds get louder, more desperate, closer to the edge. He can hear your head fall back against your pillow, the sloppy sound of your wet pussy as you plunge your fingers into yourself. He can nearly hear the sound of your walls suctioning your fingers back in and it makes his stomach curl. He can hear your quiet whimpers, softing muttering to yourself, his name mixing with desperate whines. With that, his world shrinks to the thin sliver of light beneath your door, his eyes focusing on the light at his feet.

The tempo of your breathing shifts. And when he hears another breathy, gasping moan; high, sweet, needy, he nearly cums right then. The sound of your fingers moving inside of yourself is steady, wet, rhythmically obscene. He actually groans behind his hand which flies up to cover his mouth, his head nearly thunking gently against your bedroom door.

 His forehead falls against the door mutely, mouth open, panting quietly as he can, like he’s not getting enough oxygen. His hips jerk forward into his hand, he doesn’t even notice how he’s grinding against the door, how his fingers are gripping himself tight, how dizzy he feels as his cock twitches beneath the material.

He’s never going to forget this, he realizes as he finally grabs his cock in his hand. The way you sound. The way you say his name. The way he feels right now, feverish and completely undone. He’s so close, the way his gut twists and the way his hand is barely in control as he jerks himself sends his mind blank and reeling.

Another breathy moan breaks the air and Mark loses the last thread of control. He bites down on his hand to prevent himself from making noise, his eyes half-lidded as his release nears its end. His hand moves faster, squeezing himself with no mercy, jerking himself with deep seeded need as his cock spurts cum all over the front of his suit. Jerking himself a few more times, his mind clears. Staring down at the mess he’s made of himself, his body still thrumming with need, he shakily backs up from your door, silently slipping into his own room to contemplate what he’s done.

~

Mark stands in the kitchen, sloveling some sugary cereal into his mouth. It’s early, sunlight filtering through the windows, basking the kitchen in a golden glow. He leans against the counter, already halfway through the bowl of cereal, his hair damp from a shower and sticking slightly to his forehead. He hasn’t slept. Not really. A couple of hours of half consciousness, his brain too wired and guilty to fully allow sleep to wash over him. He just keeps chewing, his mind too preoccupied to think about anything else, jaw clenched.

He heard his name.

Heard it. From your mouth. Soft and broken and drenched with pleasure. Pure ecstasy.

And now here he is, eating cereal like nothing happened. Like he didn’t spend at least 30 full minutes last night with his hand down his pants and his heart in his throat as he thought of you.

He startles at the sound of your door opening, milk from his cereal dripping out of the corner of his mouth.

You step into the kitchen tiredly, still half-dressed in your pajamas, a baggy shirt and a pair of shorts that barely cover anything. He can't help the way his breath catches in his throat. He keeps his eyes on the floor in front of him, shoveling another spoonful of cereal in his mouth.

“You’re back,” you say, voice still raspy with sleep, a smile on your face. “When’d you get in?”

Mark doesn’t look up, trying to calm his racing heart. “Late. You were already asleep.”

You nod, moving toward the cabinet to grab a mug. “I left my music on last night, I hope it didn’t keep you up. I didn’t think you’d be home until tonight.”

Mark lets out a weak, almost hysterical little laugh before coughing to cover it, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly, “It didn’t bother me.”

You pour yourself some coffee, standing beside him like everything is normal, like your bare thigh isn’t brushing his. He tenses at the contact, his heart beating against his ribcage.

“I missed you,” you say, casual but soft, looking up at him through the steam that wafts from your cup. “Glad you’re okay.”

Mark finally brings himself to look at you, and for one breathless moment, he thinks you know. That you can see it on him, feel the tension in his shoulders, the heat radiating off him. But your expression is open, sweet, oblivious.

And that makes it worse. His heart squeezes painfully in his chest.

“I missed you too,” he says, and he means it. After last night, he realized how much he missed you when you weren’t near. How he missed your laugh when he did something totally nerdy. How you were always so attentive when he was rambling about comics. How your lips would curl when you saw him. He unfortunately, could deny it no longer; he had a huge crush on you and last night had only made it worse.

You smile at him, eyes warm and slightly sleepy. Mark turns back to his bowl of cereal and focuses on them as they bob around in the milk like they hold the secret to how to deal with these feelings. Anything to keep from looking at you too long. Anything to stop his brain from replaying those sounds, those words. 

He’ll tell you eventually, but for now, he keeps your sounds to himself. Locked away in his brain, bound to torture his dreams for a long time.

[barefoothighlander]

never going back again - 4.5

summary: ghost finds himself at the wrong safe house, injured and unable to call for backup

simon ‘ghost’ riley x innocent fem!reader

warnings: mdni (18+), sad but also happy, insinuated alcohol abuse, mentions of PTSD and mental illness, little switch in POVs, alcohol, fluff but also angst

prev part masterlist

a/n: well, my friends, it’s been a long time. i hope this is everything you all waited for and i apologize for the extreme delay. all my love

Six months, fourteen days and twelve hours, that’s how long it had been since your heart had been torn from its place in your chest. The simmering pain of losing him stayed with you through every moment, every corner of the house lay a memory of his spirit.

There were no promises made, no vows spoken, no concrete reason for him to find his way back to you and yet, hope persisted.

There had to be a reason he wasn’t there, you knew the relative outline of what his job required, you knew he couldn’t just pack up and leave but everytime Riley’s ears perked up at a noise outside your heart skipped a beat, hoping the door would open and he would be there.

The days drew on, restless nights in a too large bed, what once was a warm and cozy cottage became an empty home, nothing felt right anymore.

•

It was Simons third meeting this month for his insubordination, disobeying a handful of direct orders gets you put on the shit list, he knew they would never discharge him, he was too much of an asset to the team considering he wasn’t even legally alive.

The day he returned to the base he had requested leave, any amount of time that would get him back to you, to his home.

It was strange to use the word and mean it so wholeheartedly, he’d never felt this type of belonging, not in Manchester with his family, not in the military with his squad, not even in the 141, and they were the closest he had to brothers.

Everyday he’d report for duty only to return to his empty flat, the clacking of beer bottles on the coffee table as he rested his feet, he had nothing left without you, and if he left without notice he knew the team would hunt him down, Shepard would probably send some kill squad after him.

So he waited, for months he waited, putting in a new leave request everytime his previous got denied, it was unfair, he’d devoted decades of his life to the service and the moment he found a reason to leave they force him to stay.

He’d used his clearance to try and track you down, find some sort of phone number or email that he could talk to you, just to hear your voice, to know you were okay, he needed to know that you thought about him just as much as he thought about you.

•

You couldn’t take it anymore, the not knowing, the constant wondering, the hoping, it was driving you mad, it was a moments decision, you had no plan, no clue where to start, but you knew you could begin somewhere.

The dial tone bleeds through the phone, “Hello?”

“I need a favour”

“Anything, what’s up?”

“Can you take Riley and Goliath for the week”

“Yea of course, is everything alright?”

“Yea, no, I mean I’m okay, everyone’s okay I just have to leave town for a bit”

“I’m home all day, drop them off whenever”

“I’ll be there in 15”

The call ends and your heart races, springing to your feet you reach under the bed, pulling out a carry on bag, stuffing the contents of your drawers into it, no time to think.

You persuade your pets into the car with various treats, tucking Goliath into a small carrier before strapping him in, Riley seems all too comfortable sitting passenger.

Making the drive to Williams house you park the car, Riley following after you as you grab Goliath, two knocks on the door and it opens.

Riley races in making himself comfortable as you pass the carrier and a bag full of the animals necessities.

“I can’t thank you enough, I won’t be gone long I promise”

“You’re acting strange”

“I just have to do this” He can sense the determination on your face, nodding.

“Good luck”

You give him a small smile before returning to your car, punching in the closest airport location to your gps.

-

“What do you mean there’s no flights to England”

“There’s none scheduled till tomorrow ma���am”

“That’s not possible, there has to be some airline flying there, please I’ll take anything”

The woman behind the counter can sense the anxiety on your face, letting a small sigh fall from her lips.

“I can get you to Scotland, maybe there another flight from there”

“When does it leave?” You tap your fingers agains the desk nervously.

“10 minutes, gate three”

You nod, picking up your bag and taking the ticket from her, eyes following her movements as she points you in the right direction.

You make your way through the halls, dodging groups of people to get to the gate, reaching for your passport and handing over your ticket before stepping onto the boarding platform.

It’s a relatively short flight, a little over four hours and you’re landing in Edinburgh, your body refusing to sleep on the plane allowing your tiredness to catch up.

It’s another argument with the airlines to get on the nearest flight but an hour later and you’re seated once again on a plane, bound for London.

Your dread settles in your stomach, the lack of planning rearing its ugly head, you had no idea where to go from there, no place to start, only instinct and an idea.

The flight is quick, struggling to grab navigate your way through the busy airport before finding a cab.

“Where’s the nearest military base?”

“S’about 20 kilometres from here”

“Let’s go there please”

There could be a hundred bases around and you had no clue which one Simon would be on, you knew he was from Manchester but that didn’t mean he lived there, you’d have to start somewhere.

-

“Ma’am I can’t let you in without authorization”

“Is there someone I can call? I need to know if the person I’m looking for is here”

“I’m afraid all of those answers are classified, I wish I could help but for security-“

“I know, security reasons, it’s the same shit I got at the last two bases”

“You’ve been around three bases looking for this guy?”

“I don’t know which one he’s on”

“And you don’t know his address or anything?”

“No, I know nothing” The realization hits that this may be a means to an end, running around South England, trying to find a man that doesn’t exist.

“Well I’ll tell you this, you go around asking about people on another base and they’re gonna detain you for questioning”

“I figured they would at some point”

He smiles, “Good luck”

-

It’s cold and wet, the rain unrelenting as you step out of the cab, after too much money spent driving around you’d decided to just check into a hotel and accept your defeat, your heart heavier than the weight of your eyelids. What a stupid idea, dropping everything to chase a man halfway across the world without a semblance of a clue as to who, or where he is. Your chest pangs as the tears begin to fall, dripping down your cheeks as the exhaustion overtakes you, there is nothing left, no clue to follow, the house doesn’t feel like home without him. Your last thoughts are of him, soft and warm, dozing in the morning sun when he looks almost peaceful as your eyes shut and sleep takes over your body.

You wake to a knock on the door, running your puffy eyes as u rise to answer it, a middle aged woman standing behind it muttering something about housekeeping, she looks thoroughly unimpressed as you wave her off and close the door. Checking the clock it’s a little before noon, you stand at the window looking out over the cityscape, trying to make sense of the maze of streets and crowds of people bustling by.

It’s not long before you’re dressed and outside, the breeze doing wonders for the dryness you feel in your throat. Just being outside feels better, atleast outside you can distract yourself with strangers and various shops, rather than sitting alone, thinking about him. You waste hours wandering around, peering into book stores and stopping for tea at a little cafe, half the day passes before you even check your watch and find its past dinner, your stomach growling to remind you that you’ve had little to eat.

You pass by stores closing and pubs opening looking for somewhere relatively quiet to grab some food before setting your eye on a rundown pub a few blocks down, the lights are on but there’s no one outside, unlike the other pubs that dot the block, groups of people outside yelling and drinking as they curse at the rugby game that plays on the television inside.

