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cryptidghostgirl · 1 year ago

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omg omg omg totally new silly idea- human! alastor x human! reader where they meet at a party and go outside for a walk near the pier and the moon is beautiful and… they pull out weapons on each other (specifically Alastor a knife and reader a gun) and thats when they decide to form a partner in crime partnership

And in other to keep appearances they are forced to “fake date”

Mimzy: youve been spending some time with that new girl havent you, is she your gf or smth?” chuckle

Naize 20 yr old smth Alastor trying to think of a response thats not that:...

Mimzy: OMG IS SHE?

Alastor: sureeeeee

And they aren't actually into each other until a lot later into their partnership when they’re chasing some guy and reader gets to them first and just starts going at it “hey man i think hes had enough” “YOU WANT WHAT HES HAVING???” thpe shit

and Alastor has to catch his breath and he lowkey thinks hes dying because his heart starts beating a lot, And he goes again to mimzy for advice cuz i dont think he has anu friends and shes like “oh sweetie…”

And because its quite impossible to not get attached at one point theyre in another chase and reader starts laughing hysterically like “did you see him trying to run away??? lmao” and he goes “I couldnt take my eyes off you” and then just grabs her face and SMOOCH >:)

I think its a good trope- fake dating to actual dating even if its. about. murderers- :3

A/N YOU GUYS COME UP WITH THE BEST REQUESTS JESUS CHRIST!!! Also I promise I will get to the rest of the requests this weekend, I had two exams today so this is the only thing I am gonna post. Sorry.

Cover Up (Human!Alastor x Human!Reader)

Pairing: Alastor x Reader

Warnings: uh, murder. Mild gore. Violence. Weapons.

Word Count: 4,460 (I went a little overboard with this one)

Master Lists:

Master Lists

Hazbin Hotel Master List

"I'll walk her home, don't worry Mimzy." Alastor was saying as Y/n pulled her coat over her shoulders.

The noises of the party still raging on filtered into the grand entryway of the house, muffled through the walls. Mimzy shot her two friends a suspicious look.

"It's nothing like that, Mimz." Y/n sighed, straightening the collar of her fur coat, "I just asked cause of all those murders in the news. Kinda freaky, don't you think? I don't really wanna be out alone at night and Al here was kind enough to offer."

Mimzy crossed her arms, eyebrows raised.

"Sure." she teased.

"Mimzy." Alastor sighed in response and she put her hands up in false surrender.

"Sorry! Sorry." she hummed playfully, "I know you two free birds would never."

Alastor rolled his eyes and, turning to Y/n, held out his arm. She took it daintily, a grateful smile on her face. The pair had just met a few hours earlier but had quickly fallen into a casual camaraderie. He lead her from the house, Mimzy calling her goodnights and wishes for their safety after their retreating forms.

It was a mostly quiet walk through the desolate midnight streets of New Orleans. Y/n hummed softly, kicking a can along with the toes of her healed shoes.

"You'll ruin them that way, wont you?" Alastor asked, feigning concern.

Y/n just shrugged.

"They're shoes. Yeah, they're nice but I wont let that stop me from living. Let's stop by the water, it's so pretty tonight."

Alastor turned slightly, looking out at the Mississippi with it's slightly turbid waters reflecting the light of the stars. He tried not to smile, it was like she wanted him to carry out his intended work. She was making it so easy for him.

"Sure."

They turned towards the rail and Y/n let go of his arm, leaning her elbows against it. She let out a sigh of longing as her eyes tracked the ripples in the surface.

Alastor watched her for a moment, the moon illuminating her features. She was a handsome woman, there was no doubt about it. It had been proved to him tenfold by the amount of prospective partners she had turned down dances with at the party in favor of drinking with him at the bar. That was not what Alastor was interested in, however. Once he was sure she was distracted, once he was sure she had no intent to take her eyes from the glowing river, he looked down. Moving his coat slightly to the side, his hand quickly found its way to the hilt of the knife he had stashed in his waistband for just such an occasion.

He pulled it out, the weight familiar, almost comforting in a sense, in his hand. There was a click. He looked up, the blade pointed to its intended target.

Y/n was facing him now, a wry smile on her face. One foot in front of the other, she took a step forward. The muzzle of the gun, the cocking of which had been the source of the noise which had drawn his attention, just a few centimeters from his chest. The tip of his knife hovered indefinitely by the open center of her coat. He chuckled in amusement, eyebrows raised.

"I thought there were a few more bodies in the news than there should have been. A gun? Really?"

Y/n shrugged.

"I'm little. I don't have the privilege of being able to overpower my victims like you."

Alastor hummed softly. A slight breeze picked up, playing with the edges of their hair.

"What a shame."

Y/n laughed lightly.

"I don't think so. It works well enough."

"Those machines are inelegant, they are detached."

"And you prefer a sense of intimacy to be involved in all your escapades?"

Alastor removed the knife, holding it up to his eyes. He turned the blade over in his hand, examining it closely. Following suit, Y/n let her hand fall to her side, the gun still cocked should an occasion arise to use it.

"I have an idea." he suddenly announced.

"Oh?" Y/n asked.

She took a step back, returning to the water's edge. Alastor followed, leaning over the railing beside her. They watched one another closely, weapons still clutched loosely in their hands.

"Yep."

"You gonna tell me what it is or am I gonna have to guess?" Y/n teased after a moment, breaking the oddly comfortable silence that had fallen after Alastor's last words.

"There have been a few times, of late, where I've come a bit... uncomfortably close to being seen."

"Getting lazy." Y/n hummed, "Or maybe just cocky."

"It seems like you could use a hand, someone with brute strength in case anything goes wrong."

She scoffed, smiling just the slightest bit.

"Are you proposing we work together?"

"You're the one who said it, not me."

Y/n shook her head slightly, amused.

"How would I know you wouldn't just turn on me? End up killing me or decide not to step in if I needed help?"

"And how would I know that you wouldn't rat me out? Alert someone to where I was and what I was doing rather than telling me someone was coming? It's called trust, Y/n."

Y/n thought it over, fiddling with the gun in her grip as she did so. Alastor watched, seeing the gears turning in her mind through the light of her eyes.

"Fine." she said at last, un-cocking the gun and holding a hand out to him, "You've got yourself a deal."

Alastor smiled, slipping the knife back into his belt before grasping her hand in his. It was chilled by the air of the January night enveloping them.

"Deal."

Y/n quickly learned Alastor's preferred demographic. He had a penchant for angry men, drunks. Y/n had been a one off, a spur of the moment opportunity he had thought to take hold of. Alastor had not been like that for her. Y/n's preferred victims were also men. Anyone that showed any pressing interest in her, anyone who tried to take her home for the night, always ended up six feet under. For both, murder was a way of processing their personal experiences and traumas.

As a result of their deal, Y/n and Alastor began to spend more time together. They had to learn one another's intricacies, their ways of thinking, their nature of being. It was a necessity if anything was actually going to work. They both had rather busy work schedules, Alastor as a radio broadcaster with his very own show and Y/n as a seamstress at a local dress shop. Because of this, more often than not, the only time they had to get to know one another was through shared meals. Both of them had to eat, needed a lunch break or dinner. It was just what worked. Because of their slightly shared demographic of victim, they ended up in bars together quite frequently as well.

It was in one of these meet ups that they ran into their first difficulty. Y/n was sitting across a table from him outside a cafe, lazily sipping on a coffee as she perused the missing persons list in a newspaper. The newspaper was old, they were exchanging information about who was responsible for what. Working together didn't just mean knowing one another as they were now, but their histories as well.

They should have known not to sit in such a public place. Both had many connections in the city due to their jobs, though few friends. It just so happened on that day that the one true friend they did have in common was walking down the very street they sat on.

"Alastor?" Mimzy exclaimed, catching sight of his familiar face and moving towards their table.

Y/n folded the newspaper, placing it on the table as she turned towards the sound. Mimzy came to a stop, her brow furrowing in mild confusion as she saw her friend was not in fact alone.

"And Y/n, fancy meeting you two here."

"Pull up a chair, Mimz." Y/n smiled and Mimzy obeyed.

Swinging a spare chair from a nearby table, she quickly joined them.

"I haven't seen you two since the party! How have you been."

"Fine, fine." Alastor hummed and Y/n nodded her assent.

"And whats this with you two getting coffee?" Mimzy asked, a teasing smile slipping onto her face as Alastor took a sip of his own drink, "I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"

"No, not at all Mimz." Y/n shook her head, a slight smile on her face, "It's always a pleasure to see you."

"You sure this isn't a date or something? I mean, with the way you two left and everything... having coffee alone..."

Alastor nearly choked on his drink. Y/n and Mimzy turned to him as he put a hand to his chest, clearing his throat.

"Excuse me." he said and Mimzy's grin widened.

"Oh this is totally a date."

"No!" Alastor exclaimed, exchanging a fervent glance with Y/n across the table.

She raised her eyebrows, pursing her lips. Without words, she told him to handle it. Alastor sighed.

"Are you sure?" Mimzy asked, a suggestive tone to her voice.

"I... uh..." Alastor stuttered, his brain working in overdrive to think of anything else. It came up empty, "Fine. Yes. We're... we're on a date."

"You caught us." Y/n chimed in and Mimzy turned to her.

"Oh my stars! You two.... I shoulda guessed you'd get on like a house on fire. Shame I can't invite you to any more of my singles parties though Y/n, you are a riot."

Singles parties. A hunting ground. Y/n smiled.

"No, no, Mimz. We're not exclusive or anything."

Mimzy's eyes widened slightly at the revelation as Alastor shot Y/n a look across the table. Dating was going to be hard for them to sell but swingers too? What was she thinking.

"Really? How exotic." Mimzy hummed in thought.

"We're all going to hell anyways so, why not." Y/n shrugged.

"Oh you." Mimzy laughed, placing a hand on Y/n's shoulder as she got to her feet, "Well, I won't keep you love birds any longer. I'll see you next week for the next party then?"

"We'll see." Alastor hummed placidly.

Once Mimzy had gone, he rounded on Y/n.

"Swingers?" he asked, eyebrows raised, "Really?"

"Hey, you're the one who started the whole 'we're dating' thing." Y/n sighed, picking the newspaper back up and resuming the task at hand, "I just made it easier for us."

"It will utterly destroy my reputation if this gets out you know."

Y/n shot him a look over the top of the paper.

"Al, you got a lot more to worry about than pretending to be a swinger in terms of your reputation. Now, Marcus Alcost? Six four, buff, scar on his left forearm? Brown hair?"

"Blue eyes?"

"Umm... yeah."

"Yep, that was me."

"Nice. Musta been a tough one to take down."

Alastor would track men, following them out as they left the establishments in the small hours of the morning with the intent of returning to their families. He would stalk them, corner them, lead them in. Y/n would stand watch, alerting him at the first sign of trouble.

The moment she heard footsteps, chatter, Y/n would duck in. Grabbing Alastor by the arm, she would whisk him off in some random direction, having consistently used the time she was on lookout to scout for escape routes.

They had had a few close calls, one or two times he had had to press her up against a wall and pretend to kiss her to avoid prying eyes. They always had a good laugh after something like that. Mostly, things worked out well. They each had survived on their own for years at this point. They knew what they were doing, adding another person into the mix just made it a tad easier.

Y/n, on the other hand, didn't need to track her victims down, they did that work for her. She would dress up all pretty and the moment someone asked to take her home or something of the like, would agree. Then she'd pull them into some ally or another under the guise of not wanting to wait a second longer and attack. Alastor would stand behind her, arms crossed menacingly as she carried out her work. He threatened so she could perform and she never had any trouble thanks to him.

That was, until one night about a year into their little partnership. As the time had passed, their relationship had grown. They still held the ruse of dating up before anyone who asked why it was they each spent so much time with the other but, a real friendship had begun to blossom between them as well. As it turns out, they had a lot more in common than just a tendency to commit brutal murders. Y/n knew Alastor well by now, better than anyone else most likely, and he knew her as well. That was how he could tell something was wrong.

Y/n had given Alastor the usual signal from across the bar and he had settled his tab. As he followed the pair, Y/n and the tall man whose hand she held, Alastor had noticed something was off. Normally by this point Y/n was stumbling around, pretending to be drunk and ditzy. She was doing this very thing now but in a more halted and jagged way. The man she was with seemed more believably drunk than she was, swaying this way and that. Her movements were uncharacteristically harsh as she pulled the man into the ally about a block ahead of him.

Alastor picked up the pace, breaking into a light jog. He reached the ally and turned down it, expecting to see Y/n flirting with the man or with her gun out already. Instead, he was met with something entirely different.

At the back of the ally lay the huddled mass of the man. On top of him was Y/n. The thuds of her knuckles against his face was the only sound breaking the silence of the night. She hit him, again and again. Alastor stood there, stunned.

"Dear, whatever is the matter?" he asked at last, trying to wrap his head around the situation.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

"Y/n."

Thud. Thud. Thud.

He could see the splatters of blood now, on the ground around them and the wall behind. The thuds included the occasional squelch, the crack of a bone.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

"You'll ruin your hands for work tomorrow if you keep at this."

Still, she ignored him. There was a sickening crunch. Sighing, he approached.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

He could see it now, the man's mutilated face. Part of his skull looked like it had caved in. He had stopped moving long ago.

"Y/n, dear," Alastor tentatively reached out a hand towards her shoulder as he spoke, "don't you think he has had enough?"

Y/n whipped around to him, her eyes wild and her bloody raw knuckles raised. He froze, his hand hovering above her shoulder. There was blood everywhere. It soaked the sleeves of her collard shirt, it dripped from her fingers, it decorated her face and her bared teeth.

"What, you fucking want some too?"

Alastor's breath caught in his throat. His heart pounded against his ribcage, begging for escape. It wasn't fear, it couldn't be. He could take this girl down in ten seconds flat, blood hungry as she was.

Y/n's eyes, sharp with violence, softened slightly as she saw his reaction. She let her hands fall, resting them on the man's chest.

"He tried to drug me." she revealed, turning her eyes back to her mess, her masterpiece.

"He what?"

"Yeah." she sighed, using the back of her hand to push her hair from her eyes, leaving a residue of blood in the wake of the movement, "I caught him, switched the drinks."

Alastor shifted his gaze to the man before falling on Y/n once again. Her face was blank now, all the rage gone.

"He tried to drug me." she said again, her voice hollow.

At last, his hand found its home on her shoulder and she turned to face him once again. Alastor extended his free hand to Y/n. She examined it for a moment before daintily placing one of her own in his and allowing him to help her to her feet. Both her hands now rested in his as they looked back at the remains of the man.

"Well, he's definitely dead."

Alastor let go of Y/n's hands. Now free, he used one of them to turn her face to his. Blood spattered, wide eyed, lips slightly parted -- his heart fought for freedom from his chest once again.

"He deserved it."

Alastor let go of Y/n's chin and used the cuff of his jacket to wipe some of the blood from her face.

"Can you walk me home?"

Normally if she had asked something like that, Alastor would have teased her to no end. Why be scared of the monsters in the dark when she herself was one of them? But her voice had been small, timid. She had avoided his eyes and his fingers tingled at the prospect of her viewing him as protector.

"Of course, my dear."

They did not have another planned meeting until two weeks from that day. Y/n had a big project at work and wouldn't have any spare time because of it. Alastor, normally restless at the idea of having to wait so long to satisfy his bloodlust either by killing or seeing the show of death, was grateful for the respite. He was confused, overwhelmed even, because his strange reactions, the change in his patterns of thought towards the girl, hadn't ended at Y/n's front door.

No, she was haunting him. Like a vengeful ghost, he saw her in his mind. She took up every waking moment, he didn't know what to do. Alastor waited a day and still, it persisted. The skip of his heart, the odd slightly sick feeling in his stomach at the thought of their reunion. He waited three days and it didn't stop. By the time the end of the week rolled around and Alastor still found himself smiling at the prospect of only having to wait another week not to kill but to see Y/n again, he did the unthinkable. It was the only option he could come up with. Besides Y/n, she was the only other person in the world he even half trusted. Alastor called Mimzy.

"Alastor, darling!" she excitedly exclaimed into the phone, "What a surprise! What can I do for you?"

"Yeah, hey Mimzy. Um..." he struggled to find the words, fiddling with the phone cord as he walked to the window, looking down at the street below, "I just... I need your advice about something."

"What is it, hun?" she immediately replied, "Seems its got you in a tizzy, not a lot can do that."

"I... It's about Y/n."

"Uh-oh, trouble in paradise?"

"No. Maybe?" he turned from the window, collapsing in his desk chair, "I don't know."

"Spill."

"Well, we... I just.... Mimz, I can't stop thinking about her."

"Well I would hope not, you've been together for almost a year now."

"Yeah well, about that. It may have been a... stretching of the truth? Shall we say?"

"Al." Mimzy warned after a moment's silence, "If you are playing with this gi-"

"No!" he exclaimed, cutting her off and quickly crafting an excuse, "No. It was just to get our parents off our backs. We had a deal. They were both pestering us about when we were gonna get married, you know how it is."

"I thought your dad was dead?"

"My ma though, she really wants to see me settled down."

"I guess that explains the swingers thing." Mimzy sighed, "It didn't really seem in character for either of you. So, whats the matter?"

"I told you, I can't stop thinking about her. It's like... it's like... look, we're not dating, but we're friends, you know? And we were out at a bar together a few nights ago and she just... she did something and when I looked at her, it was like I died."

"That little minx." Mimzy laughed in glee, "What the heck did she do?"

"Just something, okay?"

"I have got to quiz her about this."

"No! Please, no. She'd... probably be embarrassed."

"Mmm... okay...." came Mimzy's doubtful reply, "So what was it you needed help with?"

"Well, that. It was like the breath had left my body entirely. I felt... sick, my chest hurt. It was so strange. I thought it would go away once I got some sleep but it didn't. Every time I think about her, it feels like there is a vice around my heart and I can't stop thinking about her."

"Al, seriously? This is what you're asking me about?"

"Yeah?" he uncertainly replied after a moment.

"What are you, twelve?"

"Mimzy, are you going to help or not?"

She sighed.

"Alastor, you have a crush on her."

A beat.

"I do not."

"Yes, you do. Maybe even more."

"I..." his brow furrowed, his breath left his body.

This was bad. This could be dangerous, detrimental even.

"Are you sure?"

"Butterflies in your stomach? Pains in your chest? Can't get her out of your mind? You're even breathless for christ's sake Al. It's textbook first pangs of love."

"Fuck."

Mimzy laughed.

"You're already pretend dating, what harm would asking her to do the real thing with you do? My bet is, she's probably been feeling the same thing about you. That tends to happen in cases like yours, I've seen it before. The whole 'fake love turns real' trope. It's overdone if you ask me."

"Mimzy, this isn't one of your trashy romance novels. This is my life."

"So live it radio man! Go get that girl."

Alastor was nervous, trembling even as he sat at the bar. His glass of whiskey had gone warm on the table as he watched Y/n dancing and having fun in the crowd. This was how it usually went when it was his turn to hunt, she'd have fun and he'd find a target. Once the target left, he'd grab her and they'd move out.

Tonight he was distracted and it showed. The man had nearly given them the slip. With Alastor's knife still sticking out of his shoulder, he had ducked away and started running. Of course that meant Alastor and Y/n had to give chase. They ran after him through the streets of New Orleans as he screamed bloody murder and Y/n's heels clicked definitively on the ground. He was thankful that the hour was late and no one was out and about, thankful the man was so drunk his words came out closer to garbled singing than pleas for help, thankful he was slowed by his consumption.

When they at last caught up with him, Alastor grabbed his second knife from his belt and, taking the man's hurt shoulder in his free hand, buried it deep in the man's back. He fell to the floor, sputtering, coughing up blood. In a few moments he was still. Alastor turned to Y/n, panting.

Her pretty eyes traced a path between murderer and victim a handful of times before a smile broke out onto her face. Before he could really register what was happening, she was doubled over in laughter, clutching her stomach.

Alastor watched Y/n, eyebrows raised as they both caught their breath. After about a minute, she straightened up and turned to him, wiping a tear from her eye.

"What?" Alastor asked with a wry smile, "What is so funny about a dead man."

"He..." she broke out into laughter again, "He... the way he ran! And we almost lost him?! Oh my god, Al, that coulda been so bad."

"The way... he ran?"

"He... didn't you see it? Oh my god, it was so funny. Like he was running in a three legged race with an invisible partner." she wheezed.

Alastor felt the heat pooling in his cheeks. Mimzy was right, it was time for him to live his life. A normal existence could coexist with his hobby, Y/n had already proved that to him.

"Didn't you see?" she asked again.

"No." he shook his head, "I was... I was watching you."

"You were... Al, theres no way you were." Y/n scoffed, "No way. If you were watching me, he would have gotten away. If you were watching me, it would meant that you were unconcerned by your oh-so-precious reputation being ruined. If you were watching me, it would mean..."

She trailed off as he took a step closer to her, his gaze flicking between her eyes and her lips. Y/n's cheeks flushed pink.

"Alastor."

Her voice was a dying prayer. Reaching a trembling hand up, he laid it on the back of her head, his fingers tangling with her hair as she looked up at him with wide eyes. Alastor closed the gap.

He had been so scared. Scared she would push him away, that she wouldn't kiss back. Even a little bit scared he'd just become the next name on her list of degenerate men she'd killed.

There was a moment, a split second, where his fears were realized. Then, she washed them all away. Hands buried in the lapel of his jacket, she pulled him closer, Y/n leaned in.

They broke apart after a moment, their cheeks flushed and utterly breathless.

"I-"

"Would you like to go on a date with me, Y/n?"

Her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"Are you going to try to kill me again?"

"Oh please, I thought we'd moved past that darling."

Y/n smiled, still holding him close. Alastor let his hands fall onto her waist as they swayed slightly under the light of the moon.

"Yes Alastor. I will let you take me on a date."

"We will not be swingers."

Y/n laughed.

"Just had to make that clear."

"No, Alastor. If I am going to get you, I want you all to myself. Now, what are we going to do about that body?"

----

Next Part -> Cover Up pt. 2

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tacticaldiary · 2 years ago

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omg hi, i love your writing and saw requests were open for cod. i was wondering if you could write something where reader and simon are in an established relationship (can either be public to the team or a secret) and they are on a mission. reader has a scare during a mission and ghost has an “i almost lost you” moment with her.

Anyone But Her

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

Their line of work has never guaranteed the assurance of coming home, but that doesn't make the fear of loss any easier to deal with, especially not when it happens right in front of his eyes.

Masterlist

If asked where one feels the most comfortable, people who respond with something like 'home' or 'the beach', something achievable and wholly normal.

Her? There was nothing more comforting than the feel of hot metal in her tight grip during a mission, the easy reloading of her sniper almost by muscle memory as she gazes down the scope. The commands, the back and forth with tasks and delegations, and the constant movement and adjustment needed to bring home a victory is what keeps her on her feet.

"In position on first building." Ghost's rough voice travels through the comms, bringing her attention away from the scope she's looking down. Laying down on the top of a hill, spotting the other members as they infiltrate a Russian warehouse, was an easy job. In and out before they realised that the team was even there.

It's an ugly thing, what the 141 deals with, but it's so far set from what normal is that she's long since accepted that there's no going back.

Part of her is glad she hadn't tried. If there was never a chance she'd have been selected for this squad, she never would have met the enigma that is Simon Riley.

Standoffish, brash, deadly.

Understanding, confident, loving.

They'd butted heads on her first day harsher than any of the others ever had, and after an order from Price to resolve their tension lest it interfere mid battle, the both of them had come to realise that they had much more in common than they thought.

The rest had been history. They already moved in sync on the field, and after a try they'd discovered they worked just as well together as something more than teammates. It was hard to keep things professional with glances so heated and words that no friend would ever offer each other.

Some of the things he's said to her in the heat of the moment and the privacy of their quarters makes blood rush to her cheeks just thinking about it.

She was just a precaution, really. A failsafe, because the odds may be in their favour but they were never always truly compliant.

"Breaching second on your command." Gaz's voice relays through.

"Sergeant, how are things from above?"

"All clear, L.T." She says, doing another final sweep of the grounds. "No visible hostiles near your vicinity." The good news is delivered with an undertone of caution.

If their intel was correct, this warehouse should be housing stolen US documents, information that could deal real damage to their operations if transported farther than it already had been.

So where were all the soldiers?

The only ones she sees are a few mulling around the grounds, three by the radio tower nearby and another few near the vehicles at the back of the compounds. Surely such valuable intel would be more heavily guarded?

Her gut speaks to attest that something is wrong, but before she can bring it to light, Ghost and Soap, and Gaz and Price breach the doors of their respective warehouses.

"Copy." Ghost rasps. "Breaching now." She pauses for a moment to fiddle with her comms unit, the voices filtering through to her earpiece crackling in a way they shouldn't be if the device was fully functional.

Looking down her scope, everything seems normal. The grass swaying in the wind, the silence that follows and-

Silence?

She stiffens at the sudden lack of noise. It was too still, the clam before the storm. Hand flying to her comms, she speaks into the device;

"Ground team, how copy?"

Static. Then silence.

Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she repeats herself louder, more firmly, frowning where there's nothing but muted static and crackling. She does another sweep of the facility with her sniper. All seems quiet until her gaze focuses on the radio tower.

Adjusting her scope's distance, her mouth goes dry when she realises exactly what the three at the base of the structure are holding. A device she herself has used many times during missions like these.

A jammer.

Sudden movement makes her eyes snap back to the vehicle form before. Her stomach drops as the doors to the truck swing open and soldiers armed to their necks pour out, spreading all over the facility.

An ambush. They knew they were coming. Jammed their comms to isolate them and hide their forces until the others entered the warehouses probably. Surrounded. They'd be surrounded in mere minutes if they didn't do something.

Her comms are useless, so she can't warn them, and can only watch in muted horror as they start to scatter around the building.

