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sophsbookstore · 4 months

Text

Exchanged Glances

Charles Leclerc x hairdresser!reader ｡･:*˚:✧｡

Masterlist can be found in navigation!

Read pt. 2 here

A/N: Not super edited, I wanted to get it posted before the Grand Prix!

Word count: 1,581

Normally when Charles goes back home to Monaco he has his mom cut his hair. Like clockwork he will arrive at his moms salon, say hello to the various hairdressers and then go to his moms station to get a fresh cut. Only, this time things were different.

A couple days before he was to arrive home Charles called his mom and asked what day she was free to cut his hair, with the upcoming Monaco Grand Prix it, and with it being his home race he was more available for a haircut than ever.

After their brief greetings to one another Charles’ mom told him that she would be out of town up until the day of the race. For the first time since joining formula one his mom wouldn't be able to cut his hair for him before the Monaco Grand prix.

“Don't worry Cha, I can refer you to another hairdresser at the salon.” She offered, trying to give him another solution.

“I don't know, you've always cut my hair, no one else.”

“Then this will be a perfect time for you to step out of your comfort zone. Don't worry I know the perfect person, she’s new, around your age and she's magic in the salon.” Trusting his mom this easies Charles' nerves slightly.

“Ok maman.” The driver sighs in defeat.

“Wonderful! When you go to the salon ask for Y/N.'' With that his mom bid him farewell, telling him when to be at the salon, not going into any more detail about this mysterious hairdresser.

Before he knew it the day had come, he was going to step out of his comfort zone and have a complete stranger touch his hair. He hoped his mom wasn't lying when she was hyping up Y/N and her skills, he didn't want to go to the paddock looking a mess.

Charles enters the salon, all the employees giving him waves and greeting him. He's known some of these people his whole life, whenever he stepped foot in the salon it was like he was being greeted by family.

“Hello Charles, what can I help you with today?” The lady at the front desk asked.

"Hello, yes, my mom told me to ask for Y/N?” The boy shrugged in confusion.

“Oh of course! I'll go get her.” The lady that once sat in front of him was now off searching for the mysterious magic woman that was going to cut his hair.

Charles felt like he was waiting for hours, the salon wasn't that big was it? Maybe it was all in his head. He stood to the side of the waiting area, too consumed with stress to sit down and relax. Before he knew it the front desk lady came back, the woman he assumed to be Y/N trailing behind her.

This is when he finally got to have a good look at her. She was beautiful, why didn't his mom tell him that they started hiring part time models at the salon. The two stood awkwardly, both taking in one another, waiting for someone to make the first move.

Y/N cleared her throat. “Hello Charles, I’m Y/N. just follow me back to my station and we’ll get started”

Charles was too dumbfounded to respond, instead the man stuttered silently before nodding and following Y/N to the back of her salon. During the short walk to her station, Charles thought of questions to ask the beautiful girl, desperately wanting to hear the sound of her voice again.

“Thanks for trusting me with your hair today, your mom told me that you don't really let anyone else cut your hair.” She giggled.

“Oh! Yeah, she's been cutting mine and my brothers hair since we were kids.”

“That's so sweet. I understand where you're coming from I don't let anyone cut my hair, only myself.'' This put Charles at ease. Knowing that she thinks the same way he does, even about something so simple as hair.

After some comfortable small talk Y/N led Charles further back into the salon, sitting the boy down in a chair before leaning him back and washing his hair. The driver seemed to melt in her touch as she ran her fingers through his hair.

When Y/N pulled her hands away to apply more product Charles felt incomplete, like he was missing a sense of stability and peace within himself. Just as soon as she removed her hands she placed them back, continuing to massage his scalp with the shampoo.

Y/N pats Charles’ shoulders signaling to him that the wash was done and that they had to make their way back to her station. Y/N led the way, Charles trailing behind the girl before taking his spot in front of her in the salon chair.

“Are you excited for the grand prix?” Y/N questions taking some of his hair between her fingers, beginning the cut

“Very. I have a good feeling and my son will be there, hopefully we secure P1 and P2.”

“You have a son? What's his name?” Y/N questions, his mom not mentioning anything about a grandson.

“Oh! My apologies he's not really my son. He's a driver on the grid that I've somewhat adopted for the race weekend so that he can claim the Monaco grand prix as his home race.” Charles looks at Y/N hoping she doesn't find what he said both weird and confusing.

“HA!” The hairdresser laughed out loud. “Well congrats to him, I hope he has a fun and successful home race as well. I'll be sure to congratulate your maman about her newly found grandson.”

Charles sat up a little higher in the chair, “Are you coming to the race?”

“I wish I could but I have to work, don't worry though, the salon will be playing the race so everyone can watch.” Y/N stopped cutting for a moment, looking at Charles through the mirror placed in front of them before giving him a warm smile.

Y/N picked up another section of his hair, continuing to snip away leaving Charles to examine the girl through the mirror. Y/N looked up from behind him, making a quick glance at him before the pair broke eye contact, looking separate ways.

Slowly their eyes started moving back to the mirror. The scissors snapping shut as the pair hold eye contact. Charles felt the tip of his ears getting hotter, the pair both noticing one another's subtle hints of red creeping onto their faces.

“Notice anything Mr. Leclerc?” Y/N questions, the corners of her mouth turning upward.

Charles opens his mouth to speak but words don't come out.

“Don't think I haven't noticed the subtle glances, there is either something on my face and you're trying to figure out how to tell me, or something going on in this head of yours.” She turns her attention back to his hair, the haircut almost over.

“I-” he clears his throat, “I was admiring you. You're very good at what you do.”

“I deeply appreciate Charles, truly.” Y/N made her final touches to the haircut. Unbuttoning the cloth that was draped over Charles, before dusting off his shoulders of any hair. “You're all finished, let me find a mirror so you can see the back.”

Y/N walked toward an unknown part of the salon, Charles' eyes following the girl through the mirror until she came back. This is it, if he doesn't say anything now he might never see her again.

The hairdresser came back, handing Charles a small hand held mirror for him to examine the back of his head. He admired her work, impressed with her skills. Placing the mirror down on a ledge near her station he got out of his chair and turned to her.

The two stared at one another, practically chest to chest. “Will you come to the grand prix?” He asked breathlessly.

“Nothing would delight me more but I have to work.” Y/N sighed looking away for a moment before her attention was pulled back to Charles.

“If you can't come to the race can you accompany me for dinner after?” Y/N looked at Charles, her cheeks getting ever so pinker.

“Mr. Leclerc are you asking me on a date?”

“That depends, would you like to go on a date with me?” Charles asked, not missing a beat.

“Yes Charles, I would love to.”

Charles smiled from ear to ear, desperately wanting to bounce off the walls with excitement, stopping himself before he could embarrass himself. “Then I will see you tomorrow.” He nodded in satisfaction.

“See you tomorrow Charles.” Charles walked away from the hairdresser, giving her a quick glance back before making his way back to the lady at the front desk.

“Hair looks great! What did you think of Y/N?” She asked, ringing him up so he could make his payment.

“She's fantastic, I think maman will have some competition.” The two laughed, Charles paid, giving her a quick goodbye.

As soon as he exited the salon he called his mom, updating her on his post race plans, greatly thanking her for offering Y/N to cut his hair.

#charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc x y/n #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc fanfic #Charles Leclerc x hairdresser!reader

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pervcoded · 5 months

Text

bloodhound starring yuuji itadori.

content warning: no pronouns used, but reader is implied to be dfab.

reader is dealing with their period/pms.

roughhousing/fighting (they are training), scent kink, yuuji and reader are 18+, sukuna is here too yuuji. funky (very slight) mind-control/subtle influence aspects. perverted thoughts. reader is annoyed by everything. no penetration/sex. yuuji smells you ovulating lmao? begging (from yuuji). dry humping. idk i was just writing shit and the plot got outta hand.

Yuuji’s changed since Sukuna came along.

Not something you acknowledged at first - of course, it would be within reason to anticipate some degree of pushback from the curse. A never before seen bond between human and … less-than-benevolent spirit was sure to have some stubborn aftereffects. It seems that little whisper of a king took care to extend his influence more permanently than you’d appreciate, frankly.

Yuuji’s senses have been unnaturally keen as of late. Not the ‘notice your new haircut’ kind of attentive - that natural knowledge that comes with closeness - but,

eerily observant. Sukuna’s cohabitation of Yuuji’s body seemed to have bolstered his olfactory systems in bizarre ways. Or maybe the curse had just gotten attached to the scent of your flesh.

Like when he noticed when you ran out of lavender shampoo, you started using citrus. Or when he shouted in front of ‘Gumi and Nobara about how you definitely changed your perfume. Weird shit. Mr. Paying-Too-Much-Attention just tried to brush it off.

If you didn’t know any better, you’d swear he was keeping tabs on you. He tried to be completely normal otherwise - even apologized about the perfume; though Megumi and Nobara ensure you never hear the end of it.

But he’s doing it again right now. In the lull of your training, he seems stunned for a moment; seemingly overtaken by the presence of something around him. When you ask ‘what?’, he responds with a question.

“Do you smell that?” He huffs the air like he’s starved for it, the genuine curiosity bouncing around in his eyes confounding more than it intrigued. His eyes are half-lid, dogged and low, like a bloodhound taking index of nearby quarries. He’s paused your flow, stopped your energy, and besides; “The only thing I can smell is you.” You scowl. You stand with your arms akimbo, lips subtly quirked in irritation. He looks gagged by that response, but keeps breathing deep; lids fluttering delicately to half-lids.

“Yuuji.” You go to cross your arms, glaring daggers. “Yuuji, c’mon, I need you to focus.” “Mmn." His nose wriggles; it's a little cute. "But it smells so good… You sure you didn’t bring food in here? I can’t focus with that- ah - smell.” He seems labored by it, but it’s not so strange for Yuuji to be incredibly dramatic about most things. “It smells like…mhn.” Failing to describe the scent, you rapidly find yourself disinterested in his little moment. But he’s insistent on having it.

He licks his lips til’ they shine under the fluorescent, fanged teeth poking from his upper lip as he makes a face. A brutal, not-quite-smile, then something else, reserved as he retained the barest hint of control. He looked feral, like a wolf twitching with pent up aggression, holding out for the fawn to tottle past.

You occasionally envied his inclination towards the eccentric- frankly freaky sometimes- but sadly, at present you lacked the patience. You’re not playing games this week, and definitely not today.

It feels like everything and everyone’s been pissing you off for like half the week. Nobody seems to be on the right timing - no, not even Nobara, who seems more to your speed even when you’re in a bad mood with the rest of them. Nothing happened (you think) to make you feel angry, this pent up, but you think the others have noticed and politely adjusted their behavior. Giving you more space during breaks, keeping conversations to polite banter and short chats, getting you snacks…

Oh, now he’s starting to make you a little hungry. That’s what you think it is, that low simper in your belly as your vexation grows; tired of his antics. “Stop fucking around, man. I know this shit comes easy to you - or whatever - but I’m not letting you get me behind on training. Stand up.” The demand in your voice doesn’t seem to inspire motivation. Rather it just makes him annoyed, his brows now furrowed as he (bordering on obsessively) sniffs the air. Gets a whiff of something beautiful. Like blood pumping through veins, decadent, succulent, dripping, and raw. Rubs a bit of drool from his lips.

Sukuna’s been chittering in the time you weren’t. A faint locust buzz crescendos into airplanes flying overhead, a mantra tittering in the back of his head over and over again.

It’s you. It’s you, It’s you, It’s you, It’s you. Sukuna didn’t have to tell him that, really - he’s not that dumb - but forgive him for wanting to pretend like you’re not making him tent his sweatpants. He’s been smelling you all week - and after that argument with you and the gang on Tuesday, apparently nobody else noticed anything had changed. Granted, it’s not like he hates it; quite the contrary, actually…

You smell too good. Like a forbidden delicacy; savory and not too sweet. Oh, if only he could get you on his tongue. The thought is as foreign as it is tantalizing. He’s quick to assume Sukuna has something to do with it - but when he’s still having those thoughts when Sukuna hasn’t spoken to him in days, he’d think it irresponsible to not take some accountability for it. He scowls to himself, glancing at you in his periphery as you practice your striking form.

(You dance through the air, the power in your thrust brought forth from the entirety of your body; each muscle, moving in perfect sync. The more you work yourself up - the stronger the scent of you gets. It’s like a pheromone, wafting irritatingly through the space, driving him fucking mad -)

“Your yearning is pathetic.” Yuuji’s mouth goes dry as Sukuna’s mouth splits open a space behind his ear; but you must not hear him - too busy slicing through nothing. “I’ve never understood playing with your food. If you’re strong enough to take the sorcerer - they’re yours to be had.” He reflexively goes to shut him up.

You’ve barely wanted to be near him all week. Or any of the gang, really. You’ve been acting differently, too. Quicker to anger and cutthroat, more territorial - less affectionate. You’re only training together because you pressed him for it, like you were dead set on showing him up.

He thinks you’re doing fine. (Sukuna thinks it’s cute how hard you try).

You step too close and Yuuji’s head snaps to you on cue, and for a moment you think something’s wrong. He’s perched low down, searching you. Considering you, staring you up with that look. You recognize it - better suited to a battlefield and carnage - but it’s good to know he’s finally paying you attention. A full-minded, beady-eyed focus, as if you were a spirit in need of exorcism. He looks hungry for it.

You shuffle back reflexively, too wired to go down to some low-blow. “Oh? You ready to get back to it then?” You resume your offense, leaning into your stance as you watch Yuuji stagger to his legs almost drunkenly; and yet not taking his eyes off you. He balls his hands up into fists, feet shifting into position. “Yeah. I think m’ready. If you are.” His curtness is greatly appreciated, though you can’t help but quirk your brow at his change of pace. You squat lower, tighten your grip on your training weapon.

You push in at the same time. The point of contact - his fist and your naginata - disappears in a void of darkness. Tendrils of black jut out in all directions, and all you hear is the crrrr - ACK! of your wooden instrument; split clean in two as the ‘sharp’ end goes flying and leaving you with the blunted shaft. He’s on top of you as soon as you recover, reaching forward with a quick jab you barely dodge.

The sweat runs off your forehead as you dart backwards, swiftly slamming the wooden handle down into his skull. The naginata cracks into nothing. He is hardly winded.

He reaches out for you and you dive to the side, throwing up your arm to shield your chest before Yuuji nearly caves it in.

“-shit!”

You’re gasping, nearly falling on your ass as the force of Yuuji’s kick knocks the air out of your lungs.

“- ah, fuck -”

There’s a feeling besides fear, there. A sudden shuddering in your limbs and a faintness in your head that makes you drop low to the ground, your legs wobbling ever so slightly,

before they give, the blood rushing away from your head as a new pain blooms deep within your stomach. It joins the one in your chest, tormenting you.

Yuuji’s on top of you when your vision returns from black (did you close your eyes? You hadn’t noticed), half concerned and half… well -

He’s got you pinned to the training mat below, weight audaciously pressing into your stomach as he plants himself firmly on top of you. There’s something hard down there, jabbing insistently into you that perplexes you for only a second; until his face tells you everything to know.

His gaze is hazy, like he’s coming off that high but not quite - got your arms pinned above your head even if he no longer needs to use that kind of force. His face is red, blushed from ear to ear, and your analysis is momentarily interrupted by his voice cutting through the silence.

“Well, I won,” He huffs, rocking his hips a little. “Don’t I get a prize? Y’know - for winning?” He leans more to your level. You’re in no rush to buck him off - the pressure doesn’t feel that bad; actually.

"What?"

Your voice is breathy and incredulous when you fully come to.

“You want a fucking cookie or somethin’?” To your amusement, he nods excitedly. One of his hands leaves yours to slowly trail down your front. That focus still hadn’t lifted from him, his attention concentrated solely on the line he’s driving down your stomach.

“Yeah, something like that.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ JJK/BANNER ART by gege akutami

all content written by me @ciematis, is owned by me, and you are not allowed to repost or translate my works. don't put my shit into ai generators, don't steal my shit and put it on wattpad. thank you.

#jujutsu kaisen x reader #yuuji itadori x reader #yuji itadori x reader #jjk x reader #yuuji itadori #yuji itadori #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #yuuji itadori fanfic #jjk yuuji #itadori yuuji imagines #tw periods #₀₅⭑ lightning strikes

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avis-writeshq · 1 year

Text

carriage six – spencer reid

summary: Spencer Reid prides himself in his routine. Wake up at half-past six. Leave his apartment at a quarter past seven. Get onto the seven thirty train. Arrive at Quantico at eight forty five. He has a plentiful of reasons as to why he does it; it’s efficient, it gets him to the office early, it works. But the biggest reason is the girl that always sits in the seat a few rows across from him, headphones on and always reading a book.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader

genre: strangers to lovers, rated G for mutual pining and second hand embarrassment. no use of (Y/N).

warnings: fluff, boy band spencer reid (caution, hot!). i tried to write in Spencer’s pov, and with that comes a lot of rambling. i like to think that his mind is running 100 miles an hour, so i tried to write in a style that could implicate that <3

wc: 1.8k

part two: platform ten

Spencer tries not to look so excited when he enters the subway, clad in light grey slacks, a lavender dress shirt, a brown and purple argyle sweater vest and a mauve coloured tie. His signature leather bag is strapped across his chest and he has a light cardigan in his hand; the weather reports said it would be cold today. His head spins with the statistics on the accuracy of meteorology, considering the bright and sunny skies that blessed the citizens of D.C that morning. He’s donning a new haircut today as well. It was a lot shorter than he originally planned to get it, but he likes it. In fact, he likes it a lot, particularly the way it drapes across his forehead and the way it looks messy but still cool. That’s how he would describe it. Cool. He feels cool.

He hasn’t been able to get onto the subway for three days because of a case in Connecticut and his mind wanders. Will there be another case soon? How long would it take? He hopes it would be a local case. He feels guilty thinking that; he shouldn’t be hoping for a case at all. After all, that would only mean someone else has met their untimely death. He shakes his head to dismiss the thoughts.