•

Simon had enough, enough of the denials, enough of the mandated meetings, if they wouldn’t give him leave he’d atleast go home for a weekend, leave the place that forbids him to spend a moment thinking about you and not about his work. That’s all he needed, one weekend alone, drinking in the quiet dark to set his mind right. He’d been stepping out of line toward his superiors, cursing them for making him take accountability for going AWOL, he was sick of always being the bad guy, that’s what he missed, being able to have a regular conversation, the freedom to be Simon rather than his darker counterpart, the peace that only came from being tucked away in the cottage with you.

He grabbed what little he had in his shacks and threw it into a bag, stowing it in the rear seat of his truck before taking off toward Manchester, he still kept an apartment near where his mum used to live, he liked the neighborhood, liked seeing the kids with their parents, with their dads. It helped him imagine what his life could’ve been if life granted him a decent father, though if it did, he would have never met you, never known real kindness, real affection, real love.

Time passes quickly as he drives, the radio almost a silent echo of the wind that passes by the window. He parks in the driveway and grabs his things, moving to unlock the door and make his way upstairs. It’s dark inside, he’s not much for interior design but there’s a bed and a couch, the latter typically where he finds himself on the nights he stays here. His hand moves to flick on the light but nothing happens - “fuckin bills” with a sigh he drops his things, rifling through the pile of unpaid electric bills that have fallen through the door slot, dropping them aside and walking toward the kitchen. He opens the fridge and it assaulted by the smell of whatever left overs had gone bad and the sight of three warm beers, cursing under his breath he throws the lot in the garbage.

He needs a damn drink, but with the group of men hanging outside and the gaggles of drunks that’ll be lining the streets in no time hes down to a limited amount of choices. Raising the hood of his sweater he locks the door, making his way outside the building and down the street. Simon keeps his eyes toward the ground, not out of cowardice or fear but rather over the chance that someone in this neighbourhood might recognize him, even though he’s 30 years older, about 190 pounds larger and covered with more scars than he can count, he knows that if someone were to look into his eyes, they’d recognize that young boy, one who’s life is filled with so much pain.

It’s a couple minutes walk from his place to get to the small pub run by an elderly man, Paddy, or Addi? He can’t remember, and odds are the man is too drunk to speak clearly even through his thick accent, it doesn’t bother Simon, the not knowing, he’s used to people around not asking questions about him, making assumptions, he’d rather take his drink alone in the corner anyway, less people to distract from watching the game.

He arrives at the pub, albeit with a few taunts from a couple of drunk teenagers a few streets back, the bell above the door ringing as he opens in breathing in the scent of wood and alcohol, the televised cheers echoing through the newley empty room. He’d been frequenting this pub for a few years, it was quiet, less people came to it considering the age of the building and the lack of air conditioning or heating, but the less people the better, and the whiskey was just as good.

He keeps his head down as he makes his way in, sure to not make eye contact with any patrons but the voice of a young woman catches his attention and he peaks up. At the bar is a girl, dressed in nice clothes with his hair done, laughing with Paddy/Addi and yelling at the television, he can’t stop staring, she’s enigmatic, almost familiar as she sips her drink, her eyes glued to the screen. He’s stuck, glued to the floor as his heart races, his stomach threatening to upturn.

“Oi, big lad, you gonna stand there like some creep or d’ya wan a drink”

The man’s voice breaks the trance and Simons dream crashes to a halt as the woman turns around.

It’s not her.

His worlds stops and starts over a hundred times in a second, of course it’s not her, how could it be, what an idiot, she’s not coming for you.

Simon nods and the man pours a whiskey, pushing it across the bar as Simon grabs it, downing the liquor before setting the glass back down, nodding for another. He finds his spot in the back, resting his sore back against the harsh wood and keeping an eye on the game as he continues to drink, his mind spiraling over thoughts of you, tucked away in your small corner, safe. It’s that part that makes him feel some comfort, the fact that if you were apart of his world, you’d be in danger, and he’d rather see a lifetime of pain and loneliness than ever put you in that position.

•

Your shoes are practically soaked through by the time you reach the steps of the pub, navigating the old streets and avoiding the drunk onlookers, your face flush and mouth dry, aching for a drink. The bell rings above the door as you step in, there’s only a few people inside but it looks to be a rather big pub, an old man tends the bar while he chats to a young woman. You shed your layers, allowing your skin a bit of air before you overheat and you make your way in.

“What’ll it be miss”

You give him your order, thanking him with a tip as you sip your drink, the cool liquid working quickly to smooth your throat, this is fine, this works, a quiet bar to drink and pretend you care about sports. This’ll do wonders for taking your mind off Simon.

“Oi, big lad, another?” The man shouts over his shoulder, you can’t see who he’s talking to but you hear him, that voice. Thousands of people in this city, all the same accent, no one with a voice like that. The man begins to pour the drink and take it over but you stop him -

“Do you mind if I take it over?”

He looks at you quizzically, “Be my guest, less work for me”

You take the drink from the man and make your way toward the back of the pub, a sigh from ahead over the rugby match making your pace quicken, your heart skip a beat. You can see the outline of his upper body, the man is so large he takes up nearly half the bench as his gaze is toward the television, he looks at his empty glass then straight ahead, as is wondering where his drink is.

Simon moves to look toward the bar but his eyes land on you, standing there, holding his drink, and you can see his face fall, his eyes squint then open as he stares at you. You can’t help the tear that escapes you, the quiver of your lip as you move closer, you clear your throat as you place the drink on the table.

“You know, it was getting lonely up there, was wondering if you wanted to have a drink with me”

He swallows, his body moving before his mind as he stands, his arms enveloping you, caging you to him as if trying to figure out if you’re real. You wrap yourself around him, out of all the outcomes, all of the possibilities, perhaps your subconscious knew this was the bar he would be in. Maybe fate intervened and brought him here, who cares, destiny, fate, god, all them be damned, he was here.

Minutes that felt like seconds trailed on as he held you, slowly pulling back to look at your face, your skin blotchy and red from the tears you failed to fight. His hand reaches up to hold your cheek, wiping away the stray tear as he leans down, his lips enveloping yours and it feels like you can breath again. No air compares to this feeling, like half of your soul returned, you stay there, inches away from eachother before he steps back.

“How” He asks

“I don’t know”

He nods slowly, moving to sit down as if needing to catch his breath and you follow, positioning yourself right at his side.

“I never thought you’d come here” He says, his face tilted down.

“I had to, i realized pretty quickly that if I wasn’t with you, i felt empty. So i got a flight, ran around a couple of military bases, definitely got myself put on some kind of warrant list. And then I decided I needed a drink to stop thinking about you”

He laughs slightly, “I needed a drink so I could think about you”

It sounds harsh but you understand,

“Does anyone know you’re here?”

You shake your head, just you.

He nods.

“Simon I-“

“Don’t say anything, not yet atleast”

You silently agree. The two of you sit, your sides glued together as the silence washes over you, your breaths practically in sync as your hearts finally slow to a steady beat.

“Thank you” he says

“For the drink?”

“For coming, no one’s- no one outside the team has ever come looking for me, and they only come cause they have to”

“You would’ve done the same for me”

He nods, despite all his attempts, all his capabilities, you were the one that came to him, you chose him.

“I’m gonna be here a while, in the city I mean”

He turns to face you, “Darling i don’t care where you are or where you’re going, as long as it’s with me”

You smile, your hand reaching for his face as you lean in to kiss him, the taste of whiskey on his breath as he kisses you back. Home, you were home, in a dirty old pub that stunk of liquor and wood, sitting in a rough seat, beside the man you loved, his eyes looking at you with nothing but hope as his lips leave yours his hand moving to hold yours.

The two of you leave the pub, your heart full and head clear, albeit a little tipsy as you walk back to your hotel room. Simon doesn’t say anything about his apartment as he helps you drag your suitcases up the stairs into it, you don’t ask. He vows the buy some proper furniture for the place and you decide to stay a little while, at least until he can figure out how to explain to his superiors that his deployment will only be with the 141 from now on. You settle in once again to life, you see him most weekends though he’s on base a lot during the week, but this life, with him, it’s better than an eternity without, and the joy in his eyes as he looks at you, even weeks later when he’s kneeling in front of you, his fingers sliding a ring onto yours, you can’t fake it, the happiness that floods your veins at the thought of being tied to him forever, no matter the consequences or struggles, it’s real, and it’s everything money can’t buy.

A lifetime of happiness with Simon, his highs and lows, the knowledge that no matter what happens, he’d fight to the death to get home to you.

tag list: @pepsicolacoochie @coolbanana44 @konigsblog @lialacleaf @mli345 @gghoulzz @fuckface-6996 @jklkverr @2dmensl @sapszilla @yahet-moi-ohorat @snixx2088 @meeom @sorryimbusytalklater @zuyilu @streetartist22 @aryiannarae @rosiesrosyroses-blog @salsa-reads-stuff @stateofcatatonia @viylikescats @kaysav608 @yourlocalmoon-lover @wordsfromshona na @elichisstuff @fanficwriterlover @thriving-n-jiving @babygirl-panda19

[starfxkrinc]

there’s downsides to having you around, jj won’t lie. the amount of energy you have is boundless, and it’s not always fun having a 20 year old talking his ear off about whatever useless coworker drama you have at the restaurant.

the second he comes in you’re yapping in his ear, nipping at his heels as he makes is rounds through the meagre kitchen. nothing but soft hums and noncommittal grunts exiting his lips as you ask for his opinion. he thinks you like to hear yourself talk, and in his overstimulated mind your chatter became white noise.

“either way that bitch had me fucked up and if she keeps stealin my section i’m really gonna show her somethin’”

you didn’t even seem to notice his lack of attention, too busy painting your toes to see him rubbing his eyes in exasperation, “sweetpea, honey you gotta give me a second. i can’t even think i’m so damn tired.”

another thing he had a hard time dealing with, was you’re insecurity. maybe it was age. maybe it was a byproduct of having a mother who preferred to forget she ever had you. but the slightest shift in his tone and attention made you shrink.

“i-i’m sorry. i’ll be quieter…”

he sighs, finally looking at you and your big brown eyes all watery and sad like he just stomped on your heart. this won’t do.

“nahhh don’t start that, come here.” jj cups your plush cheeks, letting his fingers curve under the soft flesh of your chin so he can press a kiss to your glossy lips, “i aint mad at you, just had a rough day thats all.”

the attempts at placating you weren’t working, your lips still trembled and he could hear the soft whines making their way up your throat as you sniffled, “am i making it worse?”

he gives you another kiss, “not worse, you know how i get words just start gettin all fuzzy. bet you can clear my mind though.”

here’s the upside of having you around. you were fresh and green and willing to try whatever to make him happy. no need to teach an old dog new tricks when you’ve got a young puppy to train.

“go ahead sweetpea, don’t be shy.” a soft push of your head was all you needed to sink lower, touching your tongue to his tight rim while he fisted his dick above you. this was just what he needed, and jj could feel all the stress melt from his tired bones as you gained confidence, “look at me, look up.”

blinking hazily you met his gaze, panting and cheeks slick with saliva and sweat as you press your nose to his sack, inhaling the familiar, musky smell of him.