Fuck.

She can't take out the three men at the tower from here. That wouldn't stop the device and only act to reveal her position. Hands-on was the only way.

Slamming her sniper onto the strap on her back, she extracts her pistol, breaking into a harsh sprint down the hill. There was no time, she had to warn them herself. To hell with staying out of sight.

The 141...they were like family to her. Soap and Gaz's constant cheeky remarks and antics, Price's steadfast and reliable leadership, Ghost...Simon's patience and understanding, his muted passion and actions that when decoded conveyed more love than anybody had every offered her.

The day her team took a loss would not be today. Not like this. Not when she could help it.

Finding herself in the middle of the compound by ducking and staying out of view, she kneels behind a crate, unhooking one of her frag grenades, pulling the pin out with her teeth.

This would give away her position, a dangerous gamble while hostiles surrounded her from all sides, but what better way to alert battle-ready soldiers than with the bang of a grenade. A sounds they knew all to well.

She'd just have to hold her position until they could regroup. She's done tougher things before, and this was so or die right now. With the thought in mind, she steels herself and tosses out the grenade at the most densely packed area of soldiers, clenching her jaw and taking cover at the resounding bang that cracks through the air.

The gunfire follows soon after.

Her comms crackle, evidence that someone's trying to reach her, but with the jammer not sounds can be deciphered.

Soldiers yell, and fire at her location, the heavy thudding of footsteps on either side of her clueing her into their intentions to flank her sides and gun her down. Returning fire, she ducks between the crates to make her way to the radio tower, just a couple of metres away. Bullets clink and bang and ricchoet of fthe metal around her, but miraculously, she's mostly unscathed as dives behind a vehicle and takes down the three men aiming their rifles at her.

The jammer lays at the feet, blinking green.

Right in the middle of the open field. She had to get there, had to get it off so they could all communicate with each other and move smoothly. There was a higher risk of casualties if one moved without the knowledge of the others.

Unpredictability was the worst of enemies in the field.

Steeling herself for going out in the open under the inevitable spray of bullets, she unclips a smoke grenade and tosses it, holding her breath as acrid smoke obstructs everyone's vision. Stumbling into the mess, she keeps low to the ground to avoid the blind fire into the smoke and feels around for the device.

Her hands curl around the metal and she sprints back to cover.

She doesn't make it.

Their blind fire proves effective, as a bullet rips through her shoulder, another one through her calf wrenching out a choked scream from her. The smoke was slowly dissipating, and pretty soon visibility would be back and then any bullet wounds she'd sustain would not be as unfatal.

Panic claws up her throat, but years of practise allow her to swallow it down. She pulls herself up, but groans and collapses, her leg unable to support her weight and her shoulder unable to drag her across the ground.

Shit, shit.

Her breaths come ragged and uneven, her knuckles turning white with the harsh grip on the device. Changing courses, she brings the jammer close to her, focusing on it instead, turning knobs and pressing buttons.

If she bit the bullet here, she'd damn well do so making sure the others stayed alive.

The second the jammer switches off, voices filter through her comms, a flurry of mixed yells, gunfire and pounding footsteps.

"Sergeant?!" A familiar voice barks down the line, hoarse...worried? "Are you down?"

Lightheaded, feeling blood soak through her clothes, she can't bring herself to respond. The smoke starts to clear and the best she can do is shift herself behind a tree a few feet away, leaning against the thick trunk for cover while unable to grasp her weapon through the slippery bloody coating her hands.

Was it normal to have that much blood? Feeling a little delirious, she drops her weapons besides her and presses down hard on the wound on her leg, biting back a groan. Gunfire pings around her, gunpowder and smoke acrid in the air.

It's only when Ghost snaps her name through the comms does she come back to herself a little.

"I'm..." She squeezes her eyes shut trying to get her tongue to form words. "I'm down. Bleeding out near the radio tower. Fuckers jammed out comms. Ambush. Had to...had to warn you. Had to fix it." She coughs, spitting into the ground beside her as blood trickles down her chin.

Definitely not normal.

Swallowing is hard, her thoughts swim as the grass beneath her is stained crimson. Her body feels too heavy, head to light and she wonders if this is really the end.

Someone speaks through her comms, words to muddled in her head to make out. Gaz? Or was that Price? Maybe Soap? Or Simon?

God, what she wouldn't give to hear Simon again, just once. Her eyes flutter shut with a groan. Just once more. She just wants to hear that gruff voice one more time through the comms, saying her name. He's never told her he's loved her verbally, even when she expressed it herself, but words haven't ever been his strong points.

His actions spoke far far louder.

The ways he's memorised all her little routines, her favourite foods, her favourite activities, the particular way she likes to store and clean her weapons. the silent moments at night where he pulled her close and the shared a book together, the nights spent together in bed where he showed her that he was not lacking in love when it came to her.

Simon Riley had left a mark on her life that she wore with pride, and if this...this meant that he lived on another day. She grits her teeth, shallows pant soft breath as blood pools between her fingers.

Then it was damn well worth it.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

An unstoppable force by nature, Ghost is the scariest anybody's ever seen him right now.

That last comms transmission from her had made his heart practically stop in his chest, even if he was as apathetic as ever from the outside. He had called out to her again, demanded she stay awake and give a precise location but no matter how much he shouted and order through the comms he was met with a deafening silence.

Silence that suggested the worst.

Fuck, no. No way. This wasn't happening, this simply wasn't something Simon would allow to happen.

Not her. Not any of them, really, but especially not her. Not her soft smiles and meaningful glances, not when she made him feel as if he might not break everything he comes into contact with.

Not when she was the only one who's ever coaxed out Simon Riley from Ghost.

His actions grow harsher, more brutal. The moment he hears she's near the radio towers bleeding out, he's a man on a mission, and none of the others make a peep of protest as he clears the way through to her, a spartan leaving a trail of blood behind as he moves.

He does not rage. Rage implies something uncontrolled and fierce. No, this is not rage. This is something much colder, much more calculating. Every throat that he slashed with his knife, every bullet that lands home in a skull is done with precision and deadly force. He means every bit of hurt he causes, hurt that stems from his own panic at her sudden silence.

This was not rage. This was icy cold desperation disguised as cool anger.

He's the one who finds her after everybody spreads out to clear the facility.

Back to a tree, eyes closed, hands limp at her side.

She might have been sleeping if not for all the fucking blood.

Dropping down beside her, he shakes her shoulder firmly, calling out her name.

"Wake up, Sergeant." He orders, eyes raking over her figure to find the source of her injuries. His jaw ticks as he notes the two fresh wounds. She doesn't move when he extracts a rolls of gauze from his belt, doesn't flinch when he tightly wraps her injuries.

Does not wake up to notice how his hands are shaking as he ties the final knots.

"Wake up." He says, voice much lower, something deeply needing. Shifting closer, he pulls her into his arms, away from the rough bark of the tree. Her head falls to his shoulder limply, making his breath hitch, true, cold fear gripping his heart. "Wake up, sweetheart, c'mon." He urges. She's still alive as per the shallow rise and fall of her chest, but she won't fucking wake up and it's killing him, making panic claw at his throat because not her, not her, not her.

Reaching around, he pinches her sternum hard, relief slamming into him when she finally groans and whimpers, a weak hand reaching up to push his away. "That's it, love. There you go." He mutters praise, hooking an arm under her legs and hoisting her up, carrying her. "Keep those eyes open for me, yeah? Don't you dare fucking close them, you hear me?" His accent is thicker than normal

"..Simon?" She groans, barely a whisper, making his heart wretch painfully.

"It's me." He confirms, clutching her tighter as he makes his way back to the exfil he'd ordered Gaz to request. The heli stand waiting near the first warehouse, a mass of dead bodies paving the path for them to step over. "I've got you, love. Stay with me, just a little longer.

He doesn't know if she can hear him let alone understand what he's saying, but it seems to work, her groggy gaze taking in their surrounding, watching but not really seeing.

She shoves at his chest suddenly, weak but firm. "No...you gotta-they're here." She rattles in a breath that makes even him wince. "Ambush, Simon. Gotta-get yourself out."

"Fucking hell woman, you think I'd leave you?" He hisses, hiking her up closer so their bodies are pressed together. He feels a rush of anger peer through the crushing panic and worry he's beating down.

"No time." She breathes. "Leave-"

"Not another word." He warns, angry at the thought that she'd even think for one moment that he'd let her die on his watch, that he'd ever leave the one good thing in his life.

Her compliance scares him to the bone.

Simon practically runs the last few meters towards the evac heli, barking out instructions for a medic as they bring out a stretcher. Gently, an action so at odds with the flames burning through his veins, he lays her down on it, staying by her side as they hoist her inside.

The jolting makes her whimper, aggravating her injuries no doubt. "Careful," Simon demands, and a single glare from him is enough to make the team move her with much more cautiousness.

The team clamours in and it's not long before they're all in the air.

A silence is passed around the space, an acknowledgment and shared anger at her state, how she was riddled with bullets like a target because of her selfless nature to save and give.

They hadn't gotten the intel, but Simon has never given less of a shit about anything before, not when she's laying next to him pale and trembling, looking up at him as if he might be the one to make her pain go away.

May God strike him dead if he doesn't try his fucking hardest.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The steady beep on a heart monitor and the sharp smell of antiseptic is what slowly brings her back to the living world. She feels...

Well she feels like shit.

That's kind a given though, judging by how she determines by the scratchy sheets under her that she's in a hospital bed. One would be more disorientated by waking up like this, but she's seen her fare share of white bedspreads and jello cups.

Finally gathering up the courage to blink her heavy eyes open, she squints at the ceiling light, slowly getting her bearings.

They were...on a mission. She tries to recall. Warehouse. Men. Jammer...

The jammer! Were the others alright? All she remembers is passing out by the tree and-what else?

Alarm ringing through her, she moves to sit up but immediately groans at her body protesting, her limbs burning at the movement. Shoulder and leg tight with stitches, she tries to force herself to sit up when a large, warm hard pushes her back down.

"Easy does it. Lay still for me." The familiar voice washes away the alarm and when she slowly, groggily turns her head, there sits the one person she wanted to see.

Simon sits beside her bed, looking ragged and poorly even beneath his mask. She can see it by the tension in his shoulders.

"Wh-" She trails off, coughing and wincing at the pain in her dry throat. There's a rustling, and then a hand at the back of her neck, guiding her lips to a cup full of cool water. "Drink." Simon says simply, helping her swallow the liquid until she pushes on his hand.

"What happened?" She finally manages, meeting his eyes. "You look...like shit. You okay?"

Amusement may have flickered into those eyes of his, but it's next to nothing with the other concoction of worry in his eyes.

For someone so stoic, he had very expressive eyes if you knew how to read them.

"Am I okay?" He stares in disbelief. "Considering I didn't get shot twice and nearly bleed out, I'd say I'm doing better than you."

"Ever the comedian." Her joke doesn't crack a smile from him and that's when she knows something is truly wrong. "Simon what-"

The scrape of his chair cuts her off as he stands abruptly, moving over to her side. He seems hesitant for a split second, arms pausing as they reach out.

He decides to push away the doubt, however, because moments later, strong arms are wrapped around her, pulling her into him. She relaxes at the familiar scent of him, of his clothes as he tucks his chin over her head.

His heart is racing under his cheek, her fist loosely gripping his shirt.

She knows he'll speak in time, that she just has to wait for him to gather the words and decide how to express them out loud. So she does exactly that. She waits while he regulates himself, gathers his thoughts.

His arms tighten around her. "Thought I lost you." He says, and if it had been anybody but her, they might have missed the slight tremor in his voice. "When I saw you bleeding out against that tree...Fuck, I thought you were gone."

"Not that easily." She hums, pressing into him further. "Never than easily."

"Better fucking not be." It coaxes a hoarse giggle from her, what he growls in her ear.

"I'm alright, Simon." She assures him gently. "Alive and kicking."

He nods against her head minutely, his lips pressing against her head through his mask, a gesture that makes her melt because if Simon was resorting to such a thing he must have really had a scare. He hated PDA and although they were the only ones in the room, normally they reserved this kind of intimacy for their own rooms when they're alone together.

He stays like that for a while, convincing himself that she was there, that she was alive and breathing and in his arms and untouchable as of now. All the while she runs a soothing hand up and down his strong arms, mumbling assurances of their safety.

She'd do it again in a heartbeat, would put herself in harms way to save her team, but as she sits there pressed against him, the sun spilling into the room warming it with it's rays, she can't help but think of how thankful she is to have felt this again.

To have the chance to continue experiencing the protective love of Simon Riley.

Requests Are Open!

(25/06/2023)

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clairdelunelove · 6 months ago

Text

love thy neighbor

neighbor!itadori yuuji x f!reader, brief mentions of megumi

genre: insane amounts of fluff, comfort, slight angst?

warnings: suggestive, 5.6k words

synopsis: getting a new neighbor was bound to be a hit or miss. and in your case it's a miss. that is, until you're sharing the elevator with a guy that looks like he belongs on the cover of the latest calvin klein magazine. and suddenly, things don't go as planned because he's oddly… sweet?

a.n. had neighbor!yuuji on my mind for a while so I decided to push myself and write smth sickeningly sweet! missed writing longer works so I hope you enjoy! <3

you wholeheartedly believe that your new neighbor has more than 24 hours in a day.

the incessant noise is an indicator of that. blaring music, doors slamming at odd times, and the animated buzzing of the television during the neighborhood’s quiet hours all filter through your apartment’s worn walls. wails of a melodramatic actress haunted you in your sleep. initially, you chalked it up as a coping mechanism for your neighbor. perhaps she was going through a messy breakup and found comfort in rewatching the same movie series– several times, in fact– to help manage the heartache. you understand; it was a vulnerable type of growth that needed to be dealt with. however, it’s been the exact, aggravating routine for the past two weeks and it was driving you crazy. it had gotten so bad to the point where you were absentmindedly mumbling the corresponding dialogue whenever you were preoccupied with household chores.

and you’ve never seen her, per se. you’re just assuming that your neighbor was a young woman that reminisced her college days by cranking up the speaker to the highest volume and bouncing around to the beat. deafening stomps to the carpeted floor. at least, that’s what you hear before a piece of furniture inevitably falls from the prancing and it goes dead silent.

so imagine your surprise when a man steps into the elevator you’re wobbling into and rushes to press his designated floor number. it’s still relatively early. the sun is barely peeking out and the first flush of morning arises to allow the day to commence. yet, he’s panting as he trickles in behind you, squeezing himself through the metal doors before they can close and he’ll be forced to wait a couple minutes.

“oh,” he utters while noting that you pushed the illuminated button to his apartment floor already, “thanks!��

his voice is sleek and smooth. it’s cute, quite frankly. it rises in accordance with his gratitude, so much so that you’re intrigued to get a glance at this well-mannered stranger. and gosh— you’re not disappointed at all.

he’s taller; not at a height that’s towering over you but it’s enough for you to take note of. it’s a fantastic change of pace from the elderly tenants that typically inhabit the building and your eyes eagerly roam to discover more about the male beside you. his hair is, remarkably, pink. a tone that matches the tinge of blush that glazes over his skin due to the sweat that he desperately tries to wipe off. he’s clad in gray workout shorts and a muscle tee, both of which accentuate his toned physique. your mouth literally drops as you openly stare at the cuts of raw, powerful muscle that glisten on his body from underneath the tacky fluorescent lights.

and, immediately, embarrassment floods through you at the stark contrast behind the reasoning of why you’re up so early in the morning. overly sugary treats to begin your day served as your motivator. you just weren’t expecting to run into someone that started their day by exercising to the point that they looked like they belonged on the cover of calvin klein. it’s not one of your proudest moments.

slumping over in an attempt to conceal the pastry bag and sweet drink in your hand, you internally pray that this situation can pass quicker. save yourself from the embarrassment of it all.

he seems to pick up on your uneasiness though because his brows raise in curiosity, “what’d you get?”

and oh, calvin klein guy is talking to you.

“um, a latte and some breakfast pastry that the bakery sells. I go there pretty often,” you press your lips together before adding, “it’s the one right across the street. they open early.”

you’re cringing as the words leave your lips because really– the words ‘pastry’ and ‘breakfast’ being together would never be in the male’s vocabulary. you assume that he’s judging you for your innate ability to overshare about your rather unhealthy eating habits. after all, he had just finished what you presumed was his daily workout. perhaps he’ll even dig low enough to make you feel terrible about it. educate you on the importance of having a balanced breakfast. you’ve been on enough dates with ‘gym bros’ to acknowledge that it’s a possibility and you don’t want to hear it.

“oh really?” he ends up responding with a natural smile and it nearly blinds you, “I didn’t know! I might hafta check it out then. it looks really good!”

“their strawberry cream cheese breakfast pastry is one of my favorites.”

the suggestion tumbles out before you can think better of it but his smile only seems to brighten as he says in finality, “I’ll try that one then.”

then, he whips out his phone to visibly take note of the specific pastry you told him only seconds ago. and, wow, this guy might just be a top contender for the world’s best apartment crush. you watch him out of the corner of your eye, captivated by his radiate energy. he pockets his phone once again, shoots you a grin of finality, and abruptly lifts the end of his shirt to wipe the remnants of sweat on his forehead. his eyes are wide, mortification expressed in his hurried actions and it takes some self-restraint to not giggle at his endearing expressions.

“sorry I’m all gross, jus’ got done working out,” he explains like it wasn’t obvious, “promise I’m not normally this sweaty all the time.”

you’re instantly drawn to him. he’s all sharp features but soft intentions. a phenomenon that you wish to unravel if he’d allow you to. he lets out a sheepish laugh, the melodic sound cutting through the awkward elevator silence, and you’re giggling in earnest soon after.

“it wouldn’t be so bad if you were, though.”

you bite your lip. the statement is a tiny bit bolder than you were expecting but his bashful expression says it all. he’s keen on the attention. his brows raise in mild surprise but the tips of his ears tinge red. not one to actively go searching for it but finds pleasure in it if you’re willing to hand it out.

the elevator dings and the doors slowly open to reveal your apartment floor’s hallway as he scrambles for words. though, you know you’ve made quite the impression when he follows behind your retreating figure. a flicker of warmth laps up at you, a sort of satisfaction sizzling within you at how he’s actively pursuing you and for the first time in a while you’re grateful for the good change in fortune.

“well would you look at that,” the blushy haired male’s voice rings just as you move to unlock the door to your apartment, “we’re neighbors!”

and your mouth drops.

he’s your neighbor. the same one that’s been repeatedly keeping you awake during the night by dialing up the volume on every show he’s watching. or how you can audibly hear the thuds as he leaps around while playing some ear-splitting video game. or how, vaguely, you overhear the hissed scolding of another male’s voice from the opposite side of the wall that separates the two of you. it’s all been the calvin klein guy– not some heartbroken girl that’s stuck chasing after her crazy college years.

“whatta crazy coincidence!” he adds, breaking your dawning realization, and grins as he sticks his own key into his apartment and turns it.

but you find your voice before he can stroll through his entryway. you know that you should just say something and get it over with. voice your frustrations of ending up with the misfortune of having a rather boisterous next-door neighbor while you strived to achieve the most stress-free life. the desire to have a fresh start was unattainable at this rate. give him a piece of your mind for further ruining your– already– messed up sleep schedule.

“wait! um,” you clear your throat and try to quell the anger that grabs hold of you, “the walls are super thin and I can hear whenever you’re blasting your music or watching tv, ya know. could you try to keep it down, please?”

and why is your voice dying down at the end of it? the heated exchange you’ve been reciting in your mind is reduced to a polite inquiry. a sort of ‘hey it’d be really nice if you could do this for my well-being but it’s alright if you can’t!’ type of barter. inwardly, you kick at yourself because the whole point of this is to give your neighbor a piece of the irritation you experience daily. yet, you bite your lip when he gives you that sweeping glance of his that makes you weak. the one where his gaze lingers on you with a curiosity that begs at him to be sedated. his widened eyes sparkle, a shade of honey that reminds you of butterscotch candy, as he understands your displeasure.

“ah, I’m super sorry ‘bout that! I wasn’t sure how soundproof my room was since I just moved in and the loud music kinda helps me focus. but I’ll try to be quieter,” the apology rushes out of him as he tilts his head to the side, “hope you didn’t lose any sleep ‘cause of me. it’d kill me if that happened.”

this isn’t going in the direction you thought it would’ve. at most, you expected to perhaps throw some hands or at least anticipated an angry dispute to erupt based on your confrontation. yet, the blushy haired male treats this like it’s a mere misunderstanding that he’ll resolve if you just give him the word. he’ll listen. just tell him what to do and he’ll do it without any qualms. you’re left starstruck, lips agape, and utterly embarrassed by this whole ordeal. here you were attempting to make the most out of some noise when all he was doing was naively enjoying his free time. he stands unmovingly, attempting to decipher the endless range of emotions that you display throughout the whole ordeal. you feel the heat creeping up onto your neck, desperate to immediately flee from the situation, and push open the door to your apartment.

“no, no, no, I sleep fine. just,” you call out behind your shoulder and abruptly shut the door behind you, “try not to do it again, thanks!”

—

“oh!”

you were expecting the sight of bright eyes and blushy hair, with an instinctual grin that lifts like he’s looking forward to seeing you. what you weren’t anticipating, however, is the tuft of coal black hair and passive expression that greets you in the entryway of yuuji’s apartment. the stranger gives you a once over, not inappropriate by any means, but more along the lines of legitimate curiosity for your sudden visit.

“sorry, I thought,” you pause to recheck the apartment again and stutter through your justification, “I must’ve had the wrong apartment. I thought someone else lived here.”

he’s quiet at first, seemingly trying to gather the words he wishes to say before he can think better of it, “is it a guy that’s obnoxiously loud?”

“um–”

“with pink hair?”

“yes, exactly!”

your eyes light up at your neighbor’s description, the image of him basically ingrained into your mind. with his considerate eyes and kind demeanor despite your one-sided bitterness towards the person that disturbed your peace. your encounter with the blushy haired male has been occupying your thoughts for the last couple of days so it’s no wonder you decided to show up and apologize. equipped with a box of takeout and a meek smile, this proved to be your attempt at atoning for your previous run in with him.

the pure delight in your voice causes the dark haired male to be taken aback. he doesn’t recently recall yuuji gushing about meeting some girl. rather, megumi wasn’t expecting him to withhold such information since he had the tendency to overshare about everything. the latest restaurants opening up, upcoming movies, or newly released comics– the blushy haired male was continuously spouting about it. but yuuji had that magnetism about him that attracted anyone and everyone. so who was he to infer the relationship between the two of you? it wasn’t his business. he knows someone that might’ve wished to know, though.

it’s a bit awkward due to the silence that follows as you shift on your feet. it was a bit difficult to read the man in front of you. the contrast between him and his blushy haired friend was too great. his neutral expression gave you almost nothing to consider and you felt the nervousness creep up on you. this rendezvous proved to be more than you anticipated. heat trickles behind your neck as megumi pulls out his phone to type a quick text before pocketing it again and stepping aside.

“you can wait inside,” he says with finality while angling his slim body so you can pass through the entryway, “he’ll be here soon. he’s just running some errands.”

“thank you!”

and the apartment is a lot cleaner than you imagined. there’s a couple of misplaced hoodies and comic books that are left out on the living room table but it’s fitting. then again, it’d been a while since you were invited into a guy’s place. especially one that occupies your mind so frequently.

before you can chicken out, you gesture to the bags in your hands, “oh! I brought over some food, by the way. a peace offering of some sort.”

megumi’s dark eyes flick over to the contents in the bag and realize just how much you’ve been carrying this entire time. plastic containers are filled to the brim with an assortment of perfectly placed sushi. it looks delicious but the sheer amount would almost be comical if megumi wasn’t aware of how much his friend could consume. the bags’ handles you’re gripping onto are thoroughly stretched, as though the weight of the food was unexpectedly dense and he doesn’t bother masking how his eyes widen. you brought a lot.

“you can help yourself too! I wasn’t sure if he was allergic to anything so I got a bunch. maybe too much,” your voice lowers during your rambling to hide your embarrassment.

“thanks.”

it’s a seemingly simple word of gratitude yet it’s genuine. you note that his voice has considerably softened since he first spoke to you. like his tone is soothed from its typical bluntness and he’s putting in an effort to be considerate. he strikes you as the type to believe actions rather than words. it’s intriguing. he’s put a comfortable amount of distance between the two of you but now he strides towards you and despite your protests, he moves to take the bags from your grasp to place them on the counter in order to ease the burden. somewhere along the way introductions are shared and the two of you take part in lighthearted conversation. it’s initially clumsy with your habit of oversharing and megumi’s short responses but soon you both find a delicate balance that feels nice.

it’s a start.

and it’s the scene that yuuji doesn’t have the chance to see as he stumbles through the door of his apartment. he heaves, clearly a sign that he rushed here, and haphazardly closes the door with the back of his heel as he strolls in. he’s all swift energy and hectic movement– exactly like he always is.

“brought in the newspaper! if you even wanna read that junk later,” he distractedly calls out while placing a grocery bag onto the counter and vaguely catches a glimpse of the food you brought, “wow look at all this food! I thought you didn’t get paid until the end of the week, fushiguro–”

“did you even read my text, idiot?”

“what! you met my neighbor? why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

yuuji, now coming out of his room, has his phone clutched in his hand and he quickly unlocks it. a gasp leaves his lips once he reads his friend’s message. the way his eyes speedily trek along the screen is laughable and it causes megumi to click his tongue in annoyance. then, yuuji peers over at megumi to give him overly exaggerated, gaping eyes and a pout. it’s quite the spectacle, really. megumi’s already used to this, however, and he continues to relax on the living room couch.

the dark haired male presses an exasperated hand against his face and mutters, “what’s the point of having a phone if you just forget it half the time.”