He steps onto the train, onto the sixth carriage, and sits on his usual seat. In his mind, it’s the perfect seat. It avoids the sun so he doesn’t need to squint and he doesn’t have to turn the brightness level of his phone all the way up. It’s right next to the door in case he needs to make a quick exit. It’s right next to a handicapped seat, meaning that people tended to avoid it. But the best thing about this seat was the view.

He cringes when he thinks of it. ‘View’ sounds gross. Perverted. ‘View’ is the wrong word to describe it. His favourite thing about this particular seat is the company. Yes, he likes the company, although it technically doesn’t exactly count as company.

His gaze shifts to his company. Exactly four rows away, her eyes trained on the book in her hands. He recognises it to be ‘Pride and Prejudice’, the limited edition rose gold copy that was released eight months, three weeks and two days ago. He has the same copy sitting on his dresser.

She looks different today. Granted, it had been three days since he last saw her. He scans her figure to try to place his finger on the difference and he realises. She’s wearing a new lipgloss. Spencer’s cheeks burn when he realises. Why on earth— no, how on earth is he able to tell? He feels himself cringe and he shifts his gaze and scans the rest of carriage in an attempt to busy himself and his mind, but his eyes ultimately fall back on his company.

Spencer can’t seem to take his eyes off of her. What’s she listening to? Where is she up to in her book? Does she like Austen? Has she read any other books by her? What does she think of Elizabeth and Darcy’s relationship? So many questions enter his mind and he wishes he had the guts to go over and strike up a conversation. But he’s not like Morgan. He doesn’t have that type of charisma or that type of confidence. If anything, he supposes, he’s self aware. He knows that the moment he starts a conversation, he would start rambling for twenty minutes about the relationship dynamics between the characters and why Austen was so incandescent and exceeded all beliefs as a writer in her world. He’d start to bring in authors like Virginia Woolf and why her admiration towards Jane Austen was warranted. Ultimately, Spencer thinks to himself as his eyes wander back to the girl, he’d scare her off.

He watches as she falters in her movements, her fingers pausing from flipping the page and Spencer frowns. From what he could tell, she was a little bit more than halfway through the book. Maybe up to page 260? But there’s nothing remotely difficult in that part of the book. If anything, that was the most simple and straightforward section of the entire text. And then he realises. His cheeks burn once more and he quickly busies himself with his phone, biting his lip and avoiding her amused gaze. Your amused gaze.

You can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips as you meet his gaze. You’ve seen him all the time, for the past three years in fact, when you first moved to D.C. He’s cute, really cute, and he’s even cuter when he looks like a deer caught in headlights. You raise a teasing eyebrow his way and you watch as he quickly avoids your gaze, looking into his phone. You can’t the soft laugh that leaves your lips, your fingers tracing against the pages of your book. Maybe you have a little more confidence in yourself than you thought.

***

The next day, Spencer feels a small sense of dread creeping into his heart. He feels embarrassed, so goddamn embarrassed, and he wonders how he could face you. His cheeks are burning and he tugs at his collar. He’s wearing a light blue shirt with a patterned purple tie, along with dark navy coloured pants. He teeters on his feet, waiting with anticipation for the train. The moment he enters the carriage, his eyes fall to the seat you would be seated at, only to see no one at all. He can’t help but frown, a little disappointed but a little relieved. He moves to his usual seat, and lo and behold, he sees you there, one leg crossed over the other and reading a different book.

He mutters a soft apology as he slides into the seat next to you, glancing at you from the corner of his eye.

“Wuthering Heights,” he says, surprising himself.

He watches as you look up from your pages, a small smile on your face. You’re wearing the same lip gloss as yesterday.

“Yeah.” You smile, taking your headphones off and letting them rest around your neck. “You’ve… have you read it before?”

He nods, and he curses himself for looking so eager. “Yes! Um, yes, I’ve read it. It’s really good.”

“Brönte is brilliant,” You respond, sliding a bookmark in between the pages. “I finished Pride and Prejudice last night. Jane Austen is still my favourite.”

You’re baiting him. He knows that. He takes it.

“I saw,” He says quietly, biting his lip. “Not– not in like a stalker way! I just… I just noticed you reading it on the train. Yesterday. I, um, I saw you reading it yesterday.”

He wants to kick himself. His face is flushed and he’s sure that his neck is just as red as his face. His ears are hot and his head spins when he hears you laugh.

“It’s okay. I saw you too.” You offer a smile, your own cheeks warm. “You were reading Edgar Allen Poe a few weeks ago. Is he any good?”

His eyes light up and he tucks an invisible strand of hair behind his ear. It’s a habit of his, since he’s had longer hair almost all of his life.

“He’s very good,” Spencer insists, pulling the little book out of his satchel. “His works range from short stories to poetry, his most famous works being The Tell-Tale Heart, and Annabel Lee. The former is a short story. It’s a little grim, but he writes in an incredibly eloquent way that presents the narrator’s descent into madness, despite the point of the text being to convince the reader that he isn’t mad. Annabel Lee is a poem about a man obsessed with a woman named Annabel Lee and-“

He purses his lips, realising how much he’s spoken. He coughs into his fist, setting his book down in his lap as he quickly glances at you.

“…and what?” You prompt, your head tilting the side in curiosity. “Go on, don’t let me stop you. You’re convincing me to actually get the book on his collection of works.”

His head practically snaps to look at you, a look of surprise on his face. He scans your face for any insincerity, from your eyes all the way down to your lips, before clearing his throat.

“Um… well, uh, in Annabel Lee, the narrator speaks about keeping her in a castle by the sea. It’s a classic case of isolation and some literature analysts even go as far as to say that the narrator was hoping that Annabel would fall in love with him through Stockholm Syndrome but died before the narrator was able to carry out his plan.”

You take in his words, nodding along to his explanation. “You seem to be an expert yourself.”

He laughs, running his fingers through his hair. “No, I uh, I’m not an expert on literature or anything. But I am a doctor.”

“A doctor?” Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Like… a medical doctor or…? No offence, but you really don’t look like a medical doctor.”

He laughs again, nodding. “Well, it’s a good thing I’m not. I have PhD’s in chemistry, mathematics and physics, as well as BAs in psychology, sociology and philosophy.”

You let out a low whistle. “You a collector or something?”

He blushes, swallowing thickly. “No, I uh… no…?”

“You don’t sound too sure of yourself doctor…” You pause, realising that you really don’t know much about this man. You look up at him expectantly.

“Reid,” He says quickly, clearing his throat. “Spencer Reid. You, um, you don’t have to call me doctor.”

“Alright then, Spencer.” You smile, and he thinks it’s the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. You introduce yourself and he tells you that you have a pretty name.

Time passes, and the conversation continues. You could talk for hours with Spencer; about books, movies, anything. He can make anything sound interesting, it’s one of his charms. He smiles a boyish grin as he talks, gesticulating wildly as he rants about his favourite texts and why Austen is a genius. He asks you what you’re listening to and you almost scream at the thought of introducing him to Taylor Swift.

Before long, the train lurches to a stop at his station and he can’t help but feel a little disappointed.

“It was nice meeting you. Officially,” He adds, gripping the strap of his leather bag.

“It was nice to officially meet you too,” You respond, smiling up at him as he gets up from his seat. “Tomorrow?”

His eyes practically light up. “Tomorrow.”

reblogs are always appreciated!

part two: platform ten

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #matthew gray gubler #matthew gray gubler x reader #spencer reid x reader fluff #spencer reid fluff

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lani-heart · 2 months

Text

|| lani-heart's ultimate masterlist || MDNI

genre(s) -> angst, fluff, hair stylist au, smut, anonymous request <3 paring(s) -> non-idol!hyunjin x afab reader warning(s) -> minor mentions of bullying, slight mention of being stood up, unprotected sex, oral ( receiving ), fingering, teasing, praise kink, pet names etc. words -> 5.5k

abstract -> "I think we should consider this a free of charge, right cutie?"

y/n's perspective

“You badly need a haircut,” Wonyoung said and I knew she was right. “We are not getting this out of your hair,” she said while she tried all types of tips on how to get gum out of your hair.

“Look if I were you I'd quit that internship,” she said as she held up scissors and tried to minimize how much she had to cut. “I just don’t understand why they decided to pick on me?” I said and she scoffed.

“Because they’re jealous you are getting the jump on them. Also, I’m sorry but you need a haircut–” she said as she snipped the hair off and gave it to me. “–this is very obvious. Anyone can see this…” she said and showed me through the mirror.

“I’m going to have to cut my hair short… I never had short hair before” I said now panicked and she hummed before scrunching my hair up.

“I hate it / I like it,” we both said and I groaned. “You look cute with short hair!” she said and I scoffed. “Look, this is the hair salon I go to, set up an appointment and say it’s urgent and they’ll pity you,” she said with an oblivious smile. “Thanks a lot, Wonnie,” I said and she giggled.

“Besides there are a few hair stylists that are your type”

I had to go to the internship again but this time I put my hair in a bun hoping that the hair Wonyoung cut wouldn’t stick out and embarrass me. “Hi, I just wanted to say that what they did yesterday was so mean” I heard and saw one of the other interns. I haven’t made friends yet but she seemed nice. Her name was Tzuyu. “Thank you, and don’t worry that they’ll get their karma,” I said and she smiled.

“Besides, if the CEO finds out she’ll fire them,” she said and I smiled. “I know but… I don’t want to be the reason they lose an important opportunity for petty things” I said and she smiled softly.

“How mature of you… I would’ve reported already” she joked and I chuckled. “I’m Tzuyu, you’re y/n right?” she asked and I nodded. “Well I hope you have it easier, I have to get back to work,” she said as she waved off.

I avoided the group of interns the whole day and got permission to leave early since my appointment was soon. I walked into the place Wonyoung recommended. It was called the S.K.Z. CUTS, and was extremely popular, I got lucky getting this appointment, especially after explaining my situation to the one who booked my appointment.

“Hello, welcome to S.K.Z. CUTS do you have an appointment today, ma’am?” he asked and I nodded. “Yes, under y/n in ten minutes?” I asked and his eyes lit up. “You called yesterday! I was the one who booked you, you’re in good hands, those girls from your work are gonna be left shocked and jealous after today I can assure you!” he said with a big grin.

I saw on his name tag that his name was Changbin.

“I booked you with our best stylist, no worries,” he said and I chuckled. He was sweet and very energetic. “I would do your hair especially after what you said yesterday but I’m not trusted with a pair of scissors” he joked and I wondered why.

“Don’t worry about him you’re in good hands–” I suddenly saw someone come by to confirm and smile before whispering to the receptionist “–Changbin don’t scare her off” he whispered to him.

“Hyunjin should be ready for you in five minutes, please sit in the waiting area for the time being,” he said and I nodded as I walked towards the comfy chairs and magazines. It was magazines with this place on the front page, talking about how well they are and only saying praises about them.

“Miss y/n?” I heard as I stood up and walked towards the man�� his name was Hyunjin and I think I was awe-struck. He was so pretty…

“Follow me please,” he said and I nodded before scrubbing to follow him. He helped me sit down and get comfortable before placing the hair-cutting cape on me.

“Can I take this off?” he asked and I nodded a little worried about cutting my hair. “Hmm.. I think I see the problem” he said as he flicked the strand of hair now sticking out away from the rest of my hair “Can I ask how this happened?” he asked and I sighed.

“Let’s just say I don’t get a lot with my co-workers,” I said and he hummed. “So what were you planning?” he asked as he looked at me through the mirror. Why was he so… pretty?! I think Wonyoung was right… “Hello?” he asked and I snapped out of my thoughts. I smiled apologetically… “I don’t know… I've never had short hair before and this was such a recent thing, I just want it fixed, '' I said and he nodded.

“That’s fair, we could cut the hair short and it would look like–” he did the same thing Wonyoung did and I sighed… He chuckled, “Not happy with short hair then?” he said and I shook my head.

“But there's not much you can do right?” I asked and he chuckled. “Oh? Are you doubting my skills as your hairstylist today?” He joked but I shook my head and panicked and he laughed again before patting my head. “Don’t worry, cutie–” What did he call me “–can you give me your trust for this session?” he asked and I nodded. I don’t know what I was gonna do with my hair but he did and he was a professional so…

I placed my full trust in him.

Hyunjin’s perspective

She was clueless and upset about her hair. I wanted to do her pretty face justice at the very least, I think short hair looked good on her but if she didn’t want it I had better ideas for her, that she would like. She confirmed that she was okay with me cutting any hair to make it seem normal and not just a little strand sticking out like before.

I told her we’d have to wash her hair first to get it wet, to which she agreed and I took her to the back. Usually, I'd make Minho-hyung or Hannie do this but she seemed stressed and a bit worried about today. I wanted to build trust with her and maybe she'll even be a loyal and frequent customer of mine.

I definitely wouldn't mind seeing her again.

She looked so content with me playing around with her hair and washing it, even closing her eyes, making me chuckle. She was a cute one… it's been a while since I had such a cute customer.

“You’re so good at this” she muttered and I laughed. “Trust me, I’m very good at other things too” I joked and her eyes opened and cheeks reddened. “Let’s dry your hair a bit and go back to my chair,” I said as I started drying her hair a bit so it was not dripping everywhere.

“I’m gonna be your fairy godmother today,” I said and she smiled.

Let’s just hope I don’t also attract a knight in shining armor in front of you though

I ended up doing some layers in her hair, in a popular hairstyle that many people her age and even kids in school come to get. I was now just blow-drying her hair, taking me time. I know her time was going into another customer’s at this point but I wanted to take my time.

I’ve seen Chan-hyung’s glare from across the room pointing at the clock to which I nod and put my focus on her. I was almost done anyway, just stylizing.

“We’re done, do you like it?” I asked a little nervously how she’d react but her eyes shined and a smile was now evident on her face. “This is so nice… ah you are a miracle worker,” she said and I chuckled.

“It is a higher maintenance cut, so you will have to style it so it isn’t all over the place and the layers can do their thing,” I said and she nodded. “I was so worried about today but you’re so good at this. thank you, thank you, thank you” she said and I chuckled. “It wasn’t hard, you’d make a lot of things look good darling,” I said and her eyes widened a bit, her face reddening again, making me chuckle.

“Hello, miss I'm sorry to interrupt–” Chan-hyung came by and I glared… don’t tell me he was taking her away. “–he has another client waiting for a while now, let me handle your payment,” he said and I scoffed. He led her away but I went up to him before he could finish.

“Go to your other customer” he scolded and I scoffed. “I will, I was gonna say I’m gonna use my free haircut on her '' I said and he sighed. “Fine, just get back to work and please don't take an eternity again,” he said and I nodded.

I was really hoping she’d come back again…

y/n’s perspective

I was so happy that I was ready to scream it to the world. “Everything is covered, I hope you have a nice day,” he said and I felt myself freeze. “H-huh?” I asked and he smiled. “Hyunjin said it was free of service, don’t worry. I hope you’re happy with the services today, and decide to come back to S.K.Z. CUTS” he said and I sighed.

“Can I leave him a tip?” I asked and he nodded while I gave him the money I was gonna give him today. “Have a nice day!” he said as I walked out. I was so happy with the haircut… I had many layers but my hair wasn’t shorter. He even wanted to give me a free haircut… he was so sweet and pretty no wonder many people came by.

I suddenly heard my phone ring. “Hello! Are you done with your haircut?” Wonyoung asked and I said yes while I told her all about it, even sending her a picture. “Did you get a cute stylist?” she asked and I felt my face get hotter.

“I really did…”

She made me tell her all the details and I felt only more and more of the urge to make another appointment but then I wouldn’t see him anytime soon. Especially since he’s one of the most popular stylists…

I wonder if I wasn’t special and he just does that for everyone? Either way today was a good day, I maybe made a friend with Tzuyu and Hyunjin was a miracle worker.

Hopefully, my luck doesn’t end at the start of tomorrow.

I can’t believe my stupid alarm clock didn’t wake me up. I was in a rush and I had to bring the office coffee today since it was my turn. I rushed in and had to catch my breath while anxiously waiting in line as I looked through my phone for everyone’s orders. Why did all the interns ask for such complicated and expensive orders? They even wanted breakfast sandwiches–

“You know I did say this was a high-maintenance hairstyle that needs blow drying and product” I heard and turned around to see Hyunjin. “Ah! I know I was just in a rush today” I said and he chuckled. “Just promise to take care of it next time I see you,” he said and I nodded.

“If you’re in such a rush why are you here?” he asked and I sighed. “I have to bring my office coffee and treats today and everyone gave me their order, I overslept today,” I said and he nodded. “Can I?” he asked as he pulled out a hair tie and I was embarrassed. I knew my hair was a mess. I barely had time to do a quick brush-through.

I nodded and turned for him to tie my hair.

“Now look you look professional enough for an office but your messy hair was cute too,” he said and I blushed. “Next” I heard and I smiled and thanked him before I ordered everything. “Ok that will be–” “I’ll pay for her, but can I get an Iced Americano,” he said and I shook my head. “You don’t have to–” “And you didn’t have to leave me such a big tip,” he said and I sighed before they said they’d try to get our order out in a few minutes.

“How are you gonna carry all that?” he asked and I smiled.”It's fine the office is a five-minute walk” I said and he hummed. He looked at his phone before texting someone. “I told my boss I’ll be a little late to set up but I can help you,” he said and I shook my head.

“That’s too nice… you’ve been nothing but nice–” “Then let me do this for you,” he asked and I sighed and smiled. He was a perfect guy…

“For y/n!” I heard and saw the order… “There's no way you were gonna accomplish this by yourself,” he said, and honestly… I was lucky to run into Hyunjin... for more reason than one.

I wasn't even late to work and I set up everything with Hyunjin’s help.

“I really wish you’d let me repay you,” I said and he chuckled. “How about you do me two favors?” he asked and I nodded. “The next time I see you, you better have taken my advice with your hair. The second one… here” he said as he handed me a piece of paper he wrote in.

“We should… go out sometime,” he said and I felt myself freeze again in shock. Him? With me…

“Think about it, cutie,” he said as he waved bye and left my office. “Hey, y/n! Who was that guy?” I heard some of the intern bullies ask and I had to refrain from scoffing. “None of your business," I said and they chuckled.