“am i doin good?”

shit you were perfect, jj couldn’t keep his eyes off the curve of your back and swell of your hips. just imagining how your heavy tits must look—dark nipples puffy raw from where they rubbed against the old fabric of his recliner—had his dick dripping precum onto your soft mocha cheeks.

he let go of his dick, letting it slap on down on his stomach to shove his sticky fingers in your mouth, stroking your tongue just to watch you drool, “you’re doin so good sugar, now get back to work.”

the praise does you well, and you’re back at his ass with fervour, licking him from hole to his sack. soft pants and moans rose from the back of your throat, drowned out only by the wet schlick of his fist and the loud grunts be was emitting. if you had any doubts on your performance before; that was all gone now. with the way he kept your pressed against him you knew he was close.

“jesus fuck christ.”

all it took was your tongue pushing past his rim, the feeling of that wet hot muscle had him shooting off like a rocket, and you could feel his cum splattering in your hair and on your ass in harsh plats.

when you lean back you let out a squeak as the last jet splatters across your lips and drips down your chin. you barely have a chance to lick it up before jj does it for you, leaning over to swipe his tongue across your mouth and suck the rest off the soft folds of your chin.

“shit m’sorry. guess i’m more backed up from today than i thought.” all the tightness has left his voice. he seems more relaxed, and he sighs when he lifts you into his lap.

“but you’re all better right?” there’s that look again. all wide eyed and innocent like you didn’t just eat his ass.

jj nods with a smirk, making sure to give you a deep kiss, poking at your hips just to hear you giggle, “you’re a real miracle worker sweetpea, now how bout i work my magic on you, heard you had a hard day today.”

[parfaitblogs]

loml ❀ s. reid x reader

in which even six years apart isn’t too much time for spencer to come see you.

pairing: ex!spencer reid x fem!reader genre: angst/comfort sort of tags: that freaky shit (soul crushing angst). a lot of nothing. approximately the time morgan left the bau (it's mentioned). spoilers for 5x9 (‘100’) if you haven't watched it yet... fade to black.  word count: 1.2k a/n: heyyyy… enjoy my the contents of my sad brain lol. this can kinda be a waiting room pt. 2 if you squint. i’m super sick right now so here’s a draft i wasn’t going to post until august (although it’s july 31 so is it technically august?) because i have no energy to write rn. whoops. enjoyy

Your mother once told you she doesn't think you can be just friends with some people. 

They're either there to be in your life forever, souls so deeply woven together that you have to be more than friends. Or they're fleeting, and your lives will line up for a short enough period of time that they'll impact you, and then you'll never see them again. 

You wished Spencer Reid was the latter.

Not at first. No, at first he was the man you were going to marry. You were certain of it. Discussing your wedding with your friends because it was going to happen, and you were picturing him at the altar. You had fantasised what was supposed to be the happiest day of your life so many times, dedicating so many hours to the concept of it, that when you lost it, you mourned the loss of it as much as you mourned the relationship. 

But Spencer Reid was the former. Unfortunately so. Losing so many years to a man you didn't even speak to anymore, because you just can't get over it. Can't get over how you could give someone so much of you, and they will still throw it all away for a narrative they've made up in their mind. Can't get over the narrative he made up of you. 

It was justifiable, you supposed. His boss had just lost his (ex) wife because of the job. It was tough for everyone on the team. You didn't think it was so bad he would freak out as much as he did, though. 

Because in his mind you were next. He was going to lose you as well. And even that stupidly large brain of his couldn't see how ridiculous that sounded. He refused to listen to you when all he could hear was the screaming in his head of you being next, and the statistics of female abductions. Statistics that were no different between the day before the incident, and the day he broke up with you. They were just louder to him.

An achingly long amount of time had passed from the last time you spoke to him. A pathetic meeting you had requested two months after the breakup, because your life was falling apart and maybe seeing him would make it better.

It didn't. 

You wondered if you'd still be shedding tears over him if you hadn't met him that night.

You heard your name, and so your head lifted from your lap. Right, you thought, bitterly. He was here. In your apartment. The same one he used to sleep at, for days on end.

You knew triggers like the back of your hand. They were usually things that made sense. Loud noises, blood, anniversaries. Could you justify your trigger being a whole person? 

You hadn't known he was a trigger until that evening, when he had showed up at your apartment door with a bouquet of flowers that you didn't really want, and an insultingly pretty smile. You had broken down, right there in your doorway, crumpling to the floor in a hyperventilating, miserable heap. 

He had held you, and frustratingly so, it helped. He didn't speak when he had done it, until you were calmer and were muttering apologies to him, embarrassment replacing the upset. 

At which he shushed you. You listened. 

"Why are you here?" you broke the silence that followed his calling of your name, voice shaky.

He exhaled audibly. "I wanted to see you."

"No, Spencer," you sniffled. "You don't get to come over with flowers just because you wanted to see me. Why are you here?"

He fell silent, and you wished you could crawl into his brain to see what he was thinking. You presumed a million things. 

"Morgan left," he said, quietly, and you felt your mouth go dry. 

"Oh."

Then; your eyebrows furrowed. Because did he really have no one to go to? You stared back at him for a few seconds, and for a moment, you let yourself forget about the weight between you two. Staring into his eyes was an easy way to forget that, apparently. It was comforting for you, but perhaps uncomfortable for him. 

Because he cleared his throat, and adjusted his position on the couch. "I didn't know where to go. And you said if I needed anything, you would be there and—"

"—People say that as a courtesy, Spencer," you breathed out.

"I know," he said, quickly. "But I really needed someone, and I genuinely didn't know where else to go."

You couldn't slam the door in his face even if you wanted to. Because now you were registering more than just your own emotions. The red rimming his eyes, the dusting of pink on his nose and above his lips. 

So, you nodded your head. "Okay. Come here," you said, opening your arms, and took him in between them. Albeit hesitantly. On both ends. 

This time he broke down, and you let him. His face pressed into the crook of your neck, your fingers entangled in his curls, scratching at his scalp in the best soothing motion you could. 

He cried until he had dehydrated his body, and your arms had begun to cramp from the position they were in. When he pulled back, your heart cracked a little more at the sight, his face wet with tears that stuck his hair to his cheeks, that you cleaned up. 

"I miss you."

You froze. He did as well, but for an entirely different reason. At the idea that he had said it. Not you. Him. The words decorated the air and hung there for minutes as you fell silent. 

Finally; "You don't mean that."

"Yes I do," his response was quick, as if expecting you to deny him of his own feelings.

"You're upset, and I'm comforting you. You miss Morgan. Not me. Transference," you mumbled, hands dropping from his face. 

"This isn't transference."

"Spencer."

You were right. You knew it in the way his shoulders sagged in defeat, and his lips parted as if to say something, only to clamp shut in mental defiance. 

"Maybe," he finally said, quietly. "But I do still miss you."

"It's been five years," you answered. He nodded his head in agreement. You exhaled. "I miss you too, Spencer."

He lips twitched, but never reached a smile. "You aren't seeing anyone, then?" he asked. 

"You can deduce that, I'm sure."

You were right, he could, and he nodded his head, lips reaching a smile, albeit sadly. "Yeah. Me neither."

"I also figured," you said. "You would've gone to your girlfriend if you had one."

"I would've," he nodded his head, laughing a breathy, awkward laugh. "Instead I went to my ex-girlfriend."

"You did." More uncomfortable silence, before you let out a sigh. Again. "Movie?"

"What?"

"Do you want to watch a movie?" you say the full sentence, a little slower than what was probably necessary. You knew him well enough to know that he hated talking about his feelings, he was an awful communicator. Had been, your brain screams at you. He could've changed. 

It seemed he hadn't, because he nodded his head, a smaller, more genuine smile painted his lips. "Yeah. Okay."

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated dearly ♡

[marsbutterfly]

MECHANIC BADDIE HANJI WHO FIXES UP READERS CAR. SHES ALL LIKE I CAN TAKE CARE OF IT DARLING. YOU JUST SIT THERE AND LOOK PRETTY. (IDK SHIT ABOUT CARS) JUST NEED AN ACTS OF SERVICE HANJI

I'll Fix It All

a/n: omg happy new year!! this turned out way longer than I originally intended for it to be. i was hoping to post it before the year turned but i'll also accept the first day of the year lol. enjoy.

warnings: fem!reader (she/her), nb! hanji zoe (they/them), modern au, anxiety, panic attacks, kissing, fluff, comfort. also like, i don't know much about cars or car repair so pls bear with me. tagging: @wizzy21 wc: 2.5k | wattpad! | ao3!

"No, no, no, no, NO!" You cry out as your car slowly begins to lose speed. This isn't the first time this week, nor the second, nor the third. You couldn't even count on one hand the amount of times the engine had been making that weird noise and the light had been blinking at you like a malevolent eye.

But you thought you could put it off, that you could easily ignore it, and that it would fix itself like it had many times before. Maybe you just needed to check the coolant or add some more water to the radiator, except you continuously forgot to do so. And it finally came back to bite you in the ass.

As the smoke comes out of the hood, you grip the steering wheel tightly, a loud grunt escaping your lips as your forehead presses against the horn, the loud noise filling the air all around you. Still, you are lucky enough to be in a somewhat empty area so the least amount of people will be disturbed.

Your first instinct is to panic. You can feel the blood rushing through your body, your face getting warmer as a few tears begin to prickle in your eyes. You let out a shaky exhale, cursing yourself for allowing this situation to happen in the first place. Before you can even begin to cry, you feel your phone vibrating in the cup holder next to you, the caller's name showing up on the screen attached to the dashboard. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ‎‎‎"Sunshine ☼"

With a sniffle, you wipe the tears before they even have the chance to roll down your cheeks and pick up your phone, pressing the green button on the screen as you try your best to sound like you are composed and not entirely freaking out at the moment.

"Hello, my most beloved," you say, trying your best to sound like your playful self. Though it has no sound, you can almost hear the smile dropping off Hanji's face. It was not out of the ordinary for them to quickly pick up on the slightest change in your tone of voice.

"What happened?" They ask without missing a beat, the tone of their voice filled with love and concern, almost as if they were already expecting you to be in some sort of distress. "I was doing the dishes and accidentally broke a glass because I got such a bad feeling that my hand started shaking."

You sniffle but a small giggle exits your chest, the idea that the two of you are so intertwined that they can even sense when you are in some sort of distress, "Yeah, I'm fine… My car just finally gave out on me and I'm in the middle of a random neighborhood because I decided today, out of all days, to take a random shortcut!"

"Send me your location, and I'll get my tools and meet you over there," they say and you can already hear them moving around on the other end of the line. You wish you could protest but, the more you look at your car, the more panic fills your body. So you simply let out a quiet "okay" before hanging up.

Though your hands nervously shake, you can open your text messages and send Hanji a pin of your exact location. It isn't too far from your house, maybe five minutes if you speed up, and that knowledge only adds more fuel to your frustration. "Why now? I could have easily pulled into my driveway before you gave out!" You can't help the angry grunt that leaves your throat as you slam your hand against the steering wheel.

The waiting time seems like an eternity, an eerie feeling in the back of your mind like you are being watched. Your eyes dart to your phone, half convinced that maybe you should just call a toll truck when you see the headlights of Hanji's motorcycle as they speed down the road.

The light from the post shines above them and you can barely distinguish if they are an angel or a real person. As soon as their bike is parked behind your car, you exit the vehicle, running towards their embrace.

Their hair is still messy from having a helmet on and they hold a small toolbox with their left hand, but that does not stop them from hugging you as tightly as they possibly can. Their lips press against your head as the two of you remain like that for a while.