“so,” yuuji carries the conversation and prompts his friend to go on, “what did she say? did she ask about me? why’d she leave so quickly? don’t tell me you scared her off, fushiguro!”

there’s a plate of unfinished sushi in front of megumi and he pokes at it as he ponders about his friend’s sudden interest in your departure. it’s unprecedented, new– how yuuji’s gaze immediately flicks over to the door like he’s debating on if he should see you. pay you a short visit. tell you how grateful he is that you visited and he’s sorry that he wasn’t home to greet you. he was so easy to read.

“she said that she’s sorry for blowing up on you that one time,” megumi recalls as he brings a slab of ginger to his mouth, “said the food was to apologize.”

“aw man, that was totally my fault though!”

“I know but still, you should eat the food before it goes bad. she did bring it for you after all.”

humming in agreement, yuuji grabs a pair of chopsticks, chooses a variety of different sushi pieces, and makes himself a plate. he takes a seat beside megumi, a tendency that was bound to be a custom at this point. the duo had a history of crashing at each other’s place ever since they were younger. it was an attempt to bring a sense of normalcy in their hectic lives. they engage in the usual small talk; with yuuji expressing his utter delight every time he shoves a piece of sushi in his mouth and megumi responding with stoic comments. all is well. though, the dark haired male perceives that there’s something off. there’s a light furrow in yuuji’s brow, an indication that he’s troubled and ruminating.

so by the time yuuji’s done eating, megumi addresses the other male’s concerns with a terse frown, “well? are you going to see her or are you just gonna sit here wallowing in your own self-pity?”

“jus’ noticed that I never got your name!”

your eyes nearly pop out of their sockets. not once were you expecting your neighbor to be at your door at eventide– especially since you were just at his place earlier in the day. in fact, you had rubbed off all the extra makeup and glitz after you finished delivering the takeout to megumi. he seemed trustworthy enough to relay your message so you didn’t think your neighbor would amble over to speak with you, much less with a pretty bouquet of flowers in his hand.

he grins, anticipating your shock, and adds, “asked around the apartment complex for your name ‘cuz I wanted to write you a card but everyone just looked at me like I was crazy! like, I didn’t have much to go off of except what you look like!”

and you consider the possibility that he looks even better in casual clothes. maybe it’s the way every article of clothing he owns fits him perfectly; broad and muscular shoulders tapering inward to emphasize his narrow waist. or, it’s a long stretch, but perhaps you’re just hyper vigilant of him whenever he’s close. wearing a plain shirt tucked into loose pants, he’s as breathtaking as you remember and you do your best to calm the wave of butterflies in your stomach.

you instinctively bring a hand to cover your bareface as you give him your name. a smile tugs at his lips. shifting the bouquet of flowers underneath one arm, he pulls out a tiny, decorated card and a pen from his pocket. he rhetorically says your name, lets it marinate on his tongue, while writing it and slipping the card in the center of the bouquet.

“awesome. this is for you,” he hands you the flowers before bashfully rubbing the back of his neck, “fushiguro told me you stopped by earlier and dropped off all that food. ‘m sorry I wasn’t there to see but thank you, really.”

you press your lips together, aware that this is your chance to right your wrongs and stumble on your words, “oh! you didn’t need to. I was rude and complaining about something small so I just wanted to do that for you–”

“and,” he meets your eyes as he confesses, “I wanted to see you again.”

his words go straight through your heart. distinctly, you feel the gentle caress of his long fingers against the back of your hand as he slips the bouquet into your arms and his touch is dizzying. you might just melt. liquify into a pile of mush due to his sweet actions. doesn’t help that he’s gazing at you like you string up each individual star in the times of twilight. his eyes roam the entirety of your face. memorizing every pretty freckle and curve now since he’s close.

“guess it also helps that my neighbor is really pretty,” he whispers, like the compliment is punched out of him and laid out for you to delve in.

from there on, his focus drops to the pink of your lips. then to the glimmer of your skin that peeks beneath your homey clothes. almost outwardly sighs at the sight before him. like he wants you–thoughtlessly, selfishly, and desperately. the only way he knows how to show he cares. lodges himself deep within the depths of your soul. lets himself in due to his benevolence and warmth.

then, he pulls away and blinks himself out of the stupor that was induced by you. there’s a sheepish smile on his face like he’s aware he’d been caught. a dust of red splattering on the tips of his ears. but to which he was at fault for; staring too intently or letting his blossoming feelings show– who really knows?

yuuji steps back to take his leave before it can get too dark out, “glad we both got what we wanted at the end. I'll see ya later!”

and with that, he waves you a farewell while you’re gripping onto the bouquet of flowers he gifted you. you’re a hot, flustered mess from your encounter with your neighbor. heart racing and thrumming against your chest. but you guess your apology successfully worked. your next step is to find a nice vase. and as you mosey through your apartment with a little extra bounce in your step, you trim the stems and set the flowers to be displayed in your living room. it’s been a while since a man has ever given you flowers. it’s nice. brightens the place up. a huff of content passes your lips. and yes, you do manage to get his name because tucked at the bottom of the card is his full name– followed by a small, scrawled heart.

the next couple days roll into weeks of giddy, mushy happiness that’s unparalleled to anything you’ve ever experienced. he makes an effort to see you almost every other day. stands in front of your door with a bright grin plastered on his face while the both of you catch up. and you share a little bit of your life and schedule so he’s informed on the most convenient time you’ll be home. and it stuns you that yuuji’s naturally this warmhearted. he’s characteristically a provider and giver. finds reason in being the one that lets you have peace of mind. he signs off on your packages when you’re not home, carries your heavy groceries if the elevators are broken, and keeps you company during your midnight snack runs. always inquisitive of your feelings and thoughts. and it’s not just you that he treats kindly (and sure what he does for you borders the invisible line of being more than neighbors). but he’s just inherently courteous. he helps stray animals cross the busy intersection in front of the apartment, moves the massive potted plants for the elderly tenants, and even goes out of his way to greet every individual person in the mornings. yuuji is too good to be true.

so it’s no wonder you overhear him conversing with a girl.

it was completely unintentional– initially. you were in the process of slipping on your shoes to go on your usual bakery run. the typical sweet treat that kept you motivated and energized for the rest of the week. that is, until an overly raucous giggle startles you. you freeze at the unusual noise. it’s feminine. not the usual scoff and chuckle you typically overhear from megumi when he visits. the walls are so thin, courtesy of the rent being low, hence catching onto your neighbors’ conversations was pretty easy. so who’s laughing that loud in the early morning and why was it coming from yuuji’s side of the wall?

checking wasn’t necessarily a crime. and you know it’s wrong but your logic is swayed when yuuji’s own laughter follows. your eye twitches. the sound was bittersweet now. your hands tighten into fists as your breathing quickens and you realize that having the freedom of becoming attached to someone comes with some risks.

letting your feet lead you closer, you’re perched next to the wall connecting your apartment with his and you hesitantly press your ear against the painted surface.

“where to, miss?”

that’s yuuji’s voice. you recognize it from anywhere because it’s perfect– honeyed and sincere– or at least, that’s what you were bewitched with. it wasn’t the exact emotion you conjured up now though. you stood there, dazed beyond comprehension. confused about the relationship you shared with him. you assumed it was mutual; well, a fondness that came in the form of watching him tip his head back in laughter as you artlessly sing your favorite song to him. or how, when the two of you lounge on your couch, you’re both sharing hopes about the future until the sun rises. most importantly, you were hurt. utterly devastated by the accidental secret you’ve uncovered. did it mean nothing to him? you feel your throat close up. can feel the beginnings of frustration arise and your hand moves to clutch at your heart. you needed an explanation; a clarification for the way he’s been treating you. you didn’t want your one chance of happiness to vanish.

storming to his door, you give it a firm knock before impatiently shifting on your feet, “it’s me.”

you don’t expect him to answer, to be fair. he could choose to ignore your knock, shrug it off and give the run-of-the-mill excuse to the girl he was seeing. or there’d be a beat of silence as he desperately shoves the girl out of sight before he answers the door like those cliche rom-coms that boast high praise due to the drama. and a part of you knows that yuuji’s not like that– he’s sweet, charming, and undeniably considerate– but you don’t know what to believe. you’re a hot mess that’s destined to explode.

so it catches you off-guard when the door immediately swings open.

you stand steadfast, however, “yuuji, we need to talk–”

but the outburst dies on your lips. you’re gaping at the sight that you’re greeted with. megumi’s the one that opens the door for you. his dark eyes flick over to you once and he pulls the door back further to reveal where the commotion was coming from. almost like he understands why you’ve shown up. then, he clasps his hands over his ears to block out the deafening volume of the television and yuuji’s incessant reciting.

there’s a sneer plastered on megumi’s face as he turns to the pink-haired male, “I told you to knock it off before she got the wrong idea.”

and at the mention of ‘she,’ yuuji freezes. he’s perched atop their rickety couch, teetering on the edge, and holding the end of a hairbrush to his mouth like it’s a microphone. there’s no other girl. he’s not flirting with anyone. the television’s on, playing an iconic movie scene as he passionately narrates the actor’s lines in time with the script. it’s entertaining. amusing. and under different circumstances you’d fall into a fit of laughter but once he meets your eyes, yuuji pauses.

“crap,” he drops the hairbrush and hastily scrambles to the remote to flick the television off, “‘m sorry was I being too loud–”

yuuji rushes to greet you. his feet steadily thump against the wooden floors as he hastens his steps. his subconscious leads him to you, always. like he can’t help but come to you despite everything. there’s an abashed grin on his face and the tips are his ears are tinged red from being caught. yet, he’s clearly delighted to see you at his door.

and the guilt automatically hits you.

“n-no! I mean, uh,” you focus your attention to the floor as you shake your head, “that’s not why I came here. I thought– oh my gosh– I feel horrible now.”

tilting his head in confusion, yuuji patiently waits through your sputtering in an attempt to understand what you’re saying. you’re distraught. seeking a sound enough reason on your sudden arrival. you’re flustered, tongue-tied, because now that you’ve seen what you heard earlier, it all makes perfect sense. your ability to jump to conclusions was astounding and the bane of your existence. heat radiates from your cheeks as you clam up.

there’s a heavy sigh.

“I’ll be taking my leave now. I don’t feel like third-wheeling today,” megumi explains while stepping past you, “counting on you two to work it out.”

before the dark haired male leaves he lifts his hand to good-naturedly pat your head. it’s foreign and as if he realizes this, megumi simply shrugs. then, he murmurs his own blunt, twisted encouragement and leaves the both of you alone.

it’s silent.

but then yuuji gently leads you inside his apartment. hums that it’ll be better to talk with no interruptions. you let him guide you into the place that you frequent rather often recently, welcoming the press of his fingers against your waist and how his touch instantly brings warmth. he sits you in the middle of the couch, chuckling when you inadvertently sink into the cushions. but he abruptly stops once he detects your regretful expression. the way the corners of your lips are downturned and how you refuse to look at him. an arrow pierces at his heart.

leaning to place his hands on your shoulders, he carefully mentions, “you wanted to talk?”

he keeps his voice light, mindful and it’s his gentleness that breaks you. his bright eyes are trained on your face to decipher what’s been bothering you. doesn’t like seeing you so distressed. he’s already grasping for a solution without even knowing the problem. he’s so good to you.

and when his thumb soothingly caresses against the side of your neck, you wring your hands as you try to explain, “I know I shouldn’t have been eavesdropping but I overheard you speaking to someone. a girl. so I thought–”

you break off to press your lips together in embarrassment. there’s a flash of realization on his sharp features, like he finally acknowledges the misunderstanding. the issue that’s driven you to the point of showing up to his door and staring up at him with wistful eyes. causing his will to break into pieces that you’re destined to pick up and glue back together. then, before you can blink, he’s dropping to his knees and grasping onto your hands. his knitted brows relax as he exhales your name in hushed relief. and it’s a sight of pure reverence. reassurance to the very aspect of your being. you’ve appeased his worries so he’ll make it right; it’s a promise.

“that was all my fault, I was being stupid and messing around. I’m sorry for making you worried,” yuuji clarifies in a single breath, “I want you to know one thing, though.”

bringing your hand to his lips, he presses a tender kiss in the space between your knuckles and looks up at you, “I’m serious about this– about you.”

the octave in his voice drops at the end of his confession, bordering a hoarse whisper meant only for you. a rawness to his sudden seriousness. a reason for his countless efforts. and there’s only so much he’s allowed you to be aware of with his growing feelings. like how he thinks of you right as the sun rises. right when the brilliant hues are flourishing as the day begins to take over. or how he imagines you as the love interest in every romance movie. or how the days become brighter when you’re around. you bring significance into his life.

and he admits that he’s new to these all-consuming feelings. his mind morphs into oblivion and his mouth turns into the equivalent of fuzz. simply due to your sweet smile. it takes all his willpower not to reach out for you when you’re near. his fingers tremble in need to hold and cherish you. he’s utterly whipped. so one thing is for certain– when he thinks of you, there’s a lightness that engulfs his world.

“yuu.”

yuuji’s broken out of his trance when you sweep a gentle hand through his blushy hair. the sentiment is unmistakable now. his act of kneeling in front of you proves his resolve and sincerity. uttering his name is the closest aspect of him being yours. your sweet neighbor. he lets out a content hum and your glossy lips curve into a smile at his reaction. forever fascinated by his undying need to adore you. he sees his whole world beaming back at him. and in that moment, yuuji was convinced that his sole purpose was to bring you happiness. this was the prospect of his adoration. a regard to his devotion towards you. pretty eyes half-lidded, he peers up at you and knowingly tilts his head.

“wanna go get that breakfast pastry you always get at the bakery? 'm pretty sure it was the strawberry cream cheese one,” he asks, his tone hopeful yet bashful as he adds, “you could think of it as a date.”

#yuuji itadori #itadori yuuji x reader #jujutsu kaisen #itadori x y/n #itadori x reader #jjk x reader #yuji itadori #yuuji fluff #jujutsu itadori

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praisethegabs · 1 year ago

Text

METANOIA

ID!Professor!Leon Kennedy x Student!F!Reader

euphoria masterlist

summary: your relationship with your professor remains a secret for everyone. despite the fact that you both know this is wrong, you both can't stay away from each other, making this way too difficult than it should be. things don't end too well when an unexpected person from his past appears suddenly at the same time your ex decides to win you back, jeopardizing your secret.

warnings: age gap, reader is in college and in mid 20s while Leon is in his 30s. NSFW content, delicate to rough sex, p in v, oral receiving (both), praise kink, degradation kink (eventually), use of pet names (bunny), vaginal fingering, masturbation, cum swallowing, dom!leon and sub!reader. leon is insecure af. oc named chloe as the reader's best friend.

word count: 7271k

a/n: part two of the euphoria series. this part is much longer than the first one bc let's be honest, we need some drama to balance things.

tags: @worriedweirdo

METANOIA (psychology) is the process of experiencing a psychotic "breakdown" and subsequent, positive psychological re-building or "healing"

The early morning light filtered through the blinds, casting a warm glow across the sparsely decorated room despite the noise caused by the rain. Leon sat at his desk, gazing out at the campus that spread before him like a promise of new beginnings. He took a deep breath, the crisp air filling his lungs, as if to cleanse the lingering doubts that clung to him.

The recent break-up had been a harsh jolt, a sudden rending of a once inseparable bond. The wounds were still fresh, and Leon sought solace in the unfamiliar halls of Woodsboro University. It was a chance for reinvention, a slate wiped clean.

As he leafed through the pages of his notebook, his pen poised in mid-air, Leon couldn't help but revisit the night that had left him wrestling with his own morality. A chance encounter with you, a whirlwind of emotions, and a single night that blurred lines he had once thought clear.

He had always prided himself on his sense of right and wrong, on being a man of integrity. But now, as he sat in the quiet of his new office inside his new apartment, those lines seemed to blur, to twist and contort into something unfamiliar. He wondered if this was a sign of weakness, a fracture in the armor he had worn for so long.

With a heavy sigh, Leon closed the notebook, setting aside his doubts for the moment. He knew he couldn't change the past, but he could shape the future. He would navigate this new chapter with care, mindful of the choices he made, and the impact they would have.

As the clock ticked on, Leon's resolve strengthened. He had to remind himself to find his way in this new environment, redefining not only his academic pursuits but also the man he aspired to be. The weight of his decisions, both recent and past, served as a reminder that growth often came from moments of discomfort.

But no matter how hard he tried to convince himself it was wrong and his morals were in conflict, the more he wanted to replay that night. Leon thought he could never feel that way again, he even believed he was destined to be alone, but when he saw you dancing in that crowded room, looking so beautiful and desirable, he felt something new floating inside his stomach.

It was pure physical attraction, but lord have mercy, his body reminded him everyday about this carnal pleasure, which he only felt with you and despite the fact he wanted you desperately, he still found himself in constant conflict.

A knock on his door was enough to catch his attention.

And there you were; your hair dropping water from the rain outside. You already knew the way to his place, and despite the fact that your relationship was pure sexual, you couldn't help but feel something for him as well.

"Why did you take so long? I was starting to get worried, " he said as you entered his place, watching outside carefully to make sure no one saw you.

"I'm sorry, but it's raining outside, and I had to stop before coming here," you said to him, removing your jumper. "I bought this. For you"

It was a bottle of wine. He seemed surprised by your kind gesture, but the feeling of guilty was practically eating him alive inside and out. Every time he tried to go back, to turn away from you, he ended up fucking you hard. It felt like this was the only way to release his conscience from guilt, the only way he could wash his insecurities and doubts; you ended up being his drug, his addiction. And he hated himself for using you like that.

"I think we should talk" he says, sighing heavily. He needed to be strong. He needed to do what was right.

"What's wrong?" You asked, the smile on your lips fading away when you notice isn't good news.

"I don't know. I can't keep reminding myself this is wrong, that we shouldn't be doing this... I came here because I wanted to start over, to forget what happened before... but then, when I saw you... and later that night when we had sex..." Leon said, walking around his living room, venting his feelings and his thoughts with you. "I just can't stop thinking I'm an awful person that's just using you to release my conscious from guilt... but this is so messed up... I mean, I could actually be your father and... and I'm your fucking professor... God, this is so wrong"

And his confession, this breakdown he was having... it was the first time you saw someone scared like this. You thought he was having a middle age crises or something like that, and you know he was entirely right. What you both were doing was wrong, against a lot of rules and basically defying the ethics and morals between your positions. But at the same time, he was so weak for you, and you were so weak for him. He was the only person that could put you on your knees, and apparently, you were the one that made his eyes sparkle like fireworks in the night sky.

This was pure chemistry.

Leon sat on the edge of an old, worn-out armchair, his face buried in his hands, his disheveled hair a stark contrast to the exhaustion etched into his features. You sat across him, wondering what you could possibly do. Taking a deep breath, you decided again to follow your guts. He needed you.

You moved closer, the soft rustling of your movements breaking the silence as you knelt down beside him. You placed a gentle hand on his trembling back.

"Leon," you whispered, your voice a soothing balm, "you don't have to carry this burden alone."

Leon's shoulders shook, and he lifted his head, tears glistening in his weary eyes.

"You don't understand. I've put you in danger. Our secret, it's a ticking time bomb." He said, and for a moment, you knew something was wrong with him. Maybe he was having a hard time accepting what happened between you two. "It's just a matter of time before one of us end fucked up"

You moved even closer, your touch becoming more comforting as you cradled his face in your hands.

"I know it's complicated, Leon. But we've made that choice knowing the risks. I'm not a child, and I can make my own choices. You're not alone in this." You said assuring, trying to find the right words to make him understand that you were in this too.

A tremor ran through Leon's body as he looked into your eyes, seeing nothing but understanding and love there. It was a carnal relationship. You were not his girlfriend, and yes, he was old enough to be your father, but you weren't naive. You wanted to be with him, and he knew that.

"I'm just scared, sweetheart. Scared that one day, they'll find out about us, and you'll be hurt because of me. I can lose my job and never teach again... there's so many things that could happen" Leon sighs, trying to recompose himself. He sounded like a baby boy, but he didn't care. He was honest with his feelings.

You leaned in, your foreheads touching, and whispered:

"Leon, I made this choice too. I knew the risks. But I also knew that I wanted you so badly... and at this point, I just can't stay away from you... and it sucks because I never imagined I would fall in love with my old-enough-to-be-my-dad professor. But here I am" you said, facing his blue eyes so deeply. He penetrates your soul, invading your veins like a drug.

His breathing slowed, and he nodded, his lips brushing against yours in a tender kiss. For a moment, the world outside ceased to exist, and it was just the two of you, finding solace in each other's embrace.

"I'm not ready for another relationship" he whispers, sounding broken. And that hit you really hard.

"I'm not either. But I promise I won't hurt you... just let me... take care of you" you whispered, your forehead touching his, as you feel his breath against your face.

Six months passed since his apparent breakdown that day.

And since that day, Leon seemed happier than before. All his worries were washed away when he decided to give himself another chance and enter this journey with you. He was healing, learning a new life with you, and despite the fact that it was a secret, he couldn't help but feel a teenager again.

He was distracted, writing in the board and thinking about his life. Then, when Leon turned to face his class, you were there, in the front row. Your eyes locked on his, and the way he was looking at you, it was enough to make your body go feral, already feeling something wet between your thighs.

"So, today's class will be different. I won't give you guys another lecture, " Leon says, making his students chuckle. "Shall we try a new dynamics? Please, Chloe, give me a hand"

Chloe glanced at you, and her cheeks blushed hard. She knew what was happening between you two, and when she saw you nodding discretely your head, she sighed in relief. She went next to him, waiting for new instructions. Leon asked her to help move some desks from the front row, giving enough space to everyone join them in a circle.

"I know, it's sounds like we're in elementary school, but I promise it'll be fun" Leon says, sitting on the floor. "When the subject is war, I want you guys to have a different experience. Yes, we all know what happened between 1914 and 1945, plus the consequences after this war..."

His method was simple but very effective. Although he was old, Leon had a way with his students, and the way he used to teach and talk about history, well... it was something else. He was funny and very intelligent. It was worthy to listen to him talk about the subjects because he made everything sound amazing and interesting.

"But let's be honest in here. Do we really know the consequences? The way people were affected? In history, we say there were thousands of people homeless, alone, and broken both emotionally and mentally. The war affected our economy, our jobs, our families..." Leon kept saying, his eyes focused on something else while he was gesturing his hands. "And when we see things from another perspective, we can change the world if we want. Thinking about that, today we'll share together stories from our families and how we got affected by previous events"

His class sounded surprised. He always found a way to improve his classes, to let people feel comfortable, and to enjoy their time together. And it was true. You could see Leon was very passionate about his job. That glow in his eyes, the way he treated every subject.

"Who wants to go first?" Leon asks, and everyone raised their hands, with no exceptions. "Okay... let's start with..."

And then, his eyes met yours. Everyone was looking at you, even Chloe. You gasped, but then started to talk.

"My family's experience during World War II," you began, your gaze fixed on the map, "is a story of resilience and sacrifice. My grandmother lived in Poland during the war. She was just a teenager when the war broke out."

You paused, your thoughts drifting back in time as you continued. Then you remembered all the times that your family shared this story as a reminder of how cruel the world could be sometimes.

"Her family faced the unimaginable. They were forced to flee their home as the Nazis occupied Poland. They endured hunger, fear, and the constant threat of discovery. My great-grandfather joined the resistance, risking his life to fight for his country's freedom." You said next, remembering the countless times your grandmother told you that story.

You stood up, walked to the board, and moved your finger across the map, tracing the path of your family's journey.

"They traveled for weeks, sometimes on foot, seeking refuge in neighboring countries. They faced discrimination and hardship along the way, but they never lost hope." You said, showing the path your family did to escape war.

"Eventually, they found safety in the United Kingdom, where they rebuilt their lives. My grandmother went on to become a nurse, dedicated to helping others, inspired by the wartime experiences that had shaped her." Your voice grew more impassioned as you shared your family's story.

The classroom was silent, the gravity of your family history sinking in. Leon, especially, couldn't keep his eyes off you. He was paying attention to every single word you said.

"Their story is a testament to the strength of the human spirit during the darkest of times. It's a reminder that war doesn't just affect soldiers and politicians; it touches the lives of ordinary people in profound ways." You concluded, looking at your colleagues, feeling his eyes on you.

"Thank you for sharing that personal perspective. It's a powerful reminder of the human stories that lie beneath the pages of history books." And then, Leon nodded, his eyes filled with respect for your storytelling.

Moving forward, everyone in the class had their moment to speak. Meanwhile, you've noticed that sometimes, Leon was looking at you and then looking somewhere else. At the end of the class, he called you again. His excuse was something related to your last essay that he needed to tell you, and that was why he waited until everyone left the room.

"Am I in trouble, Mr. Kennedy?" You asked, biting your lower lip as you watch him close the door.

"Oh, you have no idea," he said, walking towards you, his hand reaching the back of your head as he pulled you into a kiss. "God, you're so beautiful today. I had a hard time focusing in the class"

"That's why you suggested the conversation? Very smart" you whispered, feeling his lips on your neck as he kisses you passionately.

"Meet me tonight at my place" he said, his hand sliding through your thighs, making their way to your pussy. "At seven"

"Yes, sir" you moaned softly in his ear, automatically spreading your legs for him.

You felt his fingers touching your pussy. Today, you were using a skirt with no panties, since you liked to tease him between classes and when he saw that, he went crazy. You knew he would make you pay back for teasing him, but you didn't care.

"Come on, you really thought I didn't see you teasing me like that?" Leon whispered, circling your clit very slowly as your body joints with his touch. "Such a naughty girl... you think you can walk around shaking that ass and I won't do anything?"

"No, sir" you moaned, biting your lip and trying to control your breath while he kept touching you, his fingers dancing and playing with you.