“Is he at least single?” they asked and I said… “No”

In which they walked away and started gossiping. I wasn’t gonna let them have anything related to my personal life… which meant I wanted to take Hyunjin up on his offer.

I would need to text him later…

“Hmm? y/n did you do something to your hair?” Tzuyu asked and I smiled. Told her about my haircut and where I got it from, in which she said the CEO is friends with the owner and said only good things about them.

What a small world?

Hyunjin’s perspective

“You’re lucky you finished on time before we opened,” Chan-hyung said and I nodded. “What made you so late anyway hyung?” Felix asked and I smiled.

“I was asking someone out,” I said and everyone suddenly oohed. “Just don’t do it again, you already did it yesterday with that girl– Was it her?” he asked putting two and two together. “Hyunjin falling in love with a client~” Minho-hyung teased. “I’m not in love” I corrected and everyone now teased me.

“Because of that the next client was so mad,” Chan-hyung said and I scoffed. “All she wanted was a trim, y/n had a little issue,” I said and he sighed.

“Already defending his girlfriend. Oi Hyunjin, she better not distract you from work!” he said as everyone laughed. I make no promises… I'd let her distract me anytime. Besides, her reactions are so cute… she seemed very sensi– “Hyung, did you give her your new number?” Seungmin said and I felt my eyes widen.

I recently changed my number…

“I’m guessing that's a no?” he said and I felt stupid that I forgot.

“Changbin is her number in the system!” I said hurriedly that he was about to look when we saw customers.

“Hyunjin got to work!”

y/n’s perspective

The day was finally over when I was walking back to my desk to collect my stuff.

“Hey y/n! That cute guy left you his number right?” I heard as I saw the three of them either sitting on my desk or chair… “It’s a dead number,” she said and I was confused.

A dead number?

“You didn’t think a guy like that was interested in a pathetic girl like you right? He’s famous, you’re but a little intern who won’t even get the job. Just because you got a new haircut you think that’ll change your appearance?” she said and they laughed as they left my desk but not before throwing cold coffee from the morning on me.

Well, today was a worse day than I thought.

I was picking up my stuff when I felt a towel on my head. “You shouldn’t let them walk all over you,” Tzuyu said and I smiled. “It's no worries,” I said and she sighed.

“When it was their turn they forgot your coffee order, and now I can see the receipt and how they ordered the most expensive stuff, put gum in your hair for you to have to get a haircut, and besides S.K.Z. CUTS is expensive… how much was it I can probably–""Tzuyu, thank you but it's fine. Besides, they did my hair for free” I said bitterly.

“Free? Who did your hair?” she asked. “Hyunjin,” I said and she looked shocked. “Really? He’s always stingy with clients…” she said and hated how it filled my heart a little with hope.

“Go home, you don’t have to take care of this mess okay” she assured and I nodded as I took my stuff and left. I dialed Wonyoung…

“Hello!” she picked up and I let it out. The bullying, the dead number, even the coffee…

“Go home, I’ll meet you there”

“Is this a good idea?” I asked and she smiled. “We’re gonna have some fun, and you will reject some guys like how he did a crack to your heart okay?” she teased and I was gonna play along until I got there and maybe at most just drink Wonyoung’s free drinks…

She dressed me in a cute top, short skirt, and painful heels that I promised her wouldn’t even last me the night as she now styled my hair.

I can’t believe he gave me a dead number… I thought he was actually… interested.

“No more pouting, you’ll ruin your lip gloss” she scolded and took out my hair rollers and I could see my hair now fully styled… it looked nice but it looked better when he did it.

Why am I so caught up over a pretty stranger?

“We’re out for only free drinks and maybe some free food!” Wonyoung said and I smiled. We walked to the sleazy bar where we sat down and she told me to control my posture.

“Hello, ladies, before we start tonight the table over there gave you two drinks from our bar. '' he said and I sighed. Wonyoung winked at me and I chuckled. We ordered appetizers… “Be careful alright, two pretty girls should enjoy their night” he said and I noticed his name was San.

“He’s not bad for you,” Wonyoung said and I sighed. “He’s not my type but he does seem sweet,” I said and she chuckled. We talked about nonsense and even gossiped about her work from the modeling studio when we got another set of drinks.

“From the gentlemen in the corner, by the way, if you need a taxi or an uber we can call one free of charge,” he said and I nodded.

“Wonnie we have to leave him a good tip–” “Don’t pay attention to the waiter, pay attention to the one who gave us drinks!” she scolded and I saw… “They work from–” “Uh-huh… and you’re heartbreaker is there too” she corrected and I groaned.

“Do you want me to throw these drinks–” “No, why waste a free drink?” I asked as I sipped mine. “Hmm… these taste like mocktails,” I said and she sighed.

“Either you flirt and bag the waiter or go confront the bastard who gave you a dead number. Decide before I come back from the bathroom” she glared and I sighed. I guess that was a chance for the table next to us to start trying to talk to me and I had to bite my tongue at their vulgar words.

“Hi, cutie” I heard and they finally shut up as he sat on Wonnie’s seat. I glared and he took his phone out and the contact page… “I really did want to take you out… I still do! But… I recently changed my number last week and I accidentally gave you my old number from habit. I’m sorry” he apologized and I sighed.

“I thought you were being a jerk” I muttered and he smiled. “I really did want to see you all dolled up for me,” he said and I sighed… “I’m here with my–” I was cut off by my phone, a message from Wonyoung reading:

Good luck with lover boy, his friend explained to have him pay the bill <3

“You’re lucky, my friend just abandoned me,” I said and he chuckled.

“Wanna get out of here?”

Hyunjin’s perspective

I’m glad she believed me and that her friend gave her the small push to come with me. I was walking her home since it was too late to do anything special.

She was all pretty and dolled up with her hair even styled. I wanted to badly give her a kiss but I didn’t want to rush or make her feel uncomfortable.

“Ah we’re here,” she said as she smiled. “I’ll take you up,” I said and she nodded as we now stood in the silence of the elevator. “You know, I live close by here,” I said and she looked shocked. “I’ve never seen you before” she pouted and I chuckled. “Maybe we walked past each other and never noticed” I joked and she muttered lowly enough for me to hear.

“I’d never forget such a pretty face. '' I chuckled and leaned in to whisper in her ear. “I don’t think I could forget such a cute girl like you,” I said and she looked away, probably reddened. “You’re a big flirt aren't you? '' she said and I chuckled.

“Only with you, darling,” I said as I asked for her hand despite not needing to but she took my hand as we walked the hallway until she pulled away and was now at the front of her apartment. She looked at me silently as if confused. I smiled… “Have a nice night” I said and she smiled. “Think of me?” I asked and she sighed and kissed me on the cheek.

“Don’t forget about me” she said and I chuckled. “How could I forget that you missed this kiss?” I asked and she giggled. “Where should I have missed you?” she asked and I smirked at the point on my lips.

“Hmm? I don’t think I should after you gave me your old number” she teased and I pouted while putting my hand on her chin and lifting it to me “Should I make it up to you?” I asked and she nodded. I leaned in to kiss her, surely her lip gloss was getting all over my lips and she even tasted faintly of strawberries due to it.

I licked her lips a little to let in but she smiled teasing me I grabbed her hips making her gasp as I kissed her deeper until her hands found their way to my neck and I felt her pressed herself against me.

“I don’t think we should do this out here giving others a free show if they decide to leave their apartments?” I said and she hummed.

“What are you implying, Mr. Stylist?”

no one’s perspective

The two of you rushed into your apartment not even wasting time before kissing again. This time even more intimately with the kiss being even more messy than in the public view of the hallway. Hyunjin’s grip on your hips only tightened but now around where the hem of your shirt is.

When you finally let each other breathe again a string connecting you both, Hyunjin couldn’t help but admire the soft red color now smudged onto the corner of your mouth and even cheek.

“So pretty and dolled up, a shame I ruined this huh?” he asked you as he chuckled while rubbing his thumb now on your lips as if he wasn’t the same color or as if he didn’t have the lipstick stain from the peck on his cheek.

“Why don’t you ruin it some more?” you joked and he softly moaned, making the atmosphere more desperate. “Don’t joke like that, I might just take you up on that offer” he warned and you hummed. “What if I want you to?” you asked… he was a sweet guy and not to mention attractive.

“I want to take you out first, be a gentleman, and then get here again” he teased and you chuckled. “What if I don’t want a gentleman?” you teased and his eyes only darkened with each hypothetical question you asked.

“Then what do you want, doll?” he asked you and you smiled a deceitful innocent smile while batting those eyes of yours. His grip on your waist is only tightening…

“Stop teasing me and–” you were cut off by him suddenly lifting you up to wrap your legs around his waist. You moaned out when he started kissing your neck now deciding that he'll be the perfect gentleman on your first date together but succumbing to desires right now.

You didn't even realize when he laid you down on your couch as he now was leaving hickies everywhere on your neck without a care that you had an office job and that it was summer so turtlenecks and scarves are out of the picture.

“I wanna take this off you so bad, cutie” he pouted as his grip on your shirt even left small scratches on your waist. “Then take it off” you said, giving him permission to take it off you and he did. Leaving little to the imagination in that skirt of yours and bra now in full display.

“Pretty girl… you weren’t hoping to show this off to that waiter of yours right?” he asked teasingly and you smiled. “Maybe, he was cut–mhm” You were cut off with your own moan when you felt him now grind against your clothed core.

“Thinking of someone else while I'm here?” he asked and you shook your head. “Good girl… be a good girl for me will you?” he asked before kissing you again. This time with him grinding against you and his hands groping you with your bra on. Now moaning in another kiss of his…

“Hyunjin” you moaned, pulling away now feeling annoyed at the lack of action, especially with how he was grinding against you. He chuckled and kissed your nose before leaning down and looking up at you giving you quite the view.

“What? Do you want more? I didn’t take you for someone so greedy?” he teased as he let go of your chest and now had a grip on your skirt. “You sure about this y/n?” he asked and you nodded desperately.

He chuckled at how desperate you were to get some relief.

He took off your skirt leaving in a match panty set to your bra. “You even matched… a shame it wasn’t for me” he pouted and before you could defend yourself you moaned out at how his fingers now teased your clothed clit. “You give such cute reactions like I thought you would '' he said, liking how expressive you were at being teased.

“More” you whined and he chuckled before pulling your panties to the side to now rub at your clit making you more expressive. “So wet… I wonder how you’d taste?” he said before licking a strip up to your clit making me suddenly grab his wrist at the sudden pleasure.

“You want me to stop? But I was enjoying myself?” he teased and you whined before he continued to do his work but now intertwined your hands together. He quickly let go however to then tease you further with his fingers. Not having anything to grip on you decided on his hair.

He let out a chuckle, “Careful cutie” he teased before now adding a finger to you occasionally feeling the cold metal from his rings and his tongue relentlessly teasing your clit. He would occasionally also moan not only drunk in your own pleasure and taste but also how you gripped his hair.

“Fuck… I don’t think I can handle this anymore” he muttered before standing up now admiring the view. He leaned in for another kiss while his fingers fiddled with his pants desperate to take them off and free himself. “Are you absolutely sure about this?” he asked now out of breath again…

You nod and he smiles. “Come on cutie, I need your sweet voice to tell me to continue” he begged and you chuckled. “Please Hyunjin I need this" you begged and he lined up with your cunt. He started off by teasing both himself and you by only adding in the tip.

“Fuck you’re so wet… you keep sucking me in too” he muttered and you whined at how slow he was going. “Think you handle it?” he teased and you nodded as he chuckled. “Beg for me cutie,” he asked just as desperate as you were but wanted to hear it in your voice.

“Fuck Hyunjin just fuck me already please!” you said now frustrated at the lack of pleasure. Not being able to handle it any longer bottomed out as he leaned in to fiddle with your bra as you adjusted and he gave himself a break from the sudden please... “Hyunjin” you muttered and you could feel him slightly move as he chuckled.

“I know, cutie… you’re making me go crazy too” he confessed before slowly moving looking at your expressions. It was cute seeing how your eyebrows furrowed and your eyes closed even how your hands touched against his waist not knowing what to grip. Your hair is now messier than when he saw you in the coffee shop.

Your moans only got louder and you opened your eyes slightly making eye contact and he swore he almost came right there and then from your glass eyes threatening to start crying. “Fuck, Hyunjin!” you moaned out and he chuckled.

“Good girl, such a pretty girl come on you wanna cum?” he asked as he now rubbed your clit making you moan louder not trusting your voice to say anything else without stuttering all you could do is nod.

“Cum I wanna feel you cum around me cutie,” he said before pinching and teasing your clit until you tightened around him like a vice would. He stopped moving at the threat of cumming inside you as you came.

Your moans, your tears, your chest trying to get as much air as possible, your hands gripping against his shirt that was surprisingly still on… he did a couple of small thrusts before he pulled out and rubbed himself on your clit making me moan and whine overstimulated.

You were now watching Hyunjin pleasure himself on you watching him and hearing how his moans now got louder and whinier until he let out a whisper…

“Fuck… Im gonna cum,” he said as he let out a breathy moan when you felt his hot cum paint your clit and even some on your chest.

“Fuck” he said as he rubbed his cum on your clit before giving you a soft smile.

“I hope I didn’t get cum on your couch” he softly muttered tiredly making you giggle. He leaned in to kiss you against suddenly very tired and cuddly… “I’m more worried that you're getting cum on your clothes,” you said and he hummed “That’s what dry cleaners are for cutie,” he said and you chuckled.

“So when’s that date gentlemen?” you teased and he groaned. “I blame you” he muttered and you chuckled. “So didn’t enjoy my services?” you teased and he laughed. “Services? Are you gonna charge me now?” he asked now looking at me, leaning his forehead on yours.

“Hmm? Should I charge you?” you teased and he hummed with a soft smile and his eyes glistening.

"I think we should consider this a free of charge, right cutie?"

please don't be a silent reader !! reblog, comment, and like <3

#stray kids #skz #straykids x reader #skz x reader #stray kids x female reader #skz x female reader #afab reader #straykids hyunjin #hwang hyunjin x reader #hyunjin x reader #hwang hyunjin #straykids smut #skz smut #hwang hyunjin smut #hyunjin smut #anon request #lani heart

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runningfrom2am · 10 months

Text

leveling the playing field XII

summary: with nowhere else to go after getting caught cheating to help lucy gray, you both make some desperately stupid decisions.

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

wc: 3.2k

tags/warnings: capitol brat!reader, maybe slightly ooc coryo, idk i tried my best. do they love each other or hate each other? who knows (we do, kind of). use of a derogatory term (pr*stitute) implications and mentions of abuse, so read with caution!! also a little bit of swearing but that's neither here nor there. oh, and manipulation (both of them lowkey)

masterlists // nav // requests

a/n: nothing much to say other than thank you guys and i hope you like it :)

series masterlist

"Coryo!" You grin, running out of the house and down the front porch steps, throwing your arms around his shoulders as soon as you can reach him. It had only been a few days since you'd seen him, but you had to do what you had to do. Truth be told, you did miss him, though.

He chuckles as he catches you, carefully letting you down after a moment. "Hey, Y/N/N, how's it going?"

"I'm good." You grin, turning back at the sound of people laughing inside the house. "You have to come in to meet Ash. He's gonna come with us today, and Lucy Gray is packing a picnic! It's gonna be so fun."

"Who?" Coriolanus asks, but you're already gone, heading back up to the house. An uneasy feeling settles in his gut as he follows you, shoving his hands into his pockets as he enters the home. The kids are trying to gather things into bags, and Lucy Gray is packing some food to bring with the group out to the meadow.

You, on the other hand, are wrapped around the arm of a boy who looks like he belongs in the Capitol Zoo. "Coryo, this is Ash. We met at the Hob the other night." You explain, looking between the two of them as Coriolanus clenches his jaw.

"Nice to meet you." He says through gritted teeth, reaching out out of habit to shake the boy's hand. He's got dark hair, and somehow darker eyes. Immediately, he doesn't trust him.

"You too, man. Love the peacekeeper getup." He chuckles, shaking his hand briefly and Coryo quickly recoils to wipe his hand on his pants.

"Oh, Coryo is a peacekeeper." You explain, smiling up at Ash as he drapes an arm around your waist.

"We're in the business of trusting those monsters now?" Ash asks, somehow maintaining a lighthearted tone. Like it was a joke, like Coriolanus was nothing more than his position.

"Only a couple." You laugh, shocking Coryo completely. Not so much as a word in his defense while this district trash said such horrible things about him. He was back to not even being able to recognize you. "Coryo is my best friend. We've known each other since we were kids. Sejanus too."

Best friend... That's it?

"That makes sense then." Ash nods, and Coryo stands up taller as Ash not so subtly sizes him up.

"You know, Sejanus has been awfully chummy with Billy Taupe and his friends. Ash is one of them." You say to Coryo quietly, taking up the rear of the Covey as all of you walk out to the meadow behind the house. "Have you noticed?"

He hums in acknowledgment, thinking it over. "It is odd." He agrees. He has noticed your mutual friend sneaking away on any nights out they could spare, and just generally being more cagey than usual. And it makes more sense that his name would mean anything to your new friend.

"Have you asked him about it?"

"No." He shakes his head. "You should, though. He trusts you more."

"That's not true." You laugh. "You are his best friend, after all."

"As are you." He raises an eyebrow at you.

"Oh, please. He throws that term around too loosely." You roll your eyes playfully.

"And you don't?" He asks, obviously referring to how you called him your best friend earlier. It's working. This was evidence that referring to him that way was driving him crazy- you had him wrapped around your finger, and you loved the feeling.

"Nope." You grin, bumping him with your shoulder. "Have I told you the haircut is really working for you? Because it is."

"Thank you. It wasn't by choice." He explains, smiling at the compliment but shrugging it off.

"I figured." You laugh, reaching up to run your hand over his shaved head. "I miss your curls, though..."

"Y/N! Come here!" Ash calls from up ahead, walking backward now as he waves for you to join him.

"Coming!" You call back, immediately ditching Coryo to catch up with him.