"Shhh, it's ok, my love," you can feel the smile in their voice, a gentleness like nothing you have ever experienced before, "Hanji is here to fix your problems."

"I truly appreciate you coming this fast," you whisper against their chest, "I genuinely thought my car would be able to handle the journey today but… I guess I was wrong."

"Did you have any trouble starting it this morning?" They pull back, their arm still wrapped around your frame. You think for a second, having trouble focusing on anything other than this panicky feeling in your chest.

Slowly, you begin to remember your day: you left work and the car started. You left for lunch and the car started. Clearly, it had started when you left home that morning… Didn't it?

"Oh shit…" You whisper while an embarrassed expression takes over your features. Your eyes shift towards the ground as you pull slightly further away to create a bigger distance between your bodies, too self-conscious to even look at them. "I couldn't get the engine to turn this morning. I had to start it, put it in neutral, and then start it again."

They nod, kissing your forehead once more as they stand in front of the hood of your car. You are still too embarrassed to look but you can hear the moment their toolbox touches the ground and as their hands pop it open. A few seconds go by as they begin tinkering with the metal inside, though your knowledge of cars isn't deep enough for you to fully understand what is going on.

You cross one arm against your chest while the other rests above your hand, your index finger tapping on your cheek while you can't help but take small nibbles on your thumb's nail. The anxiety inside of your chest never dissipates, nor the shame.

The morning had been nothing but a blur. You woke up late for work, forgot to eat or even bring anything to snack on until you had time to go to lunch, spilled water all over your car, and, to top it all off, it was raining in the morning. The engine not starting was just one of the many, many things that had gone wrong. You meant to text Hanji about it so they could meet you during your work hours and fix it but, of course, you forgot to charge your phone the night before.

You close your eyes and exhale, leaning against the car. Before you can get yourself into a frenzy, you hear Hanji's gentle voice pulling you out of the dark spiral you were about to send yourself into, "Okay, good news and bad news."

"Please explain it to me like I'm five," you say, shooting them an exhausted look and it causes them to chuckle quietly. "Bad news first."

"The alternator, or thing that charges your car battery, isn't properly working for some reason. Maybe because it's old, maybe it's faulty, but it for sure will not start working again, like, that thing is dead."

You nod, surprisingly following along with what they are telling you. You realize that all this knowledge comes from the previous times they have come to your aid or maybe from all the times they would check under the hood of your car before you left their house while the two of you still lived in separate households. Regardless, you turn your attention to them once more.

"I checked the fluid and the coolant and everything seems to be full and working ok. I ran some codes and nothing out of the ordinary popped up and lastly, I checked your oil." They say, wiping the grime out of their hands with a bleached towel, their face slightly sweaty, especially around the area where their glasses sit on their nose.

"Fuck… And the good news?" You ask, biting your nails even more, almost to the point of blood. With a gentle and concerned expression, Hanji takes a few steps forward, wrapping their dirty digits around your trembling palms, and only then do you notice just how short your nails have become.

"I can easily fix it. The last one we bought still has a warranty, so I can just change them." They whisper, placing a kiss against your fingers. A sense of despair fills your body again as tears prickle at the corners of your eyes, your lip trembling as you speak in a quiet yet pathetic voice.

"Please, don't leave me alone."

They sigh, running their hand over their messy hair. They look over to the open hood of your car and around the neighborhood, trying to think about what the best choice would be in this situation.

"The store is fifteen minutes away, on my bike, I'll be back in - "

"Please, don't leave me alone!!" You beg desperately, whatever is left of your fingernails now digging into the skin of their biceps, your eyes are wide open as tears stream down. You weren't that upset about the car breaking down, but just the intensity of all the feelings you had been holding back finally caught up to you the moment you realized you would have to be without them for even a second.

Hanji is taken aback by how sudden your response is, and how desolate you sound. They can see the anxiety written all over your features and it causes their heart to ache in their chest. That's the moment in which they realize just how many feelings you have been bottling, just how bad your week has been, and just how you have refused to talk to them about it.

Almost like they gain consciousness, their arms wrap around your frame, pulling you closer to their body. In exchange, you bury your head on their chest, not carrying that their shirt is now covered in grime and sweat, even if it is chilly outside. "Is there anything you want to talk about?" They whisper, their lips pressed against the top of your head.

You want to shake your head, to put your walls up once more and brush it off as "just a bad day", but it was more than that. It had been a bad week, a bad month, and you had gone through it all by yourself, in silence. Crying in the shower but still putting on a smile when around them, your appetite barely exists but you still eat all of their cooking. But before you can deny anything, the tears begin pouring down your face once more, you cling to them like they are the last life vest on a sinking ship.

“I d-don’t know what is going on with me…” You gasp, hiding your face in a mixture of shame and search for comfort. “I just… I just want to be close to you at all times, I just never want to be alone and I just… Everything is too much and not enough, everything is going wrong. I…”

“My love,” they whisper, holding you slightly tighter with one arm. With their free hand, they prop up your chin, a gentle and warm smile taking over their lips once your eyes meet. “You don’t have to suffer alone, ok? I am here for you, no matter what, when, or where. I will always be by your side.”

“Good and bad?” You sniffle and they chuckle softly, brushing a strand of hair away from your eyes as they lean down so their forehead is touching yours. They nod.

“Good and bad, my angel…” They whisper, their eyes closing as your noses brush together. You lean closer, your lips brushing against theirs so lightly that it nearly feels like a paint-filled brush against a canvas, working its way through a halfway-painted masterpiece.

Hanji gently presses your body against the car door, their grip on your waist is tight as they make sure to keep you safely in place. Your lips are half-open, temptingly wet in the dim light of the street pole, your face is stained with silent tears and the only thought going through their head? “I really need to kiss her.”

And so they do. They lean forward ever so slightly until there is no more room between the two of you. When your lips collide, you can’t help the quiet gasp that exists in your body, your hand gently resting on their cheek while your thumb brushes against the softness of their skin. 

You get lost in the warmth of their body, in how comforting it feels to have them pressed against you like this. Your nose brushes against theirs as your head tilts slightly to the side, the faint smell of coffee and menthol cigarettes still lingering on their breath as it mixes with the scent of the gum you had in your mouth earlier.

They nibble on your tongue gently, sometimes brushing the tip of their own against it and it’s enough to cause you to nearly melt in their arms. If it wasn’t for their strong arms holding you in place, you would have fallen to the ground into a puddle underneath their feet.

Neither of you wants to pull away, but the need to breathe is becoming stronger by the second. When you separate, your forehead rests against theirs, and your eyes remain closed as you enjoy the smell of their skin. Even if it isn’t a pleasant smell, it brings you too much comfort in this moment for you to care.

“I’ll call Moblit and he can come to help, ok?” They whisper, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. You nod, lacing your fingers with the ones on their left hand while they pull their phone out of their pocket with the other. "I'll send him to the store and I will stay with you. You won't be alone, I promise."

As they speak to the man on the other end of the line, you can’t help but allow a small smile to form on your lips as you think about how lucky you are to have someone like them in your life. Someone willing to stop everything at the drop of a hat to come to rescue you when you need them most. 

As they blow you a kiss, you find yourself thinking about that one specific sentence once more, realizing that no truer words had ever been spoken:

“Hanji is here to fix all your problems.”

[str4ngr]

was it worth it? [ sae itoshi ]

cw: not proofread, angst, foul language, break up, kinda sae focused, regret, desperate ex. notes: i might... key word might, make this a mini series bc i lowkey love this angst. pt. one, pt. three.

paparazzi was so damn annoying. his brows furrowed as more lights flickered across his face, clicking echoing through the night street like an open symphony as he rushed to his car, men in black forcing a path.

the cameras didn't stop even after the loud sound of the door shutting, the engine rolling as his driver took off to his apartment. within moments, the clicks faded into squabbling and shouting, before it became only the turn signal of the car. it was quiet again.

it was always quiet.

when you first left the apartment, the struggle against your sadness evident on your face, it was quiet. for the first time in a long time. there was only one set of shoes at the door. well, it's been like that for about a month now. he wondered if you've been tying your shoes. guilt tripped in his hear as he quickly shook his head, brushing away the softening memory.

when he stepped past the entry way, the quietness was piercing. he missed the noise of someone else in his kitchen, humming a song without a melody. he missed the buzz of the t.v., playing a show he wasn't particularly a fan of though you were.

sae's hands balled into fists at his sides, flat eyes glaring down at the navy couch in his living room. it was an l-shaped couch with plush, soft cushions and plenty of throw pillows. the seat in the corner was a bit less round, dipped and worn. it must've been a comfortable spot.

feeling as though he was acknowledging too much, sae's mind shut off, mechanically moving through his kitchen, dumping the pre-prepped dinner from his fridge into the pan. as heat sizzled through the thawing rice, his mind began to wander again.

"i don't need your luck."

he did. his stomach churned, and suddenly he wasn't hungry anymore, a strange lump in his throat, an unshakeable tremble in his hand, a burning in the waterline of his eyes. his jaw fell open, saliva pooling on his tongue, desperate to utter your name,

"i needed it. i needed your luck."

sae was speaking to no one and he knew it. his voice an echo in the hollow apartment, absent of you. the dip in the couch, too much space on the entry landing, no random recipes to welcome him home. regret swallowed him like a whale, unable to consume him, yet not pushing him far enough away to do anything but get swallowed up again.

a bitter scent filled the air, and sae scrambled to stir the fried rice around in the too-hot pan, huffing in irritation. he tried to play off his symptoms of sadness, though there was no reason anyone would struggle to diagnose him. his brows furrowed as he stared at the rice, mindlessly mixing the grain and finally lowering the heat.

his gaze flattened again, focused on what wasnt there. sae was curious, he hadnt used instagram in a long time. turning off the heat after learning from his previous mistake, his grabs his phone, pressing his finger to the lock and opening up the app he usually allowed his managers to-as their job entails-manage. the first thing he noticed was the absolutely abysmal amount of comments that arrived in the notification tab. he didnt bother opening it. instead, he opened his chats, and didnt find what he was looking for.

it made sae smile that you didnt message him, maybe you remembered how he always said he doesnt use his instagram. sae's expression falls at the next thought: maybe its because you hurt you too badly that night.

he searches through his following, heart sinking to see that he's no longer following you. stupid managers. "shit," he huffs, wanting to snap the brick of metal, instead angrily scrolling through his followers to find, "...still?"

sae scoffed, furious. angry for you, because why did you still follow him? why did you still look at all his posts? like all his posts? did- "what was that fucking doing for you?" sae walked away from what was supposed to be his dinner, huffing again as he sat on the couch. why couldn't you have unfollowed him? now, his finger trembled over your account, fighting with himself on whether he presses it or not.

air balls up into a lump in his throat. he remembered all the times you posted him, stupid little dates or when he won a game. he remembered the post for your first anniversary the most. you were so beautiful, so happy, your cheeks flushed with blood as the two of you sat in the restaurant that was also your first date. he remembered how he fought--and lost--when he tried not to be so boisterous that night, failing to resist your charm as the two of you laughed together on the couch, surrounded by each others warmth. cheesy. he smiled to himself at the word, trying not to acknowledge the way his eyes began to burn again, or how his lungs felt like they were sinking, or how hard it felt to breathe.

slamming his phone on the coffee table, sae keels over, elbows on his knees, head in his hands, palms digging into his eyes. it hurts. oh it fucking hurts. he feels his shoulders shake with each breath, his palms sweating, his eyes burning, his ears ringing, his pulse in his skull. he messed up. he messed up so much.

he needed your luck. he needed you.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

notes: pt.3?