He kept circling your clit, sometimes his fingers entering your pussy, savoring your cunt. With his free hand, he grabbed your hair tight, pushing your head back and forcing you to look at him while he's fucking you with his fingers. You knew if you closed your legs, he would punish you, so you didn't dare to defy him.

"Please, sir... let me cum" you begged, already feeling the pleasant feeling growing inside you.

And then, a knock on his door was enough to make him back off. Your legs were shaking, your breathing was labored, and Leon glanced at you, being extremely calm. He swallowed and smiled at you.

"Yes?" He said out loud to the person outside.

The door opened.

There was a beautiful woman, she was the most gorgeous you've ever seen in your life. She had a look in her face that you knew pretty well; arrogance. Her eyes met yours, and you felt something burning within you. The way she was looking at him... it made you uncomfortable.

And when she entered that room, you looked at Leon. He was pale.

When you entered your apartment, Chloe was sitting next to the window and painting her nails. When she noticed the look you had on your face, she immediately stopped what she was doing, knowing you needed to talk.

"Hey, bestie. You look like you've seen a ghost. What's up?"

You dropped your bag beside Chloe and plopped down next to her. You took a deep breath and began.

"You won't believe what happened after class today. Leon and I were talking about my essay when this mysterious woman walked in." You said to her, avoiding some spicy details.

"Mysterious woman? Do you mean like a substitute teacher or something?" Chloe raised an eyebrow.

"No, Chloe, it was nothing like that. She was… I don't even know how to describe her. Short dark hair, wearing this red dress that looked like it was from a different century, and she had this air of, I don't know, mystery and arrogance." You shook your head, describing the woman you saw earlier.

"Okay, so what did she do?" Chloe's curiosity grew as she leaned closer, listening to every single word you said.

"The weird part is that as soon as she walked in, Leon's entire demeanor changed. He went all distant, like he didn't even know me. And then, Chloe, he started talking to her. He sounded a little nervous, and she was practically eating him in there!" You continued, your voice tinged with frustration and confusion.

"That's... bizarre. I mean, Leon has always been attentive to you. Are you sure it wasn't just some random conversation?" Chloe's eyes widened, and she leaned in closer.

"I'm positive, Chloe. I could see it in his eyes. It was like he was under some kind of spell, completely captivated by her. And the way they looked at each other, it was like I didn't even exist." You nodded vigorously, sighing again. The image is playing in your head like a loop.

Chloe frowned sympathetically.

"Wow, sis, that does sound strange. Maybe you should talk to Leon about it, find out what's going on." She suggests, trying to cheer you up, knowing it was the right thing to do.

"I know I should, but I don't even know how to bring it up. It felt so... personal, you know? Like they had this secret connection, and I was just an outsider." You sighed again, your frustration evident.

Chloe looked at you like she was thinking about the right words. She knew about your secret relationship with Leon, and despite the fact she was concerned at the very beginning, she truly supported you. And then, you feel her put her arm around your shoulders.

"You're not an outsider, sweetie. Leon cares about you, and there must be a reasonable explanation for this. Maybe he didn't even realize he was acting that way. Talk to him, okay? Communication is key." She says kindly at you, her smile shining.

"You're right, Chloe. I'll talk to him and try to figure this out. I just hope it's nothing serious." You sighing, nodding your head, agreeing with Chloe.

She smiled again and then returned to finish her nails. You texted Leon to know if you could go see him or talk, and then, you left your phone to do your papers from the week.

As the hours pass by, you get no replies from Leon, which is odd. He never failed to text you. Even when he had a lot of essays to read, he always took some minutes from his time to talk to you.

You had spent the past few hours anxiously pacing your apartment, your mind a whirlwind of worry and confusion. Leon had been avoiding your calls and messages, and your instic were telling you something was wrong. Finally, unable to bear the uncertainty any longer, you decided to confront him. Lucky for you, Chloe wasn't in there to stop you from doing something stupid. You didn't care.

You took some time to go to his place. You were thinking about that woman. The way she looked at you, the way she was standing between the two of you. You felt something inside your chest. And it wasn't good.

You stood before the door to Leon's apartment, your heart pounding in your chest. With trembling fingers, you knocked on the door, the sound echoing in the hallway. After what felt like an eternity, the door creaked open, revealing Leon's tired face.

"Hey," you stammered, your voice quivering. "We need to talk."

Leon hesitated for a moment before reluctantly stepping aside, allowing you to enter his cozy and cute apartment. The atmosphere felt heavy, suffused with an unspoken tension. You could sense that something was terribly wrong.

You both stood there for a moment, neither of you saying a word. Finally, Leon broke the silence, his voice strained.

"We can't keep doing this." He says, avoiding your eyes for a brief moment.

Doing what? You thought, your heart sinking. You knew exactly what he meant, but hearing it out loud was a devastating blow.

"What do you mean?" Tears welled up in your eyes as you whispered, your heart skipping a few beats inside your chest.

Leon ran a hand through his disheveled hair, his eyes avoiding yours.

"Us. This... relationship, whatever it is. It's not fair to either of us. I can't give you what you deserve, and I can't keep pretending that I can." He says, and for a moment, you thought he was also heartbroken.

Your entire world seemed to crumble around you as the words sunk in. You had grown so attached to Leon, and you had allowed yourself to hope for something more. But now, it was all slipping away. Tears spilled down your cheeks, your voice trembling with hurt and anger.

"So, you're just going to push me away without even trying to make it work?" You ask him, your words painfully hitting you hard.

"I wish it were that simple. But it's not. I can't keep hurting you like this." Leon's shoulders slumped, and he looked defeated.

With that, he turned away from you, leaving you standing alone in his apartment. You felt like your heart had been ripped from your chest. You knew that trying to change his mind would be futile. With a heavy heart, you made your way to the door.

As you stepped out into the cold night air, you felt a mix of emotions — heartbreak, anger, and confusion. You couldn't go back to your apartment, not now. Chloe would ask you a thousand different questions, and you weren't in the mood to answer. In a moment of recklessness, you reached for your phone and called your ex-boyfriend, someone familiar who had always been there for you.

"Hey," you said when he answered. "Do you want to meet up? I could use some company."

Matthew's voice was warm and comforting as he agreed, and you knew that, at least for tonight, you needed the familiarity of the past to help mend your wounded heart.

As you stepped into the bar, the low hum of conversation and the clinking of glasses enveloped you. Looking around, you couldn't help but feel a pang of nervousness as you glanced at the familiar figure waiting by the entrance. Matthew, your ex-boyfriend, stood there with a hesitant smile, his eyes carrying a mix of uncertainty and nostalgia.

"Hey," he said, his voice soft.

"Hey," you replied, a nervous smile tugging at the corners of your lips. Then, you two exchanged awkward pleasantries and then settled into a booth at the back of the bar.

The atmosphere was charged with unspoken words as they ordered drinks. After a moment, Matthew cleared his throat, breaking the silence.

"You know, I've been thinking a lot about us lately," he admitted, his gaze fixed on the tabletop.

"Me too, Matt. It's hard not to, you know." You sighed, you heart fluttering.

You two began to talk about your past, reminiscing about the good times and dissecting the reasons for your breakup. As the conversation flowed, old emotions resurfaced, and your connection reignited. With a mixture of longing and desire, Matthew reached across the table and gently caressed your hand. You met his gaze, your eyes filled with a mixture of longing and uncertainty.

And then, you finally remembered your previous conversation with Leon. You were so heartbroken by his words; he made you feel like heaven, and then he dropped you like you were nothing. And the sad part was you couldn't understand why.

You look at Matthew, and then it happens.

Your lips met in a passionate kiss, igniting a spark that died a long time ago. But as your kiss deepened, a wave of nausea washed over you, and you pulled away, gasping.

"I... I need some air," you stammered, sliding out of the booth and rushing towards the exit.

The cool night air hit your face as you stumbled outside, trying to collect your thoughts. Feeling disoriented, you leaned against the brick wall of the bar. That's when you heard a familiar voice.

"What the hell?"

Turning around, you found herself face to face with Leon. His eyes widened in surprise as he took in your disheveled appearance.

"Leon, I..." You started, but before you could explain, Leon interrupted.

"Come with me," he said firmly, slipping his arm around your waist and leading your away from the bar. You both walked in silence, a subtle tension hanging in the air.

As they reached Leon's apartment, you felt a mix of relief and trepidation. Leon's face was tense, his brows furrowed, as he tried to find the right words to express his feelings. The tension between them was palpable, a thick cloud of unresolved emotions hanging in the air.

"You went out with Matthew again?" Leon's voice was laced with disappointment as he folded his arms across his chest.

"What's the big deal, Leon? You're the one who ended things, remember? You said we wouldn't work out." You look at him, angry and frustrated.

Leon sighed, running a hand through his hair. He had to choose his words carefully.

"It's not that simple. There are things you don't know." He says, avoiding your gaze for a moment. There you knew, he was hiding something.

"Leon," you began, your voice quivering with a mix of frustration and hurt, "I can't believe you're making such a big deal out of this."

Leon took a deep breath, trying to remain calm.

"It's not about making a big deal out of it. It's about trust and respect in our relationship." He says firmly, trying to justify what happened.

You clenched your fists, your eyes flashing with anger. For a moment, you wanted to punch him in the face after he said that. He was being a hypocrite.

"Trust? Respect? You're the one who broke up with me, remember? You said we wouldn't work out. So why do you care who I go out with now?" You asked him again, your voice raising a little.

Leon's jaw tightened.

"I broke up with you because of something else, but that doesn't mean I stopped caring about you. And it certainly doesn't mean I want to see you with your ex."

You shook your head, your frustration mounting. Why couldn't he just trust you? You both been hiding this relationship for months, and now you noticed he didn't truly trust you. And that hurts a lot.

"You can't have it both ways, Leon. You can't end things and then act like you have a say in who I see or what I do." You said to him with a deep sigh. And it was true. He wasn't your owner.

Leon's voice grew more desperate.

"I still love you. I thought we could work through our problems, but seeing you with him... it hurts." He said, his breath was heavier.

"What are you hiding from me?" You ask him, wanting nothing more but the truth. You deserved to know. "Who was that woman?"

Leon avoided your gaze again, which made you way more angrier. He sat on his couch, his face buried in his hands. At this very moment, he was having the most difficult choice in his hands. It was a burden.

"She's... my ex fiancé" Leon finally looks at you, and this time, your jaw dropped. "And I think she knows about us"

And again, you felt your heart skipping a few beats. Your palms were sweating cold, and you felt your entire body shaking. This was very serious.

"What do you mean?" You ask, sounding less angry and more concerned, sitting next to him on his couch.

Leon took a deep breath, his fingers trembling as he pulled out his phone. He unlocked the screen and handed it over to you. On the screen were a series of threatening text messages, the sender's name blocked. Your eyes widened as you read the ominous words.

"Leon, who's sending you these messages? What's going on?" You ask horrified to him, still looking at his phone.

Leon swallowed hard, his throat dry.

"I don't know who it is, but they somehow found out about us, about our relationship. Look at the last message." He pointed at the screen, his voice quivering with a mix of fear and anger.

The final message was chilling: "Break up with her, Leon, or everyone at college will know your secret. Your reputation will be ruined."

Tears welled up in your eyes as you looked up from the phone to meet Leon's gaze.

"Leon, holy shit... we can't let them control us like this. I know it's against the rules, but we love each other." You said, trying to be reasonable. You were shaking. If someone leaked the information, he would be ruined for life.

Leon nodded, his eyes filled with determination.

"I know. I don't want to break up with you. But I'm scared of what they might do if we don't comply." He sighs, trying to find a way out from this mess.

"So... I think we... I don't know" Your voice sounds more like a whisper, and he looks at you.

Then, suddenly, you feel his lips against yours, his hands trailing down your body. Leon gripped your wrist and twisted it behind your back; you can feel his nails dug sharply into your skin, and instantly, you felt a rush of excitement, followed immediately by a wave of desire.

You had secretely wanting for this, had spelled out the fantasy in detail, wondering how he would fulfill your fantasy. And now that it was here, digging into your flesh and forcing your face-down onto the wall, it was too much: not just the helplessness, but how exciting the helplessness felt.

You didn't want to be that person. That cliche, the powerful woman who deep down just wants to be mastered by a more powerful man. Your safeword bubbled up in your throat, but you gritted your teeth and choked it back down. You had begged for this, and by God, you were going to see it through.

Leon led you to his room, already throwing you on his bed, spreading your legs without gentleness. He needed you. He desired you more than anything.

He forced his knee between your thighs and fumbled with his zipper, and all you could do was basically smalls whimpers, in something resembling real panic, as you felt pure wetness inside your pussy, already aching without his touches.

"Jesus Christ, bunny... I've missed seeing you like this" he whispers, his lips already circling your nipples.

His words made your pussy wetter, and the sharp fingers forcing your cunt lips apart made it wetter still, and you moaned in desire and pleasure at your treacherous pussy that was begging for his cock to force itself inside you like it was the last thing you would do in life.

"I'm gonna take you, bunny. I'm gonna make you scream my name" he said, his grip getting tight as you feel your stomach twisting.

And then, you feel him rammed himself inside you with full thrusts, going so deeper that you felt pain at first. He pinned your hands up, holding them so tight that it was almost impossible to get rid of him. His lips sucked your nipples with so intensity that when he released them, it was a soft shade of red.

"My bunny seems lusty" he moans again, still holding you tight.

"F-uck" you moan, closing and squeezing your eyes, your body automatically following his pace, your tits shaking up and down.

You feel Leon moving in and out of you. And your body jerked back and forth with the strength of his movement. The bed was practically banging against the wall with violence, and with every sharp thrust, your skin slapped together lusciously. This sex was loud and violent, just as you'd wanted.

Your moans and cries grew louder. You were at the very edge, about to explode into pleasure. Noticing how close you were, Leon flipped you over seamlessly and continued pumping into you with enough force to make you see stars. You were crying, desperate to be released, desperate to have your orgasm and be his.

You open your eyes, tears falling down your cheeks. His eyes were shining like sapphires, touched by the sun in a glorious morning, and his perfect features were shimmering with sweat. Leon looked beautiful than ever, like he was made by the Gods and blessed with their grace.

“You are mine, bunny. Do you understand me? I don't want to see you with him ever again" he rasped fiercely, leaning forward, as you felt him grabbing your face gently with one hand.

Waves of heat flooded your body. All you wanted was to cum on him, all you wanted was to be his and his only. You didn't care if people find out about you two; you wanted him.

Suddenly, Leon obliged you, wrapping his arms around your back. All you left escape was a gasp when he swung you onto his lap as he moved to the edge of the bed, still forcing you to keep your legs open. In one brutal thrust, he set you down on his length, filling you so suddenly you cried out in shock. His hands roamed, over you back and bottom, on your breasts, rubbing against your nipples.

He was everywhere.

Leon pulled you back up and then slammed you down again. You felt like you were flying, spinning, wondering why he made you feel so good and why you didn't let him do that before. Waves of pleasure rolled over you, making your entire body shiver with anticipation of your climax. Your fingers dug into his shoulders, holding you down when gravity ceased to exist.

And he was kind to let you cum.

You gasped for air, and the orgasm came to your relief. You were vaguely aware of his voice, your body shaking with this sudden release of pleasure as he whispered words of love and care. When you came back to your reality, you glanced at him, a tired smile on your lips, indicating you were more than satisfied.

"I love you" he says finally, kissing you passionately, his sweaty face and tired expression admiring yours.

Things couldn't be better for both of you and Leon. Sure, you both had to pretend for everyone nothing was going on. His ex fiancé was still around, and Matthew kept trying to convince you to hang out, which you declined every time, saying you needed to focus on college and, most recently, your new job.

You were working on a coffee shop not so far from your apartment, and you were excited. At least once in a week, Leon would go in there just to see you, and sometimes he wasn't alone. A few other professors would go in there as well, so he had excuses to see you.

As for the blackmail messages, it stopped for a few days. The last one he received was a picture from both of you kissing, so he decided it was safe to keep things lay low. He had to ignore you during classes, he avoided you inside the college — but at his apartment he would eat you alive without hesitation, making his neighbors know you're his and make them hear you moan very loud and beg to cum.

"So, how you're doing?" Chloe asks, sitting next to you for lunch. "It seems like you're happier than usual"

"Oh, it's just my new job" you said, obviously lying. Leon had specifically told you not to tell anyone, even your best friend.

"I'm happy for you" she smiled, her eyes shining again. "Does Matthew keep texting you?"

"Not really, I said that night was a mistake, and I was drunk. I apologized to him, " you explained, your eyes focused on your laptop as you research for your next assignment. "Anyways, it won't happen again"

Chloe nods, and then her attention returns to her own work. You wanted so badly to tell her about you and Leon, but you knew you couldn't put him in trouble. You sat at your desk in your bedroom, your fingers tapping nervously on the keyboard as you tried to focus on your homework. The soft glow of your laptop illuminated the room, casting a pale, eerie light on your anxious expression. You glanced at the clock on your wall, your heart racing with anticipation. Leon was supposed to call you any minute now.

Just as you reached for your phone, it vibrated with an incoming message. Your heart skipped a beat as you picked it up, hoping to see Leon's name. Instead, the message was from an unknown number.

The message read: "Naughty slut. I know your secret. I know about you and Leon. If you don't do as I say, everyone at college will find out."

Fear clenched at your chest, and you felt your hands trembling. You knew he was receiving messages, and it was a matter of time before you got your first, too. You quickly typed a response, your fingers fumbling on the screen.

"Who is this? What do you want?"

The reply came almost instantly, and it sent a chill down your spine: "You'll find out soon enough. But here's a taste of what's to come."

A photo appeared on the screen, a candid shot of you and Leon sharing an intimate moment inside his apartment. Your heart sank as you realized just how much the blackmailer knew.

Tears welled up in your eyes as you texted back: "Please, don't do this. We'll do whatever you want, just don't ruin our lives."

The reply was merciless: "You have 48 hours to meet my demands. You'll receive instructions soon. Remember, I'm watching."

Your phone went silent, but the threat hung in the air like a dark cloud. You knew your world was about to crumble, and there was no escape from the impending storm. You couldn't tell Leon, the blackmailer would know instantly. It was only you.

The room was dark and silent, the only source of illumination being the glow of your phone on the bedside table. You had been sitting there for what felt like an eternity, anxiety gnawing at you every passing minute. You had followed the instructions meticulously, as the blackmailer had demanded: no police, no friends, no Leon, just you, alone.

The digital clock on your phone ticked away relentlessly, the seconds feeling like a cruel countdown to your impending doom. You had been given 48 hours to comply with the blackmailer's demands, and time was running out.

As you stared at the screen, your heart raced with every passing minute. You knew the stakes were high, but the thought of exposing her secret relationship with Leon was unbearable. You couldn't let anything bad happen to him.

Just when desperation was starting to overtake you, a familiar chime broke the silence of the room. A text message had arrived. Your trembling hands reached for the phone, and you unlocked it with trembling fingers.

The message was chillingly simple: "You have one hour. Go to the college auditorium. Come alone, or your secret will be revealed."

Your heart sank as you read those words. The threat was crystal clear, and you had no choice but to comply. You quickly texted back an acknowledgment, confirming your compliance.

With a heavy heart, you began to prepare. You couldn't let this person destroy your life and Leon's. The next hour was a blur of frantic thoughts and hasty preparations. You dressed in dark clothing, concealing your identity as best as you could.

As the minutes ticked away, you left your apartment, your heart pounding with fear and determination. You had no idea what awaited you at the auditorium, but you were willing to do whatever it took to protect Leon.

As you arrive at the college, you walk towards the auditorium. You pushed open the heavy oak doors of the college auditorium, your heart pounded in your chest. That room, usually a place of inspiration and camaraderie, felt eerie and foreboding today.

The rows of empty seats seemed to stretch endlessly before you, leading you closer to the stage where a single figure stood, bathed in a cold, unforgiving spotlight. Chloe. Your best friend. The person you trusted the most.

"Chloe, what's going on?" Your voice quivered as you approached your friend, your steps echoing in the cavernous auditorium.

"Surprise" Chloe turned, her face twisted with a mix of emotions, her eyes wide and frenzied.

"Why are you doing this?" You demanded, tears brimming in your eyes as you realized it was her all the time.

"Because I love you, sweetheart. I've always loved you, and I couldn't stand seeing you with Leon." Chloe's laughter was unnerving, a shrill, hollow sound that bounced off the walls.

Your heart sank as the pieces of the puzzle fell into place. Chloe's jealousy had driven her to blackmail, to manipulate, to hurt those you cared about.

"You... love me?" You stammered.

Chloe's expression twisted with a manic intensity.

"Yes! I would do anything for you, darling. I had to get rid of Matthew and Leon to eliminate the competition and to make you see that you belong with me." She reveals to you, sounding sadistic and crazy.

She opened the curtains from the auditorium, and there he was. His face had a few bruises, and he was gagged, tied by his hands. You gasped in shock, but you didn't dare to move. You felt a chill run down your spine. This wasn't the Chloe you had known. This was a stranger, consumed by obsession.

"Chloe, this isn't love," you said, your voice trembling. "This is madness."

Chloe's laughter grew louder, more unhinged.

"You don't understand, darling. I did it all for us." She looks at you, pointing a knife towards you.

As Chloe's words hung in the air, the auditorium's silence was shattered by the sound of sirens approaching in the distance. Your heart raced, realizing that Chloe's breakdown had reached a critical point.

"I can't let them take you away," Chloe muttered, her voice a desperate whisper.

Before you could react, Chloe lunged forward, but a uniformed police officer burst through the auditorium doors, gun drawn. Chaos ensued, the echoes of sirens and shouting blending with your racing thoughts.

It happened fast.

In one minute, Chloe tried to end his life. In the other, you heard a gunshot, and Chloe was on the floor. You screamed, reaching both Leon and Chloe.

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threepandas · 4 months ago

Text

Bad End: After The War (Next ->)

The click of a button in a mostly quiet room. Machines humming as they churn an endless stream of data. Listening. Receiving. Filtering through the noise, for those bits of intelligence that might win us the war. The outpost was quite. As much as it could be, at least, on this god forsaken moon.

"Perimeter Check?"

More specifically, 'did you get your ass eaten by those horrifying eel-snakes? Because you promised not too, and I WILL be mad.' 'Cept, you know, these channels are technically recorded. Rather not have my snark On Record, thanks. So SUBTEXT.

The familiar, oh so melodious, demonic death screeching of abomination eels and blaster fire comes on comm. A symphony straight out of some sci-fi horror movie, act 3. The part where everybody's getting eaten. Except NOT, because this? This is just my life.

Though the eaten part is still a Very Real Risk.

Which Is FUN.

I wait. Hope I just caught Headshot at just a bad time. Not, you know, in his final moments. Ha ha... Nope! Not! Thinking 'bout that! He's immortal, I'm immortal, and we both live in a happy fun time fairy land of FUCKING WONDERS. Denial? Fuck yeah I know her! Best friend, that one. Gonna be my future kids godparent. Walk me down the aisle. We BESTIES.

There is finally, at long last, ominous silence. Dead or dying? Dead or dying? Which side, eels or Headshot, is Dead or-?

Click.

"Perimeter looks good. Bit of a mess near the east gate, though. We'll need to get the droids to shove some mess over the ledge. They tried to climb again."

Oh thank FUCK. Tension bleeds out of me. This post is hell on my anxiety. I send back the confirm. Slump back on my seat as I keep an eye on his tracker's dot, on the patrol read out. I fucking HATE perimeter checks. They aren't safe. But... well...

This universe? I'm pretty sure, it's an "all the serial numbers filed off" blatant rip off of Star Wars. Might be a fan fiction? Cause, while the troupes are familiar, the "characters", no one is where or WHO they should be. There are also other "totally not X" bits here and there, all of which confuses the fuck out me.

But what I DO know? Is that making a fuss about the safety and well-being of us peons? During this, the "totally not the Clone Wars"? While Evil Dick, Sith-y Pants the Obvious is in charge? GREAT way for our entire outpost to get "tragic casualties of war"-'d. So yeah, no thanks.

Keeping my mouth shut.

And, hey! At least they ate our complete asshole of a commander. Technically we SHOULD be getting a new one... but we were told to make do. Same with all the OTHER critical roles currently empty.

The DICK.

Like? I know he wants to drag out the war and maximize suffering for Evil Not-Sith, Off Brand Space Wizards Of EVIL Powers? But like? Fffffuck yoooou, dude. What the hell. Hope he stubs EVERY toe, always.

The Clones deserve better then this. The SECOND the war is over? I'm stealing Headshot. Fuck this "property of the state" bullshit. Just me 'n him, man. We could go explore the wilds. Or get him a beard and fake glasses. Clone? What clone! This is my BROTHER, Headshot. Our parents were gun-toting hippies. My names Moonrock. Fuck off, maybe. Keep walking.

The second I see him cross the base threshold, I switch over to Droid command. They can't hold my shift forever, but for a bit? Should be fine.

Jogging down the hall and sliding down a few ladders, I finally catch sight of Headshot as he leaves the staging area. Oof. That is a LOT of eel blood. The cleaning bots are cursing up a storm as they follow him. Even from the other end of the hallway... he smells... ripe.

I give him a second to lead the way and for the bots to work behind him. Then join in the little parade. Ah, eel goo. The third worst thing that could come out of going outside. Right behind losing a limb or dying. But hey! I restocked the soaps for ya!

"Doesn't change that it's on my everywhere, Commander."

Oooooh~ breaking out the COMMANDER are we? Is that SASS I hear? Snark perhaps? Why HEADSHOT! Such insubordination~! What EVER shall I do?

He snorts and suggest something anatomically impossible as he gestures to the shower rooms door. I tap it open for him. Goo boy that he is. Grinning I follow and find a bench where I can sit so my back is to him. It... used to be weird, to be honest, this level of living in each others pockets. But time and isolation has eroded a lot.