Coryo cringes at how his boots sink into the dirt and how you let Ash yell at you like that. Like you were a dog. You'd hardly known the guy for a few days and he's already talking down to you, Coryo is appalled at your taste. You run up to Ash, immediately reaching up and sticking your hand in his unbrushed hair. If Coryo was a brunette and didn't shower ever, that's probably what his hair would look like. It made him nauseous.

The following night, after Coriolanus complained endlessly to you about the birds he had to spend most of his days trapping, you had a stroke of absolute genius. He really, really hates those birds, just as much as you can tell he already hates Ash.

As the sun is setting over the field surrounding the hanging tree, you tell Lucy Gray you're going for a walk, and off you go into the woods with only your mind to keep you company.

They'd set so many traps it was unbelievable, and a good amount had trapped some of the songbirds inside. They were beautiful creatures, timid, too, for birds who were typically so vocal. They were products of the Capitol, so that would only make sense. You were careful not to make a sound as you opened every trap you could reach. You could just hope that by the time Coryo and his group arrived in the morning, they hadn't been trapped again.

You knew this was likely considered treason, interfering with government projects, but you didn't have a whole lot to lose, and seeing the frustration on Coryo's face when he ranted about how stubborn these birds were made the risk well worth it. It wasn't the revenge you were used to doling out to people who had wronged you, but you had been working on changing, after all.

After setting free no less than twenty birds that blew your hair back out of your face as they shot out of their cages, occasionally thanking you by singing your footsteps back to you or clawing at your arms, you made your way back to the street to head back to Lucy Gray's home.

You sucked your teeth over the stinging in your skin from the small cuts and scrapes that nnow littered your forearms. You suddenly understood why Coriolanus hated the creatures. They were beautiful singers, but clearly so inconsiderate. They'd be trapped again anyways, you were just delaying the inevitable to piss off your friend. They got scratches on you, but your people would still win the war.

You lift the excess fabric of your skirt to pat the beading and drying blood off of your arms as you walk. The town was quiet, only a few people scattered around very rarely. Either homeless or drunk, minding their business as you silently made your way down the dimly lit streets toward the seam. You recognize you're almost home when you pass the Hob, through the alley where Coriolanus graced you with his subpar apology. Squinting toward that same back exit as the door creaks open, you move across the alley to hug the opposite wall as you walk, trying to mind your business.

"Yeah, okay. I'll arrange for that. Thank you, yeah. We'll work it out. I promise." Was that... Sejanus? Your theory is confirmed when the speaker steps out into the alley. It was quiet, a weeknight. If the Hob had been open, it was deadly quiet by this hour.

"Sejanus?" You call out, speaking without thinking.

The boy jumps, slamming the door behind himself and looking toward you quickly. "Y/N? What are you doing here?" You can see the panic in his eyes as you get closer, tucking your bloody and exposed arms behind your back.

"Just out for a walk. I wanted to look at the stars." You nod up to the unpolluted and clear sky to accentuate your point. The sky didn't look like this at home. "What about you?"

"Oh! Uh, same." He lies. "It sure is beautiful out tonight."

"It is." You agree, looking up at the stars for a beat while you cross your arms over your chest in the silence. "Who were you talking to?"

As he panics you try and tuck your arms back once more, the stinging of movement reminding you of why you hid them in the first place. "Just, uh, no one. Myself."

You hum in response. Sejanus made his fake story hard to believe. "Why don't you trust me?" You ask, tilting your head at him. "I feel like after all we've been through, you should trust me more."

"I do trust you." He replies quickly. "It's less about that, more about... I don't want you to get involved. It's better for you."

"Is Coriolanus involved?"

"No. No, he doesn't know anything. Same as you."

You nod slightly, looking him up and down. "Well... If you need help or you're in a tough spot, come to us, okay? There are few people you can trust out here. We have to have each other's backs."

"No, no, it's not like that." He assures you. "But okay. If I need help, I'll ask."

You smile. "Well, you better get back. Don't want to get caught out so late."

"You too, Sage."

You chuckle, giving him a quick wave as you walk back away from him.

Even in the dim lighting, he could see the marks across your arm that you tucked away with your turn, sauntering away casually in the direction of your current home on the Seam.

Coriolanus was walking a beat alongside the market almost a week later, the one his bunkmate usually took, but today he was too hungover to crawl out of bed. Coryo didn't have the stomach to watch you drool all over that district boy today, so he decided to just take the shift for his new friend instead of bothering to see you. Maybe, this would result in Beanpole owing him a favour anyway, and that was always nice to have.

It was a Thursday, so not all that busy at the market. It was mostly just mother's gathering food and supplies, which left him incredibly bored for most of the morning. He was wallowing in his self-pity when something finally drew his attention. Your laugh. He would know it anywhere. He scans the street again, posture straight as he tries to track you down, which doesn't take long.

Of course, there you are with your new friend, his arm over your shoulder as you hold his hand against your chest. God, Coriolanus hopes you don't spot him. He looks straight ahead, chewing on the inside of his cheek and wishing he could disappear. You were torturing him, the fact that you couldn't see that, or you just didn't care, was driving him insane. It was worse than if you had just stayed in the Capitol.

Now, he can't help but focus on your voice on the mostly quiet street.

"No, I know!" You giggle, looking sideways at Coriolanus who stood at the edge of the street. You're sure by now he had seen you. You didn't know he would be here, normally he wouldn't, but it makes the task of agreeing to spend time with Ash more bearable. At least it was for a reason. "I've never touched a mandolin before, how could they expect me to pick it up in one night?"

"Well, I'd sure be surprised if you could. No one learns that fast." Ash replies, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. You hate it, you want to shove him off and hit him where it hurts, but you can't. At least Coryo was here to witness it.

"True." You nod, walking with him slowly past the stalls, browsing at some of the small trinkets and goods they had. It seemed to be all random things, which was foreign to you. Back home, every store had a purpose, even after the war the Capitol held onto this sophistication. "This is so pretty!" You smile, spinning out from under his arm to get a closer look at a dress someone had made. It was shorter than your skirt, typically one that would be worn by a child in this region, but it was oversized enough that you could wear it and it would land mid-thigh.

"How much is this?" You ask the woman sitting behind the wooden table, holding up the dress that she had clearly made.

"Forty." She answers, nodding to you. "It's steep, but I put a lot of work into it. It'll last your daughter a long time."

"Oh, no." You giggle, shaking your head. "I was thinking for me." You say, lifting part of the fabric to admire the stitches.

"For you?" Ash asks, raising an eyebrow at you.

"Yes, what do you think?" You reply, holding it up in front of you. "I like the red accents. It's beautifully made."

"You'll look like a damn prostitute," Ash replies without missing a beat. "That's what I think."

You bite your lip, face going red as you look down at it draped against your body. You're not sure if it's from anger or embarrassment. You sigh, folding it up again and turning to the woman who looks shocked. "I'll take it." You smile suddenly, placing it back down while you dig out some cash from your pocket, handing her fifty. "And don't worry about making change, I just hate carrying coins around."

"Thank you, dear. You enjoy." She smiles gratefully, taking the money and tucking it away in her pocket. You nod at her, and before you even turn around with the new dress under your arm you feel a firm grip on your skin, yanking you away from the stall and into a side street.

"Hey! Let me go!" You shout, trying to peel Ash's grip from your arm where it's digging in so tight it's already flushing the areas and opening your healed scratches from the birds, smearing the drops of blood across your skin.

"No, you listen to me." He says, dropping your arm in favour of pointing a finger right in your face as you're backed up against the wall. "If you're gonna be my girl, I'm not letting you walk around like some kind of whore. Do you understand?" He says, clearly fumingly angry by now.

You laugh, rolling your eyes. "You don't scare me, you're a district-born loser with no fucking job! How dare you try and tell me what to do with my-"

You're cut off when he smacks you. You take a shaky breath, instinctively holding the side of your face where his palm made contact. You feel your confidence faltering with the heat pulsing under your skin, and with your eyes closed in this back alley, suddenly you're back home. But you're not. You're not home, and he's not your father, and here, you're free. You're gonna kill him.

You open your eyes and stand up straighter, looking him dead on as your chest heaves with anger. You shove him back, pulling your arm back in his moment of shock to take a proper swing at him as he scrambles to push you back up against the wall. In your rage, you failed to account for the fact that he was much bigger than you.

"Hey! Back off her! Now!" Coriolanus shouts, clicking the safety off his gun before Ash can lay another hit on you, gun aimed unwaveringly at the boy as he quickly walks toward the two of you.

Ash panics, and you feel this as the forearm he had pressed up against your throat, pinning you to the wall loosened its hold and you shoved him off just in time for Coryo to push his way between the two of you, the barrel of his gun now inches from Ash's nose.

He raises his hands in surrender. "Hey, we're cool. I didn't do nothin' to her."

Coriolanus is fighting every urge to just pull the trigger on the loaded weapon in his hands. For you. For this asshole hurting you, for touching you, for the crime of even looking at you, he should do it. He breathes heavily, every muscle in his jaw constricted so tightly he's sure it'll ache for weeks.

You watch over your friend's shoulder, watching the gears turning in his head. Do it, you want to tell him, but even in your anger you can see that's irrational, so you keep your mouth shut.

Coryo sighs, lowering his weapon to use it to gesture to the street. "Get out of here." He mumbles, deciding to let him go. "And never so much as look at her again, understand?" You're almost a little disappointed as Ash spits on the ground at your feet, starting to walk away when Coryo turns the gun faster than you can process and jabs the butt end of it into Ash's face. A chilling crack echoes out against the crumbling walls surrounding you and he hits the ground, unconscious with an obviously broken nose.

Coryo is panting as he turns back to you, quickly throwing the gun back over his shoulder. "Are you okay?" He asks, reaching out and holding your shoulders, hands running down your arms quickly to look over the injuries. "Did he do this to you?" He looks over the scattered cuts and scratches. He could tell they were healing, and they were inconsistent with what could be done with a blade or a man-made weapon, so he deducts quickly that you must have fallen into the wrong bush or something. Maybe when you were gardening.

You shake your head quickly, eyes locked on the boy on the ground.

"Hey, no, look at me. Are you okay?" Coryo asks again, grabbing your chin and forcing you to look at him. He nods expectantly, waiting for you to answer.

"Yes. Fine." You whisper shamefully, giving a slight nod under his gentle hold.

"C'mere..." He mutters, pulling you closer to hug him. He sighs, holding the back of your head and gently smoothing down your hair. It shocks him when you start to shake, trying to muffle your crying in the fabric of his uniform. He shouldn't have waited so long. He took his eyes off you for less than a minute to maintain his own sanity, and this is what happened.

You knew you were safe with Coryo, this was your fault for straying from that over some petty anger. He had betrayed you, sure, but he told you it was because he only wanted to help. If you had listened, none of this would have happened. You should have known he was right. At least he hadn't abandoned you, he'd even saved you. You were lucky he was even around.

"He hit me." You sniff through sobs, gripping tightly onto the back of his grey uniform. "I didn't, I don't know why, I-"

"Hey, hey, hey..." Coryo shushes you, pressing his lips to the top of your head. "I've got you. You're safe now. I'm here."

"I'm sorry..." You sniff, overtaken by the foolishness of your own decisions. For denying your feelings for him in a way that only resulted in hurting the both of you.

Coryo has to fight back a smile as he takes in the familiar scent of your hair. "Don't be." He whispers, kissing your head. "I'll always protect you."

You nod against his chest, locking yourself firmly into his grasp. Even as your blood dried and stuck to his coldly grey uniform, you found it hard to let him go.

taglist: @totallynotkaibiased , @stelleduarte , @klplynn , @secretsicanthideanymore , @bejeweledreverie , @gloryekaterina , @andrewgarfieldsbitch , @queenofspades6 , @pepperonipastas , @ladybug0095 , @lunamothwrites , @sbrewer21 , @mus-tbe-a-weasley , @splxtscreen , @unclecrunkle , @karmaswitch , @coconut-dreamz , @nekee-lilac02 , @ooooglymoooogly , @riddlerloveb0t , @lovedbalances , @notyourwildestdream , @snowlandson-top , @too-lit-for-fanfic , @utopiakys , @deafeningballoonnacho , @roosterschanelslut , @chmpgneprblem , @cosmoetik , , @urvampgfsworld , @carolanns-world @nan-nie , @shakespearseclipse , @iovemoonyy , @notyoursweetheart-honey , @xyzstar , @eatpizzasass, @slytherinholland , @queenofshinigamis , @elodiebeau , @soulessjourney

i've closed my taglist for coryo now!! sorry to everyone who wanted to be added, but unfortunately there was significantly more demand than i expected and i sadly just can't tag everyone. BUT! if you still want notifications when i post for this fic, please turn on my post notifs!!

#tbosas #tbosas x reader #ballad of songbirds and snakes #thg series #tbosas fic #coriolanus x you #coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus fanfiction #the hunger games

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poem-i-wish-i-wrote · 3 months

Text

First date haircut

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader Warning: Absolutely none Summery: Where Lando scores the pole and the first date requested by @misspygmypie . I hope you I did justice to your vision. Hope you enjoy this<33

You were walking into the paddock, pass in your hand, ready for another day of work. As soon as you reached the opening where you would swatch your pass someone crushed into you.

“Good grief, Lando! Watch where you are going.” You yell at the British driver who was trying to steady you by your elbows.

“Sorryyy, I was in a rush, I didn’t see you.” Lando explains. “Clearly. How could you see me, with that bush of hair in front of your eyes.” you say. He puts his hands on his chest in a mocking offence. “Let’s hope you can see the track through that hedge.” you say with a sarcastic eye roll while swapping your paddock pass.

You were one of the performance engineers for McLaren. You have been here for a few years. You know Lando pretty well. You both have a very flirty relationship full of banters, and he very often jokes about taking you out on a date. That sarcastic exchange before was a very frequent happening.

You go to the garage and set up. Today was practice day or Friday as the peasants would say.

At some point Carlos comes into the garage and greets you.

“Y/n what did you tell Lando this morning?” he asks you with that thick spanish accent of his. “ Why? He crashed into me this morning and I insulted his hair.” you say with raised eyebrows. “He's been in the hospitality centre asking me if his hair looks bad since I have arrived.” You burst out laughing at that.

“Well I won’t lie, he could use a haircut.” you say in between chuckles. “I think the weight of his hair dumbs him down.” Carlos starts laughing at that too.

“Maybe cutting some hair weight could make him faster on the track”He adds as you both chuckle . “What are you two laughing at?” Lando’s voice comes from behind.

“Your hair.” You say.

“Hey you said it looked good a few minutes ago” Lando says with an accusing look at carlos.

“Because you were whining and I needed you to stop” Carlos shrugs.

“Maybe you should get a haircut.” You say looking up at him. He doesn’t miss a before he looks into your eyes challengingly and say “maybe you should go out with me,” with a aly smile,

“Well not when you look like that.”

He rolls his eyes at that. “Moving on. What’s the weather report my little data scientist?” Now you see, when he jokes about taking you out on a date you always refuse. But you Can’t deny That you don’t find him attractive. Especially right now when he has one hand on the table beside your own hand, another on the chair you're sitting, leaning towards your computer, calling you his little data scientist. That man makes you dizzy.

You gulp, “It’s gonna rain tomorrow, but today should be pretty dry. As per my calculation today the fastest lap for our car could be less than 1.5 but due to the weather and the traction of this track, tomorrow the fastest you can go won’t be this much.” Carlos was listening to you intently but Lando had a very unserious face.

“We should probably do good today at practice. But the condition of our car might not be suitable for tomorrow's weather. As there was some damage from the last race. So I’d probably say drive a little safe out there in qualification. Life’s worth more than a pole position, right? It should be dry on race day.” You see Carlos nodding. But Lando had a mischievous look now. “ So what I am hearing is you think I can’t get a pole tomorrow?” you roll your eyes hearing that. “Is that a challenge L/n” Carlos chuckles at that.

“No it’s definitely not a challenge.”

“Oh come on L/n don’t back down now. You’re better than that.” he says, moving your chair a bit so you face him.

You probably shouldn't have said what you were about to. It really wasn’t very professional of you. But his eyes on you had the sensible side of you in a puddle. “Say what, you get the pole tomorrow, I go on that date you are dying to take me to.” Lando wasn’t expecting that. It took him by surprise but the expression quickly turned into a smirk.

“Oh you're on” he replies as Carlos stands there watching you two kids flirt. “Kiss already” he wants to say.

You are horrified and overly joyed at the same time when the commentator is explaining how the boy you have a bet with has gotten pole position. On the other hand Lando wanted to jump from his super fast moving car, not being sure what he was more excited for, the pole position or that he gets to take his crush out tomorrow night. When he finally gets to the garage later that day, his first instinct was to find you. “See Y/n you never should have doubted me.” “ I never doubted you, I doubted the weather and the car condition.”

“Excuses, excuses” He says with a dismissive hand gesture. “You can’t get out of this now. We had a bet, you need to go on a date with me.” You hesitate, this wasn’t a good idea. Carlos comes up behind you. “Y/n grant the boy that date already.” he urges. You smile slightly "Only if you get a haircut, i don’t wanna be caught associating with someone looking like that.”

The next day, The race went very well. Carlos had finished in p2 and Lando in p3. It was an extra celebration. Lando was super happy. While sitting on the podium after the race interview while smelling like champagne and sweat he could only think about you. He waited for this opportunity for a long time.

When all the work for the day was done he went to the garage to find you. You were sitting on your desk tidying up everything.

“Hey” he says from behind, caging you between him an the desk with his hands both sides on the table while leaning towards you. His voice sent goosebumps on your skin

“Hi my podium sitter,” you say while looking up at him. He flashes the sweetest smile.

“I’m taking you out at 7. Dress pretty. I’ll meet you at the hotel lobby at 7?” He says, kinda hoping you wouldn’t back out at the last minute. But he had his fears. But fortunately you gave him a smile and said “alright.”

Lando was freaking out about what to do, where to take you, what to wear. He might have been dying to take you out for a long time. He was busy for the race weekend to actually come up with a good plan. Carlos was sitting in his hotel room bed watching the boy pace in circles.