[sh1-n0bu]

𝔫𝔬𝔟𝔲’𝔰 𝔨𝔦𝔫𝔨𝔱𝔬𝔟𝔢𝔯 𝔬𝔣 2023!

day 1: bondage/shibari with blade from hsr!

warnings: shibari/bondage obv, subspace, affirmation of consent, cockstepping, forced self praise, nipple stimulation, masochist blade, slight feminization, praise

notes: oh shit, here we go

being in a relationship with blade comes with many surprises and way too many heart attacks. no, really, the amount of times you almost had a heart attack because of this man is insane.

coming back home injured and on the brink of death. sudden reopening of his wounds and stitches because he was so used to pain. or the fact that he literally fell unconscious on your lap because he forgot to eat anything for the last who knows what long?

or even now, when he holds out a red rope, asking you to tie him up like a helpless prey.

it took a lot of tries and failures. wrapping the pretty red rope around the bare skin of your masochistic lover is quite hard when you have zero experience on full body bondage. if it were just hands and legs, you were a master at it. but not when it comes to shibari.

“color?” your voice comes out soft and gentle, tightening the last part of the red rope behind his back. all you got in response was a quiet shuddered breath.

“bladie, color?” fastening the end of the rope behind his back — not too tight, not too loose — your hand comes up to rest atop his head before slowly stroking his hair. that snapped him out of his current thoughts real fast as his hazy ruby eyes shift up to look at you.

“g-green… green” blade nods, gulping down what saliva was being collected in his mouth.

looking down at your handiwork, the stellaron hunter almost lets out a loud moan at the sight. red rope, one that is the same color of his eyes, fastened around his body so prettily. his chest, breasts you like to call whenever you squeeze them, looked bigger than usual. a part of the red rope going down and around his pecs, digging into his skin just enough to remind him of the current action you two were about to do. and his cock, standing angry red and proud.

he was hard. embarrassingly so.

you haven’t done anything but tie him up to his request and oh gods, he was already so embarrassingly hard.

if you were to see his arousal and the slight pre already on his tip, what would you do? would you scold him? call him mean and degrading names? would you leave him untouched and desperate for hours? would you slap his cock and make him cry and sob in a twisted sense of pleasure and pain?

a hand comes to rest on his chest, momentarily snapping him out of his thoughts. oh, what would you do? what would you do to him? your poor, pathetic, helpless lover.

“my sweet bladie. look at you, staying there all tied up like a little prey” he briefly hears your voice call out, hands starting to fondle and squeeze his pecks. unconsciously, he pushed his chest further into your hand, wanting more of your sweet touches. it felt like his entire body was on fire and only your hand could soothe him. or even make it worse.

“do you like it, dear? does my pretty boy like it when i fondle his tits like that?” he lets out an embarrassingly loud noise at your words. a pathetic sound that’s akin to a mewl that a cat in heat makes. without even noticing, his hips stutter in his position on the rug covered floor as well.

“such a cute and round breasts you have, my love. so full. they fit in my hand so prettily. do you think if i suck on your pretty nipples for long enough, you would start lactating?”

oh. oh no. just that mental image or the thought of having your mouth wrapped around his areola had him whining out loudly. rutting his hips on the material of the soft rug desperately as he tries to make your words a reality. oh, would you help him out if that actually does end up becoming real? would you suck and stimulate his nerves so often and too much to the point that he would actually start lactating just like a woman would? would you suck on his leaking milk?

such vile thoughts that made him squirm on his place on the floor with a long, drawn-out whine. who would have ever thought your stoic looking lover would be such a weak little thing.

not that you minded it. you loved it actually. all the more reasons to circle a thumb around his hardened bud, making him twitch and buck his hips, searching for the tiniest bits of friction to his poor leaking cock.

"ah right. how mean of me. i forgot about your little problem" you let out a soft coo, deciding to try out a new thing as well. no point in backing out now. your sweet boy was already a mess on the floor with just a few touches and caresses. might as well help him out and fulfill his fantasies.

"color?" you ask again, one of your feet lightly resting on his stomach, pressing lightly, just enough pressure to cause blade to gain his words again from wherever his pretty mushy brain is swimming in once he gets to this state.

understanding the implications of your words and what you were asking affirmation for, blade couldn't help but nod his head a little too eagerly. the dirty and vile side of him wanting what exactly it was you were offering. the dark and more twisted part of him just wanted you to do that already. to take what you wanted without asking, make him scream, jolt, sob from the suddenness of it all.

but of course, you would never do that. you were so caring of him. makes him wonder how he even was lucky enough to have you as his own lover.

"my love, i need to hear you use your words" your voice sounded a bit harsher than he remembered. did he made you mad? disappointed? sad? he didn't meant to! poor little blade was just too damn lost in his own little space. all thanks to the rope and the suffocating amount of trust he blindly puts in you.

"green... please? aeons, please just touch me" his response was sluggish. slow. slurred. drunken and lost in the hazy grips of pleasure and anticipation. that was all you needed.

with a comforting headpat, the feet that you had placed on his stomach slowly trailing down before coming to rest over his hard on. just a simple buck of his hips and he can get to feel you step down on his cock. the thought had blade already panting and drooling. but you haven’t even touched him yet. what a perverted boy, he was.

slowly but gently, you pressed down on his arousal before putting just enough pressure to cause him to let out gasps and loud whines. it felt good. you felt good. you were making him feel so good and blade? oh, he could never be happier nor could he ever thank you enough for it.

“t-thank you…! gunhhg thankyou thankyo—oounpp!!! gccck♡︎!” the man blabbers on drunkenly, his hips twitching as he tries to rut up into your feet further to make you just stomp on his pathetic cock. he would love that so much. the disgusting, masochist part of him would love that so fucking much.

“you’re my pretty boy, right? my sweet toy. my cute prey. my darling blade, right? you’re still my good bladie, right?” he could briefly hear you hum so sweetly. voice like a honey on his fried brain. in response, all blade could do was nod and nod eagerly like a pup. hands straining against the pretty red ropes that you tied around him.

“words, blade” the hand that was still playing and squeezing at him breast — god he completely forgot about your hand there — squeezes at his hardened nipple before pulling on it slightly. that was a warning for him to use his words. to repeat back what you said to him like a broken record. or else, you would probably deny touching him all-together and your sweet boy would hate that.

“guuh— i am! i am i am! ‘m your good boy. y-your sweet boy! ‘m still your cute bladie nyaah♥︎!” that last part slipped out unconsciously. he could barely even form any words now. just pathetically humping the rug and your feet that’s pressed down on his leaking cock, face pressed against the side of your thigh as his noises become more loud and debouched.

all he knew was to keep repeating the words you said. there was no need for him to think. why would he have the need to think when you were right there in front of him, helping him and being so cruel yet so sweet to him? blade didn’t needed to use his head when with you.

so, he just simply kept parroting your words through jumbled heap of mess. how he was your toy. your cute prey. your good boy. your love, blade. yours, yours, yours, yours—!

“uuunghh! mmpf-fuck! fuckfuckfuck! n-nnyaaghh♡︎♡︎!” twitching violently on his place on the floor, the immortal tries to break free from the ropes keeping his hands tied tightly to his sides. blade had always been a touchy guy, wanting to scratch your back, sides, hips, wherever his hands could reach. and yet he couldn’t. not this time and it’s all because of what he said and his own wishes.

so, he simply settles on mewling embarrassingly loud as his hips stutter in place, cock cumming untouched as he tries to hide his drooling face into the soft flesh of your thighs, soiling your feet with his own cum.

“g-gcckk.. m-more… unngh need you t-to fill me up” blade mumbles, voice muffled as he rubs his cock against your feet. he was already hard again and the skin on skin contact stung whenever he slowly humped your leg. oh but he loved it.

the red ropes matched his flushed cheeks and bleary eyes perfectly. so, who are you to stop now and deny your sweet boy?

[brabblesblog]

In time.

When you and Astarion finally begin sharing one tent, there is one little problem: you needing some me time. Mostly fluff with like some smut?

Aka Astarion catches you during some fun solo time, and it becomes the start of his and your path to sleeping together again.

Read on AO3.

Masterlist.

You've started a habit of attempting to sneak away.

The transition from having your own space, to this, was mostly easy. You did have a fair amount of stuff, and so moving in was a whole day of arguing about where to put your books and whether your various items collected from your adventure was worth keeping or not.

Finally fed up, Astarion had rooted through your pack, finding a pot, a cutting board, and a pair of old shoes, which he had attempted to dispose of. That in itself had resulted in a small argument, in which you tried to say you were keeping these items to sell to Blurg. In the end, you had won, and those items remained nice and safe at the bottom of your pack.

As the days passed, however, cohabiting in one tent became mostly bearable. Mostly.

It only really sucked when you got horny. And being this close to him all the time made it inevitable.

Hence your new habit.

Usually, sneaking off to get your own privacy in a little patch of nowhere was relatively easy. You'd wait for him to go into meditation or sleep (depending on whichever he chose that day), his small soft snores to fill the air, and then you'd slip away to rub out your urges. It never took long. Fifteen minutes and you'd be back, snuggling against him for the rest of the night.

From tonight on, however, was going to be a different matter. As the group traveled closer and closer to Moonrise, Halsin had decided to tighten security around camp, and had decided to assign shifts for everyone to keep guard. Your shift, and Astarion's, wouldn't be until dawn.

You lay in your bedroll, frustrated. You can hear Lae'zel outside, pacing as she stood guard. There was no way you were going to be able to sneak off without her asking, and you would rather die than tell her what you were heading out for.

Astarion lay beside you, eyes closed and breathing softly, his arm draped over you. Shooting his sleeping form an exasperated look, you sigh and give up on the attempt to head out.

However, if you just stayed silent... hm.

You slowly slide a hand down your own torso, down past your hips and between your legs, down to your aching cunt.

You close your eyes and let out a sigh of relief. Much better. Your fingers find your clit, already swollen and begging for release. With two fingers you gently touch yourself, biting back any noise you could potentially make.

Being this close to him while doing this made it all the better. Feeling his arm around your waist, his soft breaths against your nape, the weight of him against your back - it was all so amazing.

With your eyes squeezed shut and your entire being focused between your legs, you don't notice his eyes open in the dark.

"Didn't think you'd be so daring as to do it in here, darling."

His voice snaps you out of your thoughts, and your eyes fly open.

"Shit," you mutter. "Look. I just - I didn't want you to-"

He laughs, and you realize that there isn't anything to worry about. He's just amused, and you realize he's known every single time you've snuck out.

"I know," comes the reply. "Feel free to continue. Far be it from me to come between you and your hunger."

He leans in, and then whispers, "besides. I do like knowing I make you feel like this."

You think about this for a quick moment.

“I don’t want to hurt you, or trigger anything-“

“You won’t,” comes the reply, fast and without hesitation. Instead, the arm on your waist tugs you closer, and he lays his head on your chest.

“Keep going,” he murmurs. “I’ll just be here to keep you company.”