Clones don't really see boundaries like everyone else. Don't have the same taboos or unspoken social rules. After all... they're all the same gender. Were forced to live basicly in a breadbox with each other. The culture that developed reflects that. And I? Am more of a follower then a "type A". Not passive by any stretch of the imagination, just... eh.

I don't have the social outgoing-ness? I guess? To drag the culture of our base towards MY social norms as opposed towards his. It made him comfortable. I shrugged and went okay. Rinse and repeat. To be honest I was just glad he trusted me enough to SHARE.

Booting up my definitely-not-a-tablet, (which is of course, STUFFED full of various bits of sci-fi technology that only half makes sense) I once again try and connect to the wider army's mainframe. Nothing. I've BEEN trying for weeks now. But for some reason? We're cut off.

No new commands. No new forms to fill. No demands for information.

No UPDATES on what the FUCK is HAPPENING out there.

I'm... not gonna lie, getting nervous. We're a listening outpost. Some of our information is time sensitive. And our SUPPLIES are not infinite. Forget food, if we run out of AMMO? Those nightmare snake-eel THINGS will... Look, long and short of it? I've got an "empty" blaster shoved under my bunk. Two shots left. And compared to the slow, SLOW digestion and meat threshing teeth those horrors have?

At least it's FAST.

But I would REALLY prefer we NOT fucking come to that, you know? That someone would fucking PICK UP. Or? I don't know!? Notice we're offline? Whatever the problem is! The fact that we've gone dark is SPOOKING the fuck out of me.

Not to mention? That even BEFORE communication went down? The chat rooms and update boards weren't making a whole lot of sense. Lot of clone specific references that I didn't get. Memes, maybe? I don't KNOW and that's the part that's killing me. I had no way to CHECK. It all just... went dark.

We're still GETTING data. But? We can't seem to SEND it. Headshot and I checked. I checked the droids while he got the dish and other external devices. Clambering around the roof with his sniper rifle like a well armed, circus trained, mechanic. Nothing was wrong with the droids. And according to Headshot? Nothing was wrong with the dish.

After a while I gave up. Again.

Reminded myself to practice my meditative breathing. In... out... IN... OUT... do NOT trough your only Data Tablet. You'll break it. You can't REPLACE it. It might FEEL satisfying in the moment... but it's Not Worth It. Just listen to the sound of the running water. The quite of the room. Breathe... unclench your jaw, make your muscles relax, c'mon you can do this.

Fuck, I needed my anti-anxiety meds. But we were starting to ween me off them so I didn't go cold turkey when we ran out. It was fucking with my head. But, hey! At least I wouldn't run the risk of seizures! Or any suicidal ideation! No, just slowly building anxiety, in this, History's Most Stressful Outpost.

The shower shut off behind me. Leaning forward to grab a towel from the stack, I tossed it blindly over my shoulder. Heard him catch it. Wet feet slapping quietly against tiles as he walked forward, drying himself. From the feel of droplets and heat, looming just behind me? He was leaning over my shoulder. The man always did like to damn near boil himself in the shower.

"Still nothing? We've run out of D6 bolts. Not to mention your meds..." He commented, still drying off. I could feel the occasional brush of a towel. A bare arm reached over my shoulder to tap at the screen. "Have you tried...? Shit."

He tried several commands. Leaning over me, damn near cradling the back of my head against his bare chest. But nothing worked. Plopping his chin down on the top of my head, he casually wrapped his arm around my shoulders, leaning his weight on me as he considered the problem. The fans kicked in overhead, dehumidifing and hopefully preventing any sort of alien molds.

I told him to go put on some fuckin pants, before he frozen something he might miss off.

With an amused snort he stood and wandered over to the armor cleaner. Grabbing a new undersuit. Blacks went on, armor freshly de-goo-d, he called that he was presentable once more. I swung my legs over the bench. No need to stand, after all, if we're not leaving yet. Besides, exhaustion was a symptom of the withdrawals. Med changes are a BITCH.

Just as I was about to suggest anough brainstorming session, though?

Our comms both ping. LOUDLY.

That's the emergency signal from the control room. SHIT. I'm up and running before the sound even fades. Headshot right behind me. Not so much because he can't out run me, as he'd stop to grab his weapons as was bringing up the rear. Guarding my back. I prayed, PRAYED, this wasn't an attack. We were supposed to be a fourteen person team.

There were TWO OF US.

We'd never be able to hold the line. Would DIE here. Fuck, I didn't even have time to get that gun! I should have been carrying it. It had been too morbid. But... but...!

I slam into the control room. Headshot a half step behind. The droids frantically churning away. Okay. Okay! What's happening? A ship, big one, in orbit. Oooooh fuck. How Big? I ask. Am informed? "Wipe us from the face of the galaxy" Big. Ha ha! FUCKING FANTASTIC. Great! Merry fucking Christmas to me, I guess! Okay. Okay!

Let's DO this.

Get on the short range ship comm, (never thought I'd USE it but here we fucking ARE) and ask, politely, for them to Fucking Identify Themselves. (Because we have Big Guns and are NOT afraid to use um!)

There is a long tense moment. Then? Oh thank merciful FUCK. A Clone's voice comes on the line. General Spark of the 153rd, in pursuit, they're here to catch traitors and resupply if we need anything. Permission to land a few ships?

I. Could. WEEP.

Yes! Oh, ABSOLUTELY yes! Whoever they're chasing picked a REALLY stupid planet to hide out on, not gonna lie. They'll be picking their traitors up in PIECES. But? Never has a voice been more beautiful. Send Techs! You have FULL use of the outpost General! Welcome!

Setting the droids to navigating the incoming ships safely through landing, I all but DRAG Headshot towards the landing pad. People! Actual, real, PEOPLE! Supplies! Oh thank FUCK! We might be able to figure out what wrong with our relays! Get NEWS! And? That was a CLONE GENERAL!!!

That NEVER happens!

I can practically feel my self vibrating with excitement. Bouncing slightly on the balls of my feet, as the ships come in for a landing. The officers that roll out are all clones. Their armor more personalized then I've ever seen it. It's BEAUTIFUL. I can't help but lean over and whisper to Headshot, saying as much. Wondering if we can get him some of the supplies they must of used.

You know, assuming he WANTS any of um.

If not? Dibs.

His shoulders are shaking. Why are-? One of the officers thanks me for the compliment. Headshot you SON OF A SUBSTANDARD VAT. Was your SHORT RANGE MIC ON!? Why would you not-!? Bastard! Dead to me! Sorry general, I've never met this man before in my LIFE. Couldn't introduce if I TRIED.

Still! High ranking clones? We love to see it. I am THRILLED. It's been long over due.

Dooooesn't mean we should hang out in Eel Country though. Everybody INSIDE! Let's goooo. Nice and safe, where no ones getting eaten, m'kay? Thank you! And yes! I DO have a list of resupply needs! A LONG list. Starting with my meds, followed by ammo. Though honestly they're tied at first...

As me and the, now rather concerned, medic chat about the collapsing state of our highly rationed medical supplies? Headshot and the General are off to the side... talking about... something. Not sure. Probably not important, or he'd include me. I show the medic our "infirmary" and medical charts. Then get pulled away by the mechanic.

I barely get to SEE Headshot over the next two days. Forget sitting down. The only breaks I get? Meals and lights out. It's kinda awesome. Exhausting, yes, but? After so long isolated? It's a good type of exhausted. The sort where you feel like? For ONCE? You're actually being productive.

There are SO MANY eel burrows to scan? Potential landing sites? And all the MAINTENANCE? Dear merciful FUCK. Literally everything is out of date and cheap as BALLS. Held together with shoe strings and a prayer. But finally! FINALLY! Someone in budgeting GIVES A SHIT!!! Better equipment! Actual medical supplies! Real bedding! And best of ALL?

AIs! As in Actual, information sorting, artificial intelligences!

Because there literally hasn't been a REASON for humanoids to do this job for CENTURIES aside from a misplaced sense of superiority and distrust of droids! All WE need to do? Is stay on base and make sure THEY don't go rogue or break down from the extended isolation! Woooo desk job!

I'm gonna name um. They shall be my BABIES.

That said? None of this? Is very... Off Brand Sith-y. Little too "cares about their fellow man"-ish, you know? And... I'm not stupid. Excited as FUCK, for all the supplies and new changes... but not? Stupid. Blind.

They're keeping me away from the control room.

Keeping me out of important discussions. Sending me off on errands. All of which? SEEM important. ARE important, on the surface, but hide the fact that they are intentionally scheduled? Just as Certain Things Are Discussed. I am being... handled. Like a child. A fool.

When I confront Headshot? In our bunkroom, which we've shared for YEARS at this point. Slept just across from each other, so this lonely hell might feel just a little less empty? So when the dark thoughts creep in? That we might die in this God forsaken place, forgotten by the universe, left to ROT here, and wouldn't it just be easier to-? Someone there, so we won't. So we still matter.

He stands across from me. In OUR place. OUR room.

And FUCKING LIES.

......I guess I know where I stand, huh? And I know... I KNOW, I shouldn't feel betrayed. Clones come first, always. That's the party line. How they survived. I'm a Nat. There was always a power imbalance between us. I would always have been held just that bit further away then one of the brothers. Guess... guess it just finally happened.

I shouldn't feel betrayed. I have no RIGHT to feel betrayed.

But I do.

Headshot looks alarmed, hands twitching at his side, even as he tries to maintain his facade. Nothing's happing. They aren't doing anything. Right. Uh huh. His lie sits between us like a field of broken glass. The words, the arguments, I'd been looking for now seeming so useless. What's the point? He's made his decision.

I feel like crying. Don't want to talk anymore.

Good NIGHT, Headshot.

In the morning, I don't bother asking. I know he notices. Is waiting, restless, for us to continue on as we always have. We always check schedules after all. But what's the point? He'll lie. Instead I pull my armor on and go. Go to your brothers, Headshot. Whatever's happening here, I'm clearly not trusted enough to be part of it.

I just get out of your way.

There's a lot of busy work on my schedule, but honestly? The new AIs are learning to handle it. Instead, I head down to the new supply crates. Grab some bedding. A cart. Then head back. Pack up my shit. I just... can't.

Moving it all to a different bunk, I still have most of the day left to go. Could...? Probably? Check out if we actually DO have space rats? The droids have been reporting dust and noise in the basement, near the food stores. So likely vermin of some kind. Gonna be horrifying to find out what kind of vermin exsist HERE, but better then nothing, I guess.

Grabbing one of the better ration bars to shove in my face on the way to the gun locker, I count it a breakfast. Everyone's busy with a clone only meeting. Good for them, I guess. Not upset with General Spark or his men, I realize, as I check over the gun, no... just Headshot. Because he hurt me.

All he had to say was "I can't tell you." Or "trust me" and I WOULD have. But no. He LIED. To my FACE. And now? Now I feel like I'm waking around with shards of glass where my heart should be. Like I want to hit something. I need a distraction. So down to long term storage I go.

Normally? It's only droids down here. I have to ride a cramped little maintenance elevator lined with blast doors. You know, incase Satan's favorite pet somehow burrows in. The fuckers. It's also freezing. Which, I mean? Great for food storage, not so much for thermal regulation.

The level is eerie quiet.

Which.... huh. That's? Not right.

I reach for my comm before pausing. The hurt in my chest throbbing. I know I shouldn't let it get in the way of professionalism. Of protocol. The rules are there for a reason. To keep us alive and safe. But... God, I don't want to hear his fucking voice right now. I might cry. Say something I don't mean and regret later. You don't LAST long, isolated out in Hellpit, Nowhere, without doing a little soul searching.

Mortifying ordeal of being known and all that.

My hand drops. It's fine. I'm FINE. There's nothing down here. Or, well, should be nothing down here. We'll find out.

Slowly moving forward, I begin to check the stacks. I don't see any of the droids. Don't HEAR any of them. There should be at least thirty down here. But all I hear? Is the circulation fans. The sound of my foot steps. Something isn't right.

It's a loose, half melted screw in the path that saves me. At first I think it's a bug. But the quite clink when my foot nudges it is unmistakable. It makes me look sideways. There, a cleaning droid, cut down from behind. Tiny little mechanical claws still reaching out to claw itself to safety. Wheels shredded. The marks of a lazer blade are unmistakable.

The hiss-hum even more so.

I BARELY dodge.

Half my gun, simply sheared away. Molten slag dripping from the cut point, the battery already violently destabilizing ask it's nicked. I throw it, before I have the chance to lose a limb. The blast takes out a crate. I'm thrown. Barely roll in time to dodge the downward stab of the hissing blade. A brutal, magic-enhanced, kick sends me flying.

Straight through a stack of ration crates, into a wall mounted medical case. I land among the corpses of the droids. Each, a picture of terror and betrayal. I don't understand what's happening. The blades not red or black! It's blue! That's a not-jedi! Right?! Why are they!? Crates are lifted into the air. Threatening to smash down and bury me alive.

Can't move. Something twisted, badly, in my leg. My chest burning. Something cracked, I could feel it. I'm gonna die. Oh good, I'm gonna DIE.

"Wait! She's not a clone!"

I stare up into the face of the so called "good guys" and feel nothing but terror. Around me, the pieces of thirty droids I'd named and known, dead and dumped like trash upon the ground. Flower with his fussy need to have everything just so, Chirp who loved to sing, Mouse with the wheel I could never get to stop squeeking.

Nothing but Cannon fodder.

They died so afraid.

"Oh! You're right! Sorry! I thought you were one of those 'peating bastards. Are you okay? How long have they held you?" The Knight said. His Apprentice nodding eagerly.

My brain was static. Empty. Held? Slurs? W-what in God's name? I stayed down. Feeling small, lost, and confused. Pain rocking my body from being thrown around. The Apprentice, at least, seemed to pick up on the fact that I had no idea what the fuck they were on about.

"Ah. You don't know what's happened." She said sympathetically. It would be nicer, if she hadn't stood back while I was hurt, before they got around to asking who's side I was on. "The Clones betrayed the Republic. Took it over by force. They've made an empire. They killed the old Chancellor, who was Fallen, but then instead of handing the Republic back to the people? Kept it! Said we couldn't be trusted with it."

The last part was said mockingly. As though everyone and their brother hadn't been aware the Republic was on the brink of collapse. Corruption at an all time high. As though that same Republic hadn't been using the Clones as a SLAVE ARMY.

Slaves do tend to take exception to their chains, historically.

I wasn't really sure why the fuck they were surprised.

"Now come on, you can join the Rebellion. You must know all sort of information, from sitting out here, right? You can-!"

Click.

My helmet went full dark and internal audio only. Which was interesting because I still could barely move. But then bright light and sound, popped and cracked not to far away from my head. A flash grenade. And I finally, FINALLY? Remembered that all standardized armor? Comes with in built life support feeds.

Headshot's mystery meeting was in the command room... where my life sign readout would be. The life support feedback. Real time monitoring from me getting my ass kicked and WHERE.

A hand grabs the drag handle built into each armor, for EXACTLY this reason, and I feel my self pulled out of the danger zone. Can hear heavy, open fire. Shit. There goes our supplies. My helmet clears and I recognize the shoulder I've been careful thrown over. Headshot. He came.

He falls back at some signal I can't see. Straight to the elevator.

The shoulder under me is shaking, just slightly. Adrenaline, fear, anger. I can't tell. But... I... I'm...

"Don't." His voice is rough. Choked out through gritted teeth. His grip just carefully loose enough not to bruise. It seems to be taking everything he has. "You don't get to die. Do you understand me? You're not ALLOWED to die. Not now. Not ever. We didn't survive this long for you to leave me now."

He barely waits long enough for the door to open. Stride smooth and desperate as he races us towards the medic. I rest my head against his shoulder and breathe. Let myself be manhandled. Ha ha... a-at least? I know what he's keeping from me now. So there's that. Ow. Oh god.

The medic has to put me under. Bone fragments.

I drift.

Wake up, bandaged to hell and back, in ou-... in Headshot's bunkroom. Across from the empty bunk that used to be mine. Bed's softer then it should be, still smelling like Headshot. We haven't had the new sheets long enough. Knowing him, he probably stacked um.

The door opens. Headshot stalks in, dragging a cart behind him. His usual "pleasantly amused by life" expression nowhere to be seen. Instead? His expression is... blank. A determined, almost violent, edge to the set of his shoulders.

In silence, I watch as he unloads the cart. Bedding, knickknacks, the various bit of cobbled together wall art. All carefully stuck right back where it had been before. As though he had memorized the proper location of each and every piece. Even as he worked, with his back to me, every line of his body was daring me to be dumb enough to argue.

I didn't want too. I was just... just fucking tired.

Didn't like that we were arguing. If that was even what we were doing.

"Why?" I asked. Summing up everything and distilling it. Why didn't you just fucking TELL me? Why didn't you TRUST me? Why did you think I'd turn on you? Why would you lie? Why were we cut off? Was it REALLY a technical error? Why take the Republic? Why ANY of this?

Just... WHY, Headshot? Please...

"I refuse to lose you. When the war ended, you were going to leave. You said you'd take me with you... but honestly? That was naive. There would be no where safe we could ever go. We all knew that. We all had favorites." He finally stopped organizing my bed. Instead, smoothing down the sheet. Running both hands across it as he stared down, unseeing. "It was all so unorganized. Filthy. They treated us like DIRT. But we were... we ARE better. Designed to be superior. Stronger, smarter, faster. More durable. Why were we listening to them?"

"Then we found out why. Control chips in the brain. The nervous system. Carefully hidden, yes. But not carefully enough. You weren't authorized, you know. I'm glad. If you had been? I'd never have forgiven you. You'd never know you were dead before you died. But... I promise."

"I would have made it fast." His smile was a terrible thing. All broken edges and betrayal. Teeth upon teeth. A mania finally set free.

"Never thought those hypocrites would run here. Expect us to die for them. The happy little slaves. For the glory of THEIR Republic. You'll be okay, Commander. The General's agreed to stay until your back on your feet, just in case."

Headshot slides onto the bunk, sitting at my side, sweetly brushing hair from my face as though he hasn't lost his god damned mind. He's the picture of relief, now that there's no more secrets between us. Now that I'm injured and dependent on his help. Yet... it's teetering.

As though at any minute...

He could slide into some... unhinged state of mind. How LONG has he been on his last thread? Barely holding together? He leans forward and my mind goes utterly still. His lips pressed gently against mine. Chaste. Sweet. A warm, calloused hand, cradling my poor bruised cheek.

"I promise we'll stay together." He whispers against my stunned mouth. Eyes intent and mad, utterly loving. Like a strangers. "I won't let them seperate us. Not for anything. Now that it's done? We can be assigned anywhere. I'll take you with me. War's over, love. We're finally free."

Were we?

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cherrychilli · 1 year ago

Text

Slip of the Tongue

A mini series I 18+ I Enemies to lovers

Chapter three

Chapter Summary: Things turn sour in the days after you scramble out of Eddie's trailer, leading to an interesting confrontation at your old alma mater.

Chapter warnings: Oral sex (m)

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It’s been a week since that day in Eddie’s bedroom.

During that time, you hit the books, powered through your shifts, made it to every lecture and finished your midterms, now holding the fruit of your labor in your hands.

You managed to score in the 90’s again, relief filtering into your lungs with deep, calming breaths because it accounted for 25% of your final grade. With your academic progress still intact, you slipped the glowing results sheet into your bag, allowing yourself to think of your neighbor again.

And as weird as it is to say, you do feel strangely grateful for his contribution.

You’d awoken the day after bolting out of Eddie’s place with your head already crowded with thoughts of him but admittedly, having slept better than you had in a long time. He’d talked a big game and he delivered – the encounter having unwound you enough to get back to work with renewed focus.

So yes, you were grateful but also, you were furious.

Seven whole days had passed by and you hadn’t seen Eddie once.

You tried not to read into the fact that for that entire week, you didn’t hear him play his guitar once. Tried not to let your chest cave in when you didn’t catch him outside working on that tetanus trap on wheels he called a van when you took off for work. Tried not to grit your teeth when you didn’t run into him even when you returned home. Every trace of him gone.

It wasn’t that you wanted to see him exactly, but you couldn’t ignore how his absence made you feel – like a mistake he was trying to run away from.

On day four, the day after your exams, you’d even gone so far as to try wheedling some answers out of Wayne when you passed by the older man on your way to work, attempting to be as inconspicuous about it as possible.

It wasn’t uncommon for you to share a few polite words with Wayne whenever you ran into him but it was out of the ordinary for you to bring up his nephew in any other context that didn’t have to do with a noise complaint.

Segueing into it as gracefully as you could manage, you tried to make it sound as offhand as possible, like a casual observation rather than the heavily rehearsed thing that had consumed your mind all day.

“It’s been pretty quiet in the park lately. He sick or something?”, you asked him while toing at some nearby gravel like your own interest in the question was waning.

You refused to say Eddie’s name, afraid that just by mentioning it, it might put a crack in the eggshell thin mask that holds your hurricane of emotions at bay.

As you had expected, Wayne regards you with some surprise – catching his nearly imperceptible squint, his craggy brow crinkling too. It was both unavoidable and understandable. You would have reacted the same way if you were him.

The weight of his second long silence borders on excruciation, something almost surgical about the way he assesses you. Dissecting you is what it really felt like but thankfully, he shows you mercy.

“Says he’s got things to do at school – doubt there’s any studying involved though”, he lets out a huff, a dry, almost laugh that conveyed his long suffering history with his nephew’s unbeaten record for flunking.

Eddie willingly spending more time at school? The same boy who once climbed down out of a second story window, slipped and hauled ass on a sprained ankle just to get out of taking a math test?

So he was avoiding you.

Despite the bitter taste clawing at the back of your throat, you mustered up a laugh of your own and hoped it was convincing enough, waving goodbye to Wayne as you parted ways.

For those seven days you blocked out the thought of Eddie as best you could but now that your exams were no longer a concern, you were finally free to confront the spineless louse.

If he thought he was going to be safe holed up at your old alma mater he was dead fucking wrong.

Treading fire onto campus, you marched through waves of highschoolers, making a steady beeline for the drama room, remembering that was where he held those weird meetings with his weirdo friends in their weird matching t-shirts.

The teenagers hastily parted off to the side in an effort to get out of your way, some of the seniors who recognized you beginning to whisper, speculating as to what brought you back and looking so incensed.

Stomping up to the room, you let loose all that had been simmering inside you – all that frustration from being evaded and those acrid feelings that felt too close to rejection, parting the doors open forcefully with both hands. It makes for your desired entrance when they swing back and bang closed behind you like a thunderclap, startling the boy who’d been busy scribbling in his notebook getting ready for his next campaign.

His pen clattered to the floor from where it flew out his hand and bounced off a nearby theater prop. You can’t be sure given how abrupt it was but you think he might have yelped too, a high pitched eep like some sort of puppy who had its tail stepped on by mistake.

Sitting askew on his carved wooden throne, Eddie’s cast in warm hues of orange and yellow underneath stage lights and candlelight but nothing shines brighter than the sheer surprise overwhelming his face. It pleases you more to recognize the unmistakable tinge of fear he’s incapable of hiding behind his wide eyes when they land on you.

Good. He should be scared, your mood far from friendly as you turn to lock the door behind you and retrieve the key, clutching it tight in your palm.

Was this overkill? locking him inside with you? You didn’t think so. Not after he’d weaseled his way out of talking to you for an entire week. You weren’t about to leave room for him to plan an escape route too.

You stepped closer to where he cowered at the D&D table, your lips pulled into an imitation smile, curved up exactly like one but so clearly absent of any sweetness or warmth, only radiating danger.

To Eddie, your menacing saunter resembled a cobra leisurely winding its way up to cornered prey, jaw seconds away from unhinging to swallow him whole.

He flinches when you slap down your results sheet on the table, now crumpled from how you had it clenched in your fist on your way over here. Better the paper than his neck you supposed although truthfully, you were still on the fence about that.

“Uh, what’s this?”, he finally dares to speak, a nervous croak of a sound that scratched its way out of his throat, cautiously leaning closer to examine the paper. The spiteful devil perched on your left shoulder chittered and sneered, whispering all sorts of encouragement to make you reply with spite, to make some underhanded remark about how you’re not surprised he couldn’t recognize anything that didn’t have a row of F’s stamped all over it given it’s his second time repeating senior year.

But the lenient angel on your right shoulder leaned in and spoke reason into your other ear, dulcet but insistent reminders that you only came here to inquire, not injure.

The devil withers away with a snarl when you clench your jaw, holding your tongue at bay, unable to spit that kind of venom at Eddie.

Before now, your main gripe with him was his disruptive influence, the way he wedged himself into your life like a splinter caught underneath your fingernail with his head rattling music and blood boiling snark. Grinning like his biggest pleasure in life was annoying you enough to darken his bedroom window day after day with a face full of fury and a mouthful of fuck you’s. He was too carefree for your liking as well, able to shrug off his plummeting grades when a minor slip of yours would have you digging out your emergency pack of cigarettes to chain smoke the stress away in secret. But taking shots at his intellect like all the other assholes you went to school with felt too…slimy.

The same assholes who had looked down on you and your trailer park background. The same assholes who rolled their eyes when you got accepted to your College of choice. The same assholes who cackled when you had to enroll in a nearby Community College instead when your family’s finances fell in the red.

Maybe you weren’t a cobra after all, only masquerading as one.

“My midterms. I passed”, you answered him flatly, watching recollection flash across his face.

The stress it had caused you was the reason why this all started in the first place after all.

“Couldn’t have done it if you hadn’t helped me out”, you added pointedly, tone almost accusatory.

Even under the vivid stage lights that paint his complexion like a sunset, you can still make out the way his cheeks pink up at the vague mention of what had happened in his bed that day.