“Lando, don't be so nervous, it’s going to be okay.” The boy turns towards him with a distressed face. “Okay?? Okayy?? I don’t want it to go okay! I need it to go great! This might be my only chance to impress her. She won’t go on another date with me ever if this goes wrong. “ Carlos got up to stop him walking in circles and held him still by his shoulders. “You got her to go on the first date, you’ll get the second date too. Just take her on a simple dinner date. Be a gentleman, get to know her. I can tell, she really likes you. It will go great.”

Lando visibly relaxes. “Dinner date, yes I can do that.” Carlos goes ahead and picks up the scissors he brought with him. “Come on now, it’s time for you to get a haircut.”

You were in your room with Missy, the only other female performance engineer on the team. You had your whole suitcase emptied on top of your bed trying to find an outfit.

“I can’t believe it took you so long to go out with him. He's been asking you forever.” You roll your eyes. “I don’t have shit to wear.” you sigh. “Let’s go shopping, what do you say?” Missy suggests.

That’s when your phone beeps with a notification from Carlos. It showed a photo of him cutting his hair. With the text “Getting him ready for your date.” You show the text to Missy and both of you laugh.

You still had like 3 hours before your date. And you really wanted to look good for Lando. You get up taking your purse. “Let’s go.”

Lando was standing in the lobby waiting in a white dress shirt and grey pants. He was very nervous. But that was until he turned around to find you walking towards him. You were wearing a white dress with ruffles in the end. The dress fell above your ankles and you were wearing white laced up heels. Lando could swear his heart stopped beating the second he saw you.

You look across the lobby looking so handsome and enamoured by you, it felt like your knees would give out by just the look in his eyes.

“Hey,” he says as he takes your hand in his. “You look breathtaking.” You smile up at hi “You don’t look half as bad. The haircut suits you.” you say cheekily. It did suit him though. So much so That you almost ran your hands through his curls.

He takes you to a fancy restaurant. You both talk for a long time. He listens to you with great attention, hanging into your every word. You both flirt, make fun of each other. You realise it comes easy for both of you. Being with Lando felt easy and comfortable. The lovesick look in his eyes. The way he would call you “love” while asking you what wine you wanted. It all felt right.

After dinner was done. You two were just talking and drinking wine. He reaches for your hand across the table and lovingly strokes his thumb across it.

“I’ve been waiting for this long time. I hope it’s not the first and last time we get to do this.” he was looking at your hands, not meeting your eyes. You gave his hand a little squeeze making him look up. “I don’t want it to be the last time either.”

#f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 fic #lando norris #f1 x reader #f1 #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #lando norris x y/n #lando norris x oc #lando norris x female reader

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pintrestgrl · 18 days

Note

you said angst so... jj x kook!reader JJs starts pushing pogues and reader away and when reader tries to get through to JJ, he says awful things to reader hitting her/them below the belt by bringing up her trauma and the fact she/they are a kook. maybe she completly ices him and the pogues out(bc the pogues forgave him) and start hanging out with kooks. maybe the topper/rafe/kelce trio to really drive home she doesn't care about them anymore. maybe she's even there when pope and jj get beat up? IDK i thought this up off the top of my head. i don't reader crying in the shower heartbreaking sob fest angst. also i left what her supposed trauma up to you bc i don't know how far you're willing to go with that.

-💐

okay i lied. i’m doing this one bc it intrigued me.. lol. but also hi 💐 anon !! ur not overwhelming me i love all the asks, it’s just a matter of energy lol. but love u !!

also prepare for this to be lengthy due to the thick plot, lol

i actually am proud of this and how i wrote it, i rlly like it 🥹.

i will get out more posts today, likely 2-3. 4 if i get drink an alani lmao.

mean!jj x sensitive!kook!reader.

you had always known jj, due to the small size of the island. however, you just started getting closer with him the past few weeks.

you had always seen into him more then others did, even from afar.

you noticed the bruises on his cheeks, and how they’d fade over the next few days. you noticed when he’d gotten a haircut, likely from john b. you didn’t know why, but you found him interesting.

you probably shouldn’t have, considering your brother — rafe, absolutely hated him. he was a bad kid, you always saw him getting arrested with the rest of the pogues.

the reason you two started getting closer, was due to a drunken hookup you had a misunderstanding on. clearly, he looked at it as any other girl he would hook up with, no feelings and not a thought about it again.

you however, looked at it way different. you really genuinely liked him, truly. you didn’t care about any of the bad rumors about him, you didn’t see him as just the bad. you saw the good too.

a few days ago, you went to the chateau to see jj. you hadn’t talked to him since the hookup, expect for minor greetings. you wanted to get to know him more. understand him, fully and completely.

it’s safe to say it didn’t go well. you sat him down, explaining how you really did like him. he listened at first, but as soon as you started trying to open him up, he immediately tensed.

you asked him about how come he always has those bruises on him, and where they’re from. he stood up immediately, scoffing at your attempt.

“you’re fuckin’ serious? you just came here to make fun of me?”

you shook your head quickly at his misunderstanding, explaining how that’s not what you meant at all.

“y’know, it’s not shit you would understand at all. you’re too much of a dumb pretty little ‘kook princess’ with no thoughts in her head to figure it out.”

you swallowed at his harsh words, tears filling your eyes. you opened your mouth to speak, but he just kept spewing more words out.

“ever think that’s why i didn’t talk to you after we hooked up? because we couldn’t ever be anything. i could never be with somebody like you.”

tears fell from your eyes at his words, trying to take deep breaths. you attempted to speak again, before he interrupted you.

“just save it, okay? go back to figure 8 where you belong.”

you let more tears fall, listening to him and gathering your stuff and leaving the chateau.

you walked home with tears down your face the whole time, thoughts stirring. was that really all he thought about you? just a kook who never had to worry about anything?

your tears eventually faded, feelings going numb from exhaustion.

when you got home, you pushed your way past your family, going upstairs to shower.

when you got in, you immediately broke down again. tears filling your eyes and streaming down your face.

you wanted jj to like you, you really did. but if he really had those thoughts of you, you needed to let him go. you couldn’t go on thinking about him, worrying, if your feelings weren’t reciprocated.

over the next few days, you left jj and every pogue alone. you noticed him around, though. you didn’t see the pogues around him, either. it seemed like he was avoiding them, just like you were avoiding him. he looked almost upset, everywhere he went too.

after a while, he got over whatever little mood he was in and you saw him laughing, running around with his friends again.

you however, were not over it. his words really hurt, and you couldn’t get them out of your head. but you knew you needed to give him the same treatment back.

so you decided to start hanging out with your friends too. you started going to the boneyard with topper, kelce, and rafe. you knew jj hated them, but you couldn’t bring yourself to show any care if you weren’t receiving any.

you left him alone for a while after that, silently thinking and worrying about him in your head instead.

you opted for watching from afar, both of you making awkward eye contact at times.

you still wondered where those bruises came from, and if you would ever know at all.

#obx #jj maybank #jj obx fic #jj mayback imagine #jj angst #jj obx imagine #jj obx #jj maybank prompt #jj maybank x reader #jj outer banks #obx au #obx fanfiction #obx fic #jj #angst #sensitive!reader #mean!jj

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f0point5 · 4 months

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Did Max’s P2 mean that Emilia didn’t make to Miami since crazy stuff happens when she isn’t at the race? (I mean I consider it pretty crazy that Max didn’t win)

As a consolation prize could we get Max and Emilia being domestic? Would love to see them just going on their normal life and being in love 🥺

I am sooo sorry this took so long! I went through an inspiration drought after Miami but I am BACK! I’m sorry this didn’t end up being a comfort post-Miami but I hope you like it anyway!!!

Edit: you know what, in my head she was in Miami because honestly I think she and Max would be really happy about Lando’s win. I don’t think they’d take it anywhere near as hard as Max fans lol. He’s their son, they love him.

✨Set between the China and Miami GPs ✨

I (vow) I (will) always be yours

Quiet Sundays in your household are a rarity. If it’s not a race, it’s an event, or time spent on a plane to get to the factory for some work. But not today.

Today Max was woken at nearly midday by Jimmy standing on his head instead of his alarm. He’d had a leisurely breakfast with you out on the terrace. Now, he was practicing for his upcoming sim race while you went through the kitchen cupboards to make a shopping list.

He turned around in his sim rig to sneak a glance at you. Max never lied when he told you that you looked incredible at all the events you went to. He still loses his breath every time he sees you dressed to the nines in haute couture, his palms still sweat and he still never quite feels worthy, because who could be. But he never loves looking at you more than when you’re home, not bothering with anything but your own comfort.

Now, wearing just that Alpha Tauri hoodie that you’d been stealing from him forever, hair in a ponytail, holding a lemon so overripe it looked like a lime, he falls even more in love with you.

He smiles to himself as he turns back to the sim and starts a new lap around Spa.

“Hypothetical question,” you call out to him, just as he gets to turn 1. Typical. Max credits you with the fact that he’s able to watch the race even while driving it, because he’s so used to distractions at home.

“No,” he replies immediately, because he knows where this is going. “I wouldn’t love you if you are going to be a beetle or a worm or something,”

“Firstly, that’s really bold of you to say after I loved you through the haircut in Singapore,”

“Oh my God,” he groans. He swears he’s forgotten everything about that weekend except the unfortunate haircut, because you never mentioned the race since. But the haircut, that’s haunted him ever since.

“Kafka had nothing on that haircut, that was an assassination attempt,” you say behind him.

“What is a Kafka?” Max asks as he bounces over a curb. The chair shakes a little bit.

Your bare legs appear in Max’s periphery and he allows himself one glance as you perch on the mini fridge next to his trophy.

“You know, like the book, Metamorphosis?” You explain, tapping your pencil against the notepad. “Because the guy turns into a giant beetle and his whole family turns on him,”

“No,” Max replies, already thoroughly disgusted. “What the fuck is that?”

“Max, I know you didn’t go to school but the internet is free,”

“I’m not going to spend my time reading about a human beetle,” he scoffs, a shiver rolling through him as his nose wrinkles. If this is what it takes to be educated, he’s glad he’s just fast. “What was your question,”

“It’s-“ you stop, and he lifts his foot off the throttle. “Oh, should we get some Chablis?”

“Why?”

“For when you’re dad comes on Tuesday,”

“My dad’s not coming on Tuesday,”

“Yes, he is,” you insist, and Max wonders how you would know that if he didn’t. “Isn’t he?”

Max pauses his lap, which he knows is basically fucked, and turns to face you. “I thought your dad was coming on Tuesday,”

He watches as your expression sours instantly. “Great, so one bad tempered European man who lives vicariously through his child is going to show up on Tuesday evening, we just don’t know which one of us he’s related to,” you roll your eyes, and Max reaches over to squeeze your knee. “I’ll text my dad and check,”

You pull your phone out of the hoodie pocket and begin to tap away. Max considers restarting his lap but thinks before of it.

“So, your hypothetical?” He prompts, his hand sliding towards the inside of your thigh.

“One second,” You say, scrolling. “Hm.” Maybe you don’t even notice you do it, but your eyes flicker up to Max for a split second as your tongue glides over your canine. Sassy does that right before she hisses at him.

“What?” Max asks, squeezing your leg to get your attention.

“Apparently we’re never getting married,” you say, finally looking up at him with a blank stare.

He hedges his bets, stuttering out a quiet, “huh?”

“‘Fans of F1’s most famous couple may have wait for a wedding, as Verstappen stresses he is in no hurry to tie the knot’,” you recite, reading from your phone.

Max rolls his eyes. As much as he tries to avoid answering questions about your relationship, he can’t dodge all of them. Every now and again he’s advised to feed the animals. And this is what they do with whatever he says - twist it into something only vaguely resembling what he meant.

He’s about to laugh when he notices the way you’re looking at your phone. Your lips are pursed as you scroll studiously. You cross one leg over the other, forcing Max to move his hand.

“So what?” Max asks, scrutinising your face. “Are you in a hurry?”

You lock your phone and toss it towards the couch. “Nope.”

“So, what’s the problem?” He asks, craning his head to catch your eye but you stand up and walk out of view.

“I didn’t say there was a problem,” you call flippantly, your voice getting further away.

Max may be a little bit clueless, but he knows you well enough to know there absolutely is a problem.

“No, you never say that,” he says, climbing out of his sim rig as you sit down on the couch. “You just disappear and don’t talk to me and then I have to run around a city trying to find you-“

“One time,” you say with a roll of your eyes.

“Four times,” Max corrects, ready to start listing them.

“Oh, so that’s why you don’t want to marry me?”

“When did I say-“

Max stops himself because he can hear his voice rising to a hoarse squeak. He doesn’t really understand how you got there. But then he looks at you, sitting cross legged on the couch, picking at your freshly manicured nails as if they’ve personally offended you, and he remembers that in an uncharacteristic lack of self awareness, you still think he holds even a single card in this game.

He’ll never understand what it is that makes you think that there’s a future for him without you in it, because there isn’t and there never has been. But, to paraphrase some writer you love, he’s not meant to understand, he’s just meant to love you. Which he does. Enough to know that you hate feeling like the person who cares more.

You move when he sits beside you, scrambling to the corner of the couch and stretching out perpendicular to Max, which makes him sigh. You pick up your phone and start scrolling, not even acknowledging his presence.

“To be clear,” Max says pointedly, “I didn’t mean I didn’t want to get married. I just meant it’s not…” he chews his lip, choosing his next words carefully. “I will spend the rest of my life with you anyway, right? So I can get married to you tomorrow or in ten years, it doesn’t matter to me,”

You don’t say anything to this, but you do put down your phone to cross your arms over your chest.

“Well, maybe it should. It is a legally binding contract, you know. Once you sign on it, you can’t get rid of me,” you tease, nudging his thigh with your foot. Max smiles ruefully; despite your sing-song tone, the thought even entering your mind makes him uncomfortable.

“I haven’t been able to get rid of you in twenty-six years,” he says, taking the way you’re fighting a smile as his cue to come closer. He shift himself onto the couch as crawls over you, one arm on the back of the couch to trap you while the other moves your legs apart so he slot between them. “And I haven’t wanted to. A piece of paper isn’t going to change that. But if it will that even more obvious to you then we can do it soon. If you want we can do it in the Vegas paddock for all I care,” he punctuates each couple of words with kisses pressed to your cheek, jaw, and finally your neck, which he nips at playfully as you squirm under him.

“Okay, slow down please,” you chide, pushing Max away from you, but when he pulls away he can see you’re smiling. “We don’t even know if we’re going to be together by November,”

Max snorts at that. “No, you’re right,” he says, fighting a smile as you shift in your seat so that you can lean against him.

He puts his arm around you and you spot in under it, resting your head against his chest. Even shielded from the sun as you are, the golden light seems to find you. You just glow.

“Okay, are you allowed to eat cheesecake this week? Because I’m not going to buy one if you just-“

“Wait,” Max interrupts. “What was your hypothetical question?”

You chuckle sheepishly as you glance up at him. “Oh, it was, if I disappeared how long would you wait for me before moving on,”

“Three days,” Max answers, pressing a kiss to your hair. “Because after three days either someone is going to return you because you’re so annoying, or you’re dead and there’s no point waiting,”

“You know, when you finally, and I quote, get around, to asking me to marry you, I’m going to say no,” you tell him, slapping at his stomach.

He catches your hand and entwines your fingers, lifting your hand to his lips. “Don’t worry, by the time I get around to it you won’t remember this conversation,”

“True,” you shrug, resting your notepad on his thigh while you scribble down bresaola. “You don’t even have a ring and that’ll take at least a year to find,”

Even with your head leaning on his chest you didn’t notice Max’s involuntary jerk. Quick reaction time saved his ass again.

Max isn’t good at lying. History has proven that. But he was good at omitting. There is always a small part of him that felt bad when he kept secrets from you, and now is the same. He always dealt with it by promising himself he’d tell you whatever it was when the time was right. He knows that now is not the time for you to know what you’d find if you went into the safe at his dad’s house. What’s been sitting there since the 4th January. You’ll know eventually.

So all he says is, “yeah,” with a gentle smile. “At least a year.”

#max verstappen x reader

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ciwzing · 4 months

Text

༉ 𝗚𝗼𝘀𝘀𝗶𝗽 𝗕𝗼𝘆𝗳𝗿𝗶𝗲𝗻𝗱𝘀

🎀 incld: satoru, sukuna, choso, & geto

🎀 gn! reader

🎀 ‟there's no better quality time than gossiping with your boyfriend ”

𝗚𝗼𝗷𝗼 𝗦𝗮𝘁𝗼𝗿𝘂

biggest gossiper

literally has a time of your guys day specifically for where you guys just sit on your guys bed cozy, wrapped in each other's arms to talk shit or spill some tea about other people.

has a code name on everyone he and you guys don't like

“ain't that dora over there”

“yeah that's them, that wack ass haircut really stands out from the crowd"

will always make an eye contact with you whenever you guys hear or see something ridiculous, trying to hide his snickers with a cough

“baby, did i see that correctly”

“definitely, saw that shit clear as day”

AND you know you're gonna hear about it once you guys are home.

if he ever enter your home with a loud thud and a call of your name always followed with a giddy giggle YK THAT HE BOUTTA SPIT SOME SHIT🤭

“Baby!! you never guessed what just happened!”

ALWAYS gives you the best reaction to your gossip, never failing to let out the most exaggerated gasp ever

prob has those senses if you have gossip to spill, if Spiderman has spider sense, he has a bitch’s sense and it never fails him.

𝗞𝗮𝗺𝗼 𝗖𝗵𝗼𝘀𝗼

didn't really grasp how gossiping works the first time tbh ╥﹏╥

“didn't we hate this person? why did you just talk to them then?”

baby it's called playing nice

type of bf that if you hate someone, he gotta be their hater too

GIVES THE MOST FUNNIEST YET CUTEST REACTION EVER

“Baby guess what, remember the girl that I told you about yesterday that's been soft launching her man?”

“Yeah?”

“Her man is actually her COUSIN!”