You hesitate for a moment more, and then finally give in and resume touching yourself. As you do, he wraps himself more tightly around you, slowly moving his head upwards to bury his nose against the base of your throat.

He lets out a soft, sleepy sigh, and the sensation of his lips and breath against your skin is a very welcome feeling.

Just his mere presence helps. Your fingers work faster, and you bite back a moan as you feel yourself getting closer. Astarion notices it too; he lifts his head up to watch you, utterly fascinated.

You part your lips, a silent moan on them. You’re right at the edge. Your eyes open, and meet his gaze.

He smiles, a soft, genuine thing, and whispers.

“Come for me, darling.”

And so you do. You whimper involuntarily, and the noise you make is immediately lost as his lips cover yours and he kisses you through your orgasm.

When you finally come down from the high, you open your eyes to see him smirking at you.

“You knew, didn’t you?”

“Every single time, darling. I loved knowing exactly just how I made you feel,” he purrs.

“Twat.” You swat at his hand.

“Since we’ve already established that I do know and am comfortable with this.. current arrangement, do feel free to continue to do so at any time,” Astarion pecks your cheek.

“Besides. I’m sure in time I can join in on the festivities.”

The subtle shift his hips make as he says this tells you all you need to know. But of course you do not push.

In time could mean now, or never, but you don’t really care.

You had everything you’d ever need the moment he agreed to be yours.

Taglist: @elora-the-slutty-songstress @tragedybunny @spacebarbarianweird

[lovelaurs]

may i request a mcd Laurance or Travis (or both??) x reader fic where reader is on their period and having like super bad cramps and overheating and Laur and/or Trav are just trying their absolute best to help??

also just wanna say i adore your fics!! i absolutely loved the last one you wrote from my request (he/him lesbian laur x aroace aph), its was literal perfection <3

LOOKING AFTER YOU

pairing : mystreet travis, laurance x gn reader synopsis : your boyfriend takes care of you while you're on your period! tags : periods, cramps, comfort, cuddling, support word count : 1.2k | around 550 words for each one! a/n : as someone who ends up reading comfort fics of my favorite characters comforting me on my period while cramping, i thought this was a really fun request to right! hopefully this can bring some comfort to someone while they're in pain! - just going to clarify that this is still gender neutral! the only thing that is physically canon within this is having a period, but that does not define the gender of the reader!

MASTERLIST

Like clockwork, your time of the month had come.

I mean, it wasn’t like you were that shocked, as your calendar predicted it would come any day now. But… did it have to be today? Really? The day that you and your boyfriend were planning on going on a date?

I mean, come on!

You hadn’t even gone to the bathroom to check the bloody mess you probably caused, knowing you’d have to move around to clean it.

And your bones just ached.

You found yourself lying in bed, groaning, as a familiar voice knocked at your door.

Shit.

TRAVIS

“Hey, babe? You okay?” Travis called from behind the door.

A particular strong cramp hit you just as you were about to respond, causing your voice to waver and sound almost cracked.

“Y-Yep! Just peachy…”

There was a bit of silence as Travis processed how you sounded.

After a few seconds passed, he asked. “Can I come in?” He slowly turned the handle, ready to open the door but pausing to hear your response.

“Fine…” The word was drawn out, mumbled as you turned to your other side, squeezing your pillow.

As he opened the door, he saw you curled up on your bed, your hair frizzy after the amount of tossing and turning you’ve done ever since you woke up.

He quickly rushed over to the side of the bed, kneeling down. “What’s wrong?” He worriedly put a hand to your forehead, looking for a temperature. “Do you feel overheated?”

“No need, Travis. I’m not sick.” You made what sounded to be an inhuman noise as you turned over onto your other side to face him. “I’m just on my period. These cramps are killing me.”

He blinked twice before running to the bathroom, opening up the bottom cabinet and frantically looking for any menstruation products he could find.

He came back with boxes of tampons and pads stacked in his hands, laying them down on your dresser. He began lifting each up, reading the labels to find ones for heavy flow for your first day.

“Let’s see… thin, overnight, swimming…” He kept looking over the boxes, picking up several ones that seemed good for first day flows. “Do you want pads or tampons?”

You groaned out your answer and he nodded, grabbing the box and placing it next to you on the nightstand.

You grabbed his arm and pulled him in, wanting a sense of pressure (his arms) around you. 

Travis got the message almost instantly and crawled across the bed, curling in next to you.

He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close and putting pressure on the exact spot you needed it most.

As he put his head into the crook of your neck, he snuggled against you. “You know, you’re going to have to get up eventually.”

You frowned at the thought. “But I don’t want to walk to the bathroom…” You groaned, stuffing your face into the pillow. 

“Well then.” He released you from his arms and got off the bed. “How about I just carry you there?” “What-”

Before you could answer, the man already picked you up, passing you the box you chose earlier, and walked towards the bathroom.

“T-Travis! What are you doing?”

He smiled at you as he placed you down on the lidded toilet seat. “You said you didn’t want to walk over here, right? Well, problem solved.” He then turned the shower on, making sure it was just the right temperature before he headed to the door. “I’ll go make your bed so we can cuddle when you’re out. And if you need anything else, don’t be afraid to ask, okay?”

“But what about our date-”

“Don’t worry, we can always reschedule.” He reached for the door handle, winking at you. “Besides, I prefer to spend the rest of the day cuddling with you instead!”

LAURANCE

“Laurance…” You groaned his name from your bed.

He slowly opened the door at your call, worriedly peaking in before pushing the door open.

As he looked at you curled up in a ball, he sat on the side of the bed, petting your head. “Cramps, huh?”

You nodded, inhaling sharply as your insides felt like they were twisting.

“I’m going to get you some Advil and heat up your heating pad, alright?” He wasted no time and quickly made his way out of the room, heading for the kitchen.

He hurriedly put the heating pad in the microwave and fetched you the bottle of Advil from the cabinet. He tapped his foot as he hummed a tune, waiting for the heating pad to finish heating up in the microwave.

On his way back, he made sure to grab a water bottle too. He didn’t want you to get dehydrated now, did he?

It wasn’t long before he came back to your room with both hands full of the items, smiling warmly.

It felt like Irene truly blessed you by giving you such a caring man.

He helped you sit up, opening the bottle cap for you and passing you the water as you took the medicine, before finally placing the heating pad on your abdomen. You couldn’t help but sigh as you leaned back against your pillow.

This man would hold the world up for you if it meant you were comfortable, huh?

You scooched in, patting the space next to you, welcoming Laurance into your bed.

He giggled at the sight before laying down next to you, pulling the covers over himself. Laurance quickly wrapped his hands around your waist, holding you tightly. The pressure against you felt almost heaven sent.

“You know, I think this is better than going out on a date.” He nuzzled his face into your hair. “Just the two of us cuddling in bed for who knows how long… I prefer it like this.”

You hummed onto the sheets, before turning yourself around so you could shove your face into his neck. “Mhm… I’m sorry for ruining our date, though.”

Laurance snickered. “How is this your fault in the first place? What, did you manually turn a bleeding switch on or something?”

“No… it’s just that we had everything planned out, with reservations and-”

“Well, we can have just as much fun at home compared to going out to eat.” Laurance grinned, pulling out his phone and opening YouTube. “We can have our own make-shift date right now! Do you want to watch something to help distract you from your cramps?”

You snuggled closer to your boyfriend, humming in agreement as you begin to watch a bunch of funny cat videos.

By the time the videos finished, your Advil had kicked in and you were feeling way better.

You turned to tell Laurance but found him fast asleep, head against your shoulder, breathing softly.

He looked downright adorable.

It wouldn’t be so bad if you took a picture of him like this… right?

You reached over him, trying to get your phone from the nightstand, when all of the sudden you hear him stir, mumbling your name.

With his arms still around you, you were pulled down against the bed as he pulled you to his chest. 

The way his arms slid around your back just felt too good to be true.

He makes your cramps just a little bit better.

@lovelaurs, 2024. do not repost this work in any way!

[andrastepls]

A/SMR.

synop: reader lost her hearing after an explosion, simon has an idea to help her ‘hear’ him again

warnings: none i think ? canon typical violence & loss of hearing maybe knda spicy

not proofread we die like men

Adjusting to life without sound had been a trial on its own. It was something no-one really prepared for — silly as it seemed, now. Bombs and guns going off right next to a person for any amount of time was bound to cause damage at one point or another. Or, maybe, she just had shit luck.

The blast had come and gone so quickly, she had no time to react. No one did. It missed anything vital, but it had sent her rocketing into a wall; promptly breaking her arm, a few ribs, and rupturing her eardrums all in one fell swoop. If nothing else, recovery went relatively smoothly. As smoothly as it could have, at any rate, what with Soap and Gaz being absolutely glued to the chairs in the infirmary. Even getting kicked out a few times — luckily, Price and the Lt. were a little less chaotic. Be it because the medic on-site had a soft spot, or because Simon had intimidated the poor guy, he had been allowed to spend the first two nights in the infirm with her.

Being tucked away in his arms did wonders for her anxiety, but the cot was a bit small for him alone, let alone the pair of them. Blessedly, she had been given the okay to return to her own quarters after that.

A few months later, and her bones were good and well healed, but her ears were another story. The specialist kind. The off-duty kind. The waitlist was long, and going home, alone, in the quiet, sounded like her own personal hell. So, she stayed on base to wait it out.

The silence was her enemy, deafening in its lack of any and everything. She swore she could forget the music the world made in a moment without it. It was cold, void and lonely. Missing out on jokes, not ever hearing the booming shouts and laughter of the boys. Sounds she never thought she’d miss.

It didn’t go unnoticed. For all his grumbling and brooding, Ghost was terribly good at being good company. She was thankful for him, at least. Perhaps now more than ever. He was . . . oddly tentative of her. Making a point to brush a hand against her when he was near, what was previously a hovering palm near her back was now an open-handed reminder someone was there.

He made learning to sign feel so much easier. Subbing out some signs for military signals. A natural transition, when the other person knew how to speak it — even when he didn’t need to.

It was a kindness done solely for her benefit; a fact in which he would never admit, but she knew it to be true nevertheless.

• • •

She felt out of practice. Clumsy and uncertain of herself when he touched her, nothing like herself, and he noticed. He pulls back from her, hands curving through the space between their chests to say, “You okay?”

She swallows, looking away. Embarrassment flushes her cheeks a shade of maroon, the heat of it crawling up her neck.

“It’s not you.” she signs back after a beat, eyes finding his with nothing short of pleading in her irises, “I miss you. But the sound - ”

Lithe hands flop into her lap. She feels . . . inadequate. Incomplete. Hateful, to herself, knowing that she can’t be who he loved first anymore, “I miss hearing you.” it was a cruel thing for the universe to do to her; give her a man to fall in love with, a voice that lulled her to sleep, filled her heart, tightened her legs — and then take it away from her. Leaving her in this muffled prison.

He makes a face at that - not one of ill intent or anything of the sort - rather, one of confusion. She missed hearing him?

He never thought his voice to be something worth missing; though, he quickly understands when his mind wonders what never hearing her again would be like. His girl is quieter now, to be sure. But he can still hear her - the little noises she makes, when she hums to herself without noticing . . . among other noises . . .

There’s a moment where he stays still, only his eyes moving between the two. She’s about to lift her hands so say something else, but he promptly cuts her off by taking one of her wrists between his fingers. Encouraging her to open her hand and bringing her palm up to rest around his throat.