“Oh, uh– that’s great”, he offered you something that resembled a smile, face so twisted with nerves that he couldn’t get his lips to curve up the right way. Jesus, you’d never seem him like this before. He was barely recognizable and for the first time in your life, you found yourself preferring his usual tornado presence and boisterous anti charm.

“Yeah. So, why’ve you been avoiding me?”

His jaw tensed at that, throat bobbing as he swallowed. Obviously, you hadn’t come by to say thank you.

“Listen, the club will be here in an hour. They already know I’m in here so just give me the key and…we’ll talk about this later, okay?”, he attempted to negotiate with you in the same way one might try to approach a skittish horse, overly cautious with an undertone of fear, holding out a shaky palm to collect the key but you weren’t about to give in now.

“What, so you can find somewhere new to hide?”, you sneered.

To show him you’re serious about seeing this conversation to the end you make a show of dangling the key to the drama room in front of his face – his only hope of escape, but it’s what you’re doing with your other hand that gathers his attention.

Hooking a finger into the neckline of your t-shirt, you pull it low enough for your cleavage to show, soft swells sitting high on your chest, framed by pretty lace. And despite the dread trickling down Eddie’s spine, thick like tar, one thing becomes abundantly clear in that moment.

He’s only a man.

The little flash of tit is enough to trigger his hormones. Stupefied, he takes in an eyeful, committing the contours of your breasts to memory – the newest entry into the sordid vault of his spank bank before he’s able to snap out of it. He attempts to snatch the key from you but he’s too slow, stomach cartwheeling as he watches it disappear into your cleavage when you tuck it away for safe keeping in your bra cup. Honestly, he can’t decide if he’s more upset about it or turned on.

Face twisting with exasperation, he locks his eyes back on yours.

“You’re being ridiculous!” he accuses with increasingly reddening cheeks.

Unbothered by the claim, you shove a couple of dice and a few of his notes aside to sit yourself on the edge of the table, arms crossed underneath your breasts, showing your defiance.

This isn’t like when he’d gotten you to beg for your release, chipping away at your resolve with his touch and tongue until you crumbled under the weight of ecstasy. You’ve molded yourself into an imposing shadow of the girl who came undone on his sheets, obstinate and immovable and it’s clear that you’ll sooner wear him down for an answer even if it means being stuck here in this room all night than leave without one.

Eddie’s hardened expression falters as he realizes this, sighing. Relenting.

“Fine”, he slumps back in his chair.

“I didn’t mean to…I didn’t know what to say– “

“Bullshit”, you cut him off with an icy scoff. Eddie Munson at a loss for words? Sure. And Steve Harrington’s a bald virgin.

“It’s not bullshit”, he attempts to deny, some heat behind his words.

“Do I need to remind you that you’re the one who offered to help me “relax” in the first place?” you bit back with heat to match.

Your rebuttal has him silent – both of you knowing he can’t argue otherwise.

“Where’d all that bravado go, Munson?” you poke again just to see the vein at his temple bulge but he doesn’t answer, jaw set firm.

You’d hoped to scare it out of him at first or even force it out of him by locking him in here but for once that metalhead menace is tightlipped and damn good at it.

Taking another moment to consider your options you gird yourself to ask the one question you’ve been dreading. Casting your eyes down, arms tightening under your breasts, the key shifts into an awkward angle, jabbing your soft flesh but it’s not nearly as unpleasant as what you have to say next. You weren’t sure if you wanted to hear the answer but you force it out, tongue turning more sour the longer the question sat there unasked.

“Do you regret it?”

It’s the way your tone loses all of its heat, crumbling slightly at the end of your question that makes him feel like the world’s biggest jackass. Another awful second of silence passes before you’re startled by him shooting out of his seat, chair screeching noisily against the floor as its forced back so quickly, his hand reaching for yours but he stops short of your fingers touching.

This close, you can smell him again. That same scent that clung to his bed. That same scent that hung on your hair. The same scent you reluctantly washed away in the shower that night you got back home. It makes you feel woozy, like a cloud full of pheromones to the face. If he takes one more step, you’re afraid you might leap up and bite his chest through his shirt like an animal in heat.

“I don’t regret it”, he answers you, gentle. Honest.

And just like that, all the anxiety you’d carried around for a week unravels with those four words. In its place, relief strummed on your ribs like nimble fingers plucking strings on a harp, a hopeful tune building up to a crescendo inside your chest. But you don’t let it show – forcing an impending smile away, keeping your expression unreadable because you liked the way he looked back at you, sweating with uncertainty.

“Okay – then you wouldn’t mind me returning the favor, would you?”, you rose up from the table, placing a palm in the middle of his chest.

“Huh?” he stumbles back, the back of his knee connecting with his chair.

“Fair’s fair right?”

With a little effort, you push him back into his seat, dropping down to kneel between his legs when they spread for you.

“Shit shit wait- really?”, he sputters as your fingers climb up to his belt, working open that damn handcuff buckle you’d become curious about to the point of near infatuation in the last few days.

You roll your eyes in reply like his question is a nuisance to you, growing excited under the surface.

Popping open the button on his jeans and pulling down his zipper, you can see that he’s already half hard underneath his boxers, a thick outline of his cock growing more prominent.

He’s warm in your hand when you pull his jeans and boxers down to grasp him, watching it spring up, feeling him grow harder by the second. Your fingers are dwarfed by the size of him although you already expected that after what you had seen in his trailer.

Eddie tenses when you bring your face closer, lips parted, breath puffing against his flushed, throbbing tip. Just a little more and-

“But before I do, you’re going to tell me why you avoided me”

He blinks back at your wicked smile and sharp eyes, plummeting.

“You’re fucking evil, you know that? First you hold me hostage and now you’re going to interrogate me with your fist around my dick?”

You grin back, squeezing him mostly gently, the warmth of your hand alone enough to make him feel compliant.

“Do it or I’ll stop”, you threaten sweetly.

Somehow, he likes the sound of that even less than the fear of you doing something like snapping it clean off.

There’s something so perversely satisfying about getting to use his words against him – withholding his release in the same way he had done with you. Being on the other side of it, you now understand why he enjoyed it so much, the potent thrill of being in control.

“Fuck okay”, he lets his head fall back to thud against the back of his throne, the column of his neck stretched and bared for you to see the way his Adams apple bobs in his throat with a thick swallow.

“I thought about you all the time…” he starts, tipping his chin down to look at you again, eyes dark and shadowy from this angle. “Shit, I couldn’t sleep after what happened in my bed – had to get away because I knew if I saw you again, I’d just drag you back there”

Something about the image of him manhandling you, maybe even hauling you over his shoulder, all overcome with unbridled cave man lust for you as he takes you back to his bed brews excitement in your bones. You only hoped it didn’t show on your face.

“And I knew that- well, I thought, because you didn’t actually say, but all you wanted was a one time thing…right?”, he asks, a hint of disappointment in his tone.

That was your intention when you first climbed into his bedroom, yes. But now…

“You seemed to hold back just fine when I came in here”, you skirt around the question in favor of focusing on what he’d said before that, starting to stroke him slowly as a small reward for his honesty.

“You scared the fuck out of me”, his breath grows shorter now that you’re moving your hand. “And we’re in school – didn’t think you’d actually come down here. You liked this place less than I did”

That’s true, you did. You just didn’t expect him to have noticed, let alone have remembered that fact. Guess all that ganja didn’t total his memory completely.

“Well, I couldn’t just let this go on after everything that happened”, you state plainly, twisting your wrist slightly around his base before pulling back up to trace his tip with your thumb.

This time he doesn’t shy away from the vague mention. You can almost see the memory reflecting off his umber eyes as it replays in his mind.

“Didn’t even want to throw my sheets in the laundry”, he admits, a throaty timbre to his tone that makes you stroke him faster.

“That’s gross, Eddie”, you deride, nose wrinkling but he can see right through it. He recognizes it easily – the same forced disgust you’d showed him when he flicked his tongue at you and offered to get you off, trying to hide how much you liked it.

“Could still smell you on them even after they were washed you know – even though I knew they were clean. Like one of those subconscious things or whatever. Every time I thought of you, I felt like I could still taste you on my tongue”

He’s clearly done holding back, no longer the shrinking Dungeon Master you’d stormed in on not too long ago. This is the Eddie you knew well and knowing the thought of you had affected him to the point that it impacted his senses, haunting him even, makes you rush with pride.

“I never got to taste you”, you suddenly recalled, surprised you’d forgotten even for a moment considering how much thought you’d given it in the few days prior.

And with that you leaned forward, lips parting, tongue seeking his cock, licking from the bottom of his veiny shaft up to the head.

The slow, wet drag of your tongue along his sensitive skin is the kind of sensation that will not leave him quietly, groaning around all kinds of expletives as his palms clamped down on the armrests of his chair, knuckles turning white.

Taking the first few inches into your mouth, you wrapped your lips around him and sucked slowly. Swirling your tongue around the leaking tip, you get a proper taste of him, collecting a dribble of precum before pulling off. The texture of it is silky on your tongue as you sucked the mix of tangy and salty sweet onto the roof of your mouth, letting it slide down the back of your throat like honey and swallowed.

“What else did you think about?”, you asked, missing the sound of his voice as you moved to lick along his shaft again, tongue feeling around the veins adorning it.

How he’s able to keep up a conversation when you’ve got your mouth on him like this he doesn’t know. Maybe it’s the fear that you might threaten to stop again. Maybe it’s the way your eyes look up at him all cloudy with need and your thighs clench together when he talks about the thoughts he’s had about you.

“Everything we didn’t get to do that day. I know we only agreed on helping you out but after watching you tidal wave my bed I couldn’t help myself”

The crass description nearly makes you snort against his dick despite yourself; your whole face going supernova with a mix of amusement and embarrassment. It makes Eddie grin.

“I thought about this a lot. I couldn’t believe it but I knew – you wanted me in your mouth back then too, didn’t you?”

Imparting a little honesty of your own, you answer him with a whisper, licking off another clear bead of precum from his slit. “I did”.

Eddie's eyes lit up, lips turning up into a smirk. “Watching you leave after that was torture, you have no idea. You’ve ran that smart little mouth of yours at me for years – hated missing my chance to shut you up for once”

That earns him a deadpanned look and calls for a warning.

You bring a hand down to squeeze his balls and smirked when he groaned, this time nearing on pained, hands releasing the armrests with his palms held up in surrender.

“Okay okay! Easy. You’re a soft spoken delight, alright?”

With a pleased chuckle bubbling up your throat, you relinquish your hold to massage them gently instead, rolling them in your palm, continuing to stroke him with your other hand.

“Did you think about fucking me?”

“Yeah…”, he answers at the end of a thick gulp.

“How?”

“Huh?”

“How would you fuck me, Eddie? rough?”

He considers it before answering. “Not at first…but yeah, I’d – fuck, do that again? – I don’t think I could be gentle for very long because I know you can take it”

It’s like he’s reached inside of you and flipped a switch you hadn’t even been aware was there. You’d been wound so tight for so long. You needed him to use you.

“Could you be rough with me now?”, you asked, triggering a sly quirk of his eyebrow.

“You asking me to fuck your face, sweetheart?”

There’s that cocky edge again and you're quick to spar with it.

“Yes or no, Munson?”, you return, all stony faced. There won’t be any begging from you today.

He frowns when you pull out his last name again.

“Aren’t we beyond that now?”

You grin back, too stubborn for your own good.

“No”

Eddie's frown fades, a grin stretching across his face to match your own.

“Open your damn mouth”

Ringed fingers weave into your hair as you part your lips for him, allowing him to breach the wet velvet of your mouth. His girth puts some strain on your jaw but you’re able to accommodate him, tongue cradling the underside of his cock as it glides over the muscle. You’re doing well so far, letting the hand on your head, firm but gentle, guide you down until the tip of his cock bumps the back of your throat and you gag.

“Go on – choke a little for me”, he grunts.

Tears wet your eyes as you try to breathe through it, throat squeezing back against the intrusion, saliva pooling in your mouth as it begins to drip past your lips.

Eddie starts to thrust into your mouth and you take him as far into your throat as you can manage. Your nails dig into his thighs through the short, ragged pumps, past even what you thought to be your limit when your nose presses close to his pelvis, brushing the thatch of hair at his base. You find that you like how he smells there too – musky and masculine.

The sounds you pull out of him make your core ache – every hitch of his breath, every choked off moan, every rumbling groan and throaty grunt. But you stamp down the hot roiling in your belly and ignore the sticky need pooling in your panties because you really did mean what you said about returning the favor. It was your turn to please him, sidelining your own pleasure for the time being in the same way that he had done for you. Not that there wasn’t any pleasure to be derived from being in your position.

The part of you that was greedy savored every sound and liked knowing you were making him feel good – that all those noises he was making was because of you. And the part of you that was competitive took pleasure in knowing you were proving he wasn’t the only one here with a skillful mouth.

Growing more and more used to it, you take it well as he fucks your throat and he tells you as much.

“Knew I was right about you. Knew you could take it – Christ, yes, just like that”

The praise makes you bob ardently, saliva soaking his cock, trailing down to his balls. You’ve adopted a pace of your own now, Eddie’s fingers still tangled in your hair but no longer guiding you.

"Shit– I’m gonna cum. where do you– "

You pull off his cock, his eyes trained on your wet, swollen lips gasping for air, your hand taking over to pump his spit-soaked length.

“Do it in my mouth”, you finish for him, desperation staining your tone.

You take him in your mouth again, not all the way this time, using your hand to stroke what you can’t fit past your sore lips anymore.

“Fuck – oh g- fuck”

Eddie’s hips jerk and then it happens – you feel the hot lines of his release begin to spurt onto your tongue, tangy and creamy thick. You swallow it down with his dick still in your mouth, throat contracting around his twitching, spent length. You pull off slowly until it’s just his tip your lips are wrapped around, lingering on it, sucking it like you don’t want to let go. You’re forced to let it slip from your mouth when his groans near pained again, sensitivity proving too much for him now.

Sitting back on your haunches, you watch his chest puff up and down while he recovers, head thrown back against the back of his chair.

When he’s able to, he puts his softening cock away, redoing his jeans before he pulls out a bandana from his back pocket and offers it to you.

“It’s clean I promise”.

The sweetness of the gesture makes your stomach flutter. Managing a meek ‘thank you’, you use the dark material adorned with bones and skulls to wipe your lips and chin of the sticky mixture of saliva and Eddie’s spend.

Next, he offers you a hand and you take it, letting him help you off your knees and on to your feet.

“Listen, I’m sorry for last time. When you had to leave, I mean. And for avoiding you after that”, he informs you, much more tender than you're used to with him.

“I didn’t even get to uh…”, patiently, you wait for him to finish but he doesn’t, watching his face twist, all conflicted. You can see the thought ping pong around inside his head, wishing you could just reach in and pluck it out for yourself but he brushes it off before he’s able to share it with you, leaving you wondering.

“Never mind. Jeff and Gareth are going to be here soon and you probably don’t want to be seen in here with me like um, thisss”, he drags out the single syllable, unsure of a more tactful way to phrase it.

You don’t need to ask him to know that “thisss” means you look like a fucked-out mess because that’s exactly how you feel with your unruly hair and your sore jaw.

Just as before, there’s too much that’s been left unsaid but the threat of another close call has you reluctantly fishing the key out of your bra, tossing it at Eddie while you attempt to tame your hair back into something presentable, wiping off your damp cheeks too. You’re yet to realize that you haven’t returned his bandana, still clutching it in your hand.

Eddie catches the key though he doesn’t make a move towards the door, staring down at his palm like he’d just been gifted a bar of gold.

“It’s warm”, he says quietly, one of those thoughts that wasn’t meant to be said out loud but slipped past the barrier of his lips quicker than he could notice, you surmised.

It’s kind of cute actually – that dopey, spellbound look spilling over his face.

“Unlock the door, Eddie”, you sigh, subduing a laugh. At least you didn’t accuse him of being gross again like you would have an hour ago.

“Oh, right”

He steps over to the door while you gather yourself, daylight shining into the dingily lit room when he unlocks it and pulls it open.

After a quick look around outside to make sure no one sees you leaving, he steps back and holds the door open for you but you linger.

…all you wanted was a one-time thing…right?

No. Not anymore.

You weren’t sure what the two of you were now. Neighbors who got each other off? Former enemies but not really friends with benefits?

The specifics didn’t matter. At least, not right now. All you knew was that you didn’t want whatever this was to end.

Turning to Eddie, you say something you never thought you would. Not to him.

“My family’s gone for the weekend. You can come over tonight…if you want”

The smile that crosses his face is both warm and cocky, much like the one he’d flashed you from his window when this all began.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah”, you soften but only slightly. Unsmiling but not inimical.

“Oh, and if you stand me up?”, voice heating up, you jabbed a finger against his chest, right between the L and the F of his Hellfire shirt. “Try to run away again?”, you jab again and he staggers a step back, wincing when you press over the same sore spot again. “I’ll nail your balls to your front door, understand?”

For a moment he stares back at you. Stunned. And then, true to the freak riddle that he is, he smiles back even brighter.

Tag list - @honey-flustered @cryingglightningg @cadence73 @taccobelle @mrsjellymunson

#eddie munson smut #stranger things smut #eddie munson #stranger things #eddie munson x reader

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ohnococo · 10 months ago

Note

Ijichi seducing y/n with whispering on ear

Ijichi Whispering into Your Ear

warnings: gn!reader, no sex but Ijichi is hard and talking dirty in public, dry humping, referencing sex and oral sex, referencing semi-public/car sex

Ijichi is a man of habits and routines. There are just far too many things out of his control in his day to day life, so the things he has a say on are always kept predictable, easy to navigate. So it’s not surprising that once you got to know Ijichi, you found he was just as predictable as he tried to keep those small facets of his life.

He wakes up at the same time every day, goes through the same routine: pee, brush his teeth, wash his face, breakfast, get dressed, and go. His breakfast is the same each day, his clothes are laid out the night before, the hook he keeps his keys on (second from the left) is slightly bent and worn from being the only one used for years now.

That’s why it’s such a pleasant surprise when he does stray from his typical patterns, even more so when he strays from those typical behaviours. A little honey in his morning tea, a quick trip to town for lunch rather than what he usually packs himself, or right now - when Ijichi has chosen to whisper sweet things low into your ear right in a crowded elevator.

The music acts as a low drone to drown out his whispers to anyone that doesn’t have his lips so close to their face, and the salaryman talking loudly into his phone surely obscures anything else. You knew he was enjoying the proximity, in fact you could feel how much he was enjoying it pressed right against your hip once a new group of people had filtered into the cramped space and left you sandwiching Ijichi between your body and the back corner of the elevator.

You didn’t know he would be so bold as to lean in and tell you just how good you smelled, or how soft you felt against him.

“I didn’t mean to get… like this…”

You know exactly what ‘this’ is, and suspect he’s already leaving a little wet patch where the tip is pressed against his stomach by his waistband.

“But it’s you so…”

The idea that just being pressed to you is enough to remove all control from Ijichi’s body has your heart racing, barely focused on the floor numbers lighting up as you descend.

“It’s okay, right?”

You nod, he lets out a sigh of relief that tickles at your skin.

“Is it… okay if I take care of it in the car with you?”

You press into him a little more, turning your head to lock eyes with him for just a moment, wanting him to see your smile when you nod again. His head dips a little lower for a moment as he smiles, barely holding himself back from rubbing his nose against your shoulder affectionately, as he so often loved to do. Instead, he rocks his hips against you slowly, a small movement that is imperceptible to the people around you.

He brings his lips back to your ear, voice a little more breathy now, “I’d like to slide it inside you, will you hold me while I do it?”

Another nod, and another happy little sigh from Ijichi before he’s continuing on, hips still rutting against you.

“I’d love that so much. I’ll touch you however you like, so you feel just as good. It’s okay if we’re messy, the seats are easy to clean… and if you let me kiss you… there maybe I can last a little longer… and if I-“ He stops as his voice cracks, volume just a little higher as his hands ball into fists and he stills his hips.

You turn to look at him again, seeing the focus on his face, knowing he’d almost talked himself into finishing then and there. You consider grinding against him instead, giving him a little fight to stop from making any noise as he cums in this cramped space, since his voice had done so much to get you worked up, but then the elevator dings and your attention is drawn back forward as you reach the ground floor.

You turn back to Ijichi as the people in front of you exit, smiling, “Let's go take care of that, then.”

#my writing #ijichi x you #kiyotaka ijichi x reader #ijichi kiyotaka x reader #ijichi x reader

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meimiou · 6 months ago

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The Glow of Memories

synopsis: Since childhood, Ran and his best friend y/n have cherished a secluded hideout in the forest, a sanctuary where they confide their deepest worries and share their dreams. This special place has been a refuge for their secrets, joys, and fears, strengthening their bond as they grew up together. Till one day, y/n’s heartfelt words about the future and their dreams took on new meaning, shaping Ran’s journey and leaving a lasting impact on his life.

ᝰ pairing: Ran Takahashi x f!reader ᝰ genre: angst, øne-shøt ᝰ warnings: none ᝰ word count: 1.6k

Mei’s Echo! Hey, this is my first time writing a story, and I have to admit I’m a bit nervous about how people will receive it since I’m completely new to this scene. Despite my nerves, I decided to take the plunge and publish this one-shot. I should mention that English is not my first language, so I might not be able to express myself as clearly as I’d like. There may be some mistakes, so please bear with me. Additionally, I decided to write fanfictions because I saw people on Twitter/X asking for more stories about RJ Nippon. I hope you enjoy reading it and that you like my first story ^^

It was a gloomy afternoon, besides dark clouds and heavy rain, the lightning seemed to be the only light of the day. Ran needed a few seconds, even minutes to process the message he received from his mother.

“You’re joking! Say you’re joking! I’m begging you!” Ran cries out in desperation to his mother. But even she couldn't hide her grief as crystal-shaped tears slide down her cheeks.

“I’m sorry…”

The only thing left to come out of his mother’s mouth. It was a mix between words and air, one could say the last air she had left before her knees gave out and she and her son were crying on the floor in despair.

Her husband, also in a state of shock and still processing, tried everything to comfort these two people who meant the most to him, but it was in vain.

It was just this one message, a short, bitter message that would change their entire lives. The news that y/n had died of an abdominal aortic aneurysm and would now live with the angels and protect all the people she knew, even if it was now in a faraway place, heaven.

Ran had never been the same since that day. He lost himself when he heard the news at just 16. In the years since, he had grown into a mature and tall young man.

On his 18th birthday, for the first time since y/n passed away, Ran returned to their secret hideout, a place that had always been a sanctuary for him and y/n. It was where they shared their secrets, shed tears of joy and sadness, exchanged hugs, and talked about their fears for the future. For them, it was always a second home, as they called it. But now, only he called it his second home.

Ran never had the courage to go there alone. He was afraid of reliving the past and facing a future without y/n.

“Nothing has changed about this path…” Ran whispered to himself. But it was a lie. The path hadn’t changed in any shape or form, but the person who once walked beside him was missing, and Ran knew it too well. He was alone now, without her voice, her tears, her rants, and her smile that never failed to make him smile too.

“Ran, look at this!” y/n exclaimed, pointing to a spot near a shimmering lake. The lake was nestled deep within the forest, far removed from the noise and bustle of the city — a perfect place to unwind and relax.

The dense canopy of trees above filtered the sunlight, casting dappled shadows on the forest floor. Birds chirped melodiously, and a gentle breeze rustled the leaves, creating a serene atmosphere. The air was crisp and fresh, carrying the earthy scent of pine and moss.

Ran glanced at y/n, a small sparkle in his eyes, captivated by her enthusiasm. Her face was lit up with excitement, her eyes wide with wonder as she gazed at the tranquil scene. Before he could respond, y/n took his hand, her grip firm and warm, and pulled him eagerly toward the lake.

He felt an exhilarating thrill as they dashed through the underbrush, the world around them becoming a blur of green. Their laughter echoed through the trees, mingling with the sound of leaves crunching beneath their feet. The lake seemed to draw them in, its surface glistening like a sheet of glass under the sun.

As they reached the water’s edge, they paused, panting lightly from the run. The lake was stunning, its calm waters reflecting the sky and surrounding trees. The place had an enchanting quality, as if time itself had slowed down just for them. Ran couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of peace and joy as he stood there with y/n, their shared excitement making the moment even more magical.

As they stood by the lake, y/n gazed at the still water, her expression shifting from excitement to a more reflective mood. The surface of the lake was like a perfect mirror, reflecting the sky and the lush trees surrounding them. She took a deep breath, her eyes softening with a touch of melancholy.

“Every time I see my reflection in the lake,” y/n began, her voice barely above a whisper, “I get kind of sentimental. It feels like time is slipping away from us as we get older.”

Ran watched her intently, sensing the shift in her mood. He felt a pang of sadness in his chest, knowing exactly what she meant. The moments they shared in their secret hideout were precious, but they also reminded them of how fleeting time could be. The innocence of their youth was slowly giving way to the uncertainties of the future.

y/n’s gaze remained fixed on the water, her reflection mingling with the gentle ripples that distorted her image. “It’s like each year passes by faster than the last, and sometimes I worry about what the future holds for us.” she continued, her voice tinged with a hint of fear and vulnerability.

Ran squeezed her hand gently, offering silent support. He understood the weight of her words, feeling the same uncertainty about the future. He often wondered where life would take them and whether y/n would be by his side through the twists and turns of adulthood. The lake, once a place of joyful memories, now also held a bittersweet reminder of the passage of time.

“It’s hard not to think about what lies ahead” Ran admitted, his voice thoughtful. “I worry about what’s going to happen to us, where we’ll end up, and if we’ll still be friends in a few years.”

y/n nodded, her eyes reflecting the same concerns. The future felt like an endless sea of possibilities, both exciting and daunting. Yet standing here with Ran, she found solace in the strength of their bond.