“∑(; °Д°)”

every time you keep dropping bomb after bomb his expression just became more concerning

“oh my god, baby are they okay? (;° ロ°)”

“its fine, we hate this person”

“oh, fuck them then”

“yeah fuck them!”

(｀∀´) (⋋‿⋌ )

learns some of the most juiciest gossips BUT ALWAYS FAILS TO ASK FOR DETAILS

“That one clingy couple in our class just broke up suddenly, and they look they hated each other's guts”

“WHAT, WHY?!”

“I don't know I never asked”

𝗦𝘂𝗸𝘂𝗻𝗮 𝗥𝘆𝗼𝗺𝗲𝗻

you don't how he does it, but whenever you have some anger or tea to spill, he's ready every fucking time.

“who we gonna hate today, pretty?”

LOVES gossiping, not because he cares about other people, but because he loves talking shit about them

has the most creative insults tbh

you sometimes have to pause to take in what he had just said

doesn't remember all the ppl you shit talk about, you have to remind him with the stupid names he calls them

“Remember the guy that I told you about last week?”

“Baby, you have to be more specific about that”

“Omfg, the one you compared with megamind!”

“oh that motherfucker, yeah i remember him, all that forehead and can't think for shit, that's crazy”

probably the type of person that purposely points at the person you just talked about to tease you.

𝗚𝗲𝘁𝗼 𝗦𝘂𝗴𝘂𝗿𝘂

a secret gossiper tbh

ALWAYS has something interesting going on with his gossips, you could never guess just what shit he's about to say next

drops the most gasping bombshell like it's your random Tuesday

“oh yeah, one of our professors just got fired since he allegedly had an affair with one of his students”

the type of person that's quiet but he knows all of the shits about so many people, like How'd you get this information sir? (°△°|||)

ppl trust him too much that they spill so many things in front of this man, but they don't know you're the first person he goes running back to talk about it.

“they said I can't tell this to anyone…but you know that girl-”

gives the biggest stank eye when the person y'all hate walks past him AND HE AIN'T TRYNNA HIDE IT

Can and will shit talk about the person right in front their fcking face.

"Heard you talking shit about me?"

"Want me to tell you again? you might missed some details"

likes and reblogs are appreciated<33

#reader insert #gn reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jujutsu gojo #jujutsu geto #jjk satoru #jjk choso #jjk sukuna #satoru fluff #sukuna x reader #choso x reader #geto x reader #jjk headcanons #jjk hcs #jjk drabbles

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i-literally-cant-with-this · 4 months

Text

A/N ::: I'm just going to come right out and say it, I love Kafka Hibino. He's so goddamn cute that I literally want to just eat him alive. This is my first time writing for him - though I've been thinking about it for ages. I hope you like it, @supersecretsaga And I apologize, I'm wholly incapable of writing without it exceeding 1k words. So, SORRY. I proofed this once on google docs and that's all I have in me today. Any gross errors that look like I didn't mean to do them, message me!

C/W ::: Human Kafka, F.reader, not a lot of swearing. I just don't get the sense that Kafka would swear unnecessarily. Maybe I'm wrong. My perception will probably change. Really, who cares. Um, P->V (unprotected), jumping the relationship gun (but, with him, I would, too.)

WC ::: 3,094 (about 7 3/4 pages on G-Docs).

MDNI UNDER THE CUT

Kafka Hibino was simple, through and through. But when he met you that day in the hospital, his whole life changed. He knew he'd never be the same man he was before he was admitted.

You're a nurse. You were great at your job, and you knew it. Though the first time you saw that big, dumb puppy-energy-giving man, you knew that you were a goner, as well.

He was admitted around 2 am. Settled in around 5 am. He was in a lot of pain from the fight he'd gotten into with the Kaiju around midnight. He had 2 broken arms, bruised ribs. A number of different things had happened to him.

Kafka would be in good hands, though. Really, really good hands.

Your hands.

**** 7:30 am ****

"Oh- oh my god. What was THAT!?" You pulled your hand from the large porcelain tub in his bathroom and squeezed the sponge out over his short dark hair.

Giggling, you blinked slowly because you couldn't deny the warmth that was spreading throughout your whole body. And not just between your thighs. No, this was something else entirely. His stupid haircut, his kind eyes and dumbass smile were hammering their way through your boundaries. The same boundaries you'd worked so hard over the years to build to not get emotionally attached to patients.

"You're an idiot, Mr. Hibino. A complete moron. Have you never been bathed before? That was just a little something extra to help loosen up your muscles, a quick massage. My goodness. It's as if you've never been pampered." You stood from where you were on your knees on the floor and shook your hands out, purposely getting water on his face - you hoped in his eyes - so you would have a reason to gingerly wipe it dry.

"Call me Kafka," he said, his eyes never leaving yours as he watched you grab the towel and stand over him.

"What?" You were confused. You didn't realize he'd been asking you something.

"Call me Kafka. It's my name, yeah?" He sounded so serious, so sincere. You nodded and wiped his face with the towel, noticing the small wrinkles as he smiled up at you.

Fuck. He's adorable and you're finding it harder and harder to stay professional.

"No. Your name is Mr. Hibino and that's what I'll be calling you. Ok? Mr. Hibino? Now, let's finish this bath and get you back in bed. The doctor will be coming by soon to check on you and he can give you another massage if you need it." You moved your hands to his shoulders, gently massaging them as you continued talking. "You've been through a lot, Mr. Hibino. Your body needs to heal."

He sighed and closed his eyes, leaning back against the tub.

You kept massaging him, not stopping until he was almost asleep.

This sweet, gentle man, had a power over you that no one else did. And you weren't sure how to deal with it.

Quite a while later (sorry, storyline faux pas - I didn’t take into account healing time. But let’s just say that because he’s part Kaiju that he heals exceptionally fast. Ok? Ok!)*****

**** 1 month later, 10 pm ****

You hadn't seen Kafka since the morning bath you'd given him. He was discharged and sent home to continue his recovery. As a nurse, you knew he would be alright. But as a woman, you were left feeling empty and wanting more of him.

You were home that night, exhausted, but unable to sleep. You tried to keep your thoughts away from the big, gentle man who had stolen your heart with his kind words and warm smile, but it was impossible.

Your mind drifted to the way he looked at you as you bathed him.

How his body was perfectly balanced between the hard muscles he'd earned in his training and the slight squish around his mid-section that you wanted nothing more than to run your fingertips over.

His arms were thick and strong. Yet not battle-worn. He didn't have too many scars, though they'd have only added to his appeal.

His legs were muscular, too. Thick and strong, like his arms. His thighs were something else, something you found yourself daydreaming about wrapping your own legs around.

You wondered what his cock would feel like inside of you. You snuck a glance when he was in the tub. You knew his eyes were closed when you looked at it, bobbing away in the water. You're certain he was hard. Otherwise, you prayed he wasn't a grower because any more than that and you'd be the one being admitted to the hospital.

You thought about his hands on your body, squeezing your breasts and sliding between your thighs. You imagined what it would be like to feel his fingers inside of you, massaging you and bringing you to orgasm faster than you could imagine.

You rubbed your clit slowly, gently. You couldn't bring yourself to fuck yourself with a vibrator or even your own fingers. You didn't want to give yourself that much pleasure.

You wanted it to be Kafka.

You wanted him to be the one to take you, to fuck you, to make love to you.

You rolled over onto your stomach, burying your face into your pillow as you yelled out in frustration.

"This is ridiculous. This is so stupid. I - I'm not some teenager who can't control herself." You stood and walked to your closet, grabbing some comfortable clothes and your purse and left for the mini mart down the street from your house.

Chocolate was the next best thing you could think of. Other than, of course, Kafka running his hands all over your body. But what are the chances of that.

What are the chances of that?

The night air was cool against your skin. A nice contrast to the heat you'd built up while thinking about him.

You grabbed a pint of chocolate ice cream and began walking back home.

You felt better, slightly, but still very much wanting.

**** 10:30 pm ****

You were halfway through your pint and the movie when you heard a knock on your front door. "Coming, hold on, please." You walked to the door and looked through your peephole to see who it was. "Oh, you're fucking kidding me. What on earth are you doing here, Mr. Hibino?" The smile on your face was causing the back of your head to strain. You couldn't hide that you felt like your prayers had been answered all at once. But at the same time, you didn't want Kafka to see this look of bliss on your flushed face.

"Call me Kafka," he said softly, leaning against the doorway and smiling back at you. "And I wanted to see you again. May I? Come in, I mean. Please?"

You stepped aside and let him in, closing the door behind him.

You watched as he looked around your living room. You could tell he was a little nervous, but so were you.

You'd never felt this way about a patient before. Ex-patient, you had to remind yourself. He was no longer under your care.

"Ok, Kafka." He smiled at the way you said his name. He'd never heard anything like it before. "Would you like some ice cream? I was just sitting here, eating some, watching a bad movie." You chuckled, showing him the container and spoon.

"Sure. I'd love some." He sat down right in the middle of your couch, and you sat next to him.

You handed him the ice cream and he dug in.

You both ate in silence for a few minutes until he said, "This is good."

You nodded and smiled. "It is. Sometimes chocolate, um, well, sometimes it's the only thing that helps. Y'know?" You looked at him, noticing the way his lips had turned up into a smirk. "What? What did I say?"

"Nothing, nothing. You're just ... you just ... h-here. Can I? There's a little bit of ... right ..." He swiped his thumb across your bottom lip so slowly and then sucked the ice cream off. "... there. You just had a little on your lip. 'S gone now."

You weren't sure what to do. Your body was telling you to jump on him and fuck him until neither of you could walk. Your brain was telling you to wait and see what other kind of sweet nothings he'd do for you.

So, you waited. You had no idea your self-control was this well-honed. Again, you’d never been tested like this before.

But Kafka was different.

"You're beautiful, y'know." He whispered, looking at the floor like he was trying to burn holes in it with his eyes. He turned his head, leaning in a little bit closer than you were to him at the hospital. His hand moved to rest on your knee. And he said, "I've never met anyone like you before. I thought I was just going lay in the hospital bed until I was better. But you showed me kindness and care. I know you were just doing your job, but I'm grateful that you were there. That you were … you."

You didn't say anything. You were too busy trying to keep your heart from leaping out of your chest. You're sure if he'd looked, he'd see your tits jumping ever so slightly from the heaviness of the beating.

"Thank you for that. Thank you for everything you've done for me, Miss. I don’t know your first name. I’m embarrassed at how many ‘L/N’ households I went to looking for you.”

Your hand shot up to cover the smile that immediately bloomed across your lips. "That's not important. It's Y/N. And you're welcome. I'm happy I was able to help you. I didn't expect you to come here, though. I'm glad you did." You shifted, moving your knee so that your legs were touching. He didn't move his hand. He held it there, squeezing your knee gently.

"I didn't think I'd come here either. But I couldn't stop thinking about you. I know it's not appropriate for me to be here, but I had to see you again. I wanted to say thank you, in person." He turned his head and looked at you. You leaned in closer to him, your noses almost touching. "And maybe something else. Something that would make you feel as special as you made me feel when you took care of me."

You were so close to him you could feel the warmth of his breath against your cheek. He smelled like the air before a storm, and whiskey. But a little liquid courage never killed anyone.

"Kafka," you whispered, reaching up and touching his face. You were fidgeting with a small piece of his hair as you rest your forehead against his. "Kafka. I ..."

He sat up abruptly, "Oh shit! You're not married, are you? I should have asked, I'm so sorry for showing up here so late. Without any warning." He bowed to you and started for the door.

"Kafka! I'm not married. I'm not even seeing anyone right now. Please, come back. Come sit." You stood and took his hand, leading him back to the couch. "I was going to say I've never felt this way about a patient before. You make me feel like there's something more to life than just my job."

He looked at you, his eyes searching yours for any signs of dishonesty. He couldn't find any. "So, you don't mind me coming here?"

You shook your head. "I don't mind you coming here at all. I'm glad you did. I was just surprised, that's all. Please don't leave. Not yet." You held his hand tighter and urged him back down on the couch with you.

Pulling him back in, kissing him gently on the lips. "I've been wanting you to do that since the first time I saw you, too. But you in terrible pain when you came in. How did you have the presence of mind to want to kiss me when you were so badly beaten up?"

He laughed, "I wasn't beaten up, per se. I just didn't come out on top." He paused for a second, and then continued, "And the pain wasn't as bad as you think. I'm used to it. It's a part of my job. But being here with you, it's like I can forget all of that. And just be me. Kafka. Nothing else."

You leaned in and kissed him again, this time with more urgency. His lips parted slightly, and you could taste the chocolate on his tongue. You moaned softly, shifting so that your legs were wrapped around him. He pulled you onto his lap, and you straddled him, grinding yourself against his crotch.

"Oh my god," he moaned, pulling back slightly and looking into your eyes. "Y/N. You're so beautiful." He reached up and touched your cheek with his thumb, rubbing it gently.

You pulled his shirt off, tossing it to the floor. His chest was chiseled and smooth, his abs flexing slightly under his cute belly as he breathed heavily.

You ran your hands over his shoulders and down his back, feeling every muscle and every scar. You kissed his neck, biting it gently and sucking on his skin. "Kafka, I want you. I want you so much."

He pulled your shirt off and threw it next to his. "I'm gonna make you feel so good that you'll forget all about chocolate."

You stopped, pulling back from his face, and you laughed so hard for the first time in ages. "Oh, that might be the most serious thing anyone has ever said to me. Challenge accepted!"

He pulled you back into him and kissed you, his hands reaching around to squeeze your ass as you ground yourself against him. He picked you up and carried you to your bedroom, gently laying you on the bed before climbing on top of you.

You unclasped your bra and tossed it to the floor, allowing him to see your breasts. He gasped as quietly as he could manage, running his hands over them and squeezing them gently. "You're so beautiful. You know that?"

He leaned down and took a nipple in his mouth, sucking on it gently as his fingers worked at your pants. He slid them off, revealing your black lace panties. You'd never felt so exposed in your life. And you loved it.

"Kafka, please," you moaned as he sucked harder on your nipple, his hand moving down to rub your clit through your panties. "Please fuck me. I need you. I need you so bad."

He pulled back, looking at your face. "You want me to fuck you? You want me to make you cum? Oh-hoh baby, I will. I might even cum before you do! But don't lose faith. It's just, well, it's been a while? I guess? But that's not important right now." He leaned in and kissed you again, biting your bottom lip and sucking on it gently.

"It's ok, Kafka. I want you. I don't care if you cum before me. I just want you inside me. Please, please." You looked up at him with tears in your eyes. You couldn't believe you were begging like this, but you didn't care. You wanted him so badly.

He nodded and pulled your panties off, throwing them to the floor. He pushed his own pants down and pulled his boxers off with them, his cock set free.

You gasped at the sight. It was so much more than what you saw when he was in the tub. "Jesus, I-"

He looked down, "Oh. That?" He turned his head away, "Yeah, sorry. I'm sure you've seen um, better? But I make up for it in other ways! I promise, y/n. Just give me a chance."

You shook your head and smiled, "That's not at all what I'm trying to say here. There's not a doubt in my mind you won't fuck me stupid, Kafka." You giggled and reached your arms out to pull him down against you.

He positioned himself between your legs, rubbing the tip of his cock against your clit as he kissed your neck.

You moaned, "Ohhh, fuck. Yes. Do that." Your hand moved to his ass, squeezing it as he rocked against you.

He pushed himself inside of you slowly, stretching you out as he went. The slight sting you noticed dissipated as quickly as the onset. You moaned, your nails digging into his back as he started to thrust faster. "Kafka, oh my god. That feels so fucking good. More. I want more, please."

He grunted, his cock sliding in and out of you as you arched your back, grinding yourself against him. He sucked on your nipple again, his tongue flicking over it as he fucked you harder and faster.

You couldn't believe how much he was making you feel. You hadn't had sex in so long, but this was different. This was something else entirely. He was with you. He wasn't just there to get himself off. You'd been with guys like that before and they, more often than not, left you with a (literal) bad taste in your mouth.

Your breathing quickened, and you could feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge. And the closer you got, the harder your nails dug into his muscular back. "Kaf-hoh shit. Y-that ... pl- fuck. 'M gonna cum ... very … very soon."

He pulled back slightly, looking at your face as you bit your lip, your eyes rolling back. "Me too, baby. Me too. You're so tight, and you feel so good. I can't believe I'm inside of you. Fuck. I'm gonna cum, Y/N. Oh shit, I'm gonna cum." He grunted again, his cock twitching inside of you as he came hard, filling you up.

You came with him, your pussy squeezing around his cock as he kept fucking you, slowing his thrusts until he stopped completely.

"Fuck," you whispered, reaching up and touching his face gently. "Kafka."

He smiled and kissed you softly. "RIGHT!?"

You laughed through a yawn at the high energy he had when you first met, despite his injuries, and how he seems now. “Stay? Stay with me. I don’t want you to go. Tonight. Ever.”

He held you close to him, kissing the top of your head and brushing your hair down as you drifted off to sleep against his warm chest.

"Just try’n get rid of me, y/n."

@darkstarlight82 @katkusuo @kazutora-kurokawa

@arlerts-angel @southside-otaku @trevengersprincess

@bakubunny @reiners-milkbiddies

***If you guys absolutely hate this anime or don't give a shit, please please let me know so I don't keep writing and tagging you in stuff you don't care about! Thanks, mooties! <3***

#kafka hibino #hibino kafka #kaiju no. 8 #kn8 #kn8 smut #kaiju no. 8 smut #kafka smut #kafka x reader #kafka x you #kafka x y/n #kaiju no. 8 x reader #kaiju no. 8 x you #kafka hibino smut #hibino kafka smut #kn8 x reader #kn8 x you #kn8 x y/n

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visceravalentines · 8 months

Text

fever dream

Bo Sinclair x AFAB!Reader

7.6k words. dubcon ofc. reader is absolutely mentally bankrupt. stockholm is where we live, it's where we are, it's where we'll die. sporadic smut, pnv, fingering, and oral (fem!rec). blood and sweat everywhere. Bo calls reader a bitch a couple times but like, it's out of love or some shit. somno. alcohol use. nightmares. ghosts. swamp things. the ever-looming threat of death and depersonalization.

welcome back to my youtube channel. I have been. working on this fic. since May of last year. and it's finally done(?) it is long and weird and maybe bad and meant for you to get lost in. a journey with no destination. a haunted house only you are the haunted and the haunt and the house. tbqh I'm rewatching HoW today for the first time in months and months and I had to get this out of my drafts so I can check back into the sanitarium with minimal baggage, y'know?? I hope it makes you feel some type of way.