She pauses, wide eyes blinking between their hands and his face — that frustrating little smirk of his curling his lips upward at the corners. She can’t make sense of what he’s doing at first, canting her head to the side like a confused dog, and then, he hums. The sound vibrating against her fingers. Her jaws drops open slightly in shock, eyes locked between her hand and his mouth, wanting to say ‘again’.

Alas, he was a step ahead of her, and mumbles out her name in a breath. Feeling her name in his throat before reading it on his lips.

Hm.

A/N: i dont know its 1am !!

[spicywriter]

HIDE AND SEEK : JOHN PRICE

cw: stalking. knife play. fingering. shit gets wild.

an: posted for the first time. enjoy, nasty fucks. more writing coming soon;)

I can’t let him get the satisfaction of seeing me tremble within my skin. I can’t let him win every single time he decides to scare me by roaming outside my house, trying to instill a sense of dread inside me. I can’t even talk to anyone without making sure they don’t lose their lives— especially guys.

I know that if a guy even wishes to talk to me, he’s probably going to sew their vocals chords shut. No, he’s definitely going to. No amount of security can confine this man. Nothing. Everything I’ve tried has failed. He always finds some way to maneuver around the system. But that’s okay, because this time I’ll show him that I’m not scared of him. Even if I am, like every night, he’ll stop by— he’ll roam around my house like always, sometimes would send me a text message, and then he’ll leave.

But this time I’ll find the perfect moment, just a small crack in his plan and I’ll flee away from here. He’ll be here soon. Just the thought of him makes my hair stand. I focused on my breathing, listening intently to outside noises. My head whips towards the noise of a branch cracking outside. He’s here.

I grab a knife just in case things don’t go accordingly— and tiptoe towards a window in my living room. I peeked through the tiny opening while looking at his hooded figure, my breath hitches. He halts in his steps, taking out his phone, seeing his fingers rapidly pressing on the screen.

I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket before slowly taking it out…

Unknown number: I must be looking good today, seeing how hard you’re staring at me.

Furrowing my brows, I look away from the screen and back at him just to see him looking right directly at me. Shit.

He begins walking west from my front door, starting to roam around my house like usual. I wait for a minute, knowing that he’ll be on the opposite side from my front door, and then I rush towards the door. But I immediately freeze hearing keys jingle. Wait a damn minute, why is he here? He’s supposed to be on the other side.

I hear him inserting the key in the lock. My legs develop a mind of their own as I dashed to the nearest wall and hid behind it. The door cracks open, revealing a tall hooded figure as he starts to walk around. Few minutes later, I hear his footsteps going upstairs. Now’s my chance.

I charge for the door when suddenly I stopped dead in my track. “Going somewhere, my love?” I gulped and slowly turned around and there he was, walking downstairs. I feel the liquid adrenaline pumping through my body. I just froze, I couldn’t even move an inch. His deep British accent voice rings inside my skull

“You’re too scared to run, aren’t you?” I whimper involuntarily. He’s right. My knees begin to tremble while he grin widens, knowing he got under my skin. I come back to my senses before holding my knife up— my hands slightly shaking violently.

“Stay the fuck away from me.” I muttered out, my voice slightly cracking.

“Do you like games, love?” He questions challengingly, his words drenched in cockiness. I shake my head slowly. He slightly smirks before continuing.

“How about a game called Hide and Seek? If you can hide for ten minutes without being caught, then I’ll leave, forever.” He raises his eyebrows, studying my face. For someone who has been infatuated with me for almost three months, disappearing altogether in ten minutes doesn’t sound promising. Either way, I don’t care. I’ll do whatever it takes— and if ten minutes is all it takes, then so be it.

“Start counting.” He commands, before he exits out of the front door and circling my house— making sure I don’t try to officially run away in the process. There are absolutely no hiding spots in my fucking house. I managed to find a compact space in my closet, just enough for my body to squeeze in.

A few minutes later, I hear the front door close— and his heavy boots clanking on the floor. I count the minutes in my head. Approximately seven minutes later, I realize that I don’t hear him.

I quietly crawl out, making sure I don’t creak my floor which ends up taking some time to reach. He’s nowhere. I have about fourteen seconds, and it’s over. I swiftly moved— being cautions of my surroundings as I make my way to the front door. Counting down the seconds in my head, I reached for the doorknob, twisting it and flipping the door opened on the last few seconds.

Before I could dashed out, someone grabs me by my waist and pushed me on the hard cold floor— my back colliding harshly with it. “Gotcha. Did you think you can really outsmart me? You have no fucking idea who I am. You can’t get past me even if you wanted to. I hope what I’m going to do next answers your previous questions, yeah?” He hisses before hovering above me— his hands are on my throat, slightly knocking the air out of my lungs.

I struggled, attempting to shove him away but my efforts are futile. Suddenly, he leans down close to me and presses his lips onto mines— this shouldn’t feel good— I shouldn’t like this. The way his lips mould with mine, leaving no space between us. How is tongue explores my mouth greedily, licking into me. How he touches me everywhere. I don’t have a damn choice— I managed to roughly push him off of me, gasping for air. My chest was slightly burning while my heart was racing rapidly.

One of his hands is around my throat while the other grabs the knife is my hand that I had long forgotten about. “What should I do with you, hm?” I struggle against him, but his strong hold is tight. He waves the knife around my cheek, my shaking body risking getting sliced. “or maybe I should cut that pretty tongue of yours.” He slightly scoffs, the tip of the knife slightly pushing onto my bottom lip, making a tiny cut as blood tickles down my chin.

“Open your mouth.” He orders, and I comply, feeling his grip on my throat slowly loosen. I opened my mouth which was slightly twitching and trembling in fear before he slowly inserts the knife, the flat blunt surface of the cold metal on my tongue— being careful not to cut the inside of my mouth. “Or maybe I should…” his sentence trails off as his eyes set on my throbbing cunt. He slowly leads the tip of the knife between my legs, only a centimeter away from my core. “Take it off.” He demands, gently gazing against my clit through my shorts.

“Come on sweetheart, take ‘em off.” His tone sounds so reassuring but his actions are the complete opposite. My fingers move and hook around the hem of my shorts, pulling them off roughly. I can feel the pool of my arousal painting my thighs and soaking my panties.

His orbs instantly latch down there. “Does this excite you? How fucking adorable.” His smokey laugh pinches my ears, and I feel the humiliation swell my skin. The knife slips under the hem and cuts off the string on both sides.

I gasped— completely bottomless, and aching. He turns his knife around so he grips the sharp metal, the tight grip making his palm start to bleed. The handle stops at my opening— then I feel it slowly pushing inside, causing me to moan slightly. “Come on baby, let it out.” He commanding voice booms out while he thrusts deeper— his thumb circling on my clit roughly

The pleasure builds more and more until it explodes inside of me, flooding my system with immense pleasure. My eyes flutter shut and my mouth hangs open as my entire body tenses— it’s almost unbearable. He moves my hair aside, pressing his warm lips on my neck and placing featherlight kisses there.

“Good girl.” He praises, before embracing me in his strong arms. “No matter where you go or what you do, you’ll always be my prey— and I’ll always hunt you down.”

— © SPICYWRITER 2024.

[mrs-kodzuken]

hard to desire ⨟ kenma k.

chapter six

reflections the neighbourhood

❝We were too close to the stars

I never knew somebody like you, somebody

Fallin' just as hard

I'd rather lose somebody than use somebody❞

previous chapter next chapter

Kenma unbelievably felt awful after last night’s—technically this early morning—shenanigans. Getting out of bed at an unusual time this morning, he decided to subtly try and make it up to you without actually having to tell you what he did wrong.

The bitter air nipped at his tired skin. Kenma’s eyes were heavy after not sleeping his usual amount, his two-toned air was thrown up into a low ponytail which seems to be all he wears nowadays.

As he blew a breath out, watching the puff of air show in the cold air, he thought about which cafe you would favor breakfast and coffee from. The old Nekoma sweatpants he constantly wore now proudly had a hole where his knee was. 

Kenma wasn’t sure how exactly he was going to make it up to you, he’s barely talked with and only knows some things because of Kuroo himself. He was such a shit roommate to you; he cursed to himself. 

This morning when he peeked inside your room to check in on how you were doing, which is something he never ever thought he would be doing, you were sound asleep on your bed.

And yet, still holding tight to the hoodie he lent you hours before. He couldn’t handle his heart rate at the sight of you, especially after he’s been such a dick too. 

Kenma knew his best friend was bound to be home now and frankly, Kenma didn’t care if he woke him up at just an early hour.

He waited for Kuroo to pick up the phone, hearing the dialing and looking at the picture of him and Kuroo from high school as the contact.

“Hello?” Kuroo’s groggy voice entered the line, Kenma had definitely woken him up.

“What’s Y/n’s favorite coffee place?” Kenma asked him, still searching around for one that will taste so good, you’ll have no choice but to forgive him.

The guilt was eating him alive; he got shit sleep last night because of it too, tossing and turning all night and keeping an ear out to make sure you wouldn’t have any more nightmares had caused him to roughly get less than two hours of sleep before the painstakingly noise of his phone alarm awoke him.

“Huh? Kenma? Uhh, it’s.. I think ‘Sunrise Sips’? They always open super early.” Kuroo thought about it for a minute, trying to ground his bearings as he just woke up to the piercing cry of a ringtone. 

“Okay, thanks Kuroo. Sorry for waking you.” And with that, Kenma hung up before Kuroo could even ask what he was planning, or why he was even up in the first place, it was unusual.

‘How convenient’ Kenma thought about the cafe you loved being open so early.

Must’ve been your new one from last week when he noticed you hadn’t been sleeping very well. Kenma was very observant and that was something you have not realized yet.

As he neared the nicely made coffee shop, his eyes were drawn to the outside pop-up board that advertised a new special fall drink that he immediately knew you would love to try.

And with that, he went in, the warmth of the cafe soothing his cold skin. Now that he really thought about it, Kenma never has ever bought you coffee, despite the many many times you have done it for him. 

Has he really been this shit at showing you basic kindness?

He decided to grab breakfast for himself and reluctantly Kuroo too. With that notion he headed back to the shared apartment where he would begin his plan of making it up to you in his actions.

He already said an actual apology, but you had no clue what it was for and just clearing his mental space—his guilt—he would do this.

Kenma gently knocked on your bedroom door, he heard small comical noises coming from your room, assuming your TV was on. When a soft, ‘come in’ was heard, he smoothly opened your door.

He saw you in bed, snuggled up to your stuffed animals watching some show on your TV, his hoodie long forgotten on the floor. 

“I got you breakfast.” He merely stated, trying to hand you the meal he bought you. 

You, on the other hand, were completely surprised that Kenma, your roommate, the guy who seemed as of late that he hated your guts but admired you sexually, had bought you breakfast with a coffee from your newly favorite shop.

This was weird, actually beyond weird. 

“Uh, thank you?” It came out more as a question instead of a statement. You didn’t know what to do and Kenma’s hands had gestured again for you to take the cup and breakfast croissant. 

You gripped the warm bag out of his hands along with the coffee he got for you, setting them both on your nightstand. You stared at him awkwardly for a few, his eyes peering about your girlish room.