“We’ve always been there for each other” she said softly, “and I hope that never changes. I want to see you become the volleyball star you’ve always dreamed of being. I know you can do it, Ran.”

Ran felt a warmth spread through his chest at her words. Volleyball had always been his passion and knowing that y/n believed in his dream filled him with determination and hope. Her unwavering support made him feel like anything was possible.

He smiled, feeling a renewed sense of purpose. “Thanks, y/n. I’ll work hard for that, and I’ll be cheering you on too, whatever path you choose.”

Together, they stood at the edge of the lake, surrounded by the tranquil beauty of the forest, and silently promised to face whatever the future held hand in hand, supporting each other’s dreams every step of the way.

“Wow, look at the stars, Ran” y/n giggled, pointing up at the night sky. “They twinkle just like your eyes do when you see a volleyball.”

Ran glanced at the stars, then back at y/n, who was lying beside him on the soft grass. He was struck by how her eyes sparkled in the moonlight, mirroring the constellations above. He didn’t respond verbally but simply lay down next to her, allowing the peacefulness of the night to envelop them both.

As they stared up at the dark blue sky, Ran noticed something different. The usual calm of their shared moments was tinged with a fluttering sensation in his stomach, like a delicate butterfly taking flight. He couldn’t quite place it, but it felt oddly significant as he observed y/n’s face bathed in starlight.

y/n suddenly sat up, her gaze fixed intently on Ran. “You’ll be 16 soon, Ran. You should really enjoy this time while you can. You’re still young after all.” she said, her voice carrying a bittersweet undertone that Ran couldn’t quite decipher.

Ran looked at her, puzzled by the depth of her words. “You sound like my grandma...” he replied with a light chuckle, trying to shift the mood. Despite his attempt at humor, the fluttering butterflies in his stomach remained, leaving him with an unshakable sense of nostalgia.

y/n smiled softly, then lay back down, her hand brushing lightly against Ran’s. They shared a comfortable silence, the sound of crickets filling the air as they continued to gaze at the stars.

Two years later, Ran stood on the court, his heart pounding with excitement and nerves. The game was intense, and the moment he had been dreaming of was finally within reach. As he leapt for a crucial spike, the memory of y/n’s encouraging words echoed in his mind.

“I know you can do it, Ran” she had said, her eyes shining with belief.

As he scored the winning point and celebrated with his team, Ran looked up towards the sky. He felt a deep sense of gratitude, knowing that y/n’s words had been more than just encouragement — they had been a beacon of hope that had carried him through his challenges. Yet, even amidst the triumph, he couldn’t forget the deep wound left by y/n’s passing. Her absence was a void that he was still learning to navigate.

Ran felt the weight of that loss, a lingering ache in his heart. But he also felt her presence in the supportive words she had spoken, and in the promise she had made. He knew that y/n was always with him, guiding him, just as she had hoped. Her belief in him continued to inspire him, even as he worked to heal and move forward.

With a smile of contentment and a heart still healing, Ran knew that every success he achieved was a tribute to y/n’s unwavering faith in him. Her words and memories were a source of strength, a reminder that he was never truly alone.

#ran takahashi x reader #takahashi ran #ran takahashi #ryujin nippon #japan volleyball team #team japan #rjn #volleyball #ryujin nippon x reader #ran takahashi imagine

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strayrockette · 5 months ago

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Haunting at Arrow House: Chapter 2

Thomas Shelby Masterlist

Masterlist

Summary: The mysterious door is finally opened and unfamiliar face enters the mix.

Warnings: Some weird sounds and touches from the resident ghostie woahstie, tension, rising fear and paranoia

Pairings: Thomas Shelby x reader

A/N: Another fic I can finally get rid of after almost 2 years of sitting inside my drafts and head.

—

I made my way to the kitchen, thoughts of last nights events playing on a loop in my head—the thumping noise from behind the walls, the cold that had seemed to seep up through the very floor, and that unmistakable scent of whisky and cigarettes that had hung in the air, long after I’d searched for its source. None of it made sense. I tried to reason with myself. It had been a long day of unpacking and moving in. My mind was tired, overwhelmed by the unfamiliar. It wasn’t unusual to imagine things when you’re that exhausted.

But the thoughts persisted, swirling in the back of my mind like shadows refusing to settle.

As I moved around the kitchen, making coffee and preparing breakfast, my gaze kept straying to upstairs, where the large oak door taunted me—the one Jake had pointed out was stubbornly locked. I hadn’t given it much thought yesterday, too focused on unpacking and settling in, but now my curiosity had been fully piqued. What could be behind that door? A forgotten storage room? An old office? The more I tried to push it out of my mind, the more it called to me, an unanswered question hanging heavy in the air.

For now, I shook the thought away and focused on the tasks ahead. The day promised to be productive, and after breakfast, I threw myself into organizing the rest of the house. Arrow House, with its high ceilings and large windows, had a strange beauty to it, despite the dust and the echoes of age that clung to every corner. By midday, the kitchen was neatly stocked, and the living room had begun to take on a cozy warmth. I had even found a place for the old typewriter Anne had been so spooked by. I set it on a vintage desk I’d discovered tucked away in the attic, its keys silent, waiting.

As I moved through the rooms, tidying, arranging, and trying to settle into this new life, the hours slipped by quicker than I expected. Before I knew it, the sun had moved high in the sky, casting long shadows through the windows. That’s when the doorbell rang, the sound sharp and sudden, pulling me out of my thoughts.

I opened the door to find Jake standing there, toolbox in hand, his smile warm and easy. He looked out of place against the looming backdrop of the house, like a spark of life in an otherwise forgotten world.

“Ready for round two?” he asked with a grin.

“Absolutely,” I replied, returning his smile. “I’m dying to see what’s behind that door.”

We walked together down the hallway to the oak door, its worn surface and heavy frame feeling more imposing now than it had before. Jake set his toolbox on the floor and knelt to inspect the lock. As he worked, I kept busy with small tasks, arranging books on the shelves and straightening the pillows on the couch, but my mind was elsewhere. My ears strained for any sign of progress.

After a few minutes, I heard the faint, satisfying click of the lock disengaging.

Jake turned to me with a triumphant look. “We’re in business,” he said, standing up. “Let’s see what this door’s been hiding.”

With a slow, deliberate motion, he pushed the door open. It creaked loudly, as if protesting the intrusion after years of silence. I peered inside, my breath catching in my throat. The room was dimly lit, with only a thin beam of sunlight filtering in through a small window on the far wall. Dust hung thick in the air, disturbed by our movements.

The space was sparse—a large mahogany desk sat near the center, an old leather chair behind it, and bookshelves lined the walls. Most of the books were hidden beneath layers of dust so thick I could hardly read their titles. The air inside felt stale, as if the room had been sealed off from the rest of the house for decades. The silence in here was different from the rest of the house. Heavier. More oppressive.

Jake stepped inside first, his footsteps leaving imprints in the dust on the floor. “Looks like it hasn’t been touched in years,” he remarked, running his hand over the desk. His fingers came away gray with dust.

I followed him inside, my eyes scanning the room. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, though I couldn’t pinpoint why. I pushed the unease aside, focusing on the task at hand.

We started clearing away the dust, opening drawers and sifting through papers. There wasn’t much to find—old invoices, receipts, and correspondences from the previous owner.

Jake’s voice cut through the silence, “Hey, check this out,” he called from one of the bookshelves.

I hurried over to find him crouching by the bottom shelf. He had discovered a hidden compartment, cleverly disguised behind a row of old, forgotten books. Inside, we found a small collection of photographs and documents. Some were of the house itself, its once-pristine exterior gleaming in the sun. But others were of people—people I didn’t recognize.

One photograph, in particular, caught my eye. It was a faded image of a man standing in front of Arrow House, his face set in a stern, almost grim expression. There was something eerily familiar about him—the sharp jawline, the piercing eyes. He looked so much like Thomas Shelby, though younger and maybe harder in some way.

I held the photo out to Jake. “Does this man look familiar to you?”

Jake studied the picture for a moment, his brow furrowed. “That’s definitely a Shelby,” he said slowly, “but it’s not one of the brothers I know. Could be a relative, maybe from way back.”

A cold chill ran through me as I looked at the photograph again. There was something about the man’s eyes, something that unsettled me deeply. I could almost feel them watching me, even from the faded image.

As the afternoon stretched on, the sense of unease in the room grew. I could tell Jake felt it too, though neither of us said anything. There was something about this house—something lurking just beneath the surface, waiting to be uncovered.

Jake finished up his work and packed away his tools. “We’ve found enough for one day,” he said with a grin, though there was a tightness to his voice. “I’ll come back soon if you need any more help.”

I thanked him and saw him out, but my thoughts were still racing. The typewriter, the photograph, the hidden room—it all felt like pieces of a puzzle, but I didn’t yet know how they fit together.

That night, as I climbed into bed, I couldn’t shake the feeling that the house was watching me. The silence felt alive, like it was listening. I pulled the blankets tighter around me, hoping the warmth would chase away the chill that seemed to settle in my bones.

But sleep didn’t come easily. Every sound felt amplified—the groaning of the old timbers, the distant rustle of the wind against the windows. Shadows seemed to shift and move on their own, flickering just at the edge of my vision. I lay there, eyes wide open, staring into the darkness, until finally, exhaustion began to pull me under.

Just as I was on the edge of sleep, I felt it—a soft touch on my shoulder, so real it jolted me fully awake. My heart pounded in my chest as I turned my head, but the room was empty.

“Hello?” I whispered into the darkness, my voice shaky.

No response. Only silence. The kind that presses in from all sides.

I reached out, my hand brushing over the spot where I had felt the touch. Nothing. But I knew what I had felt—it had been too real, too tangible to be my imagination. I sat up in bed, scanning the room, but all was still.

It took a long time for my racing heart to calm, and even longer before sleep finally claimed me again. And even then, my dreams were restless, filled with half-formed images of the house and its secrets.

tag list: @mysticalpandora @ultimatreality @lovecleastrange @watercolorskyy @rockerchick05 @lyarr24 @queenlondyn @sl-ash-er er @literishdegree99 @kimi01985 @literishdegree99 @psychadelichues @embystarr-blog

#peaky blinders #peaky blinder imagine #tommy shelby #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x y/n #fanfic #cillian murphy fanfiction #cillian murphy #thomas shelby fic #thomas shelby fanfic #spooky #build up

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cokoweee · 6 months ago

Note

This is a thing

Still can’t write action so this is a lil clunky

Kendra hummed as she stirred her mixture over the stove. Music in the background filtered through his ears, unheard. He watched her face pinch in concentration as she whisked the mixture constantly, keeping her hand above the knob to adjust the heat as needed.

His lips tipped up in a small smile. She looked beautiful in the lighting of the kitchen, cloaked in one of his shirts, hair tied in a simple braid.

He needed to learn how to do that. She always did his hair, but he never did hers. He’d need to work on his finger prosthetic first though. He silently added it to his mental list of things to fix up around the house as he watched her.

He tore his gaze from her back to stare at the bowl again. He’d assumed it was frosting, but she was cooking it over the stove so he really doesn't know anymore. But then again, if he asked she’d probably say something along the lines of, “It’s an Ermine buttercream!” and roll her eyes at him as if she expected him to know what that was. So he just watched.

She plopped the mixture from the stove into the mixer, setting it on the counter to cool. She reached up on her tiptoes to grab the vanilla. She unscrewed the top before frowning.

“Where do you keep the knives?” She asked over her shoulder.

“I don’t have any.” He responded easily. His eyes flicked to the drawer they had been in.

Mikey's prized collection of knives was currently with Draxum. Would he ever get those back? Surely at some point they would be returned right? He silently hoped she didn’t press any further as he focused quietly on keeping his posture loose.

She shrugged and grabbed a fork, stabbing it repeatedly into the cap liner to open it. She laughed in triumph as vanilla squirted from the top and added a small amount to her concoction.

His tail twitched slightly from his perch on the counter. He wanted to take a cupcake. But the last time he’d tried to take something before she was done, she’d slapped his hand away. So he sat and waited patiently on the counter, drumming his fingers in time with the music.

He didn’t mind of course. She was perfectly content and so was he. A low churr rumbled through his chest as he watched her. She stopped filling her piping bag suddenly, her shoulders rising as she turned to face him.

“What was that?” She asked, her face strained as she craned her head to listen.

“What was what?”

“It was- it,” She frowned, her eyebrows scrunching together as she recreated the low trilling noise. It was broken and really didn’t sound anything like the noise he had made, but was clearly an imitation of his churr.

“A churr?” He responded, his cheeks growing hot as she watched him. She knew that was him right? “Have you not heard me make that sound before?”

“No!”

“I’ve made that noise a lot around you.” He countered, twisting his hands together.

“Oh my go- Is that what that sound has been?” She laughed. “I thought it was just a weird sound your rusty old subway house made. No offense by the way.”

“None taken.” He shrugged.

She laughed again before whipping her phone out and typing something in. Her face twisted into an odd look before she went back to her cupcakes. He ignored the face entirely and pressed himself flat against the counter. He closed his eyes, focusing only on hearing her work. It was easy to pretend it was someone else.

He listened to her move, chest filling with an aching comfort. He had loved watching Mikey cook. It was different now. No bubbling brother in his kitchen.

It was nice though, to have her here. A new normal. He liked it like this. The familiarity of it all.

He flicked his tail lazily and made another low churr. She didn’t turn around this time, instead smiling to herself as she finished her piping.

She turned around slowly, a cake in her palm.

“Ta-da” she said with a flourish of her hand. “One cupcake for Othello.”

He shot up to snatch it from her hand. The frosting was purple, naturally, and piped delicately into a swirl. He stared for a moment longer, admiring the beauty of it all before stuffing the entire thing in his mouth and swallowing it whole.

“Did you even taste it?” She asked, her eyebrow raised, apparently unfazed that he hasn’t even chewed.

“Mhm” He managed over the frosting coating his throat. “Can I have another one?”

“You’re such a needy little turtle Othello.” She said rolling her eyes. But she turned around to get him another anyway.

She placed the cake in his hand and he grinned. It was nearly to his mouth when he reminded himself to slow down and took a small bite, like a normal person.

He continued to take small bites, savoring each part of the cupcake. The soft and springy chocolate cake, the rich Caramel filling, the light frosting.

He pressed all the air from his lungs, allowing a quiet squeak to fall from his lips before taking the last bite.

She was staring at him, that odd expression still on her face. He frowned. Did she not understand? He let a sliver of air into his lungs and churred again. His face immediately grew hot.

Of course she didn’t know what he was trying to say.

He was so used to April just knowing because she’d been around him for so long, that he’d just assumed because Kendra had spent so much time with him that she would understand as well. She probably didn’t even know he was making different noises, or that they meant different things.

His scrambled to come up with an explanation as she pulled her phone out and started typing furiously. What on earth was she typing?

Her face softened after a second and she walked over to the counter. He moved his leg so she could stand in front of him, his tail curling around her thigh.

“You are very welcome.” She said confidently, wiping frosting from his face.

He grinned and hoisted her onto the counter next to him. He’d tell her about all the little turtle quirks later. She made a small squeal, her legs flailing beneath her as he lifted her up. He grinned wider as she glared at him.

“Warn a girl before you do that, yeah?” She gritted out. But her voice held no real malice as she leaned her head against his shoulder.

He shrugged and pressed his shell against the countertop again. She stayed sitting, her hands flying across her phone screen trying something in. He watched contently, his tail still twittering occasionally against her thigh.

The music she had been playing suddenly shifted from retired theater kid to a much slower and gentle pace.

“Nat King Cole?” He mused.

She nodded silently, holding out her hand in offering. He sat up slowly and placed his palm in hers. She hopped off the counter and motioned with her other hand for him to follow.

He did, letting his tail unravel from her leg as she grabbed his hand to put around her waist for him.

She swayed in time with the music stepping carefully to avoid his tail. He moved with her, humming along to the song. She moved closer to him, pressing their bodies close together. He gripped her waist a little tighter and spun her in a tight circle. As the climax of the song began to crescendo he moved his hand up to the middle of her back and dipped her low to the ground.

His chest fluttered as he looked down at her, her chest heaving just barely. They’d been “officially together” as Cass would say, for a while now, but it just felt so real when he held her close. He wasn’t sure what he did to deserve her.

No, that wasn’t quite it. He wasn’t sure why she wanted him.

The song ended and he pulled her back up. She rested her head against his chest, still swaying softly against him as the next song played. He held her for what felt like an eternity, rocking tenderly before moving to let her take the lead as the song faded away. She moved her hand to his waist and he to her shoulder.

She looped her finger through his belt hooks and practically dragged him to the living room. The song started and she stuck her leg out, forcing him to move his as well. She moved backwards and forward, taking him with her as she twirled around the room in tight circles. He was pliant against her touch, drifting wherever she took him.

The song reached its finale and she climbed up the couch ledge to spin him. He spun on his heels, a bit clumsy, unused to being the one led. He stopped in front of her, and without missing a beat, lifted her into the air.

He held her there for a second, letting her hang in the air, his forehead resting against hers before he lowered her slightly.

He spun her around as she wrapped her legs around his torso. She pressed her face into his shoulder as he held her there, still swaying back and forth with the music. She smelled like a bakery. Vanilla and Carmel, with a hint of lavender.

His chest fluttered again as he felt her smile against him. The song ended abruptly and he set her back down on the couch.

He waited for the next song to start when she jumped up, stepping closer to him. She moved before another song could play, looping her finger through his belt hook again and leading him to the couch. He followed mindlessly, letting her take him wherever she wanted. She plopped down on her side of the couch and he followed suite.

She moved as soon as he sat down, pressing her head against his side and grabbing his arm to wrap it around herself. She grabbed the remote and turned the tv on, flicking through a few shows before landing on one she wanted.

“This good?” She asked, leaning further against him.

“Yup.”

He didn’t care what they watched as long as he watched it with her. He ran his fingers through her hair, making sure to copy the motions she usually made when she did his own hair. She leaned her head further into his side and sighed, threading her fingers through his.

His eyes grew heavy as the episode began. He let them slip closed, a low chur escaping his chest again. He felt her laugh against him and huffed. She loosened her grip against his hand slightly to trace the stripes on his fingers with her thumb.

“Goodnight Othello.” She mumbled quietly, her gaze still focused on the screen.

He made another chur, letting it fall into a coo as his consciousness drifted, her fingers still intertwined in his.

I really like that couch huh?

Those cupcakes are real btw and they are the literally the best things ever. (I work in a bakery)

-writing anon

WRITING ANON STRIKES AGAIN

I got to read this before leaving for work🥸🥸🥸

A bigger couch gon be required heheegwydhe. I gotta try those cupcakes tho if ur sayin they’re so good. I’m a sucker for sweets

#asks and replies #anon fics #anon fic #I cant remember which tag I use #kendratello

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thoughtsonhurtandcomfort · 2 months ago

Text

Author's Notes: I thought about keeping him there a little longer >:) But that felt mean. So here you go~

Content Warnings: tiny whump, faerie whump, environmental whump, trapped, injury, difficulty breathing, coughing, thirst, starvation, rescue

----

The next thing Shae knows, light is once again filtering into the wall cavity. Groaning, he tries to open his eyes. They're burning and swollen and it takes significant effort. Shae blinks dust from his lashes and groans again at the onset of a headache. He feels like his skull is being crushed in a vise.

It's so tempting to just remain lying here, to close his eyes again and let his aching body rest. Except...if he does that, he may never get up. Hunger and thirst are setting in; Shae needs to find water if he's going to escape...or maybe to escape if he's going to find water...

His vision spins just from trying to get up. Shae holds his head and closes his eyes, breathes deeply a few times before trying again. He struggles to his knees and then, holding onto the wall, he stands. His legs are like jello, his bare feet so sore. He feels impossibly weak, sick, dizzy...

Shae doesn't know how, but he manages to walk forward. Instead of returning to where he fell, he turns the corner and heads into the new stretch of corridor he discovered, which tapers off into darkness. He's afraid, but sees no other choice.

It doesn't take long for him to tire, only a few feet along when his legs threaten to give out on him. Shae slides to the ground, his hoarse, labored breathing loud in the silence. Tears cut trails through the dust on his cheeks. His lip quivers.

I'm not going to make it.

Shae closes his eyes.

Shae snaps back to awareness to thudding sounds. He draws in a sharp breath and coughs until his eyes water. Each cough rattles his frail body and burns his lungs. He hurts all over.

When his coughing settles he can hear the sound again. It sounds like...footsteps?

And then he hears the human's voice, muffled but unmistakable. It goes from distant to nearby to distant again, along with the footsteps, as the human moves around the room beyond the wall.

Shae scrambles to his feet, ignoring the waves of dizziness as he stumbles forward and presses his hands to the wall. He tries to shout but his voice is long gone, so he starts pounding and scratching, desperately trying to make noise and draw the human's attention. He looks around for something to help and finds a small rock. Shae grabs it and hits it against the wall over and over and over.

Please...

The footsteps go silent.

Then, they grow louder and louder until they're right on the other side of the wall. "Do I have rats again?" The human says aloud. "Or maybe..." He taps on the wall three times. Shae quickly answers with three identical taps.

"Oh my god. If that's you, I'm going to get you out, okay? Just hold on..." He disappears a moment, then returns and taps something heavily against a spot on the wall. "Move away from this area."

Shae takes several steps away and falls back, lightheaded and sore from the sudden burst of movement. There's a loud banging sound that makes him flinch in fear and hold his pounding head, but he knows he has to wait it out, that the man is making a way to get him out. What happens after that, Shae is too tired to care.

He curls away and covers his face, coughing heavily as the tool the human is using breaks through and sends up more clouds of dust. Light pours in. The man reaches a hand through and feels around, but is several inches short of reaching the faerie.

"That cough sounds bad," the human says. He opens his hand. "Come here. It's alright. Whatever it is, we'll fix it."

Just a few steps. It doesn't seem like much, but Shae doesn't know if he can even stand again, let alone walk. But I have to... He rolls onto his front, pushes himself up on trembling hands and knees and crawls forward, whimpering softly from the effort. He slumps into the man's palm and the hand gently scoops him up and removes him from the wall cavity.

The human stands, cradling Shae's limp little body in both hands. He tries to gently look the faerie over but it's hard to see much under all the dust. His thumb gently brushes some from Shae's hair and cheeks.

"How long were you down there?" He asks. "Poor guy...when you stopped taking the food I thought maybe you made it outside, but...I guess not."

He continues gently petting Shae's messy hair with his thumb. Shae whimpers and rubs his face against the pad of his finger, so grateful to be free. This earns him more soothing strokes of fingers and comforting words. The human holds Shae carefully to his chest and carries him to safety.

#tiny whump #faerie whump #environmental whump #difficulty breathing #coughing #starvation #thirst #dehydration #injury #trapped #rescue #g/t #g/t whump #whump writing #my writing #my ocs #shae

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solacebloom · 11 months ago

Text

Steven Grant x Autistic!Reader

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺

Just some drabbles of what being friends/partners with Steven Grant would look like with an autistic reader since, I myself, am autistic. Autism is a spectrum so I tried to make it inclusive but some of the traits are obviously going to be more geared towards my experience since that's what I'm writing from. Also gender neutral!reader

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺

TW: talking about stimming, autistic meltdowns, cpstd, insomnia, DID

Steven Grant

Steven Grant has a lot of autistic traits, so I’ll be treating him like he is.

Rigid routines, hyperfixations (Egyptology), always calling his Mom every morning, being visibly upset when his routine is changed, etc

CPSTD can exacerbate autism traits so whether or not Marc and Jake have autism in particular I’m not going to get into right this moment BUT

man has insomnia among other things he gets it he understands you better than most.

If you were cohabitating the both of you would have your safe spaces in the flat

On top of that the entire place would be sensory friendly, your little retreat

Overhead light never gets turned on when it’s with you two, Steven keeps the curtains open for some natural light

incense from his involuntary travels would be stockpiled

He definitely has some sort of trinket or keepsake that makes white noise of some kind

Might be a water feature or windchimes hung up by the window- Gus’ tank also emits some white noise from the filter and water pump

The flat will always have some sort of noise to drown out the busy streets outside

When the noises are overstimulating to the both of you though he’s got noise canceling headphones and earbuds- he misplaces them a lot so there’s always extra to go around

Though eventually he gets you your own pair for around the flat

If you use a cane or any sort of walker he invests in making sure you have a spot to put it while you’re around the flat and that there’s actually space for you to walk around with it if needed

While he loves his collections of books, if you can’t traverse the flat with all that stuff on the floor he’s going to find another spot for them. Shoved into a closet somewhere- a storage unit, whatever he can do to keep his books and you

You both definitely stay in a lot more than you do go out

The street just outside the flat is busy but in the quieter hours the two of you go on short walks under the moonlight

If you’re novelty seeking though Steven’s not going to be the best at helping but will do his best to tag along with you if it’s outside of the house.