The summer heat is in your blood and the swamp is in your lungs and he is under your skin.

You’ve never known an August like this, like a blister. You go to bed sticky and wake up drenched in sweat. The ceiling fan is a hurricane agent that offers no respite, just blows the humidity in vicious cycles. There’s no air conditioning in the house; it’s too old. Instead you wrap ice cubes in dish towels and press them to the back of your neck.

A storm’s been hanging on the horizon for days. Thunder rolls out of a wall of iron gray, an idle threat. The air is soupy and super-charged. No rain comes.

The nights are delirium. You go to bed on opposite sides of the mattress, oil and water. He sleeps naked, sprawled out like a water skeeter. The quilt sits scrunched at the foot of the bed for the season and he kicks the sheets off around midnight like something forcing its way out of a soft-shelled egg.

You lie awake, listening to the cicadas and waiting. Just when you’ve started to cool down and drift off he reaches over and fumbles at your leg, grabs your arm. He pulls you on top of him, hands on your body beneath his old t-shirt. You ride him with your eyes closed and your breath hot on your lips. It’s a fever, the sweating, the shaking.

You wake every morning suffocating under his arm in the center of the mattress with honey between your thighs.

He drinks his coffee hot even though the steam can barely rise above the rim of the mug in the humidity. You pour yours over ice and savor the feeling as it seeps down your throat and into your stomach. You curl your toes on the linoleum and almost smile at him across the table. He’s golden from all his time in the sun. You can trace the lines of his wifebeater over his shoulders, across his chest. You stare at him across the table and think about the taste of his skin. You want to run your tongue along that tan line.

He catches you staring. “What?” he says flatly.

You redirect your gaze to your hands. Shake your head. Wait for him to move on so you can resume your perusal of his body.

When he looks away, out the window, the sun catches those eyes and turns them to sea glass. He needs a haircut; walnut curls crest over his ears like kudzu. When you get up to clear the table your skin peels from the vinyl seat cushion with a sting that makes you wrinkle your nose.

“Be good,” he tells you before he leaves. You wonder what he means, what he thinks you might get up to in this house full of dust and guns and ghosts. You know better than to ask, and you nod and kiss him goodbye and feel his lips on your lips for hours afterwards.

The day languishes. They all do. You kill a thousand flies. You mop the floor and track your own footprints across it before it dries. You hang his shirts on the clothesline in the side yard and feel like an insect trapped in the sap of time. You shave your legs in a cold bath and examine your skin: sunburn, bug bites, bite marks.

When he pulls into the driveway you’re on the front step eating a popsicle and counting the minutes. He saunters across the gravel like John Wayne, shoulders exposed, hair plastered to his neck. You meet his eyes and wrap your lips around the cherry-flavored mess dripping onto your fingers. He spits into the weeds and eyes you through his lashes.

“What’s for supper?”

You suck on your sticky thumb. There’s a full spread on the dining room table, ready and waiting. “Whatever you want.”

He licks his lips.

Supper gets cold.

He brings home a bag of saltwater taffy, all raspberry.

“Thought of you,” he says when he hands it to you. To your recollection, you have never mentioned taffy or raspberries or anything of the sort. You wonder who he thinks you are, whether he has you confused with someone else.

You sit on the porch steps and amass a pile of wax paper wrappers beside you. It’s soft and melty, peels out of the wrapper with a sticky crackling sound. It’s salty and sour and tastes like cheap sugar. Like a memory of summer that may be real, or maybe not. Could be yours, or could be someone else’s.

You eat more than you want, until your teeth hurt and you can feel the hot spot on your tongue where a canker sore will form. You rake that spot back and forth across your incisors. You can’t help it. Sometimes it feels like things have to have a hurt to them.

“You ever been to the fair?” you ask him over your shoulder.

He grunts from the porch swing. “Used to go when Vince ‘n me were little. Took Les a couple times when he was old enough.”

“You ever take a girl?”

“Nah.” His boot thumps on the porch, an offhand punctuation mark. “Couldn’t find one to go with me.”

You doubt that; you’ve seen his yearbook photos. But then again, maybe he was off-putting as a teenager. Spooky. Hadn’t quite learned how to camouflage yet. Came on too strong, wore too much cologne, used too many teeth.

You survey the vast swath of woods that surrounds Ambrose and try to imagine a ferris wheel, red and blue and blinking, rising from the green like the hump of a whale. “I’d go with you.”

He snorts. “Yeah?”

You look down at the piece of taffy in your fingers. You don’t really want it. You unwrap it anyway. “Yeah.” You gnaw on the candy like a dog savoring a scrap. “Be like a date,” you say thickly.

“What, you wanna skip down the midway holdin’ hands? Makin’ out in the Tunnel of Love?”

You can picture it, sunset and a sundress. He’s laughing. You’re laughing. The crowd is made of wax. “You could win me a stuffed animal.”

He scoffs again, but then he asks you, “What kinda stuffed animal you want?”

You think for a second, unstick the taffy from your molars and push it around your mouth with your tongue. “A Louisiana crocodile.” A souvenir from your time in the South. Maybe it’ll be wearing a little trucker hat and a smile that doesn’t reach its eyes.

“Ain’t got crocodiles here, sugar. ‘S all alligators.”

“Fine, an alligator then.”

You run your hands over your shins, sticky with the humidity. The chains of the porch swing creak rhythmically behind you. The sea of trees is dark and still and endless.

“Fair don’t come ‘round here anymore,” he says finally.

You force the taffy down your throat, swallow hard, and reach for another one.

“Figures.”

You’re buzzed and reckless, sucked down a pair of beers too fast just because they were frosty. The shears snick like some needy, nipping thing. You found them upstairs under the bathroom sink once upon a time and you always put them back when you’re done. They’ve been there longer than you’ve been alive. You comb your fingers across his scalp and loose locks drift onto your clean floor.

“Don’t take it too short,” he admonishes into the mouth of his beer bottle. “You butcher me, I butcher you.”

You roll your eyes behind his back. “Have I ever?”

He grunts in acquiescence. That’s as close to a win as you’ll get.

The windows are open; the thunder presses against the frayed screens. A gigantic moth flings its feathery body repeatedly at the ceiling light. You run your hand through his hair slow just to feel it between your fingers, thick and soft. Your thumb glances off the scar on the left side of his skull and comes back for another pass.

He jerks his head, puts a stop to that. “You done?”

“Almost.”

You’re particularly fond of the curls at the nape of his neck, always save them for last. You coil one around your finger. You want to ask him if you can keep it, but you’re afraid he’ll say no or worse, that he’ll say yes. He’ll ask for something in return. You’ll give it to him, no matter what it is. You give him anything he wants, everything he wants. It’s the least you can do, the most you can do.

You snip them one by one, bittersweet.

“Done.”

He leans over in the chair to examine his reflection in the window. “Good enough.”

He stands up and drains the dregs of his beer. His hand finds your waist and he pulls you in and you bend like a reed, peering up at him, inspecting your work. He smells like sweat and sun. You grip his shirt in your fists and move with him as he sways lazily side-to-side.

He gives you the gift of a smile, half-cocked and handsome. “You wanna dance, mama?”

Your fingers spider-creep up the shield of his chest and lock behind his neck. His skin is hot and sticky against your wrists, clipped hairs poking and itching. Your hips bump against his like a car on a back road, lost, no cell service. You wish there was music playing.

He tilts his head towards you and you get caught in the trap of his mouth. The thunder moans. You can feel the sweat beading on your upper lip, in the pit of your elbows. His hands are heavy on your bones.

His jaw scrapes along your temple like a razor blade and a fever chill rolls over your skin, hot-cold. “G’on upstairs, get those clothes off.”

Have you always been such a good listener?

He comes home drunk and fucks you on the table, in the midst of supper left cold and waiting for him. You knew he’d be hungry. You are right about some things and wrong about others.

You wince every time a dish topples off the table and shatters on the faded linoleum. He doesn't look at you, not once.

Afterwards, he disappears for a while and leaves you to clean up the kitchen. You are dazed, legs unsteady, leaning on the counter like an old friend. It’s been a bad day. Dinner has soaked through the back of your shirt and so you take it off, hang it over the back of a chair for later, and set to work on the mess.

You cannot puzzle out how he managed to get blood on every dish you are trying to wash until finally you realize it is yours, seeping quietly from a slice on your palm. When he comes up behind you your spine stiffens, arching like a snake making a final stand. He puts his hands on your bare waist and his lips against the back of your head like a sweetheart, like a husband, like a different person.

“Leave it, darlin’. Come sit on the porch with me.”

You bite your lip, lift your palm so he can see it, watch the world blur with saline. “I cut myself,” you say, and only then does the sting set in, so sharp you can feel it in your teeth.

He makes a sympathetic noise and cups your hand in his. “Now why’d y’go and do that?”

You open your mouth to answer but only a moan comes out as he lifts your arm and seals his lips over the cut. He sucks, gently at first and then harder, hard enough you feel the seam of skin separate and your fingers jerk like puppets to the pain. He lets you go and you cradle your hand to your chest as he laps your blood off his lip.

“You’ll be fine,” he says, takes your arm, tugs you from the sink. “C’mon. I need a smoke.”

You follow him onto the porch, curl up in his lap with a dishrag pressed to your palm and watch smoke and moths float around the light.

Your blood dries on the dishes with the gravy.

The clouds boom a reminder that they are still hanging above the house, but you are already awake in the split second beforehand. You are cocooned in the sheets and panic for a moment, arms pinned to your chest, bedroom black as a coffin. When you claw free, gasping, the air is like moss draped spongey and damp across your face.

You worm out of the bed, out of the room, stagger into the hallway and down the stairs in the dark. You are mere steps ahead of some emaciated beast, its breath muggy on your cheeks and the back of your neck. You twist your shirt off and throw it on the floor of the den before it can strangle you, wrench the front door open and slam through the screen with both hands.

The night is wet in your nose. One hundred million insects scream to God. In the back of your mind you think about joining them. Your toes scuff to a stop on the precipice of the porch and you peer into the darkness with round eyes, bare chest heaving for more air than you can hold. You are drowning here, surrounded by trees, surrounded by more green than you ever knew existed in the world.

Somewhere out there, someone is mourning you. You can feel it tonight, crackling in the ozone like the storm that won’t break.

You wrap your arms around yourself and sink to the ground, sit perched on the top stair in your panties and sweat-drenched skin. The nail of your index finger rips apart the cuticle of your thumb. Mosquitos float open-armed to your legs like swamp angels. It’s too hot to cry.

The yellow porchlight struggles to life. The screen door bangs flatly behind you. He can’t ever pick up his feet, scuffing through the dust you haven’t swept.

His fingers brush the bone of your shoulder. You don’t flinch nowadays, usually. “Y’alright?”

You don’t have to answer that. Let him wrap his hand around your throat and fishhook his fingers into your mouth to pull your jaw open, you don’t have to answer that. You grit your teeth and dig crescent moons into your thighs with all ten fingernails.

Your silence doesn’t bother him. He leans on the railing to your left, curling his toes on the concrete, looking out into the night. Sleep has mussed his hair to one side and left imprints of the sheet fanning across his chest. There’s a hickey in the shape of your mouth in the curve of his neck. Lightning flutters shy among the clouds and the thunder reprimands it. There’s something stuck in your throat, something you can’t swallow down no matter how hard you try. Moths flock to the porchlight. If anyone was alive in the town to look up the hill, they’d see you haloed, and him too.

“‘S late. Come back to bed.”

You can’t remember your home address. You can picture the house, the sidewalk in front of it, cracks in the driveway. The rest is like a dream. The house behind you doesn’t have an address. No number, no mailbox. You can feel it sucking at the base of your spine like a leech, coaxing you in, tipping you backwards all wrong like a gravity hill. You feel eyes on you, all the time, no matter what room you’re in.

“You listenin’ to me? Let’s go.”

You can’t go back inside. You can’t go back inside. Something in you doesn’t line up right. Someone is holding a pillow over your face.

“No,” you think you say out loud. The word flutters off into the night. You watch a mosquito drift beyond the reach of the porchlight and disappear. The stars bow gracefully into the arms of the clouds.

After a beat, he shuffles out of your periphery. The screen door slams. Maybe this time. When you least expect it. Maybe he's sick of you at last. You pick at a scab on your knee until it comes loose and flakes off, and then you pinch the skin around the wound and squeeze until a bead of blood, scarlet-black, mounds and breaks and gets all over your fingers. You raise them to your mouth and suck them clean and it tastes familiar. Safe.

He doesn’t come back with a knife, or a gun. He comes back with the quilt and sheet from the bed, a pillow stuffed under his arm. He unfurls the quilt on the porch. The pillow flops to the ground like something hunted to extinction. He follows suit.

“C’mere.” He wrestles with the sheet, props himself up on an elbow and punches the pillow into place. “C’mon.”

You breathe, just for a minute, watching him. You want to hate him so bad it hurts. You want him to hit you so you’d have a reason to hit back. You want to fight for your life because you can feel it slipping away, waning, evaporating in the heat. Already you’ve found shreds of yourself under the couch, covered in dust. You are drowning. You are thirsty. He is water, cold and brackish.

You rise from the stairs and come to him because you need him, because he is all you have.

“Get the light,” he says.

You go and come back and his hand finds your calf in the dark, slides up the back of your knee, guides you to the ground. The quilt is a mockery of softness, the porch unyielding beneath. You curl up with him at your back and he folds his arm around you, thumb worrying aimlessly at your nipple. His breath is hot on the nape of your neck.

The air roils in your lungs. The night surges in. You are alone, so alone, aching with loneliness, now and always. You close your fingers around his wrist and guide his hand between your legs. He rubs the cotton of your panties with something like pity and you let a moan seep from your throat.

Your face lolls into the pillow and it smells like fever dreams and cold-sweat nightmares. The fabric of your underwear catches on your clit and you gasp, arching against his chest.

“Easy,” he murmurs as his fingers drag back and forth. He hooks his foot around your ankle, forces your legs open. You asked for this. You’ll take it and thank him.

Lightning silhouettes the world beyond the porch in black and purple. When you close your eyes, you see the rooftops of the town in the colors of heaven. You rock against his hand and pretend you’re someone else somewhere else. You feel the thunder in your teeth and wish with all your heart the rain would fall.

He puts an abrupt end to the friction and cups you in his palm, wide and warm. You make a plaintive sound and wiggle your hips, push your ass against him. You need to feel something. You need him to help you. Otherwise, you might disappear beneath the horrible blanket of the night.

“Please,” you moan.

He presses his lips to the back of your neck, whispers into the shell of your ear like a lover. “You love me?”

You squeeze your eyes shut. “Yes.”

His teeth graze your skin as he slips his fingers past the waistband of your panties.

“Good.”

You wonder if he knows he keeps saving your life.

The house is a midden of family misery. There’s barely space for you between heaps of clothing and glassware and mass market paperbacks. You live sideways amid the boxes and bottles and beer cans. He refuses to let you throw anything away. No matter how much you sweep and dust and tidy, the clutter seems to crawl right back across the carpet like morning glory.

Late morning finds you in the master bedroom. It’s sweltering up here. The air sticks to your face like tattered gauze. The junk in here is of a particular breed, more meaningful—photo albums, baby clothes. Much of it has been stacked high just inside the door like a battlement. A fortification between this room and the rest of the house. You’re not allowed in here.

Neither is he.

Beyond the wall, everything sits untouched. A layer of dust rests primly on the bedside tables, the vanity, the yellow quilt still neatly made up on the bed. The art on the wall is sun-bleached in evenly spaced lines from the half-open blinds. The silence crowds your ears. It feels like standing in a tomb, the family crypt.

With courage paper-thin, you've decided you'd like to confront the heart of the horror. Like shoving your fingers down the throat of the beast trying to bite you. Like making a home in its mouth, a bed in its bed. You want to eat me so bad, you’ll have to savor every scrap.

It’s eerie in here. This room is brighter than the rest of the house by far. You can feel that parasitic presence all around you, cajoling you with hands that are soft and dry. There is a faint, floating smell of faded flowers. You breathe slowly to keep yourself from sprinting back downstairs.

You gaze at yourself in the vanity mirror. The dust almost erases you from sight, almost. You reach a finger out and draw a single streak across the silvery surface. You’re in there, somewhere. Sometimes you forget.

The front of the vanity holds a trio of slim drawers with tiny gold handles. You catch one with the tips of your fingers and tug, just slightly. It creeps open without resistance. The inside is lined with green velvet. You pull it open all the way and search through the contents with your eyes. Blush, lipstick. Eyeshadow in seven shades of blue. You slide the drawer closed and move on to the next one, the widest one in the middle.

This one holds a treasure trove of golden baubles: a jumble of earrings, half a dozen hairpins, a long, thin cigarette holder. A string of pearls that look too chipped and dull to be real. And a locket, oval-shaped and decorated with a halo of tiny vines. You pick it up and the chain slips over your fingers like a thin, shining snake.

You dig your nail into the seam and pop it open. To your muted disappointment, it is empty. No husband. No children.

It’s yours, you decide suddenly. You want it. You've earned it. A prize, a consolation for the hell you’ve been through. For the fact that you have survived him, and she has not. You wonder if he’ll recognize it. Part of you hopes that he does. You imagine the look on his face and his hands on you afterwards. Your mouth is wet.

This might be her house, will always be her house. But you do not belong to her. You have been spoken for again and again, and perhaps you should thank him for that.

In the daylight you remember that you aren’t scared of ghosts, and that you have nothing left to give. Plenty of dead women have laid claim to you already. This one cannot have you, and for that matter, she can’t have him either.