You watched as he took in your sheer baby pink curtains, the remnants of nail polish bottle you forgot to put away from last night on your desk, the ruffled covers from how rough you slept last night.

“Oh, I’m sorry you had to deal with me last night.” You dryly chuckled, remembering how you probably irritated Kenma with that mess. It was sort of strange but nice of him to sit here with you and comfort you back to your normal self. 

“Don’t mention it. I hope you like your breakfast, the drink is new.” Kenma said, still standing there awkwardly in the middle of your room. He looked a bit out of place.

“Okay, and thank you for breakfast. I really appreciate it, Kenma.” You smiled, you probably looked horrible just thinking about your appearance but you didn’t care at this moment. Kenma had done something nice for you and you relished in the feeling.

“You’re welcome.” And with that, Kenma dispersed himself, closing your bedroom door as gently as he opened it. 

It was honestly a surprise that the Kenma would do something like this for you. You couldn’t wait to talk to Keiji about this new found experience, his advice was working after all.

Speaking of which, you eyed your calendar and realized that fall break was literally right around the corner. It starts in a few days, actually. 

However, over the course of those next few days, Kenma had become… easier to be around. You noticed that he was doing things with the intent of you in mind, you realized that when you saw him leaving gifts for you with a little note card on the front with your name.

After you had asked Kuroo about it, he just said that Kenma shows his affection in other ways than usual. You didn’t let the word ‘affections’ get to you because of course it meant platonic, right? 

When you came home from class one day you saw a fall pajama set on your bed. It was so pretty and you had been eyeing it in the stores for a few weeks now. With no one to get you a boo basket, you were going to leave them be but to your surprise, Kenma bought them for you.

Which also, unfortunately, meant that Kenma was stuck with the other matching half of the set buried in his closet because God forbid Kuroo find those and tease him.

Another instance was when you had been studying in your bedroom, lounging around the apartment before it was time to take your online mid-term and smelt heaven. 

Kenma was in the kitchen baking your favorite fall pie, which also happened to be his favorite so he used that excuse.

You gasped, “Kenma! Did you make that?” You obviously knew he did because you still see excess flour on the counters and a pile of dishes in the sink as he was in the midst of cleaning up.

The apple pie was cooling off on the stove and it looked magnificent. Your mouth was watering already at the thought of a break from studying and a sweet little treat to pair with it. 

“Yeah, you can have some if you’d like? Kuroo eats it sometimes but he doesn’t really care for apple pie.” Kenma’s back was turned away from you as he cleaned the flour off the counters.

You headed over to the dishes, “Okay! Thank you, is apple pie your favorite pie? It’s definitely mine, especially when it has caramel drizzle.” You smiled, getting some of these dishes out of the way since you would rather do them than get back to the brain-numbing pain of studying.

“I do, this is my mom’s recipe.” And with that you paused, that was so sweet. Kenma must really adore his mom if he remembered her recipe and used it to bake.

“That’s so nice. My mom doesn’t really have any particular recipes that I fancy enough to keep to memory,” You chuckled, rinsing the dishes, making sure that you rolled up your fall pajama set that Kenma gave you. 

“My mom baked a lot and when I was old enough, I guess I just learned her recipes and now they’re like second nature to me.” You turned around and watched him get out the utensils to cut the pie and caught a peek at the smile on his face. Breathtaking, it always was to see Kenma smile.

Your heart was beating wildly at the sight and you had to turn back around and collect yourself before continuing the conversation.

“That’s sweet. You should show me some of the other things you can bake one day, I’d love to see them.” You finished rinsing the last few dishes and wiped your hands off.

A thought randomly struck at you, “Kenma, since you bought me those pjs, where’s the matching half?” You asked in genuine curiosity of where they could be, or if he had them.

His body straightened just a bit at that and your eyes lit up, “They’re.. They’re in my closet.” He muttered, knowing what you were going to ask about next.

“Oh my gosh! You have to put them on! Please, please?” You begged and even clasped your hands together too. You watched as he thought about it in his head.

“Fine.” Kenma wasn’t really sure why he agreed, maybe it was your pressuring him? However, he knew that wasn’t right.

Deep down he knew that as much as he wanted to continue the facade of hating you, he knew that the so-called hatred he’s told himself that he has for you was actually a deep feeling of likeness. 

You were surprised that Kenma actually said yes to putting on the matching sets. This was the first time since you both met that it’s been actually fun to talk with Kenma.

He was actually a really thoughtful person, and really vigilant as he figured out that you had been wanting this specific pair of pjs. 

Quickly, you rushed to your room to grab your phone because you had to take pictures of Kenma with his fall, aesthetically orange pjs on. The little pumpkins, leaves, and black cats stand out against the main color which is another reason why you love them. 

You also wanted to get a picture because Kenma’s hair was up as per usual but this time, it was severely messy. That made you wild inside, you loved his hair and almost had a specific thing that made you drawn towards it. 

When you heard Kenma come down the stairs, you swiftly set up your phone so you could get a small video of him in the pjs. 

“Oh Kenma! I absolutely love them. You should wear them more often! They look great with your complexion.” You said, admiring how they fit his taller frame. Being shorter than Kenma, the pjs fit okay on you but you didn’t care, they were comfortable enough to sleep and lounge around in. 

“Thanks, I just bought them for you though.” He said uninterested in the idea of him wearing them all the time.

However, he was trying to stop and gather himself because just you being right here, talking to him, taking a video of him, and telling him how you want to spend more time together one day to bake was all getting to his head. That was sending pink tinted flush to his cheeks and made him slightly half-hard too.

“Well, you don’t have to if you don’t want to. That’s understandable. I’m probably going to dig into this pie and continue studying then.” You smiled and gestured that he could take it off if he wanted.

“Well, have fun with that.” Was all Kenma could say before leaving. He wanted to say more but doesn’t really know how to keep nor start a conversation, especially when he’s trying to do this to rid himself of the guilt he caused himself after being responsible for your nightmares. 

“Will do!” You called from your spot, already hearing his feet pad along up the stairs. You weren’t ready to go back and do your mid-term but at least you had a video of Kenma to show for the small snippet of time you both shared that didn’t end up in an argument or nasty words.

That thought made your heart race again.

God, you needed to confide in someone about your feelings before you cracked into two. Not only was Kenma, naturally, super pretty and handsome for a guy—probably his mother’s features.

But he was also great at showing his affections that you kind of wished were not platonic. Now that you’re really thinking about it, you don’t even know why Kenma is doing all of this for you in the first place. 

‘Oh God,’ you thought and grabbed your phone, a plate of apple pie and sent Akaashi a quick text that was sure to get his attention. 

‘i think i have feelings for kenma’

And you left it at that as you shook off your nerves, took a breath in to forget about your feelings for a second, and did the last bit of your schoolwork.

After a quick meet up with Akaashi, you were told to try and talk to Kenma about your feelings. To which you said ‘Fuck no’ to. Keiji seemed adamant that your feelings were being reciprocated by Kenma in some shape, way, or form. 

The thought of actually sitting down with Kenma and trying to discuss that ‘oh, i think you’re hot and by the way, i like you’ is not going to work. As you walked up the complex stairs, tugging your jacket over your frame, you were met with Kenma entering his house key in the apartment.

“Oh, I didn’t know you left.” 

“I didn’t realize you were gone.”

You both had said in union, it made you cringe but give a half smile at him too. Curiosity got the better of you and before you knew it you were asking where he went.

“I was at Shoyo’s. We haven’t met up in a while.” Kenma stated, unlocking the door and letting you go in first. 

“Shoyo? I’ve never met him before.” You asked about him, you didn’t realize that Kenma had friends. You assumed since you saw him dressed up that particular day when you peeked into his room. 

“He’s a friend from high school. We used to have matches together between our schools.” Kenma seemed to have fond memories of his high school days, you thought as you saw him reminisce about it.

“That’s nice, I love catching up with friends too. I was actually with Akaashi a while ago. You know him?” What a stupid question, you thought, as Keiji already said he knew Kenma.

“Hm? Yeah, I know him. We’ve talked, not recently though.” You both took off your coats and put them away, taking the conversation to the living room. You needed to be wrapped up into a blanket stat. 

Before you could even sit down, a loud blaring noise was heard from the apartment complex. You immediately covered your ears and looked out the window to see what was causing this ruckus. 

There were fire trucks outside of your building and plenty of gas company trucks too. You looked over to see Kenma’s irritated expression and wincing of the loud noise.

When you both went outside, you were told to evacuate the building because there was a gas leak they needed to fix and no one was allowed to use any utilities. 

“Are you serious? How long do we have to be gone?” You yelled to the fireman over the noise.

“At most 24 hours, ma’am.” He stated, then moved along to tell your neighbors. 

You sighed in frustration, where the hell were you going to go? You did not feel like driving back home to spend a singular night there. 

“We should stay in a hotel for tonight.” Kenma yelled for you, practically reading your mind. You nodded and got ready to pack a bag that you would use for tonight.

It honestly seemed like the most logical answer anyways too, but you were pretty sure everyone in your apartment complex probably had the same idea too.

By the time you and Kenma arrived at the nearest hotel, there were already plenty of people inside trying to get a room. You winced at that and made your way to the front desk too.

“Hi, is there any chance we could get two rooms please?” You asked the receptionist who looked as overwhelmed as you felt.

“No ma’am, I’m sorry. However, we do have a singular room, would that be fine? Since we have a large number of guests, it’s the only thing we can offer.” You purse your lips and look back over your shoulder to Kenma.

He seemed to be watching everyone else, but you knew he was listening.

“One room is fine.” You sighed, not realizing your mistake in what you asked and paid for the room. The receptionist smiled, “Great, here is your room key. I hope you have a delightful stay.”

You got a quick smile out and then headed for the elevator, knowing Kenma was trailing behind you. It was starting to get extremely crowded and compact down there.

“Thanks for suggesting this. I didn’t know where to go.” You dryly chuckled at that, watching the number alight when you got to that floor.

“No problem.” Was all Kenma said, understandably so. You both had been kicked out of the apartment and since fall break started, Kuroo was already gone in an Airbnb with his friends for break. 

Once you got to the hotel room, you used the key and opened the hefty door. As you went in to set your bag down on your bed, you realized that there was not another one. 

“Uhh, Kenma? Did what I pay for only come with one bed?” You asked confused, not knowing if you needed to be more specific with the receptionist. 

“Damn.” Kenma groaned, knowing that there probably was not another room with two beds available by now. This was going to be a long night for him.

Especially since him nor you weren’t able to talk about the weird tension you both had been feeling. Kenma had discussed it with Shoyo hence the reason he was out at the—coincidentally—same time that you were out confiding in Akaashi before he left town for fall break. 

This was going to be such a long night.

synopsis: it's the summer before you go to university, and you decide to become roommates with your pen pal that you've known since you were in primary. big problem arises, he's got a roommate, and it just so happens that his roommate either has a sexual want for you or hates your guts – or probably both?

a/n: i hope you like <333 as always requests are open

tag list: @geektastic84 @lavanderdreamve @hhoneyhan @kirikeijii @marsoverthestars @nymphsdomain @justagirlnamedkai @kodzukein @74zix47 @kakuzone @jaeminaur @3lectraheart @ookamiakasuna @22marie16 @jlly1

@deftrow allowed me permission to make this/it's their idea from A03!! all i did was create a multi-chapter fic of it :) i made the banner!!