Sometimes he’s right there with you ready to go out and other times he’s just wanting to stay home, you don’t always match energies

Novelty seeking at home though? Completely different story. He’s always happy to dive into a new topic with you, whether it’s related to his own hyperfixation or one of your own

Insomnia and DID affect his memory so even if he has come to terms with Marc he’s still going to be writing things down, taking notes on the subject you two are diving into

When you need to stim Steven has a TON of trinkets and stim toys around the flat if not already in his pockets

The only thing he wouldn’t share with you is his rubik cube, if that’s not already in his hands while the two of you are talking it’s in his pocket or misplaced on a shelf it’s definitely his most well loved stimming item and he has to fix it, often

Puzzles also! From old crosswords to literal picture puzzles he’s down to do them all with you and will probably be absentmindedly doing one while you info dump

He has a rocking chair somewhere in the flat that’s incredibly comfy and well loved for some full body stimming

I don’t think Steven would have a sensory swing and if he does he was to embarrassed to set up for himself

Like Steven doesn’t hate himself for being autistic

He never learned to mask but there’s still lingering anxieties, they just aren’t focused around his autism, more on his DID and just general trauma

If you or any or the other alters found the swing though there would be some questions and a lot of hesitance and excuses on Steven’s end

Well you bet that swing is getting set up now

Even if Steven doesn’t end up using it as much he’s glad that it’s there if you or him need it at some point

You both do parallel play/being alone together- you’ll focus on your task and he’ll do his while you both are in the same room

Whilst some tasks give Steven the ick he can’t offload all the chores to his alters

So when the dishwasher needs to be opened or dishes cleaned in the sink he has a whole process to try and make it easier on himself

He wouldn’t be good at helping you out with these tasks either but his presence is appreciated

If eating noises are triggering Steven will either fetch the noise canceling headphones or go eat out on the porch or off in another room

Safe foods! He has them written down if he doesn’t already remember them

The flat is stocked with both his and your safe foods

If you’re out of the house he keeps a backpack on him that would have snacks and trinkets

I don’t think Steven goes nonverbal often mostly because I think that version for him is probably just retreating back and forcing the other alters out so that at least someone is talking in whatever situation is happening

I think if it does happen in a safe space with you though he’s most likely writing down his thoughts to you over his notebook

When you go nonverbal he gets a little panicky, because he knows how he feels when that comes up so he’s much more fretful over that

He starts asking you a bunch of yes or no questions to things you may need which isn’t always entirely helpful as it can be a bit overwhelming

But after his anxieties are quelled he’s much more able to help out in whatever you need

Whatever communication device or tool you use he’s more than willing to accommodate and carries around cards in the backpack as well

When you have a meltdown for the first time in front of him he definitely isn’t entirely sure of himself, he doesn’t know exactly what you need so it takes some trial and error

After the meltdown though he asks what you’d like to have happen when another one occurs

Whether you need physical touch or instead a weighted blanket or touch sensation at all he’s ready to help

Whatever entertainment medium you like he’ll put on/grab to keep your mind distracted and calmed

If it’s in public he will probably let another alter handle it since that’s overwhelming for him too though I think he feels guilty about it despite it just being a defense mechanism on his end.

He wants to help you and himself, but part of that is accepting where he’s at and sometimes trying to push yourself is the opposite of what’s needed

#moon knight #steven grant #steven grant x reader #steven grant x gender neutral reader #steven grant x you #steven grant x y/n #autistic!reader #disabled!reader #moon knight fanfic #steven grant fanfiction

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webmeup · 6 months ago

Text

jacaerys valeryon x male!reader

summery : jacaerys and reader were bestfriends when they were younger. until jacaerys duties & desire to become friends with the elite grew.

warnings : lots and lots of angst.

FRIENDS NO LONGER

The vastness of the Red Keep's throne room was both imposing and magnificent, its high vaulted ceilings and stone columns casting long shadows in the dim evening light. The sun filtered through the stained glass windows, painting the floor with vibrant hues that slowly faded as twilight crept in. The hustle and bustle of the day had quieted, leaving only the soft murmur of the castle settling into the night.

Seren stood alone in the keep's library, the scent of old parchment and ink filling the air. He meticulously copied a royal decree, his hand steady and practiced, the sound of the quill scratching against the parchment the only noise in the room. Once, the walls of this castle had been filled with dreams and laughter, shared with his closest friend, Jacaerys Velaryon. They had been inseparable as children, their days filled with adventures and mischief, exploring every nook and cranny of Dragonstone.

But those days were long past. Jacaerys had grown into his role as Crown Prince, surrounded by nobles and courtiers, warriors and strategists. Seren, on the other hand, had remained a mere servant within the castle, his aspirations of knighthood or a position of trust beside the prince unfulfilled. Their lives had diverged, the chasm between their stations growing wider with each passing year. Seren had tried to keep the bond alive, reaching out time and again, but Jacaerys had drifted further into the circles of the elite. Eventually, Seren had accepted the inevitable distance and stopped trying.

As the last of the light faded, leaving the room in shadow, the library door creaked open. Seren glanced up, surprised to see Jacaerys entering the room. The prince's presence was commanding, his dark hair and sharp features softened by the glow of the torches. For a moment, they simply stared at each other, the weight of years and unspoken words hanging heavy in the air.

"Seren?" Jacaerys's voice broke the silence, tinged with surprise and something else Seren couldn't quite place. "I haven't seen you in quite some time."

Seren inclined his head in a stiff, formal bow. "Your Grace," he greeted, his tone measured and polite, the title feeling strange on his tongue when addressing the boy who had once been his closest companion.

Jacaerys frowned at the formal address, confusion and a hint of hurt flickering across his face. "There's no need for such formalities between us, is there? We were friends once."

Seren's expression remained neutral, though his heart clenched at the reminder of what they had lost. "That was a long time ago, Your Grace," he replied, the words more distant than he intended. "Much has changed."

Jacaerys stepped closer, his brow furrowed in concern. "Why do you speak to me like a stranger? I... I never meant to distance myself. My duties—"

"Your duties," Seren interrupted, his voice tinged with a bitterness he had tried to suppress. "Your new friends, your new life." He took a deep breath, forcing himself to remain composed. "I understand, Jacaerys. We all have our paths to walk. Yours is destined for greatness, and mine... mine is here."

The prince's gaze dropped, a shadow of regret passing over his face. "I never wanted to leave you behind, Seren. You were... you are important to me."

"Important enough to forget?" The question hung in the air, heavier than the stone walls around them. Seren shook his head, a sad, resigned smile playing on his lips. "It doesn't matter now. I've made my peace with it."

Jacaerys looked away, unable to meet Seren's eyes. The silence stretched between them, filled with the echoes of their lost friendship and the weight of unspoken apologies. When Jacaerys finally spoke, his voice was quiet, almost pleading. "I miss those days, when things were simpler."

"So do I," Seren admitted, the truth of it a sharp pain in his chest. "But we can't go back. We can only move forward."

For a moment, it seemed as if Jacaerys would reach out, bridge the gap between them. But the moment passed, and he remained where he was, the distance between them as vast as ever. The light from the torches flickered, casting their shadows on the walls, larger than life yet strangely insubstantial.

"I wish things were different," Jacaerys said, his voice barely more than a whisper.

"So do I, Jacaerys." Seren's use of the prince's name, unadorned by titles, was a final act of intimacy. "But some things can't be changed."

With a final, formal bow, Seren turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing softly in the quiet hall. Jacaerys watched him go, feeling the weight of his crown and the loneliness it brought. The door closed behind Seren, leaving Jacaerys alone with his thoughts and regrets.

As Seren made his way through the silent corridors of the Red Keep, a deep sense of melancholy settled over him. He had known this day would come, the day when he would have to let go of the past and accept the distance that had grown between them. He had imagined it would bring a sense of closure, but all he felt was an aching void where their friendship had once been.

Jacaerys remained in the library, staring at the closed door. The echoes of their conversation lingered in the room, mingling with the memories of a simpler time. He wished he could turn back time, change the choices that had led them here, but the weight of his responsibilities and the reality of his position were inescapable. He was the Crown Prince, destined for the throne, and Seren was a shadow of his past, a reminder of the boy he had once been.

In the end, they were both prisoners of their destinies, bound by the roles they were born into and the expectations placed upon them. The night deepened, and the castle seemed to hold its breath, as if mourning the loss of something precious and irreplaceable.

Two souls, once intertwined, now walked separate paths, the bond of their shared childhood fading into memory. The Red Keep stood silent and cold, a fortress of stone and steel, holding within its walls the stories of countless lives, both great and small. And among those stories was the tale of a friendship lost to the passage of time and the inexorable march of fate.

#jacaerys targaryen #prince jacaerys #house of the dragon #hotd season 2 #lucerys velaryon #aemond targaryen #rhaenyra targaryen #baela targaryen #vermax #jace velaryon #jacaerys x reader #gayboy #bxb #mxm

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lessthansafe · 4 months ago

Text

No More Thoughts

Enjoy some Horny Loceit~

Content Warnings: Oral Sex, Hand Kink, Puppy Play, Dom/sub.

Logan was just so frustrated. No ever listened to him! Over and over he presented his ideas, presented the needs of Thomas, and was rejected out of hand.

This most recent time had been especially infuriating. Thomas needed to focus on One Thing. Just one. Just for a day even, so he could get himself in order, instead of being scattered to the winds with every new problem and distraction that presented itself. But of course no one listened. Of course they brought up each and every pressing problem as if it was even Possible to handle them all at once!

Logan was now, Again, writing up a detailed and thorough report on the benefits of tackling tasks one at a time, specialized to Thomas’s proclivities and specific needs. When he was done with this he’d have to write a condensed presentation, as the twins in particular wouldn’t bother to even attempt to read the whole report. Line by line, word by word, anger and hurt simmering within him.

There was a sharp rap at the door.

“I’m busy,” Logan gritted out.

“I’m aware,” Janus said from outside the door.

Logan sighed heavily. He waved a hand to unlock the door.

Janus entered softly, standing behind Logan with one hand rested on his shoulder.

Logan ignored him, still typing, trying to think of every possible argument to write a counter argument for. He could hear, on occasion, small noises from Janus. Reactions to what he had written. Janus was reading it as Logan wrote.

The anger was leaking away under Janus’s calm gaze, leaving only the empty ache of the knowledge that this would be futile.

Logan was done. At least, as done as something with no hope of success could be. It was written.

Janus’s hand on his shoulder was joined by a second hand on his other shoulder, gently massaging his tight muscles.

“Let me help you?” Janus asked, his voice neutral. No consequences for a refusal.

Logan sighed, slumping forward and rubbing his face with his hands. “I don’t want to talk about it. Don’t want to think about it.”

Janus spun his chair slowly, so he was facing him. “Let me take care of you. Let yourself drift. Give all those thoughts to me.”

Fuck, that sounded like heaven. Just turning off his brain. All his focus on Janus. Just Janus. Nothing else.

Logan nodded.

Janus took his hands, and sunk them both out.

They appeared in Janus’s room, judging by all the yellow. The room seemed filled with a soft haze of it, and the haze entered Logan with each breath, filling his brain with fog. His thoughts slowed, moving sluggishly like each one had to rise through molasses before it could reach him.

“There we are,” Janus said smoothly, drawing a finger along Logan’s jaw. “Calming down. All your thoughts draining away. Just mine. My little pet.”

Logan nodded slowly, struggling to think.

Janus cooed at him sympathetically. “It’ll be alright, dear. Once all those pesky problems have melted away it’ll be easier for you. Just focus on me. Do what I tell you. I’ll help you.”

Logan nodded again. He did want to do what Janus said. Wanted all his problems to go away. He didn’t want all the different directions of every side’s opinions. Just one thing. He could only handle one thing.

“Sit for me, dear,” Janus said.

Logan looked around. He was standing in the middle of a thick, plush rug, and on one side was a couch. He tried taking a slow step towards the couch.

Janus put a hand on his chest, preventing him from moving forward. “Ah ah ah, right here. Sit.”

Logan blinked at him a moment, his thoughts struggling to reroute. Then it dawned on him. It was so simple. Just sit. His legs crumpled underneath him, and he thumped to the ground, cushioned by the thick carpet.

Janus ran a hand through his hair. “Good. Such a good pet.”

Something deep in Logan relaxed at the praise. At the success. He’d done something. Done it right. It was done.

Soft music filtered into his awareness. He wasn’t sure if it had always been there or if it had recently started.

Janus’s hand tightened slightly, tugging Logan’s hair to tilt his face up. “Stand.”

It took a second for the command to parse in his mind, but then Logan scrambled upright.

Janus smiled, slow and sweet as honey, tracing the lines of Logan’s face with one finger. “Such a good boy. So very good for me. Kneel.”

Logan’s mind was becoming clearer. Still gently fogged and almost enjoyably fuzzy, but capable of understanding and following Janus’s orders. He dropped to his knees, looking up at Janus for approval.

“Good,” Janus purred, smiling down at him.

A slow smile spread on Logan’s face. This was what he needed. It was just right. Just Janus. That’s all. All he wanted was to please Janus.

Janus cupped his cheek in one hand. Logan leaned into it heavily, the soft feel of his gloves gentle on his face.

“My darling pet,” Janus said, rubbing his thumb against Logan’s skin. “So very good for me.”

Logan was gradually getting more and more relaxed. Everything was ok. It was all just Janus. And Janus was pleased with him.

“Stand.”

Logan quickly stood.

Janus grinned, wrapping Logan’s tie around his hand. He tugged, pulling Logan into a languid kiss. His tongue slipped into Logan’s mouth, taking control even here.

His knees weakened as Logan moaned, only the command keeping him on his feet. Arousal seeped through him in much the same way as it had all the other times. A slow slide of hot liquid growing in his stomach with every touch from Janus.

“Heel.”

Logan stumbled forward as Janus turned away from him, walking while keeping hold of his tie as if it were a leash. But, it wasn’t a leash… and why would he follow on a leash…?

His thoughts stuttered to a stop, and his legs wouldn’t walk straight as he tried to follow.

“Shhhhh,” Janus soothed, stroking through his hair. When had they stopped…?

“No more thoughts, pet. Just focus on me. You’re my little darling, no need for worries and problems. No reason for things to make sense.”

“But…” Logan melted under the soft touches, but couldn’t seem to let go completely.

A finger pressed to his lips. “Shh, pets don’t speak, dear.”

Logan tried to relax. He truly did. And it was all so perfect. Too perfect, perhaps.

Janus gripped his hair, forcing eye contact. “Shall I prove it to you?” He asked, tone harsher and more commanding. “Prove that you’re just my pet. Only a pup, not fit for thoughts or words.”

His mouth dropped open as the words and the tone sank into him. Logan nodded desperately.

Janus took a step back, crossing his arms. His face was stern, intense in a way that made Logan’s knees tremble and his cock twitch.

“On the ground.”

Logan dropped. He had no instructions for position, and just pressed all of himself to the ground as he landed. It was where he belonged.

“Strip.”

His clothes had been constricting him, he realized. They were making him seem human. They were part of why he’d been tormented by the confusing thoughts. He wanted them off!

Logan panted on the floor, his clothes scattered around him. Janus knelt beside him, stroking under his chin, trailing his fingers over Logan’s throat.

“There’s my good boy,” Janus purred.

Logan’s eyes slipped closed in bliss, fully submitted to whatever Janus would do. A collar slipped around his neck, clicking in the most satisfying way as Janus fastened it and attached a leash to the ring at its front. Oh, he’d missed his collar.

Logan made a soft sound in the back of his throat, nuzzling into Janus’s hand.

“Such a good pet,” Janus praised, and Logan shivered with pleasure.

“Come with me,” Janus said, as he went to sit on the couch.

Logan followed, a bit slowly, but his mind was soft and quiet. He knelt between Janus’s legs, resting his head against his thigh. Janus smiled down at him, stroking through his hair and tracing his face.

Subspace, his brain whispered, but the thought floated in and out only barely heeded. Petspace. A distant part of him recognized that this wasn’t common for him, but it was safe. Especially with Janus. Janus, Janus, Janus. His Master, his Owner, his Person. He was Janus’s, and Janus would take care of him. All he had to do was rest and float and let Janus do everything else.

The time he spent there, his head pillowed on Janus’s leg, all worries stroked out with gentle fingers, was interminable. It must have been long, if the bone-deep sense of bliss was anything to go by.

Logan nuzzled into Janus’s hand. His nose brushed against the little strip of exposed skin between glove and sleeve. Logan nudged forward just slightly to kiss the spot. Janus didn’t pull his hand away, or even back, allowing Logan to continue showing his love to Janus through the tiny strip of skin he was allowed. He rubbed his face against it and kissed it, the tender skin of inner wrist the softest thing he’d ever felt.

“Want my hand, pup?”

Logan whined pleadingly, looking up to Janus’s face, which was a bit flushed for some reason.

Janus ever so slowly tugged at his glove, baring his hand bit by bit. Logan watched impatiently, nearly salivating. He wanted. Wanted to touch the skin and the small scales, wanted to feel them touching him, wanted them in his mouth—

Fog brushed over his brain once more as he hesitated with his desires. But he was just a pup. And pups were allowed to lick, weren’t they? ‘Dog kisses’ someone, sometime had said. The fog swirled, but began to clear as Janus laid his bare hand against Logan’s cheek.

Logan nuzzled into the cool hand, bliss returning. He flicked his tongue out just slightly, giving Janus’s palm the briefest lick.

Janus’s hand stiffened, and Logan whined worriedly.

But then Janus stroked through his hair with his other hand. “Shhh, it’s alright. You’re allowed if you want to.”

Logan leaned heavily into his hands. His Janus. So very, very good to him. He mouthed at the palm of the bared hand, the smooth slide of skin over his lips sending tingles through his entire being.

“Just a sweet little pet, aren’t you?” Janus said adoringly. “So affectionate when all those pesky thoughts float away.”

Logan hummed affirmatively, giving little kitten licks to the palm of Janus’s hand, tasting the faint salt. His hands were extremely clean and well cared for, soft skin interrupted only by smooth scales and manicured nails. Logan closed his teeth delicately over the side of the thumb, trying to move the hand to turn over. He wanted to feel the texture of the scales. Wanted to see how different they would be against his cheeks, his lips, his tongue.

Janus let his hand be turned, allowed Logan to do everything he wanted, and all the while he stroked through Logan’s hair. If Logan were a cup, then bliss and pleasure were pouring into him, running out constantly from how overflowing he was.

Logan gently scraped his teeth over one of the larger scales on Janus’s hand, feeling the hardness and smoothness slide beneath them. Janus squeaked, jolting his hand away and rubbing firmly at the scale.

Logan ducked his head, hiding in the cushion of the couch between Janus’s legs. He’d done something wrong, he must have.

“You’re alright, dear,” Janus comforted. “Just surprised me, that’s all. I’m not upset with you.”

Logan tentatively raised his head a little.

“That’s it. You’re still a good pet. My good pet.”

Logan looked up to Janus’s face, finding it just as full of love and adoration as ever.

“Let’s try something a little different,” Janus said. “Open.”

Logan dropped his mouth open, looking curiously up at Janus.

Janus laid two fingers in his mouth, heavy on his tongue. Logan moaned. It felt so right, so perfect. He carefully kept his mouth open as he’d been told.

Janus stroked his tongue, his cheeks. He traced over his teeth with a finger, and massaged the roof of his mouth. Logan’s eyes slipped closed, all his focus on the touch, on the sensations in his mouth. He felt the drool slip down his chin and drop to his chest, but he didn’t pay it any attention.

“Such a good pup,” Janus purred. “Suck.”

Logan closed his mouth around Janus’s fingers, swirling his tongue around them and sucking. The arousal building within him jumped, heat banishing away any chill from his nakedness.

There was a heated sound from Janus, and Logan’s eyes popped open. Janus was breathing heavily, his eyes blown with lust as he looked at Logan. Logan squirmed under his gaze, pressing his tongue between Janus’s fingers. He glanced to Janus’s crotch, then back up.

“Oh, you want something better?” Janus asked. “Do you think you deserve it?”

Logan nearly vibrated with excitement. He pushed forward, swallowing Janus’s fingers deeper into his mouth. Janus cursed, his face flushing dark red. He pulled out an extra arm to undo the button of his pants.

Logan made a sound between a moan and a whine, shifting in his spot with anticipation, staring intently at every movement until the pants were shoved down Janus’s thighs.

Janus pulled his fingers free, and tipped Logan’s chin up. “Listen pup, go slow. Explore them like you did my hand and you’ll get a reward at the end.”

Logan nodded eagerly. He didn’t care about the reward. He was fully hard at this point, but all his thoughts were trained on Janus. He wanted to make Janus happy, to make him feel good, regardless of if Logan got to get off.

When Janus released his chin Logan dove in, his forehead pressed to Janus’s stomach as he nuzzled into the soft hair, cocks rubbing against one cheek and soft thigh on the other.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” Janus ground out, his hips twitching slightly. “All this for me. Only I get to see it. You’d never do this if your brain was still filled with all those thoughts. You’d say something about it being unhygienic—“

Janus’s words were cut off as Logan mouthed at the side of one of his cocks. He dragged his lips along its length, breathing heavily as he inhaled the scent of Janus. At the tip, he moved to the other, comparing the sensation to the first, the reactions from Janus above him, the faint taste he could sense even before he flicked his tongue out.

Every sound from Janus went straight to his cock, stroking his ego and making him more desperate to please him. Logan moaned as a drop of precome smeared across his cheek. He lapped every trace off Janus’s dick, relishing the breathy groans from above him, and the reward of more precome.

There was the tiniest voice of hesitance in the back of his mind, echoing Janus’s earlier statement that he would find this to be unhygienic. But Logan was far too horny, far too happy, far too enamored with Janus’s cocks to pay that voice any heed. Just as quickly as it had arrived, it faded back again.

Janus’s fingers tangled in his hair, tugging him wherever Janus wanted him. It was so different from the soft pets earlier, but so, so good also.

Logan licked a stripe up Janus’s cock, pulling a deep groan from him and another aborted hip movement. He managed to get the tips of both into his mouth at once, exploring the slits and the differences between them with his tongue.

Janus pulled him back by his hair. “Logan, fuck, you’ll make me come too soon.”

Logan lolled his tongue out, teasingly showing off his desire to do so.

“I said slow, pet,” Janus half-scolded. With his voice so rough and hot, Logan couldn’t feel chastened.

Still, he nodded.

Janus’s grip on his hair loosened, allowing Logan back. Logan made an effort to move more slowly, exploring the shafts with his lips and tongue and avoiding the more sensitive spots he knew so well.

Logan found a scale on the underside of the lower dick and gently scraped his teeth over it, as carefully and slowly as he could manage. Janus let out a hissing groan and gripped tight to Logan’s hair, sending little zings of pain through his scalp. Logan laved his tongue over the scale, pride filling and adding to his own arousal.

Logan’s hips rocked as he pleasured Janus, trying in vain to get any satisfying friction on the floor.

“Such a horny pet,” Janus teased, though it didn’t have quite the same effect when his words came out through gasps of pleasure. “You aren’t allowed to cum before I say so.”

Logan took one of the dicks into his mouth, slowly swirling his tongue around it. His eyes slipped closed. If he weren’t already so worked up and desperately wanting to make Janus come, he would have loved to sit here as still as he could, with the weight on his tongue and the taste and smell of Janus filling his senses. Right now though, he was chasing any action that resulted in a hiss or a groan from Janus, wanting so very badly to please him.

Janus’s hips rocked, thrusting into Logan’s mouth, and he moaned, pressing forward to take Janus in deeper.

Janus cursed, pulling Logan back by the hair again. Logan whined, voicing perhaps his first complaint.

“Open.”

Logan’s jaw dropped in excitement. Janus guided his head to take both dicks in his mouth, and then began thrusting in earnest. Logan focused on keeping his mouth open and his teeth out of the way as much as possible, losing himself in the rough delight of having his face fucked.

It took barely any time for Janus to come. Logan attempted to swallow, but much of it spilled out down his chin, dripping over his chest.

“You’re so hot,” Janus breathed. “Such a mess. So good for me.”

Logan preened, dazed with pleasure.

“Can you make a choice for me?” Janus asked.

Logan wasn’t sure of much of anything at the moment, other than that he would do anything he could for Janus.

“I’ll get you off with my hand, or I’ll let you suck on my fingers and you’ll have to come untouched.”

Logan opened his mouth, leaning in closer. Janus grinned, slipping his fingers into Logan’s mouth again. Logan moaned, his eyes rolling back as Janus fucked his mouth with his fingers.

More of Janus’s hands touched his chest, running through the mess painting him and rubbing at his sensitive nipples.

Logan whimpered, his orgasm rising quickly from how worked up he already was and the added assault of pleasure.

“Such a good pet you are,” Janus murmured. “So beautiful and pliant for me. So curious, exploring with your tongue. So desperate to be good.”

Logan trembled. He was burning, aching with the need to come. He wasn’t going to be able to hold it back, he wasn’t. Janus kept rubbing and tweaking his nipples, massaging his chest.

“You’re perfect. Letting go of all your thoughts and letting me take care of you. You’re so good. Come for me.”

Logan’s mouth fell open on a wordless cry, ropes of cum painting the couch and the rug. He swayed as his muscles gave out, no longer keeping him up on his knees. Janus wrapped an arm around his shoulders, laying him back against the soft rug.

“There you go, you did so well. So good for me. Just lay back, Logan, let me clean you up.”

Logan couldn’t have done anything else. His mind floated away in a post-orgasmic haze. He barely felt the cloth wiping him clean.

Janus lifted him and put him into a bed, giving him a cup of water. He murmured soft praises as Logan sipped on the cold liquid, rubbing his legs and checking to see he wasn’t hurt from kneeling so long.

When Janus slipped into the bed next to him, Logan’s thoughts were starting to return to him.

“Thank you,” he murmured. “I… clearly needed that.”

Janus cupped his face in his hands. “I love you. I love you so very much. And I will always want to do that again.”

Logan leaned forward for a soft kiss. “I certainly enjoyed it myself.”

Janus smirked, a teasing glint in his eyes. “If it makes you that desperate and horny, I’ll give you my hands every time.”

Logan flushed, much more embarrassed by his previous actions now that they were out of the scene. “I— that was- ah—“

Janus set a finger against his lips, shushing him. “I know, darling. I won’t tease anymore. Just let me hold you and rest now.”

Logan tucked his face against Janus’s chest, hiding his embarrassment. Several arms wrapped around his back, pulling him close in a secure, safe hold. He relaxed, letting himself drift off to sleep.

( @anxiousgaypanicking Hi~ I was writing this and it seemed like maybe something you might enjoy, so here! Gift!)

#not safe for sanders #my writing #nsfs loceit #nsfs logan #nsfs Janus

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