You hear the rumble of his truck out front and the thrill of fear that shoots down your spine is so cold it’s almost welcome in the stuffy room. You shove the locket into the pocket of your shorts and fling the drawer shut. It closes with a soft, complicit thunk.

You pick your way back through the boxes and slip through the door like a reptile into water; smooth, silent. You make sure it latches behind you before you hurry to the top of the stairs.

Out of the corner of your eye, just before you dip out of sight below the banister, you see something bend the light that reaches through the crack beneath the door. You freeze, turn your head only slightly. You see nothing. Only sunlight. Certainly no feet, dainty and bare, padding across the carpet with red-lacquered toenails.

Panic, delayed, breaks loose. You gallop down the stairs so quickly you forget to skip the ones that creak.

By the time he comes inside, slamming the door fit to shake the frame of the house, you are hunched over the dishes in the sink like you’ve been there all morning. If you are unduly quiet, he doesn’t seem to notice, and if he notices, he doesn’t seem to care.

“I think I love you.”

You say it half-casual, half-pronouncement, the way you might tell your mom you’re dropping out of college. Tell your boyfriend you’re over him. Tell your boss you’re moving to Louisiana. “I mean it this time.”

Bo snorts, lifts his beer to his lips. “That so?”

You shoo a bee from the rim of your glass and suck down the last of your drink. You just might be drunk. “Yup.”

“Think that’s the bourbon talkin’.”

You roll your eyes, shimmy a little in an effort to make the busted lawn chair more comfortable. You thought he’d be more excited. “Why don’t you ever believe me?”

He smacks his lips like he’s considering his answer. The sunlight shifts through the trees and you close your eyes, blissful. “Lemme ask you this. You ever set a snare, baby?”

You can feel it in your blood: the sun, the breeze, the brook bubbling over your toes. It’s not so bad, you think. Sometimes. It’s not so bad.

“Hey.” He leans over in his chair and snaps his fingers, splintering your peace. “I asked you a question.”

“Nah. Never set a snare. Some of us were normal kids.”

He ignores this and you feel like you’ve gotten away with something. “Well, sometimes you catch a critter, but it don’t strangle to death like it’s s’posed to.”

You frown.

“So you gotta do somethin’ about it, right? But you gotta be real careful. Can’t get caught up by the sufferin’. Gotta keep your head about you, y’know?” He’s not looking at you, but you can picture his lips, twisted in something like a smile. “‘Cause it don’t matter what it is…raccoon, possum, bunny rabbit…that sucker’ll take your hand off if y’let it.”

Your throat is sensitive all of the sudden, feels closed off. Maybe you swallowed a bee. “What are you even talking about?”

His head lolls lazy to the left and he stares at you for a second in a way that makes your hair stand on end. Then he chuckles, winks at you, turns away and leans back in his chair.

“Nothin’, sugar. You’re awful cute.”

The heat wreaks havoc on the lifeless inhabitants of the town. You trail behind him like a listless kite as he makes the rounds, checking for damage, hauling the worst afflicted home to Vincent. It baffles you how much he seems to care about them. How much investment he has in keeping the rot contained beneath a pristine cosmetic veneer. For what? For who?

You don’t tell him it’s all rot, all of it, the people, the buildings. The trees. The air. Him. You.

Some days, most days, you can’t quite look them in their faces. It’s guilt, you suppose. Guilt and acknowledgement of a fear so pervasive you no longer notice the way it clings like a second skin. You’ve convinced yourself if you meet their eyes you’ll find them glaring at you, envious and accusatory. Or worse–you’ll see the future, suspended in the flat, glass pupils of a dead game animal.

Occasionally you punish yourself by looking too closely. You note the receding hairlines, where the skin beneath the wax has dried and pulled taut and shifted the scalp along with it. You observe the way the light shines through plump round fingertips that are only hollow shells of wax, all that soft flesh desiccated and shriveled to a skeletal wedge underneath. You wonder, sometimes, whether Vincent smoothed over any flaws–scars, moles, asymmetrical lips. You touch your face subconsciously and think about the things he might fix for you.

It makes you feel like you are tiptoeing on the precipice of sanity, arms wide, just waiting to topple.

You take a particular interest in their clothing, wonder whether it belonged to them or to someone from the town. You never ask Bo, although you know he could tell you. You ignore the obvious parallels like a badly stitched seam. None of the clothes you wear belong to you either.

There are more residents than you ever imagined, half the houses not as empty as you assumed. Ten years, three brothers, three hundred and forty-nine holes to fill. You were decent at math in a past life, but nowadays, you try your hardest not to solve problems, no matter how they howl and scratch at the door. You’ve become adept at avoidance of the obvious in favor of learning how to assimilate into the cobwebs and shadows. No one can kill you if you’re already dead. You believe that so hard sometimes you can’t see your own reflection.

You believe it so hard that when you find it, on a girl in a house on a street you’ve only been down once or twice, you can’t make sense of it for several long seconds, staring dumbstruck and stupid while the static subsumes your brain.

“Let’s go,” he barks from the sitting room. The couches are pink and floral and faded.

You cannot move. You are made of wax.

“You deaf? Come on.”

She’s wearing cutoff jeans and the t-shirt you bought on a trip two years ago, or maybe three. There’s blood, brown and faded from half-hearted washing, streaking the collar and left sleeve.

Her hair is lighter than yours, and shorter. Her feet are smaller. Her nose is bigger. But the shirt is yours, and so is the blood, and for a second, you know you are a ghost.

“Hey.” He grabs your arm and turns you around. You think maybe she’ll move, now that you’re not looking. “You got a problem?”

You cannot answer him, because you do not have a voice. Because your lips have been glued together and painted the perfect pink. His gaze flicks from you to the girl and back and you wonder if he kissed her the way he kisses you. You hope he can see it, the way you are withering under the wax. You hope he will pick you up, cradle you in his arms, take you home and take care of you, make you whole, make you human.

Isn’t that all you’ve ever asked for?

He snaps his fingers in front of your face and you flinch, because you are real after all.

“Let’s go.”

You let him push you towards the door, hear him close it behind you, feel the floorboards shiver as he follows you down the hall. He puts his hand on the small of your back and ushers you out of the house, down the sidewalk cracked and stuffed with weeds keeling over in the heat. You can feel your feet melting to the concrete, skin crawling, sagging. You try not to stumble. You don’t want him to leave you behind.

“She ain’t you,” he mutters at the end of the street, so low you barely hear him over the buzz of the cicadas.

You aren’t sure if he’s lying, now or ever. You don’t ask him where her clothes are and he doesn’t offer. She might not be you, but you might be her. And you both might be someone else.

Either way, the shape of her is burned into your vision in blue and green, and she shakes her head at you when you close your eyes.

You wake to the sound of rain on the roof and it pulls you immediately from bed, stumbling sightless over your feet to get to the window. You yank on the mangled cord to raise the blinds and sure enough, the dust of summer is melting down the window in waves.

“Bo,” you say hoarsely. “Bo, look.”

It is then that the silence of the room seeps into your brain, the conspicuous lack of snoring. Your heart sinks into your wringing stomach.

In a perfect world, he’d be taking a leak. He’d stumble back to bed and wrap you in his arms, press a kiss to your temple, and you’d drift back to sleep in the bliss of air conditioning.

Your world is a few dirt road miles south of perfect.

You have to go find him. Find him and haul him out of whatever dark place he’s waded into, before he comes back worse than he went in.

The hall is a throat you have to fight against to get to the stairs, black and humid with walls that breathe. You feel cobwebs on your face and slap them away only to realize it’s your own hair caught on your lashes. The glow of the TV laps at the bottom step like floodwater, makes the carpet undulate like something just sank below the surface. You hesitate, for just a second, before you step down and feel solid ground beneath your feet.

He sits slouched on the couch in front of a screen full of static, deadeyed, jaw clenched. He doesn’t seem to notice you, quiet, creeping thing that you are. The static sounds like rushing water. Mangroves rise from the shadows in the corner of your eye. Lilypads part around your feet. If you turn your head just right, his eyes flash red in the light.

You stop halfway between the stairs and the couch, unsure what kind of animal you’re approaching. Your hands float up like a shield, like a bridge. “Bo,” you say softly, and it echoes in the night. “Are you okay?”

He blinks, like a person. You notice a bite mark, a purple half moon in the meat of his forearm. Your skin is well acquainted with the shape of his teeth.

“Bo,” you whisper. You don’t want to get closer. “Come back to bed.”

You hear a splash in the kitchen. The carpet squishes between your toes. Something brushes your ankle and wriggles away. You need to get out of here. You can’t leave without him.

“Baby…please.” You step towards him and freeze as he lurches forward, sits up straight. His hands dangle between his knees, his gaze still locked on the fuzz of the television.

“I killed my mama, y’know.”

His voice is pitched, low and dull. A sheen of sweat glistens on his upper lip and cheekbones. The color is gone from his face and here, in this place, he looks almost green.

You fight to form breath into words. “I…I know.”

He’s speaking again as though he didn’t hear you. You can see in his eyes he is far, far away. “I watched her die. Took a real long time. But I stayed…waited. Had to make sure.”

The water is rising, cold and slick, over your ankles and up your calves. Panic rises with it, packs into your throat like silt. “You were real brave, baby. You did it. You made sure.” Your voice is thin as a reed.

A terrible, empty grin cracks his face and then vanishes without a ripple, and now he looks at you for the first time and his eyes are hollow and blue as marbles and he whispers, “Then why ain’t she dead?”

The water surges to your knees like it’s been displaced by something large, something prowling. You teeter forward, heart hammering, splashing as you regain your balance. Too loud, too loud. Do alligators eat each other?

“She’s dead, Bo. She is.”

“Don’t lie to me, bitch!” He rises to his feet so fast you lose your balance again, flinching back from him. “She ain’t and you know it. You’ve seen her, she’s here! In this fuckin’ house!”

You shake your head quickly and in your periphery something ducks beneath the surface of the water. “No. She’s not.” Convince him, convince yourself, make it true.

His chest is heaving, his gaze darting around the room, searching. You can picture a shadow in shadow, curled up and waiting in the corner of the ceiling like a fat black spider, fingers splayed wide and tipped sharp and red.

Bo grips the back of his head and moans and it echoes off the trees, too loud, too loud. “Fuckin’...everywhere.”

Faded flowers. Blush, lipstick. A trick of the light. A locket wrapped in vines. Something hunting, just below the surface. If you let it rip him apart, would it come for you next?

“She’s everywhere…in my goddamn head….” He sways on his feet like he might fall and if he does, if the swamp swallows him, you’ll die here in this place.

“Hey.” You close the distance, push through the muck, brush his elbow. “Hey!”

He smacks you away, snaps his jaws closed. “Don’t touch me!”

You cringe and the hair on the back of your neck stands up. Something groans in the dark. Something moves near the ceiling.

His eyes on you are predatory, cold and empty, and his brow furrows. “Who are you?” he demands.

Wide-eyed, you open your mouth to answer him, but there is nothing on your tongue but moss. “I don’t…I don’t know.”

He leans toward you. “Who the fuck are you?”

You hold your hands up in front of you, backing away, mud between your toes. Your fingers are skeletal. Your nails are painted red. “I don’t know!”

A terribly low, vibrating sound is rising from the water, sending ripples in all directions, freezing your heart in your chest. He moves towards you and the swamp parts around him, allows him to pass like he is a part of it.

“You ain’t leavin’, baby.”

His teeth are sharp.

He lunges.

You scream.

The sound gets caught in your throat like a wad of feathers and bones and you choke, twisting, coming to in your bed. In his bed. Disoriented, you gasp for breath and release the death grip you have on the sheet. Your brow is so sweat-soaked your eyes are beginning to sting. The air is dry on your skin; the blanket is gone. The lower half of your body is tingling.

His head lifts from between your thighs and he looks at you with eyebrows raised. “Easy, sugar. Ain’t done with you yet.”

“Wh…what?” You rub at your eyes, trying to shake the sensation of water closing over your face. Somewhere, some version of you is bleeding in the silt.

His tongue makes another pass and you whimper, arms shaking with the effort of holding yourself up, of treading water, of fighting the maw of a monster. “Relax, baby. Go back to sleep.”

It’s all so insurmountable, the weight of it on your chest, and you sink back into the mattress without a ripple. His mouth is wet and warm. His dark hair is disheveled and you wonder absently if he misses it, that lock you stole. The room is silent save for the sound of your drowning.

“Is it raining?” you whisper, and hate yourself for the hope behind it.

He pauses, meets your gaze over the watery surface of your body. All you can see are his eyes and you could swear, for a second, they reflect neon red. “No.”

You let your head drop back onto the pillow, let him devour you, feel a tear slip over the brim of your lashes and disappear into your hair.

The storm breaks on a Wednesday.

At first, you don’t register the rain on the roof. You don’t even take note of the thunder anymore, after weeks of torment. It’s become a fixture like the dust, like the pervasive smell of decay.

It starts slow, cautious, rolling into town like a tourist with a busted GPS. You mistake the patter for the familiar buzz of TV static even though that makes no sense, even though you’re the only one in the house, even though the TV is off in the next room. All you can hear is the rough swish of the scrub brush on the hardwood floor, coaxing flecks of blood from the gaps between the boards. It’s already beginning to reek in the heat.

You wanted to clean it up last night when it was fresh but he wouldn’t let you, strongarmed you up the stairs and pinned you to the mattress. You’d never admit it to him, to God, or to yourself—and really, is there a difference in Ambrose—but he fucks so good when he’s riled up like that, when it feels like he can’t get enough of the killing so he’s going to take it out on you, take everything you have to offer him plus a little bit more.

The cut on your palm is half-healed and hurts when you put your weight on it. There’s something about that—familiar, comfortable, not grounding, not really, but like static. Stable. Buoyant. Like the bruises on your knees. A constant that cradles you and takes you up and out of here, not too high, just above the trees.

A stair creaks behind you and you freeze like a hare in the shadow of a hawk. It could be Vincent, but he’s busy with last night’s batch. It’s not Bo.

You ease yourself up onto your knees, rock back, stand up, and creep to the foot of the stairs. They are empty. You are alone with the sense that someone has just disappeared out of sight, retreating up into the aching cranium of the house, skirt swishing.

You are never alone, not really.

It’s only then that the sound of the rain seeps into your brain, soothes the hair standing up on the back of your neck. A weight you have been holding on your shoulders since the end of July dissolves like sugar and your spine lengthens by inches. You drop the brush, forget the ghost, walk barefoot through the bloodstain on your way to fling open the front door.

It rains.

It rains even though the clouds are thin, the sun forcing its way through in places like it just can’t bear to admit defeat. It rains and pools in the potholes of the driveway that have been waiting open-mouthed to be filled. It rains and the grass and weeds release a sigh of bliss, stop begging for mercy.

You step down from the porch in a trance, palms up and open, trailing pink-tinged footprints that melt across the concrete like raspberry taffy. You walk across the lawn, scuff your feet in the grass, wonder if maybe you’re dreaming and decide you don’t care.

You sink to the ground, sprawl on your back, feel the damp soak into your clothes and your skin and it makes you whole, makes you new, makes its apologies for taking so long. You are floating, only eyes above the water, surrounded by salvinia and duckweed.

You hear his footsteps just before he calls to you. “The fuck you doin’, girl?” he shouts, but when you open your eyes, he’s losing a fight with a grin, picking his way up the slippery hill.

You sit up halfway. “It’s raining.”

“Y’don’t say.” He drops to his knees beside you, slumped with relief.

His wifebeater is splattered with blood and water but you grab it with both fists and pull him to you, catch his mouth and coax him to the ground.

“Crazy bitch,” he mutters, but he guides your hands to his belt and grips your ass with both hands as you fuss with the buckle, even rolls onto his back to ease your way and lifts his hips so you can tug down his jeans. “Right here, huh?”

“Yes.”

“In the front goddamn yard.”

“Yes!”

“It’s fuckin’ rainin’!”

“I know!”

He laughs and the heavens giftwrap it with a roll of thunder. You're giddy, beaming at him, and he traces your smile with the pad of his finger and something akin to admiration.

You're brand-new, him too, and both of you together. Like it's the first time, a better first, another universe. His hands are on your thighs and his shirt rides up above his stomach. Water drips off your nose and onto his lips and he licks it off like it might save him and maybe it just might. Maybe it’ll save you both.

Exhausted, exalted, you wash the sweat and grime off each other with filthy hands and thirsty mouths. You wrap your fingers around his bare shoulders and ride him with your eyes open and your breath hot on your lips. It’s a fever breaking, the panting, the shaking.

The locket taps against your chest, the lock of his hair tucked inside it. He cups your face, slips his thumb in your mouth, and there’s blood beneath his fingernail. You suck it clean with greed and obedience, savor it, turn your face to the sky and let the crocodile tears run down your cheeks.

“That’s my girl,” he growls, and you bask in the rare and wondrous glow of his approval.

You come apart in splashes like raindrops, small, staccato swells in your core while he kisses the rain off your skin. His hands find the bruises they’ve left on your hips and squeeze and it’s all you could ever ask for, to be held. To be hurt. To be his.

Maybe it’s not so bad, you think. Sometimes. It’s not so bad.

“Y'know, girl, maybe you're right,” he says. "Just this once."

You’re confused until you realize you’ve spoken out loud. You look down at him, cold skin, wet curls, a smudge on his jaw that could be mud or blood, his or yours or someone else’s. He looks back like he sees you.

“You love me?” you ask him before you can think better of it. Before the rain stops.

The corner of his mouth twitches. His gaze slides past you, goes somewhere else, above the sea of trees. The sky is in his eyes. “Sometimes.”

You don’t smile, don’t sigh, just push the hair off his brow and sink slow and gentle beneath the surface and into the green, not a ripple made in your wake.

“Good.”

#this really truly took it out of me #vignette-style writing like this is SO HARD for me idk why #but i wanted so many moments of normal life in hell and i wanted them all #he's probably so ooc god but it's fine it's fine #we're so back #bo sinclair #bo sinclair fanfiction #bo sinclair x reader #slasher x reader #house of wax fanfiction